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Harua hopes there’s something out there that can forgive her. It’s been three months, a week, two days, and three hours since Yuma and her got together, and she’s going insane. Not much has changed since they became official, honestly, if you count out the kissing and the fucking and the unrestrained pda.
Harua rolls over and clutches her throw pillow to scream into, kicking her feet to push out the want creeping over her body. She misses Yuma all the time. She’s become this clingy mess of limbs and eyes that don’t know anything but her presence, and it’s debilitating.
Her bed is too warm, too cold, too big without her hot girlfriend to hold her in it, and thinking about the hours left until they can see each other makes her want to die. Her phone buzzes with a notification and she ignores it, because it’s not the specific vibration pattern she’s assigned to Yuma. Which means it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but Yuma, honestly. She’ll wait here, lamenting to herself until she’s done at the dance studio and visits her at the end of the day. She feels a bit like a housewife about it, feeding her delusions of marriage and her dreams of keeping Yuma forever.
Her mind wanders some more, to images of a diligent wife getting home from work (Yuma) and throwing her on the table to get her ‘dinner.’ (Also Yuma.) Unfortunately, her imagination can only go so far, and the image fades into nothing when she remembers the finals waiting for her.
Whatever, man.
Harua is nosy to a fault, and she’s getting sick of being crazy, so she checks for the notification after all.
‘You’re ovulating!’
She dismisses it with a scowl and lets her accursed phone bounce off her bed, wincing when it clatters on the floor. It vibrates again as soon as it’s out of reach, and that has Harua clambering for the device. There’s that pattern, the one that means Yuma thought about her enough to text her and talk to her and–
i miss u and forgot my lunch :( do u wanna come see me
and bring me something plz
[Attached.png]
It’s a picture of Yuma from her favorite angle, high enough to show off her cleavage but low enough to keep the focus on her smug little face. Harua inhales through her nose, suddenly short of breath. She’d rather suffocate elsewhere.
Yuma’s been practicing very hard, clearly, if her bra being soaked down to the middle and her glistening neck is anything to go by. Jesus. She’s going to kill her.
haruwa
god
its crazy u think i’ll come see u if u thirst trap me
nakakitty
is it working?
haruwa
give me an hour.
nakakitty
?
haruwa
sorry. give me an hour my gorgeous talented princess c(ᴗˬᴗ͈)
nakakitty
okay ^ __ ^ will b waiting for u
Harua tries on at least three shirts before settling on a hoodie off the back of her chair and a pleated skirt sitting on her bed.
She checks the time on her way through the kitchen, shoveling snacks and a water bottle into the backpack, and then an idea strikes her when her eyes settle on a pile of fruits.
Harua makes it to the studio twenty minutes later than she said she would, but she has a warm anpan and store bought bento to offer as consolation. And a third secret thing, of course.
Yuma meets her outside and ushers her past the underpaid security guard, ignoring the sign up sheet with a petty smile. The walk to the back of the building is quick when Harua has a hand to hold, and it’s hard to memorize the twists of the hallways when Yuma’s sweats are lowered to show off the band of her underwear.
They finally stop in front of her designated practice room, loud music booming as several people peek out of the door to wave at them. She returns the waving excitedly, suddenly feeling a bit bad about not bringing everybody food. Yuma grows antsy and then jealous after her tenth teammate says hi to Harua, and she pretends the way they eye her thighs doesn’t bother her.
“Okay, enough. Let’s go somewhere more quiet.”
They find quiet one floor below, in a cosmetics room reserved for competitions. There are no giggles to rouse Yuma’s jealousy and no bass to disrupt their sentences either– It’s making Harua unnecessarily nervous.
“Hey.” She stands with her back to the wall as Yuma drowns herself with a bottle of water, humming with appreciation for her thoughtfulness. Harua returns the hum with one of her own, taking in the way Yuma’s hands squeeze the bottle– And the drops of liquid that disappear down her neck and into her tits– And the swivel of her hips as she steps closer–
“Hi baby.” Her greeting is directed towards the backpack full of food, and her eyes lift to smile at Harua as soon as she hears her scoff. “You’re here too.”
Harua sighs, yanking the backpack towards her body. “I can’t believe I’m just a delivery girl to you.”
Yuma grins, arms snaking around her midsection to get up in her face. “A very cute delivery girl.” She apologizes for the teasing with a kiss and Harua melts into the embrace, climbing over cloud nine the longer Yuma’s tongue rolls around her mouth. Her cheeks burn under Yuma’s hold but all she does is sigh, letting her break into her personal space to put an end to all her cravings. Yuma moves lower, below her jaw, tossing hair out of the way for free access to her favorite spot to mark up– but Harua stops her with her hand over her face before her incisors can graze skin. She shudders, shifting between Yuma and the wall, barely able to contain herself.
“Just get your fucking food.” Harua holds the backpack up to distract Yuma from her clear signs of want, because as greedy as she is, she’s oddly reserved about letting Yuma gnaw at her in (semi) public.
“I am getting my food.” Yuma sees right through her anyways. She digs around the backpack for her lunch and comes across something else entirely, glancing up at Harua to confirm her suspicions.
“Did you…” Her eyes widen, twinkling with interest and a newfound understanding of Harua’s bashfulness.
Harua toys with the hem of her skirt, lifting it a little to expose more of her thighs. “I really missed you.”
Yuma lifts the satin drawstring bag out of the backpack after setting all the food aside, forgoing nutrition for something even better.
“You don’t have to if you’re tired, you know, it’s just in case, or like, you know. Yeah.” She mumbles to herself while Yuma opens the bag, filling the silence with excuses to avoid blowing up on the spot. She can hardly watch Yuma pulling out her strap of choice, or her expression as she registers the expanse of her neediness. It’s blue, again, but it’s nothing like the cute lengths sitting in her drawers.
She fixes her shoes and messes up her skirt some more, fingers digging into the fabric as she hears Yuma toss makeup brushes aside on the nearest vanity.
“Why don’t you come here? I just want to see something.” Her words are sweet and sticky to Harua’s ears, enough to convince her the lion’s den will be comfortable. She steps closer, eyes still trained on the tip of her boots, and the next thing she knows, she’s shoved on the table with her legs spread wide.
She hiccups in shock, struggling to close her thighs against Yuma’s grip, exposed so suddenly that she has no words to bite back with.
“Of course you’ve got nothing under.” None of the warmth she had lured her over with stays when she runs a hand down Harua’s thighs, purposely avoiding her naked cunt as Harua tries to defend herself.
“It’s because I was rushing to get you your lunch! I was already in my car when I realized I didn’t, mmf–” Yuma clearly doesn’t care about her little backstory nor does she care about Harua being stable, because she sinks to kneel between her spread thighs and whistles. She’s dripping, enough to stain her skirt underneath her, and it makes Yuma’s heart swell the longer she takes it in.
“It was probably so hard to drive here and stay focused, wasn’t it? She drags her fingers through the mess, deliberately slow with her ministrations, and all Harua manages to do is nod. Her eyes blur as Yuma plays with the slick gathered on he pussy, hoping the blood rushing through her ears can overpower the obscenely loud sounds of her own need.
She has nowhere to hide now, with her skirt bunched up at her hips. Yuma stares all she wants, taking in the familiar sight of her soaked through. She spreads her open with minimal force, nails digging into the flesh of her thighs to expose her even more.
Harua’s protests die in her throat and make place for cut-off cries, leaving her to bite at the sleeve of her hoodie to shut herself up.
“But you had time to fuck yourself, right?” Yuma takes her sweet time teasing her flushed entrance with her index, self-satisfied with how easy it is. How easy Harua is for her.
“Just wanted to make it fast for you.” She whines, shamelessly grinding against the minimal stimulation.
Yuma rewards her with a mean coo, grinning before she licks the tip of her fingers. “Thank you. But I’m still gonna take my time, kay?” Her hair is already tied up for convenience and Harua braces for the impact, clinging on the table and looking anywhere but below her. Her eyes land on the door– The unlocked, half-opened door, and instead of warning Yuma, she dissolves into a weak moan.
“Fuck! The door, wait, please.” Instead of pausing to close the door like a normal, non-deranged girlfriend, Yuma hoists Harua’s leg up the table for more leverage and really gets to work. She presses her tongue flat against the slick coating her inner thighs and gives her a noncommittal little ‘Mhm,’ sending vibrations away from where she needs them most.
Harua tries to shift and direct her to the right place, eyes still on the door, and a well timed squirm actually gets Yuma’s lips pressed up against her cunt. She’s unable to stay still, suddenly. Her greed gets the best of her after a full day of yearning, and she sends her hips rocking back to meet Yuma’s mouth with a dreamy little sigh.
“So good,” She slurs, head falling back to rest against the vanity mirror. Yuma sits there on her knees and lets Harua move her face around as she sees fit, barely flinching when a handful of her hair makes it between her fingers. She’s lost in it, eyes squeezed shut as the room spins and her rocking makes the table creak. Yuma thinks she’s so cute like this, cutting off her air supply and using her without hesitation.
She wouldn’t change anything about this situation, really, except she wants Harua to look at her when she comes. She needs it, yes, she needs to maintain eye contact as she makes her girlfriend fall apart. It's the most rewarding part of all this, seeing Harua’s eyes roll and her pretty mouth fall open– It’s like her own personal ‘I love you.’
“Someone’s gonna walk in, and see,” She tries, chest heaving with effort. In all honesty, the possibility of being seen with Yuma’s head between her thighs and crying out her name like a whore only makes her more lightheaded.
She shifts from Yuma’s piercing gaze and the door, stuttering over her words when Yuma starts frowning. Her eyebrows furrow and keep her attention in one place– On Yuma. She could be genuinely upset because of her flaky focus, or she could just be extremely turned on about Harua being an obvious exhibitionist… No fucking clue, really.
Her heels dig into Yuma’s back as she gets closer, which only spurs Yuma on. She stops letting Harua use her mouth and switches to doing whatever she wants, skipping the little breaks Harua has been taking to suck at her clit until she sobs. Her skirt, her thighs, Yuma’s face, completely ruined. She’s making a mess of herself and of everything near her, forgetting where she is with each merciless drag of Yuma’s tongue.
“Please,” She begs, strained and deadly sweet into the cold air of the room. Yuma fights against the fist threatening to yank her off, because she knows Harua tends to lose it when she’s about to come. She’ll tilt her hips out of the way, push Yuma’s face off of her or even crawl away sometimes, too sensitive and twitchy to take what she’s given.
Naturally, over their days together, Yuma has taken it upon herself to just make her take it.
Like clockwork, someone passes down the hallway the next time Harua’s eyes roll up. The person glances at the noise and they’re visibly taken aback by the sight, shutting the door with a gasp just as Harua’s vision starts getting spotty.
Her voice only gets louder from there. She thrashes against Yuma’s lips, legs shaking when she traps her swollen clit between her teeth.
“Don’t fucking bite mhnnnghngnn–” A fat tear rolls down her face, gathering at her chin with the sweat dripping there. She looks like she’s undergone a full workout above Yuma with her heaving chest and shuddered moans, voice getting lost between words. Her pussy tightens around Yuma’s tongue in protest for her nerves melting, which only makes Yuma want to wreck her more.
“Can’t take it, I really can’t.”
Yuma giggles into it, giving her quick flicks of her tongue as an apology. And then she starts eating her out again.
Harua starts banging on the table right there, finally pushed to her limits after a minute of being brave. “No more, no more, you need to fuck me now, or I’m gonna go home and do it myself.”
She magically strings the whole sentence together despite her voice being uncooperative, pushing Yuma’s forehead away with a shove.
“Okay.” Yuma grins and finally, finally gets off her knees, and the front of her body looks like she’s been swimming.
“You’re so needy today, what’s going on?” Harua mourns her warmth as she takes the time to slip the garters on, securing them over her clothes.
“Nothing. Do you not wanna get off?” She ignores the way her mouth waters and her insides twist when she recalls which toy she chose, a perfectly curved thing that’s thicker than it is long. She wants to feel it on the way home, wants to get dizzy about being empty for the next couple of hours.
She wants to think about Yuma inside her everytime she moves.
“You’ve been begging me to fuck you and now you wanna worry about me? Don’t be silly.”
The world spins on itself for a second and she’s laying face first on the vanity now– And Yuma just giggles to herself while she figures it out. She gasps out in shock when she realizes how fast she’s been flipped and bent over the table, then in pleasure as Yuma starts teasing herself in.
“You’re all stupid now. I like having you like this, honestly.” Yuma presses at her lower back, keeping her still while she fills her up little by little.
Harua’s mouth won’t close. The stretch is there, not as stinging as she’d like but it makes itself known when Yuma bottoms out with a sigh.
She just keeps talking as she makes small, aborted movements to fuck into her impossibly deeper, getting her all pliant and even dumber than before.
“You always get so needy and then you– Expect me to read between the lines, or you just come to me and let me do whatever I want cause you’re so fuckin’ horny.” She finally gets the plane of skin she had been eyeing earlier, biting at Harua’s neck with no resistance. Her chin is still wet and she’s pressing into Harua with her entire body, feeling out every single shiver she pushes out of her.
"My stupid little bunny, hm?"
She gives a weak shake of her head and her back arches into the feeling, paired with a raw moan that Yuma itches to coax out of her.
“No? Am I wrong?”
Harua still can’t make a sound that isn’t a broken whine, extremities tingling with shame and the remnants of her first orgasm. Yuma is so strong, holding her down and giving her exactly what she wants despite being so tired. It’s all she can think about while her mind floats, held together by spikes of pleasure and the dull ache blooming in her hips.
“Fuck, you’re drooling.” She laughs, genuinely amazed by Harua’s vulnerability. She’s hardly moving, resorting to sweet circles of her hips that make Harua’s brain go all static. It doesn’t drown out the loud squelching, much to her chagrin, but it does make it impossible to register the filth Yuma whispers into her ear.
“–Taking you like this. You should thank me, really.”
“Thank, thank you, thank you,” She chants from the top of her head, louder than she should and faster than Yuma would like.
“Do you even know what you’re thanking me for, pretty?” There’s a hand raking down her back, going under her hoodie to leave marks, and she cries out instead of answering.
“Ssso big, thank you.”
“I’ll take it.” Yuma is mean and perverted, but she isn’t cruel. She knows how airheaded Harua gets when she’s like this– Pliant and eager and tight like a fucking vice. It’s almost hard for her to pull back and start fucking her properly, but the sight of her cunt sucking her in and the sweet whines she’s letting slip are enough to motivate Yuma for the next decade. She fucks like she’s trying to breed her, hard and deep and heavy against the swell of her ass.
She’d keep Harua full and warm all the time if she could, but she has obligations and the unbeatable urge to make her squeal at any given point– Sacrifices.
Yuma regrets thinking Harua was loud before. She snakes a hand up to her shoulder and secures another around her waist, briefly massaging the muscle there before pulling Harua back. She pulls her onto the thick toy with care but makes sure to snap her hips up, resulting in a pretty cry that sends shivers down her spine.
Yuna sets a slow rhythm because she wants to hear it again, over and over and over until the fire it sparks inside her consumes her every thought. She’d figured out pretty early what Harua liked, but the real, borderline orgasmic satisfaction that came from finding new buttons to push never got old.
She’s soaked through her own clothes and she doesn’t think she can go home in these pants, but her laments get lost in the divot that goes down Harua’s spine. She thinks could get used to this view as she hums to herself, thumb digging into Harua’s back to fuck into her just the way she likes.
Harua brings a hand to her face to bite her hand and another to clutch at Yuma’s… Anything. She can’t tell what her hands are touching, pleasure scrambling her brain and disrupting any feedback that isn’t Yuma pounding into her. She was afraid she’d regret picking something so big on such short notice, but Yuma takes care of her. Always makes sure she gets what she needs and keeps her on the perfect line between pain and pleasure, tipping her over the edges to satisfy her every craving.
“Is this how you want it?” She’s sweet again, inquiring about her wants like she isn’t being selfish with her thrusts.
Harua nods, trembling, still biting her hand because she doesn’t trust her voice. Yuma sighs, slowing her thrusts to a slow lull that give Harua enough room to breathe properly. She’s panting, hiccuping for a break yet dripping all over the table because Yuma always gets her leaking like a faucet when she fucks her good–
“You gotta talk to me, sweetheart. I don’t know what you want if you’re just gonna nod like this.” She takes her time to run her hands up and down Harua’s scalding body, raising goosebumps wherever she goes and admiring the small twitches of her spine when her fingers linger.
The toy sitting snug inside Harua feels like it’s bulging, pressing at her walls and carving Yuma’s devotion inside her. The heavy, mind-numbing pleasure clashes against the fluttering of Yuma’s nails, and it finally gets her to drop her hand.
It’s wet with spit where her teeth left indents, and she finally speaks. “It’s, it’s really good.”
“Are you sure? You were bucking away just a second ago… Maybe I should stop.” Yuma stops Harua from rocking her hips, ignoring the way her body misses the steady rhythm of being spread open. It’s doing terrible things to her heart.
“Please jus’ fuck me. I’ll talk, even sing if you want, please. I promise I can take it.” Her voice is nothing but a soft, defeated rasp, strained against her throat as she tilts her head to look back at Yuma. Her eyes are big and brimming with tears, threatening to spill over her burning cheeks. She was so close she could sink her teeth into it, teased with another well deserved orgasm only for Yuma to yank it back. She gives and takes at her own pace and Harua loves it, loves the loss of control that comes with giving herself to her.
It’s only fair, considering the torture Harua puts her through when she tops.
“Oh, don’t cry. I got you.” She rewards her vulnerability with a kiss to her temple and pulling out, reveling in the squeak Harua lets out. Her thighs fall shut and she slumps on the table like a stringless puppet, heaving out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
She gets to begging as soon as she’s free, grabbing at Yuma’s forearms. “I said please, didn’t I? I’m going to walk out naked if you don’t keep fucking me, I’m serious–”
“You did, you did. I just wanna look at you when you cum. Won’t you give me that?” Yuma pacifies her with a soft hush, soothing her frantic pleading with another kiss. Harua relaxes eventually, tasting herself on Yuma’s tongue with a renewed sense of calm. She’s so charming when she wants to be.
“Okay.” Harua sniffs, letting Yuma turn her over for the second time. She’s not gonna make an effort to accommodate her because she’s petty and her legs are shaking– She’s content with just taking it.
And take it she does, with a giddy smile on her face and her hands interlocked with Yuma’s. It’s even better like this, because she can see how happy Yuma is about her losing her composure.
They’re going to be in so much trouble when they leave the room reeking of sex, but Harua is coming apart on her strap so nothing else matters right now.
Spots decorate her vision and she’s starting to get dizzy yet Yuma just keeps going, pushing Harua past her limit as a hand sneaks down to her stomach.
“Do you want one more? Wanna make sure you’re all spent before we leave.” She’s so casual about it, almost muttering to herself while the table shakes under the strength of her hips. Harua feels like she’s been truly and properly fucked, body flashing hot everywhere Yuma touches her. Her cunt is swollen and comfortably sore, the bottom of her thighs are red where Yuma’s own have been smacking– It’s everything she wanted and more.
“I, I don’t know baby. We can save it. Like, for later. We’ll have more possibilities.” Harua pants, searching for an ounce of mercy in Yuma’s eyes. She doesn’t have it in her to come again, let alone squirt. She plants the idea of fucking later in Yuma’s head and she can clearly see it grow, slowly but surely in her face.
Yuma just stares down at her with a hungry focus, face turning a violent red as she considers filling her up with cum once they get home.
“You’re all gross and sticky,” She pulls Yuma down to smell her, nestled in the crook of her neck and half-delirious.
“And what am I sticky with?” Yuma sings, hands running down Harua’s sides as she gently pulls out of her.
“No clue. Must’ve been the wind.” She’s getting embarrassed and Yuma can tell, from the quiver in her voice to the way she refuses to let Yuma see her pussy twitch.
She tries not to smile about it but she fails, resorting to cleaning up the strap to the best of her ability. The material isn’t ideal because it’s soaked through when she takes it off, and she wiggles it in Harua’s dazed face before shoving it in a Zipoc™ bag.
“Uh huh. You brought your whole closet in here.” The second pocket of her bag has two pairs of just about everything for them to change into, along with an extra pack of wipes.
“I brought extra clothes and stuff for cleanup. Don’t be dramatic.”
“You’re all snappy now. Maybe you do have another in you–?” Yuma pretends to think about it, inching towards her with a sly grin. Harua backs up into the wall, making a cluster of makeup sponges drop to the floor. Yuma is stopped from nipping at her neck with a playful shove and a light giggle, because nothing is ever serious when it comes to them.
“You’re not touching me until we are in my bed. Absolutely not.”
Yuma throws the spare clothes at her instead of answering, fully prepared to rush them home and avoid the looks they’re about to get.
They clean up as much as they can after Yuma finally scarfs down the meal forgotten in its packaging, making sure to place everything in order before leaving.
“How are you not tired? You’ve been practicing and… Doing things for hours.” Harua pulls the drawstrings of her clean hoodie up as they walk down the silent hallway, proudly led by Yuma despite the crick in her hip that’s threatening to stay there.
“Because I have something to look forward to.” She barely turns around, swinging their hands a little as they make it to the car. Harua doesn’t comment on the looks they were getting or the obvious comments Yuma’s teammates were itching to make, because she frankly doesn't care.
She’s going to go home with her gorgeous girlfriend, shower with her gorgeous girlfriend, and probably sleep with her with the way she’s staring at her in the passenger seat.
Harua prays for something out there to forgive her as she sweats through a particularly long red light. It’s been thirty-two minutes and four seconds since Yuma was last inside her and she’s already roaring for more.