i write sometimes

12 hours until the sex ban

Hostess: In less than twelve hours our horny singles will be hit with a no-sex sucker punch. Thankfully, I don't have to break the news, as this luxury no-bone zone comes fully equipped with its own virtual guide - Lana! Its purpose is to lead the guests to making deeper and more meaningful connections without the physical aspect of it.

For the first twelve hours, Lana will be watching and analyzing our guests and will be secretly gathering personal data before laying down the sex ban.

Let's meet our oblivious singles and let the show begin.

You

Age: 23 years old Occupation: Fashion designer Last relationship: “Four months ago. He broke up with me because his job was more important than me and he just didn't have the time for me.” Her type: “I don't even know. Probably tall men with tattoos that look like gangsters.”

Haitani Ran

Age: 26 years old Occupation: “I’m rich and that's all that matters” Last relationship: “Can't even remember but my last hookup was like 10 minutes ago.” His type: “Big boobs.”

Haitani Rindou

Age: 25 years old Occupation: “My brother told me to say I’m rich and that's all that matters.” Last relationship: “Never had one. It was something that didn't interest me.” His type: “I like tall women. If they're taller than me, that's hot.”

Hanma Shuji

Age: 24 years old Occupation: Stripper Last relationship: “A couple of months ago. She cheated on me with one of my coworkers.” His type: “Love a big ass but I’ll fuck anyone who wants to fuck me.”

Sano Emma

Age: 22 years old Occupation: Influencer/Model Last relationship: “Never been in one! I guess I just haven't found the right one for me.” Her type: “I love tall men with tattoos! Absolutely my favorite. But as long as they're nice and sweet, I don't mind the appearance.”

Madarame Shion

Age: 25 years old Occupation: Tattoo artist and piercer Last relationship: “4 years ago. She dumped me because I pierced a girl’s pussy and she got super jealous.” His type: “ANYONE! I just love women so much. They're all so pretty and hot.”

Shiba Yuzuha

Age: 23 years old Occupation: “I’m my little brother's manager.” Last relationship: “Months ago with an ugly guy that cheated on me.” Her type: “I don't care about physical attributes but I really want someone who's sweet, caring and doesn't mind that sometimes I have to stay away for a couple of weeks because of work.”

Ryuguji Ken (Draken)

Age: 23 years old Occupation: Owns a bike shop Last relationship: “A couple of months ago with a girl that broke up with me because she fell in love with my coworker.” His type: “I usually go for blondes.”

Tachibana Hinata

Age: 22 years old Occupation: Influencer and a cosmetic brand owner Last relationship: “Oh God! It was months ago. He didn't like the attention my fame brought to him.” Her type: “Ah~ I like them skinny and scrawny. Just complete losers.”

Suzuki Mina

Age: 24 years old Occupation: Bartender Last relationship: “Never had one. I'm not the one to commit.” Her type: “Big, strong men who can manhandle me. I don't settle for less.”

Kokonoi Hajime

Age: 23 years old Occupation: Accountant Last relationship: "A long time ago." His type: "Don't have one"

In 23 years of your life, you never thought you would join a random reality show where you had to party and bond with hot people for a whole summer because your boyfriend dumped you. You didn't think much about it, simply joining the show to show your ex that you were just fine without him. You weren't. One night stands were now part of your life. A different person to fuck you every week with no strings attached. You just couldn't let yourself form meaningful connections with anyone after that relationship. People would leave no matter how much you care for them. So you didn't think twice before jumping on this opportunity. You get to spend the whole summer having casual hookups with no feelings involved and no time to think about how heartbroken you're feeling even though the breakup was four months ago. You wouldn't allow yourself to stop and think about it.

The presentations were a bit awkward, as expected. No one knew what to say, simply introducing themselves and mostly asking to be called by their first name. Emma and Hinata did most of the talking, trying to ease the tension on the way to the place everyone was going to stay at. Soon enough, the nerves went away and you felt like you had known them for more than a couple of minutes. The conversation was flowing, you already liked the girls and you couldn't deny that you wouldn't mind fucking every men here. Still, you promised yourself that you wouldn't do anything on TV… on the first night. You don't know how long it will take until you disappoint your mom but Hanma Shuji and Haitani Ran caught your attention right away. They're handsome and are just your type. Luckily you caught Hanma’s attention just as much while the older Haitani seemed more interested in Mina. You didn't mind, there was plenty of time to make your move on him and you were sure none of them came to this show to fall in love. It was still the first day after all and there was no need to rush.

The room was huge, full of big beds. If you counted correctly, there was one for each but you wouldn't mind sharing one with someone. It was obvious that eventually more people would join to stir up the drama. That's what the viewers want.

You sit on one of the comfy beds, your back against the headboard. You look around the room and your eyes stop on a weird lava lamp that you were sure you have seen around the villa but paid no mind. It was probably some decoration item. Hinata, Yuzuha, Kokonoi and Hanma sat in beds close to you, the rest of the people nowhere to be seen.

“Anyone you wanna share a bed with?” Hinata asks, looking around the room , murmuring numbers as she counts the beds.

Kokonoi is the first to deny, saying he will fight anyone who tries to get in bed with him. Yuzuha says she doesn't mind sharing with one of the girls if needed since none of the guys caught her attention. Hinata happily calls dibs on Yuzuha if new people ever join and you need to share beds.

“I wouldn't mind sharing with Y/N.” Hanma Shuji, that sneaky bastard, says, eyeing you from the bed next to yours.

You move a bit to the side and pat the place next to you. Hanma almost jumps into the bed, eager to be next to you. He’s closer to you than needed, your shoulders touching. He smells like a deep earthy musk, a faint smell of cigarettes mixed with it. It's good, it's intoxicating, and you can't help but move closer until the point where your senses are overfilled with his smell. The others become background noise while you're looking at the man sitting beside you. His hand tattoos caught your attention, making you grab one of his hands to look at it better. Your finger traces the kanji tattooed on his left hand and Hanma simply watches you, entranced by your actions.

“Sin and…” you grab the other hand. “...punishment?”

“Yeah. Pretty cool, right?”

You look at him, getting your face a little closer to his to whisper “Yeah, it's hot.”.

“Trying to make me pop a boner when we just met?”

“Is it working?”

Hanma doesn't reply and simply grabs a pillow to put on his lap. You don't know if you're glad or not that other people are in the room, preventing you from jumping on top of this man and devouring him. Perhaps you could forget about that rule you set to yourself about not sleeping with anyone on the first night.

Your lewd thoughts about the man next to you are interrupted when Shion enters the room to announce you're having a welcome party. You get up and wait for Hanma by the bed, watching everyone excitedly leaving the room. Before you can walk out of the door, a big hand grabs your wrist making you turn around. Your mind froze when you feel Hanma kissing you. It's surprisingly soft and slow and it doesn't take long for you to close your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. Unfortunately, the kiss didn't last long and you try to chase his lips as soon as he moves away. He smirks, amused by your neediness and pulls you to meet the others.

Shion is doing some weird dance moves when you get outside and you can see Emma already talking to Draken in a corner. Hinata and Yuzuha are dancing together. Well, Hinata is dancing and trying to make Yuzuha move by swinging her arms.

Ran is the one who suggests a game. One person has to be blindfolded and the others can touch, kiss, or whatever they feel like. The blindfolded person has to guess who touched them. There's no winner and certainly no rules. You excitedly grab the blindfold and Mina helps you tie it in the back of your head. You only hear laughs and then lips on yours. The already familiar scent gives away who it is and you make the most of it, not wanting him to pull away too soon again. His hand goes down to grab your ass, pulling you closer to him and the whistles in the background bring you back to earth and you pull away for air. You say Hanma's name and big hands help you take off the blindfold and fix your hair. His pretty face is staring at you and you can't help but pull him to another kiss.

People kept taking turns, some being more bold than others. When Ran’s turn arrived, Mina pulled you with her and signaled for a kiss. You did your best trying to have a threeway kiss. Ran’s hands are holding yours and Mina’s waist and he bites your lower lip before moving to bite Mina’s. You use your thumb to clean the drool on his lips and he guesses right. You don't even sit since it's Hanma’s turn and excitedly walk to him, you kiss his neck, biting it softly but not enough to give him a hickey. Your hand goes down his chest, feeling the muscle and stopping just where his shorts start. His hand cups your face to pull you for a kiss, his tongue promptly exploring your mouth. A ding in the background catches your attention and you move away from Hanma to look at your new friends. You both sit down and the hostess appears, her smile making you a bit uneasy.

“Hello everyone! How’s everyone doing tonight? Enjoying the party?” A chorus of yes is heard. “That's good! Tonight, we have a special guest.”

A big box is brought to the center. Everyone seems excited but you can't help but get the feeling that something wrong is going to happen. The lights go down and Hinata’s excited voice can be heard, asking who it might be. The suspense is killing you, your leg bouncing a bit. Smoke starts coming out of the box and then a platform goes up, revealing the weird lava lamp that is placed all over the villa. It lights up and another ding is heard.

“Hello. I’m Lana.” the device says. “Your personal, digital assistant. Welcome to the retreat.” You look at Hanma, a bit confused about the talking cone. He looks as confused as you. “You may be in paradise but the party is over.”

“What does that mean?!” Emma’s voice is heard from the other side of the couch.

“The purpose of this retreat is to help you gain deeper and more emotional connections.”

Your jaw drops. Suddenly, all the idiotic questions about your sex and dating life made sense. The way they tried to get every single bit of what happened with your break up masking it with curiosity.

“This is bullshit.” Hanma murmurs beside you.

“For the last twelve hours, I have been watching you and learning about your behavior. You have been selected as you are all having meaningless flings over genuine relationships.”

“That's a lie!” Hinata says.

“If it was a lie I don't think you would have been selected, hun.” Yuzuha replies.

“As part of your social development, I have allocated a price of ¥30,000,000.”

The gasp you let out is almost involuntary. It's a great prize but you feel like there's a but coming and you don't like what you have been hearing so far.

“Are they going to keep the two of us close in a closet until we develop a meaningful connection or something?” Rindou comments.

“However…”

“There it is.” you laugh.

“I will deduct money from the prize fund if there are breaches to the rules. There is no kissing, no heavy petting, no sex and no self-gratification.”

“Wait, wait, wait, what's that?” Shion asks, a genuine confused look on his face.

“You can't masturbate.”

You let your head fall on your hands, thinking about how stupid you could be that you got yourself into this type of reality show. Hanma sighs next to you, falling back on the couch and laughing, even though you can tell it's fake.

“Well. We’re fucked.”

Taglist: @crybabylisa @chaoticwh0re @minoozi @benkeibear @ranszn

“fuck, baby. keep doin’ that.” shinichiro’s teeth grit, letting his head drop back before his palm is resting on the back of your head — there’s no real weight to it, but you can tell he doesn’t want you to stop with how is chest is heaving with every breath he takes.

you hollow your cheeks as you stretch your lips deeper around him, the thick press of his cock along your airwaves giving you a delightful spin in your mind before you’re dragging your head back up, messy and lewd as your spit catches on his silky skin — pooling down his balls to soak into the fabric of the couch beneath him.

“you’re pretty, shin.” you rasp, pulling back to slurp at the head as you blink away tears to admire him — his jaw is slack, his eyes are blown out and heavy and his hair is mused, messy from where his own hands have been raking through it as it hangs over his forehead.

“huh? dunno if pretty ‘s the word i wanna hear when y’re suckin’ my dick.” shinichiro grins, slowly before he’s laughing but it trails off into another groan when you take his cock back between your lips. your tongue traces along the sensitive flesh and veins until his hips are twitching and he’s sinking himself deeper — mumbling out a curse followed by an apology as his palm cups around the back of your neck.

you press closer until you feel his balls press underneath your chin, your nose against his pelvis and each time you bob your head you feel the spit drip down your chin. you hear shinichiro groan before he’s wiping at the stray tear that falls down your cheeks and the soft pants falling from his lips make you tremble, the fucked out state of your boyfriend making you rub your thighs together before you suddenly swallow him down again.

“hnnn, f-fuck, baby.” you feel his cock throb and thicken against your tongue, twitching inside the tight give of your throat and with a trembling grunt and a soft, dreamy groan. you suddenly pull back when you feel you feel the first sudden rush of shinichiro’s cum on your tongue, allowing your tongue to slurp and swallow around his throbbing tip as your tongue swirls around his pulsing veins.

he’s fucked out, hips twitching in time with your movements as he pants, pretty abdomen tightening while he groans and whines and squeezes at the back of your neck while you wring his cum out of him.

you only pull away when you hear him hiss, licking across your lower lip to clean yourself up before shinichiro’s letting his head fall forward to meet your gaze. “see, you’re so pretty, shin.” you giggle and her shoots you a satisfied, lazy sort of smile before he’s grabbing your jaw to pull you in for a kiss, his words a slurred, whispery drawl against your lips.

“damn, ‘ll be pretty if that’s what it gets me.”

“i-i…d-don’t worry, i’d never!” you quickly stumble over your words, frantically trying to persuade him you’re not going to make things worse and he won’t have a reason to splatter your brain all over your room for your family and friends to find. “i d-don’t even…it’s not like i care! you can do what you want,” you chuckle nervously, “seriously, i don’t judge. i’m totally not a judgey person, really. no tattling to any cops here,” you even make a show to zipper your mouth shut with your hand and throw away imaginary keys.

he almost snorts. to be quite honest, you’re kind of cute— in a pathetic and weak kind of way. and you seem to be trying to convince yourself more than him that you’re not a threat, but still, he lowers his gun. 

and since he’s not exactly known for being a good man—which is not without reason, either—and because he argues to himself he’ll never see you again and it couldn’t really hurt, he taps against the doorknob with the head of his gun. 

“open this door,” he demands, “unless you want me to shoot at the knob and let myself inside. then i won’t be nice, though,” he smiles with sickeningly faux sweetness. if he shoots at the door, the cops will definitely find him, and then he’ll definitely get caught. not before he’d have managed to kill you though, but something tells him knowing you’re dead won’t really make jail all that more enjoyable for him. 

but it doesn’t matter anyway because the threat is enough that it makes you gulp before you move to unlock the door. 

“p-please don’t hurt me, mister,” you sniffle, opening the door as you stare at him with watery eyes. 

ran doesn’t kill strangers, and he certainly doesn’t kill women and children. not that you know that, of course—and not that you have reason to believe it either. he’s sure you’ve spotted the bonten tattoo on his neck by now, and he knows it doesn’t really paint a great image for him in your head. bonten isn’t exactly known for having morals—however loose they may be—that leaves women and children out of it. but ran and rindou come to an agreement at young ages that the two of them would live by that rule, even if any organization they join doesn’t.

“i’ll let ya off the hook if my wound’s cleaned and my stomach’s full,” he spits—he doesn’t really talk to people this way, that’s more rindou’s style. ran is a bit smoother, purrs out saccharine words. the first thing you learn in this line of business is that drugs are easy to mask under sweet, sugary tastes. one wrong move and that drink you’re offered is the reason you’re tied up with a pistol pressed to your skull. that’s how ran likes to go about business, so sweet and undetected, the pistol is pressed against the back of your head before you even have a chance to realize it’s coming. 

“i don’t…i haven’t m-made dinner yet—”

“then you better get cooking,” he chuckles condescendingly, tapping his gun to your arm. you whimper in fear, and he almost feels remorseful…until his arm throbs again, worse than ever this time. he lets out a low groan in pain, hissing as he stares down at his injury, trying his best to assess how bad it is—until you reach forward and catch his attention. 

he takes a step back, and instinctively holds his gun up until you hold your hands up in surrender. gulping, you fumble over your words again. 

“i can…umm, i work in a hospital,” you say quietly, “i just…i can treat that,” you point to his arm, “it doesn’t look too bad, so don’t worry.”

ran stares at you for a moment in disbelief—how can someone so close to passing out, who stumbles over their words so much, work in such a stressful place under such pressure? but he counts his blessings and simply nods. 

“kay, get to it then, i don’t have all day.”

“it’s uh…it’s night,” you whisper, and then your eyes widen before you sputter. “s-sorry, i just…i have an awful habit of like…you know, being too literal when i’m nervous. my boss, she uh, she hates it. well, i think she hates me in general, but i—”

“you talk a lot,” he says bluntly, “it’d probably get you killed by now if it wasn’t me.”

“oh,” you squeak. this time, he does let himself snort in amusement. “my bathroom is this way,” you point to the door on the opposite side of the room. he waits a moment, watching as you simply stand before raising a brow. 

“feel free to lead the way.”

“oh, right!”

——

in your defense, you didn’t think someone would climb onto your balcony the same second you come home from work ready to cry your eyes out. whoever said get a job and be self-sufficient and work to be successful and be a woman-in-stem and all that other bullshit being a good idea was a liar. you are not defining your own future—because at this rate, you’re not even sure you’re gonna live long enough to have one. 

either the stress will cause you to drop dead in the middle of your shift or the lovely gangster man who forcefully broke into your home right before your breakdown will kill you. whichever comes first, your money’s on either one. 

you don’t usually act this pathetic. usually, you just bite your tongue and hold onto the long thread that is your patience. but this man has caught you in a very bad moment with a very bad situation and well…you’re only human. 

so you may be making a tad bit of a fool of yourself, but he seems to be decently approving of your actions if he’s whistling behind you as you gather the first aide kit in your bathroom. 

“tiny bathroom you got here,” he mumbles, peering over your shoulder as you gather disinfectant, and the bane of his existence—needle and thread to do stitches.

it causes you mild irritation because really, who does this guys think he is? he trespasses onto your property (it’s rented, but that’s not the point), interrupts your mental breakdown, holds a gun to your head, enters your home, demands your services and food, and now he’s nitpicking over the size of your bathroom? you almost wish the stab wound was over his heart and not his arm, just so you can tell him there’s nothing you can do and watch him bleed out over your sink with your own two eyes. 

but then there would be a dead corpse in your bathroom, and explaining how that got there would be an entirely new problem, and you’re not sure an aspiring healthcare professional can afford to have a smudge quite like this one on their record. so you keep yourself levelheaded—but that doesn’t mean you can’t be at least a little petty. 

“i’m a medical student,” you huff, “you try paying for a large bathroom and tuition.”

“touchy subject, huh?” he chuckles. ran glances around some more—there’s a towel with stethoscopes on it by the sink, he eyes it with an amused look. 

“that was from the hospital i work at,” you mumble when you notice where his eyes have wandered, “they gave those in a bag as a little welcome gift. i thought i might as well use it instead of buying one myself, you know?”

“right,” he nods, biting back another laugh, “saving money. i like it, it’s financially responsible.”

“it’s a cute towel,” you huff, pouting slightly. when you’re not nervous and seconds from passing out from fearing for your life, you’re funny, ran decides. in an unintentional, rambling type of way. it’s kind of cute, but also entirely too naive—which is dangerous in a city like this.

“it is,” he nods seriously—because really, it kind of is. the stethoscopes have hearts on them. “so, what made you decide to be a med student? you love people? wanna be a hero? you have a passion for helping those who need—”

“i didn’t know what else to do,” you shrug, “so i picked it, and now i’m in too deep to back out.”

that’s not the answer he was expecting, but somehow, he likes it better than his guesses. it’s not that disgustingly self-righteous talk of giving back to the world or doing good for others he was prepared to hear. and in a world that doesn’t offer any good, he’s glad you’re not naively handing it out for free. 

“so how—”

“give me your arm,” you cut him off, and now there’s a completely new side of you that he’s seeing—which is funny considering he’s known you for five minutes tops, but by now he’s seen you go from terrified to bashful to now serious. he figures this is the work side of you, the side that actually does seem equipped to shoulder working at a hospital—he has to hand it to you, you seem quite suited for the field. 

“here you are, milady—ow, fuck, that shit stings,” he hisses, clenching his teeth as you pull the knife and begin to clean the wound. 

“for someone who’s in the most feared gang in the nation, you’re kind of a pussy when it comes to injuries.”

“the fuck did you just call me?” he growls, sweat collecting on his forehead as he lets out labored pants. now it’s your turn to chuckle, and ran decides that since your laugh isn’t the ugliest, he’ll let this slide. 

that and his arm really fucking hurts. 

“i said you’re pussy when it comes to injuries,” you grin.

“not takin’ shit from the same woman that cried like five minutes ago. please don’t hurt me, mister,” he mocks, voice turning a pitch higher to imitate your voice as he fake sniffles to reenact your moment of weakness. rolling your eyes, you shoot him a light glare. 

“they don’t hold guns at my face in the hospital,” you grumble, “excuse me if i was scared. and you aren’t the nicest when asking for help, you know. a please and thank you can take you a long way.”

“spare me,” he grumbles, “pleases and thank you’s don’t do shit in my line of work.”

“well, your line of work is what made you hold a gun to my head in the first place, so i already hate it.” he laughs—genuinely this time. not because you’re helpless or because you’re so awkward it’s entertaining. you pull a real laugh out of him this time, and it’s a boyish one, a bit too charming for someone who can kill you in under five seconds.

“true—”

“okay, done.” you interrupt as you tighten the stitches and tie the knot. he flinches a little as you pull on the thread to tighten your handiwork before registering what you just said—done.

“already?”

“aw, did my company entertain you enough to keep you distracted?” you tease. he realizes now that he’s been so busy bantering with you, that he doesn’t even realize you’ve started stitching him up, let alone finished. he has to admit, you’re definitely cut out for your job, even if you really don’t seem it at first.

“don’t flatter yourself, doll,” he grunts, letting you wrap his arm as he looks off to the side. now that he’s not worrying about the hunk of metal sticking into his flesh anymore, he’s a lot more aware of your proximity as you finish patching him up. 

it’s oddly comforting—he’s never really been patched up in a small bathroom with cute stethoscope towels. usually, it’s in bonten hideouts, with people they’ve hired to take care of injuries like this. that or he does it himself, he’s figured out how to treat at least a few injuries after all these years. but he’s never had someone so close in a setting that’s almost domestic, never had anyone hum as they clean up the medical kit, never had someone who pokes their tongue out a bit when they’re concentrated. 

but before he can internally curse himself for letting him enjoy something a little less rough than what he’s used to, you’re interrupting his thoughts. 

“so, dinner and then you’ll leave me alone, right?” you raise a brow. obviously, you’re not too keen on keeping him here for long—and that’s probably for the best, he rationalizes. 

so with a scoff,  he stands, shooting you a small glare. “nah, forget it. i don’t need dinner anymore.” you blink before furrowing your brows, and he walks towards the door. he stops for a moment before just barely looking over his shoulder to cast you a glance. “thanks for fixin’ up my arm.”

———————————————

for a while, you’re mildly offended he skipped dinner after he already got free medical service from you. arguably, if you had charged him for either, you’d have made a decent number off of the stitching, and you can’t help but roll your eyes that of course, he didn’t choose to bail on the more pricier of your (forced) free services. plus, he’s left drops of blood on your balcony that you had to scrub at and rinse away.

what an asshole. 

but still, a part of you kind of wishes maybe he’d have stayed for dinner—which is crazy, absolutely foolish. but he wasn’t bad company…at least when he wasn’t threatening to kill you, of course. and he didn’t even tell you his name, which you were kind of hoping you could ask over dinner. not because you wanted to get closer or anything, just that you feel it’s at least courtesy to tell someone your name after you trespass, threaten to kill, and then break in and demand help. 

really, he’s such an asshole. 

but life goes on, and you return to your shitty job with your shitty hours and your shitty boss. and it’s all back to normal for maybe…one week—and really, you probably should’ve figured that an encounter that’s as downright cliche and out of a novel as that one would lead to your life being anything but normal afterward, but for a small period of time you really let yourself believe. 

he’s back in one week with that grin on his face that makes you want to smash your head against the wall. and, because he’s just that taunting, he has the audacity to tap against the glass of your balcony door with that damn gun of his again. 

“i don’t suppose you’re here for a free physical now too, are you?” you huff as you open the door, making him grin at you widely as he lets himself in. he seats himself on your bed, spreading his legs widely in a way that almost seems inappropriate. he smirks a little when you quickly look away. “unfortunately this is not a free clinic.”

“i did not want a physical,” he chuckles, “but if you really wanna do one on me that bad, i won’t say no—”

“i’m calling the cops,” you spit. he only lays back against your mattress, hands behind his head as he snorts in amusement. 

seriously, how much of an asshole can a guy be?

“i’ll just shoot you,” he shrugs. “i’ve shot people for less.” somehow, the last part doesn’t feel like a lie, so you decide to drop the topic all together—you don’t really want to test the theory of whether or not he really will shoot you.

“what’re you here for,” you squint, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the floor at him like you’re waiting for an explanation he owes you. your ability to have so many personalities is truly astounding, ran thinks, you’re almost completely different from the sniffly and petrified woman he met just a week ago through the glass door—except you’re still kind of trembling from a distance away, a distance you seem keen on keeping.

“for dinner, of course,” he grunts like it’s obvious. “i had to cut our last date short, but i did say dinner was part of the deal. otherwise, i’ll just have to shoot you,” he says with a dramatic sigh. it almost makes your vein pop—of course, he picks the time convenient for him to snatch a dinner out of you, and of course, it has to be the night you decide to buy more pricey items from the grocery store to treat yourself for once. 

you’re almost certain that his bank account has more than enough funds, and even if it doesn’t, he really isn’t someone people would deny free services if they want to live—you can attest to that yourself, so you can’t imagine why he can’t just get dinner elsewhere. but still, you sigh before you let your shoulders slump and your arms drop to your sides. 

“it was not a date,” you firmly remind him, “but fine,” you grumble. “but the deal was dinner—and then you have to be out of my hair for good,” you warn. 

“of course,” he grins, winking at you. 

it’s not all too convincing, but you sigh and nod anyway. 

——

the rest of your apartment is just as small and cramped as your bathroom is, ran notes this almost instantly. it practically feels like the size of a storage closet in the bonten mansion, but he doesn’t tell you that. he might be a gangster, but he’s still got some manners in him. 

still, something about the little throw pillows you pile on the couch and the small glass figures you have on the tables makes him feel a bit more at home here than he ever has in the mansion. it’s small and cozy and it has what it needs, nothing more and nothing less. 

he likes it—thinks the couch might be a perfect spot for him to nap on occasionally. but just as the thought trespasses his mind, he shoves it back out with a frown on his face. he cannot be daydreaming about napping on your couch. 

“dinner almost ready?” he asks impatiently, head on his arms as he has them folded over your dining table. you chop vegetables and scowl, throwing him a dirty look as you scoff. 

“dinner doesn’t happen in ten minutes,” you roll your eyes. he mumbles something under his breath and you move back to chopping vegetables—and then you ask the question you’ve been waiting to ask. “what’s your name?” 

“what’s it to you,” he raises a brow. 

“i scrubbed your blood off my balcony floor, let you point a gun to my head multiple times, cleaned and stitched your injury for free, and now i’m letting you eat my dinner. you can either pay me the bills for your maintenance or you can tell me your name,” you snap, making his eyes twinkle with amusement as he gives you a lopsided smirk. it grates at your nerves, makes you want to grab him by his lilac hair like it’s the scruff of his neck and toss him off your balcony. 

but he hums before shrugging, “guess you’re right,” he admits. “haitani. haitani ran. you?”

“what’s it to you,” you mock his earlier statement, and he rolls his eyes in a way that can almost be described as fond. 

“i like to at least know the names of the people i shoot in the head,” he teases, and you contemplate if you’d be able to aim straight for his heart if you threw your knife at him right about now. but once again, that probably would end with a tarnished legal record, and you don’t really want to watch all your hard work wash down the drain for a man whose hair looks like he showed the Trolls movie poster as his reference photo. instead, you just huff and mutter out your name for him, which he repeats quietly as if testing the sound as it rolls off his tongue. 

“i’ve heard your name on the news,” you add, “you sure do have the cops running in circles for you, haitani ran.”

“‘s not like they’ll ever catch me,” he shrugs, “and if they get close, it’s not like they ever live long enough to get any closer.”

“that’s very reassuring to hear,” you say sarcastically, but either the sarcasm flies over his head, or he simply doesn’t care to acknowledge it. 

“no worries, i’m not getting caught any time soon,” he drums his fingers on the edge of your table, throwing you a cheshire grin as you toss the vegetables in the pan and stir. 

“very glad to hear that,” you scoff. 

“i’m sure,” he hums, chuckling lowly, “more dinners i can keep you company during.” 

you throw him a warning glance, making him turn away with a grin as he whistles. it gives you deja vu to the night in your bathroom, which almost instantly springs on a headache. in fact, you think ran might as well be a living, breathing, walking headache. 

“the deal was that you’d spare me and leave me alone if i cleaned your wound and fed you dinner. you never said anything about this being a regular thing.”

“well, that’s why you gotta read the fine print, they always got catches in them,” he retorts, and now you’re really considering throwing your knife at him. at this point, you don’t even care if it lands at his heart—as long as it lands somewhere. 

“there’s no fine print in a verbal agreement, asshole,” you spit. 

“i whispered it,” he winks, “it’s basically the same thing.” 

you’re starting to see why the police want to lock haitani ran behind bars so much, this man can’t possibly be allowed to wander freely amongst others—he’s horrendously bad for physical and mental wellbeings. 

———————————————

ran likes your cooking. it’s hearty and homely and tastes like something you’d make on a budget—but it’s still good and that’s why he likes it. 

it doesn’t taste like the expensive stuff he always eats, he doesn’t eat simple dishes too often—in fact, he can’t remember the last time he even had something simple to eat at all. it must’ve been back when he was younger, when he and rindou lived off of cup ramen and other snacks all the time, when they reveled in being able to eat all the junk food in the world without being told no. but even then, ran never got to eat a real home-cooked meal very often, and your cooking satiates a certain type of starvation he still suffers even after living such a lavish lifestyle. 

so he returns every once in a while, joins you for dinner as he sits at your tiny dining table and watches you cook, lets you complain about your boss and your patients and your classes as you add spices and stir the pot. he laughs, makes a joke or two, which then, of course, makes you laugh too, and he thinks he can get used to this. 

eventually, he starts leaving cash on the counter before he leaves to make up for all the extra grocery shopping you’re now doing to feed two mouths instead of one. he quietly leaves it there before you can say anything, and after a few back and forth arguments, you finally just let it be. if he could, he’d fund for you to move to a nicer apartment, something bigger, somewhere safer and a shorter distance from your work, somewhere where the balcony of your room isn’t just good for reading, but for some fresh air and a nice view of the city. but he knows you’ll never let him, and he doesn’t dare offer.

a short while after that, he even starts helping around the kitchen—which mostly only means he washes dishes and taste tests for anything the food might need because he’s not much skilled in doing anything else. but it’s nice, you form your own rhythm together, and it almost feels like he’s a well-knit piece to your carefully woven life. 

and he doesn’t threaten to shoot you anymore—even if he never really meant to in the first place. he ends up changing phones often, being in a criminal organization means he has to use burners left and right, but he always sends you a text every night he leaves and signs it with a water gun emoji. 

the first time he signs off with it, you tease him. great emoji for a gangster, you send, and you giggle when you all but imagine the scoff you know he must’ve let out. not my fault there’s no real gun emoji, he sends you back. it becomes a nice added bonus you look forward to with each visit. 

that, and getting away with making him do your dirty work. 

“ran, make yourself useful and help me carry these,” you point to a pile of books by your door. he raises a brow, staring at them like they’re too suspicious for him to touch. 

“what'dya need that many books for?”

“to study,” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “they just got delivered and they’re heavy. and seeing as you had no trouble climbing my balcony with a stabbed arm, you’re strong enough to lift these,” you point at the pile. he rolls his eyes and scoffs, but still, he reaches and easily lifts the pile that would take you maybe three trips on your own. 

“already got me being your little maid, huh?” he mutters, “washing dishes, carrying things around, what’s next? you gonna make me do your plumbing too?”

“can you do plumbing?” you giggle, “because then—”

“not happening,” he snorts, “nice try though, princess.” he sets the books down by the desk in your room, turning to flick the tip of your nose gently. it makes you crinkle it slightly before swatting his hand away. he thinks you look cute like that, nose crinkled and a soft grin tugged at your lips—blissfully unaware of how good you look. “you really need all these books to study? why can’t they just teach you the shit in class instead of makin’ you buy all this.”

“it’s additional aid that’s optional,” you inform him, like it’s common knowledge. but then again, you don’t think haitani ran is the type of guy who spent most of his time in school, let alone worrying about higher education. “but that almost always means it’s gonna be on the exams, so then it’s not really optional anymore,” you grumble. “college is a scam.”

“that’s why i just steal,” ran grins, “didn’t need college to pay my bills.”

“so then how do you have that cash you insist on leaving me for the groceries?”

“i steal that too, princess,” he snorts, “unless we get it from shit we sell—usually that’s stolen too.”

“i’ll stick to college then,” you mumble.

“probably for the best,” ran nods, almost a little too seriously. you raise a brow, and it makes a smile tug at his lips before he finally lets out the chuckle he’s been trying to fight back. “you would probably start cryin’ and turn yourself in after the first day.”

“would not,” you scoff, “i’m not stupid.”

“right,” he grins. “well, i’ll be on my way if that’s all the maid work ya need me to do for today. i’ll swing by tomorrow and—”

“oh, i won’t be home tomorrow,” you hum as you straighten out papers on your desk. he tilts his head, furrowing his brows a bit in confusion—and slight disgruntlement. 

in all honesty, he shouldn't be this irritated that you have your own plans and your own life, you really only see ran once a week—sometimes less than that if he’s exceptionally busy, or you’re loaded with work and school. but he can’t deny that there’s just a small bit of him that’s irked that your free time isn’t only reserved for him, even though he knows it’s highly irrational. 

“and why not?” he asks, trying to mask the unimpressed tone his voice desperately wants to lace with his words. 

‘because i—” you spin, to face him, grinning widely, “—have a date. and he’s cute. and,” you drawl with a sing-song voice, “he’s smart.”

“smart,” ran repeats. the word tastes acrid on his tongue. it fuels something in him that doesn’t come out too often, a part of him that’s hungry for something worse than a petty fight. something purely dangerous and purely violent—something ugly that only shows up when he’s in charge of taking down a traitor, or rindou’s been messed with, or he’s been disrespected by a subordinate. 

“yeah,” you nod, and you giggle—like he’s your friend and you’re telling him about some schoolgirl crush on the playground. he clenches his fist. “he’s really smart,” you say excitedly, “it’s really hot.”

“right,” he spits. “well, you have fun with that. i’ll see you…” he hesitates for a moment, trailing off before he ultimately doesn’t even care anymore, “i’ll see you when i see you.”

“what does that mean—”

the door to your room is closed shut, and a moment later, so is the front door. you stare at the spot he stood at just a moment ago in confusion, sitting in silence for a few moments before shrugging and turning to your textbooks. 

it’s alarmingly difficult to focus when you don’t get a text signed with a water gun tonight. 

———————————————

smart. 

the sound of your voice repeating that one word replays on his mind on loop—and he’s sick of this track, has been since he first heard it.

haitani ran is a lot of things, but he supposes smart isn’t one of them—which isn’t to say he’s stupid, he’s just not an academic guy like your supposed date. it makes his fists clench because he basically (sort of) has a domestic little life with you, and some asshole with a perfect gpa is pulling giggles out of you without even trying. ran would love to see the look on this guy’s face when he finds out that you and ran cook together—even if you do most of the cooking and all he really does is wash dishes. and he especially wants to see the look on the guy’s face at the fact that you make his favorite for dinner every time he visits. 

and at this point, rindou thinks everyone in bonten can tell something’s eating away at his brother, it’s crystal clear. it’s extra evident today because rindou is almost never the voice of reason, it’s always ran.

except right now—right now, haitani rindou is the voice of reason, and it’s alarmingly out of the ordinary. 

“bro, i think the guy’s had enough—”

“shut up, rindou,” ran grits, his baton slamming away at the very disfigured face under him. blood paints the concrete in splatters, and at this rate, rindou thinks the man’s face and the sidewalk might just become one with how violently his brother is thrashing away at the man’s head. 

“dude,” rindou tugs once at ran’s shoulder, and almost too easily, he’s able to pry him away. ran should never be this easy to pry away from an opponent. he casts a slightly concerned glance at the older of the two before he pulls ran to his feet and raises a brow. “the fuck’s gotten into you?”

“what do you mean? i’m fine,” ran grunts, spitting a mixture of blood and spit on the ground, rubbing away at the spot on his jaw where he’d been punched. it’s unlike him to start fights through hostility, ran has a charm to him that rarely lets things escalate unless they were meant to be escalated from the start. he sweet talks his way through any and everything, doesn’t involve himself until he absolutely has to—he never instigates a fight that lands him getting the first punch. 

“yeah, sure,” rindou scoffs, “fuck you. tell me or i’ll wrestle it out of you,” he threatens. 

“you won’t beat me,” ran raises a brow. in a way only a younger sibling can get away with, rindou flashes his brother the brattiest grin he can manage—which is rather bratty for a grown man in the largest criminal organization in the country.

“yeah i would,” rindou snickers, “you’d never hit me back. now what’s up your ass, bro?”

on any other day, ran would throw a (very soft) punch to his brother’s shoulder to prove rindou wrong, but he doesn’t care to at the moment—which only concerns rindou more. sighing, ran runs a bloodied hand through his hair. the sting of his knuckles reminds him of you, how you’d scoff as he holds them up at you, how you’d make some snide comment about your apartment not being a clinic and your services not being free, how even despite that, you’d carefully cradle his hand close to you as you’d clean the dried blood and disinfect the busted skin, how you’d stick your tongue out in concentration while ran would smile at the sight. 

and for a moment, it really hits him how much you have someone like him softened up for you—and that might be dangerous, but he thinks the even more dangerous part is that he doesn’t find it in him to care. 

he wants you, and whatever means he has to go through, ran thinks he’ll do it to have you. but he doesn’t think there’s anything he can really do, no matter if he uses his gun or baton or fists, if you don’t want him back. 

“is this to do with that girl?” rindou asks bluntly. throwing his brother a dirty look, ran scoffs as he shakes his head. 

“no, it’s nothing to do with that girl,” he grunts, “and she has a name.”

rindou snorts, looking his brother in the eye with amusement on his face that makes ran scowl. “yeah right,” he rolls his eyes, “that’s about as likely as this guy’s nose not being broken,” he deadpans, gesturing at the unconscious figure laying on the ground a few inches away. 

“man, fuck you,” ran clicks his teeth, letting out an irritated huff before looking off to the side. it’s quiet for a moment before he finally grunts lowly. “fine. she’s got a date,” he mutters, barely audible. 

rindou must hear it though because he offers a slow, sympathetic nod as he takes in the words. 

“damn, sounds like it sucks.” ran almost wants to scoff at the words. you think? he wants to spit, but he doesn’t have the energy to start an argument. “you should probably…i don’t know, maybe just tell her how you feel?” rindou raises a brow. he’s judging ran a little bit, he can feel it.

now ran really does want to start an argument because who does rindou think he is, acting like this is as easy as he thinks? 

if it were that easy for ran to admit he cares, he wouldn’t let you walk alone from work to your apartment at night on this side of town just because it saves you a bit of money. if it were easy, he wouldn’t let your boss take advantage of you to work hours you don’t want to work when he could easily drop in a little threat. if it were easy, he wouldn’t let you go on a date with a smart-ass know-it-all who probably lives off trust funds and his parent’s money on a joint bank account—even if ran is a wanted criminal and isn’t much of a better option. 

but it’s not easy. and he doesn’t quite know how to tell you no one can touch you as long as he’s around, that as far as he’s concerned, no one can give you what he can as long as he’s around either—and he should be the only one that can actually stick around. 

“shit’s not that simple,” ran spits. and once again, rindou is alarmingly the voice of reason—twice now.

“could be,” he shrugs, “if you just grew a pair.” 

the man on the ground groans slightly, and ran swiftly gives his crotch a kick before walking off. 

———————————————

the date was boring. you don’t talk to the guy again.

but more importantly, ran hasn’t shown up in about three weeks. that’s twenty-one days. five hundred and four hours. a number of minutes you don’t feel like calculating—but you know the number is high, and you’re mad. 

you’re mad the first week because you brought a bunch of groceries to try a new recipe. it was good, and you think ran would really like it. you think he must be busy with whatever work a criminal does, so after waiting a while and realizing he’s not showing, you pack it up nice and tight in a little container, write his name on a sticky note, and after much contemplation, you add a small heart next to his name with a smiley face in the center. he doesn’t show, and eventually, you eat his portion for dinner before it goes bad. 

you’re mad the second week because you’ve got loads to tell him, and he’s not here to fucking listen. your boss has been promoted, which means you have a new boss, and this one is finally a reasonable one. you’ve also found out your final replaces your lowest exam score for one of your classes, and you’re thinking about saving up to buy your professor a cruise ticket for his kindness. and now that your semester is almost over, you’ll finally have a little more free time. ran needs to hear all this, and you’re increasingly irritated he’s not here to poke fun at your “mundane” joys as he grins against his glass before taking a sip. 

by the third week, you’re mad because you’re hurt. it’s apparent by now that haitani ran, the asshole who broke into your apartment and threatened to shoot you in the head, who not only got free medical services off of you but also free dinner a number of times, who made himself a part of your life against your will by incessantly tapping away at the glass of your balcony door no matter how long you try to ignore him, is avoiding you. he’s avoiding you, and it’s starting to leave an ache in your chest he never should have the opportunity to leave. and now you’re mad because not only has he hurt your feelings, but also because you’re foolish and naive and all the things he called you before for falling in love with someone like him. 

so you curse his name, wipe your tears—you refuse to admit you cried over him, so you tell yourself it’s just stress from work and school—and you sit down at your desk to do some studying. you are defining your future, even if it’s one overpriced textbook and one underpaid work shift at a time. 

but then there’s a tap at your balcony door and you almost contemplate calling the cops. but like clockwork, before you can even realize it, your feet are padding against the floor as you walk to open the door. 

“stupid fucking haitani ran,” you mutter, “doesn’t he know i’m fucking studying? and i fucking hate him?”

he has the audacity to scowl at you through the glass when you pull the curtain of your door—if you stood a chance against him, you’d have killed him by now. 

“well that only took forever,” he grunts, “hurry the fuck up, it’s cold out here.”

“you can freeze then,” you spit, crossing your arms. “because this door is staying closed,” you say firmly.

“then i’ll fuckin’ shoot the doorknob in and let myself inside, you choose,” he glares at you, and because he’s an asshole—because he always has been an asshole, he pulls out his gun. “then i won’t be so nice when i come in,” he offers you a faux grin. 

“then do it,” you raise a brow. 

for a second, he’s shocked. he didn’t think you’d actually challenge him—and you’d win this challenge of course, but still, he didn’t think you’d actually do it. 

“open this fuckin’ door, princess,” he squints his eyes at you. 

“where have you been, haitani ran?” you don’t back down. your hands are on your hips, your brows are furrowed and your lips are curled into a frown, and you’re calling him by his full name like you mean business—and it all means you’re mad at him, and he should apologize. 

but all he can really feel is a tad bit excited because that must mean you missed him. like his absence meant something to you like it meant something to him. 

he grins, you scowl deeper, and he grins a bit wider at that. 

“oh is that it?” he grins, “did you miss me, princess? is that why you’re mad? you defini—”

the door opens all too quickly, and you’re coming forward with a finger prodding at his chest accusingly as you glare at him—face to face this time with no glass separating you. 

“listen here, you asshole—”

you’re cut off by a kiss. haitani ran has the audacity to wrap his stupidly muscled arms around you, pull you flush against his stupidly firm chest, and press his stupidly soft lips to yours. and what’s worse? you let him. you let your eyes close, hands fist his shirt, and mouth mold against his. 

he kisses rough, but still like you’re fragile. he bites and sucks on your bottom lip and drinks the oxygen from your lungs, but he cups the back of your head and rubs the small of your back. he groans against your mouth and lets his tongue explore you with heated passion, but he lets out a soft sigh every time your fingers smooth through his hair. he’s everything you want—painfully so, and you hate it. 

so you kiss him deeper to forget. 

“i’m listenin’, princess,” he chuckles lowly against your mouth, nose bumping against yours as he looks you in the eyes. if you weren’t sure your eyes were just as hazy as his, you’d be proud of yourself for the way his pupils are so unfocused. “but i think you’re a bit distracted,” he grins smugly. 

he’s an asshole—has been since you met him. you don’t think that’s ever going to change at this point. 

“fuck you,” you spit. 

“you wanna?” he grins, “won’t say no,” he says as he pecks along your jaw, pressing hot, searing kisses to your neck before he nips gently at the skin, sucking into it until a small mark starts to form that makes you let out a quiet gasp. “won’t say no to you—ever,” he grunts. 

“where have you been?” you repeat, fisting his shirt tightly as he moves onto the other side of your neck. 

“you enjoy your little date?” he pulls away and looks you in the eye again, and you almost whine at the loss of his lips from your skin. instead, you notice the way he masks his hurt with a teasing grin. “did he help you study while you waited for the food?”

“he was boring,” you admit, cupping his cheek. ran presses closer against your palm, watches you carefully while it’s your turn to press gentle kisses along his jaw, how you take your time kissing the corners of his mouth before you press one soft, lingering kiss over his swollen lips. his breath hitches at that. “i don’t think he even owns a gun,” you smile, “how boring.” 

he grins at that, lets out a soft chuckle before his smile widens and the chuckle turns into a boyish little laugh, coming right from his chest that you feel vibrate against your own. 

“yeah?” he teases, “not as innocent as you seem,” he reaches behind him to close the door shut before he has you pushed onto your mattress, hovering over you with a smirk on his face. he pulls out his gun—you’ve seen it so many times before, but this time there’s no dread. it just makes you fill with excitement, excitement that pools as slick between your legs. “this thing here makes me interesting, huh?” he dangles the gun over your face. 

you nod, gasping when he chuckles and loops a finger under the waistband of your pajamas. 

“hips up, princess,” he hums, pulling the fabric down your legs as soon as you do, grinning at the way you're so wet already, making him chuckle before he presses the barrel of his gun to your head. “bet this excites you, huh?” one hand holds the gun to your temple, the other travels down to your clit, his thumb teasingly rubbing slow circles against it and making you whimper. 

you’re dripping, he can see trails of your slick glistening against the insides of your thigh, and he can feel his cock twitch at the sight alone. slowly, his fingers tease against your entrance, making you whine before your hips buck to get more of him. 

“ran, ran please,” you gasp, staring up at him with a pout on your face and his gun to your head. and you look fucking perfect. 

he groans, slips his fingers into your tight walls, and watches as your face goes slack with pleasure at the intrusion. he curls his fingers into you, letting his palm glide against your clit before angling to find your spot. you gasp before letting out a breathy whine, trying to match his rhythm with your hips before he presses the barrel of his gun harder against your skull as he stops his fingers. you whimper at the loss of movement. 

“no moving,” he growls, “you’ll take what i give, ‘kay princess?” you nod, staring up at him with wide eyes as he bullies his digits into your cunt, try your best not to move and just take it while his gun is right there against the side of your head. you close your eyes, moaning when he slams his fingers against your sweet spot, feeling the slow drag of his palm over your sensitive clit. 

he fingers you slowly, takes his sweet time and watches you writhe under him as you fight your body to keep from moving. you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt this good, the last time something has excited you this much and left you breathless from just the thought alone. you mewl when he slams against your spot over and over, and ran listens like each whine from your mouth is the note to a song you wrote just for him. you serenade and he listens, that smug grin on his face that you want to kiss off. 

“feels…oh god, feels good, ran,” you encourage, making him chuckle quietly as he rolls his thumb over your clit. you’re practically sucking his fingers in on your own, walls tight as they flutter around his digits—he can only imagine how you’d feel around his cock. but he wants to take his time with you, get to know you in and out like he has for weeks now. 

he likes the sound of your voice when you ramble over dinner, and he likes the sound of your voice when you moan on his fingers, and he thinks he’ll like the sound of your voice as you wake him up in the mornings. 

“don’t cum yet, baby,” he warns—because that’s just how ran is. he’s that sweetness you mask drugs with until you wake up with the barrel of the gun pressed to your skull, that soft glimmer in the grass of what you think is something shiny, but turns out to be the scales of a serpent waiting to sink its fangs into your skin. “you’re not cummin’ till i say so,” he hums, “gonna make sure i wipe that date from your memory.”

“p-please, ‘m gonna…’m so close—no,” you shriek, latching onto his wrist with your hands as he stills his fingers. he laughs at the way your lips wobble and your eyes tear up—and he grins all cocky at the way your walls flutter around his fingers while they’re stilled inside you. “please, ran,” you sniffle. 

“please what?” he asks like he doesn’t know. “use your words, princess.”

“please, wanna cum,” you whine, “keep going,” you roll your hips for added emphasis, and he presses his gun a little harder against your head as another warning. 

“anyone ever touch you like this?” he asks, pulling his fingers out and making you sob quietly at the loss of his fingers keeping you full. he teases over your clit, making you pant harshly as your thighs quiver. more, you need more—and he knows it too, gives you just enough that it’s not enough at all. “anyone ever make you feel like this? or get you this wet?”

“no, just you,” you insist, “no one else.”

“good,” he nods approvingly, and then his fingers slip into you once more, fucking into you hard and fast, making you throw your head back as you mewl. he tosses his gun to the side, creeps his hand up your shirt—he’s pleasantly surprised to find you’re not wearing a bra, so he squeezes and pinches at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers and watching as you squeal. 

your hips are bucking against his hand now, the wet sound of his fingers bullying in and out of your pussy filling the room before he rubs harshly at your clit again. and then you cum, hard. your back arches, and you let out a quiet sob of his name that makes his cock ache in his pants as he watches your face break with your orgasm. he leans down and kisses you, lets you whine against his mouth. he drinks in your moans like he’s thirsty, like you’re the first drop of rain after a cruel drought. 

“oh—f-fuck, ran,” you cry, spasming around his fingers before your hips fall back onto the mattress and your chest heaves with labored pants. you peer up at him as you come down from your high, and he looks down at you and meets your gaze. 

he’s quick to pull his shirt over his head, letting you take in his tattoos through hazy eyes, watching slowly as your fingers lifts to trail over the lines and dips as you map his body. he shivers a little when you trace down the middle where the pattern is cut off. 

“my brother has the other half,” he tells you quietly. you stare up at him in awe—it aches a little in his chest. 

“it’s perfect,” you hum, “you have a whole side to dedicate to me now,” you grin cheekily, pulling a warm chuckle out of him before he leans in to kiss you again. and again and again. his lips press onto yours as soon as you pull away. 

“would that make you happy?” he grins, “having your face on my chest?”

“not my face,” you scrunch your face in distaste. he grins, kisses the tip of your nose. “that’s just weird. but you should definitely get my name. big bold letters,” you wink. 

“big bold letters, huh? i’ll keep that in mind,” he muses. you giggle, and he kisses you again, humming against your mouth as you wrap your fingers around his hair and tug gently. 

you let a hand travel between your bodies, slipping past his pants to grab his cock. ran groans against your mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you smear the pre cum weeping from his tip along his length, wrapping your hand around him and stroking him a few times. he moans lowly, helping you slip his pants down his hips to fully expose his cock. 

“fuck, princess,” he pants, rutting his hips into your fist, grunting when you squeeze the tip with each upstroke of your hand. he’s thick, heavy in your hand aching for the friction. you watch his jaw clench as you pump him slowly, watch as his forehead presses against yours and strands of his purple hair fall over his face to curtain his features. he looks pretty, like he’s yours, like he climbs through your balcony and comes home to you and your arms. 

“next time i go on a date,” you mumble. he stiffens before cursing under his breath when you glide your thumb through his slit, “i wanna go with you.” 

he moans softly, pants into your neck as his face falls to the crevice by your shoulder, muffles his sounds against your skin as you drag your palm along his pulsing cock, rolling over his tip before stroking down again. his hips are bucking to chase the friction of your hand, the squelching noise of your hand pumping him and his choked grunts filling the room. 

“princess,” he groans, a hand coming on top of yours and gently forcing you to stop. you furrow your brows, but he pulls you back in for a brief kiss as he collects himself. “didn’t wanna cum yet,” he mumbles against your mouth, pressing a quick peck to the corner of your lips, “that’s for later—when i’m fillin’ you up so you know who you belong to.”

your breath hitches, and he grins when you whine his name, letting his hands squeeze your hips before he pulls your shirt over your arms and slips it off of you. he leans down, tongue rolling over your nipple, hand coming to cup your other tit and roll a thumb over the pebbled nipple so it’s not neglected. you gasp, throwing your head back as you moan, the dull ache between your legs returning as your clit throbs. he kisses between the valley of your breasts before taking the other nipple in his mouth, switching places with his hand and repeating his earlier actions until you’re tugging at his hair with a plea. 

“ran, ran please—please, i need you,” you beg, making him let out a breathy chuckle in amusement. 

“yeah? need me to fuck this pussy, baby? need me to make you cum?”

“please,” you whimper, lips pulling into another pout. ran learns two things—you like being spoiled, and he likes spoiling you rotten. because with just a simple pout and a bat of your lashes, he’s groaning before he strokes his cock a few times, lining up with your entrance.

your hips are greedy, raising up to get more of him, but he grunts and pushes you back with a warning glance, making you pout again. you both gasp with a shudder when he teases his fat tip along the slick folds of your cunt, dragging it along slowly before pushing into inch by inch. you mewl, arms flying to wrap around his neck and cling to him while he lets out a deep groan, panting at the way your walls constrict around him and all but suck him in. 

“fuck, baby. so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, “feel so good, pretty girl.” 

“think i’m pretty?” you still have it in you to throw him a teasing remark even as he’s bottomed out, which only makes him want you more, only makes him want to come home to you every night instead of once a week—sometimes less than that.

“think you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says instantly, “next man who tries asking you out’ll get shot in the head. swear it.”

“don’t worry,” you kiss the side of his head. he melts at the gesture, head tucking into your neck again. “only you.”

with that, he snaps his hips, pulling a soft moan from you and a choked groan from him before you’re both rolling your hips against each other. your hips snap against his, the sound of his cock slipping in and out of your wet heat and your skin slapping ringing through your ears as ran ran pants into your skin. the sound of his breathy moans makes your walls flutter around him, clit throbbing until his thumb catches it to rub slow circles. 

“g-god—ran, like that,” you squeal, making him grin against your neck, thrusting his hips sharply and kissing the head of his cock with your sweet spot. it makes you dig your nails into his shoulder blades, makes him hiss with pleasure at the slight mix of pain. 

“like that? that feels good, princess? my cock makes you feel that good? you’re fuckin’ dripping, you know,” he smirks, and if you weren’t so lost of the drag of his thick veins along your walls, you’d have been embarrassed by his words. 

“yes, yes,” you mewl, “make me feel good—so good!”

“yeah, i bet i do,” he chuckles, “pussy’s squeezin’ me in,” he teases, “i don’t even have to do anything.” he angles his hips to slam into your spot again, making your legs wrap tightly around his waist as your thighs quiver. his thumb rubs harshly against your clit and you feel tears slip past your cheeks as you tug at the roots of his hair. “fuck—you feel so good, princess. so t-tight, not gonna last long,” he pants. 

“c-close,” you cry. ran fucks you like he hasn’t committed crimes and doesn't have sins that taint his name. he fucks you like you’re an angel—like he deserves an angel, like he’s got one foot over the gates of heaven and there’s nothing to tug him back to hell. he pulls your body close and cradles it to his chest like the weight of you in his arms outweighs the weight of his crimes, like the sins of every person he’s hurt are undone with the slam of his hips into your heat. 

he fucks you like he’s loved you in this life and the last—like you’re gifted to him in this life and he promises to find you in the next. 

most of all, ran fucks you like he owes you for the healed scar on his arm, like he owes you for the warm home-cooked meals and the sweet laughs behind the rim of a cheap glass. like he owes you for the silly texts at three am and empty threats of not landing himself in jail in disguise for your worried concerns. like he owes you for the constant ache in his chest that’s replaced the vacant spot—because he loves the ache, and he loves you. 

so he groans into your skin, peels his face from the crook of your neck, and presses his lips to yours and he kisses you like he loves you. because he does. he loves you like he loves climbing through your balcony and invading your dinner plans. he loves you. 

“me too, baby,” he pants, voice lilting to a soft whine as you squeeze around his cock, pleasure burning through his spine in a slow build-up until it’s everywhere at once. “god, i love you, baby,” he rasps, the words spilling before he can even realize he’s said them. 

it’s not until you repeat them back that he realizes what he’s said. “love you too, love you too, ran. so much,” you sob. and with a few more harsh rubs of his thumb over your clit, you come undone with a loud sob, hips rising from the mattress and head tossing back against the plush of the pillow beneath you. “fuck—ran, oh god.”

“sh-shit, ‘m close,” he breathes, “g-gonna make me cum, princess.”

the fluttering of your walls as you ride out your high makes him reach his, letting out a choked grunt of your name against your mouth before he lets out a wanton moan. he cums hard, filling you up with thick ropes of his release, and you feel his cock twitch in you through each one. you whimper against him as he fucks you through his orgasm, letting him fill you up and paint your walls white before he pulls out with a shaky breath and collapses over your body. 

he blankets you with his weight, and you pull him closer like you’re tucking yourself in. it’s silent for a bit, comforting and sweet as you both linger in the bliss. 

“i’m still mad at you for avoiding me,” you whisper against his bare skin. he scoffs, wrapping his arms tighter around your figure. 

“and i’m still mad you went on a date with another man,” he grumbles. 

“so then stop being mad and take me on one yourself,” you say back with a huff.

“if you go on a date with me, it means you gotta let me start walkin’ you home after work,” he warns. you smile to yourself, elated. 

“deal.”

“and you gotta let me threaten that shitty boss of yours.”

“can’t. i got a new one,” you hum, stroking through his sweaty locks and scratching at his scalp, “this one’s nice. you’d know if you didn’t stop coming to visit.”

“i don’t wanna come to just visit,” he grunts. “you gonna give me keys to your door?”

“you’ll come every night?” you raise a brow, and he nods against your chest, pressing a soft kiss to the skin near his lips. you smile into ran’s hair, his weight in your arms and his heart in your hand. “okay, deal.”

he should leave you on the side of the road. he should threaten you with your life. he should make you live with everlasting paranoia. he should ruin you.

but he can’t.

he can’t bring himself to no matter what. so he sits, ignoring you and letting his knuckles turn white from the tightness of his clenched fist.

“hanma shu—”

“don’t use that name,” he cuts you off, at the sound of his surname, “if you use that name, you can walk home.” you blink, staring at him for a moment in confusion before finally sighing, face burying into your hands with a groan.

hanma knows he isn’t normal—not that it isn’t obvious, anyone who knows him from one meeting knows he lives a life that’s anything but normal. but hanma doesn’t have things he cares about. not a family, not a friend, not a dream, and certainly not a lover. hanma shuji has himself, and that’s it. and for the longest time, that was okay. that was how it was supposed to be. that was how it was always meant to be.

but you come along, and you wipe the blood off his face with warm towels that feel nice, and you put colorful straws in healthy smoothies you insist he drinks, and you scold him about eating better and having vegetables, and you don’t let him out the door without a soft kiss to his lips and a gentle pinch of his cheek, and you never let him fall asleep without hearing the words “goodnight, shuji.”

he doesn’t need petty things like that, but you make him crave them. and wanting something has always been easy for him, he can always just take. but he can’t take your affection—he has to earn it, and he doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever earned anything fair and square.

so he watches you smile at people at his meeting, give them a soft look and laugh at their jokes and have a good time, and he sees red. he’s never letting you convince him to let you come along, and he’s never letting another person that ever looks at you with heart eyes live to see the sunrise one more day.

“shuji, why are you being like this?” you whisper. your voice is quivering, and he knows he’ll be met with wet eyes if he looks, so he simply settles on not doing so.

“being like what? myself?” he grunts, “better get used to it, i’m not some stray cat you’re taming.”

“you’re not ever like this with me,” you sniffle.

“i’m like this with everyone, sweetheart,” he smiles condescendingly, and he finally turns to face you. and just like he knows, there’s a small streak on your cheek of a single tear that makes his heart ache in his chest—a feeling so unfamiliar, he fights the urge to flinch. “don’t think you’re special just because i share a bed with you on some nights.”

“shuji, what’s gotten into you? you were fine before the night started—”

“and i’m fucking fine now too,” he spits, “quit acting like you know shit.”

and by now, you should be sick of him. you should realize who you’re really dealing with, who you should’ve stayed away from since day one. he stares at you with taunting eyes, waiting for you to open the door and leave, to say something about never seeing each other again and stomping off, but you don’t.

instead, you reach forward and cup his cheek—he can’t tell if you’re just brave, or dumb, or if you really know him that well. maybe it’s a mixture of all three.

“baby, what happened?” you ask gently.

and that’s all it takes, really.

hanma’s lips are hungry, they press against yours like you’re the last breath he’ll ever get to inhale, and when his hands cup your cheeks, holding your face like you’ll disappear, you think you know what the problem is. he doesn’t let you pull away even as you try, lips finding yours in another wet kiss before you can get a word in, but you let him. you let him pour his emotions out in the only way he knows how—physically.

“shuji, stop,” you whisper, and in a way he only does with you, he obeys, stopping midway as he goes to connect your lips once more. “can we talk like civilized people now?”

“civilized is a stupid word to use with me,” he mumbles. you can’t help but giggle, and for the first time in a while tonight, he smirks just a little.

“okay, true,” you snort, “can we talk like people now?”

“you can talk, babe,” he shrugs, pulling away leaning against his seat, crossing his arms, “but don’t get mad if i don’t—”

“shuji,” you warn.

“fine,” he grunts, shoulders slumping. “we can talk.”

“so then talk.”

“i’m not the one who wants to talk. you fucking talk.”

“no, you talk, and i’ll listen,” you insist, and his hand is itching to switch the gear to drive and press on the gas pedal, just to scare you into being quiet—but he doesn’t particularly like sleeping on the couch. it makes his back sore and his neck stiff, and then he can’t snap as many necks as he likes.

so, with a roll of his eyes and clench of his jaw, he talks.

“if you like smiling at every man you lay eyes on, you should go to a bar or something,” he growls, glaring at you with narrowed eyes. and from the unimpressed look on your face, he almost thinks maybe you won’t be so generous as to give him the couch—he might just have to get comfortable in the car for the night.

“you threw this whole tantrum because you were jealous?”

“i’m not fucking jealous—don’t use that word on me. that shit’s not for me.”

“shuji,” you sigh, exasperated as you pinch your nose. “can you please cooperate here? it’s late, and this outfit is uncomfortable, and i want to go to bed.”

“quit smiling at every man you see, and we’re good,” he snaps.

hanma shuji isn’t jealous—he’s territorial. what’s his is his, and he thinks it’s downright disrespectful that you smile at people, flash them that pretty look in your eyes and wave your hand in that shy little way. it’s unacceptable that people stare at you in awe, that they stutter as they speak to you—all while he’s standing right there.

it makes him the one at loss, and he’s never the one at loss.

“you know,” you hum, reaching to cup his face, and he scowls at the smug look on your face, “you did say we were a temporary thing way back when we first—”

“that’s not the damn point—” he seethes, but you cut him off.

“baby,” you say softly. a little too softly because he’s melting now, and he hates that you make him do that. “you know i love you, right?”

“not this shit again,” he grunts. he stares at you with a raised brow and a sour expression, and you fight back the twitch of your lips

“but i do,” you nod, voice rising with a teasing tone, and your fingers reach to pinch his cheeks playfully. you pretend you don’t notice the way his lips twitch just a little at the edges. “i love you so much,” you insist.

“yeah? what if i tried to kill you? you’d love me then?” he questions, and you giggle, leaning to peck his cheek softly.

just as quickly as his mood ruins, it lifts, and he’s openly smiling now, eyes a little giddy at the attention he’s getting. you almost roll your eyes, but you don’t want to spark another mood from him.

“you wouldn’t kill me,” you hum, hand trailing to the back of his neck and playing with the hairs at his nape, “you love me. so much, you get jealous.”

“i was not fucking jealous—”

“you know i need you, right?” it’s a question that makes him still. he’s never been needed before. he’s always been feared, or hated, or even used. but you need him, like he’s a necessity, like he’s something you can’t go on without.

“say that again,” he demands, pressing his forehead to yours and gently squeezing your cheeks together. you roll your eyes, but you lean into his touch, and he thinks maybe he was overreacting just a little.

“i need you, shuji,” you say through a muffled voice. he releases your cheeks, a satisfied grin on his face as he pulls away.

“and don’t you forget it, baby,” he grins.

maybe he’s a tad bit insufferable, and maybe he’s a questionable choice, and maybe he’s completely insane in the head, but hanma shuji makes you feel alive—even if he almost kills you with his crazy habit of speeding a lot of the time.

“and you need me too, or you won’t get enough vitamins—”

he cuts you off with another heated kiss, and this time, it’s you who tries to close the gap over and over and over again as he pulls away with a smirk.

“sure, baby,” he giggles, “i need you. but not as much as you need me.” it’s a lie, but it leaves him satisfied, so you leave him be.

and then hanma’s speeding home again, but it’s for completely different reasons this time.

12 hours until the sex ban

Hostess: In less than twelve hours our horny singles will be hit with a no-sex sucker punch. Thankfully, I don't have to break the news, as this luxury no-bone zone comes fully equipped with its own virtual guide - Lana! Its purpose is to lead the guests to making deeper and more meaningful connections without the physical aspect of it.

For the first twelve hours, Lana will be watching and analyzing our guests and will be secretly gathering personal data before laying down the sex ban.

Let's meet our oblivious singles and let the show begin.

You

Age: 23 years old Occupation: Fashion designer Last relationship: “Four months ago. He broke up with me because his job was more important than me and he just didn't have the time for me.” Her type: “I don't even know. Probably tall men with tattoos that look like gangsters.”

Haitani Ran

Age: 26 years old Occupation: “I’m rich and that's all that matters” Last relationship: “Can't even remember but my last hookup was like 10 minutes ago.” His type: “Big boobs.”

Haitani Rindou

Age: 25 years old Occupation: “My brother told me to say I’m rich and that's all that matters.” Last relationship: “Never had one. It was something that didn't interest me.” His type: “I like tall women. If they're taller than me, that's hot.”

Hanma Shuji

Age: 24 years old Occupation: Stripper Last relationship: “A couple of months ago. She cheated on me with one of my coworkers.” His type: “Love a big ass but I’ll fuck anyone who wants to fuck me.”

Sano Emma

Age: 22 years old Occupation: Influencer/Model Last relationship: “Never been in one! I guess I just haven't found the right one for me.” Her type: “I love tall men with tattoos! Absolutely my favorite. But as long as they're nice and sweet, I don't mind the appearance.”

Madarame Shion

Age: 25 years old Occupation: Tattoo artist and piercer Last relationship: “4 years ago. She dumped me because I pierced a girl’s pussy and she got super jealous.” His type: “ANYONE! I just love women so much. They're all so pretty and hot.”

Shiba Yuzuha

Age: 23 years old Occupation: “I’m my little brother's manager.” Last relationship: “Months ago with an ugly guy that cheated on me.” Her type: “I don't care about physical attributes but I really want someone who's sweet, caring and doesn't mind that sometimes I have to stay away for a couple of weeks because of work.”

Ryuguji Ken (Draken)

Age: 23 years old Occupation: Owns a bike shop Last relationship: “A couple of months ago with a girl that broke up with me because she fell in love with my coworker.” His type: “I usually go for blondes.”

Tachibana Hinata

Age: 22 years old Occupation: Influencer and a cosmetic brand owner Last relationship: “Oh God! It was months ago. He didn't like the attention my fame brought to him.” Her type: “Ah~ I like them skinny and scrawny. Just complete losers.”

Suzuki Mina

Age: 24 years old Occupation: Bartender Last relationship: “Never had one. I'm not the one to commit.” Her type: “Big, strong men who can manhandle me. I don't settle for less.”

Kokonoi Hajime

Age: 23 years old Occupation: Accountant Last relationship: "A long time ago." His type: "Don't have one"

In 23 years of your life, you never thought you would join a random reality show where you had to party and bond with hot people for a whole summer because your boyfriend dumped you. You didn't think much about it, simply joining the show to show your ex that you were just fine without him. You weren't. One night stands were now part of your life. A different person to fuck you every week with no strings attached. You just couldn't let yourself form meaningful connections with anyone after that relationship. People would leave no matter how much you care for them. So you didn't think twice before jumping on this opportunity. You get to spend the whole summer having casual hookups with no feelings involved and no time to think about how heartbroken you're feeling even though the breakup was four months ago. You wouldn't allow yourself to stop and think about it.

The presentations were a bit awkward, as expected. No one knew what to say, simply introducing themselves and mostly asking to be called by their first name. Emma and Hinata did most of the talking, trying to ease the tension on the way to the place everyone was going to stay at. Soon enough, the nerves went away and you felt like you had known them for more than a couple of minutes. The conversation was flowing, you already liked the girls and you couldn't deny that you wouldn't mind fucking every men here. Still, you promised yourself that you wouldn't do anything on TV… on the first night. You don't know how long it will take until you disappoint your mom but Hanma Shuji and Haitani Ran caught your attention right away. They're handsome and are just your type. Luckily you caught Hanma’s attention just as much while the older Haitani seemed more interested in Mina. You didn't mind, there was plenty of time to make your move on him and you were sure none of them came to this show to fall in love. It was still the first day after all and there was no need to rush.

The room was huge, full of big beds. If you counted correctly, there was one for each but you wouldn't mind sharing one with someone. It was obvious that eventually more people would join to stir up the drama. That's what the viewers want.

You sit on one of the comfy beds, your back against the headboard. You look around the room and your eyes stop on a weird lava lamp that you were sure you have seen around the villa but paid no mind. It was probably some decoration item. Hinata, Yuzuha, Kokonoi and Hanma sat in beds close to you, the rest of the people nowhere to be seen.

“Anyone you wanna share a bed with?” Hinata asks, looking around the room , murmuring numbers as she counts the beds.

Kokonoi is the first to deny, saying he will fight anyone who tries to get in bed with him. Yuzuha says she doesn't mind sharing with one of the girls if needed since none of the guys caught her attention. Hinata happily calls dibs on Yuzuha if new people ever join and you need to share beds.

“I wouldn't mind sharing with Y/N.” Hanma Shuji, that sneaky bastard, says, eyeing you from the bed next to yours.

You move a bit to the side and pat the place next to you. Hanma almost jumps into the bed, eager to be next to you. He’s closer to you than needed, your shoulders touching. He smells like a deep earthy musk, a faint smell of cigarettes mixed with it. It's good, it's intoxicating, and you can't help but move closer until the point where your senses are overfilled with his smell. The others become background noise while you're looking at the man sitting beside you. His hand tattoos caught your attention, making you grab one of his hands to look at it better. Your finger traces the kanji tattooed on his left hand and Hanma simply watches you, entranced by your actions.

“Sin and…” you grab the other hand. “...punishment?”

“Yeah. Pretty cool, right?”

You look at him, getting your face a little closer to his to whisper “Yeah, it's hot.”.

“Trying to make me pop a boner when we just met?”

“Is it working?”

Hanma doesn't reply and simply grabs a pillow to put on his lap. You don't know if you're glad or not that other people are in the room, preventing you from jumping on top of this man and devouring him. Perhaps you could forget about that rule you set to yourself about not sleeping with anyone on the first night.

Your lewd thoughts about the man next to you are interrupted when Shion enters the room to announce you're having a welcome party. You get up and wait for Hanma by the bed, watching everyone excitedly leaving the room. Before you can walk out of the door, a big hand grabs your wrist making you turn around. Your mind froze when you feel Hanma kissing you. It's surprisingly soft and slow and it doesn't take long for you to close your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. Unfortunately, the kiss didn't last long and you try to chase his lips as soon as he moves away. He smirks, amused by your neediness and pulls you to meet the others.

Shion is doing some weird dance moves when you get outside and you can see Emma already talking to Draken in a corner. Hinata and Yuzuha are dancing together. Well, Hinata is dancing and trying to make Yuzuha move by swinging her arms.

Ran is the one who suggests a game. One person has to be blindfolded and the others can touch, kiss, or whatever they feel like. The blindfolded person has to guess who touched them. There's no winner and certainly no rules. You excitedly grab the blindfold and Mina helps you tie it in the back of your head. You only hear laughs and then lips on yours. The already familiar scent gives away who it is and you make the most of it, not wanting him to pull away too soon again. His hand goes down to grab your ass, pulling you closer to him and the whistles in the background bring you back to earth and you pull away for air. You say Hanma's name and big hands help you take off the blindfold and fix your hair. His pretty face is staring at you and you can't help but pull him to another kiss.

People kept taking turns, some being more bold than others. When Ran’s turn arrived, Mina pulled you with her and signaled for a kiss. You did your best trying to have a threeway kiss. Ran’s hands are holding yours and Mina’s waist and he bites your lower lip before moving to bite Mina’s. You use your thumb to clean the drool on his lips and he guesses right. You don't even sit since it's Hanma’s turn and excitedly walk to him, you kiss his neck, biting it softly but not enough to give him a hickey. Your hand goes down his chest, feeling the muscle and stopping just where his shorts start. His hand cups your face to pull you for a kiss, his tongue promptly exploring your mouth. A ding in the background catches your attention and you move away from Hanma to look at your new friends. You both sit down and the hostess appears, her smile making you a bit uneasy.

“Hello everyone! How’s everyone doing tonight? Enjoying the party?” A chorus of yes is heard. “That's good! Tonight, we have a special guest.”

A big box is brought to the center. Everyone seems excited but you can't help but get the feeling that something wrong is going to happen. The lights go down and Hinata’s excited voice can be heard, asking who it might be. The suspense is killing you, your leg bouncing a bit. Smoke starts coming out of the box and then a platform goes up, revealing the weird lava lamp that is placed all over the villa. It lights up and another ding is heard.

“Hello. I’m Lana.” the device says. “Your personal, digital assistant. Welcome to the retreat.” You look at Hanma, a bit confused about the talking cone. He looks as confused as you. “You may be in paradise but the party is over.”

“What does that mean?!” Emma’s voice is heard from the other side of the couch.

“The purpose of this retreat is to help you gain deeper and more emotional connections.”

Your jaw drops. Suddenly, all the idiotic questions about your sex and dating life made sense. The way they tried to get every single bit of what happened with your break up masking it with curiosity.

“This is bullshit.” Hanma murmurs beside you.

“For the last twelve hours, I have been watching you and learning about your behavior. You have been selected as you are all having meaningless flings over genuine relationships.”

“That's a lie!” Hinata says.

“If it was a lie I don't think you would have been selected, hun.” Yuzuha replies.

“As part of your social development, I have allocated a price of ¥30,000,000.”

The gasp you let out is almost involuntary. It's a great prize but you feel like there's a but coming and you don't like what you have been hearing so far.

“Are they going to keep the two of us close in a closet until we develop a meaningful connection or something?” Rindou comments.

“However…”

“There it is.” you laugh.

“I will deduct money from the prize fund if there are breaches to the rules. There is no kissing, no heavy petting, no sex and no self-gratification.”

“Wait, wait, wait, what's that?” Shion asks, a genuine confused look on his face.

“You can't masturbate.”

You let your head fall on your hands, thinking about how stupid you could be that you got yourself into this type of reality show. Hanma sighs next to you, falling back on the couch and laughing, even though you can tell it's fake.

“Well. We’re fucked.”

Taglist: @crybabylisa @chaoticwh0re @minoozi @benkeibear @ranszn

“Ran.”

“Bro, can you fuckin’ jump?! I swear to God, you—”

“Ran.”

You clench your jaw, tongue scraping against your bottom teeth as you watch Ran practically ignore you on the couch. That goddamn headset his brother bought him for his birthday a couple months ago. 

Ever since then, game night for ‘ da boyz ’ been active every week on Friday. And I mean, every Friday. They don’t miss it, on that stupid game call for almost the whole day. 

The only way his attention is back on you, is when your hands slide up your t-shirt, tugging the flimsy fabric up and over your head. “Babe, could you help me take this off?”

Ran lazily lolls his head to the side, choking on nothing but air when he sees you, struggling to remove your top. The way your bra pushes your boobs out, that is shiny and wet from sweat.  

“Bae— what the fuck?” 

He chuckles, licking his lips and puts his controller down for a moment to help you tug your shirt over your head. The moment you’re free from the constraints of your shirt, you lean forward, pressing a hot, wet, messy kiss on his lips. Ran slides his fingers beneath your thighs, lifting you up from the couch, sitting nice and pretty on his lap.

“Ran— are you done yet?” You complain, biting his bottom lip. 

He pulls away, giving your cheek a small peck. “Nah. Just a few more hours baby.”

“But—” You bite back the whine building in your throat as you run your nails along his chest. Putting on your best pout and puppy eyes, you grind down on his cock, slowly getting visible throughout his sweats. Leaning forward, you whisper into his ear, away from the headset so his friends can’t hear. “I want you. Please.” 

You press your lips against the shell of his ear, biting down on the skin seductively whilst sliding your fingers under his shirt, tracing his abs. 

“Fuck— you’re killin’ me. Y’know that?” He watches your fingers move around under his shirt. 

“I know.”

Ran swallows thickly, fingers trembling slightly atop the buttons of his controller when you reach his sweatpants strings. “Get off the game.” You say a bit louder, to make sure his friends are aware of your presence.

“Ran, you fuckin’ simp. Stay on the fuckin’ game.”

The voice spoken was soft, yet had a biting tone to it when he cussed. Haruchiyo. Ran smiles when you turn around on his lap, back to his chest. Ran wraps his arms around your midriff, resting the controller between your legs.

“Relax, she’s just watchin’.” Ran turns his head, resting his lips against your ear, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Ain’t that right?”

You grumble and frown, moving your head away from Ran’s soft lips and crossing your arms. “Yeah. Whatever.”

The next five minutes are spent with Ran laughing about how Haruchiyo could barely even make a shot. Rindou calls him a fucking loser and the rest of them spit a whole bunch of insults at each other. Everytime Ran calls Sanzu a dumb bitch, it does something to you, rubbing your thighs together. 

It’s not long till Ran notices, temporarily taking a break from the game. The boys don’t notice yet, too busy laughing to realise Ran’s sudden immobileness in game. “What’s got you so hot, hm?” The sudden voice in your ear has you shivering and shifting on his lap.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah? Don’t lie to me.”

Your silence screams volumes. “I’m not lying.”

“Was it something I said?” His fingers slide between your thighs, slipping between your shorts and coming into straight contact with your cunt. “No panties?”

“It was hot.” You swallow, holding your breath when he slips his finger in easily. He made sure to insert his middle finger, the longest one inside without warning, relishing the way you bite your lip to conceal your moan. 

“I can see that.” His tongue licks a stripe on your neck. The taste is slightly salty from your sweat. Dropping the controller, he unbuttons your bra, watching the way it slips and falls off your chest. “D’ya like it when I call you names?”

“W-what names?”

“You still wanna play games n’ act dumb?” His finger slips out quickly, efficiently and he doesn’t hesitate to flip you over on his lap. Now facing him, you brace your hands on his shoulders. He slides his headset off his head and onto his neck, letting it hang there. His tongue slips into your mouth and you tilt your head to fit him better, fingers creeping up his neck to cup his cheeks. 

Your back arches into his touch as his hands trace a long line down your spine, cupping your ass and squeezing it slightly. “Can I–?”

“Go `head, baby.” He watches as your hands disappear into his pants, pulling his cock out, and watches you slip inside him easily.

“Fuc—” His hand covers your mouth, muting your loud moan as he bottoms out inside you. 

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear you, do you?”

Your eyes drop down to his headset, resting on his neck. The voices are still there, mindlessly talking about whatever the heck going on on the screen. His grip on your ass tightens, digging his short nail cresents into your skin. “Answer me.”

“No, I don’t want them to hear.”

He presses another kiss to your cheek. “Then stay silent, and fuck yourself dumb on me like a whore.” 

The headset is back on his ears in no time, already engaging back in sweet conversation with his friends. You slowly lift yourself up and down, lip quivering everytime his thick cock stretches your hole out even more. It feels so fucking good, but it’s nearly impossible for you to reach orgasm without moaning.

Staying quiet was never your forte during sex, Ran was skilled enough to make you scream until your voice box bled, until the screws on the bed had to get tightened to become more secure to handle his powerful thrusts, until your voice was as hoarse and dry as when you deepthroated his length. 

Your hand covers your mouth as you bounce on his cock, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head. Ran is quick to slap it away from you, giving you a look, one that’s all too familiar for you. Telling you to stop fucking around basically. 

Of course Ran was never going to make this easy for you. Your first plan failed, so you moved onto Plan B, to try fuck yourself without having his friends hear. Your plan was cut short when Ran purposefully bucked his hips up, a loud yelp escaping your lips as you held onto the back of the couch for support. 

“The fuck was that?” Rindou grumbles into the mic.

“Sounded very feminine-like.” Haruchiyo added his two cents, “Is your bitch okay, Ran?”

Ran rolls his eyes. “My ‘bitch’ has a name Scar-Face.”

“I’ll carve scars into you and your bitches face if you don’t shut the fuck u–”

“Shut up Sanzu.” Kakuchou and Rindou bite simultaneously, coming to you and your boyfriends defence. “Show some respect.”

Ran leans forward, ignoring his friends bickering to whisper into your ear. “If you don’t start movin’ —”

You slowly sit up before he can even finish his sentence, dropping yourself back down. Reaching over, you grab your shirt next to the cushion by Ran’s thigh, stuffing some of it in your mouth to suppress your moans. The longer you continue bouncing, Ran’s hips start to buck up into you, digging himself deeper inside your walls. 

“Shit, just li— like that.” Ran throws his head back, dropping his controller to grip your hips, controlling your movement the way he wants. Pulling you forward and back on his cock, then up and down, then back to forwards and back. He drops one hand to pull the t-shirt out of your mouth, pulling you downwards for a kiss. Biting and sucking on your lower lip, you slip your tongue inside his mouth, clenching everytime he sucks your tongue, tangling it with his own.

“That’s it—” Ran moans, mouth presssed alongside yours as you continue bouncing on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. The two of you are so into it, you don’t realise a comment coming from the call : “Jesus, don’t break the fuckin’ couch.”

You attempt to wriggle your fingers between your bodies, landing on your clit; rubbing hard and desperate circles along the nub, trying to reach your peak. “S’ fuckin’ tight around me— keep playing’ with yourself baby.”

“Ran.” You would feel embarrassed moaning like some whore if you had remembered you had company over the phone, but your mind was too scrambled to even think about that. Heat simmering inside your belly the longer you bounce on your boyfriend's cock. 

“You close?”

“`M g— gonna cum Ran— fuck—”

“C’mon, let it out baby. Squeeze my cock— jus’ like that.” His mouth goes slack as your back arches, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you moan into the space of his neck. Ran lifts you high enough, just that the tip was left, before fucking back into you, emptying his balls deep inside your walls. 

“Good girl, holy shit— holy fuckin shit.” He waits for you to calm down from your orgasm. “You can give me another, right?”

“No, I can’t,” You pull your face out from his neck, “really Ran, I— I can’t.” You stop his hands from trailing down your clit, pressing against the bundle of nerves.  Ran clicks his tongue, tossing his headphones off his head, onto the end of the couch as he sets you down to lay down. 

You let himself settle between your legs, spreading you out bare in front of him. His eyes travel from your soaking cunt, to your soft thighs. His fingers dig into the flesh, tongue darting out to lick up the length of your pussy. He lets out a pleased hum when your hips lift up and off the couch, leaning into his touch.

“God—” You wiggle your fingers between the cushions, pulling out his phone to record how sexy he looks between your legs, kissing and lapping up your slick from your folds. “B-baby, look up.” You strain out, focusing the camera on his face, capturing the moment you see his pupils expand from the initial reaction of finding out he’s being recorded. He winks up at the camera before deciding to show off a little. 

He hums and tickles his tongue along the edge of your hole. Just as soon as he’s about to make you a mess, his screen lights up with a phone call. The dim screen revealing Sanzu is calling…

“Babe.”

Ran ignores you, closing his eyes, losing himself in between your legs. You sigh in relief when the call ends. Only for Sanzu to start calling again. You keep tugging on his hair to grab his attention, but he seems to have no intention whatsoever of stopping. One last hard tug, smiling at the way he finally looks up at you, eyebrows creased as he glares at you. 

“What?”

You turn the phone around, reminding him of the situation before he grumbles, tugging you closer by the grip on your thighs before picking up the phone. “The fuck do you want? I’m busy?”

“I WAS RIGHTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Sanzu’s loud voice startles the two of you. Ran doesn’t have the time or energy to waste conversing with him, so he drops the phone onto your stomach and continues his job. 

“Ran!” 

“Hey princess.” Haruchiyo’s voice is soft in your ear, despite all the other times he’s called you a bitch. 

“Hi.”

Ran looks up at you. “Say his name.” 

“Hi Haruch—” Your voice trails off into a moan when Ran purposefully sinks his tongue deep inside your cunt, licking around the inside in a way that makes you want to snap your legs shut. Only thing preventing it are the iron grip Ran has on your thighs, forcing them open for him. 

“Fuck, say my name again.”  You can hear wet sounds and heavy panting coming from the phone as Sanzu jerks himself off to your voice. 

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Rindou comments, voice visible through Sanzu’s computer that’s playing on speaker. 

“Ey, Ran. You should fuck her again, lemme hear her.”

Ran presses a single kiss to your thigh before sitting up to grab the phone from you, suddenly irritated by Sanzu’s eagerness. “Shut up, this ain’t a free show.” 

“Then hang up pussy.” 

And though you’ve argued before, though you’ve disagreed at times, you find that you don’t know how to deal with his anger — anger that has never been directed towards you to this extent. You just don’t know. 

It’s unsettling. There's a hole in your chest that is torn open, a passiveness settling inside.

You’re upset that he has consistently brushed you and your concerns off to the side. You’re upset that your worry had been interpreted as childish jealousy. You’re upset that the only time he had decided to take you seriously was to yell at you — to shut you up. 

He runs a hand through his hair as he pulls back and heads to the kitchen, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it onto the couch. He leans against the counter and lights a cigarette in an attempt to calm his nerves. 

He'd expected you to start crying — half expected you to apologize even. You never liked fighting with him. He was never one to blow any argument out of proportion either. But this — this had to stop. No matter how many times he’d dismissed it, no matter how many times he’d told you not to worry about it, you still brought her up. Enough was enough. He looks up at you briefly, eyes flickering towards you as he exhales. 

There's a blank look in your eyes, a fragmentation he couldn’t understand. It felt as though you were looking through him. The parts of you that sought to intertwine with him and understand — that hollowed themselves out to make room for him — they fall back in defeat. 

Your eyes aren't glassy; they don’t even sparkle. 

He clenches his jaw and looks away. Guilt and haunt reach for his throat, as he shakily exhales the smoke.

You turn around, hand reaching for the wall as you bend to unclasp your heels. The right shoe comes off first. The left one follows after. He watches as you walk away with the shoes in your hand, fingers threading through the straps.

You don't say a word. He doesn't hear you make a sound.

The cold air of the restroom makes you aware of the slight wetness on your cheek. You stare at your reflection and you can’t help but wonder if the woman in the mirror was in the wrong. Were her feelings misguided by insecurity? Was her envy so green and her thoughts so vile? You tell her not to worry; that it’ll all be alright. You stare at your bruised toes as you fidget and sigh. You don’t even have it in you to cry.

You spend time with the other woman, washing away her fury; cleaning her anguish. Her breathing has steadied and she watches you from beyond the mirror as you wipe at your face, baring yourself to her. She’s satisfied and you turn your back on her temporary satisfaction, slipping into a loose dress and finding your place on the bed. 

He hasn’t bothered to come check up on you. To apologize to you.

 You push her nagging voice out of your head, stretching your legs out and picking up your phone instead. You scroll mindlessly for a minute or so before you decide to call a friend. It’ll help distract you, you think. You’ll call your dearest friend and she’ll make you laugh. You’ll laugh and you’ll smile and the filth encompassing your heart will wither away at your joy. 

Yes, that’s it. That’s exactly what you’ll do. 

“Hello?” She says. 

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

Silence from your end. 

A minute. Then two. 

“Ah, I get it. Do you want me to pick you up? We can go eat somewhere.”

“Yes, please.” You aren’t hungry at all. She knows that too. 

“Give me 20 minutes, I’m finishing up a shift right now.”

“Okay.”

More silence, this time from her end. Another minute. Another two. 

“Did he…he didn’t hurt you, right?”

You shake your head, the rustling making its way over to her end. 

“No, never. Not physically at least.” You try to smile, but the other woman insists on tugging at the corners of your mouth, pulling them down.

‘Break,' she says. ‘Break and ruin,' she wants to scream. 

You hear a dramatized sigh of relief through the phone.

“Ah, thank God. That bastard scares the shit out of me, honestly. But I’ll kill him if he ever lays a hand on you, you know that, don’t you?” 

You laugh and she smiles. 

“He wouldn’t, I promise. He isn’t so bad.”

“You’re not seriously defending him right now, are you?” 

You find it in you to laugh a little harder. She bids you a temporary farewell and you feel a little lighter. This is okay. It'd be okay if you both took a break…if you were separated from one another for a little — just until you were both able to calm down and think things through. 

You stand and rummage through your nightstand, putting a few things in the nearest tote bag and pulling it up over your shoulder. A light cardigan is folded over your arms as you quietly leave the bedroom. Ran is still in the kitchen, leaning over the island as he wipes a hand over his face. There's a glass of water beside him. You think he's trying to sober up, even though he didn't drink much at all. 

He looks up at the sound of your feet against the tile and his eyes soften at the sight of you. He’d been waiting for you to come out of the room, not wanting to push you too far. Still, you won't meet his gaze. 

It’s then that his line of sight falls to the bag on your shoulder. Panic fills the emptiness he’d been left with since you’d walked away. 

"What're you…No, wait a second. Hold on —"

He rounds the corner and slowly approaches you.

"Wait, we can talk about this."

Your brows furrow as you slip on your shoes, voice soft as you respond. 

"You said you didn't want to anymore."

Defeat, he thinks. Defeat is what laces your tone…like you’ve given up on him. On you and him.

"No,” He shakes his head as he steps a little closer to you. “We can talk about it. Let's talk about it, baby."

His eyes are trying to read you in a panicked frenzy, but still, you won't look at him. You take a step back, grip tightening on the strap of your bag.

“I think,” you bite your lip, brows furrowing as you try to find the right words. “I think it's best if I spend the night somewhere else."

“Fuck no.” 

You hold a hand out, a weak attempt at stopping him from getting any closer. He steps forward. You step back. He reaches out for you and you deny him. 

“Come on, love. Please.” 

What you say next comes out of you so quietly — so dismissively — had he not been so close to you, he might’ve missed it. You find it in you to finally meet his gaze as you utter the word. 

"Enough."

His karma comes in the form of six letters — the ones he’d spat at you so harshly less than an hour ago. But you’re still kind, even now. How quietly the word tumbled from your lips, how beautiful you were in all your anguish. His karma grins at his misery, and rejoices at his self-induced tragedy. 

"Please," he begs.

How pitiful. How cruel.

He grips your wrist when you turn to open the door, caging you in between his arms.

"Don't," he pleads.

You try to turn in his arms, tugging at his rolled-up sleeves, nails scratching at tattooed skin. His biceps flex as he holds you to him tighter. Closer. Don’t go. Don’t leave. You feel the rise and fall of his chest behind you — the racing of his heart as he holds you against him. You sigh, deciding to ease his mind. 

"I’ll come back, Ran. Just one night.” 

"No, no. Don't walk out on me."

He shakes his head at the thought, in misery and denial at its implication.

“I'm sorry."

He apologizes and you freeze in his hold, fingers stilling against his forearms. 

“I'm sorry," He says again. "I won’t raise my voice at you again. I'll never talk to her again. Won't even look at her, baby. I’ll cut all ties right now. Please just don’t go."

He keeps one arm wrapped around you as he reaches for his back pocket, pulling his phone out in the process. You blink, watching as he brings the device over to you, his fingers unlocking the screen as he looks over your shoulder, chin propped against you. You watch as he removes her from his Facebook. You watch as he blocks her on Instagram. You watch as he goes to delete her number. It’s then that you start to cry. You cry so hard, your shoulders tremble and your hands shake. You cry and you cry until you're overcome with the urge to vomit.

“Don’t cry, love. Don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

How did he let it get this bad? To ignore the pleas and worries of the one that gave him reason and meaning for the sake of maintaining a business relationship he didn’t give a shit about ─ To brush your pain off for the sake of an organization that only brought him misery...The twisted cynicism was almost laughable. Over and over, you'd asked him to listen to you. And over and over, he’d dismissed you.

It's his fault. It's all his fault.

No one else but him. 

His arms fall to his sides and he stands there, watching you.

You wipe at your cheeks haphazardly. His hands tremble as you step back. 

"All I asked was for you to establish clear boundaries with her."

Your hands shake as you point an accusatory finger at him. Your breathing falters, salty tears meeting your tongue as you try to find your words.

The other woman licks at your wounds. 'Destroy him,' she says. ‘Leave him,’ she whispers. You dig your nails into the skin of your palm at the violence of her words.

"But you made me seem like I was crazy for wanting that."

His eyes widen as he stares at you.

No longer covered in the green of her envy and guilt, she lines you with her red. You become one with your sorrow and fury. 

"Why couldn't you establish one simple boundary until I was about to walk out? What kind of girlfriend is supposed to be okay with seeing another woman press herself up against her boyfriend?"

You quiet for a moment, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand and his heart breaks at the sight of your stuttered breathing and tear-stained face.

"Cutting her off means nothing. Not when you brushed me off every time I brought it up.”

“Love ─,” 

You cut him off, mumbling to yourself as you pick at the skin of your nails. 

"God forbid someone even looks my way. But with you —" you snort and it's void of any emotion. 

His face darkens at that. 

"Watch your mouth," He steps closer.

You look away.

Lithe fingers grip your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up at him — into his eyes. Eyes that only desire you, that only love and lust after you. You, you, you. Always you. Only you.

She was nothing more than an old Bonten business partner, but you? You were everything.

He presses his lips to yours. Neither of you wavers in closing your eyes, the haziness of his own meeting with the anger in your irises, but he kisses you anyway. He kisses you and he kisses you. You don't kiss back.

The bag slips off your shoulder and you move to lift it back up. He refuses to let go of your jaw, lips moving against yours as he speaks.

"I love you."

"Liar," you whisper against him.

He groans and kisses you harder.

"God, I love you."

You shake your head in his grip but his hands are firm, squeezing your cheeks lightly, forcing your lips into a subtle pout. 

"Get this shit off already." He pulls your bag down to the floor and throws you over his shoulder.

“I don’t want to stay here tonight.” 

“Yeah? Where exactly were you gonna go?” He squeezes your hip as he walks towards the bedroom. He knows the answer, knows you would’ve been safe had you actually left. You might have smiled more tonight had he let you go with your friend; might’ve been spared of the tears you’d shed instead. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let you go. 

You rub at your eyes in exhaustion. 

“I’m not sleeping beside you. I don’t want you.”

He smacks your ass harshly before sliding a palm beneath your slip, stroking the skin gently.

"You're a liar, baby."

Please be lying, baby. 

You grip his shirt to keep from falling.

"I hate you,” You whisper out. 

He tightens his hold on your waist.

"No, you don't, princess."

His voice is low, strained. He prays you don’t hear the tremble in his tone. 

He sits you down onto the bed, kneeling before you on the floor. You go to pull your legs up but he stops you, palms gripping your ankles as he places his forehead onto your knees. 

“Don’t leave me.” 

The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the humidifier he’d forgotten to turn off before the two of you left. It’s a steady sound — soothing in its own right. You don’t say anything as his fingers rub at your calves, as he nuzzles his face into your skin.  

"I’ll do anything.” 

You’re stunned into a deeper silence, staring down at him in shock. It’s laughable really, how terrifying he is to others. Tall and threatening, dark eyes and a prideful smile — the Bonten executive’s standing was respected by most. Feared by all. 

And here he is, kneeling before his girlfriend, begging her to stay. 

You bring a hand down to brush through lavender strands, releasing a shaky breath, as you play with his hair. You speak and your voice is soft, not disturbing the still air around you. He freezes, listening intently. 

“She’s in love with you.” 

He can’t help the slight sound of indignation that he lets out. 

“No, she’s not. She’s just-”

“Just a business partner. I know.”

There’s a tremble to his hands as he leans forward on his knees, hiding his face in your lap as he grips your waist tight. 

“I’ll talk to the rest of the executives tomorrow, we’ll find someone else to ─”

You shake your head.

“That’s not what I’m asking from you.”

He looks up at you in confusion, fingers tight against your hips. 

“Then what?”

“I can’t —” You whimper and his heart breaks. “I can’t be with you if she’s going to disrespect me like that, if you’re going to let her disrespect me like that, every time we see her.” 

He watches you with a certain softness in his eyes as he climbs up onto the bed beside you. 

“What’re you talking about, baby?”

“Is it okay for her to touch you like that? You’re okay with that?” 

You pull away from him, folding your legs up to the side as you pick at a piece of lint on the comforter. 

He hadn’t thought much of it. The woman in question had been a long-time Bonten business partner, she’d known most of the executives for a decade. Her behaviors and antics, they were all used to it by now, aware that they had to put up with it to build a false sense of trust, to lul her company into an aura of security. Of all the execs to take a liking to, she’d chosen your boyfriend. Expensive nails that didn't belong to you were often wrapped around his bicep during events, and you’d watched off to the side ─ hoping, wishing that he’d say something. Anything. 

But nothing ever came out. Nothing was ever said. 

And you’d taken the brunt of it. Time and time again. 

“I can’t ruin Bonten’s relationship with her,” He had said once, the first time you ever brought it up. “Her company is a pivotal part of our projects.”

Watching her wipe the wine stain from his lips tonight, with you seated right beside him ─ it made you wonder how far she’d gone when you weren’t around. How far she was willing to go? How far would he let her go?

You look away at the thought. The light catches onto your tear stained cheeks and he hates himself.

He furrows his brows as he stares at the pattern you were making on the comforter, the trail your fingers created and left behind. He eyes the bruised skin of your cuticles and the chipped paint of your nails — a telltale sign of your anxiety. How had he missed that? He eyes the missing ring on your right hand and his breath hitches. When had you taken that off?

He feels sick. He’d noticed that you’d declined to go with him to Bonten events as of late. You stopped attending, telling him you were too tired. Too busy. “Another time,” you’d say. “Another time,” he’d smile and agree, kissing your forehead before he made his way out and left you alone. 

You’d lied to him to keep from arguing about this anymore, to keep yourself from doubting him. You’d lied and he’d fallen for it — thinking nothing strange of your behavior. And when you’d finally given in, deciding that you missed your boyfriend and that it was well within your right to go out to dinner with him — you had to sit and watch idly as she sat on the other side of him. On this cruel and unforgiving evening, you’d watched as she touched him and stared at him. You’d listened as suggestive jokes were exchanged and loud laughter was thrown across the table. You'd watched with a quiet that only the broken could understand. He’s a fool for not pulling your hand back into his once you’d pulled it out — an idiot for not following after you when you’d excused yourself to go to the restroom. He’s a moron for not seeing the hurt that you were in and the knives that dragged through your skin as he turned a blind eye. 

Cold metal is pressed to your skin and you shiver at the feeling of his rings against your cheek. His eyes carry a sadness you don’t recognize. 

“You’re my woman. You.” 

“Then act like it.” 

You move to your side of the bed, turning off your light as you send your friend a text. You’ll explain everything when you see her, you say. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.’ 

—

You sleep with your back facing him that night. Ran can’t find it in him to sleep at all. He’s scared, terrified that you’ll try to leave in the middle of the night — that you’ll leave just as wordlessly as you let your pain settle into your bones, and that he wouldn’t notice again. 

He’d been too careless with you recently. Too comfortable and neglectful. 

You turn in your sleep, unconsciously facing him, and he leans up on his arm to watch you. Carefully, gently, he lifts your hand up to meet his lips. Soft kisses are pressed to your knuckles and cuticles, to your palm and wrist. 

You don’t stir. 

He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead before it becomes too much for him. He’s overwhelmed and it hurts. It hurts to know that you hurt, and it hurts to know that you hurt because of him. 

Ran sits up and heads over to the living room, closing the door behind him quietly. 

He leans his head back against the couch, arm coming up to cover his eyes. A part of him thinks it’s ridiculous for a man of his power and standing to get worked up over his girlfriend like this. The other part of him doesn’t understand. He’d never been one for long-term relationships. Commitment had never been the issue either. They were just too much. Too much to deal with, too much work to be done — to care and to have to care, to trust, and to be trusted. It was all too much. He never bothered with the matter in its entirety.

But then he met you. And he’d asked you to stay. So you did. 

Caring came naturally to him then. Loving was even easier.

He sits alone in this dark room and thinks about you and him. He thinks and he hurts, and he's reminded of the words Sanzu had thrown at him last night. Ran is more than ashamed.

— 

“You’re losing her.”

“What’re you on about?” He had said, lighting his coworkers cigarette before leaning back to light his own. 

Sanzu had gestured to where you were standing, away from the crowd. You had an arm loosely wrapped around the street pole as you watched the Tokyo night traffic, waiting for your boyfriend to take you home. 

“She doesn’t look too happy.”

He frowns at Sanzu’s words, irritated by his comment. For an outsider to speak on his relationship with you, for another man to act like he could read you (and for him to be right about it too), Ran’s blood boils as he crushes the cigarette between his foot. He'd turned to look at you then, at the blank look on your face, wondering briefly just how much you kept to yourself. You had smiled weakly when he took your hand and led you to the garage. You said nothing else for the rest of the car ride. Until he prodded at you. Until it was too much for you to ignore. Until you came to the conclusion that should he want any other woman, you’d rather he let go of you first. Let me go, let me go, let me go. If I’m not enough, please let me go. 

He’d gotten pissed at you for that and had sped up his walking once the two of you got out of the car. The front desk personnel lowered their gazes as the two of you walked into the building, and you had quieted down out of respect for your relationship. 

─

His stomach churns and he soaks in his self-hatred. You could've reassured her. Could've held her hand a little tighter, could've kissed her a little longer. You fool. He hopes it isn’t too late. He groans and leans forward, running his hands through his hair aggressively as he covers his face with his palms. 

He’s too in his own head to notice that you’d woken up — that you’d been standing nervously at the end of the hallway, watching him. He lets out a choked sound and your heart falls victim to his silent pleas. You make your way to him, silently asking to be let into his arms and onto his lap. He startles but quickly makes room for you, staring at you with wide eyes as you place yourself onto his thighs, settling against his chest. 

Loving arms wrap around his neck as you turn your face to his chest. Undeserving palms stroke your back, pulling you in by the waist, ever closer. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He stares down at you in shock at the words you’d chosen to utter. 

“What? What’re you –?” 

You look at him and the darkness accompanying his eyes ─ at the lilac hues rimmed with red and purple, and subtle traces of blue as his veins surface beneath his skin. He was tired. So tired. Fragile fingers stroke his cheek, finding their way to the fine lines around his mouth. His stubble pricks your palm as he nuzzles his face into your skin. It's fascinating to watch a man of his stature — a man of his strength and power — fall weak to your touch. He wonders if you knew that he’d give up all that he was for a chance at forever with you. The money didn’t mean shit and his position was for naught if it meant you were hurt — if it meant you would leave. ‘If you leave, take me with you,’ his core wants to cry out. His arms wrap around you tighter as he hides his face in your neck and you blink in surprise. 

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” 

Your hands find the hairs at the back of his neck, twisting the black and lavender strands, tugging them gently beneath your fingers. 

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

He freezes. Your voice muffles against his hold. 

“I know you have obligations. I don’t want to get you in trouble.” 

Or worse, you want to say. I don’t want to get you killed over something so…

You shake your head at the thought.  

Even now, you’re still thinking of him? Even now, you’re putting him before you? He thinks it’d be fitting if he were to dig through the earth and call out to the devil himself. With bloody fingers and a dirty face, he’d call out and he’d say, ‘Come get me, come take me. This woman is too good for me.’

“I love you, I trust you. I won’t bring it up anymore.” 

You press a kiss to his throat, directly onto his tattoo, before you wrap your arms tighter around his neck, broad shoulders comforting you. He falls in love with you all over again. He keeps one arm firmly wrapped around your waist while the other trails up and down your thigh.

“Baby.”

You hum in acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue. 

He pries you off of him, gently setting you down in his place on the couch while you look at him in confusion. You settle into the warmth of where his body once was, watching him curiously. 

Ran kneels before you for the second time that night. His head is bowed slightly and his palms are flat against the cotton of his pants 

“This is all on me. Not you. I’m sorry, love.”

“Ran, get up.” 

You sit up, anxiously reaching for his arms but he shakes his head. 

“Please just listen." He swallows, gaze fixed on the ground. "I’m a real shit boyfriend. Put you through so much shit you shouldn’t have to deal with. I know you deserve better.” 

So much better. 

“But I love you. I need you. I’m selfish and fucked, but I need you. ”

You tilt your head at him as your lip quivers. His shoulders tremble slightly and you reach for his cheeks, hands on either side of his face as you lean forward. 

You kiss him then, for the first time all night. A languid kiss. ‘Feel all of me,’ it says. ‘Feel what you do to me.’ His brows furrow as he squeezes the skin of your thighs. You whimper against him and he smiles against your mouth, teeth touching, bones aching. 

He pulls you off of the couch by the waist and onto his lap as he embraces you. The two of you find refuge in the floor of the apartment. 

You stay on top, seated right on his hips as your tongue meets his. He bites the column of your throat and you tilt your head back in need, giving him access to the skin he wanted to mark.

“I belong to you,” he whispers against your skin. You sigh, fingers in his hair as he kisses and bites, as he licks and whines. He reaches for the palm you had spread against his jaw, moving it to his hips. 

“Ah, fuck.” 

He groans in your ear at the feeling of your skin against his, at the raw affection exchanged between the two of you. He missed you, he missed you — he doesn’t deserve you. You snap his train of thought in two as you slip your hand into his pants, watching the rise and fall of his sternum. You trail your eyes back to his face and find that he’s already staring at you. One arm reaches back for the collar of his shirt, and you fixate on the flex of his bicep as he tugs it off to reveal his chest.

“My woman,” he grunts. 

You nod distractedly, cheeks heating up at the intimacy. Something in him snaps when you slip the straps of your night dress off, lifting the hem to expose your underwear to him. 

“Shit, you’re —” He cuts himself off to slip the flimsy cloth to the side. You stroke him as he prods into you, moaning into each other's mouths, staring at each other with desperate eyes. Love and lust and need and want. He wants to fill you with all the words he couldn’t properly say. Again and again, he'd find you. Should he be damned to a fate where you aren't beside him, he'd spend forever looking for you ─ for the home he'd found within you. Never again would he let it get this bad. Never again will he make you feel unwanted or unloved. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful.” 

He kisses your chest, words vibrating against the skin as he speaks. 

“I’m sorry, pretty. I’m sorry.” 

“I forgive you.” you cry out as he touches you deeper, rubs at you faster. 

“Real shitty guy, aren’t I?” He lets out a strained laugh as your hand falters against him. “Not good for you, am I?”

You shake your head, eyes shut tight as a familiar feeling washes over you. 

“I – oh,” You cry out, unable to finish your sentence as you collapse in his arms.  “I love you. Please, please.”

“Please what, baby? What is it?” 

He lays you down, hovering over you as he bites at your lower lip, appreciating the curve and swell. 

You spread your legs and he swears. 

“Please.”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah. Anything for you.” 

He can’t find it in him to strip you completely. You don’t care enough that his pants are still somewhat on. But with each snap of his hips, he finds you and you find him. 

He’s a sorry excuse of a person, a vindictive, hurtful soul. A damaged man with the world at his feet and his heart in your hands. He’d handed it to you himself with a hammer in tow. Should he ever go too far — crush his very spirit and rid of him of whatever is left of his soul. 

But he knew. He knew that he’d be forced to sit and watch as you tenderly held the flesh. He’d sit with his legs crossed and his cheek in his palm, watching as you soothed the erratic pulsing.

‘What about the dark spots?’ He had wondered. ‘The filth and the corrupted gloom. How will she handle that? Will she throw them out? Look at them in disgust and try to change them?’

(He receives his answer time and time again — answered over and over by the one person who didn’t realize they were even being questioned.) 

He'd watched as you held his heart, with all of its twisted calamities, and placed it right against yours — as if it wasn't stained, as if it wouldn't taint you for as long as you stood. And for the first time in a long, long time, Ran Haitani had resisted the urge to cry. 

—

He doesn’t let you go as you try to get up from off the floor. 

“I didn’t pull out,” He mumbles. “That’s my bad.” 

“I know,” You whisper back, into the darkness of the room.

“Are you baby trapping me?” He lifts an eyebrow, cracking one eye open as he grins at you.

“You’re the one that wouldn’t let me go, perv.” 

You flick his forehead and he laughs beside you lazily. The two of you are eye to eye and a complete mess at that. 

“I need to go clean up,” you say when he shoots his hand out to your wrist to stop you from standing. 

“No, I want to go again.”

“You’ll fall asleep midway.” 

He grins and you laugh. 

“Hey.”

“Hm?” There’s still a hint of a smile on your face as you pull your gown back into place.

“Tonight…” he turns to face you, eyes heavy with sleep. “I won’t let that happen again.”

You don’t look at him as you fiddle with the straps, tugging at them till they seem somewhat right.

“Look at me.” 

He sits and tilts your chin towards him. Hesitance. Worry. (And though you’ve forgiven him, there’s still pain in your eyes.) 

“I was in the wrong, and I hurt you for a long time. It won’t happen again.” 

You stare back into his eyes — into the aftermath of your apocalypse. You want to tuck him into your ribs, to cage him in and hold him tight. And though he was older and had lived a life that had picked him apart more times than he could count, you don’t think you have it in you to surrender him to the darkness. Your naivety has you following after him eagerly — no matter where he takes you, no matter where you go. You’d pick up the parts he threw out on the way, and you’d ease yourself into the emptiness of his soul. You’d placate his hunger for love and give him a place to belong. 

He stares at you, anxiously waiting for a response. All you can do is nod. 

He sighs in relief. You kiss his nose softly before you stand, giggling as he groans at your insistence on leaving the confines of his arms. He lays back down as you steady yourself, eyeing your hips before he reaches up to lift the hem of your nightgown, whistling when he eyes the damage he’d done.

“Nasty old man.”

He laughs and it’s full of life – filled with love and joy and you. 

“You're into nasty old guys?”

You laugh as you walk away, turning to look at him as he grins at you. 

“Just this one.” 

He groans as he gets up, long legs chasing after you as you run away. It’s late, much later than he ever liked to stay up. But he’s home. He’s in your arms as he lets you fall back onto the bed, rejoicing in your laughter as he attacks your stomach with sporadic kisses. You’re here, and he’s home. 

You lay on your side, holding him to you, as he nods off against your chest. A tattooed arm is thrown over your waist while the other falls slack near your thigh. The pain of the night lingers idly, wondering what will become of itself. You’ve killed the envy inside you, held hands with the fragility of the red woman that had insisted on coming out of you.

Ran Haitani is a large man, not small by any means. But underneath the prying moonlight, you think he looks vulnerable. Men of hurt will only know hurt, while the good of the world remains a foreign entity. He’s lucky, in that sense. There is a woman to hold him as he sleeps, a woman he trusts enough to fall victim to. And if he came home to you covered in blood from head to toe, covered in the sin of the world, baring the weight of their tragedy, he’d stare at you and say “Disgusting, isn’t it?” And he’d watch you shake your head, ‘No’.

DRAKEN

menace. pussydrunk. pussywhipped. he cannot stand being away from your messy cunt, webbed hole all twitchy and creamy with cum when he makes you cum three times in a row with just eager strokes of his tongue, lapping up your sweet juices because you really taste that good, and he really can’t find it in himself to stop when you quiver and buck your hips, close to riding his face above him.

he loves when you sit on his face, loves the full weight of you all on him. it gets him hard just like that. makes a dewdrop of precum bead at his tip before it grows and runs down his shaft that’s branched out with big, throbbing veins.

the feel of his senses being smothered by your cunt is like heaven to him.

the taste of nectar, sweet and creamy, on his tongue as your pussy cries and gushes slick, draken almost thinks he’s drinking honey straight from your puffy folds. but you don’t reciprocate the sentiment as you try to lift them away from him, so he has to wrap his strong arms around your waist, forearms resting on your plush thighs, just to pull you down and keep you there.

he loves the way your tiny hole twitches as it creams gloopy cum that drops and fills his mouth perfectly. likes it even better when you convulse and thrash around on top of him, tugging at his hair and limping against his headboard since you can’t hold yourself up anymore and putting all of your weight on him anyway. then you have no choice but to take his tongue rubbing and prodding at your puffy clit, breaching your walls and stretching you out the tiniest bit to lick along your sweet spot, jabbing at spongy, ribbed walls.

and god the smell of your freshly creamed cunt makes his head dizzy and his cock throb, makes the fire in his loins burn brighter that he bucks his hips, swirls and rolls them out of habit because his heavy, neglected dick remembers the squeeze and clamp of your walls that’s currently on his tongue.

MITSUYA

while you’re sobbing and convulsing beneath him, blabbering anything that crosses your stupid, little, fucked out head, that is when mitsuya likes you best. which happens more often than you think because you’re a naive and trusting little thing to believe in the soft glaze of his eyes, lovestruck and adoring, in the gentle touches of his careful hands—that are guiding you right into the palm of his hands, right under your nose.

you’re foolish enough to believe in the dulcet coos of his warm voice that makes your head foggy with praise and adoration and love.

(mitsuya might love you, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t wanna ruin you.)

so like that, soft coos of your name, tender praises of your compliance makes your head foggy with love and obedience as you walk right into his grasp, and then he doesn’t let you go. which is where you find yourself now, knees bent at your chest, legs spread, him laying on his stomach, face hovering above your slicked slit, rosy folds puffy and fluttering as your nth climax rushes over you.

his strong, calloused hands are flat against the under fat of your plush thighs, lithe fingers digging crescents into your skin. fat, salty tears run free down your eyes, blurring your vision, and the back to back orgasms without a break constricts your breathing, makes it run continuously and irregularly, which causes you to have a bad case of the hiccups.

you’re tired and exhausted, and most of all shy as mitsuya laps at your creaming cunt with a ferocity befitting a criminal eating his last meal. a rough tongue strokes against your lips and puffy clit, occasionally breaching your entrance to slurp up the ongoing stream of your slick.

your pussy is messy, sloppy as you bury your face in your hands to prevent the icy gaze of mitsuya’s dark lilac eyes on you, watching each tick, each scrunch of your brows, each gasp and moan and mewl and wince, the tiny hiccups sprinkled within.

his eyes feel scary on you, makes you feel like he’s going to keep doing this until he has his fill observing your descent into post-orgasm agony.

his fingers are tight as they keep your legs open, no matter how hard you try to close them or pull away. “keep that pretty girl open for me baby. ‘m not done with you yet.” he says in warning as he kisses your sensitive nub before sealing his lips over it and sucking.

your eyes roll back, and you see white as the small flutter in your stomach grows stronger, and you feel your walls spasm. liquid squirts and you convulse before your mind blanks.

HAKKAI

this sweet boy is limp underneath you, hands weakly clutched on to your hips, tongue slow as it laps over your slit, occasionally rolling against your engorged clit, jaw stiff and locked as his mouth hangs open.

he was enthusiastic at the start, tongue strong and fast as it stroked your puffy folds, breaching your hole to gather more juices into his mouth to have it pool on his tongue, but eventually the smother of your heady cunt struck him, fogged his head into a stupid mess of paralyzing arousal, and now he just lays there as you rock your hips to make your clit catch against his tongue, flat and sticking out of his lips, slit sloppy as it rubs against the thick muscle.

“you’re doing so good for me ‘kai. so good. ‘m gonna cum soon.” and when you mewl your praises to him like that, he can’t help the automatic way his tongue slithers inside your walls again, so you could ride it, or the way he tilts his head down to prolong his nose to hit against your nub.

as you rut your hips on his face, cunt riding his tongue as he tries his best to curl it to your sweet spot, a band in his stomach comes close to snapping along with his throbbing dick that’s leaking precum like a faucet to his twitching balls.

when you cum, walls clamping down on his tongue, gush of nectar falling right into his awaiting mouth, the band snaps. his hips buck up behind you, and you think he’s just searching for friction, so you don’t pay it any mind, but when you lean back to allow him some air, there’s a puddle of white on his toned stomach that your hand lands in, shaft still jumping as more spurts of white shoot from his cockslit, balls snapping in time with each spurt of cum.

“oh.”

you shakily lift yourself from his face, tongue popping out of your hole, sticky slivers of cream glued to hakkai’s chin, a shiny sheen of slick against his cherry red, swollen lips, and chin, and despite the mess you made on him, or the way your pussy flooded his smell and mouth, his head lifts to follow your enchanting hole that he wants back on his tongue desperately, but it falls back down, and he moans when a soft hand circles his thick cock, slowly starting to pump it, lathering up the remnants of his orgasm to provide a smoother glide.

and hakkai forgets about your pussy.

post a/n. goddamn my clit was throbbing so hard during draken’s part. free me of that man. wrote this all with my pussy

tagz. @bxnten @tokyomanjihoe @kisakiapologist @bokuroskitten @tokyometronetwork + from taglist: @festive , @inupi , @thevillagehiddenintheinternet , @ray-lol , @ry0m3n , @sleepy3 (let me know if you would like to be taken off!)

No one interested him tonight, he’s not one to shy away from hook ups either, until you appeared. Your pictures are full of warm smiles, and your bio talks about your interests. Nothing superficial or extravagant either, just simple little things that make you happy, and it makes his heart melt from the sheer genuineness of your personality. He hasn’t had that on this app for a long time, and it makes a tiny fire spark in his chest.

He taps on the voice message included on your account.

“Hi, um, I don’t really know what I’m doing. This is the first time I’ve been on a dating app. I would love some patience when you message me! I’m a little slow to texts. Uh… I’m looking for someone who I can get along with before I consider dating them… Oh! And I have a pet cat! If you like cats too, we can bond over that… Thank you for listening!”

Oh, you ramble when you’re nervous too. That tiny fire travels to his gut, pools into something lascivious, and buzzes in delight—burns in his loins.

Your voice is just as adorable, honeyed and upbeat. Not too fast or high-pitched, doesn’t sound monotone or flat, and it rises and falls in a mellifluous lilt. It’s perfect and it suits you, sounds fitting when he pictures your laugh in that meadow.

He swipes right and introduces himself in your DMs before he leaves to shower. Thirty minutes later a text comes in, displayed on his lock screen.

meowllo (delivered 8:57 pm)

hi! it’s nice to meet you mitsuya!

Mitsuya replies to you while he ruffles his hair dry, a small quirk of his lips lifting into a tiny smile.

Like this, the both of you go on to talk about a bunch of icebreakers. By the end of the day, right until he’s wishing you a good night, the both of you have gone through so many questions that he feels like he has a grasp of your personality now.

First of all, you’re adorable. When Mitsuya brings up a topic, you almost mimic his tone, and the both of you turn into commentators reviewing whatever’s popped up. He’s laughed a few times because you’re so funny too.

He falls asleep with the image of you in that cute sundress frolicking in the meadow, but he dreams of your dress hiked up to your hips and you bouncing on his dick. He curses when he feels soaked sheets as soon as he wakes up and sees a tent in his pants, a twitching wet patch where the tip rests. He spent an hour of his morning fucking his fist before he actually got ready for the day.

A few weeks pass by where the both of you keep texting. You take pictures of your meals and drinks, snacks and desserts. He takes pictures of the sketches he makes and the clothes he’s in the process of sewing. Conversations range from what new show you’ve started, any movies, restaurants, stores that you recommend, or any activities or hobbies you’ve been into lately.

During all this, he notices two other things about you.

You’re a little witty. You come up with quick quips and reactions to his messages that turns into banter. Which leads him to the third thing—you always freeze up and shy away from sexting. Whenever the conversation happens to gain traction towards one direction that gets Mitsuya aroused, his texts bordering on flirty, you take a step back and play it off like a joke before rerouting to safer territory.

Mitsuya thought he offended or creeped you out, so he held back the words he wanted to tell you deep down, but that was until you initiated a sexting situation.

You’re talking about a conversation you had with a friend over her boyfriend, and you brought up how he chokes her

meowllo (delivered 11:45 pm)

damn. when will that happen to me

mitsu90 (delivered 11:45 pm)

i can do that for you, if you want.

meowllo (delivered 11:46 pm)

is that what you like, sweetheart?

Mitsuya’s breath hitches and that pit in his belly throbs. 

mitsu90 (delivered 11:47 pm)

i could do more than just choke you, baby.

Three dots came up on your end for three solid minutes. 

meowllo (delivered 11:50 pm)

lmao

Mistsuya stares at his phone for a long time, lust and a little annoyance simmering in his gut, then he replies right? and moves on, but he keeps a tally in his mind.

He’ll bring it up in due time. That he will.

—

A month more of conversation, ones that lead to no breaches into sexual territory anymore, and you both finally decided on meeting up. 

The location would be a coffee shop right in the center of town.

Mitsuya walks in ten minutes earlier, orders a cup of coffee for the both of you, one black and one sweetened, and waits, looking out the window. You arrive right on time, black pleated skirt swishing around your mid-thighs, white button-down tucked in, and clean white sneakers on your feet, pink ankle socks with bunnies wrapped around the hem.

He smiles at that.

When you look around, Mitsuya waves a hand and your eyes light up in recognition. Clutching the tiny purse on your side, you walk over to him.

“Hi.” You slide into the seat, smiling at him, and Mitsuya’s heart beats a little faster in his chest.

His smile feels warm, and his voice feels smooth flowing out of his mouth. “Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

You bring your hands on the table and curl your fingers, fidgeting and picking at your nails. Gold earrings and necklace catch onto the sunlight pouring in from the window.

Mitsuya takes a sip of his warm, deliciously bitter coffee. You look down to see a cup of your own and you quickly glance back up. “Did you buy this for me?”

He nods, elbows on the table, cup nursed in his hands.

“Thank you. How much did it cost? I have to pay you back.”

He shakes his head. “No need. It’s on me. I arrived a few minutes earlier, and thought I’d buy you one while I was waiting.”

You bite your lip, a small pout pushing your lips out. “Okay then.” You scratch your cheek a little. “Is it okay if I order some food to eat?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Your eyes shine and flare up in determination as you lean forward. “Would you like something too?”

Mitsuya’s lips curve a little higher as he puts his cup down, and links his hands together, propping his chin on them. “Nope, s’all you.”

You slouch back in defeat. He had an inkling that your clever little brain would plan something to get back at his favor.

That’s too bad because Mitsuya thinks he’s gonna like spoiling you, if it’s to see more of how your face scrunches, perplexed at the attention and pampering you’re getting until you get used to it.

You grab the attention of a nearby waiter and ask for a menu, flipping through the pages of the plastic wrap, humming a little tune Mitsuya doesn’t know the name of.

He closes his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

You’re in front of him, citrus perfume whirling around the table. The store is slightly loud with small chatter. Glass cups and trays clink quietly around you as forks clash here and there with the plates. The entrance bell tinkles when someone new arrives. The smell of coffee and bread and sweets is starting to mix with your perfume, and Mitsuya takes a deep breath before he blinks his eyes open.

His heart is steady once again in his chest, his mind clear of unnecessary thoughts and worries, and his eyes are blessed with the sight of you in front of him.

All is calm and everything feels right.

Mitsuya likes this, likes you. He likes how your presence feels so natural and comfortable next to his. He likes how it enhances his senses.

(Because that’s the thing about love, right? Makes the world a little more beautiful.)

Texts are one thing but face-to-face meetings are another, and just because you enjoy texting each other, doesn’t mean you’ll like what you see when you finally meet. He knows this from trying about ten to twenty dates through the same app you met on, he knows dating apps can be just as destructive as they are convenient.

They’re a double-edged sword.

“How many people have you been with? Anyone I need to watch out for?”

When something feels this right, it’s obvious to pursue what’s making you feel that way.

“No one. I’ve never dated before.”

A beat passes as the table turns quiet. You closed the menu, went back to picking at your nails. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Mitsuya blinks. That’s no good. You shouldn’t feel bad about that. There’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with you.

“No one had a crush on you in high school? College? Not even junior high?”

“Oh. Um, I was never considered attractive back in school.”

Mitsuya feels like that’s a lie, but when he sees no change in your expression, he realizes that you’re telling the truth. Disbelief and utter shock paints his face, and with it comes a tiny spark of irritation that no one, absolutely no one found you attractive or even let themselves think about it for a second, but then relief slowly crawls in.

That means there’s no pesky exes, or competition trying to take you away from him.

His smile gets a little wider, canines nudging at the edge of his lips. “Is that so? No one thought you were cute?” he tilts his head, stare inquisitive, and your mouth opens and closes at how he’s taking offense. For you.

“No.”

“That’s a shame. You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes glaze over as you turn away, pout back on your face. You look a little touched and Mitsuya leans forward, resting his hands on the table with his palms up. He curls his fingers up and down and you give him your hands. 

He cradles them. “Hey, I’d be happy to be your first boyfriend.”

(I’d be happy to just be yours.)

“I just wanna know if you’d give me the chance to. I really like you, I wanna know if you like me too.”

Your lips quiver and Mitsuya sees your eyes getting wet. Ah, you’re gonna cry at this rate, but then you open them wide and blink away the tears.

“Yeah… I like you too, Mitsuya.” You respond in a tiny voice that wobbles.

He chuckles. “There’s no need to cry. I’m not going anywhere.” But then a thought comes to mind. “Didn’t you ever hook up with anyone, or go on any dates?”

You shake your head, confusion clear in your eyes. “I get scared when I meet new people, so I don’t feel comfortable meeting matches too soon, and a lot of the time, they get bored after a week.”

“You’ve… never sexted or shared nudes?” You look away flustered. Mitsuya rubs your hands gently. So that’s why you always freeze up, awkward and confused on where to go from there.

That must mean you’re a virgin too. A tiny seed of arousal buries itself in his gut, but it gets overshadowed by the love and care that bleeds from his heart and drips to his stomach.

Mitsuya tongues his jaw. That little spark of irritation from earlier returns twice as hard. He knows why those people you were talking to got bored after a week, they only wanted your body, didn’t think about how you were looking for an emotional connection. He knows because the same thing happened to him a couple times. Countless matches have told him he had a pretty face and wanted to see if his dick was just as pretty, and no matter how many times he said he just wanted to talk, they would keep pushing.

After all, dating apps can be a double-edged sword. 

He’s not gonna be like them at all. He’ll take it nice and slow, wait until you’re ready. For now, he’ll get you used to kisses, hugs, and caresses as your first boyfriend.

(But that doesn’t mean he’s going to play fair.)

—

Mitsuya’s first plan of action is at a movie theater. 

When he picks you up at your house, you come out glowing, dressed casually in baggy jeans, a sweater over a turtleneck, and a tote bag on your shoulder. He drives you to the theater and before getting in line for the concession stand, you tug his sleeve. Pulling a strap off your shoulder, you hold the tote open. 

“I have candy, napkins, and hand sanitizer for us. We don’t have to buy much. Maybe some drinks and popcorn?” Mitsuya chuckles and takes your hand before walking to the line. 

You’re so cute. God. 

He squeezes you tight, hoping that distracts him from kissing you. If he does that here and now, that’ll just spur you into a huge mess, maybe cause a meltdown. He feels like it’ll be better if he asks you before. He already planned on doing it tonight after the movie, right before you head inside your house. He orders a large popcorn and two fountain drinks, a coke for him and sweet tea for you. He kind of guessed this earlier, but you really do have a sweet tooth. The candies in your bag consisted of bite-sized chocolates, a small bag of jolly ranchers, tootsie rolls, coffee-flavored hard candy as well as toffee-flavored ones, a toblerone bar, a variety of milkita candies, and salt caramel chocolate, which is probably the only candy he actually likes out of the ones you brought along with the coffee-flavored ones.

You both walk into the theater just as the advertisements end.

It’s a little full, but the top three back rows are empty. You walk to the very top and sit right in the middle. Situating yourself and putting your drink in the cup holder, you reach for some popcorn Mitsuys set on the armrest between your seats.

The movie starts with a band of numbers dancing and flickering in an empty space of white, then it moves to a high school basking in the warm summer sun, cicadas chirping around a baseball field. Three people talk on the mound. While you’re watching the screen, Mitsuya turns his eyes away. When the karaoke scene plays, the lights illuminate your eyes in the dim space. When it’s the part where the friend gets hurt, you tense up, hands gripping the sidearms so tight, looking as if you’ll bolt at any second following the main character’s lead.

You play through so many different emotions and Mitsuya’s terribly charmed by that.

He puts an arm over your shoulders but not quite touching, resting it on the back of your seat, and he leans to the left until he’s molded to your side, whispering his comments. Your eyes never stray from the screen, and you laugh at Mitsuya’s little jokes. When you have something to say, you whisper it from your spot, Mitsuya close enough to hear.

When the final scene plays, the male lead confesses his feelings to the female lead and that he came from the future.Your eyes get a little shinier, glossing over with tears. He says that he’ll wait for her as the camera turns to her crying, reaching her arms out for him, but when it pans back to him, he’s gone.

As the scene of her sobbing slowly plays, Mitsuya’s heart twists in desperation. His fingers twitch, hand empty, centimeters from yours, and an inkling of doubt plays in his head. He’s wanted to kiss you since you stepped in his car. 

He doesn’t think he can last until you get home.

He decides that he wants to kiss you in the movie theater instead. Mitsuya grabs your hand, your head turns to him. He looks at you with determined eyes and you feel something heavy in the air, but it’s not scary—never with Mitsuya—it’s almost exciting in a way. 

Anticipation rushes through your veins, buzzing and prickling your skin in a series of goosebumps.

“Can I kiss you?” 

It’s comforting, the soft way Mitsuya asks you. He’s not intimidating, nor do you feel nervous or scared off by his eagerness, and the mood feels right, so you say, “Yeah.”

As the credits roll, soft music in the background, Mitsuya closes his eyes and leans in. You do the same. When your lips touch, it’s electric, warm, and heartfluttering.

He keeps his lips pressed against yours a second more, then he’s pulling back. Your eyes slowly blink open, the delicate curve of your wispy lashes flutter up, onyx pupils glazed over and sparkling.

His heart beats in his throat.

“Can I do it again?” Mitsuya whispers.

You nod your head, and your lips gravitate towards each other.

This time, you feel his lips move up and down. You follow his lead, clutching onto the sleeve of his shirt, heart beating a second faster than before and stomach erupting in butterflies.

When you pull back, the credits are done and the lights are just turning on. You both gaze at each other with glossy eyes, pupils big and irises shining.

Mitsuya’s eyes are purple, maybe a lilac. You didn’t know that. His pictures aren’t close enough to catch the light in them.

He brings your hands up and kisses them too. “I should take you home. It’s late.”

You lick your lips, which feel a little plumper and swollen. Mitsuya glances down for a second and you look away with warm ears when you notice.

“Okay.”

The day ends with another kiss in his car, a hand on the back of your neck that rubs and caresses the soft skin. The touch makes you shiver and tremble, and you felt him smiling into the kiss, but when you pull back, his eyes were so kind and loving that you couldn’t get mad at his teasing.

“Goodnight, sweet girl.”

You pout as you make your way out, mumbling, “Goodnight, meanie.”

You hear Mitsuya’s laugh before you shut the car door close and he waves at you, making sure you unlock the door of your apartment complex and walk through before he drives off.

After that first date, you aren’t able to have another one for a week or two because the both of you became busy with work, but you still text each other frequently, even more than when you started talking. When Mitsuya remembers your conversations, a small curve in the corners of his mouth forms so wide that he has to hide it behind a hand. Sometimes a tiny snort slips out while he’s drawing, cooking, showering, brushing his teeth, or any other task.

Mitsuya feels like you’ve been intruding his mind lately, but he schemes what other things he can get you used to. He definitely wants to move up to kisses where he can stick his tongue inside your mouth, and much more.

—

You sneeze in your little office booth as shivers crawl down your spine. It feels a little cold, but you were just fine earlier.

As you pack up your things and wrap up some last-minute documents, you get a text from Mitsuya asking if you’re free next weekend. The annual sales your department had to calculate just finished, you can stop taking work home and you can stop working overtime. 

You send him your okay, bright glow on your face, whistling a happy tune on your way out.

—

The next week rolls by fairly quickly. 

Mitsuya and you are in a nice restaurant that has intricate chandeliers and decorations, classical music playing, and lively chatter that doesn’t sound too rambunctious. 

A waiter walks you to a table towards the back that’s next to a window which overlooks the street outside, where hundreds of people cross a big intersection, tall buildings and neon signs lighting up the city. It’s pretty, and you keep your eyes on the window as they trail over a woman walking with her child. 

She swings their intertwined hands and the kid smiles at the loving gesture.

You feel your lips moving with theirs as they cross the street and disappear into the crowd. Taking your eyes back to the table, you get spooked by Mitsuya who’s already looking at you.

His smile curls up in amusement. “Do you like the restaurant?”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, it’s nice, especially the view.”

He nods and leans back, lacing his hands together as he places them on his crossed legs. “How’s your week been?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the sound of shoes clacking against oak flooring interrupts you. 

“Hi, I’m terribly sorry for the wait. Here’s your menu. I’ll be back in twenty minutes to get your order. Thank you for dining with us.”

Two menus are placed on the table and you take one, flipping through the pages. Your stomach grumbles reading through all of the dishes.

Mitsuya’s calm, deep voice rings through your ears and latches on, taking your attention away from the pictures.

“You didn’t answer my question.” His tone is blunt, curt.

“Oh…” 

Mitsuya waits patiently for you to continue, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes you nervous. There’s a thousand different things you can bring up, your mind doesn’t know what to start on, so you settle for simple pleasantries. “Good! How was yours?”

“What about it was good?” The width of his smile looks intimidating, he looks intimidating.

“Uh, I got to meet up with my friends.”

“That’s nice. Did you eat any good food? Get anything nice to drink? Anything sweet for yourself?”

“I- We ordered a lot and shared, so I probably ate a feast full of food.”

“And?”

You think for a moment. “I also drank a lot of beer with them that day, but I made sure to drink lots of water too, and I crashed at one of their places.”

Mitsuya looks at you like he’s waiting for something else, waiting to hear something more specific, but you can’t put your finger on it.

“…I was with them the whole day.”

His eyes curve into little crescents and shine, but they look so cruel, demanding. “That’s terrific, Baby. But not what I wanna hear.”

Your heart trembles deathly quiet at his disappointment. Mitsuya’s smile is gone. It hides behind his latched hands, and his droopy eyes look sharper. You feel like he’s poking and prodding at your brain, beady eyes trailing across your body and only then do you realize what you have on. A beautiful dress for the occasion with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a low cut neckline that shows off your cleavage, the charm hanging from your necklace resting between your breasts.

The air around the table turns suffocating as you shrink under Mitsuya’s heavy gaze that’s boiling hot on your skin, and something about it has you squirming, has your insides heating up as you wrack your brain for a good answer. 

The quiet music of the restaurant rises to a crescendo as the song reaches its climax, turbulent violin strings screech and the tempo increases, the brutal thumps of your heart following along. Does he want to know about your whole day? Do you tell him that you drank too much and almost blacked out? Or do you tell him that nothing bad happened to you in the end?

“I… never left their side. Didn’t get caught up in anything shady. Kept myself safe.”

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in, but his scary glint eases into that sleepy-eyed look you’ve gotten fond of, they fade until his eyes turn into that bright lilac they usually are, and his kind smile returns as his hands move under his chin.

“Good.”

You shiver at the baritone pitch of his voice, the sound shooting straight to your core, and your mouth opens and closes foolishly trying to respond to that. How do you even respond to a statement like that? 

Your stomach feels hot, so does your face and neck, and your heart flutters a little slower in your chest, happy again.

“Hi! Have you decided on your orders?”

You flinch at the interruption a second time but take a deep breath of relief when you feel his eyes shift to the waitress. He orders his food, asks what you want, and orders for you too. She leaves once again, and you’re left on the receiving end of Mitsuya’s eyes, but they’ve softened completely, no harsh edges or dull lines.

“You asked me about my week, right?”

Your body gradually relaxes when Mitsuya starts talking about a fashion show he participated in as one of the guest designers for a friend who was modeling that runway.

The food arrives half an hour later, right as he’s telling you about Hakkai, and how proud he was of him, watching from the crowd. She places down Mitsuya’s medium-rare steak and virgin mojito, your chicken alfredo, cinderella cocktail, and sautéed potatoes and asparagus.

You dig into the food and hum when the creamy, rich sauce lands on your tongue, the chicken juicy and the noodles perfectly done.

“Is it good?”

Nodding your head, you twist the fork in your plate, ready for the next bite, but Mitsuya reaches over and cups your chin. You swallow the remaining chunks of food in your mouth as his thumb presses into plush lips, and his eyes dull until they become dark and dilated like they were earlier.

That same hungry glint returns and your thighs clench underneath the table. You can’t look away, you want to, but you can’t. A simmering heat in your stomach keeps you rooted to the spot. Then Mitsuya smiles, eyes closing, hiding them from you. 

“There was something on your mouth. Got it.” 

His hand drops to his side, going back to his food like you weren’t on the verge of something.

After that second date, you’ve noticed a series of strange events, Mitsuya at the center of it all. He does things that make your stomach twist and turn, have your legs shaking, but then he pulls away and leaves you feeling empty and disappointed. You’ve kept a good mental list of each event, wondering what this desperation and yearning in your heart was.

—

The third date, and first occurrence, is dinner at Mitsuya’s house.

You have his apron on while he’s apronless, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, silver watch the only accessory decorating his arm. He’s beside you, instructing how to properly cut green onions because you had your fingers splayed out and nearly brought the knife down on them.

He moves behind you. “Okay, grip onto the green onions just like that. Yes, now curl your fingers until that middle bone is sticking out, and when you cut something, keep the knife straight so the flat side hits into that bone. And make sure you don’t raise the knife higher than your fingers.”

When you finish cutting, you turn around and thank Mitsuya to see how proud he looked.

“Good girl. Just like that.” 

You freeze. Mitsuya’s arms are wrapped around your waist and his chin is on your head. “What’s wrong?”

You shake off the giddy beats of your heart at the intimacy of his touch. “Nothing! What should I do next?”

He steps back and unties the apron from behind you with just a tug at one of the strings. You heat up at how similar the loosening of the apron feels to tugging off clothes. This shouldn’t fluster you so much, and you shouldn’t be thinking about that either when Mitsuya’s smiling so sweetly at you. You’re about to have dinner, cooking the food together, in fact.

There’s no room for thoughts like these.

He lifts the collar from your neck and slides the apron on. “Can you boil the water for me? I’ll fry the seaweed and vegetables.”

The both of you make quick work and within an hour, his dining table gets filled with two bowls of miso soup, steaming hot rice, a plate full of fried veggie tempura and other little edible ingredients. You also set two cups of barley tea on either side.

Sitting down, you offer your thanks and dig in.

The soup is refreshing on your tongue, glides down your throat smoothly, and settles in your belly warming you up from the inside out. You exhale in delight after sipping the soup. A bite of the rice melts in your mouth, adding to that warm, cozy feeling in your stomach that’s starting to sprout in your heart. The fried tempura sides add a nice crunch to the meal, and when you dip it in soy sauce, the flavors get enhanced. You breathe out a long sigh, but it’s the good kind where your body sags. This is nice. Eating dinner with Mitsuya is nice.

It looks like he feels the same as he places his chopsticks down. “Could get used to this.” You hum your response as you take a sip of your tea.

Dinner is finished in another twenty minutes and after you wash the dishes, Mitsuya washing as you dry off the plates, you put them away in his cupboards, and then slouch on the couch, lethargic and content.

Mitsuya turns on the TV, but the both of you aren’t really watching.

You bask in the happiness of your full stomach, eyes closed, commercial jingles playing in the background, and the comfortable silence of Mitsuya’s home that smells like miso soup, a little oil, laundry softener and detergent, and a little whiff of crisp cologne, or maybe that’s because Mitsuya’s sitting next to you.

“Can I kiss you?”

You slowly blink your groggy eyes open and turn your head. He’s already staring at you with earnest, bright eyes, and you sit up, not against the question.

“Yeah… I wanna kiss you too.”

He cups your cheek, leans in, and your lips touch. They move around, molding to each other, the same kiss from the movie theater. It feels so nice that your mind blanks, you let yourself fall into him, fall into the sensation, and you get a little sleepy with how comforting it is, but then Mitsuya licks your lips and you jolt back.

A small fire builds in your stomach at the new touch and all drowsiness in your system leaves.

“Did I scare you?”

You scratch your head. “No, but it was…surprising.”

“Is it okay if I do it again?” You nod and Mitsuya’s smile brightens.

“Good! Can you come here?” He pats his lap, and you stare at it before looking back up.

“I can kiss you better this way. Make it feel even better.”

Well, if it makes it easier for you both to kiss, then you guess there’s no harm in it. All you’re doing is sitting on his lap, nothing more.

You slide one knee over his legs and sit on his knees. “You’re cute, Princess, but you’re too far.”

The new pet name makes you shiver, hair standing on end at the nape, skin prickling into goosebumps, and heart fluttering like butterfly wings. You slide up a little until you’re at the top of his thighs. Mitsuya’s smile gets bigger and his eyes gloss over with adoration, but he grabs your hips and pulls you to him until you’re flush to his body, practically resting over his crotch, and you drop your head in embarrassment, trying to hide yourself from how close he is.

“S’okay, Baby. ‘M not gonna do anything to you. We’re only gonna kiss.” He coos and picks your chin up, lips back on yours again.

His tongue licks at you like they were earlier, your lips wobble before they open up. Mitsuya hums, and you feel it buzz on that tiny bud at the top of your slit. He licks your tongue as well as your teeth, the backs of it, against your cheeks.

He pulls back. “You gotta kiss me too, baby. Twist your tongue with mine. Try to follow my lead.”

You nod again and his mouth is back on yours. You lick his tongue, but instead it twists and turns with yours, and you let it. Mitsuya hums into your mouth once more and you moan slightly at how it echoes in your mouth before traveling between your legs, where it lingers.

You pull back, panting. A string of saliva follows.

Mitsuya sees how swollen and red your lips are, glistening with spit and leftovers of your vanilla sugar chapstick. When he licks his lips, he tastes it. He sees how wet your eyes are, brimming with tears, and feverish with lust, and drunk off his kisses alone.

Just a simple little french kiss, you’re not even grinding on him, but he can feel the squish of your running slick in your panties, and that gets Mitsuya’s stomach burning—gets his dick twitching in his pants.

You don’t notice as you catch your breath and bury your head in his neck, snuggling into the cozy space and making a home of yourself there. Mitsuya feels how fast your heart beats in your chest in tune with his. He rubs circles to calm you down, stroking his hands up and down.

He gives you a few minutes before he asks, “You wanna do it again?”

“Mhmm.” Your head is up again, but this time you kiss him and twirl your tongue around his. it’s a little shaky, but Mitsuya is so aroused by how eager you become that he groans.

You learn to breathe through your nose, follow the soft rise and fall of his chest, but you do have to pull back for air sometimes because of how much he sucks and bites at your lips, how roughly he kisses you and steals your breath away. You rest your chin on his shoulder while you catch your breath, puffs of air hitting his ear. Mitsuya’s hands don’t stop roaming, even when he gets to your hips, he slides his hands further down and all of a sudden he’s cupping your ass from below your skirt, rubbing the soft, smooth skin of your backside before he hooks a finger in your panties and snaps it on you.

A squeal leaves your lips. 

Mitsuya rubs where the band hit you, the area warm. He kisses your neck and shoulders, gives your ass one final squeeze before he’s asking, “I should probably take you home now, shouldn’t I?”

You think for a second about how there’s a simmering heat in your stomach, how hot it feels between your legs, how you can feel your folds quiver from want, and how you feel the tiniest shift of something wet running down your entrance. You want Mitsuya to do more, but he talks first before you can, still rubbing your ass that you just now noticed he didn’t stop doing.

“Let’s get you home.”

Playing with the belt loop of his pants, you utter, “Mitsuya—”

“Let’s. Get you home.”

You pick your head up and stare at him. His eyes are bright but rigid, like he’s not taking no for an answer, and you realize that something hard has been touching your thigh.

“Oh… Okay.”

Mitsuya tells you to head out first before him, tucking his dick into the waistband of his pants as soon as you’re out the door.

—

The next time you meet up isn’t a date, but a little of an emergency. Mitsuya called you tonight to see how you were doing, only to get alarmed by your sniffles and teary voice. As soon as you tell him that something happened at work, he rushed over to your house. Which is where you’re at now, pacing back and forth in your living room, nervous about something, and Mitsuya looks up from his spot on the floor.

He stops you with a hand on your wrist. “Hey, c’mere,” and pulls you down to sit next to him, but you fall in the space between his crisscrossed legs instead. 

Your body tenses up and pauses. Mitsuya does the same, but it’s to steady you. A quick second and a breath later, he puts his arms around you to pat your back.

“S’okay. There’s nothing you need to worry about,” he whispers in your ear sweetly. You slump into his touch and hug his shoulders. 

He hears small sniffles, so he gives you a soft peck on the head and keeps stroking your back. The crying gets quieter until he can’t hear anymore, just deep, slow, even breaths. Mitsuya almost thinks you fell asleep on him until a particularly soft trace of your spine makes you utter out a tiny moan. 

Then he hears the obscene squelch of your pussy. 

A few seconds pass of Mitsuya breathing and you burying your head in his neck out of embarrassment before he asks, “You want me to take care of you, Baby?”

Clinging to Mitsuya’s shoulders for a few seconds, you hum, and his fingers trail down between your bodies and circles your clit softly through the cotton of your panties. So sensitive and trembling from his touch, your juices drip like cream and stain your panties with a wet patch. 

Tiny moans slip out of your mouth against your better judgement in his ear. It drives him insane because you’re so fucking cute. 

He takes note of the way your legs twitch and knees clench against his hips, how easy you’re getting riled up. Out of the hookups Mitsuya has had, not one of them were ever this sensitive unless they were a virgin, a naive one that never masturbated before, or really liked him.

“Do you not touch yourself?”

A breathy whimper leaves your lips, and you hug him tighter, face all hot, but you don’t answer him. Something hot stirs in Mitsuya’s gut. He feels a little mean when he pinches your clit, just a tiny bit to get you to answer, but your pussy squelches and you squeal, and Mitsuya is so struck by the two sounds that he feels his pants tightening. 

Shit, he must be hard.

In a tiny voice, you reply, “Sometimes I can’t get off when I touch myself.”

Oh fuck, that’s hot. 

Mitsuya’s dick twitches at that. “You can’t make yourself cum, Princess?” 

You bury your head further in his neck, shake it left and right.

Mitsuya’s stomach boils with lust as he says, “Want me to help you with that?”

He feels you nod after a second, and he grins as he slides your panties to the side and sticks a finger inside your entrance, his palm bumping into your clit. The loud moan that leaves your lips is erotic, and your legs shake, and Mitsuya falls in love with the sound of your voice. He wants to hear more, so he reaches further with his finger, pushes it in until he feels something spongy, paired with a glide of your clit on his palm, and you heave a shaky breath.

“What usually feels good for you?”

“I just put my finger inside.”

Mitsuya’s hands pause for a second, mind latching onto that bit of information, and he plays it in his head three times over.

“You’ve only been fingering yourself?”

“The girls from my high school kept saying that fingering usually gets them to cum.” You sound uncertain of yourself. 

Mitsuya chuckles. “Baby, you need to touch your clit too, or you’re not gonna feel that good. Your finger’s too small to reach for your g-spot.”

You take Mitsuya’s advice with a hazy mind. “My clit?”

His smile gets a little wider and his canines pop up. “Sweetheart, do you not know where your clit is?”

“No! I know where it is. I just- I didn’t think that’s where it feels good.”

Mitsuya rubs circles into the tiny bud, and your legs twitch. “That, right there is your clit. Rub circles into it with something wet and you’ll climax within minutes.”

He emphasizes this by fingering you while stimulating it with grinds of his palm, making sure to nudge into your spongy walls. With each glide, your hips buck, your moans get louder, your breathing gets heavier, and you clutch onto his jacket tighter until Mitsuya feels your walls clamp on his hand. 

Your hips twitch, body shivering as you cum, juices squirting in tiny droplets. Mitsuya continues fingering you, riding out your high, before he stops and lets you breathe. When your breathing returns to normal and your legs stop shaking, he uncrosses his legs, digs his feet into the floor and bends his knees on either side of you.

He scoots back and grips either side of your hips. “Okay. Spread your legs open for me, Baby. Lemme see if you understood me.”

Your head shoots up in alarm, and your eyes dart around his face measuring the seriousness of his words.

“Don’t you wanna be able to cum on your own? Or do you wanna call me every time you wanna cum? I don’t mind that, baby, but I might be busy some days.”

Mitsuya’s smirk is bordering on playful, and he might sound like he’s joking, but he will gladly make you cum as many times as your little heart desires and then some, if you want, but he also might make you cum until you’re begging him to stop just to hear your whines. 

You slowly open your legs and bring your fingers down to your clit, rubbing circles like Mitsuya did earlier and your legs twitch. You must still be a little sensitive, but it’s nothing that’ll harm you.

“That’s right. Just like that. Now keep going.”

You sniffle. “But it hurts, Mitsuya,” and a hiccup works its way up your throat from how hard your heart beats, how heavy your breathing paces.

“Does it only hurt?”

You hiccup again before shaking your head.

“Good. Then you can keep going.” 

As you go at a pace that’s not too fast and not too slow, that growing heat in your stomach grows stronger and it bubbles over when Mitsuya removes a hand from your hips, thrusts two fingers inside your trembling hole to nudge right at your sweet spot. You cum again, nectar dripping from your entrance a little thicker and heavier than your first climax, the remnants of it gliding down your thighs, and Mitsuya softly instructs you to keep rubbing until that blinding white pleasure in your head calms down. 

When it fades, you take your hand away, and go to close your legs, but Mitsuya’s hands are on your knees, keeping them from closing. He stares down at your gooey slit with a concentration that reignites a fire in your belly. Your folds respond by fluttering, you can hear the obscene squelch of your juices.

Mitsuya’s mouth parts a bit and his eyes dilate a few centimeters, but when he looks up at you a second later, it’s gone.

“Stay here. I’ll go get some paper towels for you.”

You feel a little bad at how Mitsuya’s done so much for you with nothing done in return, and you’re a little curious to see him, to stroke his dick and see it cum.

“But Mitsuya, you—”

“Don’t.” He interrupts. “It’s okay. You don’t gotta do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” He says that but you glance straight ahead at the very obvious bulge in his pants before you look back up at his eyes, yours glossy in arousal yet worry.

You bite at your lips in apprehension. “Are you sure? I- I think I can help you.”

Mitsuya smiles fondly down at you before he turns and walks away to the bathroom where he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants and boxers in one tug, veiny cock slapping up to his stomach with a splat from how leaky the tip is. He fucks his fist right away and cums in minutes, grabbing a handful of paper towels for you before he leaves. He goes home after he helps you clean up, doesn’t let a single word about your denied help or his pleasure leave your lips.

Laying in bed two hours later, you question if it would be too fast to have sex after the next date, and you ponder if you’re really up for it. Mitsuya is handsome, charming, nice, and kind, he even knows your pleasure better than you do, so you don’t think he’s going to make your first time scary. 

You fall asleep contemplating your non-existent sex life, and how to go about asking him.

—

The next date is two weeks later at a zoo. He arrives first again, having already bought the tickets online.  Clad in jeans, a shirt, sneakers, and a jacket, while you’re in a long skirt, cardigan, and sneakers, a purse hanging off your shoulder, and a silver ring glinting on your index finger.

“Did you know that I was going to wear blue?”

Mitsuya stares at the blue of your checkered sweater and glances down at his blue jacket before the corners of his lips turn up. “Nope. Just felt like wearing blue today.”

He latches your hands together, grabs a pamphlet, and guides you inside. “Which exhibit do you want to see first?”

Swinging your hands back and forth as you both fall into step, you say, “I wanna visit the butterfly garden!”

The garden was beautiful, lush and rich with green bushes and trees, white daffodils, yellow tulips and sunflowers, purple orchids, and so much more. The air was moist and sweet, you could practically taste the nectar on your tongue. Mitsuya took pictures of you gazing at the flowers and butterflies that circled around you, one landed on your hair and rested there, which you had to keep still for, but it flew off after five minutes, and the droop of your frown was too cute.

Whenever you wanted a picture of the both of you, Mitsuya would ask staff members or other visitors. You saw animal headbands at the souvenir shop outside of the garden, which you insisted the both of you wear, and you were having so much fun that Mitsuya couldn’t find it in himself to ruin that, so you walked around the rest of the park with matching panda ears.

The insects, amphibians, and birds rested in a building that framed their underground and swampy homes perfectly, another section that reminded you of the butterfly garden because of the warm tropical setup for the moths, birds, and other ground dwellers. Next was the water area to see the crocodiles, alligators, and turtles. Mitsuya wouldn’t let you go anywhere near the edge of the railing because you almost dropped your phone into the water leaning forward to film the opening mouth of a gator. Finally, the last exhibit you saw was the cages for the lions, tigers, and monkeys. You were struck with wonder watching a male lion lick the fur of his mate, mouth parted open when a pair of tiger cubs were batting at each other, eyes twinkling when the monkeys copied every movement you did in front of their glass home. 

Mitsuya never let go of your hand, never kept his eyes off you, and never interrupted as you babbled on about how amazing all the animals were. But just before you left, you visited the petting area that had rabbits that would nudge at your shoes with their noses, cats that pawed at Mitsuya for him to scratch their ears, dogs that would not leave the both of you alone, and other domestic animals.

Then once the zoo was done, he took you to a restaurant, not a fancy one like your second date, but it was cozy. 

Before he took you home, you asked if you could spend more time together at his house. So this is where you are now, sitting next to him on the couch, watching a movie he put on. A sex scene plays.as you twiddle your thumbs and nibble your lip, an invitation for sex resting on the tip of your tongue.

“Mitsuya.”

“Mhmm?” His eyes don’t leave the TV.

“Do you want to…”

“Yeah?” He finally turns his head away.

“Do you…want to do it.”

“Do what?” His eyebrows furrow a little. 

You sit up a little more and turn to face him. “Do you…want to have sex?” you murmur.

His brows shoot up, frown twisting his lips. “What brought this on?”

“Well…we haven’t done it yet and I was wondering why.”

“Yeah, because I didn’t wanna pressure you. First times can be scary, and I don’t wanna do it if you don’t want to.” His eyes soften, and that is enough to make you want it more.

“I want to!” Then you say more serious this time. “I really want to, Takashi.”

Mitsuya takes a long and deep breath, and his eyes dilate, the shine to them dulling just a little. You think you might have gotten him in the mood, and that dark look you know very well now is starting to make its way onto his face.

He grips your thigh. The gentle dynamics of your relationship are on the cusps of change. You’ve always felt like there was something deeper to Mitsuya’s kindness. That there was something about it that wasn’t completely kind, a facade put up to come across as nice and unsuspecting.

“Baby, you shouldn’t joke around with things like that. I said before that I could’ve done more than choke you, and you didn’t take that so seriously.” Mitsuya’s eyes burn with something molten and heady. “So don’t say things you don’t mean.”

A little irritation sparks in your chest. “I’m being serious. I want to do it.” You state, clear and concise. “I want to, Mitsuya. I think I’m ready now.”

A moment passes where you look into each other’s eyes, he darts all over your face before he hums when you don’t blurt out any rebuttals.

He stands up and grabs your wrist, tugs you to his room and sits you down. His eyes shine again. Lust crackles between you both, and he smirks. “You sure about that now?”

Your voice comes out louder than you thought. “Yes, I’m sure.” You clear your throat, saying more quietly, “I love you, and I trust you, Mitsuya.”

He tongues his jaw and you can see it from the little gap in his mouth. “What happened to ‘Takashi?’ huh, Princess?”

Mitsuya towers over you and you feel yourself shrinking a little, but that pit of desire in your stomach burns. 

“Takashi, I want you to be my first.”

Something in Mitsuya snaps when he hears that. His dick twitches in his pants and stands up right away as arousal simmers lethargically in his gut. And how your pretty voice spun his name? He wants to hear it in a scream, wants to hear you whining, moans and babbles and everything in between.

He smiles sharply, a rough tilt of his lips that makes his teeth pop out, eyes dulling to a molten purple swimming with lust, as he leans down to kiss you, and you remember something your friends told you—get waxed clean, and drink a glass of fruit and lime juice. If you did that before you met up with him, then for sure, you would taste good should he go down on you. Of course, you sputtered about how he shouldn’t have to, but they said if he truly loved you, he would. 

Which ended up happening.

While you’re laying down on the edge of his bed, Mitsuya hovers over you, a knee digging into the spot next to your hips. Your heart feels funny in your chest as Mitsuya kisses all over your face and neck, so caught up in him that you don’t notice how they travel lower, to your shoulders, collarbones, chest, stomach hips, and finally, he kneels right in front of your underwear.

When he pulls your panties off and throws it somewhere behind you, his breath fanning over your slit, you pick your head up, elbows against the bed with panic written all over your face.

“Wait, Mitsuya. You don’t have to- agh.” Mitsuya pulls you flush to him and takes a whiff of your drooling pussy.

“God, you smell divine, Princess. Can’t wait to bury my face in you,” which is what he does as soon as the words leave his lips.

He dives in, face pressed right against your entrance as he laps up your sweet nectar. Your body jolts and your back arches right off the bed. You’ve never had someone go down on you before and while it feels good, there’s tears pooling at your eyes from how intense and overwhelming the feeling is. Mitsuya’s nose nudges against your clit, and your brain short circuits. 

You see white as you cum, Mitsuya never stopping the swirls of his tongue on you, and when you sit up a little to pull his hair or tap his shoulders, all you get in response is a groan that reverberates in your cunt and makes your juices gush out of you. A minute later, when his tongue still doesn’t stop moving and his pace never slows, the pressure in your stomach comes back stronger and you feel like exploding. 

This is when you really tug his hair, next to ripping clumps of it off, your feet kick and dangle at empty air over his shoulders. When that doesn’t work, you try pushing yourself away.

Mitsuya’s grip on your thighs gets tight.

You start sobbing, hiccuping, from uneven breaths of air. “Mitsu- M-”

Then your back arches off the bed higher, your toes curl, your eyes roll back, and your mouth stretches open in a silent scream as that boiling heat in your stomach erupts. Mitsuya pulls away from your pussy, finally, to watch you come undone, sees how your cunt flutters and squirts obscene amounts of cum as your body convulses.

On its final spurt, your pussy finally relaxes but your body still quivers and trembles, and your tears start up again.

“‘M sorry. ‘M so sorry, Mitsuya.” You sniffle. “I peed all over your bed.” You curl up into a ball, turning on your side away from him as your hands come up to hide your face.

Mitsuya’s chest twists in arousal. He thinks he likes seeing you cry, his dick so hard in his pants, it hurts from the strain, and it’s all because of your misunderstanding. You know nothing about squirting either, or know how good it feels, how hot it is, or how fucking ravenous you look when you do it.

He gets on the bed and hovers over you fully, kissing your hands and wrapping them around your wrist. “It isn’t that bad.”

He tugs your hand down softly and you let him, but you turn your face into the covers still ashamed, and Mitsuya chuckles. His lips peck every spot on this side of your face. From your cheek, to your temple, an eyebrow, the wing of your eye, and the tip of your earlobe.

“S’okay. You didn’t pee, you squirted, and it’s something that’s normal for girls during sex.”

Your sniffles start to quiet down after you hear that.

“Really?”

He hums. “So don’t be scared, Princess. ‘M gonna make you feel so good.” Giving you a final kiss on your forehead, he sits back on his feet to strip, and the hard lines of his abdominal muscles makes your pussy clench. You gulp. He usually wears baggy clothes, or long sleeves so you’ve never seen any muscles or defined lines to give you any hints, and you ask yourself how that works as he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants, only to gape in disbelief.

The cock that springs out and slaps against his stomach with a dull, heavy thud is something out of a porno you remember in a blur that your friends tried to get you to watch. It’s big, not too long that it scares you, but it’s tall enough and hides his belly button. Mostly pink and light, it stands up proud, no tilt to the shaft like you think you remember seeing from the video, and there’s a thick vein underneath his length pulses in front of you.

Staring at it longer, you take back what you said earlier because it’s actually growing a little taller. Mitsuya’s dick is intimidating, you’re starting to get scared off… Maybe if you make it cum once, it shrinks?

He reaches over to open his nightstand drawer and grabs a condom, turns back and sees you eying his dick intensely, horribly inquisitive as a crease forms between your brows.

Mitsuya laughs. “What’s wrong? It’s not gonna do anything to ya. Promise.”

That sentence ends in a deep puff of air when you wrap your hand around his head. It feels a little large, but it is wrapped around successfully.

Mitsuya groans and his stomach twitches. “You wanna stroke me?”

You slide down until your hand breaks off from its circle, and you take notice of how you haven’t even reached the base before your hand stopped wrapping around him.

Mitsuya sees you look up with all of the seriousness in the world, your voice, facial expression, and eyes stiff. “Do you think it’s gonna fit?” 

Your hand still attached to him shakes with his body, and your eyes bulge from its sockets when you see the thing swing.

“You wanna stop?” He smirks when he sees the disbelief on your face. People were often surprised when they saw his cock for the first time, since it doesn’t look as delicate as him—said it was completely opposite to his pretty face.

You nibble the inside of your lips, contemplating in your mind if you want to continue or not before you submit to curiosity, and you slide back up. While you pump your fist on Mitsuya slowly, he rips off the cover with his teeth, careful to do it at the very edge so the condom doesn’t rip, and he holds it in his hand as he watches you jolt back when a drop of precum starts to run.

“‘S not gonna hurt you.” He coos.

You touch his slit and rub it, fascinated by how precum keeps leaking out. He groans from your fiddling, and his legs shake when you put the tip of your finger against the bulging hole and push a little.

“Does that hurt?” You ask and look worried and it’s cute, but you also put a little more pressure down, and Mitsuya moans.

“No, but you should stop pressin’ on it, or ‘m gonna end up cummin’ all over your pretty hands.” Your lip juts out in a pout, and you squeeze him a bit subconsciously. You think over the consequences of that before your hand goes back to stroking, a little faster this time. 

When Mitsuya feels his balls tightening, he rips your hand off, but it goes a little too fast in his haste, and your nail catches on to that sensitive vein underneath his dick. He groans and shakes a little, but his hand is quick in squeezing his twitching shaft tightly to stop that eruption of cum. He takes deep breaths to calm the roaring fire in his gut.

He sighs, “That was close. Wouldn’t wanna cum anywhere else, but inside you, and I promise that you wouldn’t want me to either.”

Mitsuya slides the condom on and pours the lube right onto his dick that twitches when the gooey liquid hits him.

He hisses. “Fuck. ‘S cold.” Rubbing it all over his length, his eyes turn to you and your mouth goes dry at how carnal they look, dark and heady, swimming with lust.

He holds himself with one hand, towers over you even, dick casting a shadow over your face. “Ready, Baby? Promise I won’t hurt ya.” He coos, and you feel your fears melting.

“Yeah. ‘M ready, ‘Kashi.”

His dick twitches again, and his brows shoot up, small quirk of his lips rising in a smirk. “Mhm. Gonna make you scream that all night.”

He kisses you, tongue slipping inside the warm cavern of your mouth, and pushes you down, you go willingly, twisting your tongue with his and licking along his mouth. Saliva seeps out from the corners. It’s messy and a little desperate, the kiss Mitsuya gives you, which is a vast difference from the soft, comforting ones that you’ve been getting, the ones that make butterflies form in your chest, make your hands reach out for his, and make you fall into motion with him. But this kiss is so much more intense. Much more sensual. You guess this was what he was refraining himself from showing you, and you don’t like that. 

You want all of him, you love him after all.

You push his chest a bit, the strong, lean muscle bends to your will. “I trust you, Takashi. You can do what you want, if I’m willing to try it out.”

Mitsuya’s eyes widen before they droop and soften again. He pinches your cheek, softly.

(He’d never hurt you.)

“I know, Baby. I wouldn’t do anything you wouldn’t like. Wouldn’t do anything without telling you either.”

Your heart bleeds of love and you swoon from his careful consideration.

“Taka—” your voice breaks off into a wince, and Mitsuya smiles more sharply above you.

(At least not too much. He thinks he can probably push you around a bit, and you’d take him like the good girl you are.)

“I think you could take some pain though. You can do that for me, can’t you, Princess?” He pushes the tip inside and you clench down on him, and his smile never wavers. 

“Atta girl.” You shiver at the praise and your heart beats ferociously in joy, but you get a little ticked off at how callous he’s being.

Was Mitsuya always so mean?

You furrow your brow and pout your spit glistened lips, grind your teeth down as tears brim in your eyes before you turn your head away and cover your face with your hands.

Mitsuya clicks his tongue in a series of soft little tuts and coos at you, “Baby, you know I mean well.” He pushes himself further in, and you tremble, humming your disbelief.

He chuckles and kisses your hands, a soft smooch at each digit before he licks the tip of an index finger, kissing it like he would a wound, and you get goosebumps from his contradicting actions. Soft and sweet one moment and mean the next, it makes your head spin, your heart race, and your pussy clench at how he alternates between the two.

“There’s no need to hide. ‘M not gonna hurt you.” He latches one hand with his and brings them next to your head. Half of your face is visible, and that’s all Mitsuya needs to kiss into your ear, nibbling the lobe, and whisper his praises.

“You feel that, Baby? Feel how you’re taking me?” He sinks in slowly after the tip and your walls part for him, smitten. “You’re doing so well, Princess. Could die a happy man.”

Your face heats up, and you start sweating at the sweet but crass praise, your heart reaches your throat when Mitsuya bottoms out. You throw your head back and inhale a shaky breath. It feels like he’s deep in your guts and then some. 

The tears fall freely now as your vision blurs over. Mitsuya pecks them away. Sliding out before thrusting back in, he nudges right at your sweet, spongy walls. You hiccup from how out of whack your breathing gets, heart beating a mile a minute.

“Oh.” Mitsuya coos at you again, but the words he says are teasing. “My dick too much for you? Said you could handle it, Sweetheart. Wanted it even.”

“Takashi.” You warble.

“There, there. I’ll take good care of you, Princess.” And he starts a slow pace. At first.

Each clench of your walls adds fire to the heat in his stomach and before long, he’s rutting into you. The bed squeaks from exertion, and your ears flush from the wet sounds of skin slapping echoing in the room, your cunt squelching with each move of Mitsuya’s hips.

It all sounds too much, sounds vulgar, the feeling of it all overwhelms you as that band of pleasure grows and stretches in your stomach. When Mitsuya lowers down until his stomach rubs against your neglected clit, you pulse, and he groans, the sound buzzing right at your clit and you see white.

Your toes curl and your back arches as you squeak pathetically like a dying animal, slick that was pooling and dripping down your thighs squirt and gush in excess all over Mitsuya. 

He smiles, fascinated and struck with absolute adoration before he swoops down to take your lips, thrusting harder to ride out your high. 

When it comes time for him to climax, he ignores your whines and grips your hips to angle them a way that lets him sink deeper. That tight band in your stomach comes back stronger, and it stings. Really it does, but that’s the thing about pleasure, it also stings when you’re pushed too far.

Batting at Mitsuya’s shoulders, you convulse underneath him when he cums, joining his climax at the pumps and twitches of his spurting dick.

The sheets are beyond soaked when you come to. How’re you gonna help him clean up if you can barely move? You plan and brainstorm, but Mitsuya interrupts you. 

“Do you think you can go again? ’M not done yet.” You bring your eyes to him from their aimless wandering at the ceiling.

In the back of your mind, you wonder vaguely if the reason Mitsuya put you off, before things tipped over was actually because of his lust and not his fear of showing you something you didn’t like. You can feel him twitching to life again at your thigh, his hands stroking himself to help with that, previous condom off—when did he take that off?

You think he’s going to have you again whether you say yes or no because he’s rubbing another finger in your clit to get you excited.

tagz. @bokuroskitten , @tokyomanjihoe , @ray-lol , @thevillagehiddenintheinternet , @festive , @ry0m3n , @sleepy3 , @amaejiki + @tokyometronetwork

You hate Ran Haitani so much. You hate his stupidly hot face, his stupidly hot voice, his stupidly hot body. He’s overall just stupid. 

You hate him because you love him. You agreed to be his friend. That was the plan. That was the agreement. Just friends. You knew you could do it. 

Prove the rumour false that eventually if you’re friends with Haitani Ran that you will fall in love. You were so confident you could. You were going 8 years strong. 

Only for it to all tumble down 2 years ago when you realised you had feelings for him. When he touched you, hours after you were still staring at the spot where he touched. Didn’t even have to be an intimate touch. Just a pat on the back, or even when he poked your nose. 

Something small and stupid would have your body bursting out in a rage of goosebumps. Your skin burnt with anticipation, wondering where he’d touch you next. 

Hours after your conversation with him, you'd remember everything he said and just replay it over and over. You’d even subconsciously analyse his facial expressions, playing mind games with yourself to see how he was truly feeling in that moment. 

It was weird. How did you go from being able to hang out with him as a friend, to wanting him to bend you over the nearest desk and have his way with you. 

Maybe the sensation you were feeling was just lust. It had to be. It’s the only logical explanation. 

So explain this sick feeling you felt in your chest when you found out Ran was ‘talking’ to someone. You found out from your co-worker who happened to be roommates with the girl Ran was seeing. 

You felt a range of emotions. Anger. Why, though? Jealousy. Makes sense. Sadness. Once again, why though?

You had 0 right to be sad over this. He’s a friend (definitely nothing more) that is moving on with his life and getting into a relationship. It’s selfish of you to only think about yourself. Yet you do anyway. 

—

"I got us the tickets to that movie you wanted to see." Ran says, sliding the tickets along the table. You look at them and force a smile. 

"Thanks." The tone of your voice completely betrays the smile on your face. Ran raises a brow, confused as to why you’re all of a sudden upset. 

"You okay?" He asks, genuinely concerned as to why his best friend is acting up. Not even a week ago, you were bragging about the movie and how excited you were to finally see it and how devastated you'd be if you didn't get the tickets in time. Now you're acting like you don't even care about the movie anymore. 

You put your mug down on the table a bit too aggressively, hoping that the bottom didn’t shatter. Thankfully, it didn’t and you breathe out a sigh of relief but also act like it never happened. "I’m good."

"No, you’re not. Don’t even lie to me. I know you better than anybody. You’re my friend."

There he goes again. The constant reminder that you’ll always be friends and nothing more. You’re not sure if he’s purposefully dense, or if he just enjoys riling you up. 

"I’m not lying." You head over to the sink and pour the contents of it down the sink, suddenly not interested in drinking anymore. You just want to lay down forever in your comfy bed and hope to God there’s someone better than Ran out there. 

You know there isn’t. Which is exactly why you deemed yourself doomed. 

"Is it a guy? Has someone hurt you?" 

"No."

"A girl?—"

"Can we just drop it please? I have a headache." You dig through the cabinets for some paracetamol, hoping that Ran would use his single brain cell and piece together the fact that you weren't in the mood to talk to him today. Especially about a guy whose so-called hurt you.

If only he knew he was that guy.

How might he react? Would he call off the friendship? Tell you to get over him and move on? Or would he fall for you back? Yeah right.

"Not until I find out what's wrong with you. I don't like seeing you this way. I miss seeing you smile." 

You roll your eyes as you search the cabinets. It's a blessing he can't see you right now, only your back is facing him. He misses your smile. Isn't that adorable and cheesy?

"Hey." His voice is right by your ear, making you jump and drop the paaracetmol packet. When did he get that close? And why didn't you hear him coming? 

"What is wrong with you?" You refer to him suddenly scaring you with his deep voice and push him away from you. 

"Nah, what's up with you. You'd been acting weird all week."

You'd think he might piece two and two together. He'd been seeing that girl a week ago. Since then, your behaviour has been off the charts. But he isn't that smart. 

"There's nothing with me." You look at him, fiddling with the packet with your fingers. "I'm fine, see." You force out a smile, teeth and all. The way he's looking down at you right now is almost like he's insulted you're even trying to lie to him.

Eventually, you just sigh and drop the smile. Face contorting back to its original deadpan. 

"It's a guy isn't it."

Looks like he isn't as stupid as you thought he might be. He's 75% right, if only he could figure out who the guy is, then you'd give him some pointers. 

"Y/N, I told you to stop trying with that one dude."

Hearing this, you whip your head to face him. "What?"

"You know, that one guy I said I don't like. He hurt you didn't he?"

You told Ran about this guy you liked. Describing him in the best way possible, except leaving out his name. Which happened to be Ran Haitani. You told him how you liked him so much, but he acted like you didn't exist. 

Maybe you exaggerated it a little bit. But you had to, because Ran is very keen. He has a sharp eye and plus he's very arrogant and self absorbed. He would know instantly if you were describing him. So you lied sorta.

"I told you to move on from that dude. He hurt you didn't he?" 

"Yes, he did." You admit and unlike before, you're telling the full truth. There's some sort of heat radiating off Ran's body, anger almost. 

"Who is the guy?" 

"It doesn't matter." 

Ran shakes his head. "It matters to me. Tell me who the guy is so I can go fuck him up for hurting you."

"Ran–"

"No, seriously. Who in their right mind would ever hurt you? You're such an amazing person, you're kind, you're pretty as hell, you're fun to be around, you—" Ran pauses and instantly closes his mouth.

You can't help but notice the delayed reaction and feel a sense of hope returning in your body. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I mean– yeah. You think I'm hot don't you?"

You don't like how he suddenly shifted the conversation over to you. "Uhm." 

"Friends can think their other friends are hot. It's no big deal."

You feel your heart sink down to your knees. "Oh, yeah. True, I guess." You quickly turn around, facing the counter. Your back facing Ran once more. You're fighting the urge to cry again. Just for a split moment, a small second you thought there was hope that he might like you back, only for it to get shut down within a matter of moments.

You're so delusional for thinking he'd ever like you.

Ran can't help but notice the way your shoulders deflated after the conversation. As if all the effort he was putting into the conversation to bring you back up from the slums was all useless. 

"Hey…" he starts, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it before. "If you want, I could help you take your mind off things."

You pause what you were doing, trying to process his words. As if his words weren’t enough, you feel his fingers trail up your sides, stopping on your waist. 

You turn your head around to face him, about to ask him what he’s doing when he starts to peck at your ear. His lips graze the shell of your ear before he whispers, “Let me take your mind off that guy.”

“…Okay.” You mumble, tilting your head back and to the side to give Ran room to trail kisses down your skin. You don’t have the time nor the energy to explain to Ran that he’s ‘that guy’. Not like you can focus anyway as his soft lips brush against your neck. 

Biting your lip, you let out soft audible moans and reach behind you, raking your fingers inside his soft purple hair. Ran finds out that he loves the feeling of your nails combing his hair, gently scratching his scalp. 

It’s doing something to him. He needs you so badly right now. He pushes himself closer to you, making sure you feel just how hard you’re making his cock, lazily grinding his cock against your ass. 

His fingers slide up your shirt, caressing all over your stomach, sluggishly palming your breasts over your bra. 

“God,” you breathe out when he tweaks your nipple with his fingers. He chuckles against your neck, the vibrations blending in with the shivers running through your body. 

“You like that? Like this?” He gently pinches your nipple again, feeling the hard bud recoil against his fingers. You never knew your nipples were this sensitive till he touched you. 

“Yeah, it feels so good.” 

“Gonna make you feel even better pretty.” Ran spins you around to face him, his hands pinch at your jaw as he leans down to kiss you. Your hands immediately fly up to his cheeks, pulling him impossibly closer to the point there’s no gap between you both. 

He tardily coaxes his tongue inside your mouth, tangling it with yours, licking at the roof of your mouth. You have to pull away to catch your breath, but you’re barely a hair's width away from him. 

Your lips are brushing as you try to regain your composure. This was all you ever wanted, now that you have it, it feels so good. You never want this to end. 

But unfortunately, you know it will.

“You good?” He asks, grip on your waist only tightens when he feels you trying to pull away. 

“I’m good. I just don't think we should be doing this.”

Ran’s face falls flat. Of course he doesn’t show it, but he’s severely disappointed. “Please?” He can’t even form a full sentence, brain not fully active when all he’s thinking about is making you feel good. 

You look up at him, into those stupidly mesmerising purple eyes. You feel bad for rejecting him. This is what you wanted. But you know if you go through with this, it’ll only cause more pain. 

But you just can’t say no to him. 

So you lean up, dragging your fingers through his soft hair and kiss him again. Except it’s more passionate this time. Ran releases a low moan into your mouth when you gently tug at his hair. 

He just realised how much he likes it when you play with his hair. It’s such an intimate thing to do with a friend. Ran’s hands slide down your waist, pulling you onto the counter.

He settles between your legs, hands fondling with the plush skin of your thighs. He licks over your top lip, making you pull back to flick your tongue over his own and use the grip you have on his face to keep him still while you suck on his tongue. 

His fingers dig crescent shapes into your skin as you fondle with his tongue, only pulling back to reveal a line of spit. “Fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” He mumbled against your lips. 

Before you can even respond, he’s kissing you again. You wrap your legs around him, pushing him closer to you. “Can we take this upstairs?” You ask, gripping onto his shirt tight. 

Ran hums, kissing you for a few more seconds before finally pulling away. He hoists you up and carries you into your bedroom, placing you on the bed. Not even a second later, he’s on top of you, kissing you all the while trailing his hands down your stomach, to the sides of your shirt. 

You feel him start to tug at the fabric so you lift your arms all the way up into the air so he can help you remove it. Leaning back down, he licks a stripe along the valley of your breasts, taking both hands to push your tits closer together, limiting the space between your cleavage as he runs his tongue along the skin. 

You look down at him with parted lips and shallow breaths. His tongue licks all over the exposed chest not covered by your bra. You feel sticky and moist, but his needy actions are only turning you on more. 

He slips a finger underneath your bra and tugs; a slight indication that he wants it gone. You sit up and fiddle with your bra strap, successfully unhooking it and watching it fall from your chest and onto your lap. 

“I knew you had gorgeous tits.” His hand darts out to play with your breasts, squeezing it like a stress ball.

You chew his words in your head, repeating them over and over. I knew you had gorgeous tits. Was he thinking about you in his spare time? God, you hope so. 

You cover your face with your hands when he attaches his lip to your nipple. His breath is hot against your skin, its fucking ticklish. 

“Ran, take this off.” You wrap your leg around his waist, gesturing to his clothes. His words are muffled with your breast in his mouth, and he’s too comfortable to take it out. 

“Ran…” you moan out, trying to sit up only for him to push you back with his body weight, pinning your hands above your head as he flicks your nipple with his tongue, swirling it around before sucking it sensually. 

Your body is starting to jerk, an unfamiliar pleasurable sensation when he drags his teeth against your nipple. He’s showing one part of your body so much attention, it’s driving you crazy. 

You can’t even touch him either. He really knows his business. 

Eventually he pulls away, lips trailing up and down your stomach as he makes a b-line for your pussy. His fingers bunch up your shorts and tug them down swiftly. 

You immediately close your legs. This is a whole new territory, one that completely crosses the boundaries between friends. “Come on pretty, open up.”

He prys your legs open and takes a second to just admire how beautiful you look underneath him. He massages your thighs as he spreads you open to get a closer glance at your pussy. 

You feel so embarrassed right now, like you’re being scrutinised by your doctor or something. He isn’t speaking either, just raking his eyes all over your naked body. 

He places his hands on the back of your knees and pushes them towards your chest, testing out your flexibility but also to expose more of your pussy. 

Covering your face with your hands just isn’t enough no more. You grab a pillow not only to shield yourself from his intense gaze, but to drown out your moans as he begins to scissor you open. 

His fingers push past your tight wall and start to pump in and out at a gracious speed. Eventually, he would curl his fingers upwards, scouring your insides to get a good feel of you. 

He groans at how tight your walls are squeezing his fingers and he feels his cock twitch inside his pants. “Do you ever play with yourself?” He asks, referring to how tight you are. It’s almost like you’re a virgin. 

“I do.” You admit, lifting the pillow from your face slightly so he can hear your words clearer. 

“Yeah? You do? You thinking about me or what?” He asks, light heartedly, but means every single word. His eyes search your own for the truth, already knowing the answer even if you try to deny it. 

“I—,” you open then close your mouth, “Mhm.”

“I knew it.” He digs his fingers deeper, making you hide behind the pillow again to let out a long moan. “Tell me what you be thinking about baby.”

“You inside.”

You feel like you’re speaking a foreign language. Can’t even form basic sentences anymore. It’s embarrassing how dumb you turn from his touch. 

“You want me inside you? Want me to fill you open, ‘s that it?” He asks, voice smooth like honey as he taunts you for an answer. 

“Yes, please.” You gasp out when he removes his fingers and urges you to pull out his cock. You sit up and reach inside his pants, pulling his hard cock out and stroking it. Ran’s big hand covers your own and he helps you jerk him off. 

You kneel on the bed and to get to his height and then kiss him. You twist your wrist in circles to stimulate all around his cock. You know you’re doing something right when you feel it twitch in your hold. 

Without breaking the kiss, Ran gently pushes you back down onto the bed as he aligns his cock to your entrance. You look down at where the two of you are about to be connected, then look up at his face. 

Your moan falls open, a loud moan escaping your lips when he slowly starts to push inside. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping onto his shirt for dear life as the stretch is starting to sting. 

“F—fuck! Ran!” You throw your head back the longer he pushes inside, the more it hurts. But it’s not painful. 

Ran kisses your temples to try and soothe you. “It’s okay baby, almost there. Be good for me, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You respond, digging your nails into his skin to brace yourself when he finally bottoms out. 

“Shit…” he pants out against your skin, kissing down your neck and shoulders as he tries his hardest not to move. It’s so tempting. The way you’re squeezing him so well. 

He waits until you give him the okay before he starts his thrusts. You wrap your arms around his shoulder, pulling him down for a kiss. Your lips swallow his own, parting his lips with your tongue as you try to feel as much of him as you can. 

You break the kiss first when he increases in speed, his thrusts now jolting you forward everytime they slap against yours. “F—fuck, you feel so fuckin’—,” he has to bite his lip to conceal his moan. “’S perfect f’me baby. Just take it— just like that.” 

He grabs the headboard for leverage as he speeds up. Your fingers scratch all over his back and along his nape. “R—Ran! Don’t stop, I’m so cl—close— ohmygod!” 

Ran grabs onto your waist, applying as much pressure as he can to keep your body caged on the bed as he drills himself further inside you, hitting spots that you didn’t even know existed. 

“Fuck—” his thrusts come to a stop and you feel his cum squirting inside you, staining your walls. Your body convulses and you simultaneously release. Ran shudders when your walls tighten up around his length he swears he can feel himself cumming for a second time. 

He collapses on top of you, but you don’t push him away despite his heavy body weight. Instead, you once again, play with his chair and feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin. 

“I love it when you do that.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” You rake your fingers through his scalp, scratching lightly and you swear he’s drifting off too sleep. 

You take this moment to get in touch with your feelings and thoughts. What’s going to happen now? Is he going to forget this ever happened and continue being ‘friends’ with you? 

Or is this going to start a whole new relationship?

“Ran?”

He hums. “Hm?”

“Why did you fuck me? Like, was it because you were bored or something?”

He takes a moment before gathering the strength to lift himself off of you. Propping himself up on his arms, he looks down at you. “You know how you said you had someone?"

You have no clue where he's going with this, but decide to let him go on regardless. "Yeah…"

"Well, I have someone too." 

You try to ignore the twinge in your heart, but still let him continue talking. 

"Yeah, she's so perfect. She's sweet, honest, kind, beautiful like honestly stunning. She's everything to me, she—" The longer the list goes on, you realise he's starting to describe this someone in full detail. But all the information was going in one ear and out the other. If you were actually paying attention, you'd realise once he started to describe her looks, he would be describing you.

"Seems like you really like this girl." You state, voice monotone with a hint of sadness. 

"Yeah, I do." Ran bends down and steals a kiss from your lips. "It's you, stupid."

You blink a couple times, putting all the dots together before realising a loud 'ohhh'. Ran chuckles at how slow you were to piece things together and nudges his forehead against yours. 

"I'm guessing your someone was me?"

The interior of his apartment is surprisingly neat - but, then, he had a day to clean, in between finding out you were sleeping in the back of your car at night and asking - no, demanding - you crash on his couch.

So, here you are. Standing in Ran Haitani’s living room. Eyeing what looks like a brand new couch.

“I, uh, needed to upgrade,” he explains, running a hand through his hair, the other on his hip. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

“Ran, you want me to sleep on that with the plastic still on?”

You strip the saran wrap off the cushions together, toss it wrinkled up in a corner. The pillows have that plastic-y, fresh fabric smell, but it’s not so strong as to be overpowering.

“You can take my bed if you want,” he says, and you can see his fingers itching for a cigarette. He doesn’t smoke around you, which you appreciate. “I’ll sleep out here.”

“Uh,” you half-stammer, half-laugh, “No offense, Ran, but I’m happy with the couch.”

He likes your voice.

He likes you, actually.

He noticed immediately - the smell of your perfume, the echo of your laugh, the glimpse of your smile out of the corner of his eye. So he intercepted you, and you’re - you’re a fucking delight, is what you are. You keep him on his toes, without apparent effort.

It’s a huge fucking turn-on.

Yet, for the first time in his life, he can’t bring himself to make a move. And now he’s gone and done the fucking gentlemanly thing and offered you a place for a couple nights, and it just wouldn’t be right.

Ran knows Rindou, and probably the rest of Bonten think he’s a goddamn scumbag. Maybe they’re right. But you don’t think he is. It’s more than enough to keep him in check.

You bump into him later, coming out of the bathroom, hair wet, the scent of your shampoo making his mouth water. He swallows as he maneuvers around you in the hall. “Sorry. You done in the shower?”

“Yeah. Gotta say, you have amazing water pressure.” He’s sure you’re not intending to be suggestive but your smile and the way your oversized sweatshirt slides down a damp shoulder and exposes your collarbones stains a flush into the back of his neck.

And later, when you catch a glimpse of his naked torso through a cracked door while he changes his shirt, you find yourself lingering on the sight for a second longer than you should, studying his intricate tattoo.

It’s a tension of silence, of surely-nots and it’s-wrongs, things you both tell yourselves to keep whirling in the frenetic, anxious dance of back-and-forth, never quite crossing that invisible line.

It happens, of all times, at breakfast in the morning.

He hands you the first mug piping hot and black, just as you like it, and you smile into the steam rising from the rim. “Thanks, Ran.”

You’re still wearing that damn sweatshirt, only he can’t complain because you haven’t put pants on yet. Ran stares as you lean up to reach the cereal box at the top of a cabinet. He doesn’t stop to help. He just watches as the shirt rides up, revealing the crease where your ass meets the back of your thigh, and he can’t see any underwear -

You plunk two bowls in front of him and pour, smiling as you meet his eyes.

It’s not thirty seconds later that the bowls are circling to a stop on the cereal-covered floor. His hands are everywhere - broad and wide on your ass, your hips, your breasts and stomach, and impossibly gentle as he palms your face, cups your neck, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the bob of your throat.

“Angel,” he growls, his voice sunset-dark, dipping into night. “You don’t know how fucking insane you’ve been making me this whole time.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” you echo on an exhaled breath, already plucking at the buttons of his shirt.

“This is gonna make things real complicated,” he observes, but he makes no move to stop you, shrugging the sleeves down his shoulders and flicks it the rest of the way off.

“Does it have to?” you wonder as he reaches around you to take hold of your ass, lifting you onto the kitchen counter without apparent effort. You run your hands up his arms, circle your fingers around the tight clench of muscle in his biceps.

Ran concedes only with a well-executed shrug, making room for himself in between your knees as he edges in close with his hips. You bite your lip when you feel his erection through the rough fabric of his jeans, and he stutters a breath into your hair while he grinds into the crease of your groin and thigh.

“Your aim’s off,” you drawl, and he laughs, a warm buzz at your temple. You intercept his mouth, and your lips mesh at last, your tongues sliding together in a dance of taste and flesh. You’re so aroused that your pussy aches.

He breaks from your mouth only to breathe, words an afterthought. “Not gonna just wham-bam,” he manages, and he pushes your sweatshirt up to expose your breasts, pulling back to admire the sight, practically drooling. You’d laugh if you weren’t so impatient. You want to fuck him before you change your mind. “Gotta treat you right.”

“Oh, a true gentleman,” you tease, and when he meets your gaze his eyes are dark lilac, and there’s a crease between his brows that you have the sudden, longing impulse to kiss away. He holds your gaze like that a moment before he drops to his knees in front of you, and you nearly die right there.

Maybe you were trying to seduce him. Just a little. You’d noticed the way he looked at you when you wore your oversized sweats before, and he’s been so careful around you, limboing underneath any uncomfortable subject, looking away whenever you make eye contact, avoiding your gaze especially when you get too close to him or laugh.

You’re tired of being treated like you’re glass - an ornament - something to be seen and not touched.

The other men at work are obvious in their attentions, their intentions. Lecherous, even. You grew used to batting wandering hands away from your waist or ass, enduring the laughs, the stares. But Ran never stared. Not when you could see it, at least. And he was the one asshole you wished would look at you.

And now, in his house, sleeping on his couch, sharing breakfasts with him - it was only a matter of time before either his self-control or your sense of propriety gave out. It looks like both are out the window now.

Your heel slides across his back when you arch your hips, and you expect him to tease you, to toy with you - not to bury his face in your cunt like a man dying of thirst.

Ran laps into you with broad strokes of his tongue, making you cry out, reaching for him; you fist your hands in his hair and he grunts softly but doesn’t let up. The tip of his tongue is pinpoint-keen, probing your entrance, sweeping up through your folds and seeking the bullseye of your clit. The stimulation is nearly too much after so much wanting; you’re almost embarrassed at how fucking wet you are, at the obscene sounds coming from Ran’s mouth as he devours you.

Placing a steadying hand on your other thigh, he applies firm pressure, spreading you wider, opening you up further to his ministrations. You pant into the back of your hand, trying not to squirm, trying to keep your hips arched into that spot that grows the pressure of pleasure in the pit of your stomach. Ran feels it - he focuses more intently on your clit, tapping out a devastating, percussive rhythm that threatens to make you come before you’re anywhere near ready for it.

“Ran -” you moan, the vowel-sounds long and drawn out, and then he slides two fingers home inside you and curls them and you’re done. Your orgasm hits you with the force of a hammer blow, knocking the wind from you, making you bend double and clench your thighs around his head - probably too tightly, but he doesn’t appear to notice; his fingers and his tongue keep moving even as you shake and cry and spasm.

He stops only when he feels you unfurl, going limp and twitching every time his inexhaustible tongue flutters against you. He pulls back and rises to his feet slowly, and his lips and moustache are shiny with your slick; you don’t give him a chance to wipe it off before you pull him down into a kiss.

You can taste yourself on his mouth and it makes you shudder anew, as does the telltale rasp of Ran lowering his zipper. You intercept his hand, finding the hard, velvet weight of his cock weeping and ready in your palm. Your thumb spreads the bead of pre-come from the slit and you take a second to look - and fuck if he doesn’t have the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen; thicker than you’re used to, the head flushed dark with blood, veins and ridges prominent and practically throbbing.

“Fuck, angel, you taste - you feel so fuckin’ good,” he breathes as you tighten your hold, drawing him through your fist long and slow. His hips stutter forward eagerly, and you smile breathlessly, stroking him quicker, quicker, until-

“Stop.” The order halts you immediately, and you look up at his face; eyes closed, brow furled, mouth open and panting. He looks beautiful. Hot. You catch your breath, overwhelmed.

Ran fishes in the pocket of his sagging jeans. Wallet. You’re confused a minute - wondering at the laughable implication that he’s going to pay you - before he brings out a foil square packet. Condom. Of course. It’s reassuring - you know his reputation - but annoying; you’re wasting precious seconds when he could be inside you already.

Dutifully, though, you take it from him, and he grins when you rip the packet open with your teeth. His expression crumbles as you roll the rubber onto his dick, and he grits his teeth and waits until it’s secure around the base of him before batting your hands away.

He takes you by the knees, drags you forward until you’re half-hanging off the countertop. You brace yourself with your hands on his chest as he positions himself, and he doesn’t even need a guiding hand to breach your soaked folds.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe as he starts to push in - it’s been a while and even though he worked you over you still feel hot and tight with the force of the stretch. He takes you slow, thank God, and you realize then he’s holding his breath - his eyes closed with concentration - fingers digging into your skin.

He works his cock into your pussy with little jabs of his hips, an inch at a time, and you relax in his arms until he’s all the way in, his pelvis flush to yours, the pale scratch of his bush pressed to your mound. You lay your head against his shoulder and stroke his back because it feels right somehow - and he kisses the top of your head before he draws his hips out, all the way, and slams back in without warning.

“Ungh, shit -” you hear him mutter, and he does it again, the impact making your tits bounce. “You're so - fuck. So goddamn tight.” He pulls you back by the hair, gently somehow, and finds one breast with his mouth, suction tight on your nipple, and you whimper at the overwhelming strength of sensation - of Ran inside you - his hands on you - his mouth, hot and wet, at your breast.

He fucks you like a drowning man clawing for the surface, aching for a breath of air. He fucks you desperately, chasing the raw animal savagery of your pleasure, of his, and it’s not long before you feel the telltale tingle beginning again at the base of your pelvis.

Then Ran slows, transitioning to a slow, drawn-out grind that lets you feel every inch of him inside you with each shift of his hips. You cross your ankles at the small of his back and urge him on with your hands at his shoulders, hanging on for dear life. “Ran,” you groan, “I’m gonna...I’m gonna come-”

“Yeah?” His hand is in your hair again, winding it around his fist. He draws your head back, licks a hot stripe up your neck, whispers in your ear. “Come for me, baby. I wanna feel it.”

You do so with a hoarse, wordless shout; you clench around him, against him, and if he thought you were tight before he’s completely unprepared for the vicelike ripple of your cunt clamping down on his cock. He buries himself deep one more time before he breaks, his cock jumping and jerking inside you, and for a second he worries the condom will burst with the amount of come you squeeze out of him. It feels like it goes on forever.

He comes down to a rushing sound in his ears, a ringing like he’s been deafened by a gunshot, though not as strong. He feels...spent, but clear, the muggy air crisp in his lungs with each heaving breath, his blood singing in his veins. And for a minute, he forgets all the shit, the daily battle, the feeling of hopelessness he can usually only ever drown in drink. It’s gone, replaced by you, the welcoming heat of your body, your breasts pressed tight against his chest, the frantic thump of your heartbeat echoing his own.

“Are you all right, angel?” he wonders aloud, and he’d be ashamed at the gravel in his voice if Ran Haitani was the type of man to care about such things. He desperately wants a cigarette, but as long as you’re in his arms, he can wait.

“Better than all right,” you laugh, breath-caught and feckless. You sound giddy, and it fills him with relief, and a feeling similar to joy. “Are you ?”

He pulls out of you slowly, and you both hiss. You feel stretched-out and ruined, but in the best possible way. This is what you needed. “I’m good,” Ran says at last as he tugs off the very full condom, ties a knot in it, tosses it in the trash without looking or leaving the cradle of your legs. You smile as you smooth a hand up his sweat-damp chest.

Ran looks in your eyes for a minute before he tugs your sweatshirt down and steps back, finally, to tuck his softening dick away and button up his jeans. For a second you think he’s gonna ask you to leave, now that he’s had his fun - ready to discard you like one of his working girls - but instead he reaches out and tucks an escaped strand of hair behind your ear. Strokes your jaw with his thumb. Clears his throat.

“How about we go out for a date today?” he asks. “My treat.”

You grin at him and cross your legs. His gaze travels the outside of your thigh, and he licks his lips.

Apparently, he doesn’t want to let you go that easily. And that’s perfectly fine with you.