baesketballers:

Plug-ins: If you want to commission me or want to donate, I’ll be happy to accept! Commissions are still wide open!

Thank you for requesting this! I would suggest you guys read the first part before reading this one. Female!Reader here because this is full-blown NSFW.

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The car ride is silent, and you dare say it’s the slightly awkward type of silence. Himuro insists that you bring him home, but in the context of this situation, he’s the one bringing you to his home regardless of your position behind the wheel. He also insisted that he drive, a demand you quickly turn down—the few shots he took might already have taken effect.

And by that, the effect those drinks had on him involved how he treated you back in the purple-lit VIP room in that club. You still remember those big palms on the bare skin on your waist from under your shirt, his breath on your face, the sensation of his perfect teeth making their mark on your neck… 

He has to be drunk.

When the traffic light turns red, you stop the car, but your mind reels faster than ever. He’s sitting beside you. In the passenger seat. Probably looking way more handsome than he’s supposed to, thanks to how the wind tousled his hair through the half-open window. You don’t have enough courage to see if he’s actually looking at you, but it’s a chilly night, and you can feel his gaze burning the side of your face. 

Green flashes in front of you and you silently thank the gods for letting you distract yourself by focusing on driving again. The roads are empty, though, which provided no challenge whatsoever that requires extra attention. 

“I wanted to drive to prove that I’m not drunk,” he suddenly says in a deep murmur. You jump under your skin at his voice. It reeks of desire, much more desire compared to what he exhibited earlier when he whispered into your ear. You’re filled with a mix of complicated emotions: nervousness, fear, excitement, hopefulness, lust—it creates an incomprehensible concoction that boils at the bottom of your stomach.

“I don’t want to risk our safety,” you reply, trying to sound as professional as possible. He sees through the farce quite easily, though, as he notices the way you swallow and how you seem to blink a little more than you usually do. 

As you turn into the street of his house, located in an extremely respected neighborhood where people of his caliber reside, Himuro’s hand is on your knee before it slowly snakes up to rest upon your thigh. You forget to breathe under his watchful gaze. 

“Come on, __________,” he purrs, “how can I prove to you that I really like you?”

The first part of his sentence provides a great contrast with the words he utter next: how could someone sound so seductive and poised for a second and turning vulnerable and desperate the next? His effect on you is not different than the effect of alcohol—it slowly lulls you, sends a warm buzz throughout your body. You sigh as his hand travels higher just as his house is in sight. 

You stop in front of it, looking over to him, hoping that he would just unbuckle his seatbelt, say goodnight, and meet you tomorrow morning as if nothing ever happened.

He looks back at you. The emotions behind steel gray eyes are even more unreadable than they usually are, but his hand, now grabbing your wrist as your grip on the steering wheel loosens, tells you that he wants you and that he’s not going to regret any of this in the morning.

“Himuro, I don’t think it’s proper if we—”

“I told you I like you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, I know! And believe me, I like you, too, but…”

A jogger passes by, sending a curious (if not suspicious) glance towards your general direction before looking straight ahead and going on his way. Your voice was slightly raised, so there’s a possibility that he might have heard what you were saying. In addition, Himuro’s face is all over Japan thanks to his celebrity status. For a moment you are overcome with anxiety: Himuro’s hand prying you away from the steering wheel, your raised voice… hopefully it doesn’t spell trouble.

The man sitting next to you seem to have other things in mind.

“You like me?”

You realize what you just blurted out. A voice in your head—your voice—screams in embarrassment of the unintentional confession. Are you so pent up that you cannot even keep your feelings in check?

All thoughts slip your mind the next second, as Himuro has his lips on yours in a gentle kiss. It doesn’t take much for him to make you melt into his touch except for him to simply be himself, and he takes that to his advantage, cupping your jaw to bring you in closer. You feel the urgency behind every kiss that he leaves on you, the desperation and some sort of relief hidden by his sigh.

When you open your eyes back again, you see his face so close to yours, eyes hooded and cheeks slightly flushed. It’s a side of Himuro no one has ever seen before. And suddenly, like you have been hypnotized, you know Himuro isn’t drunk and that you’re going to walk through the entrance to his house together with him.

---

He growls, mouth suckling at a nipple with incredible fervor as you fight the urge to fall on the floor from the weakness in your knees. Himuro commends himself for being able to persevere for this long—he could’ve just ravished you against the door to his house instead of in his bedroom, or in the car, or in the club precisely half an hour ago. The sight of you under that sensual mauve light triggered something in him, something he’s kept bottled up for since who knows how long.

It must’ve been somewhere in the middle of your manager-artist relationship with him that he fell for you, he thinks as he plays with your other nipple. Your genuine kindness, understanding, and the quiet support you provide lures him into a trap that is romantic feelings. Now, though, he has nothing more to worry about, and he is set free by the touch of his skin against yours.

You are lost in pleasure, judging by the way your voice wavers in pronouncing his name when he leaves a hickey on your breast. You’re calling him Tatsuya for the second time in the entirety of you knowing each other—the first was back in the club as he cornered you against the wall, after a series of hot kisses, similar to those he’s sending down your torso. You buck your hips unconsciously when he hovers over your panties, leaving a slow kiss and a wet sound from over the fabric.

“Let’s get you more comfortable,” he whispers, picking you up and lightly throwing you on a plush surface that you realize is his bed. Half of you still cannot believe this is happening: he’s all around you, the scent of him on the sheets, his body hovering above you as he sucks at the side of your neck, the puffs of air he exhales while he travels down your body.

“A-ah, Ta-Tatsu… ya…”

He groans at your salacious voice, a delicious response to the sensation of his lips against your cunt, your panties now around your ankles. He’s heard you laugh before, sigh before, but never crying his name out like that before. A fiery determination to get you so lost in pleasure that you’re unabashedly moaning out his name seeps under Himuro’s skin as he begins to work, sucking at your most intimate part. 

“I’d go easy on you,” he murmurs against your wet core, the vibrations of his voice rendering you helplessly gripping the sheets, “but I’ve been holding back for so long.” He leaves an audible smooch down there and your blush deepens. “You want this, too, right?”

“Mmh—”

His finger pressing against your clit isn’t really helping you regain some sort of sane thought.

“Say it.”

“Oh yes,” you finally pant out, “please, Tatsuya, I want you—”

Your last syllable draws out into a loud moan, one that can probably be heard by the neighbors, as he dives right back in, his tongue imitating that which is yet to come and his finger playing with the bundle of nerves that sends your hands treading his hair. Your fingers are tugging at his dark locks, urging him for more. Himuro gladly complies, too lost in his own pleasure from the utterly sinful taste of you—he swears he can live between your thighs forever, licking and sucking at your juices as he sends you over the edge, rewarding him with more of your cum. 

Not long after, your body shakes and so do your hips, moving as if they have their own mind to meet his touch, and he knows you’re close. You let out a sharp “ah!” as he plunges two fingers into you, his lips closing in around your clit, and at that moment you’re gone, lost in the hot white heat that wrecks your body.

Himuro watches you unfold, letting out his own satisfied moan at how utterly divine you look—your hair disheveled, the arch of your naked body, the pertness of your nipples, and how you clench so tight, warm, and wet around his fingers.

You’re panting, and he decides to let you regain some sort of consciousness after your orgasm. He leans back up, face in front of yours as he observes your expressions.

“Tatsuya,” you sigh.

He smiles, fingers combing your hair back to reveal more of your flushed face. If it weren’t for the insistent press of his member, rubbing the tip of it against your entrance, you would think that it’s over. Not that you want it to, but as the buzz of your orgasm fades, worry starts to take its place.

“Tatsuya,” you call again, this time with audible anxiety, “we—we can’t, it’s unprofessional. I… might get fired.” 

“There’s no law in the contract that says you can’t be in a relationship with me,” he smoothly replies as if he’s thought about this before. 

“People will talk.”

“Let them say what they will, isn’t that what you always tell me?” Himuro says, hand cupping your cheek in a silent plea. “What we have is frankly none of their business.”

You’re silent, but he knows he needs one last push to convince you.

“Do you feel the same way, 

__________?” He asks, dick rubbing against your wetness, and if it weren’t for the emotions behind his voice you would think he’s just teasing you. A sudden shyness takes over your entire consciousness and you find yourself not able to meet his expectant gaze.

“I-I said it already… in the car, earlier.”

“Say it again,” he replies, “please,” the tip of his member slips past your labia and you moan at the sensation.

“I like you.” It’s nothing above a whisper, and though a surge of pride and joy course through his blood, Himuro lets himself be selfish for once. After all, he’s depraved himself of what he wants the most for the longest time, it can’t hurt you to wait a little bit more.

“Louder.”

“I like you, Tatsuya,” you reply, and a gasp escape your lips when he nudges your clit with his dick.

“You like me? You mean as a friend?” At this point he’s a complete tease, the smirk painted on his face tells it all, and as much as you want to lash out at him for being a jerk at a time like this, the sensation of him against you is too much to sacrifice.

“No-ooo,” the sound draws out as he slowly, slowly, sinks into you, though not completely. The pleasure is enough encouragement for you to say more. “I mean, I have f-feelings for you that I—ngh—can’t really explain…”

“Me too,” he pants, sheathing himself deeper into you, your encasing warmth forcing his rational mind to shut down, and he repeats, “me too, for the longest time now, you have no idea,” and he pushes in further. The stretch makes you grip at his shoulders, not so much out of discomfort, but mostly from the pleasure that he brings. 

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you sigh when he’s fully inside you. There’s an incomprehensible warmth in your belly, an ember that is lit by the way he looks at you. His body, lean yet muscular from his years of sports and training, hovers over you—you feel protected, safe, and loved lying under him. He smiles, leaning over to place his lips next to your ear.

“I love you.”

At that moment he pulls out completely before thrusting back in with force, leaving you no choice but to instinctively moan and arch your back. He’s big, the length of him reaching places where your fingers can never hope to ever touch, but those lonely nights won’t ever happen anymore. Not as long as he’s with you, you think at the back of your mind.

With each increasingly powerful thrust, Himuro lets out a pant, and you reciprocate with your own uninhibited sounds of pleasure. There’s no neighbors, no outside world, no one else for you to think about except the man that is ravishing you and giving you his all. Your nails rake down his back and he groans your name, making you clench around him.

“D-Don’t do that,” he whispers, “you’re gonna make me cum…”

“I want you to,” you whisper back. As if a switch has flipped inside him, Himuro’s pace turns faster and your head is thrown back, eyes lidded with pleasure. Your body is exhibited to him like a painting in a museum, except that he’s more than welcome to touch such a masterpiece—there’s nothing more perfect in his eyes than the sight of you unraveling underneath him. 

“Fuck,” he curses, sensing his own impending orgasm as he leans down to capture a nipple in his hot mouth. You’re already a mess, still sensitive from the first orgasm he gave you, and the onslaught of his tongue against your nipple makes your insides churn with glee with a hint of hedonism. His thrust grow frantic and he detaches his lips from your breast to kiss you hard, taking your bottom lip in between his teeth.

“Tatsu—I’m, ah, coming!”

“Do it,” he growls against your lips, “cum with me.”

And so you do, the noises you make muffled by the kiss you share as his grip on your hips tighten and he spills his warm semen inside you. There are fireworks behind your closed eyes, but they slowly dissipate along with the regulating of your breaths, leaving you with nothing but a sense of relief. 

When you open your eyes, you find him looking at you with a look so soft that could drive you to the point of tears. You’re suddenly shy about the fact that you just had sex with an artist that you’re managing, but not just any artist—he’s the one you’ve secretly had feelings for, and now that it’s out, you feel a burden being lifted from your shoulders, and whatever guard you’ve put up crumbles down.

“I love you too.”

Your voice is hoarse from all the moaning, but he hears you loud and clear, and he feels so happy his heart could burst. So he does what he can think of first:

Hug you.

And he hugs you so tight that you choke out a laugh, half from the fact that he’s hugging you and half from the way his hair tickles your bare skin. Himuro has his face buried in the crook of your neck, leaving kitten kisses everywhere, but when you moan at a particular spot it turns into teasing nibbles instead.

“Himuro-kun,” you call, an unspoken reprimand of ‘we just did it just now’. To your surprise, he clicks his tongue.

“You were calling me Tatsuya the whole time just now,” he says, pouting slightly. You can’t help but think it’s cute. “Does it take sex to get you to call me that?”

“Tatsuya… kun,” you correct yourself as to not upset him, but you’re too shy to get rid of the suffix. He chuckles, pecking you on your cheek. The atmosphere suddenly turns from playful to solemn, mostly because of how easily you can read the emotions swirling behind his eyes.

“I’m not drunk,” he finally says after a few seconds of silence, “and I mean everything I said.”

You nod, and he leans down to kiss you, slowly this time. 

“Good. You’re mine now,” kiss, “and I’m yours, too,” kiss, “let’s not care what people say, alright?”

You nod again. He smirks this time, suddenly cupping your sex before returning back to his place in the crook of your neck. There’s teeth and lips, and you know he’s fully intending to leave a mark, but the whimper you let out is not that of a protest. Himuro pulls away, pleased at the hickey he left, before diving down to make more.

Now that you’ve finally found each other, he’s going to make sure to get to know every single inch of you.

Brilliant as ever Gabby! Beautiful continuation, I’m so glad someone asked for it because it’s so great!