#Chigiri hyōma | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

butchizuku · 1 month ago

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Vanilla Baby ᥫ᭡; Chigiri Hyōma + Nagi Seishiro

ᨳ Synop. Drunken confessions spilled to your boyfriend take the two of you to new heights with Hyōma's ex-situationship.

໋𓈒 Details. 18+ minors dni, reader is an author insert, they/them pronouns used to refer to reader, they are afab, they wear a dress and heels, wear makeup, have long curled hair, and fair skin. Threesomes, love confessions, hookups, alcohol consumption, reader is tipsy, trans masc!nagi, oral (reader receiving), teasing, hair pulling, fingering, strap on sex, double penetration, anal, creampies, reader is called puppy, past relationships, established relationships, Nagi and Chigiri are queer, run time; 7.5k ৎ

(՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) Director's Note. Repost from my previous blog as I really love this fic <3 Enjoy.

Bits and pieces of that night return to your fragmented memories through Hyōma’s teasing lilt and Seishiro’s knowing gaze. They make idle chit chat with reference to something you’re supposed to know. Like, an inside secret shared amongst the best of friends. You wouldn’t call Seishiro a friend. He was Hyōma’s teammate, colleague, and friend from high school. Whatever he was to you, he reached through Hyōma to you and nothing more.

That’s why you numbed the pit of anxiety weighing you down with one too many espresso martinis. The heat on your skin and the buzz that thrummed against your rib cage distracted you from the nerves that tickled your belly and made your hands tremble. Seishiro’s languid gaze made you nervous. He studied you the same way he did the opposing team on the field. And he watched the way you squirm while holding conversation with Hyōma. You felt as though you were placed beneath a microscope to be inspected. For what? You couldn’t discern.

Your tongue liked to loosen when warmth spread through your cheeks and your head felt pleasantly fuzzy.

Hyōma learned many of your secrets drunkenly whispered across your pillow as he tucked you in for the night. Like your embarrassing John Green phase and the Edgar Allan Poe poetry you wrote whilst drowning within teenage angst. You were too nervous to admit them otherwise, always afraid that a big shot soccer player like him might find you too dorky or even weird if you were to confess all the little things that made you, you. Though sometimes you despised your propensity for growing so lax when you drank a little too much.

The thought of confessing something to both Hyōma and Seishiro made your stomach turn uncomfortably and yet, the vision was so crystal clear in your head. You remember sitting between them on Seishiro’s sofa long after the evening had dwindled to a close. Your skin was warm and buzzing, your head lolled back as you gazed at Hyōma. They spoke words you didn’t understand. It wasn’t Japanese but your swimming mind struggled to follow.

“Can I tell you something, baby,” you giggled while sliding your hand up Hyōma’s arm, “Pretty please?”

His piercing ruby gaze shifted from Seishiro to you, “Of course,” he murmured, you remember him looking concerned, “You can tell me anything, my love.”

Your other hand grazed the length of Seishiro’s thigh, bringing his attention to you. Sleep had been in his eyes but he couldn’t bring himself to kick the two of you out. You weren’t sure why.

“It’s always been my biggest fantasy to be with two guys at the same time.”

You nodded your head like you were proud of yourself, a small “mhm” pressed against your lips as you allowed your eyes to fall shut. The memory made your face burn. You must have said something else, a comment insinuating the small crush you used to harbour on your boyfriend's teammate, or the very real and ever present attraction you felt for him. The thought made your stomach roll, in discomfort and in excitement.

Hyōma wasn’t a stranger to fluidity, he indulged your curiosity on his past relationships more times than you could count. You had always been quite the opposite of him, calm and level headed whereas his blood pumped and rushed adrenaline through his body at the first sight of a challenge. Everything you had ever done was carefully planned out and meticulously imagined, you were made for monogamy and didn’t much like sharing but, there was something about Seishiro that felt a bit like fatal attraction. And, you liked it.

No matter how much you wracked your brain for anything more from that night, you couldn’t remember the expression Hyōma wore from your confession. Seishiro’s presence was like a gaping black hole in your brain. You remembered how big and rough his hands were, how warm it felt to be pressed in between the both of them, how his hair tickled your cheeks when he rested his head on your shoulder but nothing more. If you spilled your guts further, had named the man who was occupying the fantasies that played in your head on lonely nights, you couldn’t know, not if neither of them spoke a word to you.

That’s why you wilted at the latest gala Hyōma had invited you to, a sad and pathetic wallflower whose roots were beginning to rot.

The glass of champagne you kept clutched in your hands had warmed considerably after each fake sip you had taken from it. You didn’t want to worry Hyōma with your incessant waves of anxiety that made your knees feel weak and threatened to have you tumble to the floor if you took another step in those platform heels that were supposed to have been a source of comfort. The material of your silk gold gown clung to your sweat-dabbled skin uncomfortably. Images of clawing out of your skin flashed behind your eyelids with each blink you took. Your cheeks ached from the faux smile you glued to your lips but the thought of embarrassing your boyfriend was far too strong to force your mouth into the frown you wished to wear.

Reo gave you a strange look as he passed by, his arm wrapped firmly around the waist of his latest date but he said nothing. Shaking your head, you pushed yourself off the wall in search of the table you’d been assigned. Passing through throngs of bodies made your head spin. Heavy, heedy perfumes and colognes prickle your nostrils and feed the growing nausea in your belly. Your glass of champagne finds itself handed to the first waiter you see, an apologetic smile on your lips and a small “thank you” whispered into the crowd.

Your glass of wine is filled to the brim. It sits neatly on the table beside your half picked at plate of hors d’oeuvres. An aperol spritz with mostly melted ice is placed beside your shiny gold clutch. Your plum hued lipstick sits around the rim. You don’t think before reaching out to grab it and down it all in a few gulps and procure your clutch once the glass is slammed back on the table. The low, warm lighting that filled the room felt romantic at the start of the night now just feels like a nuisance as you are shuffling through the galleria in search of a bathroom. Your heels click against the floor in an angry rhythm, your hair a tangled mess of curls that sticks to your lipgloss no matter how many times you push it over your shoulders.

The bathroom is stupidly ornate. With marble floors and counters, accented by gold and emerald encrusted mirrors, you feel small when you finally step into it. Thankfully, you find it empty and plop into the first chaise lounge you find. Your heart races and your chest feels uncomfortably tight. You haven't spoken much to Hyōma or Seishiro in the past few weeks. They had been busy with brand deals, training, and other public appearances. You had been sequestered in your apartment, staring at the half written paragraph of your latest novel. But, now that you were here with them even if it were at arms length, you couldn’t help but drift back to that night.

Memories of the past bleed with the scenes playing out in front of your eyes. With Hyōma in his rich, deep magenta shirt that had somehow begun to be slowly unbuttoned as the night progressed, and Seishiro in a pair of stupidly tight black dress pants, it became harder to deny the selfish, greedy little wants that ate away at your common sense. They looked good and smelled divine. You cunt throbbed with want, your head dizzy with arousal that you couldn't shake no matter how many times you pinched your thigh or dug your nails into the palms of your hand. It clung to you like a devious parasite, only to be satiated by giving into the carnal desires that you tried to keep at bay.

Pressing your thighs together, you shook your head in frustration, “This is so stupid!” You cursed to yourself, your voice bouncing off the lifeless white walls.

“What’s stupid?” a familiar voice asks, the bathroom door squealing open as they slide in, “Why are you hiding in here? Did something happen?

Concern laces Hyōma’s voice as he walks into view. His shirt has become even messier. Once pressed and steamed to perfection, was wrinkled with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His chest, gleaming in the bright light with sweat was in view, his shirt unbuttoned all the way to his belly button. The sparse beginnings of his happy trail peek through the opening. With a sigh, you press your hands to your forehead, forcing yourself to look away from him.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Hyōma kneels in front of you, his warm palms rest on your knees as he cranes his neck to get a good look at your hidden expression. Your body burns with shame and embarrassment. It stirs a pathetic whimper that you’re unable to suppress. His hands are soft, they slide beneath the hem of your dress as he coos to draw your attention. You don’t mean to do it, but your thighs part ever so slightly.

“It’s nothing, I'm just hot and my shoes are uncomfortable,” you whine, a half truth wasn’t a complete lie, “And I’m tired, the music is too loud, but I don’t want to make you leave early.”

Hyōma sighs softly, “If you’re not having a good time, then we can leave,” he peers up at you, eyes rounded and wide, “If my manager chews me out come Monday, I don’t care.”

“You should care.”

Your mouth dips into a pout, brows knitted together as you peer at him.

“I do, about you,” he says your name softly, pressing his thumbs into the fat of your thighs, “He’s always yelling at me about something or other, like the fact that I don’t post enough online.”

Cupping his cheeks, you lean down until your nose brushes against his, “I love you,” you whisper, your hair slipping over your shoulder as you inch closer to him. Your breath fans across his face and his lips part in anticipation.

Hyōma’s eyes flutter shut when your lips brush against his. A needy whine bubbles up and slips into his mouth as you kiss him, a shiver dancing up your spine. The few loose strands that have slipped past his neatly styled bun tickle your fingers which ache to tangle themselves within his hair, but had spent so much time getting pretty for you. He slides the skirt of your dress further up your thighs where the fabric bunches to expose the slightest bit of your frilly, lace panties. Panting into your mouth, Hyōma slots himself between your legs, pressing closer until he’s flush against you.

You’re vaguely aware that the door is unlocked. Anyone could walk in. With the music and conversation dulled by marble walls, you find yourself getting lost in Hyōma’s touch, searching for relief from weeks worth of tension that gathered in your belly. Without thinking, you slide your hand down his shoulder and the length of his arm and wrap your fingers around wrist, bringing his hand between your thighs.

“I love you too,” he says before nipping at your bottom lip.

His fingers glide across the seam of your cunt, pushing against the fabric to rub a circle into your stiff clit. Your nails bite into scalp as you thread your fingers into his hair for purchase. The loud, heedy moan that pours past your lips effortlessly smothers the sound of the bathroom door slowly creaking open and then, gently clicking shut. It’s not the sound of dress shoes dragged against marble or even the sharp breath that rouses you; it’s the feeling of eyes, heavy on your figure. You know it well. Languid, yet startlingly intense, turning soft brown irises piercing. It was Seishiro.

Your eyes snap open, meeting Seishiro’s in a heated exchange, “Hyōma,” you call, the last syllables of his name curling into a moan, “Baby, Sei- He’s…”

“Don’t stop on my account,” Seishiro murmurs, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Hyōma curses under his breath, peeling back to peer up at Seishiro. He has to crane his neck uncomfortably upward to meet Seishiro’s gaze. He stares languidly down at your boyfriend for a moment before settling back onto you, grazing over the sight of your hiked up dress and bare thighs. Licking his lips, Seishiro lets out a chuckle.

“Seriously, don’t stop.”

You wilt under his stare, your face warming in embarrassment, “Don’t be mean Seishiro,” you mumble, pulling your dress down to preserve some modicum of modesty.

He exchanges a look with Hyōma as if to speak silently, leaving you looking between the two like a gaping fish in search of water.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Hyōma is quick to interject, crowding into your vision, “Seishiro was just going to leave.”

Your mouth drops into a frown, your brows pinching together, “No,” you protest, crossing your arms over your chest, “What was that look?”

“What look?” Hyōma sheepishly asks, wearing his guilt like an accessory.

“The look you gave Seishiro, the two of you have been looking at eachother like that since the last time we all got together,” you accuse, your pointed stare darting between the two of them, “Did I say something stupid? I’ve been racking my brain for weeks but all I remember is mentioning that I want to have a threesome.”

Seishiro snorts out a laugh, “You don’t remember what you said afterward?” You shake your head, “no,” nervously tugging at the hem of your dress.

“Seishiro don’t,” Hyōma cuts in, “They’re already embarrassed enough.”

“No, I wanna know.”

Rarely, does Hyōma get worked up or frustrated off the soccer pitch. The look he sends Seishiro is enough to send a shiver down your spine. His usually gentle fuschia eyes narrowed and filled with the same fury you often see directed towards his rivals. Seishiro seems unbothered, running his fingers through his pale blonde hair with an eye roll.

“You told us that your ideal threeway would be the three of us,” he smoothly explains, his lips quirking up into a smirk, “You really don’t remember this?”

“Obviously not,” Hyōma sneers before turning back to you, squeezing your thighs to put your attention onto him, “Why don’t we get out of here hm, baby? Forget about all this?”

“I told you, I don’t want you to get in trouble, you’re supposed to be getting sponsors for the football club.”

Your answer doesn’t seem to placate your boyfriend. Biting down on your bottom lip, your frown presses deeper into your face. Your belly lurches with uncertainty as Hyōma sighs.

“They’re not wrong,” Seishiro points out, rocking on the balls of his feet, “I only followed you guys ‘cause our club manager wanted us to thank the owner of this place.”

Rising to his full height, Hyōma stands before you with his hands crossed over his chest, “Do you want to fuck my fiancé?” He asks, pointedly, “Because we agreed we wouldn’t mention it unless they brought it up first.”

“I must’ve forgotten.”

Seishiro shrugs his shoulders without a care in the world. His lazy smile growing wider by the second as Hyōma’s hackles rise.

“Bullshit,” he says, taking a step closer to the other man.

“Fine, I didn’t,” Seishrio confesses, his hands held up in mock surrender, “I wanna fuck your fiancée … And I want to fuck you, Hyōma.”

Hyōma baulks in shock, swallowing thickly, “Sei…” He mutters, “Stop messing around.”

They had history. It was often left unspoken, gifted to the wind and sands of time. Whatever it was, it was meant to die with the thousand other secrets buried in the back of locker rooms and in the middle of grassy fields. The tension was palpable even when you found yourself stepping into the picture, it only intensified, never able to dissipate no matter how entangled you became with Hyōma.

“I’m not.”

Swallowing, with shaky legs you force yourself to stand and step between them, “Stop bickering like children,” you hiss, wobbling a bit as you try to stay balanced on your heels, “Stop bickering and … and fuck me.”

Your chest heaves, nerves prickle beneath your blazing skin. Seishiro looms over you, stupidly tall, gangly, and scarily silent. Hyōma watches the two of you with wide eyes, his plush lip pressed between the blunt edge of his teeth. A gasp is wretched from your throat as Seishiro’s fingers glide up the length of your throat to the underside of your jaw, tipping your head back until your eyes meet. His muddy grey irises bore into you, searching for something you’re quite unsure of.

You can’t help but squirm as he tilts his head down, his breath fanning across your face before he takes the plunge and kisses you.

A full body shiver rolls through you and spurs you to twist your body out of his grasp, pushing your chest flush against his. Your hands find his hair without a second thought, tangling into the surprisingly soft, fluffy white strands. Seishiro moans into your mouth, his large, rough hands desperately grasping the fat of your hips. Hyōma saddles up behind you, his cock pressed snug against your ass. He pushes your hair away from your shoulder, exposing your sweat dabbled skin to him, pressing a balmy kiss to the flesh.

“Hyōma,” your whimper into Seishiro’s mouth, “Be gentle, please.”

“Mhm,” he hums before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, hard enough that it’ll surely leave a mark.

Seishiro reaches past you to grab a fistful of Hyōma’s crisp shirt, furling the fabric around his fingers as if to meld the three of you together. Your cunt clenches with need, there's a thigh between your legs, you’re unsure whose it is but the pressure feels heavenly against your tender, aching clit.

The sound of pounding fists against the bathroom draws you from your stupor.

“Hey! Is anyone in there, the doors locked?”

“You locked the door, Sei?” You question, slipping out from between them to find your clutch, “Good, ‘cause I really don’t want a picture of the three of us being sold to the tabloids.”

Hyōma runs his fingers through his hair, “It’d be good publicity for your upcoming novel.”

Seishiro nods in agreement.

“Mm yes ‘cause getting caught in the bathroom at a soccer gala for underprivileged kids is going to make people wanna read sapphic courtly love.”

Brushing them off, you saunter up to the door, your clutch in tow, “Hey! The door won’t open. Can you find someone to come let me out?”

At the muffled sound of their agreement and trailing footsteps you gesture for your two men to follow you out.

“I’ll go grab our coats, Sei go call a car to take us back to mine,” Hyōma instructs, already two steps toward the main ballroom.

“On it!” Seishiro mumbles with a slight salute.

The two of you walk silently outside the venue, occasionally bumping elbows. The gust of cool evening air does little to soothe the flames that lap at your inner thighs. Your need only grows stronger as Seishiro slumps against you, his rich cologne crowding your senses.

He hums a bit, nuzzling his face into your hair, “You’re so warm,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around your belly, “‘N smell so nice, like vanilla.”

You giggle, your head feeling dizzy from the attention.

“I’m already gonna sleep with you, you don’t have to sweet talk me,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “But … I won’t stop you if you wanna, I like it.”

“‘M not sweet talking you, it’s the truth.”

The bubbly feeling that tickles your chest has you idly realising why he had so many fans. He didn’t speak much in interviews, he much preferred to slink away to the locker room to shower and get home for a nap, but when he did he laid it on thick. Even the most professional journalists blushed and fluttered under his languid gaze. Honeyed words all too easy to slip off his tongue. Your heart jumped as your thoughts drifted into indecent territory.

“Are you taking good care of my baby?” Hyōma asks as he bounds down the stairs, his arms filled with coats and goody bags, “Are you cold sweetheart?”

You shake your head, offering him a small smile.

“I’m cold, come warm me up,” you can hear the pout in voice, his arms wrapping around you just a little bit tighter.

“The car should be here any minute, you’ll be nice and warm soon enough.”

Still, Hyōma does his best to wrap his arms around the both of you, leaving on hand to cradle all the odds and ends in his possession. Seishiro purrs in contentment, like a sweet kitten only to sour when he sees the uber pull up to the curb. You find yourself squished between the two of them in the backseat, though the passenger side was empty save for their jackets.

The thirty minute ride to your shared apartment with Hyōma feels more like an hour. Their hands wonder. Fingers poke and prod at your thighs, flitting up the hem of your dress until they were flashed with a bit of panty. Warm palms pressed on your shoulders and snaked their way beneath your top to feel up your tits. Blood pooled along the length of your bottom lip, the skin broken and raw from how your teeth dug into the flesh to smother any pesky moans that threatened to escape.

In the five minutes it takes to walk from the curb to the front door, you find yourself aching, hardly able to push Seishiro away. His palm was pressed against your cunt, humming to himself as Hyōma fumble around with the keys. Your shoes were kicked off into some dark corner, left to be found tomorrow afternoon, the moment the door flew open. Belts, socks, and shirts were discarded somewhere on the staircase. You feel suffocated by your nerves once you enter your bedroom, so exposed as you make yourself comfortable by the headboard.

Hyōma and Seishiro sit across from you, waiting for you to make the next move.

Maybe it was the fresh air that sobered you up, or if being inside your home made the precarious nature of this situation feel real. You decide to throw caution to the wind and pull off your slip dress. The intensity of their stares make you burn from the inside out. Hyōma’s gaze is filled with familiarity as he roves over each curve and dimple he knew all too well. Seishiro explores your body with all the eagerness of an untrained house puppy, drinking in the sight of your beauty marks and long since healed scars.

You’ve Seishiro half dressed before, but the sight of flushed skin and kiss bitten lips are new. You liked it more than you thought you would.

“You are so fucking pretty,” Seishiro mumbles, his eyes darting from your chest to face in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you, Sei, you’re not too bad yourself.”

Hyōma rolls his eyes, laughing, “What they mean to say is you look good,” he murmurs, biting his lip.

“You think so, pretty boy?”

He nods, a retort balanced precariously on the tip of his tongue.

“You should know better than anyone that Hyōma only ever says what he means,” you quip, sucking in a shaky breath.

The two men stare at each other for a moment. Another silent conversation but this time you’re able to read it a bit better. Years worth of tension and denied feelings bubble up to the surface, it's palpable and steals the breath from your lungs. You’re unsure who leans in first but soon enough, their hands are tangled in one another's hair, a grunt and a groan melting into the other's mouths as they kiss. It’s intimate, just as intimate as the kisses you share with Hyōma, you almost want to look away but you can’t. Your eyes refused to be pulled away. Their tongues taste and their teeth bite, lapping ichor and sweat, and the final years of their youth.

You only blink when your eyes begin to burn. It is then that you remember you were sitting across from them, not simply a voyeur intruding with their peering when your name is passed between their mouths like a soccer ball. You're unsure who it comes from and who it is that echoes the sentiments with his own throaty groan.

Your palms begin to sweat. They turn your attention to you almost as if it were instinctive. Perhaps you squeaked or let out a throaty groan of your own, the sheer eroticism too much for your feeble body to handle.. You feel like prey, pinned between too hungry predators doused in blood and too tempting for them to ignore. Hyōma strikes first, laying one open palm upon the swell of your knee, smoothing his calloused fingers around the flesh as if to sample before tasting. Seishiro hangs back, apprehensive and calculated. He’s trying to pick the situation apart and find the best angle of attack.

“I like this set,” Hyōma murmurs, his back arching as he splays his body across the bed, “So soft, hugs everything just right, did you wanna look pretty for us?”

You find yourself nodding even though it wasn’t true, puffing your chest out a little but more as if to put yourself on display. Seishiro nods too, shuffling closer. The bed creaks under his weight, the old iron wrought metal as loud and squeaky as it always is. Perhaps, it’s louder amid the pregnant pause that hangs in the air.

“Wanna take it off for us?”

Seishiro swallows when he’s finished speaking, draping himself across Hyōma’s body. Hyōma’s calf rests between Seishiro’s thighs. You don’t miss the pleased little sigh he releases.

Using your index finger, you slowly slide one bra strap down your shoulder blade. They watch with bated breath as you expose more of your sunkissed skin, and the tanlines you tried so hard to hide with your outfit for the evening. The other strap comes off faster, Hyōma’s squeezed your thigh in encouragement. Adoration swims in his irises. Somehow, it’s even stronger than it typically is, as if at any moment it’d leap out from his eyes and wrap itself around you.

Being watched makes you simper demurely, shyly using your hair to cover your breasts when you’re finally able to get the bra clasp undone. You don’t know who to look at, Seishiro who grinds himself into Hyōma, or Hyōma who touches you like you’re the finest thing he’s ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes upon.

Summer’s treated you well. It’s evident in how you glow in spite of your frayed nerves.

“Should I keep going?” You timidly ask, placing your hand overtop of Hyōma’s.

He shakes his head, tangling his fingers with yours, “No, let Sei take your panties off.”

Seishiro perks up like a puppy at the sound of his name, nodding his head before he’s fully registered what was being suggested.

“I wanna take ‘em off … Maybe keep ‘em too? You won’t mind right sweetheart?”

“No, you can keep them,” you mumble without missing a beat, laying further back against the headboard, some of your catches on the swirling metal but you pay it no mind and melt into the cushions. Your legs spread, “If you get me another pair.”

Your inner thighs feel sticky. Surely, the pale white lace has gone translucent exposing your tender clit and the pink of your pussy hidden behind your bush. The gust of air that hits your cunt makes you tremble. Seishiro’s hands warm you right back up as they trail up your thighs, his thumbs effortlessly hooking around the waistband. Your heart drops and all the air in your lung evaporates as Sei’ shamelessly burrows his nose into your cunt and takes a deep breath before he peels the fabric away.

He hums happily to himself, pocketing your underwear without hesitation, “Can I taste you?” He asks with big, round eyes, “Pretty please?”

“You’re devilish Sei’, you know they can’t say no to your puppy eyes.”

Hyōma laughs but joins Seishiro between your legs, his long red hair spilling across thigh, “Let us taste you my love.”

Not that you were in any position to deny them, so badly wanting more than just a whisper of a touch, but Hyōma didn’t ask. He was telling you. Your chest fluttered, making you feel weightless as you spread your thighs a bit wider to accommodate them.

“Please,” you whimper, your hips twitching upwards, “Eat me out, my pussy’s so needy.”

“I know baby, I know.”

Hyōma cradles the back of Seishiro’s head, his nails pressing into his scalp, pushing his face into your cunt. Sei moans unabashedly into you, the reverberation sending pleasure zipping up your spine.

“Taste good, don’t they?” Hyōma asks, his lips against the shell of Sei’s ear.

You think he nods his head, but it’s difficult to tell as he sucks your clit into his mouth, his nose deeply buried in the thatch of curls. All you see is tousled white hair and Hyōma’s smirking visage.

“Yeah, that’s it, good boy Sei.”

“Oh fuck,” you groan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Your nails scrape against your bed sheets as you fail to gain purchase. Grounding yourself is a fruitless endeavour because Hyōma is quick to brush his lips along the length of your inner thigh, savouring how your soft skin feels against him. Your arousal and Seishiro’s spit slowly oozes between your cheeks, soaking the fabric beneath you. It feels obscene. Your chest might burst any moment from how your heart races so roughly, rattling your ribcage. When Hyōma’s tongue slips out from between his lips you fear you may have died and splayed before you was something out of your wildest fantasies.

Hyōma’s tongue joins Seishiro’s in lapping up the taste of you.

Their tongues slide against one another, up and down the length of your slit before settling on your clit. It’s wet, you’re wet, incredibly so. Your pussy pulses as your orgasm builds, your body growing taunt. The bedframe jiggles and squeaks when you throw your head back, the dull thrum of pain is hardly registered. Your mind’s a shifting sea of rapturous pleasure that blinds you of anything else.

There isn’t an inch of you left untouched.

Hyōma’s nails pierce your doughy thighs, little crescent moons blossom on the surface of your skin. Pink and pulsating from where it’s broken and begun to bleed. Seishiro strokes your hip and the underside of your knee, coiled around your body like he’s afraid you’re a mirage that’ll fade away before his very eyes. Your body feels as though it's been dosed in hot lava, it swirls along the dip of your belly button and seeps between your organs until you squirm in search of reprieve.

A soft jumble of their names drips down your tongue and oozes past your lips, “Right there, right there please,” you pleaded to no one in particular, “Please, I wanna cum.”

They melted into a singularity. Their touch and quick pants of heady breath indiscernible as you squeezed your eyes shut. Tongues swirl around your clit, drool and slick drip down their chins. With sloppy slurps and obscene moans, you find yourself on the precipice of completion. Tiptoeing closer and closer with each flit of their tongue, and the sloppy kisses that are pressed around your slit.

Somehow, your hands find their hair.

Tired of uselessly grappling with your duvet, your fingers dig into their scalps. Eliciting even more debauched groans, a myriad of them fall right into you. Your thighs twitch and seize, your body growing stiff as pleasure bleeds down your torso and seeps through every pore, every piece of you. The fluttering feeling in your chest intensifies as your orgasm crashes into you. You release a wanton whimper, you cunt throbbing as you cum.

Your back arches off the bed almost painfully, only to give way as your muscles turn to jello. You collapse against the bed with a huffy moan, a giggle bubbling up at the sight of Hyōma and Seishiro’s tousled hair.

“What’s so funny, baby?” Sei asks, peering up at you from between your legs, “We made you cum and you’re laughing at us?”

Slick and spit make his lips and chin shiny, “Aren’t they such a brat?” Hyōma murmurs, resting his chin on Sei’s shoulder, “They should be thanking us for making them feel so good.”

Seishiro nods in agreement, a sly smirk growing on his lips, “You should be thanking us like this,” clearing his throat, he puts on a terrible impression of you, “Thank you Hyō, thank you Sei for making me cum soooo hard!”

“I don’t sound like that!” You pout with an eye roll, “I was laughing because you guys look cute all messy like this.”

Hyōma leans forward, his half clothed body pressing against your tender bare skin, “You think we’re cute? Well I think you’re absolutely adorable, puppy.”

“Hyō…. Not in front of Sei!”

Your embarrassed whines are smothered by the gentle kiss he pressing into your mouth. The taste of you lingering on his tongue fills your senses. Salted skin and the bitter tinge of your essence is laved over you. Your tongues meld against one another, desperate heady moans clashing with each.

“What? Embarrassed that you like being called puppy?”

Seishiro sits up, stretching his arms above his head. His unbuttoned dress pants sit low on his hips, exposing the wispy tendrils of his happy trail. He laughs at your expression, filled with mirth. Slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his underwear, he curses beneath his breath.

“I think it’s cute, puppy,” he murmurs, biting his lip, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The wink he sends you distracts you from Hyōma who’s weaved his fingers into your knotted curls and begun to suckle on your neck. His cock strains against his pants, his pre leaking through the fabric and smearing on your skin.

“You guys are the worst!”

“Don’t be a brat,” Hyōma mutters, before turning to Seishiro, “Can you come help be unzip, Sei?”

They hover above you, their hands roaming over each other's bodies. Clothing is tugged off on and thrown carelessly to the floor. Hyōma’s flushed, weeping cock stands stiffly to attention and drips precum all over your blanket. Seishiro’s wispy little happy trail leads your eyes to the fluffy blush that adorned his pelvis. Arousal hung like webs around the thatch of hair, his puffy, throbbing t-dick just barely peeking out.

You trail your fingertips along the length of Seishiro’s torso, gently following along the scar that runs beneath his chest. His body is quick to react to your touch, he shivers, the muscles in his tummy fluttering ever so slightly. He moans when Hyōma gently combs his fingers through his pubes, just barely touching his dick.

“You’re so wet Sei,” he comments with a smirk, “Did eating out my sweet puppy out really turn you on that much?”

Seishiro nods, his hand shooting out to curl around Hyōma’s bicep.

“You’re so sensitive, baby.”

He nods again, pressing his body lip between his teeth. His grey eyes darken with, lust and urgency swim amongst his irises, “Don’t tease me,” he grits, frowning, “I’ll cum.”

“Just from that?” You ask, shifting to sit on your knees, “You really are so sensitive Sei, that’s really hot.”

Brushing the tip of your finger around his areola, you tentatively give his nipple a tweak. Seishiro jolts into your touch, “If you keep doing that, I-,” he warns before clamping his lips shut.

“Just from a little bit of touching?”

The corner of your mouth quirks upward as you peer at him, watching as his mouth falls open and out comes a coquettish whimper that makes your blood run hot with desire. His sloppy cunt squelches obscenely as Hyōma jerks him off, his neck bared to you as he throws his head back in ecstasy. Tweaking his nipples, you graze the tender skin of his jugular before planting a soft kiss to blossoming bruises.

“‘M sensitive,” he moans your name with a pathetic little expression adorning his features.

Seishiro falls apart under your ministrations quickly. He gushes all over Hyōma’s hand, his body twitching with pleasure from each brush and tug of your hands. Slumping against you, Seishiro lets out a quiet little mewl, tears of pleasure prickling at the corner of his eyes and dripping down your shoulder.

“We know baby,” Hyōma coos passively, soothing to Sei’s scrambled brain, “We know you are.”

Giving his cock a swift tug, Hyōma grunts prettily, using his precum to lube up his cock. A whine builds at the back of your throat, so quickly you can hardly stop it from spilling out and drifting over to Hyōma and Seishiro’s ears.

“You want us inside you puppy?”

You nod, afraid and untrusting of your voice.

“Go get Sei your strap-on,” he instructs, nodding his head towards the bedside table on your side of the bed.

Your strap on, lacked any straps or harness in the traditional sense. It’s sleek and silicon, rosy pink in colour, and sometimes vibrates if you remember where you put the remote. Grabbing the bottle of strawberry scented lube, you sat in between Hyōma and Seishiro.

“Spread your legs for me Sei,” you whisper, tentatively stroking his pelvis, “That’s it, that’s a good boy.”

A shudder wracks through Seishiro as you gently push the bulbous end of the feeldoe into him, gathering up his arousal to guide it inside with ease. He groans as the flared tip sits snug against his engorged, throbbing dick. Squirting a bit of lube into the palm of your hand, you stroke the strap, watching with a pleased smirk as Seishiro’s eyes grow lidded.

“Fuck,” he curses beneath his breath.

Batting your lashes at him you murmur in a sultry tone “Can’t wait to feel you inside me,” you state, giggling at the Japanese he spits out in response.

“Don’t tease him too much,” Hyōma chides with a smug expression, “He won’t hesitate to return it tenfold, my love.”

“Just like you do?”

He hums in agreement,“Come suck me off?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

“Help me Sei!”

Hyōma’s fingertips follow the length of your spine as you sink into all fours before him. He traces shapes into your skin and drags his nails against the flesh until you shiver. Seishiro mirrors your position, eager and awaiting your instruction. Drawing him in for a kiss, you wrap your hand around Hyō’s cock, languidly drawing your hand up and down.

Seishiro chases your kiss, following as you bring your head in front of Hyōma’s weeping tip. Sliding your tongue along the underside you follow the throbbing, prominent vein. Sei is sloppy but his fervent pursuit of pleasure makes up for it tenfold. He kisses your mouth over Hyōma’s cock, his free hand gently fondling his full balls.

Above you, Hyōma mutters something in Japanese. It’s not a phrase you recognise, no matter how you strain your ears you can’t begin to discern what it is he may have said. Whatever it is, it makes Seishiro flush, drool slipping down his chin as he suckles on Hyōma’s cock. He presses his eyes shut, embarrassment written across every inch of his skin.

“Open your eyes baby,” you coo, tugging on Seishiro’s messy white hair, “Want you to see me, Sei.”

His eyes flutter open, almost at your command. Large, slate grey irises tentatively peer back at you, mouth full of cock.

“I need to be inside you,” Hyōma moans, his nails digging into your flesh.

“Please.”

You murmur around his cock, your eyes turned upward. Hyōma’s throat bobs as he swallows. Sweat drips down his lush body, his skin glistens deliciously. Sei mirrors you, gazing up at him with wide eyes and blush kissed cheeks.

Pulling off his cock with a pop, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Lipstick is smudged across, you notice it’s smeared across Hyōma’s dick, his lips, his neck, Sei’s too.

“I need you both inside me.”

Hyōma lays against the pillows, pulling you by the hips to settle in his lap. His cock slides across your slick folds and you can’t help but moan. Seishiro kneels behind you, quiet and tender. The strap-on nudges against your ass cheek as he grabs your hips, his face nuzzling into your shoulder.

More lube is squirted between your cheeks and along Seishiro’s length. Bracing yourself against Hyōma’s shoulders, you bite your lip as his cock is nudged against your drooling hole. He sinks you down slowly, your walls stretching open to accommodate his girth. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, your heart skipping a beat as you’re filled.

Seishiro plunged his pointer finger into your ass, slowly working you open.

“Sei, please I need you,” you beg, twisting your neck around to look at him, “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

“You heard them, be a good boy and fill them up, Seishiro.”

Seishiro snorts a laugh, “You’re so needy huh,” he quips, “All bark and no bite.”

Whatever witty retort you might have had dies before it can reach your tongue. Your breath and words are stolen from you with a swift quickness as Seishiro eases the tip of his strap against your asshole. The stretch burns but the pain effortlessly melds into pleasure. Hyōma’s fingers play with your clit, rolling soothing circles that make your head spin around and round.

“Shut up, Sei!” You grit with a pant of breath, your eyes rolling back into your skull as he bottoms out.

You’re full, incredibly so.

Your limbs feel as though they’ve turned into led and weigh a hundred more pounds. You rest your head upon Hyōma’s chest, you can hear his stuttering heartbeat erratically pound against his ribcage as he slowly lifts your hip upwards until only their tips remain inside of you.

“You feel so good around me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Gonna make me cum, God I’m so hard for you.”

The fluttery feeling makes a home in your chest, wrapping around your sternum and melting all the way down to your toes. Their cocks grind against each other whilst inside you, the feeling of it makes you stupid. There isn’t a single thought that fills your head, just pleasure. Heavy, thick sea of mind numbing pleasure that you wouldn’t dare to find yourself out from.

Hyōma throbs within you, Seishiro’s slick drips onto your ass as they drill into you at a surprisingly even pace. You vaguely register the sound of them kissing above you, you’re too fucked out to lift your head and watch.

“Please,” you mumble into Hyōma’s skin for no reason in particular, “Please baby.”

The tension in your belly bursts quickly, your cunt squirt and throbbing as you cum. You feel it gush out of you, soaking both men and the blankets below you. Seishiro lets out a muffled sound of surprise, it’s followed by a chuckle and then a grunt. Hyōma twitches inside you, he’s on the bring too, cooing words in Japanese that cause Sei to move faster, fucking into you like it was his goal to make you addicted to the feeling of him driving his cock into you.

“That’s it, good boy Sei,” Hyōma grunts, biting Seishiro’s bottom lip, “Good puppy, squeezing my cock so tight.”

Warmth spreads through you as he fills you up with his cum. Your head feels dizzy as you lay flat against him, your thighs twitching and inky darkness edging at the corners of your vision. His hips stutter for a moment as he chases his release, pumping his seed back into your hole. Seishiro pushes your hair to the side and plants a sloppy kiss to the nape of your neck. He collapses onto you, crushing you between the two of them.

“Fuck, I love you guys,” Sei murmurs, wrapping his arms around your torso.

Your body breaks out in goosebumps, shock thrumming through your veins. Did he just say that? Did he mean it? Or, was it just the post orgasm bliss speaking? Sometimes, he and Isagi joked that stupid often fell out of their mouths when they spoke before thinking.

“I love you guys,” you find yourself saying, linking your fingers with Hyōma’s he gives you a squeeze before humming.

“I love you two.”

#bluelock smut #chigiri x reader #chigiri smut #nagi x reader #nagi smut #chigiri hyoma x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #bllk x reader #bllk smut #nagi x you #chigiri x you #᭄᭡⠀written word

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butchizuku · 5 days ago

Text

ᥫ᭡; You Could Be Mine Tonight; Interlude I

— Chigiri Hyōma

ᨳ Synop. In the city of romance, you're feeling anything but that when you find yourself face to face with a cruel stranger.

໋𓈒 Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, chigiri puts the go in egoist, first meetings, author self insert, selfship lore heavy, reader is italian-american living in italy, set in verona, some italian dialogue, first meetings; run time. 1.4k

(՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) Director's Note. hihi loves, this is a cheeky repost of a fic i wrote that is my selfship lore with chigiri <3 i've been cooking up part two in the docs so enjoy <3

The fair city of Verona fed the romantic daydreamer that crawled into the deep recesses of your chest as a child. In spite of spending your last six months settling in, you couldn’t fathom ever tiring of waltzing through the old, cobbled streets and imagining the lives led by those living over five hundred years ago in the middle ages. Idling wonder if they too ran their fingertips across the smooth, rosy marbled walls. Or, if they gazed upon the stars while resting in the Piazza dei Signori as you did when your red wine tinged evenings drew to a close.

You supposed the reality of those living all those years ago were far more bleak than proposed by the Middle English romances you studied during your undergraduate. Still, it didn’t mean you couldn’t imagine a display of courtly love spilling over the aged edge of Juliet’s balcony; a gallant knight who was far more romantic than the whiny Romeo, and a demure lady who was more akin to a blossomed flower than a person. With the sky, a most remarkable shade of blue– far more dazzling than anything you’d seen back home– and the scent of sweet flowers carried on the breeze, it was difficult not to lose your thoughts within a fairytale-like dream.

A rich waft of freshly brewed espresso rouses you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the small café you’ve made into your home for the afternoon. Sparing a glance back to your laptop where your latest novel sits open, you sigh before snapping it shut. As romantic as Verona was, your fantasies failed to inspire an ending to the chapter you’ve spent the last month working on. You blamed the lack of direction on your recent move, halfway across the world from North America to Europe but in the droll truth you suspected your lack of romantic experience was beginning to impede upon your ability to write a romance novel. Shoving your things into your bag, you offered a wave to the barista before clearing out.

The next building over was calling your name.

It was a small, family owned bookstore that had been passed down at least six generations and resided between two restaurants. The current owner, Signor Fiorentino seemed perpetually miffed by the constant racket amassed by the staff when on break but was always amenable when offered fresh biscotti. Which was precisely why you picked up an extra one at the café in case you decided to head over.

The small bell above the door rings as it opens, announcing your presence, “Ciao signore!” You greet, shuffling through the cramped rows of shelving.

A smile tugs at your lips as you reach the small checkout counter where he sits. Signor Fiorentino is perched upon a well worn stool, thumbing through a copy of today's newspaper.

“Buonasera Signorina,” he grins at the sight of you, his smile growing wider when he takes notice of the biscotti in your hand, “Is that for me?”

You hold your hand out in response, passing it over to him, “You know it is,” you say, resting your elbows on the counter, “So, have you gotten anything new in stock?”

Your hopeful tone dwindles when Fiorentino narrows his eyes at you.

“Buttering me up with sweets are you?”

“What! No!” You frown, “But … I was wondering if you’d heard back about that custom bound copy of Romeo and Juliet?”

The expression he wears tells you he hasn’t. With a sigh, he shakes his head, “The seller says it's on their backlog and they’ll get back to me soon.”

You wear your emotions on your face as if it were your favourite sweater, never one to masterfully disguise the disappointment you felt. It was your greatest flaw that loved to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. Like now. The corners of your mouth dipped into a petulant frown, your bottom lip jutting out. You became a mirror image to the kindergarteners you taught English to. They were cuter than you when they did it.

“Cara mia do not stress!”

Sometimes, he speaks to you as if he were your family. You allow him to far more often than you should. He reminded you of your nonno, you supposed that you reminded him of his children and grandchildren who had long since immigrated to North America. Reaching over the small counter, he rests a weathered, spotty hand onto your forearm.

“I’m not,” you mutter with a small sigh, “I’m just frustrated.”

He gives your arm a sympathetic squeeze.

“I know.”

Returning his smile, you turn to the dozens of book lined shelves in search of something to satiate the burn of disappointment you wished to mask. Your fingers graze against the lip of the dust covered shelves as you pass through them, floating around the shop as though you were a spectre rather than a customer. You settle in front of the stack of mediaeval literature. Pursing your lips, you tilt your head to get a better view of the title, Amorosa Visione. A long, narrative poem. It wasn’t exactly your first pick, you much preferred Middle English romances but you needed to branch out every once in a while. Pulling the book off the shelf, you took a step backwards as you skimmed the blurb printed on the back.

Another step backward causes you to bump into another person.

So engrossed in your reading, you hadn’t noticed they joined you in the aisle. Dipping your head down in apology, you offer them a smile.

They scoff, looking you up and down.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, hoping they spoke English, “I didn’t see you there.”

His expression only worsens, “Yeah, right like I’m supposed to believe that,” he snips in English, flicking a strand of bright red hair from his eyes.

He turns toward you, standing with their arms crossed over his chest. His sunglasses slip down his nose as he peers at you. You blink in shock, face warming at the sight of him. He was pretty, unfairly so. With long, pretty lashes that frame sharp magenta eyes which cut right through you with his glare. Shaking your head, you remind yourself that he was a jerk who was irrationally annoyed over you accidentally bumping into him.

“I … I don’t understand what you mean,” you frown, “It was an accident, I promise I wouldn’t bump into a stranger on purpose.”

“You don’t recognise me?” The man asks, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze. He seems to pick you apart with his clipped words and harsh stare as if he were given hours to scrutinise each miniscule part of you rather than a few measly minutes.

“Am I supposed to?” You cock your head to the side, “Are you an influencer or something?”

You give him a once over, taking in his attire. He was dressed fairly casually but still looked rather put together. The accent that shrouded his words told you that he too wasn’t from Verona, but nothing in the way he carried himself struck any ounce of familiarity. The arrogance and accusation that lingered in his narrowed gaze seemed to align with your view of celebrities and micro influencers.

Disgust flashes in his eyes,“No, I’m a professional soccer player,” he explains, “Manshine City, ever heard of it?”

“Okay …”

“I thought all Italians were huge soccer fans,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

You stifle an eye roll,“That’s a kinda a misconception like how not all Canadians are obsessed with hockey and say “aboot”” your comment doesn’t elicit a laugh like you hoped it would, instead he gives you a strange look, “Besides, even if it wasn’t we tend to be pretty nationalistic.”

“Right.”

A lull passes between the two of you before he speaks again.

“I apologise,” he says, almost begrudgingly, “For assuming you were some desperate fan.”

Biting back a snarky remark, you laughed to yourself. Were all athletes this full of themselves?

“No apology needed.”

He purses his lips before nodding his head.

“Just uh, don’t give the shop owner the same attitude unless you want to be chased out of here with a broom.”

The corners of his lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles, “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Tucking your book beneath your arm, you slink out of the aisle with a relieved sigh. You hoped, whatever other soccer players that may have been crawling about this fair city were certainly less egotistical than him.

#chigiri hyoma x reader #bllk x reader #chigiri x reader #bluelock x reader #bllk x you #chigiri x you #chigiri hyoma #yumeship #yumeshipping #you could be mine tonight

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