Heartbreak is the national anthem. We sing it proudly.

“Rerouting a reroute?” you deadpanned.

“You know, you can drive yourself, sweets?” he answered half-pissed, half-joking, so you decided not to push it because last thing you needed was you driving, because he would never shut the fuck up about how you’re too close to the line, how you’re driving slowly (read as driving according to the traffic regulations) and that you’re messing with his perfectly reclined seat.

“I’m just asking, because you said we will go to the beach again today and it’s kinda getting late.”

“You have something against a night swim?” He raised his eyebrows, glancing over at you briefly with that look he got when he thought he was being very funny. “We could skinny dip.” He wiggled them.

You looked at him flatly from your passenger seat. He was already smiling before you’d said anything, which was annoying as fuck, already pre-celebrating his own stupid jokes with the dimples of his and all.

“Don’t push your luck, Gojo.”

“That’s not a no no,” he said, turning back to the road.

“It’s a no, what the fuck. I don’t wanna see you naked,” you rolled your eyes and turned to the window instead, because the joke was getting old and it was kinda annoying that it wasn’t exactly half-true either.

Because, like… it’s not like you had a crush on him. Or maybe a bit. He was hot, okay, everyone knew it, it wasn’t like you were fucking blind. You could feel your cheeks annoyingly flush just like they did yesterday at one of the beach stops, when you’d been changing next to the car and the bikini top clasp was being stupid again, so you’d asked him to help you fasten it. Whatever, it was nothing. Except his fingers had been so nicely warm, yet left goosebumps in their trail on your back, and he’d taken perhaps just a second longer than needed, and then whispered “done” waaay too close to your ear, his breath ticklish against it, and you’d kind of forgotten how to walk for a second.

Or when you’d helped him lather his pale skin with sunscreen so he wouldn’t burn alive. Except all his muscles were right there under your touch. And look, your crush on him came and went, suppressed so deep it was basically nonexistent, except the bitch decided to crawl back out of the pits of the horny jail dungeon first hour into the roadtrip when he steered the wheel with one hand like guys did, his other hand resting on the center console so so close to your thigh that you simply didn’t have any defenses against that, okay. You see biceps, you forget your morals. So like seeing his quads tensing — because the fucker bribed you with his annoying cute puppy eyes to lather him fully rather than just his back, since you apparently were doing it so nicely and thoroughly.

So you’d have to excuse yourself for being a bit of a bitch, because trying to actively not drool at the sight of your best friend’s anything, while trapped hours on end in his car, was kind of a task.

And he had the nerve to look offended at that! He side-eyed you and turned up the volume on his amazing, “quintessential” (heavy quotes on that one) roadtrip playlist, that was basically unlistenable for anybody else.

You were mid-glare back at him when he hit, or more fittingly, absolutely did NOT hit, a note in the song, and you happened to glance at the pinned location’s navigation on his Google Maps, which was showing a route that was basically completely off road.

“I hope you actually know where you’re going?!” you yelled over a particularly aggressive bass drop.

“Trust the vision!” he yelled back, entirely too cheerful and then cranked the steering wheel violently to the right.

“WHAT THE HELL—” You slammed a hand against the roof handle as the car swung off the asphalt onto something that could generously only be described as a “road.”

“So there’s this road,” he started to explain, when you looked at him in horror.

“I can’t see that there’s a road, Satoru—”

“I saw this on TikTok,” he said, as if that explained anything. “The views are supposed to be insane. Plus you wanted to go to a beach today, no?”

“Yes, but on a normal fucking road and not a hiking trail!”

“Now you’re just getting picky.” He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands now, reverting to the basics as the car went over some big-ass rock or something. “You are spoiled as hell. It’s a — it’s a scenic route!”

“Yeah, we will scenically crash down the fucking cliff, Satoru,” you threatened, your voice bouncing as the car ran over a few washboard ruts.

“We won’t, as long as I’m driving,” he strained to say, his knuckles white on the steering wheel now. He was leaning forward, squinting through the dusty windshield as if sheer willpower could pave the dirt in front of him. “Which you can thank me for, because if you were driving we’d be down the cliff already. Only last week we almost crashed because the manhole cover felt weird.”

“The fuck, take that back! You just have a shitty car in which you feel every — ahh — fucking bump,” you shrieked, as the undercarriage scraped against something ugly, sounding suspiciously like a muffler meeting its maker.

“Do not disrespect the steed,” Satoru bit back, though the cockiness was steadily being replaced by legit stress. “She has a heart. She’s built for this. And the overlook is right around this bend, I swear—”

Bang!

The steering wheel suddenly jerked violently in Satoru’s hands, pitching the car hard to the left before he managed to pull it to a stop on the widest part of the road, with the cliff edge a generous meter and a half away.

You stared wide-eyed through the windshield, literally going through a near-death experience, while Satoru turned off the music that was overly too cheerful for a situation like this. You watched a seagull fly past as it disappeared toward the horizon which yeah, you had to give it to him, it was really scenic.

You both got out of the car to confirm your suspicion that yes, you had just gotten the most violent flat tire in the history of flat tires. The front left was absolutely and completely deflated, weighing the car down pathetically.

“Okay,” you said. Your voice was calm. “Okay. It’s fine. It’s just a blowout. We pop the trunk, get the jack, and put on the spare tire.”

Satoru was staring straight at the wheel, blinking very slowly. His hands were on his hips when he bit his lip. “Yeah,” he croaked. “So about that.”

He then oh so graciously explained that he’d lent the spare to Shoko when she went on her ski trip during the winter, and had kinda forgotten to put it back since. Oh my fucking god. You closed your eyes with the greatest of great dignity, not entirely sure if you wanted to shout or just maniacally laugh. You glanced down at the blown-out tire and then turned and started walking back uphill.

“Where are you going?!” he called after you.

“To find a signal!” you shouted back, not turning around. “So I can call roadside assistance! What the fuck else!?”

“It’s getting dark—”

“I KNOW IT’S GETTING DARK, WHOSE FAULT IS THAT.”

His voice came from further behind you now, somewhere between defensive and guilty. You were furious and your heart was going too fast and it was not entirely about the tire, if you were being honest.

It took several minutes of angry uphill stomping to find exactly one bar of 3G, and shouting at a very unsympathetic roadside assistance dispatcher who basically laughed when you tried to describe your location as “some trail by the cliff off the highway.”

And so, no one was driving a tow truck up whatever the fuck road that was, probably catalogued on AllTrails as “moderate hike”, in the pitch black. They would come tomorrow morning at first light.

You ran back down very quickly because it was now really dark and you’d heard some weird-ass sounds coming from the bushes nearby. Satoru was leaning against the hood. The night breeze was picking up, chilling the sweat on the back of your neck, but your blood was still running entirely too hot as you marched up to him.

“Good news or bad news?” he chirped when he heard you approaching.

“The good news is that the dispatcher thinks you’re an idiot,” you snapped, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “The bad news is that they aren’t coming until tomorrow morning.”

Satoru puckered his lips as he scrunched his nose. The crickets in the bushes suddenly sounded very loud. He ran a hand through his white hair, blowing out a long breath. “Right. Okay. Tomorrow morning. It’s fine. It’s like camping!”

“We are not camping, Satoru! We are stranded!” you threw your hands up, the frustration boiling over again as you plopped down on the hood next to him. The car swayed unsteadily under the combined weight, which felt about right.

He only side-eyed you but said nothing, and slid down a fraction when he felt your head lean against his shoulder. You kind of stopped arguing at that as both of you knew it wasn’t going to lead anywhere. But you were still annoyed and you were pretty sure he knew that. You were also tired, and the stars looked so pretty against the night sky.

Neither of you said anything for a bit. There was just the rhythmic crashing of the ocean below and the occasional rustling in the bushes that made you fear for your own safety a little.

“I can’t believe I actually agreed to this,” you mumbled into his sleeve.

Satoru hummed at that, flexing his arm slightly underneath you as if he knew he was proving a point. “Well, I can.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, not opening your eyes. “Enlighten me.”

“You knew exactly how this trip was going to go,” he said. You opened your eyes at that and stared up at the stars for a moment again. He wasn’t wrong, which was the annoying part.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you said, but it came out softer than you intended.

“Doesn’t it?” He turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing against the top of your hair. “You still wanted to be stuck in a car with me for a week. So that’s on you, sweets.”

“And why,” you said quietly, lifting your head from his shoulder, your heart picking up in a way that had nothing to do with the bushes anymore, perhaps trying to dare him, “would I want that?”

Satoru looked down at you. The moonlight caught the pretty blue of his eyes, they got a bit darker now, feeling the change in air between you two. He looked right at you, and then, deliberately, let his gaze drop to your mouth.

“For the same reason I planned the trip in the first place,” he breathed, leaning in just a fraction when your eyes dropped instinctively to his lips as well.. “I just needed an excuse.”

He then dipped his head even further and finally kissed you. Softly. Just a press of his mouth against yours, careful in a way Satoru almost never was about anything, like he’d been hyping himself up to do it for way longer than he’d like to admit. Which he kind of was. This roadtrip was supposed to be the “we’re finally getting together” roadtrip, exactly as he’d proudly told Suguru during the night out when he’d sent you that drunken voice note.

But why the fuck were you not kissing him back? Did he miscalculate all those lingering touches, the flushed cheeks, and the heavy tension between you two? He pulled back. The half-second that followed was probably the longest of his life. You were looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read, which almost never happened, because he could always read you, and the silence was squeezing in his chest.

He swallowed hard, his eyes wide and suddenly painfully vulnerable in the moonlight. He opened his mouth, likely to backtrack, to laugh it off as a joke, to say that he just wanted to try some stupid TikTok challenge about kissing your best friend.

“An excuse?” you whispered, blinking at him mildly offended. “An excuse to try to throw us off the fucking cliff?”

“Wha—” He didn’t get the rest of the syllable out before you yanked him by the hair at the nape of his neck, dragging him right back down against your mouth as you finally kissed him properly. Because he might be stupid for whatever the fuck he so apparently “planned” but he finally kissed you so there’s that. Took him only a few years. 

Satoru immediately groaned. Because, holy fucking shit, as your tongue licked against his lips, his hand instantly flew to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to drag you closer. The kiss went from properly to properly in about five seconds flat.

His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer in the slightly awkward way that kissing on a car hood entailed. But he tasted so nicely, his tongue was rogue and demanding against yours, making you whimper against him as his hands started to needily roam over your body. He pushed you down on the hood as he leaned over you, leaving a wet trail of kisses on your neck and you moaned, wondering what else that mouth can do and why it hasn’t been doing this already for years.

“’Toru,” you protested as he was diligently working on a hickey right on your neck.

“Hm.” He wasn’t really listening as his mouth was booked and busy. His fingers found the hem of your t-shirt and shoved it up your armpits, exposing your bare tits to the night air. “Fucking finally,” he groaned appreciatively and immediately wrapped his pretty lips around one of your peaked nipples. He sucked hard, running his tongue around the sensitive nub, making you squirm underneath him, which only made him smirk.

“We’re—nghh—in the middle of nowhere and on a cliff,” you arched into him unappreciatively.

“And?” It was more of a rhetorical question as he painted another hickey into your skin right on your left boob. His hands found the waistband of your shorts, “we’re gonna be here until morning anyway.” He got them open, yanked the zipper down, then hooked his fingers in both the waistband. “So we might as well,” he continued, tugging, “make it worth it, princess.” 

Your poor shorts and panties hit the dirt somewhere near the front tire. RIP. He stood up looking down at you properly so prettily splayed on his car, naked just for him, your pretty tits heaving and your blushing cunt smiling up at him from between your opened legs.

He shoved his own shorts down just far enough to free his cock. He was already hard and aching, which it kinda was ever since he glanced up at you yesterday when you were changing into your bikini and might have seen more than he should have. He wrapped one of his hands around his shaft, giving himself a single stroke as he looked at you, eyes hazy and heavy like he couldn’t decide whether to keep talking or just fuck you stupid.

“Christ, look at you,” he said as he dragged two fingers of his free hand through your slicken cunt, pressing them in enough to feel how wet and warm you already were. “You’re so soaked. How long have you been sitting in that passenger seat this wet for me?”

You tried to answer, you really really did, but only managed a shaky breath out when he rubbed those fingers over your clit once, twice before pulling them completely away. He then lined himself up against your throbbing hole, the pink cockhead nudging against you, probing you open, but staying on the outside, teasing you.

“Satoru—” you gritted through your teeth as he grabbed your thighs and pushed your legs against your chest so he could use your legs as handles.

“I know, I know,” he cooed mockingly before finally pushing in. Your pussy immediately fluttered around him, trying to take all of it, and Satoru watched you with his mouth slightly open, eyes half-lidded and dark.

“Fuuuck—look at that,” he breathed, voice already wrecked. “Look at how you’re swallowing me, taking me so well already. Making me think you like me, mm?”

“M-maybe,” you managed, more of a squeak than a dignified answer as he sank fully to the hilt. You were so full it almost hurt, stretched so tightly around him.

“Shit,” he muttered, grinding deep. “You’re so fucking tight. Squeezing me already and I haven’t even moved yet.” He pulled back almost completely, the cold breeze brushing against your wet core for a second before he slammed his hips back.

The car started to rock under you. The old suspension groaning loudly under the weight and the force of his thrusts. “Satoru—” you shrieked, half in mind-melting pleasure already, half in genuine terror as the slanted hood dipped even further toward the dirt on the broken-tire side. “We’re going to break the car!”

“So what,” he growled and wrapped one of your legs around his waist to give himself better leverage at the slanted angle of the car. The combined sound of skin smacking! and the car squeaking! filling the night silence. The angle making his tip bully your cervix with every thrust, making your toes curl.

“Yeah, that’s it. Feel that? That’s all me, princess. Stuffed full on the side of a fucking cliff.” He started thrusting properly, deep and steady, watching where he disappeared into you and then at your face like this was the best thing he’d ever experienced. He started to kiss up your propped-up leg in between his rolls and thrusts that made your cunt whimper with every rotation. If you knew your best friend had THIS of a dick game you might have risked it earlier.

“Knew it,” he breathed, more to himself than you. “Knew you’d feel like this. Thought about it — nghh — so many times.”

He grabbed the back of your neck, pushed you up on your elbows and kissed you hungrily, exchanging spit and moans.

“Been waiting for this for so long, baby,” he kept on babbling. “Was supposed to have you at the overlook we were heading to. Had the whole thing planned, I wanted to do this romantic dinner picnic, confess I’ve been in love with you for years—”

“You and your plans,” you interrupted weakly in between his breaths, completely delirious from the pleasure and the strong feelings colliding.

“But, look where it got us,” he said, and he sounded so fond, so soft in contrast to his working hips. “Look at you now. Legs up, tits out, taking my cock like you were made for it.”

“’Toru, fuuck,” you cried out, not entirely sure if him not being able to shut the fuck up and talking you through it was annoying or so fucking hot to the point your walls were sucking him in. “Please don’t stop talking.” Your mouth apparently made the decision.

He laughed against your lips. “Yeah? You —ahh— like it when I talk?” He thrust in harshly and stayed there for a second, grinding, making sure you felt every fucking inch. “Because I can keep on going. I’ve got so much shit I-I’ve been holding in.” He rolled his hips. “Like how I’ve jerked off thinking about having you under me, legs open, looking all fucked out already exactly like this.”

He pulled almost all the way out again, then slammed back in so hard your elbows nearly slipped on the hood.

“Shit—listen to that.” The slick, lewd sound of him fucking into you was loud as hell in the quiet of the night. “Your cunt’s making the filthiest noises for me. So greedy, so pretty.”

He shifted the other hand to rub your throbbing clit, and your whole body arched clean off the hood. His mouth found your ear. “Told you I planned the whole trip for this. Wanted to take my time. Get you all soft and sweet on a blanket somewhere pretty.” He licked into your ear and you moaned loudly. “Instead I’m railing you on my broken car and it’s better than anything I could’ve ever planned.”

He pinched your clit and you came haaard against him, pussy so prettily gushing, swallowing him in as your muscles coiled in pleasure. He was kissing you through it, not letting your head fall back, swallowing every moan, every whimper that escaped your mouth, ungodly prolonging your orgasm as he kept on thrusting, chasing his own.

“Fuck—fuck, just like that—” His voice cracked. He was slamming into you now, messy and desperate, hips stuttering as your cunt kept milking him with every violent aftershock. “Gonna come. Gonna fill you up—shit—”

He buried himself as deep as he could go, bruising your inviting cervix. One hand still gripping the back of your neck, keeping you in place, in this specific angle. He moaned as he came, keeping still and flush against you, grinding shallow, as his cum spilled and painted your walls pretty white.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered against your mouth, still shaking a little. “Fuck, you feel sooo good.”

He kept pressing small kisses along your jaw, corners of your mouth and your nose as he remained buried inside of you, enjoying the gooey warmth of your pussy. The car underneath you holding on for its dear life as he dropped down against you. Satoru was panting, the seeping warmth of his heated body warming up yours, though the coastal night air creeping in on the exposed parts, raising goosebumps all over your sensitive skin.

Satoru’s white hair was a slicked and messy disaster, lips kiss-swollen and so red as he looked down at you so soft and fond. A pretty smile spread across his face, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks.

“So,” Satoru rasped and pressed a kiss to your lips. “I’m assuming you’re not mad at me for the flat tire anymore?”

You shot him a very unpleasant face despite your cheeks being still flushed so cute for him.

“What?” he protested as the soft smile got immediately replaced by a stupid smirk. “Let’s move to the backseat now, we still have an entire night in front of us.”

he leans in closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “almost done,” his fingers dip lower, tracing the line where your bikini bottoms meet your skin, “just gotta make sure every inch is covered. can’t have my beautiful wife getting burned, can we?”

his fingers dip just beneath the fabric of your bikini bottoms, tracing the crease where your thigh meets your ass, “toru,” you warn, your voice muffled by your towel.

“hmm?” he hums against your ear, his fingers inching just a fraction lower. your eyes dart past him, towards the shoreline where you can barely make out yuuta’s figure crouched by the water’s edge. 

“toru,” you reiterate, a little more insistently, “yuuta’s still over there.”

“i would hope so, he’s supposed to be finishing our sandcastle” he says, and then, in a movement so fast it makes your head spin, he hooks an arm around your waist and flips you over onto your back. he’s hovering over you now, caging you in with his body, blocking out the sun and your view of anything but him.

“much better” his bare, bright blue eyes are glued to your face, taking in every detail; the way your lips are parted, the flustered look in your eyes. his lips curl into a wide grin “now i can look at you properly.”

“get off m– ” you start, but the rest of the sentence dies in your throat as he shifts, pressing you more firmly into the towel. 

“you want me to get off you ?” he repeats, tilting his head with a look of mock innocence that contradicts his grin, which is pure sin. “hmm. weird. ‘cause the look on your face right now is begging me to do something else entirely. . . like get you off”

“behave” you say somewhat firmly. your husband pays you no mind.

“now where’s the fun in that?” he shifts, his thumb coming up to trace the line of your jaw. “especially when you’re looking at me like that. . i bet you’re thinkin’ about what i can do with my hands, my mouth” you are, of course, but you’d never tell him that.

“as if . . . i’m not a deviant like you,” you scoff, “i’m thinking about asking yuuta to tell rika to throw you to the sharks, actually, so i can go back to my nap”

“ah but you married me, so you must secretly be a deviant too” he grins, blue eyes crinkling at their corners. you open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. he’s not wrong, not really. you did marry him. against your better judgment.

“though, no need to get rika involved . . . i’ll be good.” the look in his eyes says he’ll be anything but. his gaze drops down to your lips for a split second before flicking back up to meet your eyes. “i’ll let you get back to your very important nap,” he pauses, “riiight after i collect my reward for being such a good husband and reminding you to reapply your sunscreen and helping you do it”

“and why would i ever reward bad behavior?” you ask, brows furrowed, “especially when you’re being so annoying”

“i’m being affectionate” he says pointedly, batting his long lashes, “c’mon sweets give me a kiss, just one and i’ll leave you be”

you don’t believe him for a second, but you also know you won’t be getting any peace until you give him what he wants. with a sigh that’s more for show than anything, you lean up and press your lips against his. it’s meant to be quick, a chaste peck to appease him, but he has other plans. his tongue traces your bottom lip, his hand moves from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss. when he pulls away, you’re left staring at him, your mind completely blank.

“one more.” he murmurs, lips still hovering above yours 

“you little liar. . . you said– ” he cuts you off with his lips crashing back onto yours, stealing the air from your lungs. you can’t help but melt into the kiss. it’s slow and sweet like the afternoon. tasting of sea salt and spearmint. you sigh against his lips, fingers brushing against his undercut. your eyes flicker open momentarily, expecting to find his closed in blissful concentration. they aren’t.

they’re open, heavy-lidded and fixed right on your face, watching every tiny shift in your expression as you kiss him. even now as your gaze meets his, he doesn’t blink or look away.  a giggle bubbles up your throat. you try to pull back, to break the kiss and laugh properly, but his hand on the back of your neck holds you firm. his tongue sweeps into your mouth again and he can feel the vibration of your laughter against his lips. you’re still giggling when there’s finally a slither of distance between you.

“who the hell kisses with their eyes open?” your chest heaves as peals of laughter ripple through you

“i do,” he doesn’t give you a chance to retort, instead pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “especially when the view’s this beautiful.” another kiss lands on your jaw, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose. he’s relentless. showering you in pecks that have you squirming and giggling beneath him. 

“you’re such a weirdo, there’s something seriously wrong with you” you gasp between fits of laughter, trying to wiggle away from his onslaught. you push weakly at his shoulders, but it’s like trying to move a brick wall, “i can’t believe i’m stuck with you forever”

“forever, and ever, and ever” he says, lying on top of you with a happy sigh. you remain tangled together for a few minutes, until your laughter eventually subsides and you feel beads of sweat trickle down your forehead.

your nails trail over his back, feeling the shift of muscle under his skin, leaving faint red lines that’ll fade by morning. each scrape of your nails earns you a low hum against your skin. the air grows thicker and heavier with every passing second until you’re practically melting into the towel, into him. and it’s too hot to stay intertwined like this “okayyy” you sigh, “you can get off me now,”

satoru groans against your shoulder, but he pushes himself up anyway, keeping himself propped on his forearms to look down at you. “i guess i did promise to let you take a nap,” he says, a dramatic sigh puffing out his cheeks, even though he’s successfully managed to chase away all traces of sleepiness and you’re wide awake now.

“i don’t think i can anymore,” you admit, a pout forming on your lips.

“just like i planned,” he grins. in a single, fluid motion, he sits up fully, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you as if you weigh nothing more than a seashell. you let out a surprised squeal, your arms automatically wrapping around his neck as he rises to his feet.

“toru! where are you taking me?!” you ask, clinging to him like a vise

“to see my sandcastle, of course!” he quips, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he strolls towards the shore, bare feet sinking into the soft sand. and as you settle against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, you can’t help but smile.

mimi’s notes: something short n sweet bc i missed writing for summer isn’t over yet!! also gojo never died btw. and he flew everyone to kenya the next summer. it’s canon. thangya!

99.96%.

‘Oh’ was right.

Just his name sends a thrill down your spine.

Your fists clench in your lap, and before you know it, you’re nodding at the woman. “I would…like to meet him, please.”

.

.

.

Name: Fushiguro Toji

Age: ?*

Occupation: ??

Category: DILF

Primary likings: Rough. Manhandling. Doggy. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 8 onwards…)

*Got offended when asked (assumed mid-thirties).

One date that lasts about an hour.

One date that lasts about an hour - that’s all it takes for the boiling tension between you and ‘Mr. Fushiguro Toji’ to bubble over. Perhaps it was due to the shared knowledge that you two were scientifically identified to be perfect sexual matches, perhaps it was the way those vine-green eyes swept over you leisurely, appreciatively, as you walked into the romantic dinner date arranged by the agency.

It seems Toji had entered himself into the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT on accident after believing it was a normal matchmaking agency.

“—so imagine my surprise when I get there n’ all the questions are about what positions I like to stick my dick in?” He’d gruffed over the candlelit dinner - French cuisine, was it? A few of the other patrons glared at him, but Toji paid no attention. “I mean- I went along with it, of course. Already paid about twenty yen, hmpf…but I hadn’t actually planned to go through with this bullshit until-”

Those intense eyes of his flickered to you once more.

“-I saw that application of yours- of course.” And you felt the inchoate desire in your stomach give a strange twist—“A 99.6-”

“99.96%. Actually.” You interrupted, gnawing on your bottom lip.

“Interesting.” Toji smiled and leaned back into his chair. “Really interesting.”

And perhaps it was—

“Don’t tell me I’ve fucked ya speechless already when I haven’t even put it in?”

You’re snapping back to your senses- enough reminiscing about those first few minutes of meeting the man that was currently hugging you close to him - crushing you against his sultry sweat-sticky abs - not in a gentle display of affection, but such a lecherous embrace. Tacking his toned pelvis against your ass. Letting his engorged tip push-push-push between your pussylips and sliiiiiiiide down all those tender innards. 

Toji keeps you from moving even a single inch as he shuffles you into doggy position. The bed whines just as you do. “S’this your favorite?” He watches from the corner of his eye as you nod. “Yeahhhh, mine fuckin’ too, girlie.”

And, in emphasis, he’s circling one roughened palm over your right ass cheek—giving just a brazen little smack. 

“Mine fuckin’ too, girlie.” 

“I mean, there’s a reason they matched us.” You huff at him.

“Yeah- and I’m about to find out.” Toji mutters. And you’re hearing him before anything else - the soft creaking! of that shitty love hotel bed, dipping, as he shuffles even closer—the sultry lil’ smooch of his wet tip kissing your hole. Thump-thump-thump—you can count every pulse. His or yours? “Bite the pillow.”

“Why would I need to- ohhhh, mpf-”

The answer to your question comes swift and merciless - because in one fluid motion Toji has his cocktip burgeoning inside, and his hips plastering to yours. 

He keeps both hands - warm and slightly gnarled with callouses from whatever shady line of business he was in - firmly upon either side of your waist. Using his massive strength to jerk you back—just a little…But it feels like Toji was pumping thoroughly into your deepest core.

He was usin’ the little flare underneath his tip to stretch that snug channel- stretching and stretching that first ring of muscle. And then bashing his cockhead in so roughly that you start to wonder whether he was having issues controlling himself—you’re feeling Toji let out a little cracked groan as he feels your walls quiver around him. And then he’s pushing his hot cock in aaaaaaall the way as deep as it could go- “Aaaaaaatta girl. That’s a good girl. Now for the fun part…” 

You furrow your brows half-heartedly. “This isn’t already the fun part?” Earning yourself the oh-so-lascivious punishment of yet another spank on your right cheek; and then a few more probin’ pushes of his cock. “I was just—oh-” Your toes curl as he hits a particularly good spot without even trying.

“It is.” Toji responds. “But it’s just about to get a whole lot more fun.”

You’re shivering as one of his fingertips paint the line down your spine, immediately followed by a string of kisses as far as he could go. But, of course, you never did expect Fushiguro Toji to be so gentle—did you? You never wanted him to be, did you?

Because his lips hover ‘round the soft skin of your right shoulder—and without warning, he’s biting. Your mouth opens in a soundless scream.

With a grunt that sounds as though it’s been dragged from the primal depths of his throat, Toji jerks your hips back into his with a plap! of skin-on-skin. And almost before that, he’s suddenly starting to pummel and pummel those rugged hips of his into yours, utterly molding his thick cock into your goopy insides- coating every inch with a layer of his slick—

“Because.” Toji gruffs out in an animalistic way - he angles his head and licks a long stripe up your neck. “Because- it took me a loooooooong time to get matched on that damn program. A long fuckin’ time.”

“Oh-” You’re yelping as he tugs your arms from underneath you- and you’re collapsing face-first into the soft strawberry-scented pillows. Collapsed doggy. 

And before you know it, Toji straightens up and lets the heel of one of his feet rest on the corner of your shoulder. “Tch- way too fucking long.” This angle lets his cock penetrate even deeper, and his bouldering tip pushes into every single slick-filled orifice inside. “How long should it take to find a pretty babe f’me who likes it rough—” And he fucks you rough. “-who likes it hard—” And he fucks you hard. “-who likes me disrespectin’ this pussy like she deserves. Now how hard should that be, hm?”

And you’re unsure whether he was genuinely expecting a response or not - but you’re letting out a blabber of something you hope is comprehensible either way. “I—mmm, notthathard-”

“Exactly.” Toji huffs out a short breath of laughter. Then his hands are on you—pushing on the base of your spine and arching you in ways you didn’t even know were possible.

“O-ohhhhhh, harder-”

“Thought you said it wasn’t that hard? And throw in a little manhandling-” Arching. “Just a little dumbification.” Making you drool. He reaches his foot - just a little, just softly - up to put pressure on near your neck n’ restrict your air flow—he leaves you gasping and choking with every thrust. “A little choking- heh.” He looks you over. “Maybe a few daddy issues-”

“Hey!”

“And then you’ve got it. Perfectly matching. Now that shouldn’t be so hard, hm?”

But you can’t quite answer.

Because Toji’s fucking you so good- he’s thrusting his cock into yours like he wants his pelvis melded to yours ass. He’s crushing and draaaagging your limp body down the bed and into his strong arms. 

It’s almost as if your bodies are communicating with a secret language, because whenever you’re bouncing back he’s angling juuuust right to swab into your g-spot, when you’re jerking forwards he’s chasin’ after that syrupy-sweet pussy of yours. Candied with glittering globs of his pre. 

Creating a swatting sound so loud, creating a pressure between your legs so hard, that your ears start ringing—“Oh, p-please…”

“And y’know the only difference between you and me?” Toji’s still steamrolling his dirty sentences- and you can barely blink your eyes open past all the pleasure he’s giving you. But you must manage to make some noise of question, because he continues. “That agency categorized me as a DILF. And you’re no MILF…yet.”

A shockwave runs down your spine.

“Th-that means…”

Toji leans in and huffs. Clammy breath. “So that profile said something about a breeding kink?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 100.1% (?) MATCH!

“You’ve done it. I’m ah…not quite sure how- but you’ve done it.” Dr. Shoko breathes. And although the words are in her usual impervious tone of voice, there’s a quiver there at the end that, after weeks of appointments with the doctor, you’ve learned to pick out as foreign. 

Dr. Ieiri Shoko never wavers.

You’re leaning in and attempting to peek at your file. “Is there something wrong, doctor?”

“Not unless you count breaking the program’s metric wrong.” She slides over the file - face down as though the documents inside would snap at her if she wasn’t careful - and you’re immediately flipping it open. Your eyes widen as they’re immediately drawn to the bold, underlined number of a 100.1% match shown at the top of the first page—you’re then meeting Shoko’s own widened gaze.

“Huh?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Shoko opens her drawer and takes out two caplets of Extra Strength Tylenol and chugs them down—no water. She closes her eyes for a second to let them pass down her slender throat, and once she opens them again she’s immediately looking down at the file - as if hoping it had disappeared in the time. 

But no such luck for Dr. Ieiri Shoko today.

She lets out a prolonged sigh and leans back in her chair. Enough time has passed that the two of you could forgo such formalities in the presence of the other, “I just…I just don’t know how that could happen. Mathematically and scientifically, it just doesn’t make sense. And yet, the program never makes a mistake- never.”

You understood her plight - you’d looked over (and passed on) your fair share of matches, and the highest you’d gotten was a 78% match with some guy called Atsumu Miya—you just had this nagging feeling that you’d find a greater match.

A stronger…chemistry with someone else.

And so you’d passed. And passed. And passed, until you were starting to feel that perhaps you’d never find a match greater than the 90% or even 80% statistics that the site often boasted. That is until…

Name: Nanami Kento

Age: 27

Occupation: Office worker

Category: Gentleman with a big D.

Primary likings: Service dom. Fitting. Milk him. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 9 onwards…)

Your eyes linger on those last two words of his Primary Likings section: milk him…

And immediately you’re feeling a thrill shoot up between your legs—causing them to squeeze together, causing Shoko’s eyes to quickly flicker down at the miniscule action. “Hm.” She types something on her keyboard - and you assume she’s shooting an email to one of the matchmakers in the program. “Maybe that’s what they mean by a match of 100.1%…”

White-hot embarrassment curls around your heart. “What? Oh, you’re incorrigible-”

“And you’re glad.” She smirks. “This is what you’re been waiting all this time for, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes…” You’re looking down at the passport-sized photo of Nanami on the front page. It was seemingly some sort of office photo he must’ve used in his resumes as well; and there he stood all sharp and aloof - almost bored - in a form-fitting suit and his blond hair pushed back smoothly, deep-set eyes almost piercing through the photocopied paper. Like an utter gentleman. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

.

.

.

“It’s okay, darling, you don’t have to take it all—”

“But I want to, Kento.”

There’s something so sensual - so utterly fucking erotic - about the way Nanami looks when he’s on the verge of pussydrunkness. Sprawled out on the love hotel mattress. Jawline dotted with your recently-made hickies. His thick thighs are tensing and untensing—just as you’re straddlin’ his hips just a little wider and taking in Nanami’s rock-hard, drippin’ wet cock.

A meek blush creeps up the man’s cheeks once you cup them.

You’re lifting Nanami’s handsome face up to meet yours, and keep such looong, loving eye contact as you’re sliding your hips down and gulping one more inch after inch. Thick inch after inch. 

The poor man’s breath catches and he’s letting out a little whimper as Nanami’s hot girth fills you up tantalizingly. “Oh sh-shit—”

Your body arches into his. “Mmm, with such a big, pretty cock like this - how could I not?”

“P-pretty…” He repeats. Those golden-hazel eyes of his widen behind his glasses, and you swear you see them welling up with tears as you take him. “But darling, what if it’s too big?”

“It could never be too big.” You cock your head with a sultry smile. “We’re a 100.1% match, remember? That means…”

In emphasis, you’re swervin’ your hips down in a semi-circular motion that makes him drive even deeper.

“-every part of us matches.”

And then poor Nanami Kento - overworked, underpaid, going off of nothing but instant coffee and the smell of freshly-baked bread from the bakery near the office - is being ridden to heaven by your devilish hips. Up and down. Up and down. The way you’re digging your nails into his shoulders…the way you’re pushing your nipples up against his pecs, rubbing…the way you’re clenchin’ around his tip - right where he was the reddest and hottest and most sensitive - every time he probes inside.

A too-loud moan erupts from his lips—and Nanami immediately attempts to clamp his mouth shut.

But there’s no use. You’re watching with a knowing smile as you’re fucking such lasvicious moans n’ ribbons of spittle out of him. With every single squeeze. 

Spit drips down the side of his mouth- and he shivers as you lean in and lick it away. “S-so that means…” He whispers. Almost to himself. Those pretty eyes of his keep starin’ down lovingly at the area you two were connected. “-this lovely lady is made for me?”

“If by ‘lovely lady’, you’re referring to my pussy…” You reply coyly. You throw your arms around him and tug on those precious golden curls at the nape of his neck. It makes a sexy grunt escape Nanami’s lips. “Then why don’t you find out?”

And Nanami doesn’t know why- he can’t help himself.

It’s just like…the more times he’s thrusting inside your cunt, semi-thrusts, the deeper he’s delving between those sweet pussylips, the more addicted he’s getting to it.

He’s reaching up and pressing down where he was fitting inside.

“Oh.” Nanami’s eyes grow heavy. Drunk on lust. A twinge of pain runs up your core as he squeezes a mere inch more, “Oh. I-is this okay?”

“Keep going.”

And he’s stretching you so much you can’t even begin to describe—

“Shiiiiit-”

“Does it hurt? I hope it doesn’t hurt-”

“No no- oh, more-”

“It’s true—” He spits. Beads of sweat plaster his temple, and his features twitch in pure carnal ecstasy as you squeeze your pretty legs tighter around him. A vein makes itself prominent on his neck. “Fuck, it’s true- she’s taking me so well-”

With a single thumb, he spreads apart your pussylips n’ watches his inches slip inside.

“And she’s so hungry for it, too.” Nanami looks up at you. “Do you think she’s been hungry for it all this time, my love? My cock?”

“Oh, I bet.” Throwing your head back—you’re practically plastered against Nanami’s surprisingly toned front. “Keep going, keep going, keep going, please- Kento—”

“Anything for you.”

And to be honest, Nanami Kento never saw himself as the wild type in bed. 

For starters, he was a busy man—spreedsheets were his regular partner, and powerpoints were his mistress. And perhaps that was the exact reason Shoko, his lifelong friend, had signed him up for this stupid program. As much as Nanami had howled and huffed about the ethics of signing one’s friend up for this and ‘but he needs to work that day so he doesn’t need to do overtime…’ lo and behold there he found you.

Well, more like you found him.

Showing up so pretty and perfect for your first meeting in Shoko’s office—and when he’d seen that match measurement of 100.1%…Nanami felt a sudden flare of madness: that perhaps this entire thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Your second meeting had been in this cramped love hotel. 

And Nanami had meant to wine and dine you- he’d meant to…but here he was. Hand clamoring to clasp either side of your hips - leaving crescent nail marks. Hips pushing off the mattress in animalistic little jerks—not even propery fucking inside, just yearning to feel the carnal squeeze of your cunt—

He hits that one spot. And he knows he does.

Because Nanami’s feeling his rotund cockhead push apart your pussylips n’ then slip somewhere deeeeep inside - one velvety bundle of nerves that makes you moan uncontrollably. Just a few inches more and he’d be hitting your coveted cervix…

And he does, but it feels like whiplash.

Because soon enough Nanami’s flipped the two of you over so that the bed dips with your combined weight, with you being manhandled onto your back, and Nanami’s cock wedging deeper into your cunt than it’s ever gone before. Inch by inch. It’s a hypnotizing mix of pain and pleasure as he marks every nook, cranny, and crevice inside you with silky dollops of pre. 

He finally fits.

And Nanami lets out a massive gasp - several - as though he’d just finished a marathon once he does so. “100.1%” He throatily repeats - whilst it feels like you’re squeezing him strong enough to milk him. You’re letting out a botched moan as he nudges against your cervix with the top of his smooth tip, smearing sprays of gooey precum—as if he’d go even deeper if he could. 

“I wonder what the 0.1% is, my love?”

You’re not getting out of here alive.

♡ GETO SUGURU - 98% (UN)MATCH!

“This is so stupid- we have no bed chemistry.”

“Absolutely no chemistry.”

“Seriously no chemistry.” 

“Not even an ounce of chemistry.”

“Then why’re you inside me?”

“Why’d you ask me to be inside you?”

“I’m the one asking the questions here-” You scoff—but you know he’s got you cornered. And by the smug expression on Geto Suguru’s stupidly handsome face, he knows that too. 

Unfortunately for him - you’re never one to back down. And so you’re slightly lifting your hips off the sweat-sodden mattress, not giving the man a second of warning before you’re clamping your silken walls down haaaaard ‘round his cock—and you try to ignore just how good - and familiar - it feels to have him inside you.

There was the thickness of his cockhead - flared the most at the base and perfect to jostle apart your slutty channel like you wanted so badly. There was one- two- three of his most prominent veins, curved down the middle of his shaft and rubbing against your pulsating soft spots. There was the arch of his erection that meant he’d not only be pushed against your cervix- but also up at the roof of your cunt. 

His breath hitches, and he’s letting his head throw back. Cute. 

And you never did expect to be matched with your stupid ex on that stupid sexual matchmaking program.

Let alone actually have sex with him again.

Let alone this be your fourth round.

Name: Geto Suguru

Age: 28

Occupation: Prefers not to say

Category: Morally grey.

Primary likings: Degradation. Spitting. Choking. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 69 onwards…)

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Dr. Shoko had commented. “Maybe a little check-up-”

“No.” You’d responded. “I’m ah- fine. It’s just—what sort of a category is that?”

“You’d be surprised what our clients are into.” She looked at you with amusement. “And, it seems, you as well.”

You shrunk in the clinic seat in shame.

And the most infuriating part of all…was that the damn program had been correct. 

Geto managed to string your body n’ your pleasure along as if it took him no effort—he’d memorized all your sweetest spots inside and it seems he’d never forgotten, he’d never hesitate before spankin’ on your throbbing clit because he already knows it’s going to set your body alight, he’d thrash and thrash his hips into yours because he was fucking angry. And you were, too.

So why did the two of you break up in the first place? Ah, let’s just say…that plans of world domination and date nights don’t go together that well.

But Geto, it seems, was a changed man (or so he said).

He’d dissolved his cult that he always refused to call a cult (or so he said). He was back to self-studying and mending his relationships (or so he said) except, of course, his one with you…

“Stop thinking about what an asshat I am, you always get that look when you think about what an asshat I am.” You’re hearing Geto scoff from above you—and he has the audacity to lean down and prod your furrowed brow relaxed. “S’gonna make me soft.”

“Join the club, I’m already dry.”

With a single - perfectly shaped - brow raised, Geto creeps his right hand down your side—letting those soft fingertips of his just lightly caress the front of your cunt. Your utterly sodden cunt. “That’s not what this pussy’s telling me?”

You’re scrambling onto your elbows. “Communication issues for two years and suddenly you’re the pussy whisperer?”

“Yes. Good that you’re catching up-” That very hand comes up to push you down—“Down, gorgeous- let’s do it my favorite position, hm?”

You scoff. “I don’t remember your favorite position.”

“Oh yeah? Then why’re you halfway down to a full nelson?”

And it was true—ah, for all your supposed pride and dignity, and the pep talk that you’d given yourself before the agency-organized dinner date that you would totally not fuck Geto Suguru no matter how handsome he looked…

But dammit, he’d worn his long hair down.

Of course, the two of you argued over your romantic dinner. Squabbling. Bickering. Making the server hold in his laughter every time you (admittedly immaturely yet albeit justifiably) swiped something off of Geto’s plate when he wasn’t looking; whatever one wanted to call it.

Of course, the two of you ended up at the love hotel a few minutes away from the restaurant; whatever one wanted to call it.

And currently you’re basking in the saturated, sickly-sweet strawberry scent bursting out in plumes from the love hotel pillows. “Eugh- I hate this smell.”

“Oh shush, you’re underneath me.” Geto got himself settled in the full nelson underneath you- and he doesn’t waste a single second before collectin’ a few trickles of slick on his right palm. He then grabs himself and coats his shaft in all the gossamer substance—pushing his perky tip against your hole. And then inside.

“O-ohhhhh—” Your voice cracks.

“Shut up, you’ve taken me more.” Geto spits- and at that very moment, you’re embarrassed to say that a carnal part of you twitches. And soon enough, he’s getting absolutely slathered in all those dewy droplets of sap that he’s missed so much since the break-up—absolutely claiming him, is what Geto likes to think. “And heh- based on what I read on your profile…me telling you to shut up just made you wetter-”

“A coincidence.” You sputter. “S-surely a coincidence.”

“Hmmm? And is it a coincidence that almost all those cute kinks on your profile were ones that I got you into?” He purrs- purrs.

“Not all- hngh, of them-”

“Maybe, but let’s be real, gorgeous—” And then Geto trails off - and it’s never a good sign when Geto trails off. Because that means- smack! As expected, his fingertips come slammin’ down until your clit’s swelling just a bit more, and his hips don’t slow down for a single second. You’re wincing as he keeps steamrolling. “-this pussy learned most of her tactics from me.”

What arrogance. Although you couldn’t lie- seeing Geto so worked up sent pangs of pleasure searing through every fibre of your body. And your favorite method to get him to shut up was to-

“Clench.” He’s gritting his teeth—hissing his words out through them, as he bucks his hips upwards- meeting your flutterin’ walls head-on with a sudden thwack! at your cervix. “Yeah- don’t think I don’t know about your secret technique-” Geto sounds crazed as he whispers in your ear, tone hitching and warbling with every second. But he still keeps going. “-and who taught you that clenchin’ so hard- clenching with the force of your core- feels so good?”

“I-I…” Saliva seeps into your mouth twofold now that Geto’s increasing his pace. He reaches over n’ licks that little splatter- 

“I-I-I-I…” Geto mocks. “I don’t think you’re being truthful, girl~”

“It was you—” You’re yowling- attempting to stand upwards to perhaps get ahold of yourself - but the only thing you’re succeeding in doing is urging Geto to wrap his left arm around your neck and draaaaaaag you right back down. 

You gasp at the sensation of his thick biceps; the firmness and strength held within them; the curves and dips of his muscles. “And who taught you that getting choked like this feels good?”

You’re so woozy- fuck, your head’s throbbing and you’re feeling the wadded-up remnants of cum Geto’s left behind from previous rounds. Harder and harder. Rougher, his balls keep slapping against the front of your sodden folds. “You…”

“And who taught you that this pussy feels better when m’being mean?”

“You—”

“And who’s getting back together with you?”

“You- wait, what?”

“Heh.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 92% MATCH!

Name: Kamo (Itadori) Choso

Age: ?*

Occupation: Student

Category: Hey, hey, hey EMO BOY!

Primary likings: Subbing. Getting pussydrunk. Shooting blanks. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 14 onwards…)

*Client became nervous after seeing the diagrams of sexual positions in the following forms and could not answer (EDIT: Later confirmed 23 but spiritually 150 (?)).

“Him?”

Dr. Shoko sits statuesquely before you. No change in her expression. Not even the slightest twitch in her fingers as she flips through your documents one more time.

After a moment of silence, she takes a deep breath and asks. “Erm- my apologies, but would I be right in assuming that you’re not attracted to hi-”

“No—no, no, no, no, no-” 

“Ah- well, that’s one way to pass on a match-”

“No- that’s- that’s not what I meant.” Red-hot embarrassment, shot through with a spike of excitement once your eyes drop down to the profile of the man once more, curdles in your chest. And you’re sure you look quite frantic attempting to rescind…perhaps everything you’ve blurted out in the past five minutes. Dr. Shoko raises a brow. “Of course, I’m attracted to him.”

A knowing smile tugs at her lips. “Oh?”

“Yeah- of course.” You cough out. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Piercings glinting on his ears, snakebites on his lips, and a nervous - almost sheepish, but with a bring-your-daughter-home-at-2AM defiance - expression on his face. Just your type. “He’s perfect, actually.”

Dr. Shoko puts her documents down on the table and crosses her legs. “Then what seems to be the problem?”

“It’s just…I kinda know him?” You’re wincing. “We go to the same university- he does Japanese History, and I’ve seen him ‘round in the Anime Club.”

She hums. “Mm, you seem to know a lot about him.”

You almost sputter- “J-just as much as the average person would…But the thing is that on campus he just looks a little…different? I guess? Imagine your typical nerd—glasses, vests, knows one too many things about Tolkien, cute.” Dr. Shoko throws you a look—nerds were a close second on your list of types, okay?! And you’d always believed Choso was cute even before all this sprucing up.  “Anyways. That sort of thing.” And then you’re taking a second look at the photograph on his profile - maybe the distance would help you see him clearly? And nothing. “And now…”

Everything else matched up.

It was just in his photograph where he looked like he belonged in an early 2000’s emo band.

You let out a slight gasp. “Is he catfishing m-”

“No. Although that would be a little entertaining to see…” Dr. Shoko mutters that last part to herself- “However, Mr. Kamo has shown up to every appointment in exactly this style. Could it be that perhaps he prefers one style for university, and the other in private?”

“Probably.” You sigh. And you see that look on her face- you know that look on her face. “Oh, fine. We both know I want you to match us.”

.

.

.

“Fuh-fuck pleeeease—” Veins, reddened and irritated, snake down the expanse of Choso’s neck - and you’re not surprised. Not when Choso kept twitchin’ and bucking with every single fwop! of your cunt slamming down onto his hips, letting his cock rover deeeeeply inside.

Oh-so-deeply.

You’ve got the poor man sat up against the headboard of this crappy love hotel. You’ve got his face pushed between your tits, as you’re bouncing your hips up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

Cute suctioning noises let off where he’s glued his mouth to one of your tits, letting his cheeks hollow as he suckles. “Please- ngh.” Unabashed tears roll down Choso’s cheeks, “Do you really think I can cum again?” Ending his sentence with a single jagged thrust inside your gooey depths.

“But of course.” You purr—purr. It’s enough to make Choso shudder, ravenous cock twitching. “Because I said so. And what did I say about me saying so?”

“M-mommy’s always right when she says so…” He responds- cheeks burning such a sweltering red. 

“Hah…” Leaning down you kiss him- at least, it starts off a kiss. But soon enough you have your tongue sliding across his bottom lip, playing with the sexy snake bites that pierce through the nerd’s lower lip. Always with his nose stuck in a book—you’re kicking yourself for not noticing the holes sooner. “Not so tough now, are you?”

You’ve been teasing him for what feels like eons - but in reality has been about two…maybe three…maybe seven rounds cooped-up inside this love hotel - now; and it’s enough to set Choso on all sorts of edges. Choso can’t speak. Choso can’t form a single thought. Choso can’t control his body- what the fuck he can’t…Unable to stop himself from constantly yearning that sweet pressure that comes from striking the flat surface of the back of your pussy—

His hips are stinging. But he’s still pushing and pushing and pushing. 

“Just one more, then?” He asks. Tears in his eyes.

“Awwww- you really are an emo boy. I can’t believe you had the entire campus fooled for years now.” You snicker- watching as his eyes narrow…first in exasperation, and then in ecstacy as you’re squeezing ‘round his cock. “Mhm. Just one more- mommy has to reward you for losing your virginity, doesn’t she?” You ask. Expectedly, Choso nods and nods.

That had been the entire reason for his participation in this program, it seems - the poor thing wanted to get some experience. And you couldn’t blame him—nor be nice to him. According to his profile, Choso liked it when he was fucked hard- no experience and already thinking like a freak, huh? He was definitely your type.

Tapping at your chin in an exaggerated display of thinking.

“But mommy’s wondering….where is my nerd gonna cum?”

His eyes go wide. Breath hitching, “Please-”

“I mean- maybe you could pull out and I could milk you onto the blanket—?” Dramatically, the other man’s lower lip quivers as a sob threatens to break through. So many rounds and he still hadn’t cum inside - you’d gotten him everywhere: on your stomach, on your tits, between your thighs, on your tongue. Everywhere but inside. “Hmmm. Nope.”

He perks up.

“How about my mouth again?”

Choso shakes his sweaty head.

“I wanted to- hngh—” It’s so tough for him to speak when he’s actively trying not to fall apart at the seams.

“Oh, what’s that?” Your eyes go wide. “Don’t feelin’ my mouth wrapped around your cock, Choso- is it?”

He shudders at the mere imagery of that. Every single thrust had him threatening to spill inside—those gossamer ribbons were flooding your entrance n’ starting to drip down your thighs. “No-”

“No?”

“No, no, no, no—I love your mouth-” He sputters. “-m-mommy…” And even though it’s already been so long, Choso was still wearing those chunky rings depicting skulls and such on- gliding them up and down your back soothingly. “I love every part of you. But I just really…really…really wanted to cum inside this time-” Peeking up at you through tear-stained lashes. “…if that’s okay with you?”

He looked so pretty, it was hard not to cave in then and there.

But you had to stand firm. “Nuh uh…I don’t know.” Tapping at your chin once more. “M’honestly a little hurt that you’d hide this emo side of yourself, Choso.” Leaning down to whisper into his ear- his silver studs glint. “Especially when emo boys with big dicks just make me sooooooo fuckin’ wet—”

Choso startles as though he’d been electrocuted. “I-if I’d known that then I would’ve told you in a heartbeat, mommy-”

“Ah, sweet-talking me now?” You wave. “What other secrets are you hiding, Mr. Kamo Choso?”

And it’d been a rhetorical question, something to make your poor boy squirm—honestly! But perhaps you should’ve expected that with Choso’s fried, pussydrunken brain he wouldn’t have caught onto the toying tone of your voice. That he would’ve blushed- and confessed.

“A-actually the only reason I joined was to get experience-” You raise a brow as you’d already known that. “-so that if- when I actually found the courage to ask someone out, then I’d be less likely to disappoint them in bed…”

Your lips quiver. “Oh, Cho.”

And then you’re wrapping your arms around Choso’s head - pushing his face deeper into your clammy tits, skin-against-skin - you’re running your fingers through his hair, soothing, as Choso keeps fuckin’ away into you.

You whisper against his clammy forehead, “Cum inside, baby.”

And he does with a broken groan—long, lengthy ribbons of cum decorating the interior of your cunt. “Th-thank you, mommy.” He whimpers.  They cling onto the outer ring of your entrance- which Choso has to push inside with a flicker of his thumb. The heat floods you instantly - bursts and bubbles of warmth spreading from your core, every single time that Choso twitches with another pang of pleasure- and his cockhead bursts out in cum.

Choso might be an utter sweetheart, but his cock was not-

He thwacks! out a few more creamy wads, and when he’s finally done and shooting blanks- Choso accumulates those dollops on the tip of his cock all to smear them at the bottom of your pussy. That sweet, sweet cervix.

“C-can I tell you another secret, baby?” He sobs.

“Of course, Choso.”

“You. It’s you.”

You free him from your embrace to look at him properly.

“It’s you that I’ve been wanting to ask out.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - HE MATCHED?!

“Wait- who…?”

“The King of Curses.” Dr. Shoko responds with a straight face. Too straight. You needed her to crack a smile- you needed her to tell you that this was a joke. “At least—that’s what he calls himself, and we did have to track down his records to find out his actual name.”

Name: ITADORI (RYOMEN) SUKUNA

Age: 32

Occupation: ‘It’s complicated’.

Category: Rough n’ tough

Primary likings: ROUGH. Partners in lingerie. DP. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 55 onwards…)

“What does he mean by his occupation being…‘it’s complicated’?” You squint at the man’s profile.

“He wanted to put ‘King of Curses’ for that, too.” Dr. Shoko takes a long swig of her coffee. “Goodness knows I couldn’t figure that out even with a PhD. But it’s a lot more flattering than putting ‘Loitering’, isn’t it?”

“He loiters.” You ask.

“Hopefully a forgivable crime.” She nods.

And, sure, you didn’t give a shit about the loitering—what instead caught your attention was the little matchmaking measurement that was on the top of the page. Or at least supposed to be. Instead of a percentage like all your previous passes had, this time was greeted you instead was a simple note: MATCH MADE!

And underneath it was a few semi-erased notes from who you assume to be the matchmakers spelling out- ‘Thank goodness.’ ‘We thought the day would never come-’ ‘Take him off our hands, please!!’

Dr. Shoko catches you staring at them and promptly shuts your file for you. “It’s just ah- your match seems to have a bit of a…reputation here, you see?”

You ask, “A reputation? Is he some weirdo?”

“Well that’s one way of putting it…” She mutters to herself-

“What was that-”

“Nothing!” Dr. Shoko clears her throat, and smooths her mask of professionalism. “To be quite frank with you, Sukuna was one of our first clients—and we’ve been operational for quite some time now, and yet Sukuna never matched with anyone. If it wasn’t an extremely low percentage, then a match didn’t get past the interview stage- especially because Sukuna himself can be a little…intimidating. At one point we just started showing him the profiles first, expecting pass after pass.” She gives you a meaningful look. “But for the first time, it seems, the King of Curses has found himself interested.”

You don’t know how to interpret the little quirk of a smirk on her lips. “I see.” Flipping the file back open, you’re taking in those smoldering crimson eyes, that pink hair. He was handsome, that was for sure- and he sounded like such a character.

You can’t help but find yourself, perhaps, a little interested as well.

“But of course, it’s completely up to you. And I can pass this one and get some more matches lined up if-”

“Nah. No need to pass, Dr. Shoko.”

.

.

.

“Now do a little spin f’me- atta girl.”

Just about three dates - and you’d discovered that the pink-haired man honestly wasn’t too bad. A little eccentric- alright, very eccentric. He spoke in extremely old-fashioned Japanese and knew far too much about cannibalism, but other than that you thought him to be just fine. Handsome, too.

Just an hour into your romantic dinner at that one fancy French restaurant downtown. Just a glance at the nearby love hotel before you’re both huddling inside one cramped room, Sukuna tugging off his coat before he bore you with a strappy black lingerie set.

It barely covered…well, anything.

And that seemed to be just how he liked it.

Not even needing to tug those panties of yours to the side before he’s pressin’ his plump tip against your pussylips. Both so sensitive that the contact makes you hiss—and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as soon as he starts to enter. “O-ohhh-”

“Hey- hey—” Of course, it’s not long before you’re feeling one of his roughened hands come and lightly tap your cheeks. It makes you snap out of your little daze and discover that Sukuna had entered a few inches - barely halfway through - but it still felt like he was touching your deepest throat. “Ya have the King of Curses right before you and you’re not even looking at him? Tch-”

Without warning, he pummels just a little deeper. Just a tender caress of his zig-zagging veins along your wet channel-

“C’mon, woman—” Sukuna grumbles. “Literally what could be so interesting inside the back of yer skull? Look at me- look at how well m’fucking you.”

“S-so good…”  You’re blabbering out, as soon as your senses are returning. Because the stark sensation of Sukuna streaking your insides was mind-numbing - you don’t think you’ve ever taken anyone this big before. 

“Never?” Fuck- you said that out loud?! His smirk makes your heart race- honed canines all on display. “Well buck up, brat.” He taps the side of your hips - and too late does it register as a signal to fuck your hips back down onto his pummeling ones. Funneling your cunt so fucking tight with all his inches. “Because if it takes you this long ta take me regularly, then we might just be here all night trying to get you to take…heh-”

The hairs on your body raise. 

You bite down on your lower lip. “Your…second one?”

Sukuna chuckles. “No.” Reaching upwards - not caring if it’s making your hamstrings scream so deliciously at the stretch - Sukuna leans his sticky forehead against yours n’ kisses your lips. Tongue and all. He finally whispers as he parts, “It’ll be yours.”

And just a few more thrusts, a few more whack-whack-whacks! of his thickened cock reaching your deepest depths possible. He was just so big and his thrusts were just so vicious—you’re floating through a haze of pleasure when you feel it…that cold press of silicone against your precious orifice.

You’re jerking up with a yelp. “Shit- hngh, you’re putting it in now?”

“Hah? Duh.” Sukuna scoffs. “Why? Unless you don’t wish to-”

“I’m just wondering what took you so long.”

Sukuna seems stunned for one second- two. Before the King quickly snaps out of it to pleasure the sopping line of your cunt with his silicone dildo—“Dirty girl.”

Because what’d intrigued you the most on his profile was one thing: double penetration. And Ryomen Sukuna took it seriously—he’d slathered that impressive size - molded after himself, he’d told you - with a passion fruit-scented lube before starting to crown it at your entrance. The very same pussy he was stuffed in, too.

His cock throbs away wildly inside you as Sukuna squeezes- and squeezes. And you wince at the mixture of pain and pleasure - that utterly wiiiiiild stretch making your mind dazed. “Keep going.” You beg. “P-please- keep going, Kuna—”

“Kuna?” You can’t tell if he’s feigning outrage or he’s serious. He tugs your body into his- using one of your lingerie straps. “How ridiculous- fuck, and just for that- don’t expect me to go easy on ya, brat.”

And then it’s both. At the same time.

He started off nicely—surprisingly. He started off just shuffling his thick, throbbing cock behind and stuffing the orifice of your cunt with the purple-colored dildo. He started off so-

And then you’d gotten just a tad too mouthy and Sukuna’s letting the globular, slick-glazed edge of the dildo rover all over - aaaaaall around the first ring of your entrance, and then smearing apart your channel to search for your sweet spots inside. Competing - fucking competing - with his own cock to massage your spots the best. It takes one hand clawed onto your hip n’ pinning you down with all his weight to actually squirm the dildo inside you.

Shivers run down Sukuna’s spine as he feels his sensitive shaft rub against the firm silicone. Uuuuuuup rubbin’ his skin against the material. And down. Uuuuup and down. Uuuuup and down. 

Fucking you twice over. 

Such looooong and lecherous slides of your overstuffed pussy- “Look at her go.” The King drags you back using a strappy ribbon from your lingerie, glances down and snickers. “She’s just so hungry, huh?”

“C-can feel you all the way in my throat.” You whimper.

“That’s nothing, wait till you feel me in your cervix.”

And he’s bottoming out. Twice. 

“Fuck, how I’m glad you found me.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - INFINITY% MATCH?!

Dr. Ieiri Shoko sits before you in her office, and she looks as though she wished she was doing anything but.

Now, you’re sure this wasn’t anything personal - after all, you’ve met with Dr. Shoko for numerous appointments prior, and each time she’d been cordial if not nice. You’ve filled out all your forms. You haven’t been late to an appointment. You made sure during each appointment to be open-minded and thoughtful about your potential matches.

So…what?

What could have happened in the thirty-six hours between your last appointment (six passes that day) and the sudden frantic phone call you’d gotten this morning regarding the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT? You’d rushed over - still half-asleep and attempting to tug on your pants - as soon as you could, sure that perhaps today would be the day you find your perfect match and-

“Ehem- today is the day you’ll be looking over your perfect match.” Ah- what? Still jolted by Dr. Shoko’s sudden change in demeanor, it takes a second for the excitement to hit you. 

You gasp. “Seriously? A perfect match?”

“Well…perfect would be overselling it…” She mutters to herself- and then catches your look of confusion. “Ah- mathematically and scientifically, the numbers are perfect of course. A 99.99% match.”

“Then, what seems to be…”

“It just seems that your match is a little-” Dr. Shoko waves her hands in the air, searching for the word. 

“Eccentric?”

“No.”

“Odd?”

“No.”

“Crazy.”

“Almost.” She sighs, looking far more exhausted than the last time you saw her. Far more exhausted. The bluish splotches beneath her eyes crinkle as she grimaces, “Apologies. I’m not that good at describing Lovecraftian monsters.”

You chuckle- before you realize. “Wait, what?”

“But—onto the profiles, we don’t have all day and I have about thirty more appointments.” She shoots you a look. “And none of them above 60%, I fear.” Then turning towards her second door - the one connecting her office to one of the building’s laboratories - she calls. “You can come out now!”

The door clicks open immediately- as if whoever was on the other side had been waiting impatiently to be called, fidgeting, hand already on the door handle.

And in walks a tall, white-haired man—although he couldn’t have been more than thirty or so, wearing a sterile white scientist’s coat and thin-rimmed glasses. There were a few Digimon stickers on his shoes, and his name tag read: PROF. GOJO SATORU.

He was cute- you had to give him that.

Dr. Shoko takes one look at your face and sighs.

You’re immediately straightening up. “E-erm, hello.” And the man bows rapidly- sputtering out greetings and introductions a mile a minute, that you don’t even catch them. “Ah…I believe you have my match profile?”

The other woman smacks her forehead. “He is your match profile.”

You gape. “What?”

Gojo practically beams- fuck, he really was too cute. He immediately reaches over and grasps your hand—then unabashedly kisses the back of it. Such a loud mwah! “Your pleasure to meet me, sweetheart.”

From the corner of your vision, you see Dr. Shoko download a resignation letter template. “Please…you’re all he’s been talking about for the past two days-”

“Like a true romantic~” Gojo trills.

“-pass on him and put us all out of our misery…please. I beg of you.”

You look at the miserable Shoko- and then you look at Gojo.

.

.

.

“So…” Gojo’s breath sticks to the side of your neck, utterly syrupy, and his cock sticks to the goopy insides of your cunt. 

They wouldn’t have been able to pull him out with a wrench, he can tell you that much-

Because you were swallowing him up whole—little mewls leaving the gap between your lips, little dribbles of slick going down the corners of your mouth - ones he’s nearing towards and licking right off your face. Gojo’s chunky glasses crush against the side of your temple. His fingers dig deeper into your soft flesh. “-it seems I have fallen victim to my own creation.”

Gojo Satoru had you pushed against his clinical desk; it’d been long since Dr. Shoko had wrapped-up your first meeting (and gone to take a lay-down on her examination bed). Meanwhile Gojo had valiantly volunteered to give you ‘an insightful and educational’ tour around the laboratories.

The first place he took you to was his private office.

…The first place he took you to, neither of you could keep your hands off each other.

“Th-the program?” You’re babbling. Your hands grasp the edge of his desk- a plumage of documents soar upwards as you’re struggling and failing a few times- he was just fucking you so good. “How are you falling victim—”

“Because when I wanted to figure out a way to lose my virginity, I didn’t expect it to be this good—!” Gojo bursts out in confession. And you’re feeling the full impact of his statement- and the rough slam of his cockhead against the back of your pussy.

“S-so this was all…” Your mouth gapes - and you’re not quite sure whether it was because of the sudden confession, or the increasing force of his hips. “-a scheme to pop your cherry?!”

“Erm, actually- I wouldn’t say scheme—” Gojo huffs. Those thick-framed glasses of his kept sliding down his nose due to the force of his thrusts, and he was smearing his pretty face against your shoulder to keep pushing it up. “I am- was a virgin, heh…”

He takes a glance down at where the two of you were sloppily connected - those swollen folds of yours spread so wiiiiiide open around his long cock - and instantly, he’s hypnotized.

For a beat.

Two.

“—Satoru.” Honestly- you have to give him a good clench to snap him back to his senses. Otherwise you’re sure he would’ve kept funneling you full of his cock until one or both of your bodies gave out—he just seemed addicted. Tingling with desire. He wanted you. He needed you. 

Every single second he was reeling his hips back- Gojo was angry just until he could rover his thickened inches back inside n’ bash your very cervix. Again. And again. And again and again. 

And Gojo’s pushing his glasses up with a huff. “What if I was having a telepathic conversation with your pussy?”

You gape. “Shoko’s right, you’re crazy-”

“Yeah yeah-” He sighs as if he’s heard that one before. Many, many times. With a roll of those blue eyes, Gojo keeps explaining - not slowing down for a single split-second. “I was a virgin with too much time between my extra credits and three honors degrees, okay? So instead of being a lunatic and going out to actually meet people, I did what any sane person would do…” 

“Create the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT-”

“I created the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT!” It was almost…cute just how passionate he was getting. And it certainly helped that the more excited he got, the more his twitchin’ tip splurged out precum. Flinching it into all sorts of little hidden spots inside you—“A cutting-edge matchmaking system that pairs partners’ sexual proclivities-”

He leans against you- and it feels like a furnace, in the best way. Gojo’s blushing cheek against yours. Gojo’s aching cock against your cunt. 

He’s scouring the silken depths of your cunt and ramming into that one spot- “The Gräfenberg spot.” Gojo titters to himself. “Erm- I did my reading…” By now he wasn’t even pulling his hips off of yours- glued to those stinging ass cheeks of yours, he’s plasterin’ every nook inside you with his precum. “And the fact that we’re a near-100% match must mean one thing—” 

Gojo cums from pure excitement.

He cums from pure excitement. White-hot pouring into the depths of your cunt, slathering it in an oily layer of his cum.

You almost don’t dare to ask. “And wh-what does that mean?”

“That next I must make a pregnancy program!”

Too caught up in the moment; the two of you don’t register the light buzz of your phone.

A text from Shoko.

A/N. IDK why working on their profiles was so unserious shsdhsd-

Oh. You and Satoru both seem to react to that — you tighten as he jolts up into you, groaning and biting into your shoulder as he breaks the ‘no marks’ rule that was established earlier. You don’t mind so much when you picture Suguru taking you later, licking and biting over whatever receipts of his touch that Satoru has left behind. Making them his own. Marking you as his own. 

And then you imagine Satoru there too, sitting in a chair facing the bed, perhaps with his blindfold tucked between his teeth to muffle any whining pleads to join. You know he wouldn’t have the same restraint as your Suguru, he’d be fucking his fist to the sight before him, all desperate and teary-eyed and left out of the equation as all of your attention floods over Sugu. For once, Satoru would have to give up the spotlight. You wonder if that’d get him off too.

Probably.

“Fuuuuck,” he moans. The hand that isn’t working your clit snakes around you to press down on your lower stomach, feeling for the evidence of himself inside of you. He has to force you back against his chest a little, work the angle, but then he can feel it — the bulge of his cock in your belly. 

It’s no surprise; Gojo is fucking huge. But looking down and seeing your skin taut with what’s inside has you reeling. Geto can see it too, you’re sure, because he’s shifting in his seat and clearing his throat.

“Satoru.” Your boyfriend’s voice is sharp. Jealous, maybe. 

Satoru peers over your shoulder, smiling. “Yes, dear?” 

“Over the arm of the sofa. Give her legs a break, yeah?” 

Satoru doesn’t seem fazed; and your thighs were starting to shake with the exertion, but you can’t help but notice that every position Suguru has directed the two of you into has been lacking a face-to-face value between you and Toru. You don’t think that’s accidental. 

Satoru doesn’t need to pull out to manoeuvre you into the new position. With his arms around your middle, and very little effort on his part, he shifts you up and over the arm of the couch. Your ass lifts as he pushes up to his knees and gets his footing behind you, all whilst remaining inside. Your hands find purchase on the arm as you turn your head to meet Suguru’s gaze once more. This isn’t a position he often has you in — he’s always thought of doggy as degrading. 

You smile. You see how it is. 

Your amusement is short-lived, though, as Satoru pulls almost all the way out of you, before slamming in with a harsh snap of his hips. You’re sent forwards, nearly toppling over the side of the couch as Satoru starts, and maintains, a mean pace. In and out and in and out, he drags his cock against your g-spot repeatedly. You can hardly get a breath in before he’s bottoming out inside of you again. And again. 

Turns out, giving your legs a break means working every other part of you to exhaustion. You shouldn’t be surprised. 

“That’s good,” Suguru praises, his voice heavy. “Tell me, how’s she feel?”

“Tight,” Satoru exhales. “And… wet, and—fuck—so good. I never want this to end.”

But he’s nearing his limit, and so are you. You can tell, his strokes are turning erratic, and the building tightness in your stomach guides your orgasm closer and closer with every passing second. You push your face into the arm of the couch, muffling your moans, and try desperately to focus on one thing at a time.

An impossible feat. Your mind is reeling; Satoru fucking into you like he’s fearful of ever losing this sensation; Suguru, watching with those assessing fucking eyes that make you want to take a bite of his brain; how good you feel between them both…

“Please,” you gasp, turning your head. Your cheek smushes against leather, making a mess of your face, but you don’t care. “Please.”

Satoru leans over you, keeping pace. “Please what, pretty?”

“She’s asking to cum.” Suguru lifts his chin. “She has to ask for permission first, isn’t that right?”

You nod frantically, tears blurring your vision as you hold onto something so desperate to slip through your fingers. You need to cum, to release, to take everything Satoru can give you and more.

“Who are you asking, baby?” Suguru implores. “Me, or Satoru?”

You don’t know. You don’t care. You think you know what Suguru wants to hear, so you whine out a short ‘you, please’, but your lover only shakes his head in reply. 

“I’m not the one fucking you, am I?”

You try to turn your head to face Satoru, but your movement is cut off when he presses himself over your back, takes your face in one strong hand, and presses his lips to yours. He kisses you deeply, messily, and finally allows himself that face-to-face contact Suguru had so cleverly denied you two. 

“Cum with me,” he whispers against your lips, pressing his lips to yours again. His tongue pushes into your mouth, tastes you from the inside out, before he pulls back again. “Gonna fill you up. Fuck you so full you’ll be dripping all over the leather. Then—” he stutters, groaning, “—then you’re gonna get down on your knees and clean it all up with your tongue. Then whatever spills out of you onto the floor as well.”

It’s lewd and grotesque, but the picture in your head spurs on your orgasm like nothing else could. The idea of doing something so degrading for a man that isn’t yours, in front of a man that is… 

You cum so hard your vision flashes white. You can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed, but Satoru remains against your mouth, swallowing every loud, drawling moan you give him. You shake, completely overwhelmed with pleasure and pressure and the quick-to-come force of Satoru emptying his balls inside of you. 

He must have been pent up. He floods your insides with a load so strong and harsh in its release that you can feel it filling you. Hot and desperate and so fucking good that you feel half-ready to cum again. 

You close your eyes, bathe for a moment in the fullness you’re experiencing. Satoru kisses the back of your neck, and then between your shoulderblades, still seated nice and deep inside of you. 

“You took that so well, love.”

Your eyes snap open at the closeness of Suguru’s voice, just to find him knelt by the sofa. His big hand reaches out to wipe a tear from beneath your eye, a doting look on his face. “Did you enjoy yourself? You’re such a mess.”

You nod, blissed. Suguru pushes up on his knees and closes the gap between your faces; you think he’s going to kiss you, but he stops just short of your lips and then pivots to whisper into your ear instead.