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You’re still talking when he finally reaches his limit. You make one more joke, something light and teasing about him being too sweet to ever pin you down properly, and the soft sound that leaves him isn’t quite a laugh this time. He smiles, slow and almost polite. Then he leans forward, remote in hand, and calmly turns the television off. The sudden quiet feels louder than the background noise ever was. Before you can process the shift, he’s already moving. One smooth motion and your back is pressed into the cushions, his body caging you in completely. Knees on either side of your hips, forearms braced on either side of your head. He’s not heavy on you yet, simply and overwhelmingly present. The soft, polite Matthew who lets the world walk over him is nowhere in this room anymore. He leans down until his face is inches from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks.

“You want to see what I’m like when I stop being nice?”

Your mouth opens on instinct, some half-formed answer, maybe another joke. His hand is there immediately. His palm covers your lips, fingers gentle but firm against your cheek.

“No, no.” His voice is still soft. Still that same quiet Canadian cadence. But there’s something heavier underneath it now, something low and deliberate that sinks straight into your stomach. “That wasn’t a question.”

He holds your gaze, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“From now until I’m done with you,” he continues, thumb brushing once across your lower lip even as his hand stays in place, “I only wanna hear your whimpers.”

He doesn’t move away and doesn’t give you space to breathe properly. He stays right there, caging you in, studying the way your eyes have gone wide and the way your chest is already rising a little faster. His free hand slides down, slow, and settles warm and heavy on your waist, fingers spreading like he’s claiming the space.

“You’ve been running that pretty mouth all night,” he murmurs, almost conversational. “Talking about how soft I am. How I’d apologize if I ever got rough with you.” A quiet huff of air leaves him, almost a laugh, but not quite. “You really believed that, didn’t you?”

His thumb strokes once along the side of your jaw, still keeping your mouth covered.

“I’m going to take my time with you tonight. And every time you feel like making another joke… you’re going to remember this exact moment. When I stopped being nice.”

He finally eases his hand away from your mouth, but only enough to let you breathe. His fingers stay curled loosely against your cheek, ready to cover you again the second you try to speak.

“Whimpers only,” he reminds you, voice soft and final. “Nod if you understand.”

He’s still smiling that same small, calm smile. But his eyes are anything but soft.

You’re still staring up at him, stunned silent by the sudden shift. The soft, apologetic boyfriend who let you tease him for hours is gone, and the man currently caging you in is calm, focused, and completely in control. Your brain is still trying to catch up when his hand leaves your mouth and he pats your cheek twice, gentle, almost fond, but firm enough to pull your attention right back to him.

“I asked you a question.”

The quiet reminder snaps you out of it. You nod furiously, eyes wide, heart slamming against your ribs.

“Good.”

The single word is soft, satisfied, and somehow more commanding than if he’d raised his voice. Then he’s leaning in. Matthew’s mouth finds the side of your neck like he’s been thinking about it all night. The first kiss is deceptively gentle before his teeth scrape lightly over the same spot. You gasp. He does it again, harder this time, sucking just enough to make the heat pool low in your stomach. Your moan slips out louder than you meant it to, breath already coming faster.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and approving. “Let me hear you.”

He works his way down the column of your throat with deliberate, open-mouthed kisses, interspersed with sharp little bites that make your fingers curl into the couch cushions. Every time you make a sound he rewards it with another slow suck, another graze of teeth, until your breathing is uneven and your head is tipped back to give him more room. Then he sits up just enough to reach behind his head and pull his own shirt off in one smooth motion. The sudden sight of bare skin and the quiet strength in his shoulders makes your stomach flip. He tosses the fabric aside without looking, already focused on yours. His hands slide under the hem of your top, warm palms dragging up your sides as he pushes it higher. You lift your arms on instinct and he peels it off slowly, eyes dark as he takes you in.

The second your shirt is gone he’s back on you. Matthew’s mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your collarbone and he bites down, firm enough that the first press of his teeth pulls a sharp little whimper from your throat. He soothes it immediately with his tongue, then sucks hard enough to leave a mark. Another whimper escapes you when he moves lower and does it again, teeth and lips working in tandem as he starts leaving a slow trail of hickeys across the upper curve of your chest.

At first every new bite makes you flinch and whimper, body still adjusting to this rougher side of him. But he never stops or apologizes. He keeps going until the sting starts to blur into something hotter. Your whimpers gradually melt into longer, softer moans as the sensation sinks in. He notices the shift immediately.

“There you go,” he breathes against your skin, voice rough with approval. “Getting used to it already.” His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek while his mouth continues its work. “Sounds so pretty when you stop fighting it.”

He finds a particularly sensitive spot near the top of your breast and latches on, sucking hard enough that your back arches off the couch. A broken moan spills out of you and he hums in satisfaction, the vibration traveling straight through your skin. When he finally pulls back there’s a dark, blooming mark left behind, and the look on his face is pure quiet hunger.

Matthew leans down again, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his free hand slides up to rest possessively over your ribcage.

“I’m just getting started,” he murmurs. “And you’re already making those sounds for me.”

His mouth returns to your neck, teeth grazing the same place he marked earlier, and the next moan that leaves you is louder than the last.

Matthew takes his time, mouth moving with deliberate, open kisses down the side of your neck, across the marks he’s already left, lower still until he’s trailing heat over the soft skin of your chest. Every so often his teeth scrape just enough to make you shiver, but the kisses stay slow, almost reverent, even as his hands keep you pinned gently to the couch.

He works his way down your stomach, lips brushing, tongue occasionally flicking against your skin, until he reaches the waistband of your pants. He looks up at you once before he hooks his fingers under the fabric and pulls them down in one smooth motion, taking your underwear with them. The cool air hits your bare skin and you flinch, but he’s already settling between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open.

He starts at your lower stomach again, kissing lower, lower, until his mouth is hovering right over you. You feel the warm wetness of his spit first, deliberate and filthy, landing right against your folds. Then his fingers are there, rubbing the slickness in with slow, gentle strokes. He takes his time mapping you, circling, teasing, until one long finger finally slips inside.

The stretch is easy, careful, but the way he moves is anything but hesitant. He fingers you steadily, watching your face the entire time, listening to every sound you make. After a few moments he adds a second finger, stretching you wider, and his thumb finds your clit at the same time. He touches you with soft, steady circles that make your hips twitch.

You’re already a mess. Soft, broken moans spill out of you without permission, thighs trembling around his shoulders as he works you open. Matthew hums in quiet approval, the sound vibrating against your skin. Then he curls his fingers. He finds that spot inside you with almost cruel precision and rubs against it firmly, and the cry that rips out of your throat is sharp and helpless. Your arms fly up on instinct, crossing over your face like you can hide from how good it feels, from how completely he’s taken control.

Matthew doesn’t let you. His free hand comes up immediately, wrapping around both of your wrists and guiding them back down beside your head, pinning them lightly to the cushion. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers the entire time. His fingers are still curling, still stroking that spot, thumb still working your clit in slow, devastating circles.

“No hiding,” he says softly, voice rough with heat but still so calm. “I want to see every face you make for me.”

He leans in closer, breath warm against your inner thigh, and presses a soft kiss there even as his fingers keep working you open.

“Look at me.”

When you finally manage to meet his eyes, the quiet intensity in them makes your stomach flip. He’s watching you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, like every whimper and cry is something he’s collecting.

“That’s better,” he murmurs. “Good girl. Let me hear you.”

His fingers curl again, firmer this time, and the next sound that leaves you is broken and needy. Matthew’s mouth curves into the smallest, darkest smile.

“There she is.”

You can’t hold the sound in anymore.

“Mattie—please—”

The broken plea leaves you in a shaky moan, hips twitching against his mouth and fingers. Matthew doesn’t ease up. If anything, the soft curl of his fingers against that spot inside you gets more deliberate, his tongue flattening over your clit in slow, filthy strokes.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” His voice is low, almost gentle, but there’s no real mercy in it. He lifts his head just enough to look at you, mouth already shiny, two fingers still buried deep and working you open. “Tell me what you need.”

You try. God, you try. Your mouth opens and all that comes out is a string of helpless, incoherent babbles. Half-formed pleas and soft, desperate sounds that don’t make any sense. Your head tips back against the couch cushions, thighs trembling hard around his shoulders. Matthew watches you fall apart with dark, hungry eyes, and then he gives you exactly what you can’t ask for.

He seals his mouth over your clit and sucks at the same time his fingers curl hard. The orgasm hits you like a wave. Your back arches clean off the couch, a sharp, broken cry tearing out of your throat as you come hard around his fingers. Your whole body shakes, pulse after pulse of heat rolling through you while he keeps working you through it. He drinks down every sound you make like it’s the only thing he wants to hear. Even after the worst of it starts to fade, he doesn’t pull away.

Matthew’s mouth stays on you, slower now but still thorough, licking and sucking every last bit of slick from your folds until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation. The soft, wet sounds of him cleaning you up are almost as filthy as the way he looks at you when he finally lifts his head. Your juices shine on his lips and chin. He’s breathing a little harder himself, but that quiet control is still firmly in place.

You can barely catch your own breath. Your chest rises and falls in rapid, shaky pulls as he sits back against the couch, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. The sight of him like that all shirtless, flushed, eyes dark and fixed on you, makes something desperate twist low in your stomach. Before he can say anything else, you’re already sliding off the couch and onto your knees between his spread legs.

Matthew’s breath hitches the second your hands find his waistband. You drag the zipper down slowly, deliberately, and the quiet sound of it feels loud in the room. He lifts his hips just enough to help you pull his pants and underwear down, and the second you free him his cock is heavy and already hard in your hand. You don’t tease. You lean in and take him into your mouth in one smooth, wet slide, cheeks hollowing as you sink down as far as you can manage on the first try.

“Fuck—”

The curse leaves him soft and rough all at once. One of his hands immediately finds the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair. He holds your hair, grounding himself as your tongue works along the underside of him.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes, voice already a little wrecked. His head tips back against the couch for a second before he forces himself to look down at you again. “Look at you… on your knees for me after I just made you come that hard.” 

You hum around him in answer and the vibration makes his hips twitch. Matthew’s free hand comes down to cup the side of your face, thumb stroking along your cheekbone even as you start bobbing your head in a steady rhythm. Every time you take him deeper he lets out another soft, broken sound.

“That’s it… just like that. Take what you can.” His fingers tighten slightly in your hair when you hollow your cheeks and suck harder. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good. Been thinking about this all night while you were running that pretty little mouth.”

He watches every movement like he’s memorizing it. The way your lips stretch around him, the wet sounds you make when you pull off just to drag your tongue along the head before sinking back down, the way your eyes flick up to meet his. Every time you do, his expression softens and darkens at the same time.

“Good girl,” he murmurs again, voice low and thick with heat. “You’re doing so well for me. Keep going… I want to feel that mouth a little longer before I decide what to do with you next.”

His thumb brushes the corner of your lips where they’re stretched around him, and the quiet, filthy reverence in the touch makes your stomach flip all over again.

Matthew’s fingers tighten in your hair without warning. He pulls and the sudden pressure makes you whine as he eases your mouth off his cock. A thin string of spit still connects your lower lip to the head for a second before it breaks. You’re left panting, lips shiny and swollen, staring up at him with dazed eyes. He looks down at you like he’s deciding something.

“You look so pretty sucking me off,” he says, voice low and rough, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “But I need to cum in your pussy.”

Before you can even process the words, his hands are under your arms. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, turning and pressing your back hard against the nearest wall. The cool surface makes you gasp. Your legs automatically wrap around his hips as he holds you up with one arm under your thigh, the other bracing beside your head.

He doesn’t give you all of him yet. The blunt head of his cock drags through your soaked folds once, twice, before he pushes just the tip inside. The stretch is shallow and maddening. He works only that much in and out of you in slow, deliberate rolls of his hips. Every time he pulls back until he’s almost free, your body tries to suck him back in with wet, filthy sounds that fill the quiet room.

You whine, high and desperate.

“Mattie—fuck—please just fuck me—”

He leans in, forehead almost touching yours, and the smile that curves his mouth is anything but soft.

“I would love to,” he murmurs, still only giving you the tip, “but you think I’m too nice. I gotta tease you a bit longer, babygirl.”

The next whimper that leaves you is loud and broken. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he keeps that same torturous pace. The sound of your pussy greedily trying to pull him deeper is almost obscene.

“You want it bad, huh?”

You nod frantically, forehead dropping against his as another shaky moan spills out of you. Matthew’s eyes darken.

“Then fucking take it.”

He slams into you in one hard, deep thrust that knocks the air clean out of your lungs. There’s nothing gentle left in him. He sets a brutal, steady rhythm, hips snapping forward again and again, burying himself to the hilt every single time. The force of it drives you higher up the wall; the only things keeping you from sliding are his strength and the way your legs are locked around him. Every thrust punches a broken sound out of your throat, half-sob, half-moan, until you’re clinging to him like you might fall apart.

It feels too good. You sob against his shoulder as he keeps fucking you through it, the wet slap of skin and the filthy sound of how soaked you are filling the space between you. Matthew’s mouth finds your neck without slowing his hips. He kisses hard, then bites, sucking dark marks into the already sensitive skin while he drives into you over and over. 

Your hand slides up his chest almost desperately, palm dragging over warm skin and the hard planes of muscle as you try to ground yourself. The contrast is dizzying, his body solid and strong under your fingers while he ruins you against the wall with nothing held back.

“That’s it,” he breathes against your throat, voice strained and low. “Take it. You wanted to see what I’m like when I stop being nice—” Another hard thrust makes your head tip back against the wall. “—so fucking take it.”

He bites down on a fresh spot just below your ear at the same time he grinds deep, and the broken, overwhelmed sound that leaves you only makes him go harder.

Your back is starting to slide down the wall.

The constant force of Matthew’s thrusts has made your legs weak, and even with them locked around his hips you’re slowly losing height. He feels it the second it happens. A low, almost frustrated sound leaves his throat, and before you can fully slip he tightens his grip under your thighs and hauls you back up against him for half a second. It isn’t enough. He’s too far gone to keep holding you up and fucking you at the same time. The careful control he usually has is completely gone and is replaced by something raw and single-minded. With a rough exhale he pulls out of you just long enough to shift his hold, then carries you the short distance to the floor. The sudden change makes your head spin.

“Mattie—wait, what are you—”

Your voice comes out confused and breathless as he drops to his knees with you, lowering you onto the hard floor. The protest is soft, more disoriented than anything else, your hands still reaching for his shoulders like you don’t know where the wall went. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even seem to fully hear you. His eyes are dark and unfocused with need, chest rising and falling hard as he pushes your thighs open again and settles between them in one urgent motion. He’s back inside you before you can finish the sentence.

The first thrust on the floor is deep and almost clumsy with how desperate he is, punching a startled moan out of you. Matthew fucks into you like an animal. He moves hard, relentless, hips snapping forward with a raw hunger that makes the wet sounds between you louder than before. One of his hands braces beside your head while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you exactly where he wants you so he can drive in as deep as possible.

“Fuck—need to come in you,” he rasps against your cheek, voice low and wrecked. The words are almost mindless, like he’s only half aware he’s speaking. “Need it—need to fill this pretty pussy up—”

You try to say something again, some soft, overwhelmed sound of protest at the sudden change of position, but it breaks into a moan the second he adjusts the angle and starts hitting that spot inside you without mercy. Matthew doesn’t slow down. If anything the slight resistance only seems to push him further into that wild, focused state. Every thrust is deep and claiming, the kind that makes your body jolt against the floor and forces broken little sobs out of your throat.

He’s not thinking about anything except the tight, wet heat of you and the overwhelming need to bury himself as deep as he can and stay there. His mouth finds your neck again, open and hungry, biting and sucking fresh marks into the skin while his hips keep up that relentless, almost frantic pace. The weight of him on top of you is solid and grounding even as he loses control, and every time he bottoms out you can feel how close he already is and how tightly wound he’s become.

“Mine,” he mutters against your throat between thrusts, the word rough and possessive. “Gonna come so deep in you—fuck—take it, take all of it—”

His rhythm turns slightly uneven, more animal than measured, and the only thing that seems to exist for him right now is the way your body keeps taking him and the single-minded goal of filling you until there’s nothing left.

You’re barely coherent anymore as broken, breathless sounds spill out of you with every hard thrust. Words dissolve into nothing as Matthew fucks you into the floor like he can’t stop. Your hands keep sliding over his chest, his shoulders, trying to find something solid while your body tightens around him. Somehow you manage to force a few words out between the moans.

“Fuck, Mattie—be careful, I’m—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence when the orgasm rips through you without warning, sudden and violent. Your back arches hard off the floor, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy clamps down around him in tight, rhythmic spasms. The feeling of him completely losing control only makes it hit harder. You love it, how far gone he is, how the soft, careful boyfriend is nowhere to be found right now.

Matthew feels every pulse of your orgasm. A deep, almost pained sound leaves him the second your walls start fluttering and squeezing around his cock. His rhythm stutters, hips slamming forward one last time as he buries himself as deep as he can go.

“Oh fuck—I have to, baby girl—” His voice is wrecked, low and urgent against your ear. “I have to cum inside—”

Matthew doesn’t pull out, he comes hard, hips grinding against yours as he empties himself deep inside you in thick, pulsing waves. The feeling of it makes your own orgasm stretch longer, another broken sob spilling out of you as you take every drop. You’re still shaking through the aftershocks, body too overwhelmed to do anything but clutch at him and moan. There’s no room left for protest. No coherent thought. Just the raw, overwhelming sensation of him filling you while you’re still coming.

He stays buried to the hilt, breathing hard against your neck, the weight of him pressing you into the floor. Every small twitch of his hips pushes another pulse of cum deeper. His hand finds the side of your face, thumb stroking almost absently over your cheek even as his body keeps shuddering through the last of it.

“Fuck… fuck, baby…” he murmurs, voice soft and ruined now that the edge has been taken off. He doesn’t move yet. Just stays deep inside you, forehead pressed to yours, like he can’t stand the thought of pulling out.

Your legs are still trembling around him. Your pussy keeps fluttering weakly around his cock, milking the last of his release, and the wet heat of it is already starting to leak out around where you’re joined. Matthew feels it and lets out a low, satisfied sound, hips giving one more lazy grind like he’s trying to push everything back in. He’s still not thinking clearly. But the way he holds you says the soft part of him is starting to come back online.

Matthew stays inside you for a long moment after the last pulse of his orgasm fades, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. When he finally softens enough to slip free, a quiet, almost regretful sound leaves him at the sudden emptiness. He doesn’t let the mess or the intensity linger in the air between you. He gathers you up carefully. One arm slides under your knees, the other supports your back, and he lifts you like you’re something fragile instead of the woman he just fucked into the floor. The shift from raw desperation to this quiet protectiveness is so complete it makes your chest ache. He carries you down the short hall to your shared bedroom without saying much, only pressing soft kisses to your temple every few steps.

He lays you down on the bed with almost exaggerated care, before he disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running. When he returns he’s holding a warm, damp towel and a dry one. Matthew sits on the edge of the mattress and starts cleaning you with the same focused gentleness he uses for everything that matters to him. He wipes between your thighs slowly, thoroughly, murmuring quiet apologies every time you twitch from oversensitivity. He cleans himself next, then tosses the towels aside and finally climbs into bed beside you.

The second he’s settled he pulls you into his arms. Your head ends up tucked under his chin, one of his legs sliding between yours, his hand stroking slow patterns up and down your bare back. The marks he left on your neck and chest are already darkening; every so often his fingers skim over them like he’s both proud and a little guilty.

“I hope I wasn’t too rough, baby,” he says softly, voice back to that familiar quiet Canadian cadence. There’s genuine concern in it now that the haze has lifted. “I… kinda lost it there at the end.”

You sigh, content and boneless against his chest, and feel him relax the moment the sound leaves you.

“Not at all,” you answer, voice still a little rough. “I think I’m gonna need to push your buttons more often.”

Matthew lets out a low, embarrassed huff of laughter that vibrates through his chest. His arms tighten around you anyway.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers combing through the tangled strands with careful, soothing strokes. “But… I’m glad you liked it. I was worried the second I could think again.”

He keeps holding you like that long enough for your breathing to fully even out. Every few minutes he shifts just enough to check on you, tilting your chin up to look at your face, brushing his thumb under your eyes, asking in that soft voice if you need water or if anything hurts.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers against your hair, arms secure around you. “Just rest. I’ll stay right here.”

Matthew’s arms stay locked around you, one hand slowly stroking up and down the length of your spine while the other cups the back of your head, keeping you tucked safely against his chest. His mouth finds the shell of your ear.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he whispers, voice barely more than warm air against your skin. The words are slow and unhurried, each one deliberate. “All soft and sleepy in my arms… I love when you get like this after. Like you trust me completely.”

His lips brush the side of your head in a feather-light kiss before he continues, still speaking in that low, private murmur meant only for you.

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re mine.” His thumb traces small, absent circles at the nape of your neck. “You did so well for me tonight… took everything I gave you and still looked at me like that. God, I don’t deserve how sweet you are to me.”

You feel the words more than you hear them, the gentle vibration of his voice sinking into you the same way his warmth does. Your body is already heavy with exhaustion, the last of the adrenaline long gone, and every soft sentence he presses against your ear makes your eyelids heavier. Matthew notices and he adjusts the blanket higher over your shoulders, then rests his cheek against the top of your head, still whispering between quiet kisses to your hair.

Your breathing has already started to slow. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek becomes a rhythm your body follows without thinking. His fingers keep moving in your hair, gentle and repetitive, while his other arm stays firm around your waist, holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever been allowed to keep.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs one last time, voice dropping even quieter as he feels you go boneless against him.

☛ His feeling for you is complicated. He want your attention at him and him only all the time but the other part of him know this is wrong, he is not that delusional like his brother. Don't get it wrong, he is still delusional but not as much as the other countries, he still have some self awareness.

☛ As I said before, he have a soft features that make him look weak and he take this to his advantage to lure you into his life. He won't kidnap you, he want you to love him and doesn't want you to hate him just because he want your whole attention and love only for himself.

☛ He is not proud on what he did, really. But the thought of you not being by his side is too much for him. You are one of few people who give a damn about him, why should he let you go? All he wants is you and nothing else. So please just love him.

☛ Call him dramatic or whatever you want, he just not in his right mind anymore when it comes to you. You plague his mind for months, making his heart race just by the thought of you and missing you even if the two of you are hanging out. He just too far gone into his head.

☛ He is easy to please, all you need to do is just talk to him sweetly and he would FOLD instantly. Maybe get too excited sometimes if you don't stop. Don't worry he won't do anything you don't like, he would gladly suffer for it in exchange for your love.

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‘⸊ˎ

Thick white snow surrounding Matthew house, painting the window with its frost— making it harder to look outside without seeing the blizzards dancing aggressively without mercy.

Matthew sets a mug on top of the coffee table, a small offering to ensure you feel warm. "ma lumière, won't you stay with me until the storm ceases?"

He giving his best sad puppy eyes knowing damn well you wouldn't say no to him. It is wrong for him wanting you to stay inside his house for few more hours? No, of course no, you are not the prisoners here— he is.

But seeing you hesitate to stay make him a little bit upset. He kneels before you, wrapping his arm around your waist. "ma lumière, please just stay with me okay? It's not safe put there yet. Look at the outside, you won't be able to go through it." His voice is muffled since he hide his face pn your stomach— nuzzled his head like a clingy cat.

By any means both of you are not in relationship— the two you are nothing more than a friend. Who needs a labels when he already knows that his heart already on your hand, willing giving his life to you. A label is only for those who is desperate to have something knowing damn well a label is only a label to categorize someone relationship.

"I don't know Mattie... I have busy day tomorrow and I—" you feel his arm tightened around your waist, not tight enough to hurt. He only want yout to feel the pressure, he will never hurt you.

"ma lumière, i know you have a busy day tomorrow but just please stay."

"Mattie—"

He released his arm from your waist— slowly standing up to look down on you who is still comfortably in his seat. You can't see what expression he's making, his hair got covered by hiw hair. "Please, what if you got lost? Think about the storm will your life. You don't want to worried your loved one do you?"

"I-" he lean in, caging you into your seat. "ma lumière, won't you just listen to me just this once. I begging you..." The tone of his voice is quiet. More quiet than his usual tone of voice. If you focused on his tone, you would maybe hear that his voice is trembling as of he's holding something back.

A sigh escape from the between your lips. Giving in to him just like you should to. "Okay, I'll stay but I'll go back home as soon as the blizzard is gone."

Tension on his body leaving him instantly as soon as you said those word. He change back to his usual self after the confirmation that you will staying here with him. "O-of course, ma lumière!" He sound so eager, too eager. He takes both of your hand and kiss your hand that are borderline to worshipping a deity.

He nuzzled your hand wanting to merge your whole being with his. "C'est pas assez, mais... je le prends." He muttered the word under his breath with such devotion, it almost scary if you heard it.

Though, it's not enough for him. But what can he do? He can't be picky on what you decide to give him. It's funny how he act like a mutt sometimes, he can't lie he will lick at every ounce of the attention you give him.

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𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽:

Hello fireflies!!!

First of all, I'd like to say to everyone thank you so so much for continuing to support me despite the absence of any updates recently. I know it's been slow going for a few months now and I truly apologize for the lack of posts.

To put it briefly, I'm currently down to my last written prompt I need to finish before implementing them into Ren'Py to consider these commissions done. It'll be a good time to get used to coding in my scripts again! 🎮

But, more importantly, afterwards I'll be able to start working on the game once more after such a long break! I'm looking forward to writing again after stepping away and getting even more ideas so the story unfolds more organically in a way I hope feels better than my drafts!

Alongside dev work, I'll also be opening VGen commissions and an ACGoods Store to hopefully continue supporting myself as I keep going! I'll be limiting myself to one commission at a time moving forward, realizing my limitations and abilities now since opening Deer tier sketches for my Patreon two years ago hahaha. I plan to add more commission types and merch designs in the future, but that will be second priority!

Have some art for now, and have a nice day/evening/night! 💙💙

(Not canon, it's actually based off a Tomodachi Life post I shared here!)

kiku honda 🇯🇵 japan

kiku is a stalker, at first anyway. something in you enamored him, kept him coming back for more, to satiate some curiosity he had inside of him. he was naturally investigative, and applied his knowledge for sight-seeing and photography to you, his blooming flower. he liked to appreciate the finer details of you and really understand you through and through. so much so that he forgot the big picture, that you were your own person. at some point, in his mind, you became this idealized set of traits that he knew and expected, and got a little lost whenever you deviated from them.

it was never his intention to hold you hostage, he was perfectly content with laying low and loving you from afar. but one day you figured him out, and he had to act quickly. he's actually pretty good under pressure, so whisking you away and framing it as a suicide or runaway was easy peasy lemon squeezy.

honestly, his main motivation in kidnapping you is just keeping you tied down. at the very least, he gets a more hands-on experience with his set-of-traits flower. he does slightly regret keeping you from society, but thats mostly because he doesn't get to see you move in your natural habitat anymore. everything you do now is swayed by your fear and hatred of him.

he keeps you fed, and obviously you're safe. i don't think he'd physically harm you if he didn't have to, he finds it brutish and cruel. he'd probably keep you chained to the floor, allowing you to move around the house. escape attempts would be met with a very hasty response to catch you before you stray too far. "punishments" would just be extended sensory deprivation. no light, no/very little food, no noise, and chained down fully. he'd keep you like that until you're scratching the walls and begging him to let you out.

he kinda sees you like a cat, and expects you to act like it. with cats, the more you try to force your love upon them, the harder they pull away. but if you leave them alone, they'll come to you and love you all the more. thats why kiku didn't really want to kidnap you in the first place. he wanted you to come to him, if at all. since that didn't work out, now he expects you to seek him out in his home, instead of coming to check on you, unless you've been rotting your room for too long.

feliciano vargas 🇮🇹 italy

he is just delusional. he fully believes that you guys were fated to be together, and that anything outside of this concept is horrible. he's had plenty of partners in the past, and when you made him feel different, made him feel something new and all-consuming, he just knew you two had to be together. feliciano would cling onto you tight, and throw a fit when you tell him to let go.

germany and japan tried to step in, to tell him that he was too attached to you and that it was some kind of disorder. but what do they know? they've never felt love like he's feeling it, they just don't get it.

should you try to leave him, whether physically or just cutting tethers, he would start bawling. he'll cling onto your legs, beg you not to leave him. really, he doesn't understand why you wound him so. if he loves you this much, there's no way you don't reciprocate. guilt-tripping is his first defense, but if he has to keep you locked up in his house to know where you are, so you don't tear away something beautiful, then he will. it really does hurt him to do so, especially when you cry about how much you miss your friends and family. but that's okay! just being around you makes him feel better, so he'll comfort you and kiss you on the head and hope to god that this is just a phase and that your true feelings will shine through eventually.

honestly, i couldn't really imagine him punishing you at all. he figures that because he truly loves you, he shouldn't do anything that would diminish the wonderful spark you have (though this puts him in a really weird moral dilemma when you beg him to let you go). if you escape, he'll lose his mind searching for you, even getting germany's (reluctant) help. once he has you back in his grasp, he'll just be happy to have you home.

i could imagine him showering you in gifts, trying anything desperately to get you to love him as much as he loves you. he's not good with rejection, so he begs and begs you to love him so he doesn't have to face it.

ludwig beilschmidt 🇩🇪 germany

germany is arguably one of the strictest nations on this list. at first, he didn't really understand his feelings for you. he knew that he liked you more than he liked other people, but couldn't figure out why or what to call that emotion. over months of almost dropping himself into your life unexpectedly and observing you (much like he did with italy), he eventually decided that what he felt was love.

he thought he could stop there. he figured that once he accepted it was love, things would progress naturally. he really never meant to let it get this bad, and at some point he stopped caring. he was so entranced by everything you did that he simply couldn't let you out of his sight. he knew he could fight, and he knew he was good at that, but if he couldn't keep an eye on you at all times, how could he put his skills to use? he needed to protect you, and, on a deeper level, he needed to feel that sense of control over the things he loves.

so he kept you cooped up on his property, where he could guarantee your safety. i think his punishments would be physical, but never with his hands. he has some sort of complex about hurting you with his hands, feeling your skin under his palm when he hits you makes him doubt everything he's been doing for months. maybe he'll use a baton or a crop, whatever he has on hand really.

should you escape (which would be a miracle, considering the tight grip he holds on you), he'll immediately send out envoys and spies to track you down and drag you right back. you could get yourself badly hurt out there, and what would he do then? it feels like his whole being relies on you to keep up his routine. how he processes threats and keeps everything in his life orderly and understood, it's all through a filter of you! it use to get on his nerves, since he always regarded himself as self-sufficient, but now you're sufficient on him too, which is a new dynamic he has to get used to.

day-to-day, he has a very strict routine, and he holds you to that standard as much as he holds himself to it. you wake up with him, you get ready with him, you make breakfast (or help him do it), kiss him goodbye when he leaves, and welcome him home when he comes back. basically, as long as you listen and don't fall behind, you'll be okay.

ivan braginski 🇷🇺 russia

ivan falls fast, and he falls hard. you really can't give a mouse a cookie, because all it takes is one kindness for him. he naturally gravitates towards anybody that's a sweetheart, much to your dismay as he latches on like a leech and doesn't let go. his possession to hold something close evolves rapidly into your complete isolation.

there's this need within ivan to look for a support to fall back on, and the damned soul that happens to be his support will feel the full tidal wave of his love 24/7. unfortunately, this want for something to hold onto will make him incredibly suspicious of you all the time, constantly worried that you're planning to leave him. if you left him, he'd be facing the cold winter swirling within his brain all alone again, which is something that just can't happen.

all he's ever wanted was a simple, traditional life. something that makes sense and can sustain him until the day his nation falls. so, to satiate himself, he basically forces you into a tradwife role (no matter your gender). the punishment for failing to meet his standards is surely physical. i mean, you know how often and how badly he beats the baltics, why wouldn't he do the same to you? it keeps people in line and listening to him, without any extra hassle.

escape is a joke to him. sure, if you'd like to try traversing through the unforgiving russian winter, you can go ahead and do that. when you're just about to go hypothermic, he'll come by and rescue you. well, he might. he doesn't really understand how fragile humans can be, not until something terrible happens to you and you have to explain it to him.

despite all this, he's incredibly affectionate, suffocatingly so. if he's not in contact with you at all times, then he's at least in the same room, watching you do chores, or knit, or read a russian classic, or whatever hobbies he assigned you to keep you sane. he's constantly kissing and hugging you, and expects you to do it back.

yao wang 🇨🇳 china

never in his 4000 years did he think he'd end up in this situation, especially with how independent he's been. you came along and rocked his boat, so to speak. not that he's never been in love before, but this intensity is new and exciting. it's also extremely overwhelming and stresses him out, so there will probably be an extended period of time where he avoids you like the plague in hopes that it will go away.

when it doesn't, he starts wondering how he can channel this energy into something beneficial, since that's how he's always lived. evaluating his own skills and the skills of everyone around him to make the most of everything, that guarantees success. so he observes you. your hobbies, eating habits, exercise, coping mechanisms, childhood, relationships, things like that. he wants to support you, to make you into the best version of you, the kind that matches up with the ideal in his head.

and he tries to do that normally, his first instinct isn't to kidnap you, but it turns out you're very stuck in your ways. so he figures that, if he wants to help you the best he can, he needs to be monitoring you at all times of the day. he'll try health trackers, and exercising with you, and bringing you food to improve your diet, but eventually you'll be fed up and creeped out. that's when he locks you up with him.

his versions of punishment are usually just verbal scoldings, but you'd be surprised at how mean he can get. if it's physical at all, then he's restraining you until you can't move and have to apologize and beg him to let you out. escape is unlikely, with his aamzing technological advancements, and you won't get far if you manage to get out. he's implanted several trackers into you.

he loves to cook for you and make you clothing. you're kind of like a doll almost, wearing only the clothes he decides you should, eating only what he decides you need, and watching only what he decides you can. the more you try to fight him, the tighter his restrictions on you get, until he can strangle that fight out of you. he's surprisingly loving, and loves small physical affections like holding hands, kissing your face, and counting your moles. i'd say his love language is mostly words of affirmation and acts of service.

matthew williams 🇨🇦 canada

matthew's entire life has been centered around his own unimportance. from the day he was born as a nation, he's been overshadowed by even the quietest of people. so when you came around, looked him in the eyes, and said "morning, matthew," he was absolutely hooked. it took him a couple weeks to get as obsessed as he did, and he loved it the entire time.

his requests to hang out are endless, and he has so many ideas for what you guys could do. if you'd rather stay inside, that's perfectly fine too! he has all your favorite games at his house anyway. i think he'd go into it as your friend, wanting to learn about you. and god can only hope you want to be his friend too, or he'll make you pity him until you have no other choice. he couldn't possibly lose you. it's not something he even wants to think about. you're his saviour, the only person who acknowledged him beyond his outgoing brother, you can't just up and leave him. he needs you, literally.

it would really pain him to hold you captive, because he'd much rather have your friendship progress into a normal relationship. but he couldn't handle you leaving. i think, at first, he'd try anything to make you stay. he'd break down in tears and hold your hands, ranting about how lonely and outcasted he is, how much you mean to him, and how he doesn't have anyone else. if you still resisted, he might go as far as to cut himself to make you stay.

i couldn't really see him punishing you, even if you do escape. his house is way up in the canadian mountains, far from any towns, so good luck trying to get very far. plus, he knows the forests around his house like the back of his hand. maybe he'll scold you or yell at you a little, but thats really the extent of it.

he's a very affectionate guy. most of your days will consist of cuddling and spending time together, like watching movies and playing video games. it's not like he has other friends to hang out with. maybe it's a little depressing that his only friend is his s/o that he kidnapped, but he tries to make it seem like everything is normal and that you're crazy for being scared of him. he's never hit you, and he never will, so why fear him?

arthur kirkland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 england

he's one of the more unlikely yanderes in my opinion, but he definitely has a more twisted idea of love than a lot of the other nations. due to his days as a pirate, he's learned that valuable objects need to be kept locked away and kept under control. arthur feels that his way of society is the objectively correct way to do it, and he'll force his norms onto you, the object of his attention. while he presents himself with confidence, all of it is based on his insecurity. he wants someone that can alleviate that insecurity by reassuring everything he does.

he has no regrets in holding you hostage, it was simply a means to an end for him. it's easier to herd your sheep when you have a fence, after all. for the first couple months at least, no forms of technology whatsoever. maybe find some new hobbies, because you're gonna have a lot more free time than you use to. of course, no communication with outside world, even with people he trusts, which is virtually no one. he doesn't want anyone to sway your thought process.

he feels that he needs to train you into fitting the mold he has for what a "proper wife/husband" would do (even if you're a guy you'll probably end up taking the "feminine" role in the relationship). this training comes in the form of lessons, literally. you sit down at a desk and he teaches you his culture. if you don't follow his instructions, then he figures he'll have to starve you into complying. he's not against using physical violence if necessary, but he'd rather not.

should you escape, you might actually be able to evade him for a while. but the sheer amount of guards that are sent out looking for you will get to you eventually. he'd be PISSED, because he hates when his property gains independence from him. the punishment for that certainly wouldn't be a slap on the wrist, maybe one across the face and some drugs to render you immobile for a few days.

i think he's inherently manipulative, using drugs or lies to get you to do things he wants, but he can be sweet outside of that. i can't really imagine him liking physical affection all that much, but simply sitting with you in the living room while he works on his needlepoint or lounging in the kitchen with you while he makes tea. he likes to show his appreciation through proximity, preferring to just hang around you.

francis bonnefoy 🇫🇷 france

francis, being the nation of love himself, obviously identifies it when he starts falling in love with you. he's had many, many partners, and he figured it would be the same for you as it was for them. but then that "love" spiraled deeper, and deeper, and deeper, until he was sitting in a tree outside of your window and watching you dance to music alone in your room. the weirdest part was, he was the happiest he'd ever been. in all of his lovers, he'd never felt this type of elation and obsession.

and obviously, he wouldn't waste his chance. i mean, he basically flirted with everyone, but he really laid it on thick with you. he'll "coincidentally" bump into you in the market, get off with you at your stop, and happen to be walking down your street when you leave for work in the morning. he'd take every chance to profess his love for you. when that doesn't work, he really thinks on it and figures he needs to start being more honest. perhaps you just think he's a dedicated flirt, looking for nothing more than a one night stand. well, he'll show you all of the raw passion he holds if it will convince you.

evidently, it doesn't. nothing he does seems to be working! he starts to worry himself sick about you, constantly seeking you out to make sure something didn't happen in the ten minutes he was away from you. you're his soleil, and he wouldn't want anything to dull you down. so he whisks you away into a tall tower, think rapunzel type tower, where he can be sure that you're shining just as bright as you always do and rest easy.

escape is basically impossible. the only practical way would be through the window, and that's suicide considering the height of the tower. plus, he had the foresight to put bars over it. the door that he enters through is thick wood that you need a key to open, of which only he has. let's say you steal his key (somehow) and escape. well, getting you back would be fairly simple, as it's just hills and grasslands for hundreds of miles around the tower. plus he checks on you multiple times a day, so you'd only be able to get moving for a couple of hours until he realizes you're gone.

honestly, he's devastated. he really thought you two had something beautiful blooming. but that's alright. some flowers just need a little extra push to unfurl their petals, he can work with that. he'll just have to spend some more time with you and show you how amazing of a boyfriend he can really be.

he comes around at least three times a day to bring you food he cooks himself, and usually loiters around your room for a little while when he does. he loves physical affection, and though he may be a bit of a pervert, he actually values your consent more than you'd think he would. so most of your time spent with him will be cuddling, playing board games (no service for any technology up on that tower, other than CDs), and him trying to initiate conversation and get you to open up.

alfred f. jones 🇺🇸 america

alfred's obsession with you would almost be childish, if he wasn't so intelligent. he sees love as something borderlining on transactional. you both give, and you both take. unfortunately, it seems he's giving and giving and giving, and you won't give back nor will you even take. he's another yandere that sees you like a doll, where he wants to be able to put you into any position (metaphorically), dress you up how he likes, and ignore the fact that you may have feelings about this.

his love starts out playful. he sets up extravagant events in your name and is constantly a thorn in your side, begging you to let him take you out. he makes a lot of empty promises and makes himself seem almost larger than life (which is pretty similar to how he views himself) to get you to reciprocate the heart-pounding feelings that take over his body at the mere concept of you.

eventually he accepts that the more he chases, the faster you'll run. unfortunately for you, he's much, much faster. kidnapping you is a piece of cake, the worst part is other people's suspicion. i mean, he shows all of this public affection for you, and then you go missing. it makes sense that people assume it was him. so he tells everyone that the big city and his american dream overwhelmed you and you ran off. alfred's home security system is top notch, so escape will be pretty difficult. if you thought getting out of the house was hard, then just you wait. try to get a lease on an apartment, try to book a flight, even try to board a train, you'll find that your id and passport are suddenly invalid everywhere. of course, because it's alfred, he'll go the extra mile of coming to your identity theft court case. don't worry, he'll bribe the judge and get you safely back home.

he's gonna be irate though. your little escape attempt had him doing all this paperwork and jumping through all these legal hoops to bring you back. of course, like a true nuclear family, he'll end up putting his hands on you at some point. he does vaguely feel bad for kidnapping you, but that need for control overshadows and doubts he may have within himself.

your days will mostly consist of video games and accompanying alfred to events as his arm candy. his arm candy that he's incredibly possessive over. hope you can learn to love the smell of fast food, because it'll be very prominent thing in your life. he can be kinda mushy around you, kissing you and wanting you close, but he can also get angry easily and become snarky and almost cold to you. you'll have to learn how to read his moods.

berwald oxenstierna 🇸🇪 sweden

berwald is probably the most lowkey about it out of this list, and i don't think he'd go out of his way to kidnap you intentionally. once sweden makes his own interpretation of a situation, he accepts it as fact and wont bend on it. so really all it takes is once instance where you two are around each other and you do something that he interprets as romantic, he'll run with it. now, if it was just that, this wouldn't be an issue at all. it's that the more he's around you, with this idea in his head that you two are together, he slowly starts to fuse with you almost.

berwald sees love much like how many people see children, a combination of two people. so when he observes you, and notices things you do, they rub off on him. he expects the same to happen to you, and gets a bit confused when you don't pick up his habits. it creates a small complex in his mind. you two are together, which means you love each other, but you're not following his idea of love, so what now?

well, now he starts inviting you over to his home more. he hopes that where he lacks in confidence and words, quality time and sharing of interests will make up for it, and fix this percieved rough patch in his made up relationship. keep in mind that he doesn't say any of this, so you aren't even aware. he just seems oddly closer to you than to any else.

when he really hooks onto you, it really comes down to your character. he's so attached to the concept of you that he gets lost between what's reality and what's his perception of things. he doesn't really realize that this feeling is obsession, he just knows that he craves being around you or watching you exist in your own area with him.

so his invitations over start to turn into you sleeping over, which turns into you sleeping in his bed, which turns into him being around you 24/7, which turns into him not being able to function properly without some sort of presence of you. this way, there not really any specific time you could say he kidnapped you, it just felt more like you started living with him.

he doesn't necessarily stop you from leaving, but his unintentionally intense demeanor almost scares you enough to keep you there anyway. but lets say you do end up leaving. then he'd just start showing up again and acting like nothing had ever changed, much to your confusion. good luck with him!

a/n: eck…. im rly nervous to post this lmfaoo

Original posts for both Mychelle and OG Mychael’s outfits if you’re interested

The colors got a little messed up when I made these, and not to mention I can’t draw gender differences (‘’❛ ؂ - „)ᕗ

I definitely tried to keep both outfits similar without it being a straight copy paste, although it’s mostly just the color palette making it coherent.

Your gaze stays fixed on your plate as you sit in between them, nudging your food around even though you’re not hungry anymore, your stomach churning in humiliation. Heat crawls up your neck, settling thick and uncomfortable in your cheeks.

You’ve long since made peace with the fact that going down on you is a line that Gyutaro simply isn't going to cross. Considering he spent years marinating in the most misogynistic corners of the internet before you somehow managed to shape him into becoming a functioning boyfriend… well, it tracks. But still, you’d hoped he wouldn't go around telling his friends about it. It’s one thing for the boundary to exist between the two of you, but it's another for it to become public knowledge.

And to make things worse – of course the person who had to hear about it was Tengen.

Tengen Uzui, who’s probably the loudest, most unapologetically women-worshipping guy you’ve ever met. Considering the guy has three girlfriends and talks about each of them like they hung the moon, it was obvious Gyutaro’s little declaration was never going to just sit there quietly and be swept under the rug.

“No, no— hold on.” Tengen cuts in, leaning back in his chair now, studying his friend curiously. “There's no way a guy with a jaw-dropping girlfriend like [y/n] isn’t interested in eating her out.” he says, pointing at you casually.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, cheeks heating up even more if that's even possible.

“Yeah well," Gyutaro scoffs. “I'm not into that shit. It’s fuckin’ weird, okay? It's nasty. Whole thing's degrading as hell.” he grumbles, turning his face away as he takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales a long breath. “Don’t look at me like that. She knows. We’ve talked about it.” he says.

The words come out meaner than he probably intends. You tense, fingers curling slightly around your fork, your eyes tearing up before you can stop it. Tengen goes still, and you wish the ground would just swallow you whole.

"…nasty and degrading." he echoes flatly. He leans forward again, brows pulling together like he genuinely can’t decide if Gyutaro’s fucking with him or just painfully stupid. “...Does she go down on you?”

Gyutaro scoffs like it’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard.

“'Course she does. She’s a girl, ain’t she?” his mouth twists into a crooked smirk. “She loves it.”

The silence that follows is like a slap in the face.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

You were only half surprised when Tengen insisted on walking the two of you back to your dorms afterwards, still lecturing Gyutaro the entire way about the so-called 'benefits of eating pussy'.

And when he invited himself inside, announcing he was going to 'educate' him properly, you didn’t even bother objecting.

Within the next twenty minutes you were spread open on your bed with Tengen on his knees - his face deep between your thighs while your very own boyfriend watched from the sidelines.

“Fuck, look at you.” Tengen mutters, breath warm against your pussy as he comes up for air. His hands slide down to grip the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees up and out, opening you wider. "You've been starving for it, haven't you?" he purrs, staring shamelessly before diving in again - his tongue dragging from your entrance to the swollen nub of your clit.

“Tengen!” you whine, part begging, part scolding him.

“Mhmm,” he hums, a low vibrating sound that makes your eyes roll so far back you forget your own name. “I know, baby. Such a shame your boyfriend's missing out on this perfect little pussy, huh? Not a fucking clue how good you taste.”

He redoubles his efforts, feeling the way your body tenses and tightens with each stroke of his tongue, his fingers digging into the soft skin pulling you harder against his mouth. he groans like he’s tasting heaven, mouthing at you sloppily and sucking your clit between his lips until your hips twitch off the bed.

He's clearly trying to get a reaction out of Gyutaro.

Gyutaro, whose pants are becoming awfully tight by the minute.

He's trying so hard to act like he doesn't care, like Tengen's doing both you and him a favor, but fuck. From this perspective, with the filthy slurps and sucks coming from him as he feasts on your pussy like a starving animal… The thought of burying his face between your thighs really doesn't sound so fucking bad.

He watches, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as Tengen leans back just long enough to spit, a thin line of saliva stretching from his lips to your pussy before he smears it in with a broad sweep of his tongue. Your thighs are visibly trembling around his neck as he starts tongue-fucking you, the obscene squelch of spit and slick filling the room.

“Ahh—f-fuck yes!” you cry out, hands scrabbling uselessly at the sheets as your back arches off the mattress, every nerve ending on fire. Your head thrashes onto the pillow, skin burning hot knowing Gyutaro is watching.

“...See something you like?" Tengen taunts, unbearably smug as he turns his head just enough to catch Gyutaro in his peripheral. His thumb remplaces his mouth for a second, slow at first then more insistent, each swipe dragging a breathless, whiny sound out of you. “She's fucking dripping, man. You're missing out." he ducks back down, holding your gaze as he latches onto your clit and sucks greedily. You can't help but gasp, hips twitching into his touch as your clit throbs under his ministrations.

Gyutaro shoots him a glare, taking a longer drag of his cigarette - or what’s left of it. He can't tear his eyes away from your pussy though, his free hand having dropped to his lap to adjust himself, palming and squeezing the bulge that's now pressing insistently against the front of his pants.

Tengen smirks knowingly, continuing his assault on your poor neglected clit while your plump thighs try to clamp around his head. His arms flex as he pushes them back and apart, opening you up for him completely while his thumbs stroke soft circles into the trembling skin just inside. "Fuck, you taste incredible." he groans, eyes half-lidded as he spits again, slicking you some more. He seals his mouth back over your clit, lips and tongue continuing to work overtime between your thighs until you gasp and fist the sheets. "A pussy this sweet should be worshipped every goddamn day." he groans appreciatively between licks. "...Think I could fuck her?” he asks, smirk widening into that stupidly handsome grin he was born with.

He doesn't actually plan on fucking you, of course. He's not trying to steal you from Gyutaro or claim you for himself, he's not that cruel.

No, what he is trying to do is make him snap out of it and finally fucking claim the girl he’s been neglecting out of ignorance and all that incel-poisoned bullshit rattling around in his brain.

The praise works wonders on you though, your pussy visibly fluttering and clenching around nothing. Your hands fly up to cover your face, utterly embarrassed and overwhelmed. Tengen just laughs in response then he's back between your thighs, head shaking side to side as he sucks, savoring every bit of you with obscene groans that vibrate against your pussy. His eyes flick up, watching every twitch on your face as he does.

"F-fuck, Tengen, I— ngh, ohmygod wait, s-slow down—" your whole body jerks. You clutch at his hair, finally feeling bold enough to do so, your hips bucking and writhing against his eager mouth to chase the building pleasure. "please— please, yes—!don’t stop, hah! oh god—”

Gyutaro’s chest heaves, a mixture of jealousy, anger and hunger swirling in his chest. The kind of mixed feelings that come from watching another man worship the pussy he’s been too afraid to touch while you melt, trembling and moaning at finally being given what you’ve begged him for again and again without results.

He inhales sharply, dragging the last hit from his cigarette until the filter almost burns. He exhales the smoke, flicks the butt aside and stands so fast the chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

"Move over. C’mon. Back the fuck off.”

Tengen lifts his head, lips shiny with your slick, looking up at Gyutaro with a slow grin — satisfied and absolutely smug.

“That’s more like it." Then he turns to you.

Your legs are trembling. You're dripping like a fucking faucet, cunt positively weeping with the intensity of your need. Your chest is rising in fast, shallow bursts, already panting and whining from the frustration left by the loss of Tengen's mouth.

But holy shit.

Your boyfriend, your supposedly disgusted, terrified-of-pussy boyfriend is actually about to put his mouth on you...?

Fuck.

The look on your face causes Tengen to chuckle, and he gives your folds a parting lick before looking back up at Gyutaro, who’s watching all of this with blown pupils and a twitch in his jaw. “She’s all yours.” Tengen says casually, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while he stands.

Gyutaro shoves his shoulder with more force than necessary before kneeling down, yanking your thighs open. He looks at your pussy, pink and swollen from Tengen's assault - and he spits. Whether it's to show disgust or mark his territory, you're not sure. The heat of it alone makes your back arch though, a soft, broken whine spilling out of you.

Tengen settles on the edge of the bed beside your head, the mattress dipping under his weight. His hand slides between your thighs, fingers sure and practiced as he places a steadying thumb right at the top of your clit, lifting the hood just enough to bare the swollen bundle of nerves underneath.

“This,” he says calmly, “is what drives your girl crazy.” his thumb stays where it is, keeping your clit perfectly exposed for him.

Gyutaro glares, his jaw tightening. “I know what a clit is.”

“Do you?” Tengen counters. “Because knowing it exists and knowing what to do with it are two very different things.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot. I've touched it. Just..." he fights off a grimace. "not with my mouth."

Tengen clicks his tongue.

“You’ve denied your girl pleasure because a bunch of braindead incels online told you her genitalia was nasty. And now you're grimacing in front of it. Respectfully, you're a fucking idiot.”

Your eyes flicker between the two of them, a soft, frustrated whine escaping your lips as you cover your face with both hands. Noticing your squirming, Tengen slowly starts circling his thumb and your back arches off the mattress in response, followed by a broken moan.

Gyutaro shoots him another glare but the moment his gaze lowers back to you, it’s gone.

His tongue comes out tentatively - just a quick, hesitant flick that's so different from Tengen's confident, practiced exploration. Your body's response is immediate, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob catching in your throat while your hips give a little twitch. Gyutaro swallows, flush rising on his neck and chest as his tongue dips again, a little too fast, pressing deeper, exploring awkwardly as Tengen’s words sink in.

“Slower.” Tengen interrupts again, thumb still holding your clit perfectly exposed. “Flat tongue. Start from the bottom then all the way up to her clit—yeah, like that. That’s it. Theeere it is.”

Gyutaro follows the instructions, flattening his tongue, dragging it up in one long, trembling sweep and your hips give another little jerk of approval, chasing his touch.

“Ngh— hah, fuck, yes…”

Tengen laughs, finally withdrawing.

“See? You're doing it. I knew that stupid caveman brain of yours just needed a jumpstart. Not so nasty now, is it?”

Gyutaro doesn’t argue. He can’t, not when his tongue is already sliding over you again, slower and more deliberate this time, trying to figure out what the hell he’s tasting, what makes you moan, what makes your thighs shake the way they did with Tengen.

He tries circling his tongue around your clit and God, that does something to you.

His fingers dig into your thighs as he dives in again, this time with more confidence, a pathetic moan slipping when your hands tangle in his hair and tug at the strands. He nuzzles deeper, breathing hot and heavy as he shoves his face into you, nose brushing your mound as he flattens his tongue and drags it upward. He groans, an involuntary sound that vibrates straight through your clit - his hips staring to rut against the bed, suddenly desperate for friction.

Eventually, his hands slide from your thighs to hook under them and grab your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin pulling you harder against his mouth. He can feel your muscles clenching, the way your stomach tenses and tightens with each stroke of his tongue, each suckle of his lips, the sounds you make spurring him on.

Off to the side, Tengen sits where Gyutaro had been just moments before, smug as hell - ignoring the raging boner straining in his pants.

“She’s close. You keep doing that and she’ll come so hard it'll make you never want to come up for air again.”

He's right. You’re shaking so hard your toes curl, so hard you’re gripping his hair like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the bed. And as much as Gyutaro hates to admit it...there's nothing remotely nasty about what's happening right now. Every warning he’d ever stumbled across online, every Reddit thread claiming women "taste bad" or "smell awful" down there is already long forgotten.

So he doubles down, tongue pressing, circling, sucking, moaning, trying to make up for every year he wasted thinking eating pussy was gross. He sucks at your clit, tongue flicking in short bursts trying to mimic what he saw Tengen do - and it works. Gyutaro swears he can feel your heartbeat pulsing against his tongue.

"Fuck! Fuck, baby, right there—” you gasp, your words tumbling over each other as your fingers curl tighter in his hair. “you're doing s-so good— yes! stay, stay right there, rightthererightthererightthere—!” your hips buck up to meet his tongue, breath coming in short, desperate pants. “Don’t stop, don't stop, you’re doing so f-fucking good— I love you, i'm so close— fuck, I love you—!”

You feel it coiling low in your belly, the familiar, burning warmth that Gyutaro has only brought to you with his cock so far. You can feel his breathing growing heavier, feel his hips humping into the mattress as he moans into you. His hands roam over your thighs, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming intensity of it all.

He's found his rhythm now, shameless moans slipping from his lips and sending the most delicious vibrations up your spine. Your juices are coating his face, dripping down his chin and he doesn't seem to care about the mess. If anything, it seems to fuel him.

Meanwhile Tengen finally gives in and unzips his pants with a groan, his eyes never leaving the sight in front of him as he wraps a hand around his rock-hard cock, thumb brushing over the head as he strokes himself. He tips his head back with a breathy, almost delighted laugh, and he mumbles something under his breath that you don't quite catch. You’re suddenly hyperaware of everything - the wet glide of Gyutaro’s mouth, the way his fingers dig into your thighs, the quiet, broken sounds Tengen can’t seem to stop making as he watches you unravel.

Fuck... You'll have to thank him for that later.

When your orgasm hits, your thighs lock tight around Gyutaro’s head - hips arching off the bed as a cry tears from your throat. Your fingers yank at his hair so carelessy it’s probably painful by now, but Gyutaro just groans into you, tongue still working, prolonging every twitch and flutter.

It's only when your legs start trembling from overstimulation, hands pushing weakly at his shoulders that he finally lifts his mouth from you with a reluctant exhale.

And when he stands, when he shoves his pants and boxers down his thighs to free his throbbing cock and line himself up with you despite Tengen still watching — you let him, body humming and pliant beneath his touch, still floating on that endorphin high and somehow twice as madly in love with every stupid, endearing inch of him.