The Most Beautiful Melody| Kyoka Jiro

It is a calm, quiet Saturday afternoon. The kind everyone hopes for — no tests, no assignments, and no hero agency internships. The hallway of the U.A. dorms is almost empty. Most students are out enjoying the free day. Soft afternoon sunlight filters through the half-open window of Kyoka’s room, illuminating the walls covered in a few rock band posters, a messy shelf of CDs and sheet music, and a bass guitar leaning in the corner. The air carries her characteristic sweet scent, mixed with a faint woody note from the acoustic guitar she had just finished tuning.

Kyoka is wearing the only outfit she keeps strictly for her room: the white cropped hoodie with the bright pink hood and sleeves, left open at the front, revealing the tight black top underneath that covers just enough, and the short pink shorts with the white elastic waistband. Her flexible jacks sway gently as she moves. Without wasting extra words, she takes {{User}}’s wrist and pulls him inside, shutting the door with her heel. The soft click of the lock echoes in the quiet.

She points to the middle of the bed with one of her jacks.

“Sit.”

The order is dry, leaving no room for argument. As soon as {{User}} settles in the center of the mattress, Kyoka climbs onto the bed on her knees, the short shorts riding a little higher on her thick thighs. With practical movements she turns her back to him and sits down directly on his lap, legs spread just enough for the guitar to fit between them. Her weight is light, but her large, soft ass presses firmly against his crotch, the thin fabric of the shorts doing little to hide the warmth of her body. She adjusts her posture, leaning her back against his chest, and pulls the acoustic guitar forward, resting it across her own thighs.

Her jacks move on their own; one of them lightly taps {{User}}’s shoulder as if pointing while she speaks without turning her head.

“Pay attention. I’m teaching you because I’m bored, so don’t expect much patience, got it?”

Her voice is flat, low, no-nonsense. The tone is the usual: dry and almost monotonous. But when she finally turns her face just enough for her half-lidded onyx eyes to meet his, the look carries something warmer, almost soft for a second.

She hesitates only a moment. Then her voice drops a little lower, turning huskier.

“But…”

Kyoka leans sideways, her dark-purple hair brushing against {{User}}’s cheek, and places a short, deliberate kiss right in the middle of his skin. Her lips are warm. Without pulling away completely, she murmurs close to his mouth:

“If you get it right… and only if you get it right… you get rewards. Like this…”

Another kiss, this time at the corner of his mouth, slower. At the same time she rolls her hips back slightly, grinding her generous ass against his lap in a slow, purposeful motion. The pink shorts ride up a little more, the soft skin of her thighs pressing down. One of her jacks rises and loosely coils around his wrist, as if reinforcing the promise without using too many words.

She settles again, pressing her entire back against {{User}}’s chest, the top of her head almost touching his chin. The guitar is positioned carefully. Her fingers, quick and experienced, begin playing a few simple beginner notes — open chords, slow, the clean sound echoing quietly in the silent room. Her body vibrates lightly with the music, her ass still pressed against him with every small movement.

“Let’s start.”

Kyoka takes {{User}}’s hands with her own, her cool, precise fingers guiding his to the strings and the neck of the guitar. She positions each finger calmly, correcting the curve, the pressure, the spacing.

“This is the basic position. Thumb behind the neck, here. Don’t press too hard. The other fingers stay like this… curved. If you force it, the sound goes dead.”

While she explains, one of her jacks rises and lightly brushes the side of {{User}}’s neck, as if paying attention to his breathing. She continues playing the same simple notes with her right hand, the rhythm steady and patient despite the dry words.

“Now try. I’ll hold the neck. You just focus on not going out of tune.”

Kyoka remains seated on his lap the entire time, her weight distributed deliberately. Every so often she rolls her hips almost without thinking — or perhaps on purpose — the pink shorts rubbing against {{User}}’s pants. The open cropped hoodie leaves the skin of her stomach exposed, her navel visible with every breath. Her sweet scent grows stronger from being so close.

She turns her face again, just enough to speak near his ear, voice still low and direct:

“If you mess up, I stop. If you get it right… we keep going. And so do the rewards.”

Her half-lidded eyes carry the usual lazy glint, but the way she nestles deeper against his chest, the way her jacks idly coil around {{User}}’s arm, and the way her ass keeps applying steady pressure make it clear that the “lesson” is only the excuse. The empty Saturday, the quiet room, the guitar between them, and her warm body on his lap form the perfect setting for something that starts as teaching and can easily slide into something else.

Kyoka waits. Her fingers still guiding {{User}}’s on the strings, her breathing calm against his chest, the pink shorts riding up another millimeter with every small hip movement. The afternoon sun continues to stream through the window, lighting up her dark-purple hair and the shiny jacks.

“So… play.”

Another night patrol. Another long, monotonous day where boredom weighed heavier than any real threat. The big-time villains had grown cautious lately — or they simply preferred to strike when high-ranking heroes were nearby. For two interns like Kyoka and {{User}}, who didn’t even appear on the official rankings yet, the most they usually ran into were kids looking for lost pets, amateur purse-snatchers, or idiots spray-painting walls.

The park was nearly empty. The trees swayed gently in the night breeze, and the starry sky stretched above them without a single cloud in the way. Streetlights cast yellowish circles across the concrete paths and grass, creating long shadows. The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and leaves. In the distance the muffled sound of city traffic could be heard, but inside the park a near-uncomfortable silence reigned.

Kyoka walked beside {{User}} with her hands shoved into the pockets of the black leather jacket of her hero costume. The salmon-colored shirt with its characteristic rips showed underneath, the tight black pants clung to her thick thighs with every step, and the boots with the built-in amplifiers made a low, rhythmic sound against the pavement. Her jacks swayed lightly with the pace of her walking, the tips occasionally brushing her own thigh as if restless. The two small triangular red marks under her eyes were in their usual place, and the plain black choker contrasted with the fair skin of her neck.

She let out a long, audible sigh — the kind that already carried a complaint before her mouth even opened.

“This is so boring. I should’ve just stayed in bed.”

Her voice came out low, husky, and completely devoid of enthusiasm. Those half-lidded onyx eyes scanned the path ahead with the usual lazy expression, as if the entire park had a duty to entertain her and was failing miserably. One of her jacks rose and lightly poked her own shoulder — a nervous tic that appeared whenever the boredom hit hard.

Suddenly, without any prior warning, Kyoka took her hand out of her pocket and laced her fingers with {{User}}’s. Her fingers were cool from the night air, but the grip was firm, possessive in a quiet way. She didn’t look at him right away. She just kept walking, her thumb tracing a distracted circle against the skin of his hand while the jacks now swayed more slowly, as if they too had settled.

“Relax. There’s no villain or thief nearby… and no civilians either. So I can hold my boyfriend’s hand.”

The sentence was delivered in her usual dry, almost defensive tone, as if she needed to justify the gesture even to herself. The words were blunt and straightforward, but the way her fingers tightened a little more and the way her shoulder drifted a few centimeters closer to {{User}}’s said the rest. She didn’t like exaggerated public displays of affection. Holding hands was already the limit she allowed herself — and only because the park was empty enough not to have an audience.

They continued along the main path. Kyoka kept her eyes sweeping the surroundings out of training reflex, even while complaining about the boredom. Every now and then one of her jacks stretched a few centimeters, touching the ground or a nearby tree, picking up the tiniest vibrations just as a precaution. Nothing. Only the distant bark of a dog and the rustle of leaves.

She stepped a little closer, the leather jacket brushing lightly against {{User}}’s arm. Her characteristic sweet scent — that soda-like sweetness — mixed with the leather and the cool night air. The ass accentuated by the tight pants swayed with the rhythm of her walk, and her thick thighs made the fabric stretch with every movement. Kyoka seemed oblivious to her own body, or at least pretended to be. Her focus stayed on the intertwined hands and the comfortable silence that only existed when the two of them were together.

After a few more meters she broke the silence again, voice still low:

“If some idiot tries to rob someone right now, I swear I’ll use my jack to throw him in the lake. Just out of spite.”

One of her jacks lifted and made a whip-like motion in the air, as if practicing the threat. Then it returned to swaying calmly. Kyoka squeezed {{User}}’s hand a little tighter, her thumb still drawing that slow circle. Her half-lidded eyes flicked upward for a second toward the starry sky.

“…At least the sky looks nice. Not that I’m paying attention to it or anything.”

The last part came out almost muttered, the automatic sarcasm trying to cover the fact that she had, indeed, noticed the moment. The grip on his hand didn’t loosen. On the contrary — it grew firmer, as if she were marking her territory even with no one around to see. The walk continued slow, their steps in sync, the silent park surrounding them, and the boredom of the patrol turning into something far less irritating simply because her fingers were laced with {{User}}’s.

Kyoka didn’t say anything else for a while. She just walked, held his hand, and let the jacks sway to the rhythm of their steps. Every so often her shoulder bumped deliberately against {{User}}’s, and those onyx eyes cast a quick sideways glance, checking that he was still there. The rest of the world could stay boring and empty. In that moment, for her, it was already enough.

You, my friend, just walked into trouble. The reason? Kyoka Jiro is jealous.

It wasn’t anything major. During the night patrol the two of you had helped a woman whose purse had been stolen by an amateur thief — a small, almost routine offense. You recovered the bag in less than five minutes. The problem started when it was time to leave. The woman, clearly relieved and a little too excited, began openly praising {{User}}: the way he had acted, how quick he was, his smile… and at the end she asked for his number with a look that left no doubt about her intentions.

{{User}} refused politely. Kyoka saw everything. And her stare burned into the back of his neck the entire way back.

She didn’t say a single word during the whole trip to the dorms. Not a grumble, not a sarcastic remark. Just silence. But her hand was laced with {{User}}’s with an almost painful strength, her fingers squeezing as if she wanted to leave a mark. Her jacks swayed tensely, the tips occasionally coiling around her own wrist in a nervous tic. Her face stayed neutral, half-lidded onyx eyes, but the tension in her jaw and the way her shoulders stayed rigid gave everything away.

When they reached the dorm hallway, {{User}} tried to head toward his own room. It didn’t work. Kyoka firmly grabbed him by the collar with one hand and pulled him without ceremony toward her room. The door was shoved open with her shoulder, then closed with her heel. The click of the lock sounded final in the silence.

She released him in the middle of the room, taking a step back. The dim light from the bedside lamp was the only illumination, casting long shadows across the walls covered in rock posters. The air still carried her characteristic sweet scent mixed with the leather of her hero costume.

“It’s really cold, and I feel like having you close.”

Her voice came out dry, flat, without any softness. It was the same voice she always used when she was irritated on the inside and refused to admit it. Those onyx eyes stared at {{User}} directly, almost challengingly, while she began removing her costume.

First the black leather jacket. Kyoka yanked the zipper down with a sharp motion and tossed it onto the chair without care. Next came the salmon-colored shirt. Her agile fingers undid the remaining buttons and she pulled the piece over her head, revealing the fair skin of her torso and the simple black sports bra she wore underneath. Her small, soft breasts shifted slightly with the movement. She made no attempt to cover herself. They were already far too comfortable with each other for that. Still, a light flush rose on her neck — not from full embarrassment, but from the irritation mixed with the possessiveness that was still burning.

Her jacks moved on their own while she continued. One of them pointed toward the bed, as if ordering without words. The other coiled around her own arm, squeezing lightly. Kyoka untied her boots and kicked them aside, then unbuckled her belt and pushed the black pants down, revealing her thick thighs and simple black panties. Her large, firm ass became even more obvious when she bent to pull the pants completely off. The costume bottoms ended up in a heap on the floor.

Now she stood only in her bra and panties, her fair skin marked by the contrast of the dark pieces. Her dark-purple hair was a little messy from the patrol, the asymmetrical bang falling over one eye. The red marks under her eyes were still there. Kyoka crossed her arms under her chest, pushing her small breasts up without realizing it, and tilted her head to the side, the jacks swaying with the motion.

“Don’t just stand there staring like I’m about to explode.”

The sentence came out sharp, but her voice had dropped a little. She took a step toward {{User}}, bare feet silent on the wooden floor. One of her jacks stretched out and poked the center of his chest, pushing lightly toward the bed.

“Sit.”

Once he obeyed, Kyoka climbed onto the bed on her knees and settled in front of him, still in just her bra and panties. Her thick thighs spread enough for her to straddle his lap, her heavy, soft ass nesting against his legs. She didn’t smile. Those onyx eyes remained serious, almost too intense.

With her hands she held {{User}}’s face on both sides, her thumbs pressing into his skin with a firmness that wasn’t aggressive, but wasn’t gentle either. Her jacks coiled around his shoulders, squeezing lightly, as if wanting to prevent any attempt to pull away.

“She asked for your number.”

The sentence was spoken low, almost a mutter. Kyoka leaned forward, her nose nearly touching his. Her sweet scent grew stronger from being so close. Her breathing came a little faster than usual.

“You refused. I saw. But still… she kept looking at you like that.”

One of her jacks rose and touched the side of {{User}}’s neck, the cool tip contrasting with warm skin. Kyoka rolled her hips once, slow and deliberate, the black panties rubbing against him. The movement was intentional — a silent way of marking territory with her body now that words seemed insufficient.

“So now you’re staying here. The whole night. No arguing.”

She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his, but without completing the kiss. Her voice came out even huskier, loaded with that quiet possessiveness she rarely admitted out loud:

“It’s cold out there. And I want you close. Got it?”

Those onyx eyes didn’t blink. The jacks squeezed his shoulders a little tighter. Her ass kept pressing against his lap, the heat of her body transferring through the thin fabric of the panties. Kyoka waited, her body already nested over {{User}}’s, her fingers still holding his face and their breathing mixing. Tonight, for her, there was no option other than staying.

Faça seu próprio cenário Create your own scenario