Archive of Our Own

A record is spinning idly on the fancy clear acrylic player Yuta has in the corner of his dorm room, the TV is playing reruns of One Piece at a low murmur, and you’re both scrolling aimlessly on your phones, not talking or even glancing at each other. A thick cloud of sweet smoke hangs in the air and your girlie pink pipe is tipped over in Yuta’s lap, spilling ashes onto his jeans. Everything has taken on a warm, subtle, soap opera glow and you feel fuzzy and contented where you’re laying, sprawled, on Yuta’s twin bed, bare legs thrown messily across his knees. The young man in question is sitting propped up against the wall, Squirtle plushy squished pitifully under one elbow as his smacks his smoke-dry mouth. His eyes are sleepy with his high and he’s frowning at whatever his twitter feed is showing him.

The tiny screen in your own hand has been showing you tiktok videos about being a ‘late blooming virgin’ for the last thirty minutes and you’ve been biting back the question on your tongue, but the weed is getting to your head and you find yourself nudging Yuta’s elbow gently with your socked foot. He grabs the offending extremity in a strong hand and gives you a lazy look, azure eyes heavy lidded. 

“If I ask you a stupid question do you promise not to laugh?” He tilts his head in a considering motion, locking his phone with an easy click and setting it down on the bed. “I can’t promise not to laugh, but I can try not to.” And you’re willing to take that much. “Do guys think it’s weird when a girl is older and still a virgin?” You ask without preamble.

It isn’t that you’re embarrassed. You don’t think it’s weird to be twenty and still a virgin. There’s no still. You aren’t still a virgin, like you’re clinging to this falsified construct, but you just haven’t sealed the deal yet and that’s fine, that’s cool, it’s no biggie. Who gives a fuck? There’s just a niggling curiosity in the back of your mind, and your best friend happens to be a member of the gender to which you are attracted.

Yuta looks confused. “I thought you slept with that Todo guy?” You make a disgusted face. “What? No. We hooked up a little? But he kept going on and on about how grateful he was to receive the gift of my virtuous womanhood. It was weird and hella unsettling.” A shiver of disgust wracks your body at the memory. 

“That’s embarrassing.” He says.

“I know.” You agree.

“For him.” He clarifies.

“I know.” Duh? Why would that ever be embarrassing for you? It’s a little embarrassing that you went out with a meathead head like Todo in the first place, but that’s besides the point. He had nice hair, okay?

Yuta seems to be considering the question seriously, which you appreciate. “Uh, I don’t know. Some guys are into it, in a weird way. I’ve known some guys who were really into the idea of a virgin. Like put-him-on-a-list into it.” Your lips pucker into sour, bitter expression which he mirrors. “Yeah. I think maybe some guys also think it’ll be more work? Like maybe the girl won’t know what to do. But mostly I’m not sure anyone cares, no. Why? Got someone you like?” He teases, wiggling his eyebrows. You kick at him with your foot again and he only laughs. 

“Who the hell would I like?” You roll your eyes. “No. It’s that I just want to have sex, right?” He nods for you to continue. “But I don’t want to participate in intimacy with someone I don’t trust, as cheesy as that sounds.” He’s rubbing little circles into the exposed skin of your ankle and your lingering high is shooting the sensation all the way up your leg. “That isn’t cheesy.” He remarks and you smile at the kindness. “Thanks for validating my feelings. Anyways, the point is the Venn diagram of guys I trust who aren’t gay and aren’t taken is a circle and prospects are bleak.” You finish weakly, staring at the strip LEDs stuck onto the ceiling instead of at his face. “Right.” He says in a strange, clipped tone. When you look at him you find him already looking hard at you. 

“Actually,” you begin, an idea starting to bloom in your mind, “you aren’t still seeing that witchy girl from south campus are you? The blonde with the tarot cards?” The question seems to take him off guard. “Momo? No, shit got weird. Why?” You stick a pin in that for later because what? The two of you had never discussed that topic, but for right now you’re sitting up on your knees and clapping your hands. A plan is forming; things are falling into place. “Then you can do it!” You say excitedly, tone veering only slightly into manic as you hold onto his shoulders for emphasis. “Do what, exactly?” He questions cautiously, like he’s afraid of the answer. “Fuck me.” You say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

…

The high is slipping readily off of the both of you, and you haven’t changed your mind on the subject, as much as Yuta swore you would. His cramped single dorm room is quiet now as the record has played through to end and the TV has been switched off. Phones have long been cast aside and you’re both sitting up, facing each other on the bed. It’s well past curfew so you’ll either have to try and sneak into your own dorm or sleep here in this awkward atmosphere. Or resolve the issue at hand.

Trying as hard as you can to appear sober- you are sober for Christ’s sake- you plead your case. “Look, I’m not saying it because I’m high, I’m saying it because it makes sense.” It’s probably the third time you’ve said a version of that exact statement in the last twenty minutes but Yuta isn’t budging on his stance. “Tell me that when you’re sober, if you even mean it.” He rolls his eyes. “I am sober! You ruined my high and now I’m sober. Happy?” You allow yourself to be manhandled in his gentle grasp as he turns your head this way and that, searching your eyes for any lingering glassiness or redness, but you know there is none. Right now you feel sober as a fucking judge. He must see as much because he sighs in defeat and releases you. 

“Explain this to me again.” He orders and you perk up immediately. 

Choosing your words as carefully and concisely as you can, you take him through your recent epiphany. “We’re best friends. I trust you implicitly. You’re experienced and I’ve heard the rumors okay- girls don’t lie about having orgasms.” He flushes at this. “I want to have sex with someone that I trust and I want it to be good. I trust you to be able to make that happen. Now if you don’t want to, I respect that. But if you’re operating on the principle that I don’t want to, that’s bullshit.” You feel very proud of yourself and your little speech and sit back on your heels, waiting to hear his rebuttal. How can he possible refute your ironclad argument?

He doesn’t even try to, running a tense hand through his dark, messy hair. “I’m not against the idea, I just don’t want you making an impulsive decision in the heat of the moment.” The realization, when it dawns upon you, is quick- he’s saying yes. This is a Yuta Yes. You give him the most serious expression you can muster while knowing you’re getting exactly what you want. You shuffle closer on your knees until your bony kneecaps are pressing hard against his thigh. “I’m not being impulsive. I trust you to take care of me.” You murmur softly, voice all honest tones.

He looks at you, blue eyes weary but trusting, and you look steadily back and so you see the moment his face crumbles in defeat. “I’m going to fucking regret this.” He mumbles but you’re already throwing your arms around him. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!” You pull back to look at him and ask. “When do we start?” A shifty, sidelong glance is cast about his room and you lean back further to catch his gaze. One of his wide hands is pressed lightly to your hip and its very, very warm. 

“You’re already here now.” He says noncommittally. A slow smile is finding its way onto your face. “Tonight, really?” You ask, surprised. You were sure he would make you wait, think it through some more. He shrugs. “If you want.” You’ve been creeping steadily into his lap and when did that happen? “I want.” He laughs, and the easy smile that comes with the laughter remains on his face. That same big hand splays across your lower back and the other comes up to brush your bangs away from your eyes, and that’s nothing new. It’s always been this- easy, simple affection between the two of you. 

“What do you want?” Yuta asks. The answer comes simple and easy, immediatly on the tip of your tongue. “A blowjob.” Your request is quick but his answer is even quicker. “No fucking way.” Your jaw drops in disbelief at the rejection. “What! Why?” You demand. “I’m not a fucking sadist.” He’s looking at you like you’ve lost your mind for even suggesting it, but you don’t think it’s such an outlandish request. It seems pretty damn standard, from what you’ve heard and seen. “That’s not what I heard.” You snark, referring to the rumors regarding his more niche sexual proclivities and he flicks your forehead, gently, so gently. “Shut up. It’s insane to do a blow job for your first time.” He insists, and he’s always been like this, handling you with kid gloves like you’ll break.

You glare at him and he glares back, somehow still managing to maintain the softness of his overall expression despite it. It’s unfair, really, how handsome he is. It’s impossible to keep up your facade of anger when his eyes are all soft and sleepy. But really, who even turns down a blow job? “Who turns down a blow job?! Do I have to beg you?” This entire situation is truly baffling to you. “Why do you want to give me one so bad?” He demands seeming just as perplexed. The question has you stalled, mind whirring with a million mental images that have fed and stoked the fire burning low in your belly, that have had your mouth watering for a moment like this. Shifting in his lap in an attempt to abate the surge of heat between your legs, you try to gather your thoughts.

“It’s like a fantasy, I guess? The spit, the choking, the cum. Maybe it’s the aspect of power, knowing I could lose it any second despite the illusion of being in control. I dunno. I just want it, okay? So are you going to give it to me or not?” You’ve been as honest as you can be and now he’s looking at you like maybe he’s seeing you for the first time, really seeing you. 

Yuta grits his teeth and a bone in his jaw clicks. “Fine, fuck, but you’re practicing first.” His voice is stern, leaving no room for arguments. You can’t imagine what practicing for a blowjob might entail but you nod obediently. “How?” Maybe you’re too eager for it, licking your lips so they’re wet like your appetite, but there’s no one here to see but the two of you and God. Yuta holds up a hand, wiggling his long fingers. And he does have the most gorgeous fingers. Long, thin, pianist fingers. Pale, soft skin that no one would expect from an athlete. Blunt nails that are always clean and trimmed neatly. The smallest, faintest callouses left over from the martial arts he did all throughout school. You can handle having them in your mouth, you think; feel your mouth watering at the prospect.

“Okay.” You say, licking your lips again. His eyes track the movement and you notice. “I’ll lead you through it. It’s okay to gag, but easier on you if you try not to.” He tells you. “I don’t-” you shift in his lap restlessly and swallow, “I don’t have much of a gag reflex.” The words are just a murmur. “Guess we’ll see.” He murmurs back and brings two fingers up to your lips.

Yuta lets you take the lead and you do so readily. Acting purely on instinctual desire, you open eagerly, taking his fingers onto your tongue, sucking them into your mouth like the sweetest candy. His fingers taste like skin and the weed he was packing into the bowl an hour ago and it’s somehow so good. The taste, the feel, the knowledge of the act- it’s all heady and addictive and you moan into, sucking them further down. 

Licking around the digits, you’re as careful of your teeth as you can be, but you know they knock against his knuckles more than once despite your attempts at caution. Growing frustrated after only a short time, you pull away. “My teeth, how the fuck-” Feeling at the porcelain with your own thumb, you try and shield the skin from the offending bone unsuccessfully. Yuta laughs at your efforts. “It’s like when you suck a popsicle and don’t want the cold to hit your teeth, try it like that.” When you try the trick on your thumb again it works like magic and you give him an awed look. “Again.” You request, sticking out your tongue for his fingers. He closes his eyes against the sight of you, swearing. “Jesus Christ.” But a second later his fingers are pressing back in.

When you suck them into your mouth this time you feel just a little less clumsy, and the taste of his skin is just a little more intoxicating and maybe you are still a little high. With every scrape of his fingertips against your tongue or the roof of your mouth or the slick pockets of your cheeks you can feel the whorls and loops and swirls of his fingerprints, can taste the humanity of his skin, and it’s entirely entrancing. You want more and more and more. 

So you take them further back, not even really thinking, until you feel both tips brushing softly against your tonsils. In front of you, Yuta chokes and you open your eyes where they have fallen closed unbidden and find him gazing at you with wide, panicked eyes. They’ve grown unusually dark, his dark blue irises just a thin ring around his swollen pupils. You swallow around his fingers just to see how it feels, suck hard enough that your cheeks go hollow with it and he swears. “Fucking hell.”

All in a rush, he drags his fingers away, wiping his damp hand on the leg of his pants. “You’ve never done this?” He asks. Shaking your head, you smack numb lips together. “Nope. Can we kiss?” Maybe it should tip you off, how easy it is to slot your mouths together, to find a rhythm in the meeting contact despite the fact that you’ve never done this with each other before, but you won’t realize anything until much, much later.

In this moment, you simply bask in how good of a kisser Yuta is. The kisses are wet and messy and human and good and there is only a tease of tongue. There isn’t a set destination, you’re just making out like reckless teenagers and it’s immaculate. Minutes disappear between your connected lips but then you shift and realize he’s hard and you’re wet, so wet and the world narrows to tiny, sharp point.

“Hey,” you whisper into the tiny space between your bodies, “lemme suck your dick.” His hands grip hard at your sides. “Fuck.” He swears, forehead coming down hard against your shoulder. You give him the time he seems to need to gather himself and after a minute or so he speaks again. “Yeah okay, but if it’s too much, you stop. Don’t try to be a champ about cock sucking.” He hazards and you laugh. “Scouts honor.” You salute him with two fingers. He shoves you lightly for the tease but seems to take you at your word. “Back up a bit.” 

Scooting off the bed entirely, you kneel on the floor, grubby dorm carpet digging into your bare knees but you aren’t thinking about that. Your mind is entirely set to the task at hand. Yuta settles his feet on the floor, positioning himself so that you’re sheltered between his legs, and then he’s just blinking down at you. You lean your head against one of his knees, expectant. “Jesus.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to wake up from a dream. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” A horrible thought strikes through you like lightning and you feel your back grow impossibly straight as you face him head on. “You’re, like, consenting right?” Horror must be written all over your face because he ruffles your hair, cutting the tension. “Wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t. It’s just a little surreal, is all.” He says and you roll the words around your head, working them over. “I can work with surreal.” You decide.

With inexpert hands, you reach for the button of his jeans and he allows it, leaning back on long arms, corded muscles leaping in his forearms when your fingers brush against his clothed erection. “Okay?” You ask, popping the button and dragging down the fly notch by careful notch. “Yeah. Do whatever you want.” He mumbles. Your head could go racing off into a thousand filthy directions with that kind of blanket permission, but you just shove your hand down the front of his briefs to pull his cock free. This whole time you’ve been dying to see.

“Forgot how cold your hands on.” He hisses at the first touch of skin on skin, the difference in your body temperatures shocking. “Not good?” You inquire. His length extends way past your hand and you can’t get your fingers to meet around his width either. He’s thick in a way that has your mouth watering, thighs clenching, and you bring your other hand up to make up the difference. This part you’re familiar with, stroking at the velvety hardness with both hands, pressing your thumb into the leaking slit, closing your thumb and forefinger into a tight circle around the head. He’s already leaking precum and you want to taste. “Fuck off.” He says, a delayed response to your earlier question. His voice is suspiciously gruff.

Glancing up you see his eyes are fixed on you. “Can I?” You ask, leaning your head forward, warm breath fanning out over his dick. He shudders at the sensation. “Do it then if you’re going to.” Yuta says, sounding frustrated. Slowly, ever careful of your teeth, you take just the head of his cock into your mouth and you can’t help the sound that escapes you- high pitched and keening. 

He tastes like salt and skin and something else that you can’t name but want to keep swallowing down, so you do just that. You suckle the head sweetly like a kitten starved, eyes closed as if in a daydream, slicking the length with precum and your own spit and taking more and more of him in with minute bobs of your head. He’s making small sounds beneath you, bitten off groans and swears murmured low. When you crack open your eyes you find that he has one hand pressed over his mouth while the other is gripping hard at the edge of the mattress. 

There is an obscene popping noise when you pull away from his cock and his eyes widen comically at it. “What are you doing?” You ask, tugging his hand away from his face. Yuta looks like a man who’s been chased down, hunted. “Trying to maintain some semblance of composure.” His voice is strained. “Mm. I don’t get it.” You say and push his hand into your hair, near the nape of your neck. “‘S’okay to feel good.” You tell him and swallow him back down. 

He collapses back against the mattresses heavily, swearing loudly, one arm thrown over his eyes.“Oh my fucking god.” He isn’t pulling your hair exactly, but he’s got a good grip on it, and the gentle pressure is nice. The way you expected this to go, you thought he would maybe be giving you pointers, but he seems mostly out of commission for the time being, so you just do the stuff you’ve seen in porn. Tongue speared flat like a knife, you rub it all along the underside of his cock, pressing it firmly against the slit, licking up all the salty precum spilling out as you continue stroking the length with both hands. Every drop that you swallow down is like sweet ambrosia, coveted by the gods. You can’t get enough of it. 

Realistically, you know there’s no way you can take his entire length down your throat, not this first time, but you want to try anyways, ever the over achiever. So, against your better judgment, you carefully press his hard, hot length past your tongue and molars until he’s hitting the back of your throat and then you keep going.

“What-” Yuta sits up and is groaning in seconds at the sight of you determinedly attempting to deep throat his cock. “Fuck. No way. There’s no way.” He’s warning you, really pulling at your hair now to try and stop your insanity, but you swallow again and again, willing your throat to relax and against all odds it does. Your eyes water, and your throat is aching, but a few inches of his length slip down your throat. Your eyes widen in utter glee at the success, and a pleased hum reverberates out from your throat. 

Panic lights across Yuta’s expression and he tenses beneath you all at once. “Oh shit. I’m gonna cum. Up. Up, up. You gotta-” He’s tugging hard at your hair, and it feels good, but a big part of this whole experience you were looking forward to was swallowing. You lock your lips tighter around his cock and do your best impression a vacuum, swallowing where the head of his cock is still buried in your throat.“Fuck. Goddamnit, you’re a fucking menace.” And you have to wonder if he always swears this much during sex. Yuta never swears this much.

He presses a thumb against your hollowed cheek where it’s bulging around his cock and then he’s cumming, swearing and shaking and groaning and beautiful. You watch, rapt, as the orgasm works its way through his system, swallowing his cum down readily, and every part of it is intoxicating. There’s carpet burn and bruises forming on your knees but you’re already fiending for more of it. There’s no way you can go back to not having this.

When Yuta has started going soft, you free him from your mouth, settling him back into the safety of his underwear and clambering up onto the bed next to him. He’s staring up at the boob light on the ceiling like the entire fabric of his reality has been rewritten. Maybe it has, you can only read his mind about a quarter of the time, and usually it’s when he’s hangry and needs a snack. He stares at the boob light and you stare at the way his hair curls prettily around his ears. He’ll get a haircut soon but he could wear it longer.

“Okay?” You ask after a minute. He hums the affirmative. “Mm. Can’t feel my legs.” You laugh. He turns to face the sound and ends up rolling on top of you instead. “What are you doing?” Why do you feel shy with his eyes on you like this? “You didn’t get off.” He states. “No.” You agree. The wetness between your legs flares and throbs. His hand is heavy where is settles low on your stomach, just above the waistband of your pajama shorts. “Want me to?” He kisses at your collarbone again and again before pulling back. There’s not really anything to contemplate with the way he’s looking at you, with the way every exposed inch of your skin is tingling and prickling in the air of his room. “Yeah, okay.” You whisper and he smiles, hand slipping into your panties like they’ve done this before.

“You done this?” He asks and you can’t help but snort. “Gotten fingered? Yeah big guy, we aren’t reinventing the wheel here.” You both gasp when he presses a finger between your folds and comes into contact with slippery hot wetness. “Don’t be a brat.” He flicks a nail against your clit, simultaneously too hard and not hard enough and you keen at the shock of sensation. “One?” He’s already pressing in a finger with little preamble which you appreciate. You don’t need it, with the state you’re in. “Two.” You say, and he adds another, pushing the heel of his palm firmly against your clit. It’s disorienting, how much better his fingers are than even your own, curling into your g-spot like they’ve pressed there a hundred times. With each press inside his knuckles drag just bit at the rim of your pussy because Yuta’s hands are so much larger than your own, his wider digits stretching you enough that you can feel it, but not enough to burn. Pressing into places you can’t reach yourself. Catch and drag and press, press, press. You’re shivering and clutching at the pillow beneath your head in mere minutes. 

“Yu-chan.” The old familiar diminutive slips out unbidden and the look he gives you is all soft, fond edges. “C’mon. Let me see you cum.” He twists his wrist with every fresh press on his fingers, fingers following suit to twist inside of you and the tips are pounding on your g-spot like a bass drum.  There’s no way you could refuse his request when he’s asking so sweetly. 

You cum with his lips against the delicate skin behind your ear and it feels like falling through honey. It’s slow and intensely sweet and so, so good you want to stay inside the feeling forever, riding wave after wave on his fingers. You’re making embarrassing noises, you know, writhing and whimpering like a pinned animal as slick rushes out of you, but you feel almost feverish with the strength of your orgasm. Yuta just leads you through with his gentle, steady touch.

Eventually you rise out of the sensation, panting with the tiniest beads of sweat forming on hairline. Yuta has his fingers in his mouth and is sucking them clean. You make a face at him and he makes a face back and that devolves into a shoving match which eventually leads to you pushing him off the bed entirely with one hard kick to the side and he tries dragging you down after him, but you’re both laughing too hard for any of his attempts to be successful. All the residual tension hanging in the air from the immediately recent sex gets cut just like that. 

Side by side in front of his tiny little sink, you brush your teeth. He tries to get back into bed in his jeans but you force him to change into pajamas. When you settle into bed together like you’ve done a hundred times before it feels the same, mostly, except for how you’re now oddly concious of the way you can feel the soft line of his cock through his sweatpants where he’s pressed flush against you in the tiny bed. The room is dark and quiet except for the tiny blue shark nightlight near the door. Yuta can’t sleep with any light in the room at all but he knows you’re afraid of the dark. You fall asleep staring at that little blue light, Yuta’s warm weight pressed against your back, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. This is fine. This is totally fine.

…

Soccer practice is a total drag, but in all honesty there isn’t a much better way to occupy your time on a random Tuesday afternoon, and you’re a good friend. So when Nobara asks you to tag along to watch her pair of idiots run up and down the length of a field for two hours you agree. The two of you know more than half the team, so it isn’t really odd to be hanging around in the bleachers doing coursework, but it is weird to see the real groupies who come to every practice in the hopes of getting a glimpse of their favorite player. 

Your friends are good, they deserve all of the hype and recognition, but the idea of being a student at the same university as someone and viewing them as a celebrity is so utterly bizarre to you. But maybe that’s just because you know how much of a fucking loser someone like Inumaki is off of the field.

“I swear, one of these days I’m going to throttle those freaks.” Nobara says, not looking up from her engineering textbook as a cluster of people a few aisles down from where you’re seated squeal and clap when Itadori does something impressive on the field. “Eh. They’re not hurting anyone.” You dismiss. There’s a five page economics essay on your laptop waiting to be finished, but you’re laying on your back across one of the benches with a folder over your face to block out the sun instead of getting any work done. “They’re hurting my fucking eardrums. Screaming their heads off for a bunch of idiots with rocks for brains.” She scoffs derisively, causing your to sit up, folder slipping down to hit the metal floor with a hollow slapping sound. There is a bitter frown on her pretty face- more bitter than usual.

“What have the two stooges gotten up to now?” You ask, referring to Fushiguro and Itadori, her kinda of, sort of, but not really boyfriends. She huffs out a frustrated sigh and scribbles something down in her notebook. “They found out I’m-I’ve-ah!” She makes a sound of frustration. “This is so embarrassing. They found out I’m a virgin and now they’re treating me like I have the fucking plague.” She finally mumbles out.

Against your will, you feel your jaw drop. “You’re-you’re a virgin?” You say in utter disbelief and she glares. “Wait no, that’s not what I meant! Me, um, me too.” Nobara does just as poor a job of containing her shock as you did, which makes you feel a bit better. “Wait but why don’t they just fuck you?” You ask, referring back to her original issue with her boy toys . She throws her hands up in exasperation, “That’s my exact question. They’re both being so weird about it. It’s been impossible to have any kind of productive conversation.” You tap your foot thoughtfully, rattling all the metal in your immediate vicinity. “I’ll see if Yuta can talk to them about it. They both really look up to him.” She looks at you gratefully. “That would be a huge help. Speaking of, here comes the man of the hour.” She says, jerking her head in the direction of the field.

When you look up you see the team has parted for a short break and Yuta is jogging across the grass in your general direction. Clomping down the aluminum stairs, you go to meet him down near the railing. He’s already reached it by the time you get there. “Hey.” You greet easily, looking down at him from your raised position. “Hey.” His gulping down water from a sweating bottle and his dark hair is plastered to his face and neck, skin glistening with sweat from his efforts on the field. “You know your skirt is see-through right?” He says it so flippantly you’re compelled not to believe him. However, against your better judgment you find yourself glancing down to examine the satin carefully in the sunlight. “You’re full of shit.” You decide. “Pale pink. Little white flowers. Green leaves.” The color of your underwear. He’s telling you the color of your underwear. You pale in horror when you realize. 

“Oh my god. I’ve been on campus all day.” You despair. He holds up a hoodie you didn’t notice hanging off his arm and you grab it from him gratefully, slipping it on without a second thought. It’s only once you have it on that you realize it has the school name and emblem printed across the front, advertising the soccer team, which means it must have his name and player number on the back. It’s kind of embarrassing, but it smells like his cologne- the one you helped him pick out in the department store when you were seventeen- so that’s nice. It swallows your frame, coming down well past the hem of your traitorous skirt so there’s that problem solved at least. Who cares if you’ll be walking around with his name and number on for the rest of the day. “Thank you. You’re a life saver.” He shrugs. 

“Nobara’s broody.” He remarks, nodding to the girl still seated in the bleachers. “Oh, right. Can you talk to dumb and dumber for me, pretty please?” Yuta glances over his shoulder in the direction of the two boys in question where they’re roughhousing near one of the goals. “Sure, what about?” You urge him closer for the sake of propriety. “They found out Nobara’s a virgin apparently and are being freaks about it and need to be set straight. Figured you were the one for the job.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Yeah, got you covered. You going to that party at the twins tonight?” He crushes his empty water bottle and shakes out his damp hair like a dog. 

“Hm. I was on the fence about it. Want me to go?” You ask. He makes a considering face, and the coach is calling them back. “Kinda wanted to see you for a bit, yeah.” He says, biting his tongue between his teeth. You want to lean down and suck it into your mouth and the sudden urge sends a shock through your system. “‘Kay. I’ll text you when I plan to show.” He gives you the sweetest smile and runs back off to his team.

“What was that about?” Nobara asks, tugging at a hoodie drawstring when you return to sit next to her. “He told me my skirt was sheer.” You shrug and make sweater paws obnoxiously in her direction. “I thought that was like a fashion decision you were making? Anyways, what does he care?” She bats your hands away using her pencil like a baton. “I don’t think he cares, and no it definitely wasn’t a deliberate choice. Also we’re kinda like, I dunno, sleeping together?” She drops the pencil in her hand and it rolls across the slatted bleacher floor into the abyss below, never to be seen again.

“You’re what?” She demands. “It isn’t like a thing.” You wave your hands ambiguously. “What the fuck are you even talking about? Look at yourself.” You look down and okay, yes you are wearing his number but- “That’s just a coincidence.” You say firmly. “Right.” Nobara says like she’s talking someone down from a ledge. “Nobara, I’m serious. We fooled around like once.” Maybe being so insistent is an admittance of guilt, but you’re being honest. 

“I believe you.” She says lightly. There’s no way she’s telling the truth.

…

The Zenin twins live in a cushy rent house that their parents pay for off campus. It’s nice, with clean bathrooms and new furniture and is off the cops regular party busting rotation because it’s in a slightly nicer part of town, so it’s the favored location for your group to get together, even if it is a bit out of the way with shitty delivery food options.

No more than fifteen minutes have elapsed between you stepping foot through the door, tossing your coat in a corner you hope you’ll be able to find later, and making your way to the kitchen for a drink when a pair of familiar arms find their way around your waist, a chin settling into the crook at your shoulder like it belongs there. You don’t tense at the contact, recognizing Yuta by feel alone at this point. Nobara shoots you a look where she’s leaned against the opposite counter but you ignore her in favor of speaking to the man now occupying your space. 

“We’re taking shots.” You tell him, pouring liquor carefully into the glasses laid out in front of you. “Pour me one.” He says. “Don’t whine to me about it.” You warn him. You pour the shot anyways and hand the rest out to your friends. Most people take theirs quickly, cringing or chasing the burn away with lime or soda. “Help me.” Yuta mumbles and you sigh even though you were expecting it, turning in his arms. “How many times have we done this?” You ask him, but he just gives the puppy eyes, hands low on your hips. You can only roll your own eyes at him hopelessly.

“Fine. Here.” You extend a hand, sprinkling the flat plane between your thumb and forefinger with salt. “Salt first, tequila, then lime. Got it. You demand. “Got it.” He says, amusement glittering in his eyes, and you hold out both the shot and the wedge of lime for him to take. Instead, with deliberate movements, eyes fixed on yours, he licks up the salt spread across your skin, plucking the glass from your hand to shoot the tequila, before biting viciously at the lime still pinched between your fingers. His teeth catch on your skin and it doesn’t hurt, but it’s certainly contact. Why is your heart suddenly pounding? Fuck a chaser, you shoot the last remaining shot on the counter clean, because what the fuck? 

Your hand, still slick with his spit, is trembling. You ignore it and pour yourself another shot, avoiding his gaze where it’s burning a hole in the side of your face. “Hey.” He says and against your better judgement you give him your attention. “If you get drunk we can’t fuck around.” He whispers, quiet enough that only you can hear. Closing your eyes, you exhale very, very carefully. When you open them again you are still in the Zenin house with Yuta all around you, tequila just starting to warm up your blood, so yeah none of this makes any sense. “Fine.” You say, taking the second shot. “That’s my last drink. Same goes for you, fucking lightweight.” You poke at his chest and he only grins, triumphant. When you turn to face Nobara again she’s looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. What the fuck! She mouths. I don’t know! You mouth back. 

Miwa drags you, Nobara, and Mai to dance comically promiscuously to some shoujo anime OP around the coffee table in the living room and the movement gets your blood racing. You dance and dance around living room furniture that is so ridiculously expensive for two students doing an undergrad program at a state college until you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest and collapse onto one of the beautiful but insanely uncomfortable loveseats. If Yuta also happens to be sitting in it, well, that’s just a coincidence.

You land half in his lap and he pulls you that fifty percent the rest of the way so you’re sitting completely on top of him. “You changed clothes.” He tugs at your skirt. “Couldn’t walk around all day in your number.” You shrug. The skirt you’re wearing now is black, midi length, and blessedly opaque. He cuts to the chase. “Wanna go upstairs?” His hands are just creeping under your cropped top. If he pushed them a little further they would be brushing up against your bra. This is…new. His touch isn’t new, but the novel thrill that you’re experiencing at it- that part is entirely unique. “Yeah.” You stand up and he takes you by the hand, leading you readily up the stairs to one of the many unoccupied guest rooms.

The kiss, when it comes, is with you pressed up against the door by the weight of Yuta’s body, warm lamp light creating a halo around his head and it’s good. He’s good at kissing. He makes it feel like being worshipped. It’s messier today, tequila leaving her signature in the way he nips at your lips, the way he’s easily distracted by sucking at your jaw and neck, nibbling on the flesh like a dog who just discovered his favorite chew toy. “You’re going to leave marks.” You complain. “Don’t want me to?” He asks, scraping teeth against your collarbone. “I don’t-ah think I care. But what’s your objective here?” He laughs at the question and pulls away. “The objective is for it to feel good, captain.” He says, herding you to the bed. He’s making fun of you but you allow yourself to be pressed back into the mattress anyway. “Don’t make fun of me.” He kisses the furrow out of your brow. “Let me take the lead?” He requests, voice sweet. You can’t imagine how you look. Cheeks and lips flushed from kissing, hair a mess all around you, limbs splayed out on a bed that isn’t yours, about to let this man do practically anything to you. “Yeah, okay.” You say. He smiles and tugs off your skirt.

A finger hooks in your panties but he checks with you before moving on. “Can I?” You nod and he tugs them off. They’re the same ones he saw through your skirt earlier which is only a little mortifying. He runs thumb across your slit, dips it between you labia, and finds you soaking, of course. Why wouldn’t you be, with him above you like this? “Perfect.” He breathes, and it sends your head spinning just a little, has you shivering beneath him at just this smallest touch.

He moves up the bed so he’s hovering just above you and you can’t help but watch when he unbuttons his pants and pulls his hard cock out. It’s just so pretty and he looks so good doing it. “Spit for me.” He holds out a hand and you spit into it obediently. He uses the saliva to slick his cock before settling his hips just above your own. “Are you gonna-” you shiver, unable to finish your sentence, anticipation stealing your voice, but he gets your meaning and glares. “Are you fucking crazy? I don’t even have a condom.” 

You should bite your tongue and yet you still say “You know I’m on the pill.” He teases the head of his cock through your folds, up and down and back again and you both groan in agonized pleasure. “Oh my god, please shut the fuck up.” He drags you closer by the hips and that has you snapping your jaw shut against all odds, not for the manhandling alone, but because he’s begun working his hips, thrusting his cock again and again through the slippery folds of your pussy, his entire length sliding against your clit with each thrust. There is a delicious drag across your entrance that you didn’t even know could exist. 

“What,” you gasp clutching onto his shoulders, “is this?” A hand has snuck into your shirt and is rubbing against one hard nipple through the thin material of your bra and that’s good too. “Sex. Lots of different ways to do it.” You loop both legs around his hips, dragging him closer and tightening the pressure where you’re closing around him. He groans.

With every thrust, every drag, the head of his cock passes right over your entrance and as good as this as, as much as you know you could come from it, it’s like staring at the apple of temptation and being told not to take a bite. “Yu-chan.” His hips stutter. “You can just put it in. S’okay. I trust you.” You say in your sweetest tone. “Fuck.” His face is pressed hard against your shoulder and you think he’ll crack, you’re sure he will, but he only fixes you with a glare. “Not a goddamn chance. I can stop instead. Want me to stop?” He stills his hips entirely, acts like he’s going to pull away and you drag him back, fingernails tearing into skin where they’ve slipped beneath his shirt. “Okay! I’m sorry.” You close your eyes into the pleasure as it picks up again. Kisses flutter over your eyelids, your cheekbones, your temples and your hairline. “Stop being stubborn and just let me look after you.” Yuta murmurs. “Yeah. Yeah, look after me, Yu-chan.”

When your orgasm hits it’s like the first tear slipping from your eye after an awful day- all sweet relief. Your hands are still under his shirt and your nails are all over his back, but he’s whispering “Go on. Go on, ahh. Good girl, just like that.” And there’s not a damned thing you can do but hold on and whimper his name. You help him to his own climax in a daze, mumbling about how bad you want his cum, practically begging for it, and he looks utterly gutted when the orgasm shoots through him, like he wasn’t expecting it. He spills all over your stomach and plays in it after, drawing idle patterns in it that you can’t make sense of. It’s only when you’re washing up in the bathroom later that you realize he wasn’t drawing but writing, the number zero in his fucking cum of all the things.

Yuta wipes your stomach clean with a damp washcloth, shaking his head like he’s embarrassed with his past self and you laugh. “If you want me to wear your number that bad, I will.” He presses a kiss to the clean skin. “It’s not that serious.” This is the twenty-five percent of Yuta language you can understand. What he really means is yes, he would like you to wear his number around campus because he’s a sentimental dweeb.

…

Ordinarily, if you felt like everyone was staring at you rationale would kick in and you would be able to tell yourself no, everyone just loves your outfit, or no one is that obsessed with you, or everyone is obsessed with you because you’re just that hot, but you’ve only made it through half of your classes and already three separate people have stopped you to ask where you got that awesome hoodie. After being practically accosted (calmly approached by a complete stranger) in your second lecture, you’re at your wits end. You skip your next class and make a mad dash to the humanities building. You’ve been here enough times to roughly know the layout and approximation of Yuta’s weekly schedule. Right now he has Practical Application of Ed something something. It’s really none of your business to know the details of your best friend’s major. You know the big picture stuff- what he wants to do in the world and all that jazz. What his classes are called? No way. 

As inconspicuously as possible, you slip into the classroom, find Yuta’s dark head within the masses, and slide into the empty seat beside him. He doesn’t even glance over, probably spotted you bumbling awkwardly through the room the second you stepped inside. “Thought you hated the humanities building?” He remarks. You glance around at the foul beige interior. “I do. This place has no fucking soul. But I’m in a bit of a bind so I had to come to the source of the problem.” He gives you a quizzical look. “Can it wait? We’ve only got twenty minutes left.” He nods towards the professor and you shrug. “Sure.” You pillow your head on his backpack, tugging your hood as far down over your eyes as it will go, and settle in for a catnap.

It’s as if you’ve barely closed your eyes when he’s gently shaking you awake, face leaned down close to your own. Without really thinking, you knock your heads together, so gently it barely feels like anything at all. Yuta laughs, presses a kisses to your forehead, and you didn’t know you were doing PDA but it’s nice and you don’t mind it. You force him to drag you up from your chair and maybe cling a little to his arm as you exit the room. You can feel people watching, but he’s solid and warm and is holding your hand back, is leaning his head against yours where it’s resting against his shoulder, so you pay the attention no mind.

It’s odd, his little  bubble of student celebrity, star athlete blah, blah, blah. His talents and accomplishments are all very real, and you love him and are proud of him, but the hero worship and adoration from strangers is…odd. As someone who saw him cry because his parents gifted you the red Power Ranger and gave him the yellow one when it was supposed to be the other way around, you’ll only ever see him as…Yuta.

“Hungry?” He asks as you exit the building. You consider the question seriously. “I want gyudon.” You say decisively. “Gyudon I can work with.” He nods.

It’s only as you’re mixing the soft egg in with your steaming beef and rice that you realize you haven’t broached the topic of your emergency yet at all. “Oh!” You exclaim, nearly causing Yuta to choke on a particularly crispy piece of chicken katsu. “My emergency right. Okay.” He chugs down half a glass of roasted green tea and nods for you to go on. “You’re going to have to make up merch or something because just today three different people have asked to buy this hoodie. Someone even asked to buy this specific one off of my actual back.” You rub across the school crest on the front, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“You don’t have to wear it.” He says, plucking a few errant pieces of pickled ginger out of your bowl. You make a face and tap your feet, just in socks, on top of his. Your shoes are sitting in two neat rows side by side at the door and it struck you as you were settling into your seats that they looked kind of cute next to each other. “I want to wear it.” You tell him and it’s his turn to make a face. 

“You don’t like talking to random people.” Which is true and also probably an understatement considering the formal anxiety diagnosis on your medical documents, but that’s irrelevant. “You’re sentimental. It’s random for me to be wearing your number since it’s just-” you wave your hand vaguely in the air, “but that’s your prerogative, I guess. Just weird for me to have to keep telling these poor people, ‘hey, the guy isn’t selling his number, we’re just hooking up, I dunno what to tell you’.” You shrug. He doesn’t do anything as obviously as glare or scowl or pout, but he narrows his eyes, head propped up against a fist and goes very quiet and you know you’ve made him unhappy somehow. He chews a bite of food and washes it down and takes another bite and repeats the process for several long minutes so you follow his example, giving him time to gather his thoughts until he’s ready to speak.

“We’re not-” a rough hand is rubbed across his face, “you’re not just the girl I’m fucking, you know that right?” Yuta asks. There’s a piece of chicken on his plate that you’ve been eyeing the whole meal and you choose this moment to snatch it, spearing it with your chopsticks and popping it in your mouth. It’s perfectly crisp and salted to perfection. You’ve never tried the katsu from this place, but you might have to order it next time. “Right. I’m your best friend.” You state the obvious fact but he sighs like he’s talking to a wall. “That isn’t what I meant.” He looks skyward, perhaps for guidance from some unseen heavenly figure. “What did you mean?” 

He’s tapping out an idol rhythm on the tabletop. Chopin- you can’t play, but you recognize the pattern of notes from all the practices you sat in on when you were kids. His soft face is shuttering slightly and your Yuta senses begins tingly. You grab his hand where it rests on the table, twine you fingers between his.

“You can ask for stuff, too.” You say softly and his shoulders come down from where they were tensed around his ears. “I want to be exclusive.” He mumbles like you’re going to say no. “I thought we were already doing that. Were you not doing that?” You cock your head, more in confusion than upset. “No, I, um, haven’t hooked up with anyone else since we started to. I just didn’t know if you planned to or what.” He shrugs, playing at nonchalance. You can always see through him when he gets like this. “Why would I?” It’s a genuine question but he only swallows hard and glances away. “Anything else?” You ask. “Want to touch you when I see you. Like this-” he tugs at your hands where they’re still connected, “and other stuff too. Want to have my hands on you. Want to kiss you.” A thrill shoots up your spine. “I think I can live with that. What else?” You goad. His thumb is rubbing across the back of your hand and the tiny point of contact is nice; soothing. “Want to see you more. I never get to see you.” This one has you wrinkling your nose. “We hang out all the time.” You protest. “Barely. It’s stolen time. What can we do during a fifteen minute break?” He demands and he has a point. 

“Fine. We’ll hang out more. Any more requests?” He shakes his head. “That’s more than enough. Was there anything you needed? Wanted?” He asks, but the answer is easy, no consideration needed. “You take care of me.” You say, shrugging, and it’s fascinating, the way his pupils swell to swallow up his irises. He looks over your food, but you’ve both mostly finished. 

“Let’s get out of here.” He says and pulls you up from the table, throwing down some cash. All you can do is laugh as you’re dragged along.

…

Miwa has classes all afternoon, so your room is completely empty when you pull Yuta inside. He has you flat on the bed, mouths pressed together almost as soon as the door is locked, and you aren’t complaining. You meet him beat for beat with a hand tugging at his long hair and a leg around his waist yanking him closer. “Hey,” you say between kisses, “do me a favor?” He scrapes his tongue against the roof of your mouth and you shiver at the way it tickles. “Mm, what’s that?” His mouth is on your jaw, teeth scraping against the skin. “Don’t cut your hair.” At this, he pulls back to look at you. “What? Why?” He seems perplexed but you run your fingers through the messy strands. They feel like silk. “I like it like this.” His look is all tender fondness as he lets you play in his hair and something about it makes your heart ache. “Yeah, alright.” And you’re kissing again.

The hard line of his cock is unmistakable where it’s pressed up against the crotch of your jeans, and there’s something exhilarating about knowing it’s for you. You’re wet, you’ve been wet since he yanked you up at the restaurant probably, but you’re moving at his pace, so if he wants to kiss you until you melt into a puddle on your mattress, you’ll gladly do that. That won’t stop your hips from moving in little tiny cycles though, grinding up gently against his hardness. The panties you have on today are thin and if you press just right the hard denim seam of your pants digs deliciously into your clit.

“I know what you’re doing.” Yuta laughs, leaning more of his heavy weight against you so that you can no longer move your hips. You groan in frustration. “Then do something about it.” He looks into your face, searching. “What do you want?” There are a million things you could say, but only one thing comes to mind. “I have condoms.” You bite your lip. He presses his mouth gentle against yours, drags your lip free from between your teeth, bites it hard between his own. There’s no air in your lungs when he pulls back to get a good look at your face. “You sure?” He checks, reading your eyes. You show him everything. “I need it. I need it. Please.” You’re kissed quiet again. “Shh, I’ll give you what you need, don’t worry.” You believe him.

When his hands smooth up your thighs, come to the button on your pants, you let him work, lifting your hips so he can tug your legs free more easily. The hoodie is next, and that is pulled over your head and tossed off the side of the bed but he pauses when he sees what you’re wearing underneath. “Is this my shirt?” He asks, voice ringing out oddly. You look down at your top and see it’s advertising a soccer camp from twenty-twenty-something and yeah you for sure never went to soccer camp, not to mention the way it’s hanging loosely off of one of your shoulders. It’s definitely his shirt. 

“Yeah, probably.” You say, nonchalant because you wear his clothes all the time. “You-” his face has fallen to your chest and he’s breathing heavy, “you actually drive me fucking crazy, I feel like I’m losing my mind.” All you can do is rub a soothing hand down his back because you have no idea what going on, but he seems to need the support. “Use your big words, buddy.” You request. Inch by inch, his hands push the hem of the shirt up to reveal your abdomen, then your bare breasts where they are readily exposed because you weren’t wearing a bra. There wasn’t really a need with his hoodie swallowing you up. He groans again at the sight of your bare nipples budding in the cool room air. “When I see you in my clothes the lizard part of my brain thinks you belong to me.” His voice is quiet but every word hits you loud and clear. “I can belong to you.” It doesn’t sound so bad, only when you say it, he looks like he’s been shot. “You’re ruining my life.” He says, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and your brain whites out momentarily because he doesn’t lick or suck, he sinks his blunt teeth into the small nub and it’s a fucking revelation.

“Yu-chan.” There’s nothing to do but arch into the sensation as he begins to suck, rubbing and pinching at the other nipple with rough fingers. His hands are hot and experienced and much meaner than your own, imparting a type of friction you didn’t know to crave. Your pussy is clenching, hot and demanding to be filled and he’s right there, right there and after a few minutes you have to shove him far enough away so that you can yank at his clothes. “Enough.” You say. “Enough. You need to fuck me yesterday.” He laughs but works with you to remove his shirt and pants, even tugging his briefs off himself. When he’s standing naked and gloriously bare before you there is a necessary moment which you take just to simply appreciate the beauty of his existence. 

Yuta has a total sleeper build, displaying almost no bulk when wearing clothes, but underneath them he is all lithe and lean, corded muscles clinging tight beneath his skin, and he is gorgeous. From the top of his head to the tip of his dripping cock, all pale skin and dark hair, you could eat him right up. In a rush, you nearly topple over trying to get to the bedside table but manage to yank the drawer open and pull out the emergency stash of condoms your mom insisted on sending you with every semester. Thank god for moms. 

“C’mere.” You order, throwing your underwear off and spreading your legs for him to crawl between them. “You are so fucking obscene. What the hell kind of porn are you watching?” He asks, climbing up the bed, and you know the question is rhetorical but you answer anyways. “Amateur.” He rolls his eyes. You pull him in even closer, laying flat against the bed once again, and maybe missionary is boring, but you figure it’s probably a classic for a reason. Yuta drags at your hips so they’re slightly raised up on his lap and the manhandling is definitely doing something for you. “Want my fingers first?” He asks, thumbing across your slit. You’re so wet the slick sound his fingers make upon contact is positively pornographic. “No, just want you.” Reaching out one of your hands so he’ll take it in his own, you shake your head. He presses a sweet kiss to your mouth. “Got it. Tell me if it hurts.” 

He reaches for a condom but you take it from his hands, sitting up to put it on him yourself. His eyes are dark and unreadable as he watches your movements. The foil packet tears open cleanly and it’s only once you have the condom in your hand that you realize you don’t know which way it goes. A glance at him for guidance and he takes your hand. “Like this.” Together you slide the latex onto his cock and you can feel the way he trembles at the stimulation. “Gonna lay back?” He asks, positioning the head at your glistening entrance. “Wanna watch it go in.” You admit, gaze cast down toward where you’re already opening up for him. “Obscene.” He mumbles under his breath like it’s a curse word, but he’s pressing into you then and that’s all you can focus on. 

The stretch is manageable, good even, and the sight of his cock disappearing inside of your cunt is fucking with your head. “Oh my god.” You say, again and again. Because he’s big, and you can feel it, and you can see it, and he is pressed unrelenting against your g-spot and it’s so intense. You had no idea to even expect that, no one talked about that. He keeps pressing in and in and nothing hurts, you aren’t in pain, but your pussy has begun feeling ready to burst, insanely full. No pain but pressure. You’re starting to doubt in your ability to accommodate his size, but just as you feel his head brushing up against your cervix, feel the faintest tickle of actual pain, he bottoms out and you both groan. You’re shivering like a leaf in the wind and you have to lay back,collapsing unceremoniously onto the mattress.

“Oh my fucking god.” You say again, staring at the ceiling in a daze. Your dorm has the same boob light as his. He leans down over you so he can look in your face which causes his cock to shift inside of you and you jolt at the unexpected movement, the way it shifts him firmer against your cervix. “Okay?” He asks, concern furrowing his brow, despite the way his pupils are blown with arousal. “Your cock is so fucking big. I’m going to burst. I’m-I swear I can feel you in my throat.” You shiver violently. If he even touched your clit, you would be done for. “Does it hurt?” You lick your lips. “Feels so good. I’m going to be addicted to it. You’re going to have to give it to me all the time. Wanna live with you inside of me.” You whisper the confession, clenching around him just to feel, and cracks are forming in his control, you can see them. He brings his face down into the nape of your neck to hide his expression, but his breathing is ragged. “Fuck.” He swears emphatically against your skin. “I’m trying really hard to be good to you here, but you aren’t making it easy.” Wrapping both arms around his neck, you press kisses into his sweaty hair and the side of his face. “Mm. Said I could belong to you, so fuck me like I’m yours.” He groans and his teeth sink hard into the flesh of your shoulder. All you can do is laugh breathlessly.

When his hips begin to move, the rhythm he grinds out is slow, but determined, each thrust grinding his cock hard and most effectively up against your g-spot. The way he has you spread on his lap- hands splayed wide across your hips, thumbs digging hard into your pelvis- you are completely immobilized. There’s nothing you can do but take it, hands gripping hard at your strawberry printed sheets. You have nothing to compare it to, and still you know he has you ruined for anyone else. It’s like his cock was made to fit perfectly inside you, filling out every bump and fold.

The sounds you’re making are animal and crude, but there isn’t anything else you can do with Yuta braced up above you, dark hair hanging messy in his face, eyes boring a hole into your fucking soul as he grinds and grinds and grinds into you. It’s feels like he’s fully trying to fuck himself into you until you can’t be separated again. “I wish-” you begin but he cuts you off, “Please for the love of god, don’t say anything insane. I don’t think I can take it.” He groans out, eyes pleading. “I wish we didn’t use a condom.” You say it like a secret, but you smile wryly at the way his hips stutter and his cock jumps inside of you. “God.” He sounds furious. You’re going to have bruises where his hands are holding tight to your hips. 

In revenge, his pace picks up and he brings a hand down to press fingers against your clit. Instantly you are gasping, eyes wide with your head thrown back against the mattress. Your clit is so sensitive it’s bordering on painful and you’re ridiculously close after the first few brushes of his fingertips. You don’t know whether to press into the pressure or shy away from it, the pleasure is so intense. 

You refuse to let him win over you. “I wish I could feel it when you cum inside of me.” Maybe you’re whimpering from how hard he’s working you over, but his reaction to the words is more than worth it. “Fucking hell.” Yuta swears, and there’s just something about the harsh words in his gentle tone. He leans forward and pushes you hard against the bed. The shift has your legs bending at an extreme angle to accommodate the position. The stretch feels good and has him sliding in deeper, has you clenching tighter around him. He pumps into you faster, and hard too, tapping irregularly at your cervix, fingers insistent on your clit and you think you’re going to lose your mind. Your orgasm is right there, you’re very nearly teetering over the edge.

“I’m going to cum.” You confide into the small, damp space between your bodies. Yuta reaches to press a messy kiss to your mouth. “Good.” He drags his cock out and you groan in tandem. You’re shivering all over; you’re nails have to be drawing blood where they’re clutching at his back. “You are so, so good. Perfect.” He pushes back in and you spiral apart with his words echoing in your head, clenching and shaking, and he works you through it, swallowing down all of your pitiful whimpers. 

When you’ve begun shivering away from his fingers at your clit he pulls them away, but continues driving himself into your pussy, and you do your best to help him to his own climax. You grasp one of his hands in your own, freeing it from where it had been pinning your hip to the mattress so that you can grind up hard and meet each of his thrusts. “Fuck.” He swears at the first novice movement of your hips, voice shaky. You do it again, slightly more confident, and he groans, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in pain. Maybe you’re smiling smugly but he can’t see you right now anyways.

You bring your other hand up to push his sweaty hair back from his forehead. “Close?” You ask. He breathes carefully. “Yeah.” You lick across your teeth, contemplating your next move. It still feels impossibly, immaculately good, the way he’s filling every space inside of you. Given a bit of time and a little effort, you could probably come again, but that isn’t the objective at hand right now. Like this, with his eyes still closed in pleasure, abs flexing with effort, sweat slipping down his perfect nose, he looks absolutely beautiful. You lick away the beading sweat and he blinks open his Atlantic eyes to gaze down at you. “I want it.” You tell him. It’s insane, to see the way his pupils contract. He murmurs your name and it’s a plea for mercy, one that you don’t heed. “Give it to me. Please, Yu-chan. Give me your cum.” Your eyes are wide, emphatic. He holds eye contact like he’s frozen in place, only his hips just stutter before speeding up to a brutal pace. “Oh my fucking god.” When he does finally cum, he presses his face hard into your shoulder, body stilling completely as he shudders through it, letting out animal groans. You rub his back soothingly, hands in his hair, kissing at the sides of his face and across his shoulders until he comes back to himself.

His face, when he turns it back to you, is settled into a lazy approximation of a scowl. Careful of the condom, he pulls himself from inside of you, and you both hiss. Him presumably at the over sensitivity, you at the sudden emptiness. “Okay?” He asks, expression softening. “Okay.” You assure him. “Lemme see it.” You hold your hand out for the condom and he hands it over without bothering to ask why, too wrung out from his recent orgasm to put up a fight. With a critical eye you examine the milky white fluid filling the tip and shake your head. “What a waste. Could’ve been inside of me.” You say to Yuta’s utter horror. “Fucking-” he tears the condom from your hand and chucks it in the general direction of the trash bin, “you don’t get to talk anymore during sex. You have lost your goddamn mind. Now go pee. I’m not paying for your antibiotics if you get a UTI.” He shoves you out of the bed and you laugh as you allow yourself to be pushed. “Wow, you’ve done this a lot huh?” You remark. He gives you the finger. You scoop his underwear from the floor and toss them in his direction on your way to the tiny bathroom you share with Miwa. “Put your underwear on at least. Kokochi is gonna be pissed if he finds out you’ve been flashing your dick at his girlfriend.” You say, but Yuta is staring at your bare ass instead of listening and all you can do is roll your eyes.

…

The critical error you make is forgetting that Itadori Yuji is friends with literally every living human, that’s what you realize later. Fushiguro and Itadori share a tiny apartment barely a mile away from campus and it’s nothing special, but you can smoke weed in peace, and that is somewhat of a novelty. Nobara has her weird relationship-adjacent thing going with them too, so it isn’t weird that Yuta asks if you’re down to hang at their place for the night. It isn’t until you’re watching the door swing open, freezing just a little in your short skirt and the November chill, that you think oh, right. Because the man standing in front of you isn’t the dark haired Fushiguro, nor the bright haired Itadori, it’s Aoi fucking Todo and Yuta is going to be weird about this.

“Hey.” You say easily, because you weren’t ever really dating, it was just a whatever kind of thing, very casual, and you’re both adults. “Hey.” He says back, sounding a bit hesitant. He looks exactly the same. Ridiculously big, hair in a top knot, shirt fitting like it’s a size too small. And he’s just staring down at you. “Can I come in?” You prod. He steps back abruptly. “Right, yeah, sorry.” This is so awkward. You step past him and try to maintain as much distant between your bodies as possible. 

When you step fully into the apartment you find only the other two boys in the living room, tangled up together cozily on one side of the couch. Itadori catches sight of you and jumps up to give you a warm embrace. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers in your ear. “I swear I didn’t know until like five minutes ago, about you and Todo.” You hug him back easily. Despite the fact that he’s still taller than you, he feels so tiny and holdable. “You’re fine, no biggie. Where’s everyone else?” Nobara jumps on your back like the menace that she is the minute you’re free of Itadori’s arms and you both collapse onto the floor in a heap. You would definitely be flashing Fushiguro right now if it weren’t for your tights- you honestly might still be. He just watches on in idle amusement as you fight off your friend. 

“Get off of me you fucking freak.” You punch at her with no strength. “This is called love bitch. Appreciate it.” She makes like she’s going to kiss you and you squeal. “You okay with the gorilla?” She asks, much quieter. “M’fine.” You answer honestly fixing her bangs where they’ve gotten messed up from your roughhousing. She stares at you long and hard, assessing, but seems satisfied with whatever she sees. Standing with a loud groan, she reaches a hand out to help you up as well. “Where the hell is Okkotsu with the weed?” Fushiguro speaks up from the couch, which makes you laugh. He’s asking the real questions. “I’ll text him.” Only what you text him is a message saying Todo is here. Be cool. The ellipsis indicating that he is typing out a reply appear and disappear more than three time but he never actually sends a message. A sharp knock comes at the door not five minutes later and you jump at the sound.

“I’ll get it.” You volunteer, nerves just a tad on edge. No one objects, because why would they? It’s in your head- you know it’s in your head- but it’s like you’ve been polarized against each other, or magnetized to one another. You know before you even pull open the door that’s it’s him standing on the other side, and of course, there he is, dressed in all black, hands shoved deep in his pockets, face set in a stubborn frown. “Skirt’s short.” He says, his version of a greeting in his obviously pissy mood. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you tug at his hand, dragging him inside and closer to you by extension. “You bought me this skirt, asshole.” His expression eases slightly, sheepishness creeping in around the edges. He plays broody well to just about everyone else but you. He brings up both hands to smooth over the cotton. You wrap your arms around his neck, pull him in close. “Are you gonna be a dick?” You ask. The fingers of his left hand are idly creeping up your thigh, going nowhere, just easing along the fabric of your tights. “Don’t like it.” He tells you honestly, which you appreciate. You kiss him, quick but hard. “I’m here with you.” You remind him and it seems to help.

Your friends cheer at the sight of Yuta and Itadori and Nobara erupt in obnoxious applause when he pulls a small bag of weed from his front pocket. You roll your eyes affectionately at their antics and allow yourself to be dragged down into armchair alongside Yuta. He isn’t slick at all when he pulls you into his lap, chin coming down to rest against your shoulder, arms threaded around your waist. Nobara gives you a knowing look from across the room but you only look pointedly to where Fushiguro has his head pillowed in her lap and she flushes bright red. 

Itadori has loaded a bong and is hitting it and you lean back against Yuta’s chest as you wait for your turn in the rotation to come. “Since when were you possessive, anyway?” You ask, head knocking idly against his. “Since you, probably.” He murmurs and you scoff. Nobara is hacking up a lung and waving away the offer of Itadori’s lukewarm Dr. Pepper. You laugh at the face she’s making and she gives you the finger. You blow her a kiss in return. “That so?” One of your legs is flung on top of his and he has a large hand pressed to your knee, just resting there, thumb brushing over the clothed skin. “You’re all dressed up.” He remarks, lips brushing against the low neck of your off-the-shoulder sweater. “So are you.” You say, voice edging into defensive territory, but he is wearing his nice black jeans. 

Fushiguro passes over the bong and you turn to Yuta, blinking. “Help?” You implore. You can hit from a bong yourself, you just find it an absolute hassle. “You’re such a princess.” He rolls his eyes but still leans forward to help. “Thank you.” Is said in your sweetest tone. He loads the bowl, plugs the carb and you lean over the mouth piece as he sets the cherry to glowing. Your lungs fill with thick, sweet smoke and your head is already growing fuzzy before you’ve finished drawing it all in. Whatever he brought is good. He takes his own hit and passes it on and you settle back into his hold feeling both light in your head and heavy in your body. “Wanted to look cute for you.” You confess quietly. “Just me?” He’s digging sharp nails into your knee where it’s draped over his own. “Said I belong to you.” You placate and some of the tension clinging to him seems to evaporate. “You have no idea what you’re even saying.” A soft kiss is pressed to the back of your neck. “Mm. Sure I do.” You hook your pinky around his, a tiny point of comforting contact.

Nobara is the one who shatters your bubble of quiet intimacy, but you can forgive her. “You’re going to the game, right?” She asks, thick smoke trailing from her mouth and nose. “Saturday? Yeah.” Yuta is trying to get a hand under your skirt and you nudge it away. “You’re on the team, too?” Todo asks, question directed towards Yuta, and his head perks up from where he was staring down your top. “Yep.” He pops the ‘P’ insolently. “What position?” There’s music playing from Fushiguro’s phone but the room feels weirdly quiet. “Striker.” You don’t have to see his face to know Yuta is grinning. “You any good?” At this question Itadori piped up. “Oh, Okkotsu’s the best. There’s no way he won’t be drafted to a pro team after graduation.” Todo seems to consider this, before nodding once. “I can respect a man who is a master of his craft.” Whatever tension was remaining between Yuta and Todo seems to dissolve at the proclamation as Yuta seems to realize the guy really is just kind of weird. “Right.” Yuta says. “Cool. Thanks.” You stifle a laugh behind your hand at his awkward posturing and he pinches your leg in retaliation.

After that, the rest of the evening is much less awkward. You get high and giggle at silly things with your friends and Yuta tries to get his hand under your skirt no less than three times. On the third attempt you shift around in his lap, just enough so you can look him in the face and glare. “Cut it out.” You hiss under your breath. All night he’s been pressing kisses into the bare skin of your shoulders, completely at random, even going so far to suck and nibble when the fancy seems to strike him. The drag of his fingers on your thighs, too, has been insistent despite the featherlight nature of the touch. The high thrumming beneath your skin has made every minute sensation that much more. Hands skating over your tights, lips pressing soft behind your ear- it all felt like tiny drips of molten wax and had you melting in turn. It was driving you crazy. You were slick between the thighs.

He gives you an innocent look. “I don’t know what you mean.” You lean in close, pressing lips to his ear. “I’m wet.” His hand grips hard where it still holds your thigh. “So if you aren’t going to fuck me, give it a rest.” Reorienting yourself so you’re facing forward in his lap again, you can’t help grinding your hips down just a little. If you’re suffering, he should be too. 

In the moments that pass you swear you can hear him thinking. It doesn’t take that long for him to speak. “You’re high.” He points out magnanimously. “You’re high. It cancels out, like a double negative.” You’re rubbing the heel of your foot back and forth against his shin, not for any real reason, just because you like the swish-swish sound the denim makes. He says your name like it’s a warning or a prayer. “You don’t want to?” You ask, it’s mostly rhetorical but also an out, in case he needs one. “You know I fucking want to.” He groans into your hair. “And I want to. So c’mon. Easy as pie.” If you haven’t stopped wiggling your hips, well, that’s only a tiny unfair advantage. “I have to take care of you.” He mumbles. “This is taking care of me.” He’s quiet. Your friends are chattering away and it’s just the two of you existing in the world that is this cramped armchair. “Baby.” It slips out from your mouth unbidden, and maybe it’s been living on the tip of your tongue for weeks. His breath gets caught in his throat and there’s no way you would’ve heard it if you weren’t pressed right up against him. “You like that? Baby?” 

Your voice is soft, but you’ll never handle him like glass. You’ll always give him a few of your rough edges. “Yu-chan. Baby. Are you gonna fuck me? Do I have to beg?” Maybe a hard teasing edge has crept into your tone. He’s gripping bruises into your ribs and you like it, are laughing at the breathlessness. “Fucking-” his voice is gruff, “goddamn you. Goddamn you.” He swears and it sounds, to you, like triumph. “Up. Get up.” He orders, but is lifting you from his lap and depositing you, feet first, onto the floor before you can even think to stand. 

Goodbyes are said in a hurry and you try your best to hide your mischievous grin behind one of Yuta’s broad shoulders, but the way Fushiguro gives you a knowing look at the door you aren’t sure how well you succeed.

…

The second the door to Yuta’s room closes, he has you pressed right up against it, body bracketing you in. His hot mouth envelopes your own in a hungry kiss and all you can do is gasp into it and accept the way he bites hard at your lips, shoving his tongue down your throat like he wants to drown you on the taste of his saliva. When he pulls away, you’re gasping already, just at this, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. With one hand he grips tight at your chin, forcing you to gaze up into his eyes, dark blue like deadly monkshood. “I want you to tell me everything you let him do to you.” He demands and you’re going to have bruises on your chin tomorrow if he doesn’t let up. 

“Yuta.” You protest and his hold only tightens making your jaw creak. You whimper but don’t pull away. “Tell me.” He orders. “He didn’t fuck you, but did he get his fingers inside you? Huh?” There’s an edge in his voice that you’ve never heard before and it’s doing something to you. “Y-yes. I-his fingers. He used his fingers and his m-mouth.” You manage to stutter out, anticipating his reaction, but he only smiles, running his tongue across all of his blunt teeth. “That’s it?” He asks and you nod. He seems to consider the information for a careful moment, but the weed is swirling around your head and you can’t honestly say how much time passes before he fixes you in his gaze and says “Take you clothes off. Now.”, You blink up at him dumbly. “Here?” you’re still pressed up against his front door, shoes on and coat snuggly zipped around your body. “Yes, hurry up.” He unzips your jacket and leaves the rest of the work to you.

With slightly shaky hands, you remove each item of clothing one by one. Your jacket is draped over his desk chair only because it was an expensive gift from his mother, but the rest of your clothes you allow to pool in a heap on top of your discarded sneakers. Wrestling yourself out of your tights and underwear, then sliding off your skirt, and finally pulling off your sweater and bra. It takes no time at all before you are standing before him completely nude. He has the decency to at least take off his own shoes and jacket, but aside from that he is fully clothed. The disparity in dress feels strange- makes you feel strange. 

Yuta grazes the back of his hand across your left breast, forefinger and thumb catching on the nipple which has grown hard upon being exposed to the air, and you gasp, body wracked by a shiver. “Did he get to see you like this?” Yuta asks, cupping the mound of your cunt with that same hand. Your knees quite nearly go out from under you when his middle finger slides between your folds and taps at your clit. It barely makes contact, but you’re high enough that the cannabis sends the sensation ricocheting across your body. The question slowly seeps into your brain. “No. No, never.” You manage to gasp out and it’s the truth. Only Yuta has ever seen you laid bare like this. 

There is no response from Yuta because he is sinking to his knees before you as you watch on with wide eyes, attention rapt. “What-” you cut yourself off with a yelp as one of your legs is hiked up over his shoulder, forcing your back more firmly against the door. “What are you doing?!” You squeak, bracing your hand on his free shoulder for balance. In the position you’re in you know you’re already practically splayed open, you can feel his hot breath directly on your entrance, but he still takes it upon himself to spread your pussy wider with his fingers. “I’m going to erase any trace- any fucking memory of anyone but me from every inch your body.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond. He doesn’t even give you a chance to breathe. The second the words are out of his mouth, he tongue is licking a fat stripe up your dripping slit and all you can do is groan. 

It is overwhelming immediately, but that’s because Yuta doesn’t know how to do anything by halves. He eats you like a man starved, tongue lapping up every bead of wetness that your body has to offer like it’s the earth’s sweetest nectar. His tongue is pressed hard and flat against your clit, teeth scraping slightly against the nub in a way that has your hips jumping, pathetic keening noises escaping from your throat while laughter leaks from his. “Fuck off.” You manage to groan breathlessly, kicking at his shoulder. He bites ruthlessly at your thigh for the insolence, but pushes his tongue as far inside of you as it will go to quell the pain and all you can is take it, head knocking back hard against the door.

“Look at me.” He speaks the words into your soaking entrance and you’re trembling when you cast your eyes down at him. Your breath catches in your throat at the intensity of his gaze and the way he kisses at your labia. He is looking at you as if you are the altar at which he has come to worship. Your orgasm comes crashing upon you like a freight train. “I’m going to cum.” You breathe out, eyes wide. He only grins around your clit where it sits on his tongue and you’re left scrabbling at his hair, his shoulder, anything you can clutch onto for strength as the climax rocks through your body. 

The weed does something to you, stretching the orgasm out in sweet, long waves that you ride out on Yuta’s tongue, whimpering his name under your breath until you think you’ll collapse from over sensitivity, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you beg him for mercy. When you’re a shaking, shivering mess, held up only by the door at your back and the boy between your legs, Yuta finally pulls away. You’re expecting him to stand, maybe help you to the bed. What you aren’t expecting is for him to haul you over one of his shoulders, causing you to squeal and sending your head spending.You don’t even get the time to process or protest because just as quickly as he picked you up, he is depositing you gently onto his bed. 

“What the hell?” You ask, staring up at him in a daze as he pulls his shirt off over his head. “Hey,” he dodges the question, dragging his belt frees of its loops and you can’t help the way your mouth waters at the sight of his flexing abs, “I got tested.” It takes an embarrassing long time for the words to fully process in your mind but the moment they do you’re up, on your knees, grabbing at the button of his pants. “Tested like, tested tested?” You clarify. He’s got a soft trail of hair that disappears below his waistband and when you tease at it with your thumb he shivers. “Yeah.” He pulls his phone from his pocket in a single smooth motion and clicks around on the screen a few times before showing you an email from the student clinic outlining his most recent bloodwork results. Your heart is pounding. Your blood is racing. You just had an orgasm.

With slow, easy hands you take Yuta’s phone and lock the screen, placing it face down on the bedside table and then turn back to him. His breath is coming just a little quick and you can see the hard bulge in his jeans. You bring your faces so close together that your noses bump. A slight adjustment of angles and your lips are slotting together- just for a second, just long enough to feel good. It should be awkward, the way you shuffle back on the bed and fall against the mattress, and with anyone else it probably would be, but with Yuta every experience you have is so viscerally different. You spread yourself across his shitty twin size mattress, on the sheets he brought from home and let him see every part of you and say “Do whatever you want to me.” He groans and collapses over you like he’s been fatally wounded. You give him the time he needs, running gentle hands through his hair.

A jolt runs through your body when he turns his head and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, hand gently massaging the supple flesh of your other breast with his hot hand. “Yuta.” You moan his name and he looks at you through dark lashes. His lips are pink and swollen when they pull away from your flesh. “You make my name sound so fucking pretty, sweetheart.” He murmurs and you stifle a gasp, possibly at the words themselves, or the pet name, or the implication behind it all- you have no idea. “Gets me so hard. You sound like a goddamn slut, but I know its just for me.” His voice is dark, possessive and despite the hand you bring up to cover your mouth, a squeaky, scandalized “Yuta!” still escapes. He laughs and presses a kiss into your sternum. 

With impatient hands you yank at his hair, pulling him further up your body so that you can reach his button and fly once again and this time you actually manage to pull his cock free. It is angry red and soaked in pre-cum when you finally get a hand around it and both you and Yuta gasp at the first touch. You stroke him a few experimental times, still new to it but learning fast and he’s already swearing and shaking in your arms. “Fuck, don’t. Don’t.” He shakes his head against your shoulder and you release him with one final stroke. “I gotta get inside you.” Maybe it shouldn’t feel so natural to spread yourself wide for him, but it does. “Then get inside me.” The shuffle you have to do to get his pants off is only slightly awkward because both of you refuse to stand up but you manage it in the end.

Then he’s back over you again and there’s a shivering thread between the two of you that tastes sweet like anticipation. As he looks down at you, Yuta’s eyes go unexpectedly and impossibly sweet. “I can use a condom.” He tells you, brushing hair away from your face so as better to meet your eyes. “Do you want to use one?” You ask, leaning into his warm touch. “That’s not really what we’re talking about.” He deflects and you scrunch up your nose in frustration. “What are we talking about? I don’t want to use one. I want you to cum inside of me. But if you want to use one I’m okay with it.” He gives you a look like maybe he wants to smother you or maybe he wants to kiss you. In the end, he kisses you. “I just want to make sure this is what you want.” His brows are furrowed very seriously and you kiss at the tiny line between them. “I told you; you take care of me. You only ever give me what I want.”

You can’t kiss when he pushes inside of you because as soon as the head of his cock slips inside you’re both gasping for breath. It was bound to be different, of course, without the thin latex barrier, but you didn’t expect to be able to feel every ridge and bump of his cock as if you were touching it with a fingertip, tasting it on your tongue; but you can. He’s hotter, too, so much hotter, like he’s burning you up from the inside in the best way possible and the textured scrape of his dick against your g-spot is fucking insane. When he’s fully sheathed himself inside of you, head snuggled sweetly against your cervix like its where he belongs, you’re shivering like its the first time all over again. Maybe it’s the weed, you reason, maybe its making you more sensitive.

“Yu-chan,” you manage to whimper weakly, “is it-it’s so intense. It’s so intense.” That’s all you can say. Yuta has a tight grip on your hips, so tight that you’re sure there will bruises to outline his hold tomorrow, but you’re holding just as hard to his shoulders and leaving half-moon shaped crescents there in turn. “I know, sweetheart, I know. Fuck, I’m not gonna last. Think you can make it there with me?” He’s got his eyes closed hard against the sensation as he experimentally drags himself out shallowly and grinds back in. Your belly tingles and heats, embers of the recent blaze easily being stirred back up. “Yeah. Won’t take much.” You tell him honestly. It could be scary, in another time, with another you and another him- one you didn’t trust so completely. The way that he is able to play your body the same way he’s able to play Chopin by memory after ten years of lessons could be scary, but instead, in this moment you find simple comfort and unbound pleasure in the knowledge that he knows you. 

There’s no need for him to set a quick or punishing rhythm with the way you’re already both so overwhelmed on sensation alone. Instead, he makes his thrusts deep and thorough, pulling out almost to the hilt just to press and press and press back in. The stretch every time has you gasping. He’s big, so fucking perfectly big that is doesn’t hurt at all- only ever the tiniest bit right when you need it to. “I think your cock was made to fit inside of me. Fits so fucking perfect.” You ramble. “Think so? Think this pussy was made to fit around me? Made to milk me dry?” He asks, pressing gently at your clit. “Mm, ‘course it was. Why do you think I waited? Knew you would be able to fuck me right.” 

His next upstroke is rough, hips slamming into you, and you cry out at the unexpected change of rhythm, but he’s already resettling into a more sedate pace, though not quite as slow and carefully controlled as before. “You’re lying.” His hair is beginning to grow damp from sweat and has started to stick to his face and the back of his neck. You push it away, grinding your hips in impatient circles. “Not lying.” When he ratchets up the pace again, you expect it slightly but it still has you gasping at the way he’s slamming into you. Every single thrust is hitting hard against your g-spot and you’ve never had such direct and constant stimulation of it like this. It’s overwhelming and brain meltingly good. “I’m gonna cum.” Yuta groans, voice rough against your neck and you shiver. He thumb works harder at your clit and its so considerate, how he wants you to finish together, but that’s secondary to you in this moment. “Please.” You beg. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you cum inside, baby. Let me feel it.” You couldn’t keep the words in your mouth if your life depended on it.

Yuta is cursing above you, cursing your name and saying how good you feel in turn while still pushing you toward you own climax and you do feel it- you feel it, when he begins to cum. It is in the way he stiffens and then begins to shake, but also in the hot splash of liquid you feel inside of your pussy, and that is what sends you toppling over the edge, as rope after rope of his warm cum continues to spray inside of you. It is glorious, delicious; it somehow compliments and completes the full feeling you get from his cock which you are already intoxicated and infatuated with.

You are drunk on the feeling- high on it and your orgasm still warm and spiraling through you that it takes you a moment to sink back into your body. When you do, you realize that Yuta is still inside of you, still thrusting, and still completely hard. You reach a hand down to feel at your opening just to be sure, and your fingers find Yuta’s familiar hardness spearing you open, slick with your own wetness and his fresh cum. You glance down at the sight and groan at the obscene picture of Yuta pounding in and out of your little hole, swollen pink where its stretching to accommodate his size. “Oh my fucking god. You-you’re still hard. How are you still hard?” You ask in utter disbelief. He gives you a hazy look. “How fucking crazy you make me.” That sounds like bullshit and you will definitely be looking it up later.

“Do me a favor and roll over for me, sweetheart?” He pats gently at your hip and how can you say no to such a polite request? You do as he asks, bodies disconnecting briefly so that he can get you up on your knees, head pillowed on your folded arms so you don’t fucking suffocate. When he slides back in you think you might actually die from how full you are. It’s still good, but it’s like you have him up to your fucking gills. “Oh god. Oh my god. Fuck me. Oh my god.” You don’t realize you’re saying anything until Yuta speaks over you. “Okay?” He asks, rubbing a soothing hand down your back. “‘S’deep. Your in my guts, swear I can feel you inside them.” You take one of his hands and put it to your lower abdomen where the press of his cock through the skin is evident. He swears then groans at the sensation, shifting minutely to see if the bulge in your belly moves along with him and of course it does.

A thought occurs to you. “Remember, you wrote your number in cum right here?” You murmur, rubbing over the patch of skin. “Mm.” He affirms. “You gotta write it on the inside too.” His cock twitches hard inside of you, causing you to gasp. “I have to move sweetheart.” His voice is tight, nerves frayed. “Go easy on me. This position…” You trail off but he hears you anyways and begins moving in easy, shallow thrusts. You are impossibly wet, from his cum and your own slick, both of which are squeezing out around his cock with each subsequent thrust.

Even thrusting shallowly as he is, you feel like you’re losing your mind, pushing your hips back as best you can to meet his rhythm. It doesn’t hurt, the way he’s filling you entirely, but it’s fucking with your head, making you feel hazy and light in a way the weed hadn’t even managed and you have to work hard to catch your breath. You’re fisting hard into his stupid dark blue sheets, keening like a stuck pig when he presses flush against your back, reaching so he can thread your fingers together. “Shh.” He soothes. “I got you. Just feel it, huh?” You try to speak but all that comes out is a broken sob. He kisses soft at the shell of your ear and you gasp in a shuddering breath. There are tears prickling at your eyes. “I’m going crazy.” You whisper in a broken voice.

When his free hand slides down to flick across your clit the tears begin spilling from your eyes, glimmering diamonds that slide down your face as you tip into another mind numbingly good orgasm, Yuta’s name on your lips. “Look at me.” He orders. It takes every last ounce of energy in your body to turn your head and face him, but the look in his eyes is worth it. Beholden by the sight of you still caught in climax, tears streaming down your face, he looks like a rabbit surprised to find himself in a trap. His face crumples, head falling against your sweaty back as he is swept, tripping and falling, into his own orgasm. 

You maybe black out for a second. Just a second though, because when you come to Yuta is still on top of you, though somewhat collapsed and no longer thrusting. You are relieved to feel he’s gone soft. If he wanted to go another round your pussy might actually fall off. He’s a little heavy but the warm press of his body is mostly just comforting and he definitely isn’t putting his full weight on you anyway.

“Still with me?” You ask after a few minutes, face smashed into a pillow. He slides off, then out of you, shuffling both of your bodies this way and that until you’re facing each other. His cum, rapidly cooling but still warm, is spilling out of you without anything to keep it plugged inside, but you can ignore that for a moment. You aren’t sure you could walk right now even if you wanted to. Yuta is looking at you with gentle, sleepy eyes, a soft smile curling at the corners despite the fact that his mouth is settled in an even line. “With you.” He sweeps up your hand and brings it to his lips, mouthing at it so softly that your heart jumps up into your throat. “I was kind of rough. You okay?” He asks. You nod and give him an easy smile, oxytocin firing around your brain. “It was good. I liked it.” He wipes at a tear clinging to your bottom lashes. “You cried.” He doesn’t sound smug or overly concerned, just curious, but you feel yourself flush furiously. “It was good.” You repeat, adding necessary emphasis. He laughs at whatever face you must be making, but you can’t be mad because he is utterly gorgeous, head thrown back, hair in total disarray, eyes bright and set on you. 

It’s so easy to press into the kiss he places on your mouth. It is so ridiculously easy to let yourself sink into it; you are lost in the sensation before you even realize. You have absolutely no idea if it’s supposed to be this easy.

…

In the middle of the night you try to roll over into a more comfortable position but Yuta has his arm clasped so tight around your waist that all you can do is shift closer to him. You open your eyes in the hopes of catching just a glimpse of him sleeping in the dim glow of the blue shark nightlight, but you find his eyes open too and his gaze set on you. 

“You’re awake?” You murmur into the sacred quiet of the late night. “Mm.” He affirms. “Was watching you sleep all Edward Cullen-like.” You snicker into his bare shoulder. “Let me move.” You protest, wiggling weakly in his hold. “Nope. Gotta keep you close.” He shuts you down, presses your foreheads together, the tips of your noses brushing, lips grazing in a lazy approximation of a kiss. You press further into it, but the touch stays light, just a kiss, neither of you could do anything more tonight.

“Hey.” You say after a moment, voice quieter than even before. “Hey.” Yuta echoes. “Are we dating?” You ask, the volume of your voice hiding the tremulous thread present within it. “Kinda?” Is his half-answer. “What does that mean?” It’s hard work, maintaining this careful, quiet atmosphere and you realize then how much Yuta has done, has been doing to make you feel safe, always. “It means yes for me- I would say yes, but you might say no.” 

He’s got his eyes closed again and you hate it, need to read the motion of the tides to know how to predict the seasons. “Look at me.” Azure waves open to you and something in your heart settles. “Why would I say no?” You ask and it looks like this conversation is just a little bit scary for him too. “You have autonomy.” And now he’s being obtuse, deliberately so. You push into his space, as close as his bones and your skin will allow. “We’re dating.” You proclaim. “Yeah?” Hope is the light illuminating his words, you can see it now. “Yeah.” He hums and the sound reverberates through your body. 

You fall asleep like that and in the morning you’ll wake overheated and slick with sweat from sleeping too close under the duvet, but for now it is perfect. You’re dating.