R U Mine ? | Haitani R.

r u mine ? | haitani r.

haitani ran x fem!reader

summary: you accidentally push your boyfriend just a bit too far during a night out at the club with his friends

warnings: possessive!ran, jealous!ran, rough sex, degradation, semi-public sex, manhandling, mirror sex, established relationship (ran x reader), slight gaslighting + implied relationship issues

wordcount: 3.9k

notes: back on my bullshit w jealous!ran >:(

He knew you could feel his stare boring into the back of your head from across the room as you shifted uncomfortably on the barstool where you were grinning at Sanzu Haruchiyo, listening to him prattle on about the competition he had just lost against Kakucho. And he knew that you didn’t really care about what Sanzu was talking about but his hand curled tighter around his drink as he watched you entertain him, leaning back in his seat, breathing in deep through his nose as he took a long swig of his drink.

Calm down.

But his blood ran molten hot as he watched you laugh as Sanzu leaned in close to you, practically draped over your shoulder as he slurred on about how Kakucho totally cheated in the drinking game, about how pretty you look, and about Ran. Sanzu Haruchiyo had never been a quiet talker and Haitani Ran had good hearing, so even from halfway across the club he could hear Sanzu loudly bitch on about how Ran didn’t deserve you.

And Ran could only swallow thickly at the words. Because maybe Sanzu was right. Maybe he didn’t deserve you. He had a temper that caused too many arguments between the two of you, he got nasty and said things he didn’t mean and it wasn’t fair to you. But more than that, he was selfish and Ran would never admit those things, and he would never admit that maybe he didn’t deserve you.

And he wasn’t sure if it was fear or fury that made his stomach twist uncomfortably as you pet Sanzu’s hair gently, almost cooing at how Sanzu was nuzzled into your neck, practically moaning at the feeling of your fingers running through his hair--the same way you had lulled Ran to sleep the other night when he had woken up from a nightmare and was unable to fall back asleep.

He felt sick. It took all of his self-control to not get up from where he was sitting with Rindou and storm over to you. You should be doing that with him--not fucking Sanzu, who everybody knew was in love with you because he made no effort to hide it. 

But you weren’t doing it with him because, like always, he had lost his temper and said something hurtful when you mentioned wanting to come with him to the club to celebrate the successful deal Bonten made with their rival. And it wasn’t like he didn’t want you going out with them--he loved when you joined him and Rindou at the club. He didn’t like when you joined them when Sanzu was around--because Sanzu was much touchier, much bolder, and much more lovesick when he was drunk and high. It wasn’t you he didn’t trust, he was fucking Sanzu, who had no respect for your relationship with Ran and pursued you as if you were single.

And Ran hated it. It wasn’t like he wasn’t secure in your relationship--he loved you and you loved him, he knew that and he knew you wouldn’t leave him, but Sanzu Haruchiyo managed to get under his skin every time he smiled pretty at you, desperately trying to get your attention. And Ran was already three drinks in and his patience was waning fast as he watched Sanzu drape himself all over you like a fucking whore and as he watched you let him. 

He was going to throw up.

He could feel the bile rise to his throat as he watched you smile softly and smooth his sweaty hair out of his face, as he watched Sanzu look up at you with a sort of reverence that should only be reserved for gods. And the worst part was that he knew damn well that you weren’t even doing this maliciously. He had watched Sanzu stumble up to you, already drunk out of his mind, and he had watched the worry flash through your face as you steadied him and helped him sit down, calling the bartender over to bring water. He knew that you would never go out of your way to purposefully hurt him (unlike him, a dark voice reminded him, who spat the nastiest things when he was angry only to hurt you. Guilt rose and he forced himself to push it away. His chest felt heavy. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he be better?)

He let out a shaky breath, slamming his cup down on the table so hard that it nearly shattered, pressing his hands to his face.

He was gonna fucking lose it. He could feel it, he could feel his blood heating up, he could feel his stomach churning and his chest aching, he could feel a rage-induced haze beginning to latch on to his mind.

Breathe, he told himself, forcing himself to take in deep breaths, ignoring Rindou’s call of his name. It was hot, he was too hot, it was suffocating, he couldn’t breathe and he could feel the sweat beading at his forehead and Ran didn’t know what to do. He unbuttoned the first few buttons of his dress shirt, trying to help himself cool down. Breathe. Breathe.

He needed to breathe otherwise he was going to do something he regretted, something that might drive you away for good.

For good, the words echoed in his head. What if it already was for good? What if he had pushed it too far this time? 

No, he told himself, but he could feel his heart sinking in his chest as he listened to you giggle at whatever Sanzu said. No, you wouldn’t. You’ve had plenty of fights like this before and you hadn’t left.

Maybe this one was one too many.

“Ran, calm down,” Rindou’s voice sounded a million miles away even though he was sitting in the booth right next to him.

Ran’s eyes peeked out from above his hands to look at his brother, to tell him to fuck off because he was calm, he was perfectly fine, there was nothing wrong but as he looked up, he caught sight of Sanzu leaning in close—too close—and he caught sight of the pretty blush decorating your cheeks.

One that should only be reserved for him.

Ran was on his feet in an instant, ripping his hand away from Rindou’s as he darted forward to curl his hand around Ran’s wrist, trying to stop him with a sharp call of his name. 

Ran’s blood was roaring in his ears as he made his way right toward the two of you, tunnel vision on the two of you even as Kakucho tried to step in his path to stop him, shoving him away hard as he drew closer to you and Sanzu because who the fuck did Sanzu think he was? Who the fuck did you think you were?

And a distant part of him knew, he knew that you were only entertaining Sanzu because of how drunk he was, that whatever he was saying meant nothing to you, that you were only with him because Ran had left you with Kakucho and Kokonoi in a fit of pettiness when the two of you arrived at the club, still seething from your fight.

“‘s jus’ s’dumb, d’nno why you wan’ him when y’could have s’much better? ‘n-n-n ‘m not the best, but I’d treat y’better than him at least, y’know?” he could hear Sanzu slur as he approached, “s’much better, ‘d treat you s’good, like you deserve.”

And as you opened your mouth to respond, a sudden burst of fear chilled his blood because Ran didn’t want to know what your response to that was. He didn’t want to hear you agree that yeah, maybe Sanzu would treat you better, maybe you deserved more than a douchebag who lost his temper and made you cry and never apologized, that you regretted saying yes when he asked you out two years ago.

The fear gave way to anger, as it always did.

“Get the fuck up.”

The words spit out so viciously that you physically jumped, eyes wide as you turned to look at him but you didn’t move fast enough, he couldn’t stand the way that Sanzu only leaned deeper into you, lips practically brushing your skin as he let out shaky breaths, eyes dilated from whatever he had taken earlier.

Ran’s hand darted out before he could stop himself, a bruising grip curling around your bicep as he yanked you right off the barstool sending you stumbling into him. A sick glee swept through him as Sanzu yelped, trying to steady himself but his attention was on you. You and your pretty face with your wide eyes and parted lips as you started up at him in shock. 

And his anger almost melted away at the genuine confusion gracing your face because he knew, he knew you didn’t mean for it to come across as you did, that you were just trying to help Sanzu not pass out at the bar but he caught sight of Sanzu pouting behind you, shooting a longing look in your direction, and the anger returned with a vengeance.

His lips were pressed together tight and his glare was nothing short of lethal as he pulled his gaze from Sanzu and back onto you.

“Ran-“ you began and he hated how he faltered at the sound of his name on your lips so he only tightened his grip, yanking you forward without a word and Ran wasn’t even sure where he was going as the large crowd of club goers parted at the sight of an enraged Haitani, as you stumbled into his back trying to keep up with how fast he was walking and how hard he was pulling you along.

Calm down, the more rational part of him begged him as he heard you plead with him to slow down but he could barely even hear you over the blood roaring through his ears, over his fury.

He caught sight of the bathroom out of the corner of his eye and turned abruptly, dragging you through the club and into the crowded bathroom.

“Get the fuck out,” and Ran didn’t have to yell at the men crowding in the large bathroom. Everyone knew who he was, and what organization he belonged to. They caught sight of the tattoo branding his throat and fled the bathroom without a single noise or complaint.

And once the door swung shut and the final man left the bathroom, Ran finally turned toward you, the silence deafening as he stared down at you with lidded eyes, trying to figure out what the fuck he should say.

Just tell her you didn’t like how close she got to Sanzu, the rational part again spoke up, begging him not to make this worse.

“Are you done acting like a fucking whore?” the words slipped from his lips before he could stop them. He winced, regret already pooling as hurt spread across your face.

“Ran, I wasn’t-he was drunk, I-“

“He was drunk, so you felt the need to let him hang all over you,” and he was screaming at himself to shut up, but the words kept spilling past his lips, “You fuckin’ reek of him. Can smell him on you from here.”

His hand shot out to curl around your jaw tight--too tight--squeezing your cheeks together hard as he leaned in close, “You like prancing around in your tiny fuckin’ dresses ‘n letting any fucker throw himself all over you, don’t you? Saw you with Kakucho earlier too. How many cocks do you need stuffin’ you before you’re fuckin’ satisfied? You want Mikey’s next? Or maybe Rindou? You want my brother to fuck you full of his cum too?” 

He could feel your face heat up under his fingers, he could see the tears well in your eyes as you looked up at him.

Shut the fuck up, you’re making it worse-

“You want me to call ‘em in here?” Ran spit out, “want me to call ‘em in here and have ‘em run a train on you? Maybe you just wanna be Bonten’s filthy fuckin’ whore instead of my girlfriend, yeah?” 

“No!” you were sobbing, the tears were spilling from your eyes, over your cheeks and wetting his fingers. Your voice was garbled from how tight he was squeezing your cheeks but he could still make out your words, “No, Ran, only want you, I only want you!” 

And he hoped the breath he let out didn’t sound as relieved as he felt because your words started to calm the storm raging in him. Only want you, the words echoed and Ran’s throat felt tight as he searched your glassy eyes, trying to decide if you were telling the truth or lying to make him feel better. 

His grip on your jaw loosened, “Only me?” he asked again, voice quieter as he waited for your reaction.

You nodded as best as you could with his grip on your face, ‘Only you,” you confirmed, and Ran’s tight jaw relaxed, considering you before leaning back on his heels, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well how ‘bout you prove it?” he drawled and you blinked up at him, unsure of what he meant. His free hand curled around your waist to flip you around, pushing you forward. You let out a surprised ‘oof’ as he bent you over the sink counter, one leg slipping between yours to knock them apart. “Gunna let me fuck you real good, aren’t you, doll? Then ‘m gunna send you right back out there with my cum leakin’ out of you, so they all know just who you belong to.”

Ran’s hand slid up your body, fisting your hair tight and lifting your head from where it was resting against the sink, forcing you to look up and into the mirror. His eyes met your wide, teary ones through the reflection, waiting for you to say something as he unbuckled the belt holding his slacks up with his other hand.

After a few moments, you nodded. Ran’s grip on your hair tightened, waiting for a verbal confirmation.

“Yes,” you finally gasped, “wanna prove it, ‘ll prove it, Ran, ‘s only you, only you!”

A soft groan slipped past his lips at your words, pulling his cock from his pants and guiding it toward your cunt as he pushed your tiny dress up over your waist, pushing your panties over to the side, sliding his fingers between your drenched folds before nudging his tip against your entrance, relishing in the long whine that you let out as you tried to push your hips back against his.

His thoughts darkened again. Were you this wet for Sanzu? Or him?

“Sloppy fuckin’ cunt is already soaked,” he said, voice low, “Turned you on having Sanzu all over you, didn’t it?”

He watched you in the mirror, as your brows furrowed before his words finally registered in your head and you began shaking your head rapidly, “N-no,” you stuttered, a whimper escaping your lips as he pushed the fat tip of his cock into your cunt, one hand coming up to press down hard against the small of your back, stopping you from trying to fuck yourself back onto his cock. 

“No,” you cried, “No, Ran, ‘s cause of you, ‘m wet cause of you.”

“Yeah? It’s ‘cause of me?” he questioned, watching you nod your head frantically at his words, tears sliding down your cheeks, smearing your pretty makeup, “You got this wet from me dragging you across the club like a misbehaving child? You really are a fuckin’ whore, aren’t you? Bet you did this on purpose just to fuckin’ piss me off.”

“N-no, no, no, Ran, I didn’t, I-oh!” your protests dissolved into a loud whimper as Ran pushed his cock deep into you--his eyes half-rolling back at the feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock so fucking good. “Oh god, oh god, Ran ‘s s’big, you’re s’big, hol’on-”

Ran took in a shuddered breath as he felt your walls tightening and fluttering around his cock, his fist tightened in your hair when your eyes squeezed shut, “Watch,” he said, voice rough as he forced himself not to pull his hips back and thrust himself deep inside of you, priding himself on his self control. 

Your eyes fluttered back open, wide and dazed as your gaze focused back on his through the mirror, jaw slack from the stretch of his cock against your walls. He leaned down over you, lips brushing your ear and eyes steady on yours as he spoke, “You see this?” you whimpered in response, “You feel how good you’re suckin’ me in? This is all fuckin’ mine. My pretty pussy. Not fuckin’ Rindou’s, not Kakucho’s, not Sanzu’s, not yours, all fuckin’ mine. Say it.”

“‘S all yours, all yours, all yours,” you sobbed, “‘m all yours, Ran, please just fuck me already. Please, please, pleasepleaseplease-”

And Ran let out another shaky breath at your words, “Yeah, you’re all mine?” 

“All yours, only yours,” you babbled, “Please, Ran, please-”

All yours, it echoed through his head as he pulled his hips back and snapped them back into you--a loud, shameless moan spilling past his lips as you cried out his name, cunt clenching hard around him. He pulled your hair, hissing as he pressed his hand down harder into your back, spreading your legs open further so he could fuck himself deeper into you, his tip brushing your cervix with every thrust. 

And you were crying his name so fucking loud that there was no way that everyone in that club couldn’t hear you--not loud enough, he thought to himself, picking up the pace of his hips, fucking you faster, rougher, pushing down on your back so hard that he knew it would be bruised tomorrow, cock driving into you so deep that he knew it must be on the verge of painful, that your thighs would be black and blue from the force of his thrusts driving you into the sink.

But you didn’t seem to care, and Ran almost came on the spot when he realized that you were sobbing and begging him for more--deeper, harder, faster, please Ran, please, need more.

You were fucking perfect. God, you were so fucking perfect for him, he bit down hard on your neck, tongue lapping at the beads of blood drawn from his teeth, moaning against your skin at the pornographic moan of his name torn from your lips, at the way your cunt fluttered around him as he brought you closer and closer to your high.

You were so fucking addicting, he could never get enough of you--he swore, he swore that your pretty pussy was made just for him. His pretty pussy, he reminded himself, not fuckin’ yours. His pretty pussy, his pretty girl, his, his, his, his, all fucking his. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, ‘m gunna cum, Ran, feels s’good, you feel s’good,” you wailed, “S’good, s’good, so so so so so good!” 

“Yeah, I do, and I’m the only fuckin’ one that can make you feel this good,” he groaned, sloppily kissing up your neck to behind your ear, “Say it.”

“You’re the only one,” you nodded your head frantically, “The only one that can make me feel so good, the only one, only you.”

He moaned into your ear, biting down on your earlobe lightly before tracing his tongue along it, hot and dizzy from your words ringing through his ear, from the feeling of your walls tightening around his cock. The hand pressing down hard on your back slipped around your body, fingers flicking lightly at your puffy clit and the reaction was instant. The air was ripped from his lungs as your cunt squeezed him hard, as you came all over his cock, walls spasming around him, crying his name so loud that everybody in the club must’ve heard you.

“Oh fuuuck,” Ran gasped, head light and vision spotty as you threw him so suddenly over the edge, spilling his seed so deep inside your cunt that it had you whimpering and whining, body spasming and twitching underneath his. And for a second, all he could do was lay there, panting and desperately trying to catch his breath, reeling from the intense and abrupt orgasm. 

After a moment, he pulled off of you, hissing as his cock slipped out of you and he tucked himself back into his pants. Chest once again heavy as he helped you stand up, taking in the bruises on your thigh and bicep, the teeth marks marring your neck. 

His lips parted to apologize, say sorry for all of the awful shit he had accused you of, say sorry for treating you so roughly but no words came out.

“I shouldn’t have let Sanzu be all over me like that,” you said quietly, still half out of it as you looked up at him through your lashes, “I’m-”

“No,” he said, interrupting you before you could get the words out. “No, I… I’m sorry. I knew you were only entertaining him because he was drunk and high. I shouldn’t have…”

Done all of this, he said, looking over your smeared makeup and marked up body.

But you only smiled, “S’okay, baby,” you said and Ran all but melted at the pet name, shoulders slumping as he reached forward to cup your cheeks gently, pressing his lips against your forehead, “I kinda liked it.”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling against your skin, before pulling back and looking down at you with a teasing smirk, “Well I could tell that much from how you kept begging for more,” he said, a genuine smile tugging at his lips as you giggled at his words and leaned into him. His smile faded after a few moments, “I’ll be better,” he added quietly, remembering the argument that led to this situation in the first place, “We keep arguing. It’s my fault, I can’t control my temper and-”

“Your work is… difficult,” you said quietly, “you’re stressed all the time, and I know I make it worse sometimes by being so passive aggressive about things. We both have things to work on, okay?”

He let out a soft breath, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest, kissing the top of your head, “I love you, y’know?”

“And I love you,” you said, and Ran’s throat felt tight as he buried his face in your hair because he knew he didn’t deserve you, and he knew he was lucky that you loved him because he knew that he was a difficult person to love. 

“Can we go home?” you asked after a few moments and Ran pulled back to raise an eyebrow, “wanna just relax ‘n watch a movie.” 

And Ran let out a soft sigh as he leaned in again to kiss your forehead--he knew Rindou would be pissy, and Kokonoi probably wouldn’t be happy about him leaving early either but… his eyes met your hopeful ones and he could only give you a small smile, “Yeah, let’s go home.”

--

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JUST SHUP UP! SHUT UP!

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i just think… haitani rindou has squishy, mochi cheeks. don’t ask me why but i just know they’re soft and squishy that ran would always annoy the heck out of rin by pinching and pulling it whenever he’s bored cause they’re irresistible and a great stress reliever ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

UKITAKE 😖 JUST LOVE ME PLSSS. I wanna be your girl 🥺

your last dime // k. nahoya

notes. i don’t have a daddy kink but some characters…… oh and this ended up being a little soft. iffy about the smut but what else is new

wc. 6.7k

cw. fem! sushi chef! reader. one sided rivalry, one-sided pining, light bickering, rough sex, finger sucking, semi-public sex, daddy kink, degradation, condescending praise. descriptions of food. bitch used as degradation

summary. you hate nahoya with a passion and he has no idea why. you both were agreeable when you first met, but then you started ignoring him, which is a shame because he thinks you’re pretty

tagging. @touyasghosty thank you for hosting such a sexy collab! ‘m smooching your brain <3 @kazuwhora @ryuugot @bxnten thank you for beta reading <333 @messxworld @tokyoredlightdistrict & @shibuyawardnetwork

Nahoya doesn’t know what stick is up your ass, but you can be annoying as fuck and bitchy. He hasn’t even known you long enough to receive this loathing you have over him.

You moved into the old leasing space next to their shop two weeks ago. Him and Souya brought a welcome basket and introduced themselves. The both of you had an okay meeting, a handshake and pleasantries were exchanged, and nothing grating could have happened to rub you the wrong way, but somehow something did, and Nahoya has no idea what that is.

Every time your eyes land on his pink curls, they twitch. A glance at his curved lids, and your jaw locks. His smile causes a set of brows to knit together and crease. His heavier footsteps compared to Souya’s careful gait makes your shoulders tense. You hear him laugh and your eyes narrow into slits. You look at him like he’s a pile of dirty dishes and he fucking hates it.

But you only treat him this way.

Not Souya. No, never Souya. He gets none of your fury. He gets treated like an angel instead. Charming smile, cute teeth, twinkling eyes, and an even sweeter tone of voice that slides out of your throat like honey when you greet him.

While Nahoya gets your cold, aloof back, left out of the conversation like a third wheel, standing stupidly behind Souya as the both of you have delightful chatter and he stares longingly at you.

Nahoya didn’t hate you at first. He thought you were cute even. Heavy lashes that fluttered gently, soft, pink lips that rose to a lovely smile, bright eyes that looked at him so clearly he got lost in them for a second before the dulcet chime of his name snapped him out of his reverie and made his heart skip a beat.

You looked like Aphrodite incarnate. But you turned into Medusa in a matter of time and cast your hate on him as if he were Poseidon, and Nahoya truly has no idea why.

As he gazes at your glowing form, eyes that were once kind to him directed at his brother now, a giggle bubbling in your chest that makes your body tremor, his finger on the front counter taps into the wood faster, more harshly.

Nahoya decides that he won’t get held up by you anymore. If that’s how you wanna play, then fine. He’ll join your little game.

You’re dead to him too.

—

Well that was the plan at least.

It’s ironic, funny, and a little annoying all in one how the universe decides to spite him. The both of you are in a room stock full of ingredients. He came here to take storage, and you were asked by Souya to get him some more onions.

It would be laughable. If only the door didn’t slam shut with just a slight breeze of the wind. If only the click of the lock didn’t echo in the empty space and alarm you both. The old wood is too weak to hold itself open, and the knob doesn’t turn as it should. That was something Souya has been nagging him to look into, and he’s paying for his negligence here.

How fucking hilarious.

Nahoya can’t help the little snicker that leaves his mouth, and you whip your head to him, zooming in on that insufferable grin. “Don’t fuckin’ chuckle. This is your fault. Souya said the storage room door needed to be fixed, but you’ve been sitting on your ass. Not doing a damn thing.”

It’s always ‘Souya this, Souya that.’ Nahoya really can’t stop the chuckles that break from his chest.

“Take some fucking responsibility for your actions!”

Shaking his head and wiping some tears from the corner of his eyes, Nahoya calmly tells you, “Relax. Screaming won’t do any good if we’re still stuck in here, doll.”

Your teeth grind at the pet name, and you don’t listen, you just want more time to lash out.

You turn, walking up to him, steps heavy the closer you get until you’re finally in his face. A sharp, pointed finger pokes at his chest with each word that leaves your mouth.

“And I said, that this was your fault. We wouldn’t be in here, or trapped for that matter, if you actually fixed the damn door.” The glare you throw at him is vicious, eyebrows knit together, lids narrowed and sharp as a cat’s.

There’s a fire burning in your eyes that makes dark, dark pupils glow. Nahoya can see himself in them again just like at your first encounter, and it’s been so long since he was able to glance into your eyes head-on like this—it’s been so long since he’s had your undivided attention—that his stomach churns and his heart quickens.

He’s always found you, even more so your eyes, pretty. They’re genuine, clear, attentive to whoever's caught their fancy.

Then you raise your head higher, and they catch onto the light. It makes your irises shine and glaze over in a way that reminds Nahoya of freshly painted pottery pieces fresh out of a kiln.

“What?” You tilt your head to the side in confusion, brows lowering in that endearing way people do when they are utterly clueless, and your eyes soften, glaze over a touch more.

The gesture is so cute that Nahoya’s stomach bubbles over with arousal, and his pants are starting to feel a little tight.

He opens his mouth to talk, but you sigh and cross your arms over your chest. “Well?” and his mouth doesn’t move again because your forearms are pushing your soft tits up.

Instead he gulps the pool of saliva in his mouth like a lesser man, and his eyes trail up from your chest until it lands on your soft, glossy lips that are in a pout already.

Shit, he wants to kiss you.

Your eyes scrunch more when you realize he isn’t looking at you anymore. No, his eyes are too low, and there’s a hazy sheen to them that makes goosebumps trickle along your skin.

What is he looking at? Do you have something on your face? Your mouth? Your cheeks?

In the next few seconds, his eyes dart up to yours and a shiver wracks your spine. Their intensity makes you feel small. So, so small and meek. As if you aren’t around the same height anymore, like he’s towering over you—as if you’re being hunted.

He looks like he wants something.

Why does it feel like he’s on the verge of taking it whether you like it or not, that you have to coil your muscles and put your guard up?

His hand slowly moves. It brushes your cheek, and you’re so surprised by the motion that you flinch back, but his hand stops right there.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want to.” It stays frozen, his voice a low, calm rumble.

You consider the current state of things. Nahoya’s shift in demeanor, the growing tension between you two that’s starting to make your stomach tingle, and the thick air hanging heavy in the room. It spreads to every nook and cranny, and invades your mind.

Nahoya inches closer before he’s back to brushing against your cheek, finally cupping it. You move in, transfixed by the gentle hold of his hand. It’s so faint, so warm that your heart races and your breathing slows with the serene touch. When you inhale, a whiff of crisp cologne invades your senses, and it’s addicting how nice it smells. You feel a little hazy as Nahoya traces his thumb over your lips, the gloss smudges a little around the plump edges.

Then he moves that same hand to the back of your head and pulls you in, slowly still.

Your lips touch softly, and a buzz starts at your mouth and travels throughout your body, raking down your fingers and toes, traveling through bones and tissue.

The thing about kissing Nahoya is that he’s not gentle at all, despite the soft way he reeled you in. He bumps his mouth against yours, sucks your tongue, bites your lips, and traces his tongue around for pleasure. Completely rough and wanton, and he fights for dominance. His tongue is merciless as he tastes all of you, like he can’t get enough. The pink muscle licks and prods over the same areas over and over again, his hand tilts your head slightly to get more access, to get down your throat.

Now there’s a fog entering your mind, making it fuzzy, and you completely forget your argument earlier as your legs grow weak.

It gets thrown out the window when his other hand traces down your back and squeezes at your ass. A tiny moan squeaks out of your mouth and your hands grip onto his work uniform. The hand behind your head moves lower when he feels your kiss get rougher. Jackpot.

They’re both playing with the supple flesh of your ass as you keen into his mouth. It feels so good, it’s starting to be the only thing you care about right now.

More. You want more, and Nahoya gives you exactly that as his knee presses between your legs.

They wobble when his hands move to your hips to slide them against his thigh, and the friction is so heavenly, your clit rubs against your panties from under your skirt, the gush of your slick so loud and sloppy that Nahoya groans and you buck your hips, cumming within the next few seconds.

The hands on his shirt claw into the rustling fabric, and he feels you shake, feels your pussy flutter even through the thin barrier of your panties as his pants get soaked in your juices.

“Fuck, doll.” His pant leg is soaked to the calf. He lets your mouth go to see you lean back and pant heavy breaths of air leaving your swollen, red lips.

You look really good right now, eyebrows knit, hazy eyes, shaky legs, heaving chest, panties a slippery mess, and Nahoya’s dick twitches imagining how it’d feel to sink his dick into your gummy walls—to see you creaming on him.

But first, he wants to feel your little hole wrapped around his fingers.

Bringing his hand down to your panties, he pushes them down, sliding two digits into your pulsing, squelchy hole, you start to squirm right away. Especially when he pushes the flat of his palm right against your sensitive nub so it rubs the tiny thing while he swirls his fingers.

“You’re a mess down here.” He hums.

You tremble and lean forwards, hands clawing at his wrist as you sob, “Nahoya, it‘s sensitive. ‘s too soon.” But all you do is push him closer to your sweet spot this way, and when his fingers get there, he grinds them against you, scraping your walls with the nubs of his fingertips.

Your pussy drools sticky cum, throbbing again. He knows you’re close, but he slides them out and steps back. With shaky legs, you gaze up at him full of want, disappointment. Confused on why he stopped.

His hands fumble with his pants, and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. You gape when his fat dick springs out, oozing a string of precum down the shaft.

Fuck he’s big.

He aligns the fat mushroom tip against your small hole, it flutters against the large, blunt head. His precum beads against your soft, pink folds.

“Nahoya, ‘s not gonna fit.” You’re whining, but your hands grasp his length, eager to test his girth, test how thick he is towards the base that both of your hands can’t fit around; your walls pulse at the discovery.

“I’ll just do the tip. Promise.”

Your lips purse for a second before you remove your hands. “Okay.”

He rubs your clit with the pad of his thumb as a little reward and you keen. He finally pushes in. The stretch is a little painful at first, but the drag of his cock against your velvety walls makes your toes curl, and Nahoya’s thumb still rubbing circles into your clit makes your hips buck.

“Nahoya, put it in. I want the whole thing.” He twitches at your words and groans, but he obliges. God, you’re so fucking greedy already. Slowly, he makes his way inside, one centimeter at a time.

By the halfway mark, your juices froth and bubble around the edges of his shaft, and his thumb rubs faster. The band of pleasure in your tummy is getting tighter, makes your cunt tingle and pulse.

Nahoya’s stomach is getting tight with pleasure too and his dick is twitching a fast tempo. You feel so warm and mushy, walls trapping and sucking his cock.

He can’t help how he pushes more of his shaft into soft, velvety walls. His dick feels like it’s gonna melt, and his head nearly lolls at the heavenly feeling of your cunt, pillowy folds parting for him.

“Wait. Nahoya. Wait. Wait wait wa-”

The knob starts to rattle, and you both freeze.

“Huh? Must be locked again.” A knock echoes through the room. “Is anyone inside?”

“Souya!”

The knob rattles harder and his voice sounds closer. “Were you in here this whole time? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Yeah, the door closed on us.”

“Us?”

“Nahoya’s in here too.”

“He is? Okay hang tight. I’m getting the keys.” Souya’s footsteps fade off.

Nahoya’s dick twitches. He wants to keep going despite the lack of time and Souya being on his way to finding you two like this.

He promises that he can get you to cum once, maybe twice before Souya’s back. It doesn't even matter to him if he cums, he just wants to feel your gummy walls clamp on him, feel you cream on his cock, sticky juices oozing out of your twitchy hole.

And he can do all of that for you, he just needs to ram his dick in, the full length of it, tilt his hips and swivel them around so it hits all of your sweet spots, and rub your clit for good measure.

If he doesn’t stop the first time you cum, he promises he can make you cum a second time within seconds, and make you squirt.

He can make you feel so good, if you just let him.

His heart races, dick pulsing madly in your cunt, stomach drawing taut with pleasure at the image of you creaming all over his cock. Eyes rolled back, mouth parted open to expose your pink tongue sticking out, and most of all, your pretty pussy oozing out milky cum down his shaft while transparent slick gushes onto his stomach.

Shit, the image alone is enough to make him cum. But you push him back and out of you, and Nahoya’s stomach plummets straight into a dark void.

You fix and tidy yourself up the best you can, which is remarkable because you actually look like you weren’t just fucking. Dusting off your shirt and skirt, pulling your panties back up, moving strands of your hair back to its original place, and rubbing your lips together to set your lip gloss again. Then you turn your gaze on him, cock hard, twitching and exposed as he stands there stupidly gaping at you.

It’s cold again, your eyes are narrowed into slits, and they’re dull with indifference. How can someone’s arousal, desire, emotions just flip like that?

“You should hide that or take care of it. Souya will be back soon.”

Nahoya shuts his mouth, lips folding over in discontent for a second before he’s hurriedly pulling up his pants and boxers until they’re on again, dick tucked into his waistband because it’s not settling down.

His lips move—

“Okay! I got them. Just give me a second.” But Souya comes barreling into the door and it rattles again as he fiddles with the lock.

You move right up to the frame and wait.

Within seconds, light shines in the dim room and the door creaks open. Opening up your arms, you hug Souya and slump your body on his, breathing out a sigh.

He looks a little confused as he rubs your back. “What were you both doing in here?”

You don’t give him an answer, pulling back and grasping his hand.

“…Huh?” you walk out with him in tow, and by the swish of your skirt does Nahoya see your sticky slick plastered between your thighs.

It still runs when you turn the corner, and the sight has Nahoya’s dick throbbing and his stomach burning, but his heart is icy and a little dull.

He gets left behind once again.

And see, from that day on, you have been running through his mind like a fucking pop song.

Nahoya tries to get on your good side, tries to understand why you hate him in the first place. He really does, but you don’t make it any easier.

Now, when he puts in effort, you ignore him more strongly. You don’t even spare him a glance or acknowledge his presence when he’s in the room.

When he comes over, you busy yourself with the customers, or practice your knife skills and prepare your lunch or dinner menu. Whenever you come over, you head straight for Souya, even when Nahoya greets you at the front.

It stings a little having you completely ignore him. He thought you got a little closer in the storage room, but no, things went back to the way they were earlier, but worse.

It’s almost like that incident didn’t even happen in the first place.

And despite all of that, he hates that he can’t hate you. He hates that he can’t get you out of his mind. He hates that he’s the only one hung up on your relationship, trying to make it better so you can go back to being on speaking terms.

He still gets hard when he thinks about that day, and his heart still beats furiously in his chest when he sees you. Especially when you’re focused on preparing your menu, or sharpening your sushi and sashimi knives.

The way you so elegantly handle them, or the poise that you have when you arrange your sushi platters.

Just like now.

He came over to talk, only to get ignored again, so he took a seat at your sushi bar to watch you prepare. This has become his new favorite interest now. When he watches you, he can tell you love doing this, your job.

Experienced hands quickly slide your knives, each and every one of them, against the knife sharpener. The shiing of metal against metal echoes in the quiet restaurant, and there’s a beautiful, shiny glint to your knives.

You must clean them really well.

Knives are easy to rust and dull after some use, Nahoya knows first hand. Restaurants depend on their kitchen and utensils. If a chef doesn’t take good care of their instruments, then they’re not an actual one in the first place. Chefs who love their job and the food they make don’t skip over any corners.

There’s a little tradition and legacy he guesses when it concerns managing a restaurant and cooking food. That is something he can see right now, while you’re prepping.

You have a little routine.

Your knives get sharpened first and foremost. You place them one by one in a line from smallest to biggest gently, making sure they don’t clack or clink onto the wooden bar; making sure that you don’t just drop them down.

“Why do you sharpen your knives first? Wouldn’t it be easier to get all of your ingredients together, so you don’t have to run around for them later?”

You paused at the last knife you were about to set down, turning it this way and that. Then your eyes softened and your grip on the handle changed into one of a gentle cradle.

“My mentor told me that knives are like an Itamae’s soul. We should cherish them for the joy they give to us and our customers.” You ran a finger over a flat side of the blade. “They’re why our cuisine is beautiful, why our ingredients can be gracefully cut and sliced, why we can perform our skills. Because sushi making is an art just as much as it is food, and I think other types of cuisine are more forms of art.”

Then your eyes darted up to Nahoya. The bright sheen and the light quiver of them intoxicating. Excited. Thrilled. That’s how you feel talking about your food, your art. And Nahoya can understand the sentiment. That warm, mushy feeling in his heart when a customer slurps down his and Souya’s ramen is unmatched to any other feeling he’s had.

(Well, except for the fluttering of his heart when he first met you.)

“Don’t you feel that way with your ramen? How your customers get happier after eating your food? The work you put into crafting each bowl?”

Nahoya’s hands twitch on the bar, and his stomach erupts into butterflies, where they fly up to his heart and the tiny thing flutters. Yeah, you really do love what you’re doing. If you can put your dislike aside to talk about your craft with him, then you must enjoy it dearly. And if you can share that joy with Nahoya, then you must really like cooking.

Nahoya likes that. How you both have the same passion over food. He could spend an eternity at your side talking with you about it.

(And maybe he should.)

“Yeah, it is.”

A small quirk of your lips, and a crinkle of your eyes as dark pupils sparkle over with tiny dots of stars make their way onto your face, and Nahoya’s heart stutters in on itself.

“Then you know what I’m talking about.”

His mouth parts open a sliver and his fingers buzz. They want to reach up—out towards you.

Nahoya wants—

“Nahoya! We need to get the shop ready.” Souya peeks his head in from the entrance.

His heart drops again, having to put a stop to this conversation, having to put a stop to his moment with you.

He stares into your bright, bright eyes a second more before he stands up and makes his way out, suppressing the urge to turn around to take one more glance at you as he hears your feet shuffle around your kitchen.

—

After that day, you start talking little by little with him more.

When he greets you from the front counter, you return it. When he wants to join your conversations with Souya, you let him. You slowly warm up to Nahoya, and when he visits your shop while it’s closed and he’s free, you don’t shoo him out or ignore his presence any longer.

He’s been happier these days. Talking with you is fun, he gets a serotonin boost when you have conversations, and they’re about all kinds of things. Like what types of food you like, your favorite ingredients or dishes, ideas for new menus. When the conversation turns away from food, you talk about your other hobbies and interests.

It’s wonderful. Nahoya yearned for days like these to come about under the stew of his mutual hatred to you, and ever since they have, he’s been on cloud nine—top of the world. Maybe he can start asking you out, or at least drop some obvious hints. He’s been subtle about his feelings, but they’re not taking effect.

This is why he’s at your shop once again, watching as you align sashimi along your cutting board.

Nahoya’s heart thrums in his chest at the almost thrillful glint of your eyes as you prepare sashimi. He knows that feeling. He gets the same way when he arrives to the shop early with Souya to think up a special.

Nimble fingers cradle a roll of sashimi as your knife skillfully cuts them into thin strips. Deft digits arrange sushi platters full of rice, avocado, seafood, radishes, and other ingredients next.

You have pretty hands.

The nails are cut short and buffed down, and the skin of your hands look smooth and soft, maybe a little rough from all the knife handling, but it’s nothing Nahoya can’t handle.

They’d probably look equally as pretty wrapped around his dick. He wants to feel your nails scratch marks on his back. He wants them gripping crescents into his skin. God, he wants you again. He misses the tight squeeze of your cunt and the warm cradle of your gummy walls.

He has been plagued with visions of you writhing and whining on his cock every night since that incident, and he can feel his pants tightening as you compress and slide your hands up and down a thick roll of sushi. It looks too meaty to be considered just rice, seafood, and radishes.

“Nahoya, why are you here again?”

His eyes snap up to you. “Why can’t I? There something wrong with me being here? Am I distracting you?”

You sigh before placing the roll down and picking up your sushi knife, hand gripped tight on the handle while the other curls over the sushi. “Not at all.”

Nahoya hums. “Good.”

The sound of your knife cutting clean through the rolls before clacking into the wooden board echo throughout the shop. He takes a glance around, really looks at the interior.

“Your parents must be proud of you.” They must be because there’s a homely, cozy feel to the shop.

It was a simple compliment. An off the hand remark with positive connotations.

But you didn’t take it that way.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You stand up straight from your slightly hunched over form. “Am I not qualified enough to be called a sushi chef?”

Your eyes feel cold on him, just like they were that day. “Do you think my parents payed for all this?”

Nahoya’s blood runs cold and his heart plummets from the clouds. He doesn’t know what landmine he just triggered, but he meant nothing bad by it.

“Tell me, Nahoya. What do you mean by that?” Your arms cross over your chest, resting above your uniform, and your head tilts in challenge. “I’m waiting.”

His heart spikes and his hands clench. “I meant that your parents must be proud of how much you’ve accomplished.”

He stares into your eyes with genuine honesty, but you only click your tongue and sneer. “Fuck you.”

You storm off into the back. Nahoya has half a mind following after you, pushing open the door to slip inside before you have the chance to close it.

The door clicks shut. He doesn’t lock the door, but he does stand in front of it.

“I don’t know what impression I gave off to make you mad at me, but that wasn’t my intention.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Sure.”

His teeth bite down and his jaw feels tight. “Why are you mad at me anyway?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Nahoya’s eyebrows knit together. “Yeah, I would.”

“Well that’s something for me to decide, and I think…” you mock the notion of tapping your chin in thought. “No.”

Anger rises in his blood. “God, why are you such a fucking bitch.”

“I don’t know, Nahoya. Why are you such a fucking asshole.”

“For what? I didn’t do a fucking thing to you.”

“Yes, you did. You’re just an idiot for not knowing.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

“No, that’s something you should reflect on. Wrack your tiny, little pea brain all you can for it. I’m pretty sure even you can come up with something.” Your venomous tone drips mock pity, and it’s getting to him.

“I can’t reflect on something I don’t know what I did.”

“Well that’s too bad then.” Your lips pout and lower in a frown, but your eyes are beady with loathing. “Guess you’ll never know.”

His anger starts to boil over, chest thudding and heart twisting with the ugly fury that encompasses him, but despite that, as he watches your eyes harden into a glare and narrow, he finds his dick twitching in his pants.

You’re such a bitch, but you’re so fucking sexy when you’re mad. It’s the same reason he couldn’t fully hate you before, he just wanted to fuck you every time you yelled at him or narrowed your eyes in a cold stare.

The glare you’re giving him right now makes his head spin. The aloof, detached look on your face makes lust pool in his stomach. He wants to fuck you. Nahoya wants to fuck you stupid, fuck you into a blabbering, sobbing mess—fuck the attitude straight outta you.

He nearly groans with the image his mind provides for him.

“Well? Cat got your tongue?” He does groan with the sharp edge laced to your voice.

“No, you got my fuckin’ tongue.”

Your mouth drops a peep, brows scrunching in confusion, and Nahoya takes that chance to reel you in.

He smacks his lips into yours, nibbling and sucking on the plump flesh. He feels you shiver, hands clutching at his shirt, pulling him in closer, and he groans.

His hands are desperate rubbing up your sides, your back, down to your ass where he cups them and kneads the doughy flesh. He pulls down your pants and goes back to your ass. Soft skin molds under his touch and he gives it a smack, you moan into the kiss, biting at his lips that makes him groan deep in his chest.

He rubs and squeezes the voluptuous skin, sliding his hand down to where your thighs meet your ass, pressing two fingers inside the fat of your inner thighs, brushing against your plush folds. They’re wet, soaking, and a squelch resounds when his knuckle nudges against it.

You have a thong on. Fuck.

Nahoya pulls back. “Soaking wet. And after all that yapping earlier. Course a bitch like you got excited.”

You moan and squeeze your thighs together.

Nahoya smirks. “Yeah, a slut indeed.”

He pulls your panties down, trailing his fingers over your drooling slit, thumb catching onto your clit where he swatches it back and forth. Your knees tremble and your hands clutch his shirt tighter.

“N- Nahoya.”

His fingers stop, and your hips twitch from the loss of feeling. “Try calling me something else.”

“Sir?”

Nahoya stays quiet as half-lidded eyes stare into yours, dark and brimming with lust. His smile tilts up just a smidge. “Not quite.”

Your mouth parts open, pupils dilating, voice wobbling as you say, “D… daddy.”

Nahoya plunges two fingers inside your pulsing hole, and you have to lean on him, lest you stumble. His voice sounds deep and rich against your ear. “That’s good, princess.”

You shiver a little more strongly this time, your walls flutter on his scissoring fingers, and more creamy slick drips down his fingers.

“No one’s made you call them daddy before?”

Your shoulders twitch from hearing the word alone, and Nahoya’s dick jumps, imagining what you’d sound like moaning it, whimpering the name, or whining for him.

You look down and shake your head, hair falling around you, casting a shadow over your face, slightly hiding it from view.

“See, I don’t get that. You look fuckin’ adorable saying it for me.”

Your pussy throbs.

“You like that, doll? Like it when daddy’s fingers are inside of you. Like it when you call me daddy?” burying your head into his shoulder, you nod.

His fingers work into you faster, brushing against that one spot that has you seeing stars, thumb circling against your clit. Your eyebrows knit together, forehead scrunching, dulcet voice whimpering, “Daddy daddy daddy.” Before you’re cumming, fingers clawing at his shirt, body trembling against his.

Obscene drops of cum plop onto the floor, glide like thick molasses down his hand, and your walls clamp on his fingers so tight that he can only imagine how your tiny cunt would take all of him.

While you catch your breath and recover, Nahoya works on his belt. Everything is leading up to that day in the storage room, and he couldn’t be any more thrilled. But it’s while he’s stroking his dick, fat cockhead resting against your twitching hole that he remembers something.

“Ah shit. I don’t have condoms on me.”

You push your hips against his. The tip sinks in a smidge and the feeling of your gummy walls cradling just his tip is enough to make him shiver, eyes rolling in his head.

“Oh fuck.”

“Put it in me, daddy. ‘m on the pill.” And you latch your arms around his shoulders.

“Well, fuck. You got that, princess.” He slowly pushes the rest of him inside, and when he bottoms out at the hilt, he groans. You’re so tight, hole stretched out and twitching around his shaft.

Ah, fuck. He reaches an arm back and switches the lock on the door.

Nahoya starts slow, sliding himself out then back in. His tip kisses your cervix with each stroke, cockhead nudging against your sweet spot. Your cunt squeezes him with each stroke out, wanton over the loss of his dick. The shaft gleams with your cum, coated in the shiny slick, and it only provides more lube for him to slide back inside.

Like this a slow and deep pace forms. Drops of slick slide down his shaft and wet his balls that slap into the globes of your ass. Your hips buck up and grind with each thrust to the hilt. Your cunt pulses when his cock throbs, and you’re so fucking tight, velvety walls hugging him with such a grip that it makes his stomach tighten, band of pleasure stretched taut.

You bring a hand down to your clit and rub circles into it, eyes rolled to the top of your head, drool peeking out the corners of your lips.

Pretty soon your juices have his pelvis soaked, loud squelches and smacks of your pussy lips hitting his hips, and after a few more strokes, you come undone.

Your cunt clamps down on him as creamy slick seeps out around the ring his shaft, walls fluttering trying to milk him dry, but Nahoya doesn’t want to cum yet. Not until he feels you squirt, so when you remove your hand, he replaces it with his thumb, rubbing your puffy clit further, pace quickening to the point he’s rutting into you.

You squeal, “Stop! ‘s too much.” And tug at his hair which only makes him groan, stomach and balls tightening. Your body convulses, hole spasming as your eyes roll back, tongue slipping out the expanse of your mouth.

Your cunt squeezes Nahoya’s cock in a vice grip. He pulses once more before his balls snap up and ropes of white paint your walls, his finger never stops on your taut nub, and you gush slick all over his abdomen.

By the time you come down from your second orgasm, Drops of your cum drip from Nahoya’s stomach, soft lines of his abs soaked with your slick, and fat droplets of thick sperm ooze from around your hole, plopping onto the floor and staining it with the mess of your other fluids.

Nahoya and you both catch your breath, his knees are shaky and your legs are trembling, turned into jelly, but his dick twitches when you squeeze down on him.

“Fuck. Watch it, princess.” But you don’t stop clamping down on him, and he groans, hips bucking into yours from how your gummy walls hug his sensitive cock, pulsing and throbbing, sucking him in like a vacuum, as if he hasn’t already emptied his load into you.

“You’re a fucking vixen, do you know that?” His hands grip your hips tight, rolling them in circles and grinding figure-eights into his, but your puffy clit throbs in wanting.

“Tell me why you were so mad at me.”

Your lips pout and fold over, and your eyebrows furrow. A minute passes before you step back, pulling your cunt away from him. “You said I was probably a spoiled rich girl.”

Nahoya pauses. “I never said that.”

Your mouth purses and anger rises in your chest. “Yes, you did, Nahoya! Don’t lie. You thought I was some rich girl that learned how to make sushi for fun, didn’t you? That I wasn’t taking my job seriously. Even though I’ve been busting my ass with my own hard-earned money trying to run everything.”

Your voice breaks off into sobs, and you turn your back on him, trying to hide yourself, but he’s being reminded of the bitter memories of your cold back. Only this time, it’s trembling and shaking, small and hunched in, not straight and tall and confident like he’s seen.

“Just because my parents are a little well-off doesn’t mean I’m spoiled. I’m working hard for my dreams too. Don’t discredit my efforts for my parents' social standing.”

Nahoya wracks his mind, searching through his past conversations. When did he ever discredit your cooking skills? He’s only thought good things about you.

“Nahoya, she’s at it again.”

“What?”

“Our cousin. She begged 10k off Uncle. Said she wanted to start up a restaurant.”

“But she’s never taken classes, or has any knowledge in business management. What a fucking spoiled brat. That’s what she is.”

Oh.

Nahoya remembers that conversation. He also remembers how the door creaked open a bit before closing, the bell chiming which distracted them both.

They thought a customer arrived or was hesitant on entering, so he went outside to check, but no one was there. He also remembers how cold your stare turned when you came in later and shifted your eyes to him, the edges red and puffy.

That must have been you at the door, and you must have overheard them and misunderstood. The pieces are starting to click together.

So this was all just a big misunderstanding.

He leans over your shoulder to peek into your face, but your arms cover you from view.

He kisses his teeth. “Can I talk to ya, doll? I think you got a misunderstanding.”

“nhm.” You shake your head and bury your face further into the cradle of your inner elbow.

“Doll, let me just talk to ya for a little.” He reaches a hand towards you, but you slap him away.

Nahoya doesn’t budge. His mouth parts open, tongue trailing along his teeth. He wonders if he has to force you to listen because you’re being a fucking brat right now. A childish one who won’t have a proper conversation. Instead, hiding yourself away to lick at your wounds.

He grabs a fistful of hair and yanks you up to see your mascara ruined and fat droplets of tears sliding down your puffy cheeks, eyes hazy and feverish.

His dick rises to full mast.

“You kiddin’ me? You got upset over something as small as that? You ignored me over somethin’ so stupid? I wasn’t talking about you that day, I was talking to Souya about our cousin.”

“Your cousin?”

“Yeah, our fucking spoiled cousin who begs her parents for money to do stupid shit she doesn’t commit herself to.”

Your mouth opens and closes for a few seconds before you take a deep breath, eyes softening into regret. “‘m-”

His grip on your hair gets a little tighter. “That wasn’t very nice, doll.” But he lets go.

Placing his hand on your shoulder, he turns you back to him. That same hand roams to your cheek, brushing against it before his thumb strokes the delicate skin.

Your eyes shift again, full of arousal. You look at him so prettily, pupils dilated and shining, mouth parted open a sliver. All doe-eyed and precious as his thumb ghosts to a corner of your lips, rubbing the plump flesh.

Then it slides inside your warm mouth, and you can taste yourself. This was the same hand he fingered you with. “Do you hate daddy now, princess?”

“Nuh-uh.” And your cute little fucked out head shakes before you start sucking on his fingers, transfixed with the soft yet dominating handle.

Nahoya’s breath hitches and his dick pulses. Fuck. You’re so fucking cute.

He’s gonna ruin you. Wreck your cunt, mold your walls to his dick, whatever it is so you can keep being like this the whole night. He’ll fuck you silly.

FOOTNOTES

itamae means “in front of the board” and it is also the title used for a sushi chef.

nahoya didn’t know this but you looked at him all starry-eyed too during that first meeting. souya saw all of this and wondered when the two of you would patch things up.

he found out when he came over, just as the two of you left your back room, clothes and hair rustled, nahoya’s shirt was on backwards, your uniform was buttoned up unevenly, you were breathless, and your lips were swollen red.

souya teased nahoya about it the whole night, but he didn’t care bc the both of you called each other before you fell asleep and ended up talking for hours.

souya had trouble sleeping that night bc of your giggling, Nahoya’s chuckling, and your excited chatter.

taglist. @festive i’m going back n tagging ppl on my taglist form so let me know if you wanna be taken off viva! i feel like you’re not interested in tr anymore but rather genshin or twisted wonderland 🥲 @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @ray-lol