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It all started as a simple one night stand, or so you thought. You’re not the type to date your one night stands, as it was something you deemed….inappropriate, just simply not something you're comfortable with. He doesn't really seem like the type to have time for a relationship anyways, given he’s a famous baseball player, which you weren't aware of at first, ironic his face was plastered all over Tokyo but you didn't care enough to pay attention. Why would he waste his time on you? But also, the overall idea of being in a relationship with a celebrity makes your head hurt, you have no desire to be the center of attention, especially with someone like him by your side.
But you always thought about it.
In truth, you always thought about him, whenever you had time to think. You remember the first night he brought you home, you weren't expecting much, given the way he acted when you met him. He was arrogant, egotsictal, but he was cute so you gave him a chance, flirting with him in hopes of getting what you wanted, just a quick fuck and you’d go, like usual.
However, there was a new found deepness in the way he kissed you, the softness and genuine feeling of his touch, the way he would moan your name, or even simply say it. It awoke something in you, made you realize something, you’ve never felt that kind of profoundness before and it uprooted some new feelings in you. That night, you sat awake in his bed, your mind replaying what had just happened.
Even before he gently opened your legs that night the whole experience between getting to his house was incredibly different, a sweetness in his eyes as he watched you admire the vastness of his place. How he would ask questions before to make sure you were comfortable, even offering you something to drink or a quick snack before he brought you to his room. Usually with your other hookups, your hands are already on each other as soon as you get through the door, even in the Uber or ride to someone’s place, but taking a breather before getting into things was nice, significantly better than what you were expecting.
The usual guilt after the climax always hits you, and it did this time just not as strong. You couldn't help but wonder if this is really what you wanted to keep doing, if you wanted to keep hooking up with random people. Another thought slithered its way into your brain, fangs sinking into the organ, intruding your thoughts. This was the most honest, real, one night stand you’ve ever had.
Something about the way he looked at you before kissing you, the way he spoke softly to you the whole night, how gentle he was, and most importantly how he cleaned you up afterwards, gingerly holding your legs apart. You stared at the softness of his face, noticing every little detail from the faint (but visible) eyebags to the beauty mark on the right side of his face, just a little below his bottom lip. His focused expression and relaxed posture made your heart swell, and the way he would praise you while he cleaned you up. Saying things like “you did so good” or “you took me so well.” He even asked about you, how you were feeling while he carefully helped you get your panties back on, mindful of your shaking hands. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Questions about you, paying no mind to himself. God, it was torture, from his looks to his mere and genuine kindness, he had you wrapped around his finger and he didnt even know it.
Everything about him was torture.
That morning you awoke to his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, his sharp features softened, a quiet snore emitting from him. You sat up, his arms sliding down to your hips now. Staring outside one of his massive windows, you could see the reflection of you and him on the bed, his shirt fitted over your frame, once worn by him. It made your head throb, your heart ache. You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, still trying to really wrap your head around how you were feeling. Carefully, you slide out of bed, his arms dropping onto the mattress softly. You dress yourself, taking his shirt off and leaving it folded at the end of his bed. As you always do, even for your worst experiences, you left him a note, but trying to figure out what to say to him was difficult. You left without waking him, leaving him with the scent of wisteria on his pillow.
But really, you couldn't lie, you did leave your phone number on the note, saying if he needed anything or wanted to reach out to give you a call. To your surprise, he did, about a few days later. He had asked to meet up again, and you physically reacted. You didn't know if it was excitement or regret for leaving your number, seeing him again, after all this is what you wanted, right? Of course you still went, it would be crazy if you didn't. He had made a nice dinner which you two shared and talked over, it wasn't long after that, his hands were all over you, studying your body and taking in the canvas of your skin, desperate to decorate it with his own colors.
A part of you wanted to believe it wasn't just lust and rather he felt something for you too, but in situations like these it was hard to believe.. And when he moaned your name as desperate and softly as he did that previous time it was like it all came washing over you, cold water splashing onto your face, jolting you awake in the middle of the night. Kenji’s arms wrapped around you again, holding you a decent distance away but you could still feel his warmth. Three in the morning and you were wide awake, staring at his beautiful face, struggling with the viper in your head.
It became repetitive.
Kenji would invite you over, have dinner, maybe even watch a movie or swim in his pools and then he’d bed you again. The more you spent at his place, the more confused you were but the deeper in love you fell. You didn't want to ruin what you two had going on and most of all you were terrified, fear stopping you from asking him out officially. What would he say? Would he laugh at you? He’s awfully arrogant sometimes. Would he end things with you, tell you to leave his house? If you did, would you ever see him again? Aside from the billboards, the Tv ad’s, not being able to see his face in person would destroy you.
But none of that really sounded like him, honestly. You wished you had the confidence, the power to say something, you were confident enough to flirt with him, to get him to fuck you but not confident enough to tell him you wanted to be with him. It was weird, something that seems so easy is so difficult for you to do, you felt like a little girl all over again, afraid to ask your crush out.
So you lay there, always up before him because that viper won't leave you alone. When you get home, you can't help but wonder, hope, that you're on his mind as much as he's on yours. It's pathetic, really. You tried seeing other people when you weren't wrapped around him, but it all felt empty to you, a cold spot on the bed. The others would treat you like any other girl, fuck you, leave you a mess, and then tell you to leave in the morning, something you were used to after spending years of this same cycle, and when they moaned your name it made you want to vomit. Nowadays, you leave before they can kick you out themselves.
And you always notice something about him, he only fucks you in the comfort of his bed. He never bends you over the table or sits you up on the kitchen counter, it’s always in the softness of his white sheets, surrounded by his room. Curtains halfway open, letting light pour in so he can see your face and so you can admire his.
You hated yourself for this, you wished you never got caught up in this lifestyle. You don't even remember why you started, desperate for love maybe, touch deprived? It's all blurry to you now. Eventually, you stopped hooking up with other people, but you stayed with Kenji. Your heart wouldn't let you leave him. And you know, his face has probably been buried in tons of other girls' thighs, even the days when you're not with him. But when he was buried between your legs, mouth working expertly at your core, deep eyes staring up at you, you couldn't help but feel, maybe he gave you better treatment than the others. Your love for him dripped out of your core, seeped into his mouth, staining his tongue, but he was too blind to taste it.
You wanted him, not in a sexual, carnal way but in a loving, passionate, devoted way. You wanted to be in his possession, you wanted to be his girl. You would whine his name, countless times as he reached your sweet spot perfectly, hoping he feels that same shudder, that same tingle when he would moan yours. The feeling of love in just the simplicity of a name.
One night you got home from work, a hectic day weighing on your shoulders, Kenji had texted you, asking if you wanted to come over. You broke down, suddenly, randomly, sobbing into your hands while you sat on your knees. You don't know why you cried, maybe stress from the rough day you had, or maybe it was because of him, oblivious, unaware, him.
“Oh, okay.” he said over the phone, his voice echoing into your ears. “Is everything okay though?” Perhaps he could hear your sniffles, your quiet sobs.
“I’m fine,” you responded, simple and quick. “Just had a rough day.”
He said, “I understand, if you wanna talk about it—-you know I'm here, always.”
You had tensed up, feeling sick to your stomach all over again. He sounded unsure, like he knew you were crying but didnt want to push, like hes never never had to comfort someone hes fucked before, only when theyre sore and hurting. You felt bad, wiping your tears as you tried to settle down after the rather short phone call. Again you were left wondering if he was thinking about you, that viper curled its scaled body around your mind, squeezing.
On the rare nights he would cancel, he was busy and didn't want you coming over too late, he would offer to give you some release over the phone. Always putting your pleasure first, that's what he's done since day one. When he called you that first time, it surprised you, he cared enough about you that he still wanted to help you out in some sort of way. You'd tell him you were fine, to enjoy whatever it was he was doing and usually that would be that. But sometimes he catches you at the right time, when you're frustrated, needing release. He’d talk you through it over the phone, drinking up the sound of your soft moans as you pleasured yourself to his voice. His voice, god. It was the most devastating, siren-like melody you had the honor of hearing. He knew all the right ways, tones, words to get you off. His voice was indescribable, he could literally call you by your name and you’d be on your knees, it always sounded best after his own release. Once you were finished he’d talk to you a little more, at least until you stopped responding, and then he would hang up.
He owned you, he owned your thoughts, your feelings. It was terrible, absolutely terrible.
The real eye opener was a few months into this situationship, after you had gotten rid of your other hookups, right around the time baseball started picking up again. He grew busier so seeing him, being able to feel him after not being able to in a while was rewarding. You remember it so clearly, he was buried deep inside you, his eyes closed and mouth agape as he pushed himself to his release, soft moans and grunts coming out of his mouth. That was when he finally released and upon the bliss, he spoke freely.
“I love you,” he gasped, not once, but multiple times, “I love you—love you….so much.”
That was it for you, really it was. The once tears of pleasure turned into something deeper and you cried in front of him (unnecessary, embarrassing tears you would tell yourself). He didn't realize at first, his head was resting on your collar bones as he caught his breath, settling down from his release. But your quiet whimpers and sobs made him sit up, his expression changing when he saw you crying. He knew it wasn't a cry of pleasure, you were full on sobbing, covering your eyes and wiping them with your hands.
“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, pathetically. “I'm so sorry.”
Confused and bewildered, Kenji cups your face with both hands. “Hey, hey,” he says softly, “no need to apologize, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” you choke out, grabbing his hands as he holds your face, “no–” You couldn't even get the words out, it was embarrassing, choking on mucus and struggling to breathe. You weren't sure why you were crying, maybe because you felt bad, maybe because his words set you off, but why?
“Then what's wrong?” he pushed on, his voice as gentle as ever. “You can talk to me.”
You never told him, instead you continued to cry like a baby, until he pulled you into his chest, holding you tight. One of his hands running up and down your back soothing you until your sobs quieted to sniffles and then went silent. He was up before you the following morning, still rubbing your back softly, listening to your breathing, chest stained and damp with your tears. You left your mark on him that day, unnoticeable to the naked eye, but seen by him.
For once, you thought about praying, praying to whatever god there was, up there watching you. It's not like you were asking for the world, you were just asking for him, is he really too much to ask for? A few days later, he had hit you up, asking if he could come over this time. So he showed up at your place, standing in the doorway while the rain pelted down, soaking his clothes and hair.
God he was beautiful, he looked so good standing in the rain you couldn’t even find the words to express it. A tingle goes up your spine, making you shudder, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little turned on right now. That was his effect on you, just merely the sight of him can get you excited, turn you on, sometimes you even questioned yourself if it was your libido making you feel this way, but you knew it wasn’t, it was more.
You gave him a towel to dry off as he looked around your apartment, given it was his first time in here. The first thing he noticed was the smell, your place just smelled like you. It was earthy and floral at the same time, hints of jasmine. He looked at your bookshelf, multiple books of all genres, dusty and showing that they hadn’t been cleaned in a while, a clear give away to the state of your mind. You make him some tea, butterfly pea for yourself and regular green tea for him, setting them both on the coasters of your wooden coffee table. Kenji sat down on your couch, the towel resting on his broad shoulders. You sat next to him, feeling the awkward tension, averting your gaze. His fingers tap on his cup, as if he’s debating on bringing up what had happened a few nights ago, he’s tense.
“So, I didn’t just come here to-“
“I know,” you interrupt him, “I know.”
“You never told me what happened that night,” he continues, cautiously, watching your face for any change. You turn to look at him, pressing your lips into a line before trying to speak.
“It was-“ you stop yourself, “I was just having a rough day, that was it. Sometimes it catches up to me at the wrong times, I’m sorry.” It was a lie, of course it was. You didn’t want to tell him what it really was, especially now of all times. It’s silent for a few moments until he suddenly reaches over, grabbing your face with one of his large, gentle hands, scooting closer to you. “Hey, there’s no need to apologize,” he responds softly, “you should've said something earlier.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. Moments like these are what makes you feel like there's more to this, more than just the sex but still, you keep your mouth shut.
He’s gotten more stingy with his time, finding it hard to see each other. A part of you wonders if he's chosen to move on after what happened the past week, wondering if he decided to drop you completely. You wouldn't blame him if that's what he was doing, at least he was letting you off easy. His texts and responses were still the same but they became slower and eventually you stopped texting him, it was foolish anyways, pointless. Why in the world would he freely talk to you, waste his time, when you two aren't even together? When you were bored, you would find yourself watching his games on the Tv, or at least whenever they came on. You would focus on him the entire time, ignore every other player, he was your star, your black sheep.
You questioned if he would even enjoy seeing you at one of his games, after all he never invited you, you would have to invite yourself. So you did, the next game you went ahead and bought a ticket, clearing your plans for the night just to watch him play. Your seat was pretty good, you could see his face clearly from where you were sitting. His focused face always made you smile, always made you flutter, he was so indescribably charming it hurt. You kept your cheers quieter than everyone else, but it wouldn't really matter if you didn't, you would be fitting in with the crowd, but a part of you didnt want him to look up and somehow notice you, it would be hard to pick you out of this huge audience anyways.
After the game, you decided to stay, somehow finding where the locker room was, surrounding yourself with wives, even children of the other players, in a way you kinda fit in. You don’t know what motivated you to go there, maybe the ache between your legs? After seeing him play you couldn’t help it, something about a man with ambition, a man with passion.
You were still sticking out like a sore thumb, nervously tapping your foot and feeling uncomfortable, it was obvious, you were just too dumb to realize. Your eyes bore into the door, waiting for him to come out, a new found nervousness filling your soul. “Psst,” someone tries to get your attention, you didn't realize it at first until a lady bumped shoulders with you. You turn to look at her, brown eyes meeting yours. She was older than you, probably around thirty maybe even forty but you dont assume.
“I’ve never seen you before,” she says, voice friendly, “do you know one of the players?”
“I guess you could say that,” you respond quietly, trying to find a way to explain who you were to Kenji but most people wouldn't take “we hook up all the time” as an answer. So you kept quiet until she spoke again.
“Which one? I'm curious.” She pressed on, her tone dripping with some type of underlying excitement.
You clear your throat, feeling a little awkward.”Um, Ken–Kenji, Sato,” you try to keep your voice from sounding too shaky, worried she might assume you're an obsessive fan.
“Oh!” she exclaims, laughing lightly, tossing her head back and gesturing with one of her hands, “I’ve never seen anyone come see him, it's about damn time.”
You can tell she's just joking a little, you smile as a response. “God wow,” she says suddenly, sounding astonished, “you have a beautiful smile, absolutely gorgeous, wowww.”
“Oh,” the random compliment makes you smile a little wider, “thank you.” She nods, looking back at the door but then turning to you again.
“You're a real pretty girl, you know,” she hums, crossing her arms, “and you seem nice, I mean you came to one of his games. Sato must feel really lucky to have you as a girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. That word, the word you avoided for so long, what a terrifying thing to be called.
“Oh, I’m–” you stop yourself, should you tell her or not? What's the chance of her bringing it up to her husband and then he says something to Kenji. “He's not my boyfriend, we’re just friends,” you settled with that, she seemed to be a little surprised and ... .upset?
“Oh but you like him,” you blink at her, the response unexpected, “a mother always knows, I can see it all over your face.”
Warmth spreads over your face, painting your cheeks a gorgeous shade of red and she notices, chuckling to herself. “I’ll tell you what I always tell my daughter,” she says, her tone morphing into something more firm, she turns her whole body towards you now, “it's always good to tell them before it's too late, you never know what’ll happen.”
Were you really about to express your feelings to a random middle aged woman? “But,” you start, shifting uncomfortably, “what if he doesn't like me?” You sound pathetic, like how you did in highschool, crying to your mom because you were confused on why you couldn't love the way others did. You suddenly felt bad for your highschool lover. The real question you should have asked is why do you feel uncomfortable at the mere thought of being in a relationship.
“His loss,” she rolls her eyes playfully, “but all you can do is accept and move on, it sucks and it hurts for a while but it gets better, trust me.”
It was nice talking to her, you don't talk to your mom anymore since moving to Japan, she also just doesn't approve of your lifestyle. Having no friends(too distracted, driven by lust to try) made it hard to get advice or even someone to talk to about problems. Having someone to tell you this made you feel a little better, opened your eyes.
“I guess you're right,” you mutter out, “thank you for the advice.” You smile a close lipped smile at her and she returns it. The locker room door opens and the first few players start to spill out, greeting their wives and children. Her husband comes out next and she turns to greet him, smiling widely as she wraps her arms around him. You can't help but feel envious, until Kenji walks out, hair messy and his bike helmet under his arm. Holding your breath, wondering if you should go up to him, his eyes scan the area, like he's looking for someone, then they lock onto you. You can feel yourself shaking, worried he’d be upset that you're here, especially after not talking in a while. His expression is unreadable for a few moments and then he smiles, you can't tell what type of smile it was. Happy? Surprised? Hiding disappointment? He walks over to you, a mixture between his cologne and sweat wafts into your face when he stops in front of you.
“What're you doing here?” he asks, his tone playful.
“Just thought I’d pay a visit,” you breathe, shoving your shaking hands into your pockets. “You played really well today.”
Before he can talk, the woman from before taps on your shoulder, you look and she quickly hands you a sticky note before smiling at Kenji and then walking off with her husband. Kenji raises an eyebrow, watching the woman leave and then looking at you.
“What was that about?” he questions, chuckling softly. You read the note, squinting at her cursive handwriting.
I can tell by the way he looks at you, he is so in love. Shoot your shot and if you need anything, call me :)
Her phone number was left under those words. “Just a friend I made while waiting,” you respond, shoving the paper into your pocket.
“Making friends now?” he nudges you, making you laugh softly. He must've found out about your loneliness a long time ago, something you both had in common but never spoke about. You walk out with him, passing by the other waiting wives.
And of course, he invited you over and you agreed, almostly immediately. Needing release, from your thoughts (thick scaled viper squeezing at your flesh), from your pent up arousal after not seeing him in what felt like an eternity. You were the one that latched onto him first this time, most commonly he starts it. Sooner than later he has you on his bed, legs spread, one captured between his in an attempt to keep you stiil. He lays on the side of you, fingers buried in your cunt while his lips stay attached to your throat, your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close. Cries of pleasure spill out your mouth, his name like a prayer on your lips. The sweetness from his kisses stuck on your tongue. Your back arches off the bed when your first peak washes over you, making you sob out his name sinfully as you always do, music to his ears.
“You have no idea–” he grunts, his tip now nudging at your entrance before sliding into you slowly, his jaw clenches until he's fully inside you, “how good it felt to know you were watching me play.”
He practically fucked you like he was thanking you, clearly appreciating your presence. For once your mind didn't wander other places(the viper loosened), too focused on the feel of his cock pressing against your sweet spot and his moans to even think about anything else.
“Fuck,” he sighs, “My girl, my good girl.” Those simple words always made you crazy, a moaning mess in short. It sounded so filthy during the moment but afterwards, when he's bathing in the afterglow, chest heaving, the words leave his lips again, and they sound less sinful, more fond and tender.
The next few weeks you ponder on what that lady had said to you, debating on texting her, asking her for more advice. As baseball started to come to a close, Kenji started having more availability. You started to invite him to more casual things, like coffee at your favorite cafe or a walk in the park just to talk. The whole time he was around you, a permanent smile worn on your face, he talked to you like you were more important than anyone in the world, however your time together was never long. This new feeling bubbled up inside you, happiness for once? Maybe excitement that you finally get to be around him without the sound of skin against skin. You invited him over to your place for some wine one night, sitting in your living room, music playing softly in the background while you two drank until your faces were warm and red.
“Do you see other girls?”
Fuck.
The question came off your drunken lips, a sober thought meeting your intociaxted mouth. You realized shortly after that you fucked up, quickly tensing up and waving your hands dismissively.
“I'm sorry,” you rush, “that just came out, I don't really mind if you do, it wouldn't change anything.” His face was unreadable, but he turned to stare down into his glass.
His response is simple, “No.”
“You're the only one,” he continued after a few seconds, “I stopped seeing other people a while ago.”
Your face heats up as if it wasn't hot enough already, a drunken smile on your lips, unnoticable by him. “Okay, sorry I asked,” you huff, deciding not to refill your glass this time, instead just setting it down on the coaster.
“What about you?”
His question probably catches you off guard as much as yours did. “I couldn't bring myself to do it,” you admit, “I did for a while but then things got complicated, so I cut everyone off, stopped going out to try and find sex and just settled with you.”
The silence is uncomfortable for a moment, until he speaks again. “Why?” simple, just like his response.
You bit your lip, staring at him and then looking away to avoid eye contact. “I….” you didn't want to admit anything now, not when you're intoxicated at least, “I just didn't want to see anyone else.”
He's silent again but then he hums, drinking down the final drops of red liquid before sitting back on your couch. “Come here,” his voice is quiet but strong, beckoning to his side with his hand. You hesitate but slide over to him, laying your head on his chest as his arm comes to wrap around your waist. Thoughts swarm your head (the viper slithers into action once again), but they are quieted when he speaks again (the ear bleeding hiss, silenced).
“I didn’t wanna see anyone else either.”
Mentally you smile, physically you probably made a weird face he couldn't see but you stayed quiet, listening to his heartbeat through his clothes.
𓆙
The thought about what that lady said to you lingered in your mind. You’ve known Kenji for a year now, fucked him for a year now, at this point you shoudlve told him, save yourself the suffering. The winter was long, nights growing ever the more longer, you found yourself reaching out to him for warmth rather than just sex.
And to your surprise, you came home after work to a freezing apartment, your heater had broken leaving you with nothing but sleepless nights in your freezing bed. You had complained to company numerous times until they finally got someone to come by and take a look, and to make things worse, it would take longer than usual for them to fix. You weren't really sure why, you weren't the only one having this problem in the complex, numours people had left because they were taking so long to fix them. Out of options, and exhausted, you called Kenji. You were worried he would decline but he agreed without hesitation. So, you packed up some clothes, your necessities and headed to his house that night.
It was safe to say he was pleased by your company, upon living alone himself, despite having a supercomputer floating around, he still loves you being around. He respected your space, fed you, made sure you knew where everything was. Mina would talk to you when he was gone, you freely asked her questions about him, oftentimes she would give you a schedule of what he had going on today and when he would be home.
Before he would get home from whatever he was doing that day, you would cook for him on your days off of course. He’s a late eater, assumingly due to him coming home late from practice or games, so you always start cooking a few minutes before he arrives. He comes home, smiles when he sees you in the kitchen, walks over to you and snakes a hand around your waist, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before disappearing somewhere into his huge house. Moments like those made you forget you weren't in an actual relationship, you don't even know what you would call it, friends were too simple, lovers were too complicated. Friends with benefits would be overlooking everything, you two were not close like friends but you two still hung out, had sex, no strings attached they would say. But still, there was never a right label to describe what you and Kenji were, so no labels were used, by either of you.
Sleep was still hard to come to, difficult in such a large bed, you would turn to your side, expecting him to be there but he wasn't. Sometimes you would hear a faint beeping sound, then some rustling outside your room, a low rumble below you and then silence. It happened often, not so often it was repetitive, but often enough it made you curious, too curious.
One night after the rumbling stopped, you left your room, tentatively heading to his room. You opened the door to see his bed was empty, your heartbeat quickened, slowly stepping into his room until Mina called your name from behind you. “Where’s Kenji?” you ask, shutting the door softly behind you.
“His father asked for him,” she says simply, “you should go back to bed.” You were suspicious, there was no way his father was calling him at two in the morning, his dad was old but not that old that he couldn't take care of himself. However, you listened, heading back to your room, opening the curtains of the massive windows to look out at the ocean, something you always found peace in.
And then, you heard him come home around an hour later, hesitantly you go out to greet him. You catch him right as he’s about to go to his room, making him stop in his tracks and stare at you. He takes in your slightly exposed form, all you had on was a shirt and panties, acting as if he hasn’t seen you naked before.
“You’re up?” He questioned, his face confused, he looked guilty of something. You stare at him for a few moments, blinking tiredness out of your eyes until you settle with a sigh, not questioning where he’s been.
“I can’t sleep,” is what you settle with, yawning to make it more believable. A soft smile graces his face, and then he beckons you to follow him, so you do. For once since high school, you sleep in until noon, face buried in his chest, inhaling his intoxicating scent.
You knew something was up, you’ve always been good at figuring things out and Kenji was a terrible liar, also terrible at hiding things in general. You wanted to be respectful, mind your business and not act like an overbearing lover, if that’s what you would even call yourself, but you were desperate to know his little secret. That viper squeezed a little tighter these past few days.
So you waited for him to come home after disappearing, sitting up in his bed with the lamp on, you had grown accustomed to sleeping with him rather than in your own bed, after all it was just a few more days until your heater got fixed and you wanted to savor this feeling as long as possible. Mindlessly scrolling on your phone, watching all the news about Ultraman and the recent, ongoing Kaiju attack. The door opened up to his handsome face, a visible cut on his lip still bleeding. Then it clicked for you, his awkwardness when coming in, the surprised look he had on his face. When he got in bed you hesitated to speak, but then he spoke for you.
“I’ve been keeping something from you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’ve noticed…” you respond, trailing off slowly. You watch him seemingly debate with himself mentally, biting his cheek. He wets his lips with his tongue, some of the blood smearing but going unnoticed, he’s vulnerable right now, you tread carefully.
“Kenji, you can tell me anything you know,” you hum, putting your phone down, “nothings gonna change my view of you or whatever.”
“I’m Ultraman,” he blurts, looking more surprised than you. The expression on your face is probably what made him nervous, really he didn’t know what response you would give him.
“Oh,” you say, quickly softening your face, “um well that’s something.” He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. “Still, that doesn’t change anything,” you continue, pushing the blankets off and crawling on top of him, straddling him.
You cup his face, your thumb on his bottom lip, wiping off the excess blood. “You’re still the same Kenji I know,” you sigh, wiping the blood off on your shirt. He makes a face, like he’s surprised but disgusted by what you had done, he starts to smile slowly.
“Being a…twenty foot tall metal man doesn’t change how I feel about you,” your words make him raise a brow and it was then when you realized what you had just said. “And how do you feel about me?” He teases, grabbing your hips to hold on to you, his demeanor shifting slightly.
“The same way I always have,” you quickly try to change the subject, planting a kiss on his lips, “anyways you should get some sleep.” He holds you still, his grip on you tightening as you try to get off of him.
“I’m not tired,” he coos, running a hand up your shirt to feel the bareness of your body.
“Well I am,” you remark playfully, squishing his face with your hand before getting out of his grasp and settling down beside him. You reach over and then turn the lamp off, pulling the blankets back over you and closing your eyes. His secret was safe with you, and the fact that he was so trusting of you made you think, maybe it really isn't just his libido. Kenji stares at your back, a concerned expression on his face before he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in.
Your heater was fixed just a few days later and you left Kenji’s place with a heavy heart, standing in his doorway with your bag in your hand. It was weird, how you felt, that viper had become still for a moment and then it was back, hissing and sinking its fangs into your already hurting brain. You didn't know when you would see him again, but you knew it would be soon.
The night before you left, Kenji had shown you a picture, his face a mixture of emotions. “Who’s this?” you ask, pointing at the woman next to him, it was a dumb question but as stated before, you dont assume.
“My mother,” he responds plainly, the underlying hurt heard in his voice. He’s hurting, you can tell, and he's vulnerable. You dont push, instead you compliment her.
“She's beautiful,” your eyes scan over her still face in the picture, noticing the same, signature beauty mark Kenji has, “I see where you get your looks from.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips, smiling fondly.
The vulnerability he showed while you were staying at his house, made you fall ever more in love with him and it made you sick, the venom seeping into your brain and spreading throughout your body.
𓆙
Rain pours down outside, loudly pelting against the windows, sounding like hail. The sound drums loudly in your ears, making your head hurt for once. The grayish blue lighting seeps into the expansive space of Kenji’s living room, the city fogged and rain wrapped in the distance.
Placed on his lap, legs on either side, straddling him fully clothed, damp from the downpour outside. His clothes sticking to his skin, his chest and torso exposed under the soaked white fabric, visible to your searching eyes. Black panties pressed against his crotch, not in a teasing manner. Your shirt sticks to your skin but loosens as it dries in the chill of the room. Kenji’s eyes, gray and lustrous, staring up at your warm face, strong grip on your hips. His head rests on the arm rest, lifting it enough so he could get a good view of your precious body.
The viper is still, its fangs frozen deep in your consciousness.
His lips part, glossed over from the rain as well as his chapstick, he starts to speak. “You look so pretty like this,” he breathes, reaching up to feel your body, an empty canvas waiting to be painted, to be marked.
You shift, eliciting a rather warm noise from him, a moan in short. His cock desperately wanting freed from the prison of his pants. The fabric of his pants rubs against your throbbing clit through your panties, making you hum a soft tune of anticipation. The viper moves, its teeth itching further into your ruined brain. Chewing on your bottom lip, you move again, a little rougher this time.
“You’re tense,” he randomly points out, making you freeze, “relax, baby.”
“I am relaxed,” you remark, rutting against his clothed cock again.
“No, you're extremely tense, I can see it,” he pushes on, his voice hoarse, “keep your shoulders down.”
“I’m frustrated,” you admit, dipping your head down so all he sees is your hair while you mindlessly tug at his pants. He watches you, lifting his hips so you can pull his pants and boxers down to his knees.
“Then tell me,” he says suddenly, “tell me your frustrations, ride them out on me.”
“Fuck,” you breathe, “I hate you.” You move your panties to the side, slowly sinking down on him with a delightful moan.
He hums, watching you slowly grind against him, his tip already nuzzling against your sweet spot. The viper moves again, this time its scaled body curls around, tears suddenly stinging your eyes. This is the type of sex you liked, sensual, slow, the type he always gave to you. You grab one of his hands, interlocking your fingers together in a warm grasp, letting his hand rest near his head while you use it to steady yourself. “So beautiful,” he purrs, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, his other still gripping your hips.
“I hate how good you make me feel–” you cut yourself off with a shaky gasp, “and how–how…” He raises an eyebrow, watching you with an amused expression, waiting for you to continue. “Mmhm,” he hums, eyes closing briefly, devouring the feeling of your walls around his cock.
“You stress me out so much and you don't even know it,” you shudder, your body relishing the way he throbbed inside you, poking at your spot, “you really have no idea.” Playful banter at first, at least that's what he assumed, but you couldn't stop talking, couldn't keep your mouth shut.
“So I'm the cause of your frustration?” he asks, his voice sickeningly sweet and playing his part, a melody to your ears. You gasp, lifting your hips and then sinking back down on him again, slow and steady.
“Yes,” you whine hoarsely, “you're on my mind all the time, you have no idea how annoying it is.” His expression softens, going from a small smirk to a slight frown, he’s trying to debate if you were being serious or if you were still being playful.
“I'm on your mind…?” he questions, sounding unsure, a deep groan breaks from his throat.
“Fuck yes, all the fucking time,” theres a throb in your heart, “your like a fucking snake, squeezing my mind—mmmh—making my head hurt.”
“You have no idea how bad I want you,” you whimper, throwing your head back when you feel him suddenly buck up into you.
“But you have me already,” his voice is gentle, as sweet as candy, understanding.
“No, I don't,” you roll your hips, squeezing his hand, “No–” His other hand comes to caress your bare skin, sneaking up your wet shirt, his sounds of pleasure starting to pick up in volume. You clench around him.
“I don't understand,” he hums, “I'm right here, underneath you, feeling your body. I'm real, my love.”
“Don't call me that,” you hiss, “please.” Your plea ends in a whine rather than a firm word, his expression completely changes.
“Do we need to stop?” puzzled, he sounds concerned. “No!” you exclaim, a little louder than you intended. “No, please don't stop, I don't wanna stop.”
He gives you a questioning look, but allows you to continue riding him, your orgasm starting to build up deep within you. “I don't have you, Kenji,” you keep talking, suddenly feeling a whole new wave of confidence, maybe it was your mind torn between pleasure and the truth, maybe you finally realized it's time, “and it's killing me.”
Endearing, that's what he thinks as you ride out your truth on him, spilling from both your cunt and tongue, staining him once again, but this time he can taste it, feel it, bathe in it. “You don't get it,” you sigh, keeping up with a steady pace, trying to bite back moans as you speak to him breathlessly.
He doesn't talk, doesn't say a single word, why would he need to if you can see it in his eyes? He wants to know more, wants you to keep going. “Im tired–tired of this,” heat pools in your stomach, the feeling of release drawing ever closer, “shit..”
“I've been keeping this quiet for so long, too scared to tell you anything because–because I didn't know what you would say or do,” the viper freezes, your orgasm approaching, tears starting to fall down your cheeks, onto his shirt.
A mixture between pleasure and pain of hurt falls onto him in drops, he reaches up, wiping your tears with his thumb. You grab his hand, holding it on your face while you start to ride him quicker, desperately.
“I'm in love with you,” you finally say, coming out more as a choked out sob than simple words,”I always have been.” You open your eyes hesitantly, looking down at him, unable to read his face. Expressive as he is, he had no physical reaction, he just stared at you, blankly.
“I’m sorry,” you sob, “I know I just ruined everything, but I needed—fuck—needed to tell you before i dug a deeper hole.” His hand still remained on your face, flush against the warmth of your cheeks. Then he smiles, soft and understanding, a mix of relief in there too.
You erupt into a whiny sob, digging your nails into the back of his hand. Your climax comes over you, a viper shedding its old, dulled, colorless scales into something new, bright, and colorful. Rebirth.
While you're riding out your orgasm, pulling him out of him too, he sits up, quickly adjusting himself, and he captures your lips into a kiss, passionate and heartfelt. Your arms curl around his neck, sobbing against his lips as you kiss him back, your grinding coming to a slow even pace and then stopping completely.
“I love you too,” he says, pulling away from your swollen lips, “as I always have.”
Kenji is a terrible liar, you can see in his eyes, he's telling the truth. More tears well up in your eyes, body shaking, tremors from your orgasm.
And then you cry again, a mixture between happiness and sadness, apologizing profusely as he pulls you in for a tight embrace, your tears staining his shirt that was once soaked with rain water.