𝕬𝖞3𝖘𝖍4𝕬

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself not to look away. “Then why did you do it?”

“M’stupid, that's why.”

“I know that, but that's not an answer.”

His head dropped forward until his forehead rested against yours. “The guys got to my head,” he admitted quietly. “They said I’m wasting my ‘potential’ and could pull that hot girl Shoko hangs out with.” He took a gasping breath, face contorting into one of disgust, “but she isn't hot, she's just not a nerd like you. But that makes you hot.”

You had to bite back a laugh, forcing a serious expression as he continued. “They said you're clingy, too serious but I loved that about you. You're perfect for my stupid self.”

“It really hurt me, what you did.” Your voice felt small, as if your throat was tightening.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Tears blurred your vision before you could stop them. “You don't know how it felt,” you choked out. “Like I was some hobby, or some prop you kept around.” Gojo’s mouth twisted into a deeper frown, “Don't say that —”

“It’s true.”

“No it's not.” His voice came out desperate this time, yet somehow firm.

He cupped your face carefully, like he thought you might break apart in his hands. “You meant everything,” he said shakily. “That was the problem, I let them convince me that being utterly whipped for you was a bad thing.”

You stared at him through your tears, and a soft sniffle filled the silence.

“A-and I tried to ignore them, o-or tell them that I didn't care about you like that, but I do.” He gave a soft laugh, words sloshing around his mouth as he slipped further into his drunk haze.

Another tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, swiping it away. “I wanted to answer your texts, to see you in the library at lunch — hell I wanted to come over,” he whispered, “I knew I fucked up.”

He was silent for a moment before speaking again. “I got hammered just to tell you this, y’know? I hate drinking but you're worth it.”

His eyes searched yours desperately. “Kept thinking about your laugh and your stupid jokes you make and the way you steal my clothes—”

A choked laugh escaped you despite yourself and Satoru’s expression softened at the sound. “There she is,” he murmured.

You shook your head, crying harder now. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah…but I’m your asshole…?” He looked down at you hopefully, “Ew, don't make it weird.” You laughed, wiping the tears from your eyes.

A tiny smile tugged weakly at his mouth. He swayed dangerously, alcohol still humming in his veins, “Let's get you to bed, Satoru.” You caught the mischievous glint in his eyes, “Don’t be a freak, I mean to sleep.” You watched his face fall then brighten up once more, “Can we sleep together —” He straightened when he saw your stern gaze, “— not like that.”

You guided him to your bedroom, he kicked his shoes off messily near the door and practically collapsed into your bed with a dramatic groan that almost made you laugh again.

“God,” he muttered. “The room is spinning.” You rolled your eyes, tossing over some of his clothes that you had stole forgot to return. “Hey, keep your eyes to yourself.” He muttered as he not-so-gracefully shimmied out of his jeans.

You climbed into bed beside him, the second you did, Gojo opened his arms. You hesitantly curled up next to him, the feeling oddly familiar.

“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his eyes fluttering shut and sleep began to take him.

“I know.”

He pressed a wet kiss to your forehead, finally succumbing to the after-effects of the alcohol.

He's going to be in for it tomorrow when you ‘ran out’ of painkillers for his hangover.

a/n: thank you @ingydingyy for the request I hope I did your idea justice <3

You'd been seeing him like this for a good three months now. Sneaking around as his secret girlfriend while being the stereotypical popular girl someone like him would probably never stand. He was all stutters and geek talk out there, rambling about quantum mechanics or why Magnamon was the best digivolved partner. While you were giggling with your friends. Manicured nails raised to cover your lips as you gossiped with them. Someone just had to humble a vapid girl like you!

That’s why behind closed doors he turned out to be a total sadistic psycho! To be fair, you weren’t stopping this. You pushed his buttons on purpose, acting like a total bitch whenever your clique was around. You couldn’t help but encourage his superiority complex. Nothing turned you on more than when he “put you in your place”

It started that morning in the lecture hall. A kind of place where the seats creaked and the air felt stuffy from too many bodies packed in. You were lounging with your usual crew, those girls who trailed after you, giggling at your comments about the latest gossip magazines. Your skirt riding up your thighs as you perched on a desk, you spotted Satoru shuffling in, his white hair tousled, glasses slipping down his nose, backpack slung low like he carried the weight of the world.

In front of the class, he was pathetic, really. The guy who'd blush if you even looked at him too long, only speaking up to correct the prof on some equation or geek out over digital worlds. Your friends rolled their eyes whenever he opened his mouth. But you knew the truth. The hookups in your car after late-night study sessions, the way he'd pin you down and make you beg.

Today, you went too far. As he walked past your group, head down avoiding eye contact, you extended your leg just right. His foot caught, and down he went, sprawling across the floor with a thud. Papers scattered, his glasses clattered off, and the room erupted in snickers. Your friends lost it, howling as “Oops! Clumsy much, weirdo?”

He flushed crimson, scrambling to gather his things, muttering about friction coefficients like it was no big deal. But when his eyes met yours, hidden behind the recovering lenses, you saw the storm brewing. Blue and icy, promising payback. 

You wished he understood you just had to do this! Your excuses about needing his brain for homework hadn't been cutting it this time. Tripping him in front of everyone? Unfortunately tripping him was straight-up disrespect, and he wasn't letting it slide. His text buzzed your phone right after class.

Toru-baby: My room. Five minutes. Or I'll drag you there myself in front of all your friends.

You'd barely knocked before he hauled you inside, door slamming shut. No hello, no bullshit. Straight to the wall, his body pressing you hard against it, mouth crashing on yours in a bruising kiss. 'You think you can embarrass me like that?' he'd hissed, hands already shoving your skirt up. 

“F-fake bitches laughing while you trip your own boyfriend? Y-yeah…you're gonna pay right now!”

He'd forced you to your knees then, unzipping his pants with trembling fingers fueled by rage. His cock springing free, hard and leaking. No warm-up, no teasing. Just his hand fisting your hair and guiding you down, making you take him inch by inch until your nose pressed against his pelvis.

That was how you ended up where you were now. Girthy cock in your mouth, throat contracting as you took him even deeper. Satoru’s pace quickened, grunts filling the air as he chased his release. “Swallow it all, baby! That's how you make it right f’me…” 

You simply nodded while working around him. The burn mixing with a twisted ache between your legs. He tensed, a low curse escaping, and then he was cumming. Thick ropes pulsing down your throat. You swallowed greedily, not spilling a drop, even as he held you flush against him, grinding out the last of it.

Finally, he eased back, cock slipping free with a wet pop, a trail of spit connecting you for a beat before he smeared it across your lips with his tip. “There, I guess you’re forgiven... But don't test me again.” His voice softened a fraction, thumb brushing your cheek almost tenderly. However the glint in his eyes said he was far from done.

You rocked back on your heels, throat raw, wiping your mouth as you looked up at him. The carpet bit into your knees, and your panties were soaked, clit throbbing from neglect. “T-Toru...” It came out whiny, needy, and he smirked, knowing exactly what you wanted.

“C’mon now, pretty girl. Up on the bed.” He hauled you to your feet, shoving you toward the mattress piled with wrinkled clothes and a forgotten controller. You landed on your back, skirt bunched around your waist, and he was on you in seconds, stripping off his shirt to reveal the toned chest he kept hidden under his hoodies.

He pinned your hands above your head with one large palm, the other yanking your top open, buttons scattering. His mouth latched onto your breast, teeth grazing the nipple hard enough to make you arch and gasp. “Y’love this, don't ya? Acting like a bitch out there just to get fucked like one.” He bit down, soothing with his tongue after, then switched sides, leaving dark marks that'd bloom into bruises.

His hand trailed lower, fingers hooking into your panties and tearing them off with a rip. Cool air hit your wetness, and you squirmed, but he slapped your inner thigh, the sting sharp. “Stay still. Or you’re not getting shit!”

You bit your lip, nodding, and he rewarded you by sliding two fingers inside, thick and curling right against that spot. You moaned, hips bucking, but he pinned you firmer, pumping slow at first, then faster, thumb flicking your clit. “So fucking wet from sucking me off. Pathetic.”

The build was intense, your walls clenching around his digits, but he pulled out right as you teetered on the edge, making you whine in frustration. “Please, I-I’m gonna-“ He chuckled, dark and satisfied, positioning himself between your legs. "Y-you're not gonna cum, ah- fuck unless it's on my dick you got that?!" You nodded as his cock, still slick from your mouth, nudged your entrance before he thrust in deep, filling you completely. You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. He didn't hold back, hips snapping forward in a punishing rhythm, the bed creaking under the force.

One hand stayed on your wrists, the other wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse race, vision spotting. “Mine,” he grunted, pounding harder, skin slapping skin. “No more humiliating me in public. Do that shit again and I'll bend you over in the bathroom. Let your friends hear from the stall how depraved you are!”

The threat only pushed you higher, your body tightening, orgasm crashing over you in waves. You came with a scream, nails digging into his back where you could reach, and he followed soon after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you.

He collapsed beside you, both panting, his arm draping over your waist possessively. For a minute, the room was quiet, just your breathing syncing up. Then he murmured, “Heard the new Digimon trailer dropped. We should watch it later.” Like nothing happened.

You laughed softly, turning into him, the contrast in your dynamic hitting you every time. “Like I’d be seen watching that kiddy-shit Toru.”

tagslist-

@genosblackwife @whispersingojo @6x-x9 @megumisrighttoe

Omg don’t come at me for the cringe ahh dialogue and it literally is js bad porno

tysm @6x-x9 for the proofreaading!!

These were intense times. 

The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed. 

There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft. 

As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses. 

It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk. 

Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones. 

As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf. 

Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field. 

His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table. 

He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer. 

Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls. 

She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself. 

And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts. 

His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded. 

“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”. 

Part one?!

He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20. 

And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name. 

“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”

He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty. 

But in the lecture hall? Well… 

His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II. 

He was truly a lost cause. 

He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never). 

So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago. 

At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast. 

Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you. 

And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter. 

It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.

In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.

“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”

It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.

You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.

He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.

He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him. 

His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter. 

Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”

You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen. 

For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.

What the fuck? 

He took your phone. 

“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”

He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones. 

“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”

He hated how his dick twitched at your words.

But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.

He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake! 

His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”

You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!

And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.   

After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.

He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.

You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday. 

The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission. 

And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill. 

He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.

Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days. 

And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days. 

“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both. 

You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe. 

He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…

“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare. 

“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power. 

You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!

You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache. 

The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?” 

He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips. 

“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you. 

He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag. 

“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”

And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest. 

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand. 

“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.” 

His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away. 

“It’s a small place,” you warned. 

He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”

He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them. 

You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”

For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world. 

All he could do was swallow and nod. 

He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door. 

The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road. 

Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row. 

The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen. 

Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.

And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.

He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–

He coughed lightly.

What was he thinking?

As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine. 

Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.

It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.

“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table. 

You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down. 

He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room. 

And, holy shit. 

No. 

There was genuinely no way in hell. 

He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it. 

His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body? 

Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.

His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it. 

Everything looked familiar.

Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–

“Can I help you?” 

You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours. 

You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.

And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words. 

All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.

“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.

The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.

And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself. 

What. The. Fuck. 

It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it? 

No. He couldn’t. He’d never.

Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell? 

He couldn’t tell.

What does this mean? How should he act?  What does he fucking do with this information now?

He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer. 

“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”

He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin. 

“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled. 

He tapped into the link despite himself. 

“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”

He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video. 

For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera. 

But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded. 

The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind. 

He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look. 

He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.

You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”

The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1. 

His jaw ticked, hard.

“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before. 

His dick bobbed in his pants. 

This could not be happening to him right now. 

You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”

He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie. 

And he couldn’t help it, really. 

Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers. 

He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back. 

Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit. 

He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip. 

He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him. 

He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to  uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot. 

He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.

And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.

It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner. 

And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing. 

He just finished to the thought of you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Toji Fushiguro had a problem. 

No, scratch that. 

He had a fucking crisis. 

It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times. 

And that was only how one of his practices went this week. 

It had been five whole days since he last saw you. 

Five days of being dogshit at his sport. 

Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.

It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say. 

How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?

How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay? 

How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!

And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.

He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body. 

A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him. 

He stared down at your last texts to him.

⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark  ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree 

Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive

It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare. 

Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet. 

He needed time. 

He needed space. 

He needed to get this shit under control.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals. 

It would be the perfect distraction. 

About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light. 

He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–

“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”

His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised. 

Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him. 

He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature. 

You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame. 

He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.). 

“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily. 

The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire. 

He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt. 

You looked good, really fuckin’ good. 

Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding

Did he say that outloud?!

You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.

Back to the last name basis. 

You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes. 

A dull pang rippled through his chest. 

He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started. 

And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter. 

And, you knew he was huge before. 

But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms. 

He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly. 

You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled. 

He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear. 

You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other. 

You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.

But for him? That just would not do. 

He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate. 

“Because you scare me,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched. 

“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.

“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I can go-”

“Don’t.”

And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt. 

“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.” 

You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”

“Stay.”

It was as simple as that, really. 

And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you. 

Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.

He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits. 

He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face. 

Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start. 

And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh. 

You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous. 

“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened. 

“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell. 

His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.” 

Please.

His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission. 

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

You breathed. 

The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–

“It’s not just you, Toji.” 

Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest. 

And that was all he needed. 

He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.

He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom. 

He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.

The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own. 

He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own. 

It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.

You put your hands against his chest. 

“Toji-”

“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”

You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed. 

His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place. 

You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.

A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing. 

“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?” 

And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.

He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process. 

“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?” 

You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs. 

You shook your head. 

“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”

He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench. 

Fuckin’ tease. 

“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out. 

A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.

“Good girl.” 

And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties . 

“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”

And - Holy shit.

The videos of you didn’t even do this justice. 

Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.

And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric. 

It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong. 

But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks. 

He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots. 

“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet. 

His heart was thunderous against his chest. 

And his dick? 

Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.

He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.

After all, how could he say no to you? 

He pushed your panties to the side. 

And oh. 

His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy. 

Holy. Shit.

Everything was soaked and glistening. 

He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process. 

He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool. 

It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room. 

The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. 

“Toji, I might-” 

He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle. 

You saw fuckin’ stars.

The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs. 

He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again. 

He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him. 

Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three. 

You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer. 

Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears. 

Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.

The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs. 

You were orgasming before you even realized it.

And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks. 

Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place. 

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt. 

You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples. 

Your heart squeezed in your chest. 

It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond. 

“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.” 

And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went. 

You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso. 

You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.

“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”

You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.

Who would move first?

His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist. 

“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.” 

Oh. 

And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue. 

And then he’s pulling you into his lap. 

You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again. 

A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.

“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting. 

“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.  

And oh fuck.

Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud! 

The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.

Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat. 

You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff. 

You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear. 

“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you. 

Pretty girl. 

He squeezed tighter.

His pretty girl. 

A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”

And who was he to deny you? 

Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs

Your mouth gaped open.

And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.  

You didn’t even think anyone could be this large. 

Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head. 

He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.

Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.

He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him. 

You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.

He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.

He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.

You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead. 

And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him. 

None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock. 

You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.

But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together. 

“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”

A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass. 

“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices. 

Your heart fluttered.

His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off. 

You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you. 

You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips. 

He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.

Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt. 

You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly. 

Please, please, please, ple–

And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole. 

“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. 

Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip. 

And this was just the tip.

He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant. 

You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him. 

“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.

“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him. 

Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”

And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests. 

He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.

You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.

You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need. 

It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here. 

“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features. 

“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.

“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.

And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.

His dick bobbed from inside of you. 

“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down. 

“But-?”

He thought you would hate him if you knew. 

He agonized for days for this reaction?!!

“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”

And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy. 

“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?

“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.  

And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again. 

T-O-J-I !

He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air. 

You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise. 

In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.

He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck. 

Oh. His cum.

His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming. 

You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you. 

“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?” 

And oh, how his broken mind snapped. 

The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear. 

And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb. 

It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.

Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white. 

And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer. 

Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed. 

And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.

And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.

“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”

And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.

After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.

There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side. 

Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).

He still kept his same protein shake recipe.

He still kept his same choice of attire.

But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb. 

And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38. 

And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend. 

-

"God.." He gently separated your legs, hands placed over your thighs, rubbing small circles into them. Your cunt was so pretty, leaking with juices already, practically begging him to come inside.

"You’re also in heat, huh baby?" His cock dangled out, being way too heavy to even stand up straight, brushing up against your leg, making you whine.

He had snuck in during the night when the rest of your family had called it a day and turned off the lights, leaving you in your room sleeping oh so peacefully.

He let out a hum, thumb placed on your clit, rubbing the small bundle of nerves. "You like that?"

You nodded, hair bobbing as you did. "Yeah? fuckin' nasty girl."

The moonlight illuminated the sharp features on his face, not hiding the lust in his eyes though.

His hand left your weeping cunt to grab his length, angling it at your entrance. One would think it wouldn't be able to fit from how fat it was. The tan tip was as equally terrifying, dripping with pre.

"Take a deep breath in sweetheart. It’s gonna hurt a bit if you’ve never taken a cock like mine"

He began sliding in, inch by inch.

"So warm, fuck." He threw his head back, jaw clenching. Your hands reached up to his shoulders, whining as he began to move.

"Good girl. Taking my cock so well."

Your mouth fell open, giving him the opportunity to spit inside it. He watched as you swallowed all of it. More of his inches filled you up, finally reaching all the way up to your womb. His cock was noticeable from the outside, poking at your stomach with every thrust.

The noises that escaped your pussy were absolutely disgusting.

"She trynna say somethin' hm, sweet cheeks?" He leaned back, gently slapping your clit a few times.

"Toji.." you sobbed. “Stop teasing.”

"I’d imagine your parents would lose their fuckin' heads if they saw their neighbor fucking the shit out of their only daughter, huh?"

Your bed banged lightly against the wall and you could only pray your parents didn't hear. He kept thrusting in and out of you, grabbing the edge of your shirt to bring it up to your chest, exposing your breasts to the cold air. His fingers played with your buds, loving the way they hardened under his touch.

"Want to know how many times I've jerked off to ya? Bet you already know. Kept looking over at me. couldn't resist an old mans dick?" He said as if he was just ten years older than you. Considering the fact that he had grey hairs, he wasn’t that far from “old” to be honest.

"Please..! Fuck!"

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head after he grabbed your hips, lifting your lower body off the bed to drill deeper into you. He picked up the pace, making you moan louder. "Toji!"

"Quiet down, you want to get caught?.."

You couldn't, not with the way he was hitting your g-spot at a scarily precise precision. "M'close.. m'close.." You repeated, hugging him close, wiping your tears on his shoulders. "Go ahead, sweet cheeks, I got ya."

You finally had your first orgasm in a full year. Having sex with boys from your college wasn’t something to get off on considering their dicks were so used they could barely get it up.

But he didn't stop there.

"Don’t use teeth." Toji warned, leading you from the back of your head to take in his sheer length into your mouth. "Atta girl. This is what you wanted, fuckin take it."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, maintaining eye contact as your head bobbed up and down, taking in what you could. The rest of his cock was getting jerked off by both of your hands. He was so big.

"Suck in your cheeks.. yeah, just like that, fuck!" Toji’s eyes shut, taking in the way your warm mouth felt wrapped around him.

Cum dripped down the corners of your mouth, landing on your bedsheets. "Keep going." He panted, fingers rubbing your scalp, thrusts becoming rougher and more desperate.

Your moans sent vibrations throughout him, making him groan loudly.

His hand shifted to the back of your neck, allowing you to pull away. "Gonna have to come over more often.." The scar on his lips lifted as he grinned.

this is a fic rewrite !

Your fingers flew across the keyboard, drafting the official statement you’d already sent to the press an hour ago: “Mr. Gojo was attending a private charity event and the images have been taken out of context. He remains committed to his fans and upcoming film projects.”

You rubbed your temples. Gojo had more scandals than some celebrities had followers. Drunken karaoke brawls, leaked videos of him making out with co-stars, rumors of underground fight clubs where he used his “sorcerer” persona from his most recent series for show, and the endless parade of women. Yet the public loved him. The blue-eyed menace was box office gold, and his supernatural charm made him untouchable.

The car door opened. Gojo slid in beside you, all long limbs and effortless arrogance. His white hair was messy, those striking blue eyes hidden behind his usual black sunglasses. He flashed that infuriating grin.

“Missed me, princess?” he drawled, leaning back against the leather seat.

“You’re late,” you said flatly, not looking up from your tablet. “And you smell like vodka and that strong ass cologne.”

He laughed, low and warm. “That’s my signature scent. Want a closer whiff?”

You ignored the flutter in your stomach. This was the game you two played. He caused fires. You put them out. And somehow, over time, the tension between you had grown thicker than the NDA you made every woman he slept with sign.

“Three models, Satoru? Really? The video is trending. I had to call in every favor with the tabloids to kill the worst angles.”

He shrugged, stretching his long legs until his thigh pressed against yours. “They were just fans. Harmless fun.”

“Harmless doesn’t get you trending for all the wrong reasons.” You finally met his gaze—or what you could see of it. “This is the fourth scandal this month. I’m running out of ways to make you look like a misunderstood genius instead of a chaotic himbo.”

Gojo’s grin widened. He reached over and plucked the tablet from your hands, setting it aside. “You’re so good at your job, though. That’s why I keep you around.”

His voice dropped, playful but edged with something darker. Heat. “And because I like rewarding my best girl.”

Your breath caught. This wasn’t new. After particularly brutal clean-ups, Gojo had a habit of “thanking” you in ways that blurred every professional line. You told yourself it was just stress relief. A transaction. But the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his chaotic world that actually mattered—made it dangerous.

The driver raised the partition without being asked.

Gojo’s hand slid onto your knee, long fingers tracing slow circles. “C’mere. Let me show my appreciation.”

“Backseat of a car, Satoru?” you muttered, but your body was already betraying you, thighs pressing together. "Really?"

“Private enough.” He tugged you onto his lap with that effortless strength, your pencil skirt riding up as you straddled him. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking the fabric. “You’ve been working so hard for me. Cleaning up my messes. Dealing with my shit. Don’t you deserve a treat?”

You shivered as he pushed his sunglasses up, revealing those glowing blue eyes.

His mouth found your neck first, hot and teasing, sucking lightly just below your ear while he loosened your blouse. “Let me eat that pretty pussy, baby. Been thinking about it since the club. Nothing tastes better after a long night of damage control.”

You gasped as he lifted you, maneuvering you until your back was against the opposite seat and he was on his knees between your legs. The man who commanded screens and sold out arenas was kneeling for you. Gojo pushed your skirt higher, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs with deliberate slowness.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, voice husky. “Already wet for me. My perfect little manager.”

He spread your thighs wider, exposing you completely in the dim light of the car. His breath ghosted over your core, making you twitch. Then his tongue—hot, wet, and devastating—dragged a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit.

You moaned, hand flying to his white hair. Gojo hummed in satisfaction, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. He licked you like he had all the time in the world, like cleaning up his scandals was worth every second of this reward. His tongue circled your clit with precision, then dipped lower, pushing inside you teasingly before returning to suck gently on that sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Satoru—” you whimpered, hips rolling against his face.

He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as he devoured you. The obscene sounds filled the car: wet slurps, your desperate gasps, his low groans of approval.”

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled against your folds, lips shiny with your arousal. “Better than any model. Sweeter than revenge. This is what I want after every fuck-up. Your legs around my head while I make you cum.”

Two long fingers slid inside you without warning, curling perfectly against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking harder while his fingers pumped in a steady rhythm. The coil in your belly tightened fast.

You came with a cry, thighs trembling around his ears as pleasure crashed through you. Gojo didn’t stop, licking you through it, drawing out every aftershock until you were panting and oversensitive.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was soaked and smug. “That’s one. Think you can handle more before we get to the hotel?”

The pattern repeated over the next few weeks, each scandal bigger than the last.

First came the leaked audio of Gojo trash-talking a rival actor during a press junket. You spent three days negotiating with studios and issuing apologies. That night, in his penthouse overlooking Tokyo, he laid you out on his massive bed and spent nearly an hour between your thighs. He edged you mercilessly—long, slow licks followed by fast flicks of his tongue—until you were begging. When you finally came, he kept going, making you squirt for the first time while laughing softly against your pussy.

“You’re so good at making me look innocent,” he praised, chin glistening. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”

Then there was the nightclub fight video. Gojo had “accidentally” flipped a table on some guy who’d gotten handsy with one of his female co-stars. The internet called it assault. You called it a PR nightmare. After three all-nighters and a carefully crafted statement about “self-defense,” Gojo rewarded you in his private jet on the way to a premiere.

He had you bent over the leather couch, skirt flipped up, face buried between your cheeks from behind. His tongue fucked into you while his thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles. The altitude and the thrill of being so high up made everything more intense. You came twice before landing, legs shaking so badly he had to carry you off the plane.

Each time, the rewards grew more intense. Gojo was insatiable when it came to you. He loved how composed you were in public—cool, professional, the one who tamed his chaos—and how completely you fell apart for him in private.

One particularly bad week culminated in a leaked sex tape rumor (thankfully fake, but the damage was done). You worked miracles to kill the story. That evening, Gojo didn’t even wait for the car to leave the underground garage of his building.

He dropped to his knees right there, pushed you against the hood of his expensive car, and ate you out like a man starved. Cars drove past on the street level above, but down here it was just the two of you. His tongue was merciless, fingers deep inside you, curling and scissoring while he sucked your clit until you saw white. You came so hard you nearly slid off the hood. He caught you, laughing that rich, cocky laugh.

“My perfect girl,” he whispered, kissing your inner thighs. “I make the messes. You clean them. And I make you scream.”

Months passed. The dynamic deepened.

You stopped pretending it was just rewards. Gojo started showing up at your apartment unannounced, glasses off, eyes soft in a way the public never saw. He’d pull you into his lap on the couch, not always for sex. Sometimes just to talk—about the pressure of being watched all of the time, the loneliness of fame, how your steady presence was the only thing keeping him grounded.

But the sex... the sex was still his favorite way to say thank you.

One night after he’d been caught leaving a love hotel with a famous idol (another fabricated story you’d dismantled), he took you to his bedroom and spent the entire night worshipping you. No rushing. He stripped you slowly, kissing every inch of skin until he reached your core. Then he settled in for a long session.

Gojo’s tongue traced every fold, savoring you. He alternated between gentle licks and harsh sucks, fingers pumping deep while he whispered filthy praise.

“Love how you get so wet for me. Love knowing all those scandals are worth it because I get to bury my face in this sweet pussy afterward. You own me, you know that? The world thinks I’m theirs, but this—” he licked a broad stripe up your center, “—this is mine.”

You came three times that night. Once on his tongue, once on his fingers while he sucked your clit, and once riding his face as he lay back and let you use him. By the end, you were a trembling, blissed-out mess, and Gojo looked happier than he did after any movie premiere.

The latest scandal was the worst yet.

A video surfaced of Gojo in a very compromising position at an afterparty—him, two women, and enough evidence to suggest an orgy. The internet was in meltdown. Sponsors were threatening to pull out. Your phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

You worked for 48 hours straight, barely sleeping. When you finally dragged yourself to his penthouse to deliver the good news (crisis mostly averted), Gojo was waiting.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled you inside, locked the door, and dropped to his knees in the foyer.

“No more work tonight,” he said, voice rough. He pushed your legs apart right there against the wall, yanked your panties aside, and dove in.

His mouth was urgent, almost desperate. Tongue fucking into you, nose grinding against your clit, hands gripping your ass to pull you harder against his face. He moaned like he was the one receiving pleasure, the vibrations making your knees buckle.

You clutched his hair, moaning his name as he devoured you. This wasn’t just a reward anymore. This was need. Hunger. Possession.

He made you cum twice standing up, then carried you to the bedroom and did it again with you on his face. By the time he finally let you rest, your voice was hoarse and your thighs were sticky with his saliva and your releases.

Gojo pulled you against his chest afterward, fingers gently stroking your back.

“I know I’m a handful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I’d burn every scandal into existence if it meant you’d keep letting me do this.”

You laughed weakly, exhausted but content. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah. But I’m yours, baby.”

In the quiet afterglow, with the city lights twinkling outside, you realized something. You didn’t just clean up his messes anymore.

You were part of them. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some of them would show their scars – long cuts from knives and bullets that grazed their necks when husbands of those young girls suddenly came back home.

The prostitutes loved listening to those frivolous, lighthearted stories with deep longing coiling in their eyes. As most of them, including you, were simply poor women whose families found themselves in nasty money problems.

And what was the best way to pay the debt without a sweat?

Sell a daughter, of course!

Four years have passed since you found yourself here, with a body used by countless men every day and eyes losing their young, girlish shimmer. There was no telling when you would leave this place, or whether you would at all, as women of your sort were often taken from the sweetness of those filthy walls either dead or crippled.

The gentle knock on the doors pulled you out of dreadful thoughts before they opened with a soft creak.

Madam's old face slipped inside. "My dear, a special client for you," she murmured, and you knew another outlaw had visited the establishment.

A low sigh escaped your lips, and you nodded before walking out of the room. It was too dangerous to keep them in your regular bedrooms, so you followed Madam to the attic, where darkness spilt through the covered windows and only a few small rooms lay hidden behind the old walls.

Your fingers curled tighter around the small lamp as she opened one of the doors with a nasty creak. But before you could enter, her hand grabbed your arm.

"This one is… special. They paid quite a large sum to see you, and, well," something in her eyes glimmered, as if the nature of your client made her a little awkward. "Take good care of them. You've never worked with someone like that, but… well, you're a woman yourself."

And so she pushed you inside, before closing the door back.

The full moon bathed the room in cold kisses, and a few short candles gave it a cosy atmosphere. Heavy, crimson materials draped the walls and the bed, which stood lonely near the wall.

But the moment you entered, your eyes fell immediately on him.

Or… her?

Slim back was covered by a flannel shirt, long sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Lean legs dressed in old jeans, with classic, leather shoes wrapping her calves.

The brown hat lay on the small desk, and you could see the short white hair shimmering like cream in the pale moonlight. At first, she stood facing away from you, but when her eyes finally met yours… heavens.

Your lips fell slightly open as you saw the crystal-blue orbits, with a cheeky, warm smile curving her cherry cheeks.

She was oh so beautiful, with milky skin and the most lovely, sharp face you've ever seen. Multiple scars slashed her face, crossing her cheeks, chin, and lips, with a long, nasty one going right through her right eye. Something cheeky danced in her gaze as she scanned your frozen body from head to toe. Dressed in a loose-fitting white gown without a corset, to allow easier access for the client's sticky fingers.

But her fingers looked clean, kind, and gentle, and thus a sudden warmth spread across your cheeks at the thought of spending the night with her.

"You don't look scared, dove," a low voice filled the small space, as she leaned over the window. "Used to outlaws coming and going?"

You coughed faintly, leaving the lamp on the drawer. Two clean glasses and a half-empty bottle of whisky were already there. You took the nasty liquid and poured it with trembling hands.

"Well, our place is one of the few hideaways for people of your sort. Although…" you looked back at her, noticing the same cheekiness coiling in her gaze. "I've never met with a woman."

She pushed away from the window frame, slowly coming your way. Heavy leather boots clicked on the wooden floor, and only now did you notice how tall she was.

Tall and rather muscular, and if not for the face of a true sweetie and breasts bulging beneath the flannel, you would surely take her for a man.

"Do you mind?" she asked, taking a glass of whisky from your hand.

The crystal cups clinked in silence, and you took a small sip, not taking your eyes off her face. "I don't. I've never been with a woman, but I'm a quick learner."

Her blue eyes narrowed, lips curling with a hum. "Madam said you're the best dove here," she whispered, lifting her hand to curl a soft strand of your hair around her finger.

You could feel the warmth beaming off her chest. The fragrance of bonfire smoke, sweat and something sugary. Wrapping around your heart, filling it with something balmy and pleasurable, making your heart leap a little faster.

You've never taken clients' compliments seriously. They were sweet, yes, sometimes even rather filthy, and those you usually ignored with a smile, but with her, it was different.

In a way, she looked at you – with gentleness, patience, something warm and yet lined with hunger. When her finger brushed your cheeks, you shivered.

"Are you nervous?" she cooed slyly, sending another wave of heat down your spine. "We don't have to do it."

You shook your head, nuzzling into her hand. "That's what you paid for. How can we not?"

"I don't mind. Spending time in your presence is enough," her words carried sincerity, and something in your gut told you she really wouldn't mind paying solely for your company. But you… you were curious.

And when her thumb brushed your lower lip, you gladly wrapped your lips around it, sucking gently as your warm tongue slid down her long digit and along your cheeks. She hummed lowly, and her crystal eyes shimmered as she looked at the way you glanced at her from below, with the sweetest doe eyes and cherry lips sucking on her lone finger.

You pulled back with a pop. "I want to," you rolled, nuzzling into her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against yours. "But you need to teach me how."

She chuckled, stepping closer. Crystal eyes flicked between the open cleavage of your flimsy dress, with breasts spilling over the white lace, and the eyes, shining like the evening's moon. Round and pleading, with the sweetest innocence she had ever seen in a whore.

There was angelic loveliness in your hearty face, and yet she knew that casting wicked, love-spells must've been your speciality.

Especially with people like her – yearning for the warmth and delicate touch of a woman after months on the road.

"I thought you were supposed to do the job, dove," she brushed away a few stray locks of your hair before cupping your face. "But if you want me to take the lead, I will gladly serve you. My lady."

A second later, with a gentle flicker of a candle, her lips crashed against yours. In a gentle, sweet, yet ravishing kiss as she curled her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You wrapped yours around her neck, forcing her to lean down, and closing your lips again, and again, and again, as her tongue smooched the inside of your mouth and throat, drinking in your soft moans.

You could feel her scars bulging under your tongue when you licked her lower lip with a faint moan.

She tasted of whisky and sugar, and maybe it was the first time you truly enjoyed the kiss. It was nasty in its own pleasurable way, making your thighs clench with warmth and breath hitch.

You started walking her back towards the bed until the backs of her knees hit the edge; she sat down. Your hips quickly climbed over hers, rolling the dress up until the thin gown folded around your hips. Long, lacy knee socks wrapped your legs, and she moaned as the fat of your thighs spilled over the flimsy material.

"I can't believe some nasty bastard could have this," she groaned, cupping the swell of your ass. Her long fingers dug deeper, squeezing the skin and rolling your hips against her. "How many clients do you have every night, hm? One, two? I paid for two full days in advance, so no one else will touch you."

You cried as her lips slipped down your chin and neck, licking it gently and sucking on the delicate skin of your throat.

"Mmm–"

"Satoru," she whispered, before placing another kiss under your jaw. "Call me Satoru, dove."

And then, as if a bucket of cold water had run down your cheeks, it finally flickered.

The posters, glued all over the town, with those milky strands peeking from every corner, eyes hidden behind a brown hat.

Gojo Satoru.

The first and most famous female outlaw, wanted for multiple train robberies, bootlegging, gunfights, and, most of all, for the massive accumulation of gold.

It was difficult to tell whether she truly was as rich as everyone said, but the way her fingers gripped you with unwavering confidence, and eyes drank in the softness of your face, told you that she indeed was someone.

She chuckled, sensing a shiver run down your spine. "So you've heard of me, my lady?"

Her fingers tug at the flimsy material covering your breast, and with a single move, it slipped off your arms.

A low, "Fuck," rolled, when she wrapped her lips around your perked nipple. Another hand squeezed the other tit, rolling the hardened bud between her fingers. "Unfortunately, there's nothing to get drunk on," she smiled, looking up from a curtain of long lashes.

"Ah–Satoru, mmmm," you cried, feeling the warmth of her mouth spilling around your breasts. "There's s-still whisky if you want."

She chuckled, biting gently on your nipple till your back arched. "My lady, I wasn't talking about the whisky."

A quiet oh slipped past your lips when you understood. Her hand pulled you closer, letting her face dive into your soft breasts. Warm tongue curled, lapped, and tickled your swollen buds as she moved between them, letting out low pops and groans.

For the first time in your life, you truly started taking pleasure from such intimacy. Your hips rolled against her as if seeking some kind of traction that would let your squeezing cunt spill its sweet juices. Flimsy panties were completely drenched, sticking to your swollen folds.

You didn't know whether to focus on her heavy gaze pinning you down to her thighs or lips sucking on the plush breasts. With low moans and squeezes of your fat, as you tried to push yourself into her mouth.

"S-Satoru," you whispered shyly, trying to push her onto the bed. "Let me take care of you. I should be the one doing it."

But instead of letting her back hit the mattress, she quickly curled your arms around your waist and changed position. Letting your hair spill all over the soft bedding and thighs spread wide open.

"I paid quite a hefty sum, my Lady. Why won't you let me do what I want, hm?" Her thumb traced the drenched material of your panties, pushing the swollen clit through the lace, before rolling them off your trembling thighs. "Fuck, my lady. Are you always this wet?"

"N-no, I've never-ah!," a sweet cry slipped out, when her fingers spread your folds. "I've never felt anything like that."

Crystal eyes flickered to your teary face. "Never?"

You shook your head. "No, I've never taken any pleasure from sex."

And it seemed that your words must have snapped something inside her mind. As a low my god rolled past her lips, and she quickly started undressing herself. The flannel shirt revealed reddened breasts with rosy, hard nipples and multiple scars decorating her chest, belly, and shoulders.

When the trousers slipped down the long legs, you noticed another slash, and your heart squeezed in pain upon seeing how much she truly had to suffer.

And yet, a wicked smile curved her lips as she saw your big, pleading eyes fixed on her heavy, milky breasts.

"Are you okay, dove?" she asked, jumping off her jeans before rolling down the flimsy panties too.

Oh, you were not okay.

In fact, you were rather anything but okay, with thighs still spread wide open, breasts spilling from the tight robes, cheeks smooched with cherries and a lovely gaze looking down at her pussy. You bit down on your lower lip as she moved closer, joining you on a bed.

The white dress slipped off your body, leaving you bare and breathless beneath Satoru's silky fingers.

"So beautiful," she whispered, leaning in to kiss your fallen lips. "The most beautiful dove I have ever seen."

Her lips travelled down your chin, neck, breasts, wrapping around your perked buds again before kissing your plush belly. She bit down on a little roll, making you squirm under her cheeky fingers, spreading your thighs open.

Folded in half, you tried to look down at how dangerously close she was to your leaking cunt. With lips kissing the mound, before slowly, slowly, finally, curling around your clit. Her tongue plastered itself to your cunt, giving her a long, nasty lick.

And it was… dear heavens.

Maddening, mind-clouding, pushing out a high-pitched moan from your lungs, as if you had kept it there for the past two decades. Her soft strands tickled your thighs, and she looked absolutely mesmerising – with her chin already drenched in your juices and forehead creased with pleasure.

As if lapping around your folds and slurping on sugary cum was enough to give her pleasure.

"My lady, fuck, you're so delicious," she moaned straight into your cunt, sending a trembling wave right into your clit. "If the sheriff were to come in right this second, he would not be able to pull me away from this sweetness."

Your cheeks burned upon hearing filth slipping past her lips, but you were too weak to say anything. With mind clouded by pleasure and back arching off the mattress, upon feeling her lips sucking on your clit and tongue gathering the sticky cum.

When a single finger slipped in, you cried miserably, finally lifting yourself onto your shoulders. From this perspective, the view of her creamy, arched back and the swell of her ass was even better.

Starving moans escaping her throat filled the bedroom, as she scooped a hefty cum from your walls and drank it madly. Your swollen clit was ready to burst any second – bending, crying, burning under her tongue.

"S-Satoru, mhmm, so g-good," you moaned, rolling your hips against her plastered tongue. Moving with desperate, aggressive urgency, gripping her hair and pulling her even closer. Although closer was indeed not possible, as Satoru was already nose-deep between your folds. "Breath, oh God, Satoru–ahhh!"

She pulled away with a faint pop, before a second finger slipped in. "My lady, suffocate me with your thighs, I don't care," she mewled, eyes completely lost. As if the sweetness of your cunt truly made her drunk! "Ride my face, dove, come on," she wrapped her lips around your clit, before you started rolling your hips again.

And only then have you noticed that Satoru's second finger travelled down, down her body, right into her leaking cunt. She pinched her clit while wrapping lips around yours, as if trying to synchronise the pleasure washing over both of your spines. A hefty pool of cum was dripping down the bedding, and you whimpered miserably, seeing a waste of such sweetness.

"Let me taste you," rolled quietly, and she looked up. "I want to taste you too."

She chuckled before lifting drenched hand up to your lips. Her long fingers were glued with strings of silky cum, stretching between the slim digits, and when you wrapped your lips around one, another wave of pleasure tickled your skin.

Honeyed delicacy spilt on your tongue, and a cry rolled again, feeling the sudden warmth pooling in your lower belly. "Satoru–mhmm–let me, ahh, let me eat you out."

"Next time, dove," she murmured, before pulling away. Two fingers still abused the soft spot inside you with brutal tenderness. She knew how to drive you over the edge and still caress your body with gentleness. "I have a better idea."

When her fingers suddenly pulled out of your soft walls, a lovely pout twisted your lips. She chuckled, leaning in to give you a short, sweet kiss. "Don't worry, my lady. I think you'll like it."

And before you noticed it, her milky thigh slipped over yours, pushing you into a rather weird yet oh so nasty position. With her drenched pussy glued to yours, letting your juices mix. A little, sweet clit perked from between her folds, and you reached to roll her gently between your fingers.

"Ahh! My lady–" Satoru sighed, allowing you to do it again.

And again, again, till she herself started to wave her hips and seek the friction of your soft pads. The loveliest moans slipped past her lips, and thus, you could finally cherish the crease of her forehead and the beads of sweat coating her bouncing breasts.

But then she pulled your hand away, letting your folds connect once again. Your swollen, trembling clits brushed against each other, and both of you moaned before she started moving.

In harsh, mean rolls, filling the room with filthy squelches and smearing your cunt in her juices. Her sticky, sweet nectar dripped down your folds, clit, before slipping warmly into your tightening hole. You always detested clients who wished to fuck you raw, and yet your spine tingled and the feeling of her warm cum filling your hole,

She spread your legs even wider, allowing herself to sit on your pussy with a full weight, till not even a finger could slip past your connected folds.

Her hardened clit smooched yours in harsh, slippery friction, making your mind spill and toes curl in maddened pleasure. The wetness coiling in your lower belly was dangerously close to spilling, and when she reached towards your nipples, your back arched.

"Satoru, mhmm, I'm s-so–" slipped drunkenly. "Feel so good, s-so–ah–good."

She chuckled, but you've noticed how close she was too. With lips fallen open and gaze fixed on your hearty face, haunted by pleasure. Crystal eyes shimmered, and she would not lie, saying that the pleasure taken from seeing your teary face was already enough to push her over the edge!

"I'll pay for you," she suddenly muttered, rolling her hips even faster. Her clit rubbed against yours, sticky juices coated your cunt with hers, and this feeling alone was loosening the knot in your belly. "I'll pay for your freedom, so fuck, run away with me. I have a small farmhouse, down south. We can, ahhh, live there in peace. No one will find us."

You felt too fucked to truly understand her words, but your heart swelled with hope nonetheless. She wasn't the only client who promised such dreams, but the first to state them with such seriousness.

With this haunting look in her eyes, taking you in like the most precious treasure. With her fingers caressing your skin so tenderly, as if handling something of utmost delicacy, and her lips peppering your skin with the most loving kisses.

And so when her finger slipped down your pussy and pushed your clit for the one last time, you cried pitifully, gushing all over her cunt. Her breath hitched, and a sweet, low moan slipped past her lips, before you felt the wetness of her cum spurring all over yours.

It was messy, raw, with her squirting mixing with yours and heavy breaths fogging the small room bathed in candle-warmth.

The pleasure coiled beneath your skin, biting raw into your feverish flesh. When she leaned down to kiss you, something in your mind forced you to say, "Yes."

As the truth was that even if at risk, the vision of running away with this woman made your heart beat in an unfamiliar rhythm.

She kissed you again, and again, whispering softly let's run, together, I promise to treat you kindly, while her juices were still mixing with yours, and hips rolled slowly. Your fingers wrapped around her neck, pulling her closer as if wishing to hide beneath her skin.

The closeness you shared simply wasn't enough.

And so the next two days you've spent rolling in bed, with your lips between her folds and hers on yours. Sometimes she would push you into the most extravagant position, force you to ride her fingers like a true cowgirl while sucking sweetly on your bouncing tits.

You laughed and talked, inside the small room that counted days of her departure and of your freedom. She told you more about the promised farmhouse – the animals, warm garden, sunsets spreading over the porch, smooching the sky in crimson hues. About all the bank robberies and the times she almost got caught, tracing softly all the scars coating her body and telling the story of each. About her dear friends and all the gold she has gathered, as if still trying to convince you that life with her will be good.

But you didn't need to be convinced, as the single look into her loving eyes was enough.

And so, on the third day, you woke without her by your side. The bed was frozen cold, even though the summer couldn't be any warmer.

Your heart leaped into your throat at the sight of her things being gone. The hat, the flannel shirt, and the small bag she had brought with her.

A panic rose in your chest as you looked around the tiny room. In search of something, anything, just to make sure that she, in fact, hadn't left you here.

In a place where you would surely die.

After a moment, something white has caught your attention. A neat, creamy sheet of paper, lying folded on the bedside of an old wooden drawer.

You took it with shaking fingers before finally releasing a deep, teary sigh.

Everything is settled, dove. Meet me tonight at midnight behind the back door. Don't bring much. My heart needs only you.

Yours, Satoru

And thus the promise of evenings filled with orange sunset hues and hours spent peacefully on a porch suddenly became sharper.

As your young, fair heart needed nothing, no one, but a woman who spent half her stolen fortune to set her dove free.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

I'm ready to spend eternity with my wife... thank you Luci for creating the event, I had so much fun writing it! <3

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The number one principle you have always tell yourself to do is that you’d rather wait for someone than keep them waiting —it’s professional. Well, you figured it was just polite especially when you were meeting Shoko’s friend for the first time planned. All the other meetings with Satoru have gone unplanned and . . . it had been short, so you didn’t have to think of what sorts of conversation the two of you were going to do.

I feel like throwing up. You chanted softly, your hands clamped shut over the cold glass of iced coffee. The time reads 15.10, you had arrived here five minutes ago and ordered a cup of coffee to ease your nerves. Ever since he asked you for coffee the other day, you had been . . . quite nervous. “Quite nervous” is actually an understatement. If there was a word to describe the fact that you barely caught any sleep nor the smile that managed to pop up once in a while when you were laying down on bed, then that would be it.

“You’re early, I left work early so I would be first. But, seems like you beat me to it,” the familiar voice pokes at you.

And there he stood. A formal white colored button up shirt tightly shaping his biceps, rolle dup a couple of times, the bundled sleeves sitting right just above the crook of his elbow. He held onto his backpack, sitting down across from you, “Have you been waiting long here?”

You shook your head, “I just came five minutes ago.”

“I tried being early, and you were earlier,” he chuckled, nervously rubbing on his head.

You answered him, suppressing the smile from pulling wider, “I figured it’s just courtesy to show up early when we actually plan to meet for the first time alone,” Satoru raised a brow, nodding his head sheepishly, “but seriously, I’ve just sat down for five minutes.”

“My apologies for being late then.”

“Our designated time is fifteen-thirty, we’re both early,” if this was Naoya, he’d show up fifteen minutes late and tell you that you were being dramatic over a little range of time. But why were you comparing the two anyways? Naoya couldn’t compete where he don’t compare, “thank you for trying to come early though. I would have expected you to come later, especially since you’re a teacher . . . I guessed that you would have to stay back for sudden faculty meetings or student meetings.”

“Ah, yes. That happens a lot, today is just one of the days where it’s pretty peaceful, I’m surprised too,” he shrugs, eyeing the menu, “do you come here with Shoko often?”

You nodded. The café where she first intertwined your life with Satoru’s —the same day she told him about the plan, and the same day he declined blatantly to both of your faces, “She found the place though, apparently it’s been her usual since . . . Forever. I’m not surprised, the coffee they serve is pretty strong. That woman practically lives on coffee.”

“Yeah, not surprised. Med field? I’m surprised she’s only surviving on coffee too,” Satoru grins. His eyes panned to you briefly before it averts down to your bag on the seat next to yours, “hey, you like Pokemon?”

You laugh, “No, I bought it during a convention bevause I love the art style. This was . . . Maybe three years ago? Four-ish? Around that time, yeah,” his fingers touched the soft acrylic material of your keychain, “actually, I think Ieiri did mention that you love Pokemon. I know a thing or two about Pokemon, what’s your favorite Pokemon?”

Satoru’s eyes lit up at the question, he pushes up his glasses, “Me? It’s Popplio. And Popplio’s whole evolution,” he excitedly carried his backpack onto his lap, showcasing the pins and keychains of —you guessed— Popplio and it’s whole evolution, “your keychain is Rowlett. A starter Pokemon just like Popplio. That’s why I was surprised.”

Satoru’s mood seemed to brighten at the mention of his hyperfixation. His arm leaning on the table, right above the menu book that was left forgotten the second his eyes landed on your keychain. His body leaning slightly closer, and you chuckled, “I got a commission once to draw someone’s OC as a Pokemon trainer, I think the Pokemon they chose was . . . What is it? The starter. Shit, I actually forgot,” your finger tapped on the table in distress, trying to remember the name of the small monster, “well, it’s fire type. I remember them asking for me to draw flames and stuff, the monster is a light yellow, it looks like a fox. Orange fur thing coming out of it’s ears. White snout area . . . I just can’t pinpoint it’s name.”

“Fennekin?”

Your eyes lit up, nodding, “That’s it. Fennekin!”

Satoru’s palm curled into an excited fist, his body was practically trembling in joy, “I love Fennekin too. It’s a starter, you got that right. It’s actually inspired by a Fennec Fox. Isn’t that cool? I think the whole yellow and orange gave it out, Fennekin is famous for it too,” his lips moved quickly, the word flew out before Satoru could stop himself. Once he was done, he sheepishly rubbed against his arm, “sorry, I get excited when I can talk about my likes to someone who don’t mind listening. I hope.”

You didn’t know whether you should feel bad or honored —you shot him a reassuring smile, “Come on, I don’t mind at all. It’s great to learn new things as an artist, you know? So I’ll know what my client wants, tell me more.”

Satoru puffed his cheeks out slightly, “I actually don’t want to scare you, so I’ll do that once we get closer. I promise you, it’s hard to get me to stop talking once I start,” he gestured to the waitress nearby, ordering in a fleeting moment before turning his head back to you, “why don’t you tell me about yourself? Something that I don’t know yet from the first time we met with Shoko.”

You pondered slightly, “I’ve been drawing since forever. I strive to be a modern Van Gogh, somehow which is pretty impossible. But, you get the idea. I want to make it big in a world of imaginary, I want to be an artist people see and think ‘oh, she portrayed me well even if she isn’t talking about me’. Is that weird?” Truthfully, you had maybe expected a laugh or a joke from him, but he shook his head in answer.

A smile graced upon his lips, “Nope. I think that’s a nice dream.”

“Even when I’m far from it?” You chuckled, playing with the tip of your straw, folding it inward and outward in an attempt to calm your nerves at the reassuring words you’ve always seeked from the love of your life —then, of course— every single time you start second-guessing yourself. Instead, he was the reason for it, “Even if I only get commissions for fanarts now?”

“Fanarts are art too. In a way, you’re portraying someone else’s feelings into a form of art, which makes you even more amazing,” Satoru looks at you incredulously, his cerulean eyes narrowing the slightest bit, “I actually took you for an optimist. I guess that’s a mistake, but then again . . . Artists don’t get the recognition they deserve just because Artificial Intelligence is evolving. But, I assure you, AI will never compare to your blood, sweat, and tears (Name).”

He blinks in realization, “Which reminded me when I paid fifty bucks to an artist online and got AI art instead . . . I should commission you next time,” he murmured to himself, or you, you don’t know.

You laugh, “Yeah, people have been exposing them for a while now. I’m not surprised.”

The conversation flowed like stream that it surprises you somehow. His words connected yours like a piece of puzzle, and yours fit him the same way. Minutes ticked by, the both of you jumped from one topic to another ina flash and everything was going well. Too well that you weren’t equally surprised when it was ruined by a familiar voice that you would absolutely love to unfamiliarize.

“Huh, so you got a new play thing already?”

Your eyes flew shut. Already the pound in your head started like drums of coronation, fuck. Why is he everyhwere now that the two of you broke up? Inhaling sharply, you flutter your eyes open, Naoya standing gracefully beside the table, “What do you need?” This time, he wasn’t alone —you’d recognize the girl dressed in a tight blouse and knee length skirt behind him as his secretary, her sharp eyes gazing on your figure. You’ve always gotten a jist that she disliked you from the first time you saw her; counting 5 years ago when she first started in Naoya’s family company. Apparently, she thought you were too “clingy” for her boss, which mind you, at that time was your boyfriend.

Satoru’s brows pinched together, he stared at Naoya before his gaze coaxes towards you, “Do you know him . . ?” Unfortunately, you would like to say. But, all you could muster out was a stiff nod, lips pursed in annoyance, “Who is this?”

Naoya had his hand on his hip, laidback as if this was another day for him —which you would guess is, he’s an oppressive jerk who does this to his own employees too— in a year. He stared Satoru down from head to toe, a cheshire grin on his face, “You downgraded, (Name),” your fists clenched under the table, fisting your knee in anger, “a Digimon dweeb over a company owner?”

“Pokemon,” Satoru corrected.

“Who gives a fuck, dweeb?” His whole façade screams out high school bully and you hate it. The tip of your sandal touched Satoru’s shin as a small signal to just let Naoya ramble on his own, and Satoru nodded his head in agreement, “Serious heads up, she draws shit for a living, barely has the money to live, and would not want to stay at home to serve you. And if you’d like to take a tip from a successful guy like me, I’d say she’s not worth it . . . Or, you’d have to force her to know her place as woman. Take this as a helping hand from someone who dated her for seven years before she decided to leave over a harmless post.”

Your heart dropped. Is he implying that you were nothing but a maid? What a fucking jerk! Satoru spat out, “Is there a reason beside spite that your ex-lover has found a better date than you that you took the time to bother her action to find the love she deserves? Because from a dweeb’s point of view, you are a narcisstic pain in the ass who think of women as nothing but a maid to serve you —which is funny because women can do as much as we men, but people like you expect them to do less. And if you are an owner of a company? God, help your employees,” Satoru spoke with trained calmness, a small smile hovering over his lips that screamed ‘kill with kindness’, “And I would appreciate it if you could leave and stop bothering our date, because you had just killed the mood.”

Naoya’s smirk faltered, he grits his teeth in anger, “Aren’t you charming? Men like you will never compare to men like me.”

Satoru drawls out, “I wouldn’t want to be compared to someone like you either, I’d take that as a win,” he grins, “also, it would be appreciated if you could apologize to (Name) for what you said because frankly I find it insulting.”

Your jaw dropped slightly at Satoru’s command. Naoya clicked his tongue, a loud grunt escaping his throat as he turned away, kicking the floor in anger as he walks out. His secretary quietly follwing his steps, “He came in here just to pull at your strings, huh? He is as good as an unemployed person that isn’t even trying to be employed, I’m guessing . . . Family business?”

Your head bobbed, “Yeah, priviledges.”

Satoru shrugs, “Isn’t hard to judge. I’m glad you broke things off, but . . . Seven year?’ His brow raised, appalled. You covered your face, “You deserve better.”

“Don’t even remind me, I thought I could change him,” your voice muffled into your hand in embarrassment, “Ieiri had given me an earful, I don’t need a teacher to tell me the same. I’ve realized, okay? He’s a jerk, I get it.”

“He’s insufferable. I hate people like him.”

“Tell me about it. Everyone I’ve introduced him to so far has hated him,” you mumbled, thinking of past friends and co-workers in jobs you took as a college student. Some even cutting you off for the reason that you decided to stay even after getting hurt, you couldn’t blame them at all —because, you’d do the same if you were them, stupid, “I just held on to that little possibility.”

“Hope,” Satoru corrected, “a possibility is a state or fact of something being able to exist, happen, or to be true. Whereas, hope means that you’re confident but not certain that a desire or something positive is attainable. You hoped that he will change, but after seeing him, I don’t even think the possibility is there. You hoped he’d change for you because you were in love, and that’s okay too because I was also you,” he nods his head.

“Elaborate?”

He nervously chuckled, “To put it short. Loser falls in love with popular girl. Popular girl gives him hope. They date. Popular girl cheats. Loser boy thinks she’ll change because he thinks she loves him. Popular girl cheats again. Loser boy breaks up. Full version will have to wait until we’re closer,” you rolled your eyes, “I’d say we’re ten percent closer right now. Which is good progress, I don’t make friends a lot unless they adopt me.”

You laugh, “Ten percent is generous. I like that.”

Satoru scratched his cheek, “He said something about a harmless post—”

“That requires eighty percent friendship, like you said,” you hummed in content, smiling from ear to ear watching him roll his eyes.

“No, we met up, talked, and Naoya just happened to turn up inside the same café. How is he everywhere?” Your phone slid slightly, your shoulder flinched to tighten your hold on the device as you poured the chicken noodle soup from a couple of days ago —that you just warmed up— into a big bowl, carrying it over towards the coffee table, “Also.”

“This could mean bad or good, which also?”

You shrugged even though Shoko couldn’t see you, “Like . . . More of a confused and appalled kind of ‘also’. You get it,” her hum signified you to continue, and you did, “Satoru kinda played the part about . . . Us in a date and stuff, but I guess it was just to spite Naoya. Still though, kinda surprised that he admitted we were on a date.”

“When did you both start on first name basis?” Shoko slyly asked, the tone in her voice was mocking, in a good friendly way, “All I’m saying is that, now that Naoya thinks the both of you are getting close —I’d expect more of the whole ‘couple’ act. Anyways, what do you think of him so far?”

“Satoru?” You questioned.

“Mhm.”

The gears in your head turned at the question, adjectives popping up, and you mutter out, “He’s nice. And he’s kinda cute? He gets excited over my Pokemon keychain, and he’s very smart. Did I tell you about the time I bumped into him in a coffee shop and he began explaining about all this force, mass, acceleration thing?” You chcukled, quietly reminiscing the moment, “And archery, gravity, and whole lot of that.”

“Sounds like him alright. I got a lesson when I mistakenly asked about what he’s doing,” Shoko mumbles out softly, mustering a yawn after a long shift, “he’s just that type of person, you know?”

You nodded, blowing on the bowl. Steam floating upwards as you slot your legs under the table, “Yeah, I can see that now. We exchanged numbers.”

“Oh?”

“For other purposes, get your head out of your ass. It’s not a hat,” Shoko chuckles loudly, “I’m gonna eat, and no it’s not instant ramen. It’s chicken noodle soup, I had extra bokchoy in it because you said it’s healthy. Okay? Bye.”