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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 12 days

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Hello again everyone! Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support for the last part of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! I've had so much fun writing this au, and I'm so glad that you've all enjoyed it too! This will probably be the final part of this au (for now), since I have more au ideas to share with you all, but I'll probably revisit this au some day! For now, I'm approaching two pretty big tumblr milestones, so I'm working on an extra-special au to post in celebration of those (and I won't give anything away, but I think that this new au may be my best one yet, so stay tuned)!

Also, warning, this one is a long post! Be prepared!

Now, onto part four of this au! You can find part one here, part two here, and part three here!

As it turned out, planning a royal wedding was no easy feat.

Merlin had thought that simply adding a quick and (hopefully) painless wedding ceremony at the end of his coronation would make everything go smoothly. After all, the castle would already be decorated, they'd already have all of the important lords in attendance, and everything needed for a consort's coronation ceremony would already be there.

However, when Merlin announced to the lords and the steward in charge of preparing his coronation ceremony that he'd also need a quick wedding and coronation to take Arthur as his consort, they reacted with so much shock and horror that Merlin thought for a second that he'd accidentally announced that he was ordering their executions instead. The only person in the council room who didn't look like death itself had just appeared before him was Gwaine, who took advantage of he shocked silence following Merlin's proclamation to start laughing so uncontrollably that he doubled over and had to grab the wall for support.

Merlin had expected some shock and pushback from the council at his decision, not... this. All of the lords on the council had gone as pale as parchment, some trembling in their seats with fear. What on earth...

"Sire," the ever-unflappable Geoffrey called out, jolting Merlin from his confusion at the state of terror that had gripped the other council members, "while such a marriage would not be unlawful, it would certainly be unprecedented. I'm not questioning your judgement, I know that establishing yourself as a strong ruler this early in your reign is paramount, but are you sure that this is the best way to go about it? I'm certain that the citizens of Camelot will accept you as their rightful ruler as soon as they witness their true power for themselves, so taking the former king as your war prize isn't entirely necessary to show your dominance over the land."

The lords grew several shades paler at Geoffrey's words, and the trembling councilman sitting next to Geoffrey leaned in to fearfully hiss something into the librarian's ear. Merlin watched with growing confusion as Geoffrey's eyes went wide at whatever had just been whispered to him, and he rushed to speak once more.

"Of course, if this decision was made as some form of revenge or humiliation towards the Pendragon line, that is well within your right as a conqueror, Your Majesty. We would simply advise you to take the disgraced king as a concubine, perhaps, instead of your official consort. As a ruler, you must now also consider the issue of one day producing legitimate heirs, which can only be borne to you through your consort."

Merlin blinked, desperately trying to follow whatever logic Geoffrey was using. Take Arthur as a concubine?! Had the old man gone insane?! And Merlin certainly wasn't concerned about heirs, since if he got his way, then his reign wouldn't last longer than this week!

Still, with most of the council looking like they were being plagued by waking nightmares, they weren't likely to listen to Merlin's very reasonable objections to being king in the first place, so Merlin just had to get them off his back until the wedding.

After a deep sigh, which made most of the council members flinch back with a still confusing amount of fear, Merlin addressed Geoffrey's concerns.

"Thank you for your input, but I'm afraid that my decision has already been made on this... issue. I will be taking Arthur as my consort at my coronation, and my decision is final. And don't concern yourself with the topic of heirs, that will be sorted out shortly."

Several lords choked on the air at Merlin's last comment, with a couple outright fainting at his words. Merlin's brows furrowed even more with befuddlement. What... what had he said that garnered such a reaction?! He was just telling them not to worry about it!

(Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Merlin, the lords had a very different idea of what their new king- a powerful, brutal warlord and sorcerer- had planned. They interpreted Merlin's intent to marry Arthur as an act of revenge against the son of the man who killed off so many of his people during the purge. It apparently wasn't enough for the mighty Emrys to defeat his enemy and leave him with nothing to his name. No, this ruthless new king of theirs planned on forcing the former king into a life of humiliation and servitude in the court that was once his own. To a king, that must be a fate worse than death.

These lords, who were some of the most active and complicit members of Uther's purge, looked at the punishment that Emrys had planned for Arthur and thought if that's what happened to the king, what's he going to do to us?!)

The days went by quickly after that meeting, with Merlin's time being filled with a never-ending list of his new duties and things that needed to be done before his coronation, not to mention organizing the coronation itself and the subsequent wedding (which Arthur didn't know about yet, as Merlin had been deliberately avoiding the dungeons after his last conversation with Arthur).

It took the better part of a week for everything to finally be prepared for the official coronation ceremony. The ceremony itself would consist of Merlin being crowned in front of the court (a nauseating thought for Merlin himself), the vassal lords and knights willing to swear fealty to him taking the oath of loyalty, and finally Arthur being handfasted to Merlin and crowned consort.

Merlin was, for once, thankful for the amount of work that he had to do over the days leading up to the ceremony, as it kept his mind busy and his thoughts away from the pit of self-loathing that had taken up permanent residence in his head. After all, what kind of friend stole everything from the person they love the most in the world and then turns around and forces that same friend (and unrequited crush) to marry them?!

Merlin had attempted to rationalize his selfish decision to keep Arthur in the dark regarding his plan to reinstate him as king by telling himself that if Arthur didn't know about the wedding until the last minute, then he would spend less time worrying about it in the long run after he was king again! Besides, if Merlin's plan worked, they would only be married for a day or two, so there was no reason to get Arthur worked up over that by telling him earlier!

Truly, Merlin was not being a complete scumbag by doing this, he was just looking out for his friend's best interests and mental wellbeing! This would all blow over in a a matter of days anyways, Merlin was certain of it.

Still, Merlin found himself anxious and pacing the floor of his room on the morning of the ceremony. He had sent a team of servants and guards to retrieve Arthur from his cell and prepare him for the ceremony, so he likely wouldn't see Arthur until he was brought into the great hall for the handfasting ceremony. However, he still worried over Arthur's reaction when he learned what exactly when was being prepared for.

This worry lingered in Merlin's mind and consumed his thoughts throughout the entire day and into the coronation ceremony, so much so that his own coronation seemed like a blur to him. One moment he was standing in the great hall in front of the assembled crowd of lords and knights, and in the next, he was sitting on Arthur's throne with Arthur's crown on his head, with the crowd shouting "long live the king".

The sound of it almost made Merlin sick. Those words should never be directed at him, but he'd make this right soon enough. He just had to suffer through this ceremony to appease those disloyal lords who had turned their backs on their true king.

Perhaps the worst part of the coronation itself was the ceremony in which the lords and knights willing to pledge their fealty to him took an oath declaring such. It was no surprise to Merlin to see those weasels on the council of lords pledging themselves to save their own skin, but the knights who showed up to pledge their fealty were... very unexpected.

Look, Merlin had assumed that it would just be Gwaine and a small handful of guards and younger knights that he had roped into his mischievous scheme swearing loyalty so him. All of the other knights with their wits intact would surely still be down in the cells of the dungeon, holding true to their prior oaths of loyalty and keeping their true king company.

What Merlin did not expect, however, was for nearly a quarter of all of Camelot's knights to take a knee before him and pledge their loyalty, led by a highly amused Gwaine, who was no doubt enjoying every minute of this. Merlin quickly scanned the crowd of knights, trying to take count of who all had turned their backs on Arthur and could no longer be trusted.

Gwaine, of course, came at no surprise. Many of those assembled were commoner knights whom Arthur had taken in, including Percival, but the giant regularly got pulled into Gwaine's nonsense, so this wasn't truly that much of a shock if Merlin thought about it. There were a fair number of noble-born knights in the crowd, including all of those whom Merlin had noted had a softer outlook on magic. And then, of course, there were a decent number of pompous, high-born knights who had never given a lick about magic or loyalty, they just wanted to preserve their own wealth and power no matter the cost.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the cluster of those knights. All the rest had logical reasons to side with Merlin, between Gwaine's persuasiveness, solidarity between the lower class, or a connection or sympathy towards magic, so they would be allowed to stay in court after Arthur had retaken his rightful throne. But these knights? These cowardly snakes had to be dealt with at the first opportunity. But how could he get rid of them without people becoming suspicious?

... Wait a minute, Merlin was king now! He might only have that title for a day or so, but in that time, he could certainly use it! (And he absolutely was not using this as a tactic to prolong this part of the ceremony so that he had a few more minutes of peace before the wedding began.)

Right, but how was he going to play this? He couldn't exactly just announce that he wanted those knights to leave because he wanted them gone before Arthur took over again.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the group of treacherous knights and noted how they squirmed a bit under his gaze, with even some of the people around them shuddering. Right, he looked like a ruthless and powerful sorcerer to them now. He could use that to his advantage.

As the knights finished reciting their oaths, Merlin held up his hand, signaling for them to stay in place. The knights did so, but a confused and concerned murmuring started buzzing around at this strange departure from the normal ceremony. Slowly, Merlin lifted his hand and pointed at the assembled group of knights in the back.

"You lot. In the back."

The murmuring died down the instant Merlin opened his mouth and was instead replaced by an oppressive dread weighing down the ornately decorated hall. If Merlin wasn't trying so hard to keep a straight, intimidating face, he would have winced at causing such a wave of fear with nothing more than a few words.

Hesitantly, one of the called out knights stepped forward, addressing their new king.

"Yes, your majesty? Is there something you require of us?"

Merlin held back the urge to smirk as an idea, and a very satisfying one at that, formed in his head. He quietly cleared his throat and put on his most imperious "Emrys" voice that he could muster.

"I can sense insincerity in your hearts with my magic. Just as you abandoned the previous king, you would also turn your backs on me at the first opportunity to do so. Do not even attempt to deny it, you know just as well as I do that this true. I cannot trust any such men as knights of mine."

The group of knights went pale as Merlin called them out for their flimsy loyalty, and at once whispers began fly in the crowd. Perhaps they were intrigued by this show of his "powers"? Were they scandalized by this public shaming of a group of high-ranking knights?

Either way, the knights immediately began groveling, begging Merlin to let them keep their positions, their wealth, their power, but Merlin dismissed them with a wave of a hand and publicly revoked their knighthoods. The murmuring of the remaining people in the great hall grew louder as the disgraced former knights made their way out of the hall, no doubt intimidated and scandalized by how quickly their new ruler was purging his court of the disloyal.

However, with the loyal knights having taken their oaths and the untrustworthy ones having been cast out, the coronation ceremony was now officially complete, meaning that Merlin could no longer stall what would come next.

Merlin sat still on his stolen throne, trying his best not to fidget with nervousness as Geoffrey gave some traditional speech that had to be done before the doors of the great hall opened to let consort walk down the aisle to the throne.

After a couple minutes, Geoffrey's monotonous voice became nothing but a buzzing in Merlin's ears as he stared at the doors of the hall, desperately trying to imagine any scenario where those doors wouldn't open to an Arthur who was filled with nothing but rage and betrayal.

All too soon, Geoffrey's droning speech ended, and the trumpets in the hall announced the arrival of the soon-to-be-consort and signaled for everyone of lower rank to stand. Merlin's heart leapt to his throat as he jumped to his feet, even though he was the only person in the room who didn't need to. Ever so slowly, the doors to the hall swung open, revealing... Arthur.

Merlin damn near choked on his own saliva at the sight of him. He had seen Arthur in a wide range of states over the years as his manservant, ranging anywhere from sleep-rumbled to solemnly prepared for battle. But this... he had never seen anything like it.

Merlin couldn't decide if whoever had been in charge of dressing Arthur and preparing him for the ceremony ought to either be promoted to Arthur's personal tailor or immediately banished. In place of Arthur's usual surcoat and chainmail for official ceremonies, which was what Merlin had foolishly assumed the servants would dress Arthur in, there was... a monstrosity that would haunt Merlin's dreams for the rest of his life.

Merlin didn't even know how to begin to describe it. The garment that the servants had no doubt forced Arthur into, as Merlin knew that he would never wear such a thing of his own accord, was somewhere between a set of intricately intertwined robes and a dress, which hugged Arthur's shoulders, upper arms, and thighs, highlighting the muscles there. Most of the outfit appeared to be made out of a rich velvet, dyed in a majestic royal blue that both looked entirely out of place on Arthur and brought out his eyes like nothing Merlin had ever seen before. And dear gods, was that lace on there?! And why the hell did the outfit need elbow-length lace gloves?!

(The servants who had been in charge of dressing Arthur for the ceremony had assumed that their brutal new warlord would probably want his war prize to look as far from a warrior as possible, in order to further prove that he had beaten the previous rulers. So, they selected a delicate and elegant outfit for Arthur in the hopes of appeasing their new king.)

Merlin swallowed dryly as Arthur slowly began making his way down the aisle with measured footsteps. The movement snapped Merlin out of whatever temporary madness the outfit had sent him spiraling into, and Merlin finally locked eyes with Arthur.

Merlin winced at the sheer amount of rage that Arthur managed to fit into one glare as he took another step towards the throne that was rightfully his. Merlin tried to give Arthur his most reassuring smile, but he was almost certain it only came across as a nervous grimace.

Just go along with this, Merlin tried to beg of Arthur with only his eyes. Their bond had always been one that allowed them to communicate without words, and Merlin prayed that their connection would hold strong once more and get his message across to Arthur.

Neither Arthur's impressive glare nor his furious scowl let up though, but he kept his pace towards the throne steady, which Merlin decided to take as a good sign. After all, if Arthur truly did not any merit to this impromptu plan, why would he still be walking of his own accord towards the altar?

Still, as Arthur grew closer and closer to the altar prepared for the handfasting, his eyes became darker with rage as Merlin winced. Yes, this would certainly be harder than it needed to be, but this had to be done to get Arthur back on the throne! Surely Arthur would understand that!

After what must have been an eternity, Arthur finally reached the altar and, ever so slowly, walked around to stand at a fidgeting Merlin's side.

As Geoffrey began yet another speech that had to be done before the handfasting took place, Merlin quietly turned to Arthur and gave him a small smile, trying to a least let Arthur know that everything was alright, that everything would turn out fine.

That little smile, it seemed, turned out to be the final straw for Arthur. Merlin wasn't even entirely sure how it happened.

One moment, he was standing next to Arthur in front of the altar, with the only sound in the room being Geoffrey's boring voice. And in the next, there was a savage war cry coming from Arthur, who was now armed with a sword, and a decent amount of screaming coming from the crowd.

It spoke volumes about Merlin's state of mind that his first thought upon seeing Arthur run at him with a blade in hand wasn't get back, dodge! but was rather that dress is tight, where on earth did he hide that sword?

However, Merlin's sense of self-preservation wasn't nearly as terrible as Gaius accused it of being, as his second thought was I should probably try to avoid getting stabbed at my own wedding.

Reluctantly, Merlin gathered his magic, ready to disarm Arthur and hold him still if need be. Arthur could stab Merlin later if he really felt like it, but Merlin needed to at least officially make Arthur his consort and heir before Arthur did that!

However, to Merlin's surprise, rather than trying to run Merlin through, Arthur instead stabbed at the wooden handfasting altar, sinking his blade deep into it. Merlin carefully kept his eyes on Arthur as the other man viciously pulled off one of the dainty lace gloves and threw it on the ground at Merlin's feet.

Dumbfounded, Merlin stared at the thrown glove on the floor and then looked back up to stare at Arthur, not quite getting what Arthur was trying to tell him here. Did he just really hate the outfit? Or was it this whole marriage plan that he objected to?

"Pick it up."

"Huh?"

Arthur nearly started growling, his rage apparently rising with Merlin's confusion.

"It may not be a proper gauntlet, since you have denied me such a dignity, but it will suffice for this. Pick it up, King Emrys. I challenge you to a duel in single combat for the throne of Camelot. You may have defeated my sister, but you did not defeat me! I am no prize for you to claim!"

Merlin simply blinked, completely thrown off by this turn of events, while loud shouts started erupting from the crowd. By the time his mind caught up to what Arthur had said, Arthur had taken up his sword from where he had struck it into the altar and was pointing it threateningly at Merlin again.

As Merlin's shock wore off and he finally understood what exactly Arthur had just done, he had to fight back the urge to scream into the sky with frustration as yet another one of his plans to reinstate Arthur as king had just been ruined by the obstinate clotpole himself. Couldn't the prat just let Merlin help?!

With his frustration rising, Merlin glared down at the thrown glove. While a duel would certainly allow Arthur to retake the throne, Merlin wasn't entirely sure how his magic would react to such a fight. Merlin would never consciously hurt Arthur of course, but who knows if his magic would strike out in self-defense?!

And, besides, formally accepting and preparing the duel would take days. And, in Merlin's opinion, this whole farce has gone on for long enough.

"No. I will not accept your challenge."

Arthur's face went red with anger at Merlin's refusal.

"You are just as much of a coward as the rest of your kind, sorcerer! You would not even grant me the opportunity to take back what's mine!"

Merlin bit back a frustrated scream at that. Arthur would be getting his throne back if he just followed through with any of Merlin's plans instead of ruining threm!

Merlin took a deep breath and sighed on the exhale, trying the rein in his own anger. He just needed to go through with this ceremony, and then everything would be fine.

With a quick flash of gold in his eyes, which had Arthur flinching back (and didn't that just sting?), Merlin turned Arthur's blade into dust had Arthur's glove fly back onto his hand, setting everything right as it had been before Arthur had pulled out a sword and all hell had broken loose.

"That's enough! I've been trying to restore you to your rightful position as king this entire time, and yet you push back at every opportunity! I am not about to let you sabotage your own destiny! So, here's what's going to happen!"

Distantly, Merlin heard the wind outside whipping around, like his own frustration and stirred nature itself into a frenzy.

"You are going to stand here, complete this ceremony, be named my heir, and then retake your throne when I abdicate! Are we clear?"

Arthur, who still looked rather shaken at Merlin's display of magic, scowled, but still nodded his head. Merlin, satisfied by this, turned back around to face the shocked crowd.

"And do I make myself clear to all of you?! There will be no more interruptions of this ceremony, and Arthur will take back his throne!"

The frightened crowd went silent at Merlin's outburst, seemingly relenting to Merlin's demands.

Merlin then turned to Geoffrey, who was still standing in front of the handfasting altar with the rope in his hands.

"Now, Geoffrey, I would greatly appreciate it if you would get a move on here. I don't want to wear this stupid crown for any longer than I have to."

The only indication that Geoffrey gave that he was surprised by Merlin's outburst was a mere uptake of his eyebrows, rather reminiscent of Gaius's signature look. Without further ado, Geoffrey tied Merlin and Arthur's hands together, declaring them to be now married in the eyes of the gods of the Old Religion.

(Merlin tried to ignore the hurt and longing that built up in his heart in that moment. How many times had he dreamed of something like this? But he never wanted it to happen like this. This was Merlin's dream come true, but it was all wrong. In that moment, Merlin didn't dare look at Arthur, too afraid of what his dearest friend thought about this grievous overstep of boundaries.)

Immediately after Geoffrey untied the handfasting knot, Arthur's coronation as consort began. The ceremony itself went smoothly, but Merlin's heart broke both at the sight of Arthur kneeling before him, waiting to be crowned, and at the furious glare Arthur gave him as he gently put the consort's crown upon Arthur's head, officially naming Arthur as his heir.

As soon as Arthur stood from where he was kneeling, applause broke out from the crowd. Someone (Merlin heavily suspected Gwaine) started a chant of "long live the kings!", which caught on quickly. Merlin winced again at the chant, not daring to turn and look at Arthur's face.

Still, Merlin reminded himself as he took a deep, calming breath, everything was coming along. Arthur was now officially his consort and heir, and all that was left to do... was the copious amounts of paperwork finalizing his abdication.

Yeah, no. Merlin wasn't going through that process when he could just take care of it here and now.

"Citizens of Camelot, on this most joyous day, I, King Emrys, abdicate the throne!"

Even though he had made his intentions clear only a few minutes earlier, shocked whispers flew around the crowd, like they hadn't truly believed that he would go through with it.

Merlin couldn't help the grin that was forming on his face. Finally, everything would be set right again!

"I am no longer your king, and as per the laws of the kingdom, the throne now rightfully belongs to your true king, Arthur Pendragon!"

With that, Merlin reached up and yanked the crown off of his own head, marched over to a dumbfounded Arthur and, without any hesitation, replaced the consort's crown on Arthur's head with the true crown.

"There, that's much better," Merlin whispered to himself as he gazed upon Arthur, finally looking like himself again, but he was certain that Arthur must have heard it too, as Arthur's eyes went wide at his words.

But that was a conversation for another day, as Merlin was now done here. This entire calamity was over, and now Merlin was going to savor its end.

Merlin turned back to face the crowd once more with an undoubtedly crazed grin.

"Goodnight everyone! Be sure to obey your true king! In the meanwhile, I'm off to bed for my first full night's rest since this nightmare started!"

And with that, Merlin merrily skipped out of the great hall, made his way to his cramped room in Gaius's chambers, and slept soundly.

Bonus Scene!

THE NEXT DAY:

Arthur: Busts into Merlin's room

Merlin, unwillingly woken up from the best sleep he's gotten in years: Ugh, what do you want you prat?! You're king again, aren't you?! Don't you have kingly duty to be attending to?

Arthur: Merlin you idiot, you abdicated the throne.

Merlin: Yes, and now you're king again. You're welcome!

Arthur: But you never dissolved our union!

Merlin: Huh?

Arthur: A divorce can only be granted by the same ruler who authorized the marriage! You know what this means, right?!

Merlin: Yeah, that you can just declare us to be not married anymore and we can all be on our way.

Arthur: No, YOU were the ruler who authorized the marriage, and now that you've abdicated, you can't dissolve the marriage! Legally, no one can!

Merlin, turning pale: What?

Arthur, looking weary: Yes, apparently it's some legal technicality that Geoffrey cited from Bruta's code. I've spent all morning arguing with him, but there seems to be no way around it.

Merlin: So... what you're saying is that we're stuck being married to each other.

Arthur: Yes, you buffoon, that's exactly what I'm saying! Now, get up!

Merlin, feeling incredibly guilty over this entire situation: Arthur, I'm so sorry, I take full responsibility for this, I never should have forced you into-

Arthur, cutting him off: Let's go. We don't have much time before the rest of the castle is up and about, and I'd rather us not be seen here.

Merlin, confused but complying: Arthur, where are we going? Why don't you want us to be seen here?

Arthur, blushing: It would reflect poorly on the king if word got out that he let his consort sleep in this dirty broom closet on their wedding night, wouldn't it?

Merlin, blushing: Ah, I suppose it would.

And that's a wrap for this au for now! I hope you've all enjoyed this story!

A huge thank you for everyone who asked for this continuation! (and holy cow there were a lot of you!! Thank you all so much!)

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

@whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @likeapaperplane @odinjm @orliththedragon @aglmry

@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

@the-king-and-the-druidess @theroundbartable @fanfic-library-for-me @linotheghost @scuttlingsleipnir

@guiltyscarlet @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu @247merthur @veryroadpartystatesman-blog @verxen

@lascienzadellafantasia @jareicanon @arrowlovesdragons @juliairian @thesuperstitiousoldelf

@lovermyme @bootprivileges @rem-the-moth @hippielittlemetalhead @ole-to-you-nonetheless

@lordmushroomkat @starchaos01 @reynaharmonia @anastasia0614 @starlight-crow

@wheneverfeasible @savlikesbluengreen @fuckingdeadinsidetm @notquitehumanwrites @purplesandwichtiger

@rocks-d-xerxes @olli-is-a-fish @luluzealand2565 @dangerhumming @tireddruid

@spiralingtowardtheabyss @mundaneone @anxiousdragoncollector @catface233 @bennedict

@elementalpirate4 @bertolio @vadis-protenus @chaosofbelievers @floating-on-avalon

@merthurogies @justaz

And, as always, thank you all for reading through my ramblings! :D

I'll see you all next time!

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #merlin au #merthur #merlin prompts #king merlin

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leah-lover · 2 months

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Drive to survive. Leah Williamson x F1!reader

Who is going to replace Lewis Hamilton? This question has taken the f1 media by storm for a whole season. Some believed it would be Andrea Kimi Antonelli, while others hoped for Max Verstappen, or Carlos sainz. However none of them expected you. A woman would join F1 in one of the most decorated cars in recent years. A woman would take the seat of the legendary Lewis Hamilton.

The support was significant but the pushback was overwhelming. Many people applauded you for entering a male dominated field. They went on saying how much of a role model you were to young women, how you would change the f1 world forever, bring in new fans , and make f1 a more equal place in real life not just on paper. The other drivers welcomed you with open arms in their interaction with you or in the way they talked about you most importantly lewis.

As a result of your new found fame you were asked to join events and panels talking about women's sport or women in sports. Throughout your pre-season you were fully booked from training to preseason testing to the media event.

The only time you ever thought about something other than how radical what you are doing is or what you were going to do next was when you saw a particularly stunning person.

A tall blonde woman with a great mind you took a glimpse through when she answered the questions she was asked in the BBC panel you were on. She was educated, beautiful, well mannered, beautiful, very good with her words, and very very beautiful.

You answered your questions to the best of your ability, took some pictures and headed towards the green room. When you came in you looked at the table and saw snacks and one lone mini chocolate bar. As you extended your hand to grab, you were met by another one going for it too. You extracted your hand quickly and looked at the eventual winner of the mini chocolate bar. It was her, the blond beauty that goes by Leah Williamson.

“ Uhmm sorry. Here, take it.” Said the smiling young woman.

“ No it's fine, you go ahead, I shouldn't anyway. It's pre-season.” You responded.

“ We can split it then. I am sure half of a mini bar isn't going to hurt.” She added.

You two then split the bar. “ I am Leah Williamson.” She said as she extended her hand. You told her your name and shook her hand.

“ You were very good there. Very good answers.” You complimented Leah.

“ You too.” She said shyly.

“ Do you want to get out of here?” You ask.

“ Does that line work on everyone you meet?”

You laugh nervously. “ No. I don't use it much. Uhmm, I am hungry and I want a buddy to go get food with.”

“ I am sorry, I have to go to another press conference. But maybe someday soon.”

You hand her your phone so that she can save her number in. When you look at the name she saved her number as “ arsenal's number 6.” Which gave you a glimpse of her sense of humor.

Your season started a short while after you two started to date. You clicked instantly and one might say it was love at first sight since it only took 6 dates over 2 weeks for you to reveal that you two loved each other.

You both understood that your careers were busy, her with arsenal's and the lionesses and you with traveling around the world and driving your fast car.

The start of your season was expectedly slow. You were decent throughout the qualifiers. You started at p6 in Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, Australia, all the way through china. You were a little overwhelmed by all the media attention and scrutiny. But by round 8 you scored your first p4 which you interchanged by p5.

You were very excited for your home race on Silverstone. You were excited by the presence of your friends and family, and most importantly your girlfriend. While other lionesses were invited in my McLaren you insisted on Leah being in the Mercedes garage with you.

Knowing your girlfriend was going to watch you for the first time, knowing she was there for you and only you, gave you more motivation than you ever hoped for. You got in your car for qualifying ready to impress. As soon as you left the garage, you pushed the car to the limit which gave you your first ever pole position in F1. You were ecstatic and the team was happy for you too.

Race day was crazy, you couldn't see your girlfriend because you had to prepare yourself for what probably was going to be a rainy race.

The track was dry and empty in front of you. You were in pole, you just had to keep your position. As soon as the light turned green you pushed as fast as you could. Your team informed you of a few crashes behind you and an angry Max Verstappen in a red bull. The red bull team expressed their concerns about foul play in my result in qualifiers which led max to have an alleged grudge. You didn't think much of it, you just focused on staying in p1.

“ Careful Max is being reckless trying to overtake you “ said one of your guys on the radio. You couldn't let fear creep in after all your girlfriend was watching. She to whom you promised the win.

You went on denying him every opportunity to overtake and in time the race was just about you and Max going head to head with all the others being a full lap behind. You kept thinking of Leah and the sex you two would have after the win and how proud she would be of you. That was what gave you the edge over him .

You two changed tires at the same time. While Mercedes was faster, Red Bull was fast too. You speeded out of the box, felt a shock wave throughout the entire car. You didn't register what happened quickly. Your brain went silent then you said some words to yourself.

“ Silverstone, Leah, pole, win, box, max.” You thought. The car was getting hot, and you were getting light headed. You heard a voice through your ear but you couldn't register what they said.

A few seconds passed before you saw an ambulance, you heard sirens and saw white foamy gas. The kind of gas they used for fires.

“ Fires, I crashed, the car is on fire.” You thought again and quickly tried to get out of the car.

You wanted to get up but couldn't. You were dizzy. You were going to die.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso request #woso smut #leah williamson fanfic #leah williamson fluff #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you

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missmeinyourbones · 10 months

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LET ME LOVE YOU ANYWAY

a/n: mentions of alcohol and drunk reader, reader called sweet girl once, reader wears makeup and heels, satoru doing boyfriend duties

Satoru has been watching you fiddle with the strap of your heels for two and a half minutes now.

He'll give you some credit, as the heels are a bit clunky and the buckles a tad finicky. And yes, you are still drunk from your girl's night out. But two and a half minutes of watching you struggle can only be so entertaining.

He's itching at the seams for you to let him help you. On the opposite end of the couch and leaning on the armrest, you can barely sit up straight. He doesn't know how you even have the strength to fight him on this, but he shouldn't be surprised; your stubbornness tends to have a never-ending amount of stamina.

He tries again, softly motioning you to join him on his side of the couch, "C'mere."

He's met with the expected pushback when you whine, "Nooooo, I can do it."

"You can't, baby," he softly reminds you with a sigh.

You gesture to where your ankle rests on your opposite thigh. As if you're clearly proving him wrong, you exaggerate your movements, "I'm doing it right now."

He watches you get nowhere with the tiny buckles on the straps and allows himself to tiredly laugh.

"You're not."

Deciding enough is enough, he moves a cushion closer to you.

"Come here," he doesn't let you scurry away when he brings your foot to rest on his lap, carefully loosening the strap and unwrapping the silly shoe from your ankle.

Through the silence of the house and the drunken mumbling from your lips, he admires your heavy eyelids, how they flutter beneath their own weight like butterflies gliding in the spring.

His lips gently kiss your other ankle after finally freeing you from the contrasts of your heels. "You're allowed to let me help, y'know?" he whispers sweetly.

"I don't need help," you nearly hiss, removing your ankle from his grip and planting your feet on the floor again. "I'm plenty capable of taking my shoes off," you drunkenly lie.

And Satoru smiles at you, proud and bright when he nods.

"I know, but I like to do it, too."

He thanks his speed for your lack of pushback when he's able to scoop you from the couch and carry you to the bathroom. Plopping your deadweight on the sink and keeping a steady hand on your waist, he lets you get comfortable on the counter.

Your swollen feet sway as they dangle from the sink, and Satoru bites his tongue from any comment about you looking cute.

He holds up a bottle of what he knows to be your makeup remover, still going out of his way to ask, "It's this one, right?"

"No," you weakly lie.

Satoru sees right through you. "Yes, it is," he gently scolds. "Stop it."

You watch as he soaks a cotton round with the remover, something he's seen you expertly do about a million times before he brings it to your face and raises his eyebrows.

Your whining continues to commence when you dodge his gentle hands, "I don't need help, Satoru."

"I'll be gentle," he breathes.

"I'll kick your teeth in."

"What a sweet girl I have."

This continues for a minute or so before you get tired and malleable enough to just let him do as he pleases. With a final grumble from you, Satoru begins the gentle process of rubbing your skin.

He's cautious, meticulous around the more sensitive areas as he mimics your usual circular movements. He's extra careful when it's time to remove your eye makeup, watching you look up at him for him to gently tap your lids and whisper a soft, "Close 'em."

Remover turns to face wash which turns to rinsing and toner. And throughout the entire process, Satoru has a soft smile on his face, humming to himself as he admires both his work and your face.

"Such nice skin," he presses two fingers into your forehead. "What's your secret? Getting drunk and letting your boyfriend wash your makeup off?"

"No," you sleepily murmur, eyes closed at the relaxing touch, "he always forgets my moisturizer."

"No, he doesn't," Satoru chuckles. "He just likes to make you a little mad."

After eventually completing your full routine, something he will most definitely be expecting praise for in the morning, he softly rubs the remainder of moisturizer on your cheeks and gently smushes them together for good measure.

He uses the opportunity to plant a tender kiss on your lips, and he's thrilled when you only whine and don't push him away.

He smiles halfway through the kiss, pulling away to press a kiss to your cheek and tease, "Mmmm, tequila."

"Want me to brush?" you can barely open your eyes.

"Nah," Satoru shrugs, grabbing you beneath the thighs and scooping you off of the sink, "let's just go to bed already."

In bed, with your cold feet pressed against his calves and his warm hand resting comfortably against your abdomen, he feels you press a tiny kiss to his exposed bicep.

"Thank you for takin' care of me," you whisper, almost as if you're a bit embarrassed to be admitting it.

Tomorrow, you'll blame it on the cocktails consumed the night before, but Satoru knows you. Knows how hard it can be for you to let someone in, let someone help. And every single time, he's willing to fight for it. Willing to coo and purr at your hissed and fanged attempts to scare him off.

Satoru merely hums into your hair, letting himself close his own eyes and sink into the mattress.

"Thanks for lettin' me."

#gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fic #satoru gojo fic #gojo fludf #satoru gojo fluff #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you

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slushycoookie · 2 months

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Between Two Worlds ~ Loser!Miguel O'Hara x Stripper! Reader

★Word Count: 4k ★Content: Reader is Fem!/chubby, I also made them more black-coded (I usually do with all my readers but it's much more prominent here), Miguel gets a lap dance AND a hand job on the same night, Tyler and Dana shows up (ugh), but so does Gabriel (yay!) ★A/N: The demons won, idk what to say. Dividers by @/rookthornesartistry Next ✩°｡⋆˚⁺ Masterlist | Commissions

Miguel stops by to see you again.

He wanted to explain himself to you. The way he ran off a few days ago after you laid a finger on him, hearing everyone else laugh at his shyness wasn’t how he wanted that to go. How watching you spin around the pole changed his life. Especially after a couple of rough days. Well, rough weeks. His job hounding him for constant updates on a major project he was working on. And the fact that he lost his fiancé to another man.

He thought going to The Weave, one of the hottest clubs in Nueva York, would help a lot. Only for him to see you, the most beautiful person in the world. But he didn't need to explain all of that to you. The most he could do as an acceptable form of apology was to give you your money. After witnessing your amazing dancing.

Miguel asks one of the bartenders if he could talk to you alone but gets pushback. From the owner, Jessica, the only way to get you alone with him during club hours is to request a private VIP room. To talk or do other things. He begrudgingly settled for a simple lap dance, knowing he was going to leave as soon as he gave you the money.

Miguel’s resolve starts to falter at the idea of being alone with you like that. He heard his heart in his ears as he stood alone in the empty room. It wasn’t even that small, a comfortable size for endeavors such as these. The music booming across the walls matched the beat of his heart. Miguel rehearsed in his head what to say to you a bunch of times, only to come crashing down when you walked in.

The same sweet scent as before hits his nostrils. Your outfit was different this time, of course, it would be. A matching sparkly, purple bikini set. You must really like to shine. And be tall as he noticed you walking easily in platform heels. But you didn’t match his height.

“Hi.”

Miguel wipes his sweaty palms on his pants to give you a handshake, “Hello.”

Your gaze hits the outstretched arm, not expecting that. He still has some manners. So you take it, a pretty smile across your face.

“You requested a dance from me?”

“Yes! Wait, uh no not exactly.” Before you get confused, he pulls out the large stack of money he was supposed to throw the other night. Around five hundred dollars. “I-I wanted to give you this.”

Your eyes widened at the stack of cash, “For what?”

“Your dance. I didn’t throw any money.” He feels himself blush once more, “I was too… enraptured with your dance. I'm sorry.” Miguel extends out the money and you hesitate for a moment before taking the cash, settling it on the table for now.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He shoots you a shy smile before maneuvering towards the exit.

“You don't want the dance?”

Miguel quickly shakes his head, “No, no I just wanted to give you the money. I didn’t have any cruel intentions.”

You laugh and his heart squeezes with pain. Once again, he's become a joke to you.

“Honey,” You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Requesting a lap dance isn't cruel. We have about thirty minutes in here, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste.”

He nods, the idea making sense. “Only if you're comfortable with that.”

“I should be saying that to you.”

A gentle hand rubs his arm for comfort and he sits on one of the black leather chairs. His hands gripping the arms of the seat, trying to calm his nerves. You fiddle with the remote and turn on music to match the mood. A slow, sensual song sets the atmosphere. The simple action of flipping your curly hair, the strands gracefully covering your shoulders causes him to get hard.

Miguel swallows, tugging at his shirt collar. You strut towards him and he feels like he's seeing you better the second time. How your thigh slightly jiggles from your walk to your breasts almost pouring out from your top. He tries not to stare when you spin around in front of him, letting him get a good look at you.

You lean over and cup his face, he tries not to lean into your touch but closes his eyes. Your soft, manicured hands trailing down to his neck, down to his blazer.

“Do you wanna take this off?”

He opens his eyes and sees you not too far from his face. Your dazzling makeup highlights your wonderful eyes, while you’re tugging at his clothes. “Can I?”

“Of course, babe.” You help him remove the jacket, gently placing it on the other chair instead of tossing it. “Does that feel better?”

“Yes.”

Once again, you shoot him a fine smile and he wonders if you could see him sweating. You don't say anything as you continue, taking off his glasses, and setting them on the table. Miguel blinks a few times to get used to the slightly blurry vision. His eyesight becomes clear when your full ass comes into view -slowly sliding back against his thighs, up to his growing erection. The grip on the chair arms gets tighter as he restrains himself from touching you. Even when you do it again, rolling your lower body, putting him in a trance.

He tries not to jump when your hands rest on top of his, sliding up to his forearms and back down to his knuckles. You squat, gyrating your entire body, hair swishing amid the quiet air before you slowly stand back up. He sits still as he's afraid to make any movements.

You straddle him, placing your thumb and index finger on his chin for him to have his eyes on you. And he does, not looking away when you lean back, showing off your perfect body. Your hips roll in tandem with the music, so fluid like water. Your clothed cunt brushed against his painfully obvious bulge. You hardly break a sweat, your makeup still as fresh as it was when you walked in.

Miguel feels cum leaking out his tip, unsure if he should end the session short. So he can fuck his hand and imagine it was you. He whimpers, wanting to show you what you were doing to him. You seem to notice as you grin during the dance. Leaning forward, hands tracing his chest, feeling what a built man he is underneath that white buttoned-down shirt.

“You want a hand job?”

He almost chokes on his saliva, “W-What?”

“You heard me.” You don’t stop while speaking, playfully unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m good at them. And you seem like you want one.” His eyes dart down to the bulge in his pants, face getting hot.

“I-I…” Miguel wasn’t sure the type of person he’d be if he said yes. Especially when he barely knows you. But you offered and he's a man of decent manners. Plus, he wasn’t looking forward to coating his hand with his cum tonight. “I would like that.”

You take your time reaching for his cock. Your purple acrylic nails, scrapped along his chest, down to his abdomen. He tries to slow down his breathing when you reach his belt, carefully undoing it. Unbuttoning his pants and pulling down his zipper. It doesn’t take much for you to pull him out of his boxers. And your eyes grow wide at the sight of him.

Cock hard, veins running along his shaft, pre cum leaking from his tip. He tries to look anywhere else but you don’t let him when you grab his chin. Face close to his.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.”

“I’m not…” He proves it when you let go, eyes on you.

“You’re a big boy.” You still look at his cock, fascinated at the sight of him. Miguel doesn’t say anything, unsure how to respond to that. “I’ll take care of you.” You spit in your hand before touching him.

He tries not to orgasm right then and there. More cum leaks out, helping with the lubrication as you slide down his shaft. Your touch is better than anything else he’s had. He groans when you come back up to his tip, swirling your thumb around it. All while your eyes remain on him, not watching yourself and seeing what you’re doing.

“You like that?”

Miguel shudders as you stroke him, “Y-Yes.”

He still doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t buck his hips up into you. He allows you full control. A gorgeous person like yourself, messing with someone like him. He didn’t know how it came to this and he didn’t want to think about that.

You go faster, a tighter hold on his shaft. Miguel inadvertently spreads his legs wider, louder groans escaping his lips. He’s trapped between your voluptuous body and the fragrant scent he desperately wants to be full of. His lips parted with a plea to taste you, but that would be selfish.

“You want a kiss?” You whisper, nose pressed against his nose, lips hovering above his own.

He doesn’t trust his voice when he nods immediately. You kiss him, swallowing his eager noises. A part of him starts to slip when he grips the back of your neck. Your lips part and he slips his tongue inside, whining at your taste. He bucks his hips up into your hand, feeling that familiar sensation in his stomach. The music is blocked from his ears as he hears your moans, showing you’re also enjoying it. And that makes him happy. So happy that you’re enjoying what you’re doing to him.

To the point where he climaxes.

It was sudden when he moans between your lips, body stilling as his cum coats your hand, staining his pants. You pump him as much as you can, placing small kisses over his face while he comes down from his high. When you stand, he remembers your cum covered hand and points to his jacket.

“I have something you can use…” You dig into his jacket, using the non-cum covered hand. Miguel’s heart flipped at the small gesture. You pull out his pocket square, brows furrowed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can wash it later.”

You wipe your hand off, saving some room for him to wipe off any mess he made. For once, he was glad he didn’t cum so much this time. As he grabs his things and puts on his glasses, you start making your way to the exit, five hundred in hand. “Hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“W-Wait.” He quickly goes up to you, pulling out his wallet for any cash he’s had on hand. It was only a hundred, but he hoped it was enough.

“That’s nice of you.” You say while taking the hundred, “I was okay with the five you gave me.”

“I can give you more if you want.” He sees his card and wonders if there’s an ATM nearby he could use. Would another five hundred be enough? Maybe he should shoot for a thousand.

“No, no. Don’t spend all your money on me.” You push the wallet close to his chest, “You gotta eat dinner, you know?”

Miguel lets out a light chuckle, “Right…”

“What’s your name?”

“Miguel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miguel.” He loves how his name sounds across your lips. “Come back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

He doesn't stop thinking about you when he's home. You fill up his mind as he eats dinner, takes a shower, and lie in bed. An extraordinary person like yourself looks his way, even if it is mandatory. Miguel hasn’t felt this way since he met Dana, his ex-fiancé. Before, she was all he could think about and get lost in. Now, he had you.

His coworkers told him not to fall in love with the dancers. Albeit, they said it jokingly but now he was screwed. This wasn’t even a good time, Dana still had some of her clothes at his place. The break-up was still fresh. Miguel tried to push it out of his mind by focusing on work and strengthening his relationship with his family. But some days were bad. Like he didn’t think if he was worthy of love again.

Miguel was afraid of others thinking you were a rebound and he was seeing it himself. That wasn't the case in his mind. Maybe he should set an arrangement? Otherwise, he’d come and see you every day if he can. And while he wasn’t low on funds, he didn’t want to get that way.

So he started with having you fill his thoughts.

At work, he was in a much better mood. Splicing genes and dealing with DNA, regular geneticist things. He was even for talking to his coworkers, who finally asked about his strip club experience.

“Who did you go see?” Miguel’s colleague, Aaron, asked while handing him a cup of coffee.

“Silk. I liked her dance.”

“Oh, so you got a personal lap dance from her?” He nods, not wanting to go into detail on his experience with you. That was for him and him alone. “Man, lemme tell you, the perfect woman right there. That rack alone? Top tier breasts.”

Miguel shook his head, “She’s more than just her body.”

“Says the man who went in there to see a woman’s body.”

“Right, I’m the problem here.” He bit his tongue, deciding that was enough conversation for the day. Miguel excused himself from the break room, aiming to finish up work in his lab. He tried not to let his coworker's comments sour his mood, but something else sideswiped him.

Tyler called Miguel into his office. And he was not looking forward to that.

He saw the reason when Dana was on Tyler’s lap, laughing and joking around. Her face close to his, almost whispering about something he didn’t catch.

“Miguel!” Dana noticed him first and tried to stand but Tyler stopped her, sitting her back down—a possessive arm around her.

“Don’t go, my dear. You just got comfortable.”

She wanted to object to the fact her husband-to-be was in the office but Miguel stepped forward, “It's fine. You wanted to see me, sir?”

Or he should say father, with venom laced through his words. That would've caused a scene.

“Yes, I wanted to ask about the spider DNA and how that's going?”

Miguel clenched his jaw, knowing full well this could've been done through a phone call. “It's going fine. Still have hundreds of DNA to go through.”

“Hundreds? You’ve been having a slow work ethic these past couple of weeks.” Tyler's brows furrowed, “I wonder why.”

‘You know why.’

“It's nothing, sir. I promise you, I'll catch up.”

“You better. I need something to give these shareholders at the end of the quarter.”

Miguel nods, motioning to the door, “May I go now?”

“Sure, sure.” Tyler allows, not before letting Miguel see him pull Dana close to him, showing what he stole.

The day was now ruined. Even thoughts of you weren't enough to get him back to his happy state. He needed to see you again, and go over the arrangement he wanted to set. But he's already been there for three days this week. And he didn’t want anyone to get suspicious of his constant presence.

Luckily, Gabriel called him after work.

“Mig! I'm hungry!”

He held in a sigh, “You know where to get food, Gabri.”

“Duh, this was an invitation to go out with Kasey and me. Have dinner with us?”

Miguel glanced at the clock in his apartment, “Fine. Where?”

“I'll text you the place.”

It resulted in him being a third wheel to his brother and girlfriend. The Italian restaurant they picked was low-key as Miguel stared out the window to ignore Gabriel and Kasey's banter. Wishing he was somewhere else.

“Soooo,” Gabriel leaned forward, capturing his brother's attention, “How have you been?”

Miguel raised a brow, “I've been okay.”

“Just okay?” He leans closer, almost brushing along the breadsticks.

“Just okay.”

“Oh good.” He leans back, arm draped over his girlfriend, “For a second there, I thought you’d be hung up on Dana.”

“That bitch of a whore.” Kasey added, nibbling on a breadstick.

“Exactly.”

“Don’t call her that.” Miguel says, no matter how right Kasey was. “She chose not to be with me anymore, I can respect that.”

“By cheating on you with your boss.” Gabriel reminds him as if the entire ordeal was still fresh. The pain, the heartbreak, the constant thoughts of Miguel wondering what he did wrong in the relationship and how it came to this.

“Tyler…was a better option for her.” It was all he could say before intentionally propping up his menu to get a good look at what he was ordering. He didn’t want to go back and forth with his brother. He’s already done that enough with one too many people. Once they ordered, Miguel couldn’t hide behind his menu anymore, so he thought to bring up something else. “I’ve already met someone else.”

“And proceeded to not tell your little brother?” Gabriel clutches his chest in dramatics, “Does Mami know?”

“What do you think?” Miguel gave him a look, which his brother reciprocated when Kasey took over.

“Okay, who are they? Spill.”

“I’d…rather not.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m feeling it out. I want to make sure it’s not a rebound because of what happened with Dana.” As much as he wanted to boast about you, there was still the problem that he barely knew you. He couldn’t let anyone know about you until he does.

“Fair.”

“Are they cute at least?” Gabriel earned a smack on the head from her, “What? I’m just asking!”

“He’ll talk about them when he wants to talk about them.”

“Alright, alright.” Miguel’s lips curled upwards with amusement at the two. “Keep me updated, okay?”

“I will.”

Miguel comes back to The Weave with a mission. He stands in line, waiting to be admitted with the others, rehearsing what he wants to propose to you. The head of security, which Miguel finds out his name is Noir, pats him down after collecting the thirty-dollar admissions fee.

“Have fun, Mr. Science Guy.”

Miguel walks in, getting used to the bright flashing lights inside the club. A few dancers are already on stage, getting covered with money. He doesn't see you though. So he goes to the bar to ask for you. And be graced by the owner herself.

“Oooh the nerdy guy came back.” She teases, handing customers shots of tequila. Her outfit is slightly more modest compared to her employees. A red, leather bodysuit paired with a matching jacket and black boots that went to her thighs. He glanced down at her exposed cleavage before he looked at her eyes, “This is your third time being here, so you must got some money.”

Miguel snorts, “Are you counting?”

“Hell yeah. You pay well, gotta make sure it stays that way.” She offers him a shot but he declines, going back to the task at hand.

“Is she here?”

“Now, you know I need a name.” Jessica peers through her yellow-coated shades.

“Silk.” He swallows, “I want to talk to her for a bit.”

“Sure. ‘Talk’.” She emphasizes before stepping out from behind the bar, calling in some blonde guy named Ben to take over. “She's on her break but I'll give you a bit to speak to her.”

Miguel follows Jess to the back of the place. Maneuvering past half-drunk people, not trying to step on the money that was thrown all over the place, while keeping his eyes straight ahead at the multiple lap dances and pole dancing he came across. She led him down a series of steps, the loud, thumping music fading away.

“Guess who's baaaack?” Jess sings as she leads him to the dressing room. A large room filled with bright lights, plenty of locker rooms and mirrors, and an area in the corner which he assumed was the bathroom. Momentarily, he saw you leaning against the table, slowly munching away on a cookie. Eyes unfocused but coming back to reality when they stepped into the room.

“Hey, Miguel.”

“Ooh, so yall are on a first-name basis already?” You shake your head as Miguel seals his lips. Jess grins, not wanting to tease any further. “He wanted to talk to you. So you got ten minutes before I need you back out there.”

You shoot her an ok sign when Miguel says, “Thank you.”

“Mmhm.”

As Jess walks out of the room, he sees your outfit. Your body is in full view through the long, sheer black outfit, exposing your legs. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks.” You give him a brief smile, “So what brings you here? Want another hand job?”

“Ah no, thank you.”

“Aww, you didn’t like the last one? I’ll admit it was a bit impromptu, I didn’t have my lube on me.” You explain. Miguel figures you must give a lot of hand jobs.

“No, I enjoyed it. Very much so.” He admits, ducking his head, the linoleum floor looking a lot nicer right now. “I wanted to see if we could come up with an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?”

“Yes. A certain day when I can see you and only you.” He continues, “All of these other ladies are nice but I only want you.”

“I'm flattered.” You tap on the table to get him to sit beside you and he does. Taking in the close proximity, “I'm surprised a man like you wants to frequent this place, out of all places.”

“A man like me?” He questions but then understands what you meant, “You mean a scientist?”

“…yeah, sure. Let's go with that.” You pat his shoulder.

“Is it wrong that I want to do something different? I go to work, go home, see my family, and that's it. Not a way to live.”

“True. But you thought that something different was going to a strip club?”

“Y-Yes.” He rubs the back of his neck while your eyes are filled with questions. But you didn’t ask any. “My ex-fiancé thought I was boring. And maybe I am, but I wanted to prove it.”

“Ah, so this is for getting back at your ex, got it.”

Miguel feels a shift from you after saying that and he goes to correct himself, “No wait, I'm not using you, don't think that way. I just wanted something new to my routine.”

“Then what does this arrangement entail?” You ask, hands on your hips. “Because a lot of people come to the club to see ass, tiddies, and pussy. Then go about their business. It looks like you're asking for more than that.”

This conversation is going all wrong. Now, it looks like he offended you which wasn't his intention. Miguel wasn’t sure what exactly he said to make you hostile towards him in the first place so he backtracks.

“I just want to see you and talk.”

“While I give you a lap dance or something?” He nods, “You know I'm not a therapist.”

“I know.”

“And you know you're still going to have to pay me.”

“R-Right, of course. I have plenty of money.”

“But don't waste it all on me. You got yourself to take care of.”

“Yes, yes you're absolutely right.”

“Okay.” You sigh, stuffing the rest of the cookie in your mouth before brushing the crumbs off your body. Miguel wished he was the cookie crumb that grazed along your chest, but he bit his lip not to say anything. “I have a headlining dance on Tuesdays but if you want to make sure we have plenty of time together, then Thursdays.”

“Okay.”

Time was up and you had to go back out on the floor. As you push him out, he stops right by the doorway to the establishment, blocking your path.

“So I'll see you on Tuesday?”

You roll your eyes, “I told you I have a dance on Tuesdays.”

“I know.”

Your lips twitch, unsure if they want to smile or not. “I'll see you then.”

Tag list (lemme know if you guys wanna be tagged): @miguelzslvtz @kitcatcrunch @nina-from-317

@slut4oscarissac23 @anythigbutmiguel @moonlight00sthings @bajbr @freehentai

@chubbybyunnie @ilikeowlsidkwhy @questionable-behaviour @imamexican @tatatida

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel x reader #x black reader #x chubby reader #slushycoookie writes

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pin-k-ink · 4 months

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feral // kyoutani kentarou

tw ⇢ possessive!kyoutani, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, making out, begging, fingering, biting, cunnilingus, overstimulation, name calling, mild degradation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, mentions of masturbation, semi public sex

wc ⇢ 11.5k

a/n: this was for the sweetheart that asked for some kyoutani smut. i’m sorry i accidentally deleted your request ;_;

You never knew what to expect when Kyoutani Kentarou stomped into the room, his perpetual scowl etched deeply across his face.

From the moment he had joined the Aoba Johsai volleyball team in his first year, the hot-headed wing spiker had been a ticking time bomb of aggression just waiting to explode. Despite Coach Mizoguchi and the upperclassmen's efforts to rein him in, Kyoutani seemed to take perverse pleasure in disrupting practice with his outbursts and insubordinate behavior.

Which was why you, as the team's manager, often found yourself being summoned to deal with the fallout of his latest tantrum.

"He's done it again," Yahaba groaned one afternoon, shoulders slumped in exasperation. "Kyoutani started mouthing off during the hitting drills and it escalated into a full-blown brawl with Watari."

You bit back a sigh, feeling a headache already forming. Ever since the newly-minted captain had instituted "disciplinary punishments" for the unruly wing spiker, you'd been the one tasked with monitoring his compliance.

The punishments ranged from tedious chores like cleaning the gym to studying in the library after practice - essentially anything to constructively wear down Kyoutani's endless reserves of pent-up aggression. At least, in theory.

Because in reality, getting the tempestuous third-year to actually apply himself to the remedial tasks proved an uphill battle of wills every single time. You could already envision the confrontation awaiting when you attempted to corral him later.

Sure enough, Kyoutani was his usual prickly self when you finally tracked him down in one of the empty classrooms later. He was slouched low in a rickety desk chair, booted feet propped up and arms crossed like a petulant child as you entered.

"I know, I know...library study time again," he grumbled without even looking up. "When are you jailers gonna get some new material?"

You refused to rise to the bait of his surliness, instead simply fetching one of the textbooks from the pile on the teacher's desk.

"As many times as it takes for you to learn some self-control, Kyoutani-san," you replied calmly. "Now open up to chapter nine and start reading."

A muscle ticked visibly in his clenched jaw as he dragged his glower up to finally meet your steady gaze. You braced yourself for the usual torrent of insolent pushback that always followed these disciplinary sessions.

But this time...something seemed to flicker and fracture in Kyoutani's stony glare the longer your silent staredown stretched. You watched as his narrowed eyes gradually widened, tracked the way his throat bobbed slightly on a subconscious swallow.

Was it a trick of the light, or did his cheeks appear just the faintest shades pinker beneath that oppressive scowl of his?

The surly wing spiker seemed to catch himself after a beat too long, blinking rapidly as he scrubbed one hand over his face with a low grumble.

"Whatever...let's just get this over with," he muttered, snatching up his pencil and cracking open the textbook with far less resistance than usual.

An odd, perplexed furrow creased your brow at his uncharacteristic acquiescence. But rather than pry into the bizarre shift of behavior, you simply took your customary seat near the front and opened your own bookbag to pass the tutoring time in productive quiet.

Out of the corner of your periphery, you periodically caught glimpses of Kyoutani's hand dragging through his disheveled fringe in what looked like agitation. His nostrils would flare slightly, lips pressed into a flat line of concentration - or perhaps constipation judging by his pinched expression.

More than once you opened your mouth, a gentle reminder on the tip of your tongue to urge him to stop stalling and simply get on with his assigned reading for once.

But each time the words wilted before they could form as your eyes traced the taut, corded lines of muscle shifting beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Watched the play of tendons flexing along the powerful column of his throat as he swallowed again in apparent... agitation?

An infinitesimal spark of heat you hadn't noticed before seemed to smolder behind Kyoutani's russet stare whenever his gaze would instinctively, unconsciously dart over to follow you shifting position in your seat.

It was...unnerving to be studied in such an abruptly intense manner by someone as volatile as the hotheaded spiker. You couldn't deny the fine prickle of unease slowly blossoming beneath your breastbone the longer that strange silent observation stretched out between you.

But still...you couldn't bring yourself to shatter the weighted quiet crackling with some indefinable new tension, either.

Over the next few tutoring sessions, Kyoutani's newly mercurial behavior only seemed to intensify further. His moods would careen wildly between sullen aloofness one minute, only to have his gaze practically scorching a trail over your movements the very next.

You couldn't deny the spark of inexplicable heat that bloomed low in your belly whenever you'd catch him tracking you with that piercing stare - slightly hooded and inscrutable in a way that sent confusing little shivers racing beneath your skin.

During one study hall, you made the questionable decision to bend at the waist and retrieve your pencil case from your bag on the floor. When you straightened again, textbook cradled in the opposite arm, you found Kyoutani's intense focus locked onto the new vantage you'd inadvertently offered.

His eyes snapped up instantly when he registered your upright position once more, but not before you caught the faintest hint of pink staining those sharp cheekbones. The wing spiker startled like a kid caught snatching sweets before dropping his stare guiltily to the desktop.

You could have sworn you glimpsed his throat working in a harsh swallow, chest expanding on a sharp inhale. And all at once the simmering tension in the small classroom took on an unmistakably suggestive edge you couldn't ignore.

Flustered heat flooded your own features as the implications crashed over you in a dizzying rush. Was it possible Kyoutani had just been...

No, you firmly shut down that inappropriate trail of thought before it could start sparking more indecent ideas. With some deliberate throat-clearing, you shifted your weight and pointedly avoided looking in the disgruntled spiker's direction once more.

The next few minutes stretched out in a weighted hush that felt thick enough to drown in. Until finally Kyoutani gruffly broke the silence by slamming his pencil down and shoving his chair back from the desk with a screech of wood on tile.

"This stupid babysitting shit was supposed to help control my temper, right?" he growled in a voice made thick and gravel-rough by...something you couldn't put a name to.

You blinked up at him with a bemused frown. "Well...yes? That was the inten--"

"Hasn't worked for shit," Kyoutani snapped before you could finish, suddenly on his feet and radiating wild, jagged energy. "Don't think locking me up with homework is gonna solve jack if you wanna stop me losing my shit."

With that brusque declaration hanging in the air, he abruptly slung his bag over one shoulder and stalked for the door without a backwards glance. His motives, as usual, were utterly inscrutable.

You could only sit and gape after the wing spiker's tense departure, feeling utterly poleaxed and more than a little flustered by whatever fresh maelstrom of emotions seemed to have been roiling just beneath Kyoutani's surface this entire time.

Over the next few weeks, his outbursts and disruptive antics only continued unchecked - racking up infraction after infraction at an alarming rate. At this juncture, even Yahaba was at a loss for how to proceed in curbing his unruly teammate's behavior.

"None of these punishments seem to be taking," the captain sighed in exhaustion one afternoon as you watched Kyoutani storm out after his latest raging display. "If anything, it's like he's been acting out more just to wind up with extra sentences of study time."

Your brow furrowed as you absorbed his observations alongside your own disjointed suspicions regarding Kyoutani's volatile state. Because the more you mulled it over, the more it seemed like the surly third-year almost...enjoyed receiving those private punishments with you as his monitor.

A troubling thought began to form, one you hesitantly brought up when seeking Yahaba's counsel on how to proceed.

"Captain...is there any possibility the reason he's been even more disruptive is...well, because of me?"

Yahaba's brow arched quizzically. "What, like he has a crush on you or something? HA! Yeah right, that would require Kyoutani being capable of feeling anything other than rage and spite."

You smiled wanly, though the jeering laughter didn't quite manage to fully dispel those nagging uncertainties from taking root further. Because now that the idea had been verbalized, however ludicrous, you couldn't seem to dislodge it entirely from your wavering thoughts.

And over the subsequent days and weeks, the theory only mushroomed into something far more tangible and visceral to dismiss.

The rising charged tension between you and Kyoutani felt nearly palpable, manifesting in a series of escalating encounters and near-misses that left you feeling perpetually off-kilter and frayed.

A terse bathroom encounter in which the sound of running taps from the sinks had drowned out his arrival, only for you to turn around and find Kyoutani looming in the open doorway with that searing gaze roving over you in one long, heated assessment. The sleeves of your fitted shirt had ridden up around your forearms, leaving slightly disheveled and flushed from the exertion of scrubbing away stubborn floor scuffs. Kyoutani's jaw had tightened perceptibly as he drank in your relatively undone state, nostrils flaring like a predator catching the scent of prey.

Before either of you could address the weighted tension strangling the cramped room, the boisterous arrival of more teammates behind him sent Kyoutani abruptly about-facing and stalking away as if you'd burned him.

Or the time he'd caught you in the gym storeroom struggling to haul a bulky rack of withered volleyballs to the wash basin across the cramped space. Without prompting, Kyoutani had pivoted on that eerily feline tread of his to crowd up behind you - the sudden brand of his muscular frame searing into your back as his larger hands came around to grip the cumbersome rack on either side of yours.

"Lemme do that for you," he growled in that sandpaper rasp that raised goosebumps all along the nape of your neck.

Dazed by the sudden smoldering proximity, you could only offer a jerky nod of assent before allowing your grip to slacken completely. Kyoutani took the bulk of the weight without visible strain, tendons cording and flexing beneath the bronzed pulls of his powerful forearms as he leveraged the rack into steady motion. All while making sure to prowl at a distinctly leisurely pace just behind your rigid posture, hemming you in against the low countertop's edge and those matte metal surfaces still radiating day-old warmth...

You sucked in a sharp breath at the unsubtle glide of his hips brushing yours on each laborious step closer to your destination. Heat prickled all along the back of your thighs from the continual drag of his solid girth framing you in from behind. And when Kyoutani finally pivoted and deposited the rack aside near the industrial sinks, the sudden dissolving of that searing full-body press had you feeling oddly untethered. As if every undefended inch of your back now tingled with feverish sensitivity in the absence of his caging presence.

That roiling, choking tension between you only mounted further with each drawn-out entanglement. Like an ember being stoked brighter with every suggestive encounter into something perilously close to a raging wildfire neither of you seemed capable of reigning in anymore.

More than once, you found yourself trapped in Kyoutani's orbit - confronted with the stark reality of his potent physicality in a way so raw and overwhelming you could scarcely meet the fiery simmer of his gaze without feeling immolated from within.

During one disastrous laundry-folding session, he'd casually sauntered over to help sort through some equipment bags in typical brooding silence. Only to promptly get into a tug-of-war over some knotted laces ensnaring a pair of his shorts, arms straining and tendons cording as he braced his feet for leverage against you during the awkward tussle.

All it took was one particularly stubborn yank for the ensnarled fabric to finally give way, bunching beneath Kyoutani's grip and abruptly exposing his navel, lower abdomen, and the unmistakable vee of defined musculature all the way down to...

You barely registered the warning growl rumbling up from his chest as you instinctively devoured every salt-slicked, flexing inch of revealed skin with a ravenous stare you simply couldn't tear away from for the life of you. The blaze of heat and illicit want that rendered you momentarily insensate to anything but that breathtaking physicality sprawled temptingly before you in ways you'd only ever allowed yourself to imagine in the deepest throes of restless nights...

A sharp, smarting sting across the back of your knuckles finally dispelled the lust-drunk haze fogging your thoughts. You flinched back to reality with a full-body start, blinking rapidly as your unbound hair swung across your rapidly flushing features. Kyoutani loomed over you with his spine locked ramrod straight—the abortive swing of his arm suggested he'd lashed out to strike your wandering grip back from continuing to map out any more dangerous undiscovered territory between you.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?" The caustic rasp of his voice had you hunching your shoulders guiltily. Even still, you sensed the molten undertones of restrained...something else twining through those growled words like smoke and sinew.

Before you could stammer any hasty apologies about spacing out, Kyoutani snatched the tangle of laces and abruptly spun on his heel to stalk off in a tension-cloaked fury prickling with even more restless static charge than before.

All you could do was watch the broad, powerful lines of his retreating shoulders and back through a sheen of dazed longing - the echoes of that momentary, inappropriate eyeful both searing itself irrevocably into your hindbrain and kindling even more hapless embers of temptation to eventually set you both aflame once and for all...

The bubbling cauldron of charged tension could only contain itself for so long before something finally had to give. With each passing practice and tutoring session, you could feel Kyoutani's smoldering stare singeing into you from across the gym or classroom like twin laser-focused beams of sheer yearning.

It was getting harder and harder to deny or ignore the blatant implication of that ravenously intent study. Or to turn a blind eye to the way his nostrils would subtly flare with each inhale whenever you moved within proximity - as if scenting the ambient notes of your shampoo and perfume and committing every last tantalizing nuance to carnal memory.

But while Kyoutani's molten preoccupations with you seemed to steadily eclipse any remaining threads of restraint each day, you were embroiled in your own fraying internal war as well. One that collided and detonated in spectacular fashion the afternoon Watari, ever the friendly jokester, sidled up beside you with one of his patented sunny grins as you wiped down the front court railings between drills.

"Looking a little flushed there, y/n-chan!" The libero chirped in that effervescent rasp that always made you smile no matter how disgruntled you might be feeling. "Tough practice really giving you a workout today, huh?"

Offering him a beatific smile in return, you playfully swatted at his arm with the damp towel clutched in your hands.

"Something like that," you chuckled lightly. "More like dealing with Coach's endless notations wearing me down instead of the floor burns!"

Watari's nose scrunched up jovially as he fell into familiar banter alongside you, completely at ease in a way you'd always envied whenever spent in Kyoutani's mercurial presence. Where that hotheaded third-year simmered with sullen ferocity and roiling embers of something painfully unspoken, Watari danced and joked with the bubbly lightness you'd always wished you could nurture more of yourself these days.

Still snickering over his latest teasing rejoinder, you bent to set the grimy towel aside so you could collect up the rest of the cleaning supplies. Which was when you caught sight of Kyoutani across the gymnasium out of your periphery - utterly immobile and watching you both with razored focus. Specifically trained on the studiedly casual way Watari had shifted in close beside you as your laughter and camaraderie echoed bright across the high-ceilinged stretch of hardwood.

Even from a distance, you couldn't miss the acute line of tension visibly furling Kyoutani's shoulders back to an unmistakable knot of outward bristle. Nor the way his pupils had contracted to piercing pinpricks against the molten outrage visibly dilating the rest of his features into an unmistakable mask of lightning about to strike.

The visceral menace and scalding possessiveness painted across Kyoutani's chiseled contours in that instant nearly stole your ability to draw breath entirely. His heavy footfalls slammed across the courts like rolling thunderclaps as the wing spiker stormed in your direction - focused solely upon the perceived impunity of Watari now hemming you into the corner between the lockers and railing with his easy affability and casual flirting.

Before either you or the oblivious libero could register, Kyoutani's powerful bulk had shoved directly in between your joined proximities - effectively severing the personable bond with all the grace and discretion of a wildfire scalding across a drought. In the ensuing disoriented tumble of limbs and shocked exclamations, you reeled back against the hard concrete barrier with your heart in your throat.

Watari gaped up at Kyoutani from where he'd abruptly bounced off the larger wing spiker's chest in stunned bewilderment. But rather than acknowledging his sputtering indignation, the steely focus of Kyoutani's dismantling glower simply tracked past him to zero in on your flushed features and shallow pants with all the remorseless hunger of an apex predator locking onto its coveted prey at last.

"You and me," he growled in a register so choked and molten it had your core clenching paradoxically. "Practice rooms. Now."

Without sparing you or the libero another breath of regard, Kyoutani spun on his heel and stalked off towards the secluded annex classrooms appropriated for private coaching sessions. His thighs visibly bulged and flexed with each devouring stride beneath the clinging fabric as he sliced through anyone else standing in the way.

You had only enough time to gape haplessly after that possessed, potent display while gulping down the desperate rushes of fight-or-flight adrenaline roaring to molten life within your veins. When you finally managed to tear your gaze away to meet Watari's utterly befuddled stare, an unspoken acknowledgment seemed to pass between you...

Whatever feverish breaking point Kyoutani was hurtling towards with each escalating orbit around you, the rough wing spiker now seemed all but inevitable to combust beyond any hope of restraint or decorum in the very near future. All you could do was wait for the fateful encounter to run its cataclysmic course - and pray the raging fires burning between you weren't permanently extinguished in the aftermath of whatever reckoning was about to go down.

The remainder of practice passed in a disconcerting blur after Kyoutani's abrupt departure - your every sense now attuned to any subtle vibrations suggesting whatever powderkeg confrontation might be occurring behind those closed classroom doors.

More than once you startled and spun at the muffled dull thud of impact - fists against drywall or flesh, imagination running lurid as you pictured the broiling savagery the unstable spiker might be indulging with no prying eyes around. Just as often, the sound of that graveled baritone rasping indecipherable rejoinders through the baffling barrier had you involuntarily canting closer in hopes of gleaning any telling inflections.

But the only insights you managed to unearth from those fruitless listenings involved the dizzying blooms of heat blossoming low in your belly at every growled timbre. As if Kyoutani's voice alone contained hypnotic power to weaken your knees and dissolve your restraint to pliant surrender with each fervent rasp caressing your senses.

You had to shake yourself forcibly on multiple occasions from the spiraling descent into wanton reverie - cheeks flushed hot with shamed arousal that only intensified with every subsequent unraveling daydream of finally having that raw, aggression-laced physicality caged against your own trembling frame.

By the time Coach Mizoguchi finally called for dismissal, you felt wrung-out and frazzled in a way that had nothing to do with the actual physical exertions of the day's training regimen and everything to do with the tempestuous undercurrents still simmering unresolved and attended to. As you gathered your sparse possessions and tried valiantly not to betray the roiling unease gnawing away at your composure, the hair on the back of your neck abruptly lifted in forewarning.

Spinning towards the periphery coaching rooms, you glimpsed the door to the private conference area creaking open with ominous lethality. Kyoutani's hulking silhouette emerged first, striding forth on legs that seemed to devour the distance between you in a handful of prowling strides. His shoulders were locked at that telltale width suggesting every sinewy inch of musculature remained coiled at maximum tension beneath his untamed fury.

He did not acknowledge you in any overt sense. But the razor-line of his focus never once wavered or deviated from its scorching assessment of your increasingly flustered state. Conflicting desires warred within you - the unmistakable siren's call of curiosity demanding you crane to glimpse any evidence of fallout on Kyoutani's harsh visage from that impassioned seclusion just endured. While the more prudent, self-protective voices shouted to simply avoid any further incendiary provocations altogether and retreat while you still stood a chance of surviving with faculties intact.

All you could do was stand rooted, pathetic indecision eroding your footing beneath that steadily intensifying glare. It wasn't until he reached the limits of the doorframe that Kyoutani finally skated the tip of his incendiary stare higher - zeroing in on the only other occupant in the small staging room off the main gym with an unmistakable flare of possessive dismissal radiating from every taut line of his frame.

"We're done here," he growled in a voice that shredded past his gritted teeth. The words did not come across as a polite pleasantry despite their innocuous arrangement.

Coach Mizoguchi spared his volatile wing spiker the briefest of wary sidelong looks before nodding curtly and making his retreat without argument. Something about Kyoutani's present demeanor clearly cautioned against offering even the mildest pushback under any circumstances.

Once you were alone in that enclosed space together - just you and the barely-tamed wildfire of Kyoutani's focus steadily searing away any remaining vestiges of common sense or distance - the pressure in the air seemed to intensify tenfold. Each rasping exhalation you struggled to reign in only drew your shared aromas that much more intimately between your shared gravities. Sharp musk and residual adrenaline, floral body products and salted skin in a sinuously provocative melange that awakened whole new layers of yearning inside you.

When Kyoutani's gaze finally cut back to pin you in place with that familiar, bone-searing intensity, you felt your breath exit in a breathless rush of inevitability. Of acceptance that this tinderbox between you had finally reached its volatile crescendo...and all either of you could do now was let the raging fires sweep everything inevitably in their path to sweet, boneless ruination.

"So..." Kyoutani growled in that same perilous, shrapnel-laced rasp that seemed to slice right through your attempts at feigning composure. "You and the libero have been getting pretty damn cozy lately."

It wasn't phrased as an actual question despite the slight lilt tugging at the end - more an unmistakable statement of accusation loaded with displeasure. That scorching stare of his branded every trembling twitch reshaping your features as confusion swiftly curdled to realization, then a frisson of indignant defiance in the span of a few molten heartbeats.

"I-I'm sorry, what?" You stammered uselessly, desperate to stall for time against whatever rapidly escalating confrontation seemed to be unfolding from out of nowhere. "Watari and I are just...we've always been friends, Kyoutani. Teammates. Where is this even coming from?"

Another gravelly snarl ripped from the depths of his broad chest as those piercing amber irises visibly ignited with further outrage. Before you could so much as draw your next sharp intake, Kyoutani had bridged the remaining scant distance separating you in three devouring strides until you could taste the charged pheromones of him on the air.

"Don't play dumb with me," he bit out in a seething growl that had your pulse kicking up to gallop beneath your hammering ribcage. The heat of his overall presence radiated off Kyoutani in almost tangible waves now, caressing over your feverish skin in electric ribbons that raised every nerve ending to rapturous awakening.

"We both know that ain't the way you look at a damn friend or teammate, little girl."

The derisive, wrecked emphasis he laced onto that last endearment practically detonated in the shockwave between you like physical force. You reeled beneath the implication's stark insult as Kyoutani leaned down until you were forced to crane your neck back at an aching angle just to maintain that searing eye contact.

God he was huge like this - all dense, unyielding muscle and flexed potentials arrayed in towering apogee before you. It would be so easy for those larger-than-life hands and brutally-calloused grips to seize your pliant, undefended softness in a fit of unchecked possession and dominating fervor.

To simply wrench you up against that fever-warm expanse of carved musculature and scorching male intensity smothering against you in tsunamic waves with only the barest exertion from his end, utterly overpowering any feeble resistance through sheer liquid physicality alone...

A shuddering whimper threatened to break free from the shredded rags of your serenity as the next blazing pass of Kyoutani's hooded stare left no ambiguities about the forbidden directions your imagination had whited out into. He could clearly see every sordid desire and burst of need his provocation had stoked to incandescent life swirling naked across your features, eyes burning hotter at each outward tell you instinctively broadcasted.

"So why don't you just admit what we both already know?" He practically crooned in a rumbling, velvet-drenched baritone that skirted lower into sheer sin dipped in audible lust. "How it's been driving you half out of your mind watching me while trying to pretend you're not eye-fucking every goddamn inch of what you want all over--"

"Kyoutani!" The rebuked burst forth before you could think to reclaim your composure from the brink of unraveling completely.

Whether it was hearing him speak those incendiary confessions and temptations aloud after weeks spent wallowing in the swirling riptides of desire, or simply the overpowering proximity of his outrageous physicality spearing its way through the last remnants of your restraint, something finally reached terminal saturation point inside you.

He thrived off the scalding reproach dripping from your ragged tone, judging by the triumphant way his lips peeled back in a savagely amused smirk framing teeth. When he straightened to his towering height once more, the arrogance etched into his features promised whole new levels of molten ruination lying in wait. Just as promised.

"Ah, there's that fire I've been waiting to see blaze up completely, neh pretty girl?"

Another dark, indecently pleased rumble vibrated that drugged cadence of his as Kyoutani reached out with one of those huge, unforgivably strong hands. Before you had time to so much as register defensive retreat, his calloused knuckles were already skating over the feverish jut of your cheekbones - rough leather textures branding trails of molten possession across your bemused features in the most overtly intimate overture yet shared between you.

The breath fled your constricting lungs on a whimper you couldn't begin to bite back or deflect. And with that single unhesitating transgression uttered through touch alone, the last tattered remnants of propriety and restraint simply dissolved away to ash and embers without a whisper of struggle.

Whatever cliff you'd careened towards together finally loomed ahead in all its breathtaking plummet - with only the embrace of depravity and scorching rapture waiting to catch your ruination below.

All that remained was choosing just which of you would claim the dubious distinction of surrendering control first between your burning gravities.

You barely registered the breathless sound spilling from your parted lips as those wicked fingers continued their blazing path across the arcs of your features. Mapping out every thrilling plane and hollow with the attentive diligence of an artisan devotee committing their muse to raptured memory.

The intensity blazing behind Kyoutani's stare as he drank in your bemused surrender robbed you of any remaining pretense towards control or retreat. Only naked yearning swirled in those blazing amber depths now - an unmistakable harbinger of the molten intentions he meant to put into scorching motion whether you rallied resistance or not.

"I've wondered over and over what it might take to finally shatter that fragile little act of yours," he rasped in a voice gone low and viscous with sin audible. "Made myself half out of my goddamn mind imagining all the wicked ways I'd have to work at stripping away every last shred of propriety before I could get a real taste of the filthy little minx hiding underneath."

The stark, unabashed confession detonated through your wavering restraints with the force of a bunker buster. You could only gape up at Kyoutani, utterly transfixed and stripped raw beneath the intensity of his rapacious scrutiny as he prowled ever closer into your orbit.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice the way you couldn't fucking tear your hungry stare off me in the locker rooms?" A harsh growl rumbled up from somewhere deep in his chest as he caged you fully against the wall with that dense, radiating physicality made to tower over you. "Every time I caught those pretty eyes dragging over every new slick inch of skin bared to you...shit, it was like watching a bitch in heat struggling against her own depraved appetite while fooling precisely nobody but herself."

The scathing vulgarity landed like a physical slap, forcibly severing away the last threads of protest or propriety that might have remained with one brutal swing. Heat flooded your features at the stark, unrepentant filth painting his wrecked confessions with darker, more feral strokes of sin.

And yet you couldn't summon even the most token objection in the face of that viscerally potent onslaught. Kyoutani's words simply resonated in your hindbrains with hypnotic potency - voicing every forbidden craving and depraved imaginings precisely as you'd struggled to deny them to yourself all this time.

"Well now you've got what you always wanted, pretty," the unstable spiker purred with perverse delight as he closed those last few molten inches separating you. His massive frame dwarfed your slight stature utterly, the scorching brand of his body searing into each awakening nerve ending through the thin layers separating you now. "A chance to get up close and personal with the big scary Mad Dog you've been eye-fucking into oblivion behind everyone's backs."

That guttural endearment landed like a detonation right between your ribs, simultaneously stoking fresh embers of mortified outrage even as it awakened a deeper, more primal thrill of debasement in your core. You could practically feel every ounce of restraint fraying away as the turbulent storm of Kyoutani's focus intensified around you with each panted breath shared.

In one smooth inhalation, the powerful line of his carved jawline descended until Kyoutani's ruination-laced exhales caressed directly over the scorching blush staining your cheeks in intimate provocation.

"So what's it gonna be, pet?" He crooned directly against the feverish hollow of your parted lips - metallic rasp scraping your senses raw as his tongue peeked out to taste the trembling give there in shameless preview. "You gonna finally take exactly what that greedy little body of yours has been desperate for me to give? Or does the thought of finally surrendering to those depraved hungers terrify you even more than that repressed bitch behind your eyes lets on..."

You only had a split-second warning of Kyoutani's intentions before he decisively slanted his mouth over yours in a punishing glide of possession uninvited. The shredded whimper that tried to punch its way free was instantly muffled, absorbed and redirected back into your shared inferno with every subsequent devouring press of his lips and questing lashes of tongue.

Despite his savagery and overt dominance, there was an undeniable artfulness to the way Kyoutani worked at ruinously unmaking you bit by bit. His large hands easily captured your jaw and the nape of your neck to keep you splayed before him, utterly helpless beneath the scorching onslaught of his hunger as he plundered your senses with wicked precision.

Slick velvet textures tangled and retreated, only to delve deeper again on a lingering glide of utterly filthy temptation. The sweltering pressure of his body pinning you rigid to the solid surface at your back didn't allow for even the thinnest margin of escape or reprieve. Only total, rapturous surrender to being consumed by that unholy smolder of passion Kyoutani unleashed without mercy or faltering.

A broken, obscene keen vibrated up from somewhere deep in your throat as you instinctively arched and bucked beneath the exquisite lavishing focus of his attentions despite yourself. The electrifying drag of his callused knuckles trailing down over the exposed rise of your torso sent lightning pulses of unadulterated bliss hurtling through your overstimulated senses.

Every illicit slide of Kyoutani's merciless ministrations only stoked the smoldering inferno of depravity blazing to incandescent life between you. Until there was nothing left of higher cognitive processing beyond naked instinct to experience and indulge the blinding ecstasy of craving finally granted satiation without reservation.

When his large hands dropped lower still to cup and knead the pliant mounds of your ass underneath your skirt, the ragged groan that tore loose from Kyoutani's lips sounded as if torn straight from the depths of his chest. His blunt fingertips dug in with a punishing squeeze that sent molten pleasure arcing up through your core like a livewire, eliciting a high-pitched whimper of need and want and desperation to plead for more of those sinful caresses.

"Fuck yeah," Kyoutani purred against the bruised, glistening give of your mouth - a wicked smirk curling at the corners of his lips when he registered how your hips bucked instinctively to meet the molten roll of his pelvis against your own. "Just like that, pet. Show me exactly how much you want it. Need it. Need me."

The ragged, unguarded plea of his graveled baritone sent another electric jolt arcing through your veins, stoking the fever-bright flames of passion roaring between you to near-uncontrollable proportions. Kyoutani's tongue dragged against the plush swell of your bottom lip in a deliberate taunt, a warning, a threat as he pulled away just far enough to sear his gaze over the fever-dazed contours of your upturned face.

"I bet you taste as filthy as you look right now, pretty." That wrecked, husky rasp raked its claws over the shivering expanse of your skin like a physical touch. "How 'bout we find out for ourselves just how sweet a girl's honey-soaked cunt can get when she's dripping with need for her Mad Dog, hmm?"

Before you could react to that carnal challenge, Kyoutani's powerful arms swept beneath the curve of your backside - hauling you up with a sharp hiss of exertion against the rippling musculature of his abdomen until you had no choice but to lock your legs around his narrow hips for stability. The sudden friction of your panty-clad center grinding against his thick arousal through the barrier sent a frisson of white-hot need skittering up your spine.

Even still, Kyoutani seemed insistent upon pressing his advantage - crowding in until you could feel the wall's concrete solidity digging into your shoulderblades and the fever-warm press of his chest molded against yours. One massive hand remained locked around the nape of your neck, holding your face mere breaths away from the scorching proximity of his own as the other curled under the curve of your ass to support your weight effortlessly.

"Look at me," Kyoutani growled as he tightened his grip around the vulnerable column of your throat - not so much as applying pressure, but making his possession unmistakably clear regardless. His piercing irises had narrowed to slits of molten intensity as they raked over every flustered angle and fevered flush of your features in turn.

"I want those pretty eyes on me while I show you exactly how I mean to devour every last filthy inch of your cunt. How I'll make you scream and claw and beg for me while I fuck that tight little hole full of cum until it's dripping down your thighs. That's the only way this ends, kitten. With my dick buried balls-deep inside you and my teeth sinking into that soft throat of yours, claiming every single last inch of what belongs to me."

A full-body shudder wracked through you at the savage, indecent filth spewing from Kyoutani's lips, even as a fresh rush of heat flooded through your already soaked center at his depraved promise. His lips curled in a cruel parody of a smile as his hips shifted against yours - grinding the prominent bulge of his cock against the slick seam of your thighs and groin in a single, ruthless thrust that sent your eyes rolling back in their sockets.

"Now that's a pretty sight," Kyoutani rasped in a voice gone low and guttural with lust. "You really do get off on the way I talk to you, don't you pet? Fuck. The way you're writhing and bucking like a bitch in heat just to rub that soaked cunt against my dick has me half-crazy."

His tongue licked a searing trail across the seam of your lips in another blatant taunt, a teasing prelude of what was about to follow as Kyoutani's hand slid from its punishing grip on your neck. You felt his blunt fingertips trace over the fever-slicked planes of your torso in a feather-light graze - only to suddenly dip lower with purpose, skating the sensitive expanse of your exposed navel and lower still.

A strangled, broken sound ripped free from the depths of your chest as those thick fingers skated over the lace-trimmed gusset of your panties - searing their presence into the soaked folds hidden beneath with a sinuous drag of pressure and friction that had your back bowing against the wall.

"God, just look at how much you're gushing," Kyoutani purred with a sinful glint blazing behind his molten stare as he continued to stroke along your slit through the thin barrier. The fabric quickly became sodden under his persistent touch, a testament to just how much the depraved, vulgar filth of his words had stoked the fires of need blazing hotter within you both.

"All that honey pouring out for me just to soak these panties even more," he continued with a smirk, the pad of his index finger suddenly catching and circling the swollen nub of your clit until a sob punched free from your constricting throat. "What a sweet, dirty little whore I've caught for myself, neh? All it took was a few nasty words and promises of my dick to get you writhing like a bitch in heat begging to be bred. Fuuuck."

The ragged groan that wrenched itself free from Kyoutani's chest resonated directly through your quivering frame, sending fresh shocks of pleasure careening through your nerve endings and heightening the already-sweltering fever blazing between you. His hips jerked against the cradle of your thighs in a harsh grind, the searing imprint of his erection branding through your damp panties until the fabric threatened to tear with the force.

"Do you know how many times I've jerked off to thoughts of this pretty pussy just like this?" Kyoutani continued in that ruined, gravelly rasp that scraped your senses raw with every uttered syllable. "Imagining my face buried between these thighs and licking up every last drop of your sweetness while you writhe and squirm and scream. It's the only thing I've thought about every time I've gotten my fist wrapped around my dick - picturing just how fucking good it would feel to make you beg for it."

Before you could process the full impact of those sordid, scalding confessions, the fingers tormenting your slick folds and swollen clit abruptly slipped beneath the elastic hem of your panties. Your mouth fell open on a wordless cry of shock and need as Kyoutani's broad fingertips delved between your swollen petals - gliding through the soaked folds and probing at the entrance to your core with the same ruthless, focused determination he exhibited on the court.

"Gonna make you mine, kitten," he groaned in a voice that had become nothing but a guttural rasp, primal and rough and hungry in a way that had your entire frame seizing and arching. "I've been dying to sink my dick inside this cunt ever since I joined the team. So wet. So goddamn warm and tight. Shit."

Your vision went hazy and black around the edges as Kyoutani sank one long digit fully into your clenching heat - the sudden invasion forcing your walls to stretch and accommodate the intrusion while simultaneously stoking the firestorm of need building towards unbearable levels inside you. He barely gave you the time to register the fullness before Kyoutani withdrew to sink a second digit inside, the stretch and burn of such a sudden breach ripping a high-pitched moan free from the depths of your chest.

The way his lips twisted and curled back from his teeth as Kyoutani began to pump those fingers inside you at an unforgiving pace sent a new shiver coursing through your overstimulated system. His hooded gaze drank in each twitch and buck of your hips against his punishing thrusts, clearly reveling in the sight of your flushed features contorted in agonized ecstasy as he continued his merciless assault.

"There you go, kitten," Kyoutani crooned against the shell of your ear - his ragged exhales sending fresh waves of gooseflesh prickling across your feverish skin. "Let me hear how good it feels, little girl. I want you screaming so loud every last asshole who ever looked at what's mine gets it drilled into their skulls that only one man gets to enjoy this gorgeous, filthy cunt and that's me. I'm the one who owns this sweet little body, and every last drop of pleasure I'm about to wring out of you."

His teeth sank into the curve of your throat with a muffled snarl, the sting of the bite and sudden suction sending another rush of molten need pulsing through your core. Those wicked digits continued to plunder your cunt without pause, curling and dragging against the swollen walls of your channel with a ruthless rhythm meant to destroy and unmake you utterly.

"You're mine now, kitten," Kyoutani practically snarled the words against your damp flesh - his tongue tracing the throbbing pulse point and sucking harder still to raise a dark, vivid bruise. "And I'm gonna take care of this greedy pussy in all the ways no one else ever could."

A keening sob broke free from the depths of your lungs as a particularly forceful thrust sent the head of his palm grinding against the swollen bud of your clit, setting off a cascade reaction that had you thrashing and clawing against the hard expanse of his chest. Your thighs clamped tighter around Kyoutani's trim hips, desperate for more friction and depth and pressure as you chased the cresting edge of bliss rapidly coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

"So fucking good," Kyoutani practically moaned the praise, his features contorting with an agonized, feral need that somehow ratcheted the inferno burning between you even higher. "Come for me, kitten. Show me exactly what this dripping cunt needs. Who it belongs to."

That commanding growl was the final straw - sending your already-tenuous restraint crashing to ruin in the blistering wake of your release. His name spilled from your lips in a broken sob, fingers scrabbling at his flexed biceps as you clung to him like a lifeline amidst the white-hot waves of euphoria washing over you.

But Kyoutani showed no mercy - only continuing his relentless stroking and curling against the spasming clench of your walls until the last aftershocks had shuddered through your trembling limbs. The entire time, his intense focus never wavered from your flushed features, drinking in each breathless gasp and whimper with an almost reverential air.

"Fucking hell, look at how goddamn pretty you are like this," Kyoutani murmured almost to himself - the awe-tinged reverence of his voice at odds with the savage, lust-drunk glaze burning in his heavy-lidded gaze. "Never seen anything so perfect. So goddamn beautiful."

The raw emotion threading through his graveled baritone hit you with the force of a tidal wave - stoking the embers of desire reignited anew to an inferno blazing between you once more. A new shiver rippled over your skin as the calloused pads of Kyoutani's fingertips continued their feather-light tracing over the flushed, sensitive expanse of your cheekbones.

"I want to see you come apart like that for the rest of my damn life," he rasped - the possessive heat blazing behind his molten amber irises scorching every inch of you with its intensity. "And I'm about to spend the rest of this night making sure you understand exactly how serious I am about keeping this pussy for myself. Gonna fuck you until you can't walk straight. Until the only thing you can remember is my name and the feeling of my dick buried so deep inside you can't think about anything else but this moment right now."

The sheer hunger and desperation behind Kyoutani's growled vows was almost too much to process, let alone absorb in its entirety. Your breath escaped in a sharp hiss as his fingers abruptly withdrew from your hypersensitive cunt with a wet sound that made you flush all over. Before you could think to protest or react, Kyoutani's large hands dropped to the curve of your ass - palming and kneading the plush mounds with an appreciative grunt as he held you firmly in place.

"Now let's see just how much of that filthy honey this pussy can give me," he said - a low, husky growl that seemed to vibrate against every exposed inch of your skin as Kyoutani slowly lowered himself to his knees.

"Kentarou!"

His name exploded from your lips in a strangled gasp as his hands hooked the thin elastic band of your panties - yanking them down and off your trembling legs with an impatient efficiency. Before you could process the next course of his intentions, Kyoutani was hauling one of your legs over his shoulder, leaving the rest of your lower body exposed to the searing blaze of his unguarded scrutiny.

"Fuck me," Kyoutani groaned, the expletive falling from his lips with such fervent reverence it was nearly obscene. The heat radiating from his penetrating stare alone was enough to set your senses ablaze - let alone the molten slide of his palms gliding up the backs of your bare thighs and gripping at the plump swell of your ass.

"I'm not sure whether I wanna eat your cunt first and taste all that sweet honey you gave me," he practically crooned as his thumbs skated the outer seam of your labia, spreading the swollen, puffy lips with deliberate slowness that had you bucking and whining. "Or if I wanna just bury my cock inside you and watch the way this pretty pussy sucks me in deep."

Another broken, pleading whimper punched free from your lungs at the graphic imagery his words painted, stoking the flames of need raging hotter between you both with each passing moment. His calloused fingertips were already gliding back down towards the apex of your thighs, seeking out the source of your renewed slickness with an air of uncompromising focus.

"Either way," Kyoutani continued with a smug smirk twisting his lips as he traced the delicate petals of your sex - spreading and dipping shallowly just past the swollen rim to test the give and resistance there. "I'm about to get every last drop of that sweetness."

The strangled moan that burst from the depths of your chest sounded alien and broken to your own ears - a keening sound of utter debauched want and need that seemed to resonate in your very bones. Kyoutani's smirk twisted to a full, toothy grin as he watched you tremble and writhe against the wall, clearly savoring the sight of your overstimulated body struggling to withstand the sensual torture of his ministrations.

"Look at me." The growled command was underscored with an edge of unmistakable dominance that sent a new shiver racing over your skin. His fingertips continued their torturous swirling around the sensitive opening of your core, teasing the stretched entrance with a maddeningly shallow rhythm that only served to stoke the fires of need blazing inside you further.

When you could do nothing but continue to buck and whimper and mewl beneath his relentless, merciless torment, Kyoutani's other hand abruptly left its position on your ass - snapping a sharp smack against one of your asscheeks that sent a frisson of pleasure-pain ricocheting through your frame.

"I said look at me, pretty." His lips curled back to flash a canine in a feral smile as Kyoutani watched your expression contort with the delicious pain-pleasure of his punishment. "I want those pretty eyes locked on me when I finally bury my face in that soaking cunt."

The next broken, desperate sob ripped free from the depths of your lungs, even as a new wave of wetness flooded from your slit. You couldn't tear your fever-glazed gaze away from the smoldering intensity of his piercing irises, even as he slowly shifted to press a soft kiss against the inner thigh resting atop his broad shoulder.

"There we go," Kyoutani murmured with a satisfied sigh - the heat of his breath ghosting over the soaked folds of your cunt. "I want to watch every expression that passes over your face while I fuck this cunt with my tongue. While I make you beg for my dick."

Before you could manage a coherent response, the flat of his tongue suddenly delved between the swollen petals - the slick texture rasping and curling in a way that had you writhing and keening against the wall. Your hands reached down to tangle in the short hairs at the crown of his skull, seeking purchase as Kyoutani began to lavish a punishingly thorough oral assault upon your center.

Every flick, suck, and curl of his tongue had you reeling - a sensory onslaught that robbed you of the ability to breathe or process anything beyond the exquisite, sinful pleasure of his touch. Every time you managed to claw your way back towards the surface, his fingers would sink inside your dripping core to thrust and curl against the tight channel, ripping a broken sob free from your chest.

"Fuck," Kyoutani swore with a ragged groan, his mouth still pressed flush against the soaked folds - the vibration of his voice sending another shiver rippling through you. "You taste like heaven. Shit. Never tasted a sweeter cunt. Could get drunk on this."

A strangled moan tore from your throat as Kyoutani's lips abruptly latched around your throbbing clit, suckling with just the right amount of pressure and suction to have you bucking and clawing against the wall. His fingers continued to pump and curl in a punishing rhythm that threatened to unravel you utterly, all the while maintaining his merciless devouring of your soaking cunt.

Your breath punched from your lungs on a ragged gasp as Kyoutani's mouth abruptly shifted focus, his lips parting around the stretched rim of your entrance before delving deep in a single thrust. The sensation of his tongue stroking and curling deep within your clenching heat was enough to send sparks exploding behind your eyes, a fresh wave of heat washing over your senses and dragging you back towards the precipice of climax.

"Please," the broken sob ripped itself free from the depths of your chest, your voice barely recognizable under the weight of the lust and need pouring through every syllable. "I can't. I'm gonna. God. I need--"

Your babbled pleas seemed to spur Kyoutani into even more frenzied motion, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to drive you higher and higher. He drank down the fresh gush of slick released from your folds, growling against the soaked petals as his teeth scraped against the swollen folds in a way that had a violent shudder rippling through your entire frame.

"I know what you need," Kyoutani groaned as his fingers pumped and curled faster still, setting a relentless pace that had your vision blurring at the edges. "You need me. Need this."

The next high-pitched whimper that spilled free was muffled as Kyoutani surged upright - sealing his mouth over yours in a bruising glide of possession. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the flavor sharp and intoxicating and filthy in a way that only ratcheted the fires of lust blazing between you even higher.

"Gonna fuck you right now," he snarled against the abused swell of your bottom lip - his teeth grazing over the throbbing flesh before sucking it between his own in a fresh taunt. "I can't wait anymore, pretty. Can't. I have to be inside you. Now."

With one fluid motion, Kyoutani's hands left your overheated skin and dropped to his waistband, the metallic rasp of a zipper being drawn and fabric shifting audible even over the harsh, panting breaths escaping from both of your mouths. You barely had a moment to register the absence of his warmth and bulk before the hard, searing pressure of his pelvis crashed into yours, pinning you back against the wall in an inescapable cage of muscle and flesh and need.

Your lips parted in a fresh sob of ecstasy and anticipation, only for the sound to be swallowed and consumed by the fierce, unyielding crush of Kyoutani's mouth on yours once more. The blunt tip of his thick erection suddenly notched against the swollen folds, gliding along the slick seam of your cunt in a tantalizing stroke that had both of you moaning into the other's mouth.

"Please," you keened against his lips, hips arching to grind yourself along the length of his pulsing shaft and soak the velvety skin with your arousal. "Need you. Please, please, please. Need you so badly."

"God fucking damn, I love it when you beg," Kyoutani snarled with an almost vicious edge to the graveled cadence of his voice, the thick head of his cock finally catching and beginning to sink past the tight clench of your entrance. "That's it. Beg me for it. Plead for my cock to fill up this greedy cunt."

The words dissolved into a strangled groan as he sank deeper and deeper, the searing friction of his girth stretching you open further than you'd ever felt before. Kyoutani's teeth caught the swell of your bottom lip, worrying and tugging until the sting sent an electric jolt arcing directly to your core.

"You're so tight, pretty girl," he panted, his breaths coming in rough, guttural pants as he continued his gradual, excruciating pace. "Fuck. So wet. And so goddamn warm. Shit. I knew you'd feel perfect."

His arms flexed and locked against the wall, bracketing you in the cage of his massive form as Kyoutani finally buried his cock to the hilt inside your soaking heat. For a few moments, the two of you simply stayed locked together, bodies trembling and breaths mingling as you adjusted to the fullness stretching your core.

But even in the haze of lust clouding your senses, you could sense the strain vibrating through the muscles locked beneath your clutching fingertips - the way Kyoutani's jaw ground and teeth clenched against the primal urge to pound into your clenching channel. His features had twisted into an almost agonized mask, the dark slashes of his brows knitted tightly together as he focused his efforts on maintaining control.

"Kentarou," you breathed his name in a low moan - the single syllable practically dripping with unadulterated want and need and desperation. You felt the way his powerful body shuddered and twitched in response, the involuntary buck of his hips sending a fresh jolt of pleasure-pain rocketing through you both.

"Fuck," he hissed against the curve of your neck, his tongue tracing the throbbing vein there in a hot glide that only heightened the feverish sensations rippling through you. "I know. God, I know, pretty. But I need to hold still for just a moment longer. Because once I start moving, I'm not stopping. Not until I've fucked this sweet pussy and marked every inch of it as mine."

The possessive edge threading through his gravelly baritone sent another shiver cascading through you, the molten tension building within your core reaching a fever pitch as you struggled to hold still and absorb the overwhelming sensation of his throbbing length sheathed fully inside you.

"I'm the one who owns this pussy," Kyoutani groaned as he rocked his hips against yours, grinding his pelvis into your own until his balls pressed against the swell of your ass. "Me, and no one else. Isn't that right, pretty girl? Say it."

The ragged moan that tumbled from your parted lips was all the answer he needed, even before the words finally spilled free.

"Yes," you cried out, nails scoring along the ridged expanse of his muscled back - the sensation seeming to drive Kyoutani closer to the edge as his entire body went rigid and trembling with the effort to hold still. "Yours. I'm yours. All yours. Please. Just fuck me."

Any remaining shred of restraint abruptly disintegrated at your breathless, desperate entreaty - sending Kyoutani's hips crashing into yours in a single, brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. The searing friction and drag of his thick cock filling you again and again was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, the sheer force and power behind his movements threatening to shatter your sanity.

"Shit," Kyoutani grunted in a raw, hoarse growl - the sound seeming to reverberate in his chest as his hands shifted to grip your ass tighter, angling you to meet his relentless plundering thrusts. "Gonna. Fuck. Gonna breed this sweet cunt until it's dripping with my cum."

The lewd, depraved filth spilling from his mouth sent another violent shudder coursing through your frame, your hips rising to meet the punishing pace he'd set without faltering. The friction and force behind his strokes were just on the cusp of painful, driving you towards the precipice of your release in a ruthless, inexorable tide that left no room for thought or logic or sense.

All that remained was the mind-numbing sensation of him stretching and filling you, again and again - a ceaseless, consuming rhythm that promised to shatter and remake you entirely.

"You take me so well," Kyoutani's voice rasped directly into your ear, the hot press of his sweat-slicked torso molding into your own until you could barely distinguish where his body ended and yours began. "Like you were fucking made for my cock. For me. So good. Such a perfect little slut."

His next thrust had your vision going hazy and black, the thick head of his dick grinding and pumping into a spot that sent fresh lightning pulses of pleasure-pain arcing up your spine. Another strangled scream tore itself free from the depths of your lungs - the only coherent sounds capable of escaping past the frantic, panting breaths escaping from between your swollen lips.

"Fuck, you look so good like this, beautiful," Kyoutani crooned the praise, his voice barely a thread above a guttural snarl. "Bent over for me and begging to be fucked and bred like a bitch in heat."

His tongue traced the curve of your ear in a sinful, teasing sweep, sending another frisson of need shuddering through your overheated frame. A ragged, sobbing moan clawed its way free from your throat as he continued the torturous torment of his hips slamming into your own - each thrust sinking deeper and harder until you couldn't tell if the sounds filling the air were your own or Kyoutani's.

"Tell me how much you need it, pretty," Kyoutani growled, the sharp scrape of his canines against the vulnerable column of your throat sending a new shudder coursing through you. "How much you love taking this cock and letting me fuck this filthy little pussy however I want. How much you want me to breed this gorgeous cunt until I've filled you up with my cum."

His hand had slipped between your bodies at some point during the relentless assault, calloused fingertips tracing over the slippery, swollen folds until they settled over the swollen bud of your clit. Every stroke and flick sent another shockwave of pleasure careening through you - driving you towards the precipice with the same single-minded focus that characterized every action and movement on the court.

"Say it," he demanded in a husky rasp that scraped your senses raw - his pace becoming ever-faster, ever-harder, ever-more-relentless until it was impossible to process the sensory overload.

"Kentarou," the plea broke from your throat in a raw sob, the only sound capable of passing through your swollen lips. Your head lolled against his broad shoulder as his fingers began to circle your clit with an increased pressure and tempo, driving you towards the inevitable fall with every pump and grind and thrust of his cock buried within your cunt.

"Let me hear you say it," Kyoutani snarled, his hips stuttering and jerking as the punishing pace became ever-more-frantic, ever-more-erratic, ever-more-wild. His teeth sank into the curve of your throat with a fresh growl, the sting of his canines ripping another strangled cry from your lungs as the crest of pleasure rapidly coiled tighter and tighter within you.

"Tell me you're mine."

The words were punctuated by a single, brutal thrust that had your vision whiting out, your back bowing against the wall and legs seizing around Kyoutani's trim waist. His name tore itself free from the depths of your throat in a wild, feral scream that shattered the relative quiet of the empty gym. Your nails scored across the clothed expanse of his back as every muscle and tendon in your body drew tight and taut with the overwhelming flood of euphoria sweeping over you.

"There we go," he rumbled against your throat, the vibration of his voice sending fresh sparks careening along your nerves. "There's my sweet girl. Fuck. Feels so fucking good when you come all over my cock like that."

Another guttural moan was torn free from the depths of his chest as his hands clamped around the curve of your hips, holding you steady as he continued to pound into your quivering, slick channel. His grip was iron-clad, the bruising force behind each stroke and thrust sending fresh shocks of pleasure-pain ricocheting through your already-overstimulated system.

"You feel too fucking good," Kyoutani snarled against your neck, the ragged edge to his voice and the way his hips were stuttering and losing their rhythm indicating he was rapidly approaching the brink of his own release. "Shit. Gonna make me cum."

His fingers returned to your clit with a renewed focus, the rough texture of his callouses grinding into the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that had you crying and writhing beneath the assault. Every part of you was aflame, a fever-bright inferno burning through your veins and threatening to consume you whole.

"Gonna breed this cunt full, pretty," Kyoutani swore against the hollow of your throat, the guttural rasp to his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Pump you full until you can feel every drop spilling out of your slutty little hole. Fuck. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Your only response was a low, broken moan, the sound seeming to spur Kyoutani's hips into an even more punishing, frenzied pace that threatened to break you in half. The way his cock was dragging against the spasming clench of your walls was an exquisite brand of torture - the friction and depth and force behind his thrusts pushing you beyond the point of sanity or reason.

"Fuck, look at how much you're gushing all over my dick," he practically purred the depraved observation, the filthy words falling from his lips as effortlessly as the sweat pouring off his brow. "Such a sweet, filthy little slut for me. Only me."

Another broken, wordless cry ripped free from your lungs as his fingertips redoubled their efforts on your hypersensitive clit, sending sparks and bolts of electricity crackling along your nerve endings and searing directly to your core. It was impossible to process the magnitude of the sensations he was wringing from you, each fresh stroke and touch threatening to send you tumbling over the edge yet again.

"I know you're close," Kyoutani growled, his features twisting into a feral grin as his tongue traced the delicate shell of your ear in a maddening taunt. "Can't wait to feel this perfect pussy clamping down on my dick when I breed you full. You'd like that, wouldn't you, beautiful?"

The words were punctuated by another harsh buck of his hips, the searing, velvety drag of his thick length dragging against the hypersensitive walls of your core in a way that threatened to rip the air from your lungs. Before you could even muster a coherent response, his teeth sank into the curve of your shoulder with a possessive snarl - the sharp pain-pleasure of his canines scraping against your skin sending another rush of molten need flooding from your cunt.

"Cum with me," Kyoutani's voice had gone husky and rough with desire, the ragged edge to his breathless pants betraying the effort it took to maintain the brutal, unforgiving pace he'd set. His fingers continued their relentless swirling and circling over the sensitive bud of your clit, driving you towards the precipice in a way that threatened to steal the last shreds of coherency from your mind.

"Please, please, please," the pleas tumbled from your swollen, parted lips in a ceaseless mantra, each syllable falling free as quickly as your breath punched from your lungs with every thrust and grind. You couldn't even register the words or sounds escaping from your throat, the only coherent thought that registered was the need to fall into the white-hot abyss of bliss looming ahead.

"God, fuck," Kyoutani groaned against the curve of your shoulder, the muscles of his powerful arms and back locking tight and tense as his entire frame seized and trembled. His next thrust sent the head of his throbbing cock grinding against the hyper-sensitive spot buried deep within you, the added stimulation pushing you over the edge once more.

"Cum for me," he snarled, his hips slamming into yours one last time before the searing, wet rush of his release flooded your clenching walls. A broken sob clawed its way from your throat as the molten heat pulsing and throbbing against the swollen, sensitized walls sent you tumbling into the white-hot waves of release, drowning beneath the overwhelming tidal surge crashing through you both.

For several long moments, neither of you moved - frozen in place as the tremors wracking your frames slowly eased. Kyoutani's hands were still clenched around the curve of your hips, keeping your lower body trapped flush against his own while his cock continued to pulse and twitch within your core. His breath ghosted over the sweat-slicked skin of your neck in heavy, panting exhales, the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest matching the erratic tempo of your own.

"Shit," Kyoutani grunted, his voice raspy and raw, almost hoarse in a way that made a fresh shiver ripple through you. "Fucking hell, pretty girl. I think you just drained my damn balls dry."

Your breath left in a high-pitched wheeze as he abruptly stepped back, his cock slipping free from the dripping, overstimulated channel. Before you could think to register the sudden emptiness, his fingers had already dipped between the soaked, swollen folds, circling and teasing and taunting the still-quivering entrance.

"Look at all this cum leaking out of your pretty pussy," he practically crooned the words, the dark edge to his voice making it clear exactly what he was planning to do. "We can't have any of this going to waste, now can we? That'd be such a shame. When I've gone to all the trouble of filling you up just the way you needed."

Before you could summon the wherewithal to reply, Kyoutani had already dropped to his knees, his shoulders and broad back flexing as his hands guided your trembling legs to rest atop them. The heated blaze of his gaze swept over the flushed, swollen folds of your center - drinking in the sight of his thick, pearly essence mixing with the slickness still clinging to the tender petals.

"Now let's see how many times I can make you cum for me, kitten."

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