#endo yamato

[mvrdermeharder]

I do (not) apologize for the person i’ll become when this mf gets animated.

[thecmaly]

pocky day

-

more windbreaker comics

[cyanparadis]

[lightningstrikes-art]

[officialmiintee]

wind breaker snack time!

[octrellue-ren22]

windbreaker another style collection volume 16

[nanakorobiyaokii]

一 137 • 147 一

[kaiser1ns]

#. KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE

featuring 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. umemiya hajime, sakura haruka, suo hayato, kaji ren, togame jo, takiishi chika, endo yamato

fluff. since when did you dream of a first kiss with the boy you like. and the chance finally came, but not everything turned out as imagined.

up to 500-600 words per scenario, i tried my best, sorry i'm still trying to describe romantic scenes womp womp, like and subscribe!

UMEMIYA HAJIME

You are so in love with this man that you can't get enough. Literally, you can't get enough of the way he is so oblivious to the hints you drop every single day. He is laughing yet again at something, surrounded by Furin first years and Hiragi at Kotoha's cafe. The desire to smack him on the head and tell him he is so stupid grows faster than the vegetables in his garden. Only Kotoha seems to notice your gloomy mood — you haven't touched the food she prepared, and it makes her worry.

"I'm going to give up if he doesn't do something soon," you tell your best friend, your voice tinged with frustration.

She pats your hand reassuringly. "It'll be okay. Don't mind Hajime's antics. Boys take time to develop, you know."

You thank her and finish your food, but you still want to go home. Being in his presence feels draining right now. You quietly say goodbye to Kotoha and immediately leave, while she wonders what she can do to help you out.

You aren't far away when you hear running footsteps behind you and the voice you knew all too well. "Y/N, wait for me, please!" It's Umemiya, running worriedly towards you. You turn to face him as he pants from the exertion. "Kotoha said you wanted to talk about something with me. Is that why you left?"

Oh my, this girl. How dare she does this to you? You didn't want to tell him, you were supposed to be mad at him. "It seems that I have forgotten what I was going to say," you murmur, turning on your heel to walk away again. But he hugs you from behind, his grip strong and tight, your back against his chest.

"You wanted to have your first kiss, right?" There it goes, your best friend spilled everything to her brother. "I've noticed everything you did to indicate your wants and needs. I was just waiting for the right moment, when we aren't with people, like this ..."

He lets you go, turning you around and kissing you. His eyes are closed, but yours widen in surprise. The feeling of his lips on yours and his hands on your back makes you relax. You're a blushing mess, a whirlwind of butterflies and emotions coursing through you. Hands find their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat race as fast as yours.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes meet yours, filled with a tenderness you've longed to see. "I'm sorry it took me so long," he murmurs, his voice soft and sincere. You smile, your heart swelling with the butterflies going there instead. "You better make it up for all the waiting."

He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I guess I am a bit dense, huh?" You laugh, the sound light and genuine, laying your head on his chest and hearing his heartbeat once again as he hugged you "Just a bit."

As he walks you to your home, hand in hand, you can't help but think about Kotoha and how she played Cupid, knowing exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t.

SAKURA HARUKA

You’ve heard it all before, the endless litany of self-deprecation and doubt that spills from Sakurs’s lips like a broken record. It’s a familiar routine by now, his recounting of how he doesn’t deserve kindness or acceptance, how your sweetness to him feels misplaced. His voice wavers with each confession, half-hoping you’ll agree and half-fearing you’ll walk away.

“I don’t get why you’re so nice to me,” he says for the umpteenth time, eyes downcast. “I don’t deserve it.” Your eye twitches. You’ve had enough. The words repeat in your head, grating on your nerves. You care about him deeply, but his lack of self-worth is starting to drive you insane. He’s strong, capable, a fighter in every sense of the word—except when it comes to himself.

“Oh my god, Sakura, stop with this bullshit,” you snap, sharper than you intended. He blinks, taken aback. “Hah!?”

“Stop talking about yourself like that. It’s so frustrating. ‘I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve that.’” You mimic his tone, letting your irritation seep through. His eyes narrow, anger mixing with confusion. "Huh!?" He clenches his fists, the familiar motion of cracking his knuckles following. It’s a gesture meant to intimidate, but you’ve seen it too many times to be scared. “Shut up before I make you,” you threaten.

He meets your gaze gaze, unflinching. “Make me then. Let your fists do the talking.”

That’s it. The breaking point. You stand up abruptly, closing the distance between you. He braces himself, expecting a fight. You can see the conflict in his eyes, torn between his instinct to fight and his deep-seated fear of hurting you. Instead, you grab his face with both hands and pull him into a kiss. It’s sudden, forceful, and completely unexpected. His body tenses up, then melts against you, stunned into silence.

When you pull back, his face is a shade of red you didn’t think was possible to achieve. He’s a mess of incoherent sounds, his mind clearly struggling to process what just happened. “W-what… Huh!?”

“You shouldn’t talk so much crap,” you say calmly, sitting back down. “It’ll lead you to problems.”

He stands there, dazed and silent, a stark contrast to his usual self. You relish the quiet, the absence of his self-doubt hanging in the air. Finally, a moment of peace. Sakura haven't said a word all day, lost in his thoughts. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, hoping that your impulsive act has left an impression, that maybe he’ll start to see himself the way you see him.

SUO HAYATO

The boy himself, the living legend of making people accept his requests with his teasing smile, is sitting next to you. His beautiful dark brown eyes make you melt like chocolate left out in the hot sun. Suo Hayato, the enigma from the neighboring school, is here in your living room, surrounded by your scattered chemistry notes. You begged him for help with your homework, and in his usual style, he agreed with a condition. You, expecting another teacake request, readily agreed.

The two of you sit on the floor, papers spread out across the table. Hayato explains the properties of alkaline metals and their reactions. His hand occasionally brushes against yours, sending a jolt through your system each time. He notices your reactions, the subtle glances you steal, the way you tense and relax. He is enjoying himself, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“And that’s all. I’m sure you’ll ace the test, L/N-san,” he concludes with a smile.

A few days later, you find yourself beaming as you show him your test. Maximum points. You’re the only student with a perfect score, and Hayato knows it. His smile widens, and his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

“I knew you’d do it. But don’t you forget something?” he prompts.

Ah, yes, his reward. “No, I didn’t forget, Suo-kun.” You reach into your bag and pull out a box of homemade teacakes. “Here, just the way you like them.” He takes the box, smiling with one eye closed, the other hidden beneath his signature eyepatch. “Oh, thank you very much. So kind as always.” he pauses “But I wanted something sweeter.”

Confused, you stand there trying to figure out what he means. Wasn’t he on a diet? Perhaps you should brew him some tea. He chuckles, observing you and most possibly reading your thoughts.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want freshly brewed tea.” His voice is soft, but there's an edge to it. How does he always know what you’re thinking? Does he know you wanted to kiss him while you studied? His perceptiveness is both thrilling and intimidating.

“So what do you want?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. He closes the distance between you in a heartbeat. “You.”

Before you can process his words, his lips are on yours, warm and insistent. Your bag slips from your shoulder, landing with a soft thud. The kiss is everything you imagined and more, a perfect blend of surprise and inevitability. You feel the chemistry, the undeniable connection between element Suo and element Y/N, strong and unbreakable.

You pull away, still in shock, as he steps back. His hands are behind his back, holding the box of teacakes, but his eyes are fixed on you. He turns to leave, but glances back over his shoulder.

“I’ll be waiting for more chemistry tests to help you out,” he says, a promise in his voice. And you know, without a doubt, that his request will always be met.

KAJI REN

You had always admired the way Kaji Ren seemed to be in his own world, headphones clamped over his ears and a strawberry lollipop lazily balanced between his lips. He was lost in thought, probably wondering about you, always worried—if you needed help, how your day went, if there was someone he needed to deal with for you. His obliviousness gave you the perfect opportunity. You appeared in front of him and, snatching the lollipop from his mouth, putting it in your own.

"What the—" His initial reaction was irritation, a typical Kaji Ren tantrum brewing, until he saw you standing there, and that devilish look in your eyes. You were still in your school uniform, like you always are when he waits to walk you home.

"Oh, strawberry one. My favorite." You teased, a smile tugging at your lips. He scoffed, too tired to engage in your banter, as started walking behind you, when you suddenly stopped. Before he could react, you snatched his headphones and dashed off.

You were fast, but Kaji was faster. In a heartbeat, he caught up, slamming you gently against the nearest wall, his arms caging you in. You looked up at him, a devilish grin on your face.

"Now, what, Ren?" you taunted, breathless.

For a moment, he just stared, as if trying to figure out his next move. Then, in a move that surprised both of you, he grabbed the lollipop from your mouth and tossed it on the ground. His lips crashed onto yours with a hunger and urgency that sent the butterflies right into your stomach. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, tasting the sweet strawberry flavor that lingered on your lips.

You kissed back with equal hunger, your hands tangling in his hair. Time seemed to stand still as you both poured everything into that kiss. When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, as you stared at the blonde boy.

"Do you want to try an apple flavor next time?" you asked, a teasing once again.

"Shut up," he muttered, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. He snatched his headphones back and started walking again, but you weren’t ready to let go just yet. You ran up to him and slipped your hand into his. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, but instead, he squeezed your hand tightly.

TOGAME JO

You never go into Shishitoren territory without Togame. He’s your personal bodyguard, a very fine one at that, and he insists on accompanying you every time. Texting him is a lost cause—he never responds. At least, that’s what he wants you to believe, even though your texts are the only ones he ever reads. So, you always call to tell him you are under the bridge, waiting for him.

Tonight, the two of you are wandering down a bustling street, searching for a pub to settle in. The crowd is big at this time of the night, and Togame keeps his hand firmly on your waist, ensuring you stay close. Despite him wanting to keep you close and safe, you are always slipping away, and it drives him crazy.

You meander through, your curiosity piqued by a very interesting shop window. Something inside catches your eye, and you pause to admire it. Meanwhile, he is frantic, scanning the crowd for any sign of you. When he finally spots you, relief floods his body, quickly replaced by an angry expression. The Shishitoren vice-capitain makes a note to buy the item for you tomorrow, but now is not the time. He strides over and grabs your hand, pulling you towards a quieter, more secluded area.

“What if something happened to you? Do you know how much I’d regret that?” His usual slow, measured speech is now rapid and laced with frustration.

You look down, guilt washing over you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He sighs heavily, his expression softening as he sees your sad face. Gently, he tilts your chin up, his fingers brushing away the few tears that have escaped. “Don’t cry now, pretty girl.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss. You hadn’t expected your first kiss to happen like this, in a quiet, dimly lit alley, but it’s with Togame Jo, and that’s all that matters.

His hands cradle your face, thumbs tracing soothing patterns on your skin. You close your eyes, relaxing in his touch, your heart pounding in your chest. It is soft, tender, and unhurried. There’s no rush, no urgency—just the two of you in this moment. His lips are warm, and he takes his time, savoring the feel of you, as butterflies made their way to your stomach. When he finally pulls away, you’re both breathless, faces mere inches apart.

He presses his forehead against yours, a small smile playing making its way, reassuring you that everything was fine, “Just... don’t do that again, okay?”

You nod, still dazed from the kiss. He entwines his fingers with yours, leading you back to the crowded street, but this time, his grip is gentler, more safe. The bustling city seems a little less overwhelming with him by your side, and you can’t help but smile, stealing glances at him, your heart fluttering with every step. Togame catches your eye and squeezes your hand, his own smile growing wider.

TAKIISHI CHIKA

He showed up at your house, knocking on the window as you sighed, getting up from your bed. You, of course, let him in, seeing how he was again stained with blood that was not his. It was the same every time: he came to you so you could patch him up, fix him, give him a shower, change of clothes and a place to sleep in. You never ask questions, and he never offers explanations. Tonight is no different as you sit in his lap, bandaging his face and hands.

You're not a couple; you're not anything. It’s complicated. There are unspoken words between you, a delicate balance that neither of you dares to disrupt. As you sit on his lap and clean his face, you find yourself closer than before. His yellow eyes, intense and piercing, lock onto yours, heart races, each beat echoing in your ears. You’re getting closer, inch by inch. Hesitation grips you, your breath caught in your throat.

"Don't move." Just as you think of pulling away, his hand moves behind your head, gently but firmly pushing you forward. Your lips meet his in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s surprising, the gentleness of it, especially coming from someone as fiery and unpredictable as Chika. The kiss is brief, a fleeting moment that feels that for once you were something. When it ends, you pull back slightly, searching his eyes for any hint of what this meant to him. But his expression is the same as every day. And then you are back to becoming nothing.

For you, it meant everything. It’s a confirmation of the connection you’ve always felt but never acknowledged. But what did it mean for him? You're not sure, and you don't dare to ask. Not now. Maybe not ever. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. You can think about this later. Right now, he still needs you. You focus on his injuries, cleaning and bandaging.

Chika watches you work, his eyes never leaving your face. You can feel the weight of his gaze, and it only makes you more aware of your own feelings. But you don’t let it distract you. You finish bandaging his hands and move to check for any other injuries, your fingers brushing against his skin, meanwhile, he gently caresses your thighs with his thumbs leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

When you’re done, you lean back, surveying your work. He looks a bit better now, though still battered and bruised. You meet his eyes again, and this time there’s something different there. Something softer, more vulnerable — a golden hue reflects the dim light, adding a warm, almost ethereal quality to the sun.

“There all done,” you say quietly, unable to trust your voice to say more. You stand up, as you don't want to leave his embrace but you have to clean up the supplies scattered around and prepare a bath. As you move around the room to get him new clothes you can feel his eyes on you, following your every move. You wonder if he’s thinking about the kiss, about what it meant. You wonder if he feels the same confusion, the same longing, the same love.

ENDO YAMATO

The wind lifting strands of his dark hair and whipping them around his face. He’s talking about something, his tattooed hands tracing patterns in the air. But you’re not listening. You’re caught up in the way his lips move, the curve of his smile, the glimmering in his eyes.

"...and Takiishi was there, you know? Doing that thing he always does," Endo continues, oblivious to your silent longing. Takiishi Chika. Again. You frown, a little annoyed now. Why does he always have to bring up Chika?

"Endo," you say, softly at first, hoping to catch his attention. He doesn’t notice.

"Takiishi’s just so unpredictable. I never know what he’s going to do next."

"Endo," you repeat, louder this time. Still, he’s lost in his own world, his words tumbling out like the wind itself, unstoppable and carefree.

"And then, Takiishi—"

"Endo!" You say it sharply, frustration bubbling up inside you. He finally pauses, blinking at you in surprise. You take a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, before he can say anything, you reach up and grab his collar, pulling him down to your height. His eyes widen in shock, but you don’t give him time to react. You press your lips to his, silencing him in the most effective way you know.

Feeling his lips against yours, the taste of his breath mingling with your own. It’s not perfect. It’s rushed and a little clumsy, your noses bump awkwardly, and you can feel him tense. But it’s real. It’s happening. And it’s better than any dream.

When you finally pull away, he’s staring at you, confusing and amusing gaze. His hands, still raised from his gesticulations, hover in the air, uncertain.

"Ah," he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I’m not good at judging people, am I?" You laugh, knowing how he chooses people and how his expectations are later contradicted, that right now is happening with you, "No," you agree, your voice soft. "You’re really not."

He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I guess I was talking too much."

"A little," you admit, your heart still racing. "But it’s okay."

He steps closer, his hand brushing against yours, indicating his motives. "Can I try again?" he asks, his voice quieter now, the playful edge gone. You nod, your breath hitching in your throat. "Please."

This time, when he kisses you, it’s slower, more deliberate. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin as you live your dream.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[queenrojpag]

I'm happy!

[togament]

He’s the type to make love to you slowly, savoring each second. Deliciously stuffing your cunt with his thick cock, whispering praises and pressing kisses into your flesh. He’s absolutely pussy drunk every time he slides into your wetness, ready to cum with just a few pumps. You’re just that good to him.

“Ngh—I’m s-so sorry baby it’s just—fuck. You feel so f-fucking good.”

— Ume, NIREI, TOGAME, Tsugeura, Seiryu, ENDO (the man’s a slut what can you say?)

He’s the type to fuck you until you’re dumb, until his thickness and his name are all that you know. With your ankles dangling by your ears, his breeder balls slap against your ass while you whine for him to slow down but the words come out jumbled. That only makes him wanna fuck with you more. He holds a vibrator to your clit and his tongue lulls out in sheer pleasure while you tighten around him.

“What’s that, sweetheart? Mm. Not stoppin’ until you can speak to me properly. Use. Your. Words, doll.”

— Kiryu, Sakura, Sugishita, ENDO (more degradation in the mix), URYU, KAJI.

[beanghostprincess]

Wind Breaker is one of my favorite shonen because it doesn't feel like a shonen at all and it's just a psycho-analysis of traumatized teenagers in gangs. And they're also gay.

[thecmaly]

adoptbduction

-

more windbreaker comics

[octobertomarch]

Protecting Sakura against the evil cousin

We all know that one meme, yeah?

[mrpenguinpants]

I'm gonna wife you up!

— You propose (sort-of?) to your boyfriend (wife?)

— Kaji Ren, Suo Hayato, Togame Jo + Yamato Endo

[Masterlist]

This was meant to be more serious, but then I tripped and fell into a vat of sugar syrup. I'd hate to be in the same room. The dichotomy of my fics is wild.

Kaji Ren

Realistically, if you dissected the situation under a microscope, it wasn’t your fault. When you and Kaji first started dating, his habit of keeping his headphones on had driven you insane. The heavy metal blaring past the ear cushions was louder than your voice, no matter how important the thing you were trying to say. It almost ended things between you until you learned why those headphones mattered to him. They weren’t just for music; they were his shield, a barrier between him and a world that often overwhelmed him. In return, plus a thorough scolding from Hiragi, he's stopped playing his music at full volume. Only loud enough to block the outside noise but not your voice. It was a compromise, one that spoke more about his effort to meet you halfway than words ever could. But sometimes... sometimes, he gets lost in his distractions. His thumb drifts to his phone, inching the volume dial higher and higher until it drowns everything out. The world, your voice, you. You know he doesn’t do it on purpose. He’s not ignoring you, not intentionally. But still, you feel the tiniest bit petty about it. After all, you’re right there, talking to him. What’s so captivating about music or scrolling through nonsense that it takes precedence over you?

"Did you know that people used whale carcasses to fuel lanterns? So there wasn't a lack of light in the dark alleyways of London. The light was made from whale grease. They literally made lights to light up the world from whale corpses. Isn't that disgusting?"

So, in your petty spite, you've decided to spitball the weirdest and most disgusting things until he pays attention to you. Unsurprisingly, Kaji doesn’t even flinch. His head remains tilted, chin propped on his hand as his gaze drifts lazily out the window. His other hand scrolls aimlessly, the music in his headphones a distant hum. You narrow your eyes at him, leaning against the desk with exaggerated boredom. For a moment, you consider escalating to some gruesome medieval torture facts. That ought to do the trick. But instead, you settle for staring at him, waiting for him to slip up, to show even the tiniest hint that he’s paying attention.

“I’m talking to you, asswipe,” you grit out through clenched teeth. “Pay attention to me before I grab your phone and toss it out the window.”

Still nothing.

His head nods faintly to the beat of whatever is playing in his headphones. The absence of a reaction feels deliberate like he's testing your patience on purpose. You narrow your eyes, leaning forward to sneak a closer look at his phone. But your short stature betrays you, leaving you with only the dark reflection of your face staring back from the glossy screen. The thought of not knowing what’s capturing his attention drives you mad, your curiosity clawing at you like an itch you can’t scratch. Huffing in defeat, you slump back into your chair with a dramatic flourish, arms crossing tightly over your chest. Your gaze fixes on the ceiling tiles above, your lips forming a pout as your mind races. If he won’t listen to you, maybe you should start plotting how to make him.

"You know when I first met you, I thought your bowl haircut was su-per lame," you hum blandly into the air, your tone light but teasing. It's not like he'll hear you anyway. Kaji, ever the picture of detachment, is still immersed in his music, occasionally nodding his head to the beat as though agreeing with it more than he ever does with you, "Oh, and your fashion sense? Shitty. Hoodies every day? Really? Don’t you get hot in summer? Geez, you’re like a walking furnace. What are you hiding under there, a whole other climate zone?"

He doesn’t react, of course. Not to the jabs, not to the edge of fondness creeping into your voice. You let out another heavy, exaggerated sigh and lean forward, crossing your arms on Kaji's desk. Your head comes to rest on them, and you tilt slightly to peer up at him through your lashes, "But...they are pretty cozy. Fall is coming soon, you'll let me borrow one, yeah? Hehe, say nothing if it's okay."

Nothing. Bingo.

"Do you know that your voice is really deep? It's actually very distracting. You like my voice too, right? So much that you can only stand to listen to it a few times a day, or you'll combust into a thousand hearts. I get it—I would too. Say nothing if you agree," You nod into your arms, a small but smug smile tugging at your lips, even though you know you’re talking to a brick wall, or rather a wall-wearing headphone. Turning over onto your other side, your cheek still smushed against your forearm, you find yourself facing the blackboard. It’s covered in the messy chicken scratches the teacher calls math notes.

"The only thing I like about you," you say, voice quieter now. Your gaze drifts to his reflection in the window, "is that you're a good listener. Well, not really—since, you know, you're wearing those stupid headphones—but you do remember the important things. The things that matter, even if I’ve only said them once. So, do me a favor and be a good listener right now, okay?"

Your eyes drift across the chalkboard, lingering on today’s date written in light blue chalk. You bite back a smile, your voice turning into a whisper, more to yourself than to Kaji. "In two... no, maybe three years, I’m going to propose to you."

You pause for a moment, letting the weight of the words settle in, your eyes still fixed on the chalkboard as if it might offer some answer. Then, with a slight smirk, you continue, “And if you ignore me, I’ll make you wear the dress at our wedding. I’ll even call you my wife.”

Your gaze flicks back to Kaji, but he’s still lost in his music, oblivious to your declaration. “That’s fine, right? Say nothing if you promise.”

The silence that follows feels strangely comfortable as if your words have filled the space between you in ways his headphones never could. Your gaze lingers on him for a beat longer before drifting back to the blackboard. You remain still, staring at the chalk marks and messy equations, lost in thought.

Minutes tick by, and the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Students begin filing into classrooms, the hallway filling with the bustling noise of chatter and hurried footsteps. You let out a quiet sigh, already saddened that your brief time with Kaji has come to an end. With a faint wave, you step out of his classroom, glancing back one last time. Kaji remains as he is, headphones firmly in place, his world closed off.

In the sudden stillness of the room, Kaji's fingers drift up to slide his headphones down. His eyes lift to the blackboard, locking onto the date scrawled in light blue chalk. His expression morphs into something distant, a thousand-yard stare settling over him. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he rises from his desk and approaches the blackboard, the faint sound of his chair scraping against the floor breaking the quiet. His hands tremble as they hover over the numbers, hesitating, before finally tracing them with the tip of a finger. His heart pounds in his chest, his thoughts swirling in chaotic spirals. A faint smile begins to tug at the corners of his lips, fragile and uncertain, but genuine. Yet before it can fully take shape, the sharp ringing of the late lunch bell jolts him. Kaji flinches, the sound snapping him out of his reverie. His budding smile falters, slipping away like a fleeting dream. He takes one last glance at the blackboard, his hand curling into a fist at his side, before turning away. His steps are slow and heavy as he trudges back to his desk. Lowering himself into the chair, he buries his head in his arms, shoulders tense. Moments later, he flicks his headphones back on, pulling them snugly over his ears as if to block out the world—and perhaps himself. His ears burn red beneath the headphones, betraying the thoughts still racing through his mind.

Suo Hayato

"How are you so pretty? Did you make a contract with that ancient spirit that lives in your eye? It's not fair," you whine, shaking Suo's head from side to side with exaggerated dramatics. The tassels attached to his earrings sway in rhythm with your movements as your fingers lightly pinch his cheeks. Suo can only chuckle, his soft laughter filling the space as he lets you do as you please, your fingers molding his face like soft clay. Your words are familiar but unusually persistent today. This isn’t the first time you’ve complimented him, far from it, but there’s a different energy in your voice now, an almost childlike fascination that has Suo amused. Usually, you’ll beam at him, toss out a casual "You're so pretty," and then return to your usual antics. But this time? This time, you’re relentless, rattling off your admiration like you’ve secretly prepared a monologue. Suo wonders briefly if you’ve been spending too much time with Nieri, perhaps picking up some of their overly theatrical tendencies. As you continue your tirade about his "unworldly" beauty, Suo raises his hands to your wrists, gently holding them to stop your playful assault on his cheeks. His touch is warm, his grip soft yet firm, and his gaze meets yours with quiet affection.

"Alright, alright," he says with a small smile, the corners of his lips quirking upward. "If you keep this up, my cheeks are going to be permanently pink."

But even as he tries to deflect, Suo finds it hard to hide the warmth that spreads in his chest. Your unfiltered admiration catches him off guard every time, no matter how often you shower him with it. He thinks, perhaps, this is why he lets you tease him so freely. Your sincerity is disarming in the best way. He shakes his head, still holding your wrists, "You're too fixated on my appearance today. What's going on with you...?"

You pout at his response, his grip on your wrists preventing any further assault on his cheeks. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, you lean into his hand, your head tilting slightly as you gaze up at him with wide, innocent eyes. It’s your best attempt at looking pitiful, the kind of look that usually gets him to cave.

"Suo’s just so pretty," you whine again, dragging out the words as if the weight of his beauty is a personal burden. Your lips curve into a slight pout as you attempt to weaponize your puppy-dog stare. "It’s not fair. And you even dare to act like you don’t know how beautiful you are! It’s a crime against humanity."

His laughter spills out, soft and melodic, as he shakes his head at your antics. "A crime against humanity? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?"

"No!" you insist, sitting up straighter and pulling slightly against his hold, though his grip remains firm but kind. "It’s absolutely criminal, Suo. If you’re not careful, someone might file a lawsuit against you for being too pretty."

Suo chuckles again, your attempt at acting pitiful not lost on him as he shakes his head. He's well aware of how much you enjoy complimenting him and being extra about things. But you're really laying it on extra thick today, he thinks. It's amusing, though, and he's not about to tell you to stop. He loves how shameless you are, how you'll gush to him about anything and everything with no hesitation. It’s one of the things that makes you so unique in his eyes. Your words, unfiltered and sincere, always manage to get under his skin in the best way. He can't help but feel a little flutter of endearment at your words, his heartwarming every time you show him affection so freely. He keeps holding your wrists as he looks down at you, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"You really think I'm that pretty, huh?" Suo asks again, just to see how you're going to respond. He knows the answer, but he wants to see just how far you'll go to show your affection. There’s a teasing lilt in his voice, a playful challenge he knows you'll meet head-on. He gently lets go of one of your wrists, bringing his hand up to stroke your chin. He gazes at you expectantly, enjoying the way you're looking at him, completely at ease in his presence. There's a silly squiggle of a smile on your lips, a happy hum leaving them as you lean into his touch, and tiny crow's feet under your eyes from the smile that never seems to leave when you're near him. You nod vigorously, bouncing on your toes as you start to sway from side to side, your energy infectious.

"Yup! The prettiest wife in all of Makochi."

Ah. Suo's smile freezes for a second at the term that you use, his expression faltering for the first time. He stares at you, his mind processing the word that just slipped out of your mouth. It's obvious you didn't mean to say that. He can tell from how you immediately fall back loudly on your heels. At how you go absolutely rigid in his hand and how hot your face is growing. That squiggle of happiness morphs into one of embarrassment as your eyes are wide with abject horror.

You look like you're about to cry.

For a few moments, the both of you remain still, Suo's hand gently holding your jaw. Suo's surprise at your words mirrored in the widening of his eyes. Then a smile, so large it almost splits his face in two, spreads across his face, stretching from ear to ear. He can't believe you just called him a wife. He can't help but let out an abrupt laugh, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something softer as he looks down at you, a grin still spread over his face. A mischievous gleam enters his eyes, his gaze focused solely on every subtle change in your expression.

"Did you just call me your wife?" Suo says, his voice a little strangled as he tries to hold back a guffaw. He can't believe you actually said that. He can't help but find it unbelievably cute that you just slipped up and blurted out something so endearing at such a random time. His hand is still holding your jaw, keeping you trapped in this moment with him. A mortified squeak gets stuck in your throat, and you try, desperately to form a defense. But at the same time, his reaction only makes the flush on your cheeks grow hotter. Your face is burning up from his question, and you can hardly look him straight on as your mouth opens and closes, unable to find the words to answer him. Suo can only chuckle lowly at your flustered attempt at a response. He can tell you're embarrassed and flustered by your own words, and it's completely adorable. You can feel your stomach twisting itself into knots, your heart beating loudly against your chest. You can only nod slowly, unable to find any will to verbally speak.

"Don't be mean Hayato..." you whine, and he thinks if he pushes any further, you will actually cry. He can see the water welling up in your eyes. As much as he wanted to embarrass you further, he drew the line at making you cry. Suo quickly relents and releases your face, bringing his hands up in surrender.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was just teasing, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he pacifies, he can still see your bottom lip stuck out in a childish pout, your face flushed with scarlet pink. He stands up from his seat so he's finally at a comfortable level with you, he reaches out to pull you by the lapels of your sweater closer to him. Soft kisses are pressed until those tiny crow feet that only appear when you smile come back to life. What kind of wife would he be if he made his spouse upset?

Togame Jo

Look. You get it. Togame is hot. Super hot. He's tall, big, and has the prettiest emerald eyes you've ever seen in your life. Did you spend the majority of your time on Earth just staring into those eyes? Maybe. But that's beside the point. The point is, that you know how attractive your boyfriend is, and that’s always going to attract unwanted attention. He can't exactly change how he looks, and you would never want that for something this petty, but you can be mad about it, right?! It's frustrating, honestly. You try to focus on your own things, but the way people always seem to gravitate toward him, especially when you're around, is hard to ignore. It's not like they're trying to hide it. You catch the lingering glances, the whispers that stop the moment you step into the room. And while you know Togame would never do anything to entertain their attention, it still doesn't make the jealousy feel any less real. You hate how much it bothers you, especially when you know he’s yours. But still, the way other people look at him, the way they smile at him... it’s like they want him for themselves, and it makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let anyone else near him. Maybe it’s irrational, but when he’s so damn perfect, what else can you do but get a little possessive?

"Hey..." Togame attempts to soothe your huffing and puffing as you glare at your villain origin story. You have no idea who she is, how she even got here, but you're ready to murder her when this night is over. She's been making eyes at Togame the entire night, despite his arm being around your waist. Togame, being the lovable socially awkward dork that he is, doesn’t even notice it. He just thinks she might need something from him but is too scared to ask. He gets it—he's rather intimidating from a stranger's perspective. But you can see the difference. You can see the slightly higher pitch in her voice, the way it sounds softer and almost flirtatious. You can see how she doesn't even bother to look in your direction as if you didn’t exist. It’s like she’s convinced you’re some sort of invisible background character in her game of trying to capture Togame’s attention. Your grip tightens on his arm, the possessiveness bubbling up in you, but you try to keep your cool.

You feel your chest tighten with an odd mixture of anger and embarrassment. You know you should let it go, that you're being irrational, but you can't seem to control the simmering jealousy. The worst part is, you feel so bad for feeling like this. You know it's not Togame's fault, and you really, really don’t want to push your frustration onto him. You feel so childish letting this random girl make you so mad when you could be spending time with your boyfriend and his friends in ignorant bliss. You know Togame would never cheat on you; you even have permission to beat him bloody from Choji if he ever does. You need to keep reminding yourself that he won’t. You’re not mad at Togame—no, he’s perfect, and you’re lucky to have him—but there's something about this girl, the way she’s so casually blatant about her attention, that makes your blood boil. You take another deep breath, mentally reminding yourself that you’re better than this, that you trust him completely. You really do. Yet, as her laugh rings in your ears, it feels like all the self-control you’ve been clinging to is starting to slip away. She’s just so annoying, and you don’t know how Togame doesn't notice.

"Baby…"

Your face is slowly turned around to meet those vibrant emerald eyes you constantly fawn over. Togame is giving you a lopsided grin, the tiniest notch in his brow to show he's concerned about your silent demeanor, his index and thumb squishing your cheeks lightly. "You okay?"

His voice is gentle, soft, like he's trying to coax you out of whatever has been bothering you. God. You love this man. You can feel your heart stamping on the ground in frustration from cuteness aggression. He's just so sweet! It’s hard to explain why you feel this way, even harder to admit it to him. Still, his comforting presence is enough to ease your racing thoughts, even if just for a moment. Togame watches you carefully, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, a silent question in his gaze. He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve your irrational jealousy and frustrations. Yet here you are, looking up at him with a mixture of affection and a sinking feeling in your stomach.

"No, absolutely not," you grumble, lips pursed as you frown at him. "I've never been worse."

He lightly chuckles. You take your earlier compliment back; this man is not sweet. If he were, he wouldn't be laughing at your internal struggle of contemplating if life in prison is worth first-degree manslaughter. It isn’t, because then you'd never see Togame again. Unless you don’t get caught. The thought lingers for a moment before you shake your head. Ridiculous. You can’t seriously be considering something so insane. Still, it doesn’t stop you from glaring at him for making light of your torment. He’s completely oblivious to the war raging inside your mind. Meanwhile, his laughter continues, making your heart thump erratically in your chest despite your frustration. You can’t even be mad at him for long. How could you, when his smile is enough to melt every ounce of irritation away?

"Why is that? You tired? We can go home if ya want," Togame squishes your cheeks again before letting go and settling his arm over your shoulder. Because you're spiteful to the core, you look over your shoulder to see if that girl is watching. She is. You hold back the urge to smirk at her with all your teeth. You’re maturing, you’ll tell yourself. You return your attention back to Togame, who, in your moment of glaring at the girl, has already ordered you a water. He pushes the cup toward you, nodding towards it.

"Drink what you can and we can go," he says easily. As if it’s no big deal. You have to bite your lip, yet a muffled whine escapes between the seams. You stare at the cup in your hands, the condensation gathering on the outside, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the warmth in your chest. He’s so willing to prioritize you, even when you know he was looking forward to this night. It’s small, but it means everything. You take a sip, the cool water refreshing you, and feel a wave of gratitude wash over you. There’s something about his thoughtfulness, the way he effortlessly puts you first, that makes you feel like the luckiest person alive. You glance up at him, your heart fluttering just a little. You’re going to marry this man. Right now, actually.

"What's your ring size? I need to know immediately," you grumble, kicking his foot lightly. Togame only laughs heartily at your heartfelt proposal. He leans over, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as you fume into your cup of water. His arm around your shoulder curls, pushing you against his side, as his hand caresses your cheek, gently pulling it up so your lips quirk into a lopsided smile. He leans in, almost until his nose touches yours, and those emerald eyes are all you can see. His gaze softens, that familiar warmth filling his eyes. The teasing glint is gone now, replaced with a sincerity that makes your heart skip. You’re still a bit frustrated, but when he looks at you like that, all your irritation melts away. Togame’s presence feels grounding, his affection so steady and constant. You exhale through your nose, trying to suppress the smile that threatens to break free, but it’s impossible. With a soft chuckle, you let the tension fall from your shoulders.

"Yeah? You sure you wanna do that?" he says smoothly, but you can see the slight pink on his cheeks and ears. His eyes bounce around the room, and you're sure if you held his hand, it would be clammy. You set your glass of water down to free your hands, cupping his cheeks gently. Leaning in, you press a quick peck to his lips, which makes him let out a quiet hum, a soft smile tugging at his features.

"Yeah, gonna wife you up. That way when people see a big shiny rock on your finger, they leave you alone," you hiss, your foot kicking your chair leg in your frustration. Togame laughs again, loud and so, so pretty. His laughter fills the space between you like a soft melody, and despite the chaos around you, you feel a little lighter. In hindsight, maybe you could have made this a bit more romantic. Sitting in one of Shishitoren's bars, surrounded by people wasted or halfway into developing liver cancer, fueled by your petty and spiteful feelings toward a girl whose name you don't even know—you essentially proposed to your boyfriend. You wonder if that qualifies as the most unconventional proposal ever, but it doesn’t really matter.

"Come on, let's go," Togame stands up abruptly, escaping your hold as he pushes his chair back. His arm is still around your shoulder, so you're forced to follow him, stumbling unsteadily as you cling to his orange and white jacket.

"Wha- Wait. Where are we going? Your friends are still—" You're cut off by a kiss, this time long and deep. The world around you blurs, and just like that, you've completely forgotten what you were supposed to do. Friends? Who? You both probably came alone. The taste of him lingers on your lips as you break away, your mind momentarily scrambled. His hands rest gently on your waist, guiding you toward the door. It feels as if the entire bar has melted away, leaving just the two of you in your own bubble of silence. You can't help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

"They'll be fine, I'll just see them tomorrow anyway. Come on, we have more important things to do," he laughs lightly, but you can clearly see those pink cheeks turning darker. Screw the five necessities of human life, you’re going to spend everything on this ring.

You slide next to him, pressing your sides together. "Okay. Let's go before the store closes."

Togame chuckles again, shy and so cute, like he can't quite believe you're about to go to a store to pick out rings like you're in Vegas. You take his hand and pull him through the crowd, towards the door. On the way, you pass by the same girl. She's frowning at you, scoffing and looking away. You can't wait to wave your man’s hand, shiny ring glinting in the light.

As you walk out into the cool night air, there's a rush of excitement in your chest, and Togame’s hand feels just a little bit warmer in yours. He glances over at you, his lips pulling into a soft smile, the pink still creeping up his neck.

"You really sure about this?" he asks quietly, though his eyes sparkle with something else—anticipation, maybe.

You nod firmly, squeezing his hand. "Absolutely."

Tonight, it's just the two of you, and it feels like the world outside doesn't even exist.

Endo Yamato

Today is quiet. Almost peaceful, like those mornings when you wake up before your alarm can ring. You can just lay there and bask in the warmth of your blankets. Listen to the sounds coming through the window. The distant hum of life outside, the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Everything feels in perfect balance. The world isn’t rushing. It’s as if time itself is slowing down to let you fully exist in this moment. For once, there's no pressure to be anywhere, do anything, or think about what comes next. It’s just you, the quiet, and the world unfolding gently around you. Even take a moment to remember how to breathe. One deep breath in, feeling your lungs expand, then exhale. Serenity.

"I should divorce you and take half your assets."

The HB pencil that's been gnawed on pauses under Endo's teeth. The wood creaks as he eases his jaw on the poor object, the sunken imprints of his molars bending it out of shape, as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You're sprawled on your stomach across his couch, fingers idly tapping away at something bright on your phone screen, looking as if nothing is amiss. For a second, Endo thinks he might have been hallucinating, but he hasn’t reached that level of crazy yet. No, he knows perfectly well that he didn’t imagine that. Especially not that specific sentence. Slowly, he lowers his pencil, letting it clatter against the desk along with his other supplies. The chair creaks as he swivels around to face you. You don’t even glance up from your phone as he watches, an eyebrow twitching in confusion. It’s almost like you said it casually like you were commenting on the weather or talking about dinner plans. But he knows you well enough to recognize the underlying challenge in your words.

"We're not married," he says instead, his voice level. It almost sounds as if he’s been expecting this, because realistically, what is he supposed to say to that? You take your attention off your phone, looking at him with a frown. There's irritation clouding your eyes, and your lips are downturned into an annoyed grimace like he's the bad guy. It's all kind of cute to him. He watches as your gaze narrows at him, waiting for a response, and a sigh escapes your lips, more dramatic than necessary. You cross your arms, looking like you've just been told that the sky is green and not blue. Your frustration is palpable, and it makes him smile—just a little. He tries to hide it, but it's clear you've seen it.

"So," you gesture with your hand in the air as if you're talking to a child, "Marry me so I can divorce you and take half your assets."

For a moment, he's frozen, processing the words you just said. His brain stumbles over the absurdity of it all, the sudden shift in your tone from casual to strict. Then, when his mind eventually catches up, he can't help the laughter that bubbles up his chest. It's not just a small chuckle or snort—no, the sound that comes out is loud enough to echo in the silence of the room. It starts as a hearty laugh, the kind that shakes his shoulders, and you can't help but watch him with a mix of confusion. The sound of his laughter fills the space between you, his eyes bright as he shakes his head, clearly delighted by the turn of events. He leans back, his hand pressing against his forehead as he lets out another round of laughter, wiping away a tear.

You're shitting me," Endo replies, the amusement in his voice clear as day. He stands up from his chair and walks over to the couch you're lying on. He stands beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, still laughing quietly to himself. You only crane your neck up higher, still wearing that miffed yet pouty expression on your face. Endo can’t help but admire the mix of frustration and cuteness. He wants to reach out and pinch your cheeks, but he knows you'll actually try to bite his fingers, which only makes him more entertained. Feisty little stray he's got on his hands. Endo takes a moment to savor the sight of you. Your scrunched-up face, the way your arms are crossed as you try to stay mad at him. Something is endearing about how easily he can make you annoyed, and it never fails to amuse him. After a few seconds of standing there and enjoying your reaction, he decides to act on the urge to mess with you. With a grin still tugging at the corners of his lips, he walks around to the other side of the couch and plops down behind you. Before you can fully process what he's doing, he grabs your hips and pulls you backward into his lap, settling you against him.

"Endo!" you complain, trying to wiggle away, but he laughs again, deep and full of amusement. He buries his face into your shoulder, still shaking from the laughter that won’t stop, his chest vibrating against your back. The warmth of him spreads against your skin, and even as you remain frustrated, there’s a quiet smile that starts tugging at your own lips.

"You're so damn cute," he mumbles, his nose brushing against the side of your shoulder as he nuzzles into your shirt. Judging by the size, it’s probably one of his shirts you've stolen from his closet. You don’t need a ring to start taking all his stuff anyway. His arms wrap around your stomach, holding you in place. Then, in that teasing tone of his, he adds, "You know prenups exist, right? For gold-digging scums like you. A clingy, annoying little gold digger."

You bring your elbow back, nailing him in the stomach with a swift jab, but it hardly phases him. After all, he's seen you put enough force into a punch to break someone's nose. He winces slightly, but the grin never leaves his face. You try to stay annoyed, but the comfort of being in his arms, his warmth against your back, begins to soothe you. Even as you relax in his hold, slumping back until your head rests against his sternum, there's a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. He tightens his arms around you, pulling you even further back into him, as his face drifts down toward the crook of your neck. The movement is so natural, so comforting, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. For all his teasing, there’s something soft in the way he holds you that makes everything else fade away.

"Don't call me that," you huff, attention returning to your phone screen. You were playing a game this entire time, and his teasing was just enough to distract you from your focus. He’s unsure of which, or both, words you're referring to, but at this point, you've already exited the conversation entirely. Instead, he chuckles quietly again into your shoulder as he pulls you back so you're fully sitting on his lap. His warmth envelops you, and his arms settle around your waist, keeping you close. He buries his face back into your neck, but his hands remain on your hips, gently drawing lazy circles on the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up.

"What? Cute? Gold-digger?" he teases, his voice light and playful, "You'd make a better trophy wife than a model, pretty."

He lets his mind wander to those possibilities, as uncomfortable as they are. He knows he's got a pretty screwed-up relationship with love and admiration. From the few romantic relationships he's had in life, he's only ever been met with betrayal and disappointment. Not even to the discredit of his partners; he's always been a bad judge of character. But now, with you, something feels different. He can at least admit to his own feelings, even if they're complicated. And he's slowly beginning to grow addicted to the way you make him feel. The way your eyes twitch in irritation when he teases you, the soft, light fluttering sound you make when you giggle as he stomps on someone's face, and even the way you try to hide that lovely smile behind your hands when he returns bruised and battered. All of it, everything about you, has him practically swooning over you. Endo can't help but think that this relationship is toxic in the most addictive way, but oddly, that doesn’t scare him. He likes it. It feels real, it feels raw, and maybe for the first time, he's willing to embrace it—dark sides and all. The question lingers in his mind, though: Do you feel the same way? Will you tolerate him long enough, until death do his part?

"Idiot, stop acting like you're not my wife already," you scoff, and that, that makes Endo pause. His brain has completely skidded to a halt because what the hell? That’s just unfair. That’s just super unfair.

You continue scrolling on your phone, but the way you lean your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck, doesn’t go unnoticed. That small gesture sends a shudder down his spine. He can feel the pulse in his throat as his heart rate picks up, and before he knows it, he’s nuzzling his nose beneath your ear, taking in the warmth of your skin. His lips find the sensitive spot just under your jaw, nipping lightly, knowing full well that it’ll make you squirm. His hands, without permission, sneak under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing over the soft surface of your waist and stomach. But your hand stamps down his advances, swatting at his fingers like a cat. He grins, relenting with a laugh, but he doesn't mind. There’s a kind of contentment in being near you like this, the two of you wrapped up in the present moment, the intimacy in your shared space enough to drown out any noise. The warmth of your body radiates against him, and he can feel it seeping into his skin. The soft rhythm of your fingerpads tapping away at your phone screen, absorbed in your game, is almost hypnotic. For a moment, everything else fades away, the noise of the world outside, the stress of the day, leaving just you and him, together in a small bubble of calm. One deep breath in, feeling the air fill his lungs, then exhale. Serenity.

[cumironi]

HUMP, LITTLE BUNNY!

feat. umemiya, endo, togame, chika

sum. what someone—you— would get if they are being a brat? a punishment? maybe. is it them refusing to give you want while you are desperate like a bunny in heat, humping on their tight is a part of a punishment? probably.

warning. dry-humping, brat-tamer wbk men, praise(s)/kink, overstim, nipsplay, petnames, slap, hair-pulling, dirty-talk(s), tied-up (just a wee), mean chikaaaa.

# UMEMIYA HAJIME

umemiya’s blue eyes are glued to the tv behind you, the flickering screen casting faint shadows across his sharp features. his expression is calm, unbothered—he’s clearly trying to make a point.

you, however, have other plans. seated on one of his thighs, you squirm slightly, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt as you try to draw his attention. but he doesn’t waver, ignoring your antics with the kind of patience that only makes your frustration grow.

“baby, please…” your voice comes out soft, almost breathless as you lean closer, resting your head against his neck. your lips graze his skin, warm and inviting, as you fan his collar with quiet desperation. a soft, desperate, whiney moan tear down from your lips the heartbeat your hips roll slowly on his thigh. your short jeans is long gone and the pink, lacy underwear visible to your boyfriend— the soft fabric of your panties leaving little to the imagination.

he only lets out a scoff, as if you are some kind of petulant child looking for attention and praise. he is far too used to these antics of yours by now, so he doesn’t give in, not even when you are this much of a needy, whiny mess. he acts as if he was deaf to how pleading, how desperate your voice sounds, as your face is buried in the crook of his neck, your lips grazing his skin.

the TV’s show is enough to keep him occupied, his fingers resting lazily on the couch.

the tip of your tongue brushes against his neck. he doesn’t move, doesn’t react, not even when your teeth dig into his skin. the only response you get from him is a low noise, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. he can feel your body pressing against his, the heat of your skin, the softness of your curves against his thigh.

but you are not giving up that easily. it is clear that you are determined to prove a point today, no matter what it takes. your hands are more insistent now, your fingers wandering across the expanse of his chest and abs, tracing lazy patterns across his clothes.

you make sure that you are straddling his thigh at the perfect angle, so that every rock of your hips is more calculated and needy than the last, the friction making you whimper softly, almost pitifully. “give me attention, pleaseee..” drawing out the edge of your whiney, drag another breathless moan.

he still doesn’t say anything, his eyes focusing on the TV even as he feels your body writhing against him, your hips rolling slowly against his thigh. your desperate little whimpers and moans are music to his ears, but he continues to keep his composure, acting like they mean nothing to him. he can hear the neediness in your voice loud and clear, but he doesn’t give in, pretending not to notice the effect he is having on you. “pay attention,” he finally says, his voice calm and firm. “the show is on.”

you pout at his dismissal, your frustration building as he continues to ignore you. you know that he is intentionally trying to make you beg and squirm, but you are not ready to give him that satisfaction so quickly. instead, you press closer to him, grinding your hips against his in a slow, steady rhythm.

you start to pepper kisses along his neck, your lips trailing across his skin, your tongue slowly teasing and exploring, as your hands continue their dance over his chest and abs. your body moves is more urgent now, your need to be touched, to be wanted, driving your every action. you whimper and whine in his ear, your words coming out in a jumbled, incoherent mess. “no, i don’t want to watch your stupid show, i want you to touch me,” you demand, getting more bratty than you should.

your bratty attitude and demands only serve to amuse him, his eyes flickering back to you for the first time since the start of this whole thing. he lets out a low chuckle, as his fingers move to your hips, holding them in place. his hands grip firmly, not letting you continue your movements with his thigh. “stop being a needy little brat.” he says, his voice authoritative and firm as he speaks. “you’re not going to get what you want by being like this, and you know it. stop pouting and behave. the show is on.”

you are clearly not pleased with his response, and you try to squirm away from his grip on your hips. but he holds you in place, his smirk widening as he watches your frustration growing. he knows that you are impatient and entitled, and he seems to relish at the sight of you being denied what you want.

“don’t make this difficult, sweetie,” he says, his voice still calm and firm. “be a good girl and sit still, watch TV, and maybe, just maybe, i will consider giving you some attention later. but not if you continue to act like a spoiled little brat.”

the word “brat” only serves to rile you up more. it’s a word he has called you countless times before, and you know that he’s not entirely wrong. you pout, but you stop squirming, begrudgingly obeying his orders. you let out a huff, annoyed that he’s still not giving you what you want.

so you start to tease him instead, moving your lips back to his neck and trailing kisses along his skin. you press your body closer to his, feeling the heat radiating from his body. and when just a little bit his grip loosen up, your hips back on track, slowly dancing on his thigh while your arms find his neck, wrap securely.

this time, he doesn’t stop you. he lets you continue to kiss his neck and move your hips against his thigh, but his hands remain firmly on your hips, steadying your movements and keeping you from getting any more worked up than you already are. “such a needy, shameless little brat,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused. “you just can’t help yourself, can you? always so desperate for my attention.”

you know that you’ve gotten him to crack, and emboldened by his response, you increase the intensity of your movements, pressing your body closer and moving more urgently against him. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself tight against his body, as your lips continue to explore his skin.

your lips press near his ear, hot breath brushing against his skin while you shamelessly moan out his name, “haji...” your hips are rolling in a slow, torturous manner, just enough to make him feel each and every movement, but not enough to fully satisfy your needs.

your shameless display of neediness and desire is hard for him to ignore, and he can feel his resolve slipping with each and every one of your movements and moans. your body is flushed and warm against his, your breath hot on his ear, and the way you moan his name makes his pulse quicken.

he doesn’t say anything at first, his fingers digging into your hips harder, his grip keeping you steady while you grind against him. his eyes are locked on the TV, his expression trying to remain impassive, but you can feel the growing effect you are having on him. “do you really need attention that badly, hm?” his voice is husky, his fingers tightening on your hips as you move against him. “i’ve never seen you this needy before, baby. are you really that desperate for my touch?”

he can feel your body quivering against him, your moans and whimpers getting more intense with each movement of your hips. he can feel you getting desperate, and he is clearly enjoying teasing and drawing this out. he turns his head slightly, his lips grazing your earlobe as he speaks, the sound of his voice sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

“i won’t give you what you want until you ask nicely, baby. you know that. so stop acting like a spoilt brat and use your manners.”

# YAMATO ENDO

endo sits on the couch, a cigarette lazily balanced between his fingers, the faint curl of smoke rising and lingering in the dim light. his usual smirk plays on his lips, lazy and almost mocking, as his sharp blue eyes stay locked on you—half-lidded, hooded with something unreadable, yet so intense it makes your breath hitch.

you’re perched on his lap, knees on either side of his hips, wearing nothing but your panties—soaked— that ride up scandalously as you shift. his free hand rests casually on your thigh, the warmth of his palm burning through your skin as if he’s daring you to break the tension. “please,” you whimper, voice shaky, your fingers curling into his shirt. your body trembles slightly, and you lean closer, the weight of his gaze alone enough to make you crumble.

endo tilts his head, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, the smell of nicotine lingering between you. his smirk deepens, his lips twitching with amusement at your desperation. “what’s the magic word, princess?” he murmurs, his tone light but teasing, his fingers brushing along your bare thigh in deliberate, slow strokes.

“baby, please touch me,” you plead again, your voice cracking with need as your covered-cunt meet with his thigh in slow motion. you feel his chest rumble with a low chuckle, his amusement only fueling your frustration.

he takes another long drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray beside him. his thumb continues its maddeningly slow caress along your inner thigh, barely grazing the damp fabric of your panties. “i’m not sure i can be persuaded to indulge such rude behavior,” endo says dryly, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “you’ve been testing my patience all day.”

he leans back against the couch, effortlessly holding your writhing form against his muscular chest. one large hand splayed across your lower back, keeping you pinned to him as you squirm restlessly. “tell me, princess, what exactly do you think you deserve after acting like a spoiled little brat?” endo asks, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down your spine despite his stern words.

your breath catches in your throat as endo’s words wash over you, each syllable dripping with restrained authority. his hand on your back feels like a brand, searing your skin. you’re acutely aware of every point of contact— the press of his chest against your front, his thigh beneath your hip, his thumb skating along your inner thigh...

a thrill of fear and excitement courses through you at his question, making your heart race. you know you should be contrite, apologize for your behavior... but the desire coursing through your veins drowns out any semblance of remorse. “i think i deserve a good fuck,” you admit in a small, shaky voice, the words feeling both terrifying and exhilarating on your tongue— persistent with your bratty behavior.

a low growl rumbles in endo’s chest as you confess your desire, his grip on your back tightening ever so slightly. the sound vibrates against your ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. “you really are a shameless little minx, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he speaks. “so desperate for cock that you’ll beg for it like a common whore?”

despite his harsh words, endo’s free hand reaches up to cup one of your bouncing breasts, his calloused fingers pinching and rolling the sensitive nipple. the sensation makes you gasp, arching into his touch as pleasure sparks through you. his fingers earning a strangled moan, escapes your lips the way his rough fingers sending shockwaves of pleasure through your breast. despite his words, he still hasn’t touched your aching cunt, leaving you to grind wantonly against his thigh in search of friction. you writhe against him, seeking more contact, more pressure, anything to ease the throbbing ache between your thighs.

“mmm,” you pant, your hips bucking wildly against his leg as you chase the elusive relief. the wet sounds of your arousal fill the room, mingling with your ragged breathing and endo’s low groans of approval. despite his cruel words, you don’t care. you’re too far gone, lost in the haze of lust and desperation. all that matters is the pleasure building inside you, the need for release growing with each passing second.

with a wicked grin, endo slowly withdraws his hand from your breast, trailing his fingers down your quivering stomach until they dip beneath the waistband of your soaked panties. he teases your clit with a single digit, circling the swollen nub in maddeningly light strokes that barely register against the intensity of your desire.

“so close, aren’t you, baby?” he purrs, his voice laced with sadistic delight. “just a little more friction, a few more thrusts, and you’d be coming all over my leg like the needy little slut you are.” endo punctuates his words with a firm pinch to your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure-pain through you. but rather than increasing the pressure, he abruptly pulls away, leaving you bereft and craving more. a strangled moan and cry run past you lips, a wordless complaints of the missing contact.

“no, no, we can’t have that just yet,” endo says with a chuckle, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “not until you learn some manners, after all.” he shifts his position, standing up from the couch with you still clinging to him. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you towards the bedroom, his strong arms supporting your weight easily.

once inside, endo tosses you onto the bed, watching with a smug smile as you scramble to sit up, panting and flushed with arousal. he begins unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the intricate tattoos that cover his chiseled torso inch by delicious inch. “now then, let’s see how well you can behave when ’m done with you,” endo says, his voice low and husky with promise. “get on your hands and knees, princess. it’s time for your punishment.”

# TOGAME JO

togame lies sprawled out on his bed, the definition of lazy defiance. his arm is draped over his eyes, a deliberate barrier against the soft light streaming through the curtains and you—the center of the storm brewing in the room. his lips are pulled into the faintest smirk, one that he’s not even bothering to hide. it’s the kind of smirk that says he’s enjoying this little game far too much.

he’s bare from the waist up, the planes of his chest rising and falling steadily beneath you. his hair is slightly messy, sticking out in places from where he’s likely been lying there all morning, unmoving and unbothered. the shirt he was wearing? gone, and now hanging loose over your frame, its fabric soft and oversized, barely skimming the tops of your thighs. he’s left with nothing but a pair of low-slung shorts, and the smug air of someone who knows he’s in control.

you sit perched on his chest, straddling his waist, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him. your hands are flat against his firm chest, fingers curling slightly in frustration as you lean forward, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“togame,” you whine, your voice edging on a plea. “look at me!”

but he doesn’t move. the arm over his eyes stays stubbornly in place, his tone infuriatingly casual as he mutters, “you’re in the way of my nap.” your pout deepens, your frustration bubbling over as you shift in his lap, trying to coax a reaction out of him by grinding on his hip. he has to bite back a groan as you grind against him, his smirk growing just a little bit wider.

the fabric of his stolen shirt slides against your skin, teasingly brushing his chest as you press your weight down just a little more. he knows how good you look right now; hair tousled, skin flushed, wearing nothing but his shirt. it takes every ounce of his self-control not to throw you down right then and there.

“you’re ignoring me on purpose,” you accuse, your voice rising slightly as you narrow your eyes at him. “pleaseee, need you.”

he takes a deep breath, his arm still covering his eyes as he responds in a low, playful tone. “you’re interrupting my nap, sweetheart.” he says, a hint of a challenge in his voice. “what could you possibly need so badly that you’d bother me?” his teasing words hang in the air, but they barely register in your mind as you move, slow and deliberate, grinding your hips against him. your breath catches in your throat, a quiet gasp slipping past your lips at the friction. the heat radiating from his body seeps into yours, making your skin feel flushed and electrified.

your hands press harder against his chest, fingers splaying across the toned muscles as if trying to ground yourself, though it does little to steady the storm brewing inside you. every subtle movement of your hips sends sparks shooting up your spine, and the way his fingers tighten on your waist only spurs you on, igniting something reckless.

“i... i need you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but it’s laced with desperation, your lips brushing against the corner of his smirk. it feels like he’s consuming you, even as he lies there pretending to be indifferent.

your hips move again, slower this time, dragging out the sensation as your head falls forward, your forehead brushing his collarbone. “jooo…” his name comes out in a breathy plea, and you feel your cheeks burn hotter. a low rumble rises in his chest as you murmur his name, the sound a contradiction to the smirk on his lips. his fingers tighten around your waist, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he resists the urge to take control.

his eyes are still covered by his arm, but the tension in his body is palpable. he can feel the heat radiating from you, and it takes everything he has not to react to the way your hips move against him.

it’s embarrassing, how easily he can reduce you to this—how the lazy smirk on his face, the way his chest rises and falls beneath your hands, and the heat in his half-lidded gaze make you unravel. but you can’t stop. you don’t want to stop.

your fingers curl against his skin, nails dragging lightly as your movements become more insistent. your thighs tremble slightly, and a soft whimper escapes you. “i’m horny,” you confess, your voice cracking as the words spill out unbidden, raw and unfiltered, earning a chuckle from him, almost a mockery.

togame’s breath hitches as your movements grow more insistent, his smirk faltering slightly. your confession only makes his heart beat even faster, and he can feel himself straining against the loose shorts he’s wearing. he lets out a low guttural growl as your nails rake across his skin.

he can’t pretend it doesn’t affect him—he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him. but there’s something thrilling about letting you squirm and beg for him. “oh really?” he says, his voice low and rough. “is that why you’re grinding against me like a needy little thing? because you’re just sooo horny?”

your face flushes at his words, but you can’t deny the truth. you can feel how wet you are, pressing against the fabric of his shorts, rubbing against his hip in a way that’s driving you insane. his hand tightens on your waist, nails digging faintly into your skin as he keeps his other arm firmly covering his face still. “do you need me to take care of you, sweetheart?”

your cheeks burn at his words, the shameless tease in his tone making your stomach twist with both embarrassment and desire. you’re already too far gone to care about how desperate you look, your hips moving instinctively, chasing the friction that makes your head spin. you whimper softly, your hands trembling as they slide up to his arm, gripping it with a mix of need and frustration. “please…” you murmur, your voice cracking, your breath hitching with every movement of your hips. “baby, i need you.”

you tug at his arm, trying to pull it away from his face, but he resists, his smirk evident even without you seeing it. “hmm? need me that badly, huh?” he taunts, his voice low and rough, laced with a wicked amusement that only makes you more desperate. “yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you nod eagerly, almost frantically. “i need you—please, jo.”

your grip on his arm tightens as you finally succeed in pulling it away, revealing his face. his blue eyes are darkened, heavy with lust, and the sight alone sends a shiver down your spine. his lips are parted slightly, and his breath comes quicker now, matching your own while you guide his hand to your breast.

his smirk turns feral as he feels the heat of your skin, his hand moving to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric of the shirt. he lets out a low growl, his hand squeezing gently. “you’re so needy,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “it’s sexy, how much you want me, how much you need me.”

his hand slides down your stomach, his fingers tracing a feather-light path until they reach the hem of his shorts, which you’re still grinding against. “but are you going to beg for it, like a good little thing?” his eyes meet yours, darkened and intense, waiting for your response. he knows he’s winding you up, but he just can’t help himself, he loves dragging it out, loves watching you come undone.

he sits up abruptly, his hand still on your waist, and pulls you closer, your body now pressed against his. the proximity is dizzying, and his breath is hot against your ear. “go on,” he whispers, his voice a low, sinful melody. “beg me for it.”

his words make your stomach tighten, but instead of giving him what he wants, you let out a soft, frustrated whine, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer as if trying to fuse yourself to him. “jooo…” you murmur, your voice trembling with need, but there’s no begging in your tone—only a petulant pout that’s clear in the way you press your forehead against his neck, your hot breath ghosting over his skin.

your hips keep moving, the friction driving you wild, and if anything, your movements become even more desperate. your thighs tremble slightly as you grind against him, your nails digging into his back through his skin. you let out another soft whimper, your lips brushing his neck again, this time with more pressure, leaving faint kisses that are more a distraction for yourself than anything else. “please,” you whine, your voice muffled against his skin. “please fuck me.”

his breath hitches as you kiss his neck. your words are like a dagger to his control, and he can feel himself crumbling just a little bit more with every needy whine that falls from your lips. he grabs your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, but he doesn’t stop your movements. in fact, he helps you grind against him, guiding you, his own hips rising to meet yours. he lets out a low rumbling growl, the sound like gravel in his throat.

he can feel every shiver, every pant, and every whine, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from grabbing you and throwing you down onto the mattress. but he waits, enjoying the small game of resistance, watching to see how far you’ll go before you finally break. “not what i asked for,” he replies huskily. “again. beg me for it.”

# CHIKA TAKIISHI

chika’s sharp eyes flicker down at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watches you squirm. his expression is as infuriating as it is intoxicating—calm, collected, and entirely unaffected by your pleas.

you pout, your bottom lip trembling slightly as you shift on his lap, tugging uselessly at the binds that keep your wrists secured behind you. “baby, please…” you whimper, your voice soft, a little shaky. you lean forward, trying to get closer, your face brushing against his neck in a desperate attempt to break through his cold demeanor.

but he doesn’t budge. instead, he leans back slightly, his arms crossed over his chest as if he’s completely unbothered. “oh, now you want my attention?” he muses, his tone cutting and laced with mockery. “funny. weren’t you the one acting like a spoiled brat all day?”

your cheeks burn at his words, shame and frustration bubbling up inside you. “i said i’m sorry,” you moan, voice barely above a whisper between your desperate attempt for a friction while grinding your hip on bulge. you try to nuzzle closer, but he tilts his head, just enough to keep you from pressing your face against his neck.

chika’s smirk grows wider as he notices your futile attempts to get closer, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “apologies don’t fix this, doll,” he drawls, his free hand coming up to toy with a strand of your hair. “and i’m not sure why you think rubbing yourself against me will change my mind.” you let out a soft gasp as his fingers continue their teasing caress along your hairline, the sensation both soothing and maddening. “baby..” you manage to stammer, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your pulse.

his fingers tighten around your hip, applying gentle pressure to still your movements. “you’re not getting out of these restraints until i say so. and even then, there won’t be any more cuddles or sweet talks. just consequences for your behavior.” chika leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “i warned you what would happen if you kept pushing my limits. now look at you— helpless, bound, and begging for mercy. it’s almost... cute.”

a shiver runs down your spine at the husky timbre of chika’s voice, his words sending a thrill of both fear and arousal through you. despite the mocking tone, there’s an undercurrent of dark desire that makes your heart race and your pussy clench against his bulge— hard and hot.

the realization only fuels your desperation, and you strain against the bonds once more, a whine escaping your throat. “please, i promise i'll behave, just... touch me.” chika chuckles low in his throat, clearly entertained by your plight. he tilts his head, considering your plea for a moment before responding in a silky smooth tone. “touch you? where’s the fun in that?”

his hand slides up your side from your hip, fingertips dancing across your ribcage before dipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “you see, when you misbehave, you lose the privilege of my affection,” he explains, his fingers splaying wide across your stomach. “instead, you get to experience the consequences.”

chika’s thumb brushes over your nipple, giving it a light pinch that has you arching into his touch with a startled cry. “but since you’re being so... persistent, i suppose i can grant you a small reward.” his hand trails lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts to cup your ass possessively.

chika gives your ass a firm squeeze, his fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls you harder against him. “that’s it, baby, grind on my cock like the needy little slut you are,” he growls, his grip tightening as he feels your heat radiating against him.

one hand leaves your ass to trail up your spine, his nails scratching lightly before he grips your hair and yanks your head back. chika claims your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to stake his claim— choking off your moans, he devours you, claiming every inch of your mouth as his own. he bites at your lower lip, tugging it free before groan in your lips.

breaking the kiss, chika rests his forehead against yours, panting heavily. “you taste so fucking good when you’re desperate,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly with lust.

your body trembles under the onslaught of sensations, overwhelmed by the mix of pain and pleasure coursing through your veins. chika’s harsh treatment only serves to heighten your arousal, the sting of his bite on your lip mingling with the tender ache of his fingers on your skin. you moan brokenly, your hips bucking wildly against his as you seek relief from the intense need building within you. “baby. . pleaseee,” you gasp and moan, voice strained and breathless.

but before you can finish your plea, chika’s grip on your hair tightens, forcing your head back further as he captures your mouth again in a searing kiss. swallowing your whimper into his mouth, tongue tangling desperately with his as you cling to the fabric he used to tied your wrist behind, your nails raking down the fabric in a frenzy of need.

chika breaks the kiss with a snarl, his chest heaving as he glares down at you with a mixture of lust and annoyance. “still talking, huh?” he spits, his hand leaving your hair to slap across your cheek with a resounding crack. the blow sends you reeling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“i told you to shut up and take your punishment like a good girl,” he sneers, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts. with a brutal yank, he rips them away, exposing your soaked panties to his hungry gaze. “look at this mess you’ve made,” he taunts, his thumb brushing over the damp fabric. “all because you couldn't control your filthy desires. my, my, what a naughty girl.”

chika’s other hand releases its hold on your hair, instead sliding down to grasp your chin roughly. chika’s eyes blaze with a dark intensity as he stares down at you, his grip on your chin unyielding. “open your mouth,” he commands, his voice a low, dangerous growl. he brings his thumb to your lips, painting them with the slickness of your own desire. “taste how wet you are for me,” he hisses, his free hand reaching between your legs to tear away your panties. "now, suck."

chika presses his thumb against your mouth, forcing it past your lips as he holds your head steady. his other hand begins to stroke your bare cunt, fingers circling your clit with deliberate slowness, denying you any actual contact or relief.

chika smirks as he watches you react to the taste of your own essence, his thumb slowly withdrawing from your mouth with a lewd pop. “good girl,” he purrs, his praise dripping with sarcasm. “now, spread those pretty legs for me.”

he pushes your knees apart roughly, exposing your glistening folds to his ravenous gaze. chika’s fingers trace the delicate skin of your inner thighs, his touch feather-light yet electrifying. “so wet and ready,” he croons, his voice low and approving. “just for me, isn’t it?“

[oldmama]

The stickers used to do this poster