estest

“Uh... thanks. I think?” 

You weren’t entirely sure if that was praise or exploitation — because with Mei-Mei, the line was always blurred. 

“Of course, baby!” she cooed. “Your ratings are exceptionally high. But... let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” And grinning like a cheshire cat, she slid a detailed spreadsheet in front of you encouragingly. 

“We need a story so massive before Christmas. Don’t ask me why, but holiday trauma performs extremely well. I expect your report by early-December. Get back out there, hm?” 

Apparently, love is dead. Because people live for drama. For tragedy. It’s unfortunate, but it gets the clicks. And despite all the ‘new material’ you’re looking for? A part of you still aches — still yearns — for love. 

So, like a well-trained masochist, you swipe. Again. 

| Brett, 27 — Los Angeles, CA |   “Hey, kitten. I’m Sapiosexual. An INTJ. Love your profile. Let’s chat, yeah?” 

Sent a dick pic and texted “U up?” at 3:17 a.m. on a Tuesday. (You weren’t) 

Swipe. 

| Colin, 32 — Santa Monica, CA |   “Sup. I’m just a nice guy. Totally not like other guys.” 

Sent a three-paragraph spiral about how nice guys finish last due to unrequited love. (With his childhood best friend.) 

Swipe. 

| Naoya, 22 — Orange County, CA |   “What do you do for fun? Because let me set the record straight. I love a woman who knows their place. Preferably, three steps behind me. Or in the kitchen.” 

You reported him. Twice. (Just to be sure…) 

Swipe. 

| Greg, 25 — San Francisco, CA |   “Hey. Uh... I’m married btw. But it’s complicated, u know?” 

You almost admire the honesty. (Almost.) 

Swipe. 

Swipe. 

Swipe. 

You were about five more red flags away from joining a monastery when suddenly, you got an idea. Perhaps... it’s just California? You’ve been living here your whole damn life. Let’s try escaping the endless sea of self-proclaimed “entrepreneurs” — the gym bros, the surfer stoners. The men who think that being emotionally available is a liability.  

So? You expand your distance radius. 

Like...  

Way out.  

Just to see what would happen. 

| Satoru, 26 — Kyoto, Japan |   “Hey. I’m not here to play games. Unless it’s Mario Kart. But don’t cry, because I’d totally win, sweetheart.” 

It’s a miracle. Because for once, there’s no shirtless mirror selfie. It’s just a guy on a front porch, wearing a hoodie. There’s a coffee cupped in his hands, with long raven hair falling against the violet hue of his eyes.  

He has gauges, a sleepy smile, and oh my god he’s— 

…gorgeous.  

And not the curated, flex-for-attention kind of gorgeous you’ve learned to dodge. No. There’s something… approachable about him. Soft. Stupidly warm. Like if you sat beside him, he wouldn’t talk — he’d listen. 

~  ♡ ︎ You’ve matched with Satoru Gojo!  ♡ ︎  ~  ...typing  Satoru: Did you know that the universe is 13.8 billion years old? There are billions of galaxies. Trillions of stars. And yet… here we are. Matched on a dating app.  Satoru: So… hi! Satoru: Wanna test fate?  You: lol 😂 You: well then... You: that’s one way to say hello!! 😝 Satoru: Yeah... figured I’d lead with existential dread instead of wyd 😉

He was... normal. 

Stupidly normal. Maybe a bit nerdy.  But somehow? It worked. He made you smile. 

...typing  Satoru: Okayokayokay... but REAL question...   Satoru: Do you pour milk before cereal??? 🤨 Or are you a functioning member of society?  You: 😨😨 You: excuse you!!   You: what kind of monster do you think i am??? 😒 Satoru: Phew 😩 Satoru: Just needed to be sure!! People have surprised me before 

And just like that, you were hooked. 

You talked while brushing your teeth. On your lunch break. In bed, half-asleep, phone screen dimmed but still open to his thread. He’s got opinions on everything. 

Anime, horror movies, why candy canes are overrated, the superiority of old-school consoles, and the tragic fall of Yahoo Answers. 

One day he asked: 

...typing  Satoru: Are you more of a salty girl or a sweet girl? 

You paused, halfway through folding laundry, holding one sock while you reach for your phone. 

...typing  You: hmmm..... You: are we talking snacks?? or personality type?  Satoru: 👀 Satoru: Well shit... Satoru: Now I wanna know the answer to both...  You: hehehe 😇 You: what do YOU think i am?  Satoru: Oh, hell no... Satoru: I’m not falling for that Satoru: Bc if I guess wrong, you’ll never let me hear the end of it.  You: pshhh...  You: that response answers for me 😛  You: but hmm... i guess i’m both? You: bc it depends on the day... OR the person.  Satoru: Okay cool Satoru: Soooo... I’m either incredibly lucky, or you’re about to ruin my life in a really interesting way. You: ruin you?? You: never!! You: ...you're one of the few people i actually wanna be sweet to ❤️  Satoru: ❤️  Satoru: Guess it's a good thing that I'm a sweet guy 😉 both snack AND personality wise Satoru: Which brings me back to the important question... Satoru: Snacks Satoru: Salty or sweet. Answer wisely, sweetheart. You: hmm...  Satoru: This data could make or break us 🤨 You: imma salty kinda girl Satoru: ...  You: but i don’t dislike sweet things! 😘 Satoru: Siiiiiigh...  Satoru: Fine. I respect it Satoru: Even though it’s OBJECTIVELY the wrong answer 🙄 guess I’ll just have to be the sweet one in this relationship

Somehow, it never felt forced. You didn’t have to explain your jokes. You didn’t have to shrink yourself or play dumb or brace for silence. He got it. He got you. And he made you laugh — constantly. But more than that… he made you feel safe. 

It was easy to forget you’d never seen him move. Never heard his laugh in real life. 

Until you started calling each other. 

What started as a five-minute “just wanted to hear your voice” spiraled into two hours. Then three. Now it’s just… what you do. The sound of his voice has become background music — familiar and warm, the kind of thing you could fall asleep to. Soft, a little raspy, warm around the edges when he laughs. 

He talks fast when he gets excited — usually about Digimon lore, bad anime dubs, or some absurd theory he read online at 3 a.m. He jumps from tangent to tangent like he’s chasing thoughts through constellations — but somehow, never leaves you behind. 

And when he’s really into something, you can hear it. His voice lifts like gravity can’t hold it. 

“Hmm… if we were two particles traveling at the speed of light,” he murmured, “do you think we’d still find each other in another timeline?” 

“Oh my god…” you smiled against your pillow; voice thick with sleep. “Is this your version of ‘Would you still love me if I was a worm’ Satoru?” 

His laugh was soft and breathy, wrapping around your ribs like ribbon.

“Pshh… no,” he scoffed, and you could hear the pout in his voice as he shuffled against his own bedsheets. Then, with a huff he drawled. “This is my scientifically superior version of that question.” 

“Mmm… I see,” your hum was sleepy, curling deeper under the blanket. Grinning, your eyes fluttered closed as you murmured. “Yes. I think we would”

A comfortable silence settled, and you could hear the line crackle softly as he exhaled.

“I wish…” he said after a beat, “…we could spend Christmas together. It’s not fair you’re so far away.”

His voice was quiet, like he was afraid to say it too loud. And somehow, it landed harder than any confession. You pressed your ear closer to the phone, like maybe, if you try hard enough, you’ll feel the weight of him on the mattress beside you.

“Yeah…” you whispered. “Me too.”

You’d been talking to Satoru for a month now — and honestly, every other man you come across can’t hold a candle to him. So, when Mei Mei saunters to your desk December 1st, silk blouse pristine and judgment already locked and loaded, you know she’s not going to like what she finds.

“It’s officially December, my dear,” she hums, lowering herself into the chair across from you, tilting her head in that familiar, patronizing way. “So. Where are my lines?”

Your fingers still over the keyboard. Time to come clean.

“I know, I know…” you say, rubbing at your temples before finally looking up. Your heart thumps harder than it should. “And… don’t be mad. But… just hear me out. What if this year… I don’t write about heartbreak?”

It’s like you might as well have told her you quit. The silence is deafening while she blinks at you, deadpan — like you’ve grown a second head.

“Darling,” she says coolly, with a bitter laugh. “Christmas is in three weeks. I don’t need pleasantries — I need pain.”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” you push gently, sitting a little straighter in your chair. “Christmas is supposed to feel… good. Warm. Like something you lean into, not brace yourself against.” You gesture vaguely toward the window, the gray sky.

You’ve always been alone for the holidays. No family. No one asking when you’ll be home.

“I mean… people are… tired. Stressed. Lonely. The world already feels cold enough without another reminder that love is awful. Right?”

Mei scoffs, flipping her hair over one shoulder, repulsed by the suggestion. “That mushy shit doesn’t sell…” And her eyes sharpen, flicking back to you. “You sound dangerously sentimental. Very unlike you, darling.”

Your mouth opens. Closes.

Little does she know… this is you. Or at least, the you that’s been kept hidden your entire career — doing something that feels so… empty. You’re tired. Tired of pretending that love is dead. For once, you want to believe in it. Believe that all this with Satoru — the potential for love — could be real.

“…I met someone.”

That gives her pause.

“Oh?”

Her snobbish tone is hard to ignore, but you don’t let it diminish the excitement you feel from the thought of him.

Satoru.

“Yeah… he’s—” you begin with a breathless laugh, tucking your chin into your palm like it might hide your grin. “Ugh. He’s good, Mei. Like… really fucking good. Funny… smart… thoughtful…”

But Mei’s sculpted brow arches as you continue to gush.

“Ohmygod and so handsome too,” you breathe, face lighting up. “Like. It’s unfair how good-looking he is, I swear. Plus, he remembers the little things I say, and he always checks in when I’ve had a rough day. It’s like…” you pause, breath catching as your heart aches with longing.

“It’s like… he sees me, Mei.”

At that, a knowing hum rumbles through your boss.

“I see…” she nods, lips tugging upward. “Well. Can you show me a picture, then?”

“Oh, sure!” you chirp, already digging for your phone in your bag. Your heart flutters at the sight of his photo, and after navigating to his profile, you hand the device over to her.

Her eyes narrow, then flick back to you. “This guy is in Japan…” and you can already hear it, that condescending tone, syrupy sweet. “I wonder… have you seen him yet?”

“W-What?” you blink, crossing your arms, instantly on guard. “Well… no. But it’s a sixteen-hour time difference! It’s hard to line up video calls, but we talk all the time and—”

“Mm.” That’s all she needs. She’s handing the phone back with a noise you’d describe as infuriatingly smug. “No way he’s that perfect,” she says, already rising to her feet. “I bet he’s catfishing you.”

Your heart drops.

God. That’d be just your luck.

“What?! N-No!” you argue, unwilling to entertain the idea. “It’s real, Mei. He’s real.”

“Mmm. So is Santa Claus~”

You scoff, brows furrowing.

“No, seriously. He said he wanted to spend Christmas with me. I was actually thinking of surprising him — flying out and —”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she interrupts, saccharine and sharp. “Flying to Japan? To meet a man you’ve never met?” a loud pompous laugh bursts out of her lips, making your blood boil. “Ahhh… what a story! I expect lines, my dear~”

And as her heels are clicking away, you glare after her, cheeks hot, heart thudding with equal parts embarrassment and fury.

That… bitch.

Fine. You’re going to prove her wrong.

You must.

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Satoru’s address.

You told him you wanted to send a Christmas present. He teased you, of course.

“A present? For little old me?” he drawled. “Awh… what is it? Is it scandalous? Oh!! Is it Digimon related??” You could practically hear the grin in his voice. And sure enough, a minute later, he sent his address with a laughing “Fine. But only if it’s Digimon-related, sweetheart.”

Little does he know…

It’s you you’re sending.

(Though yes, he’s still getting something Digimon-related too. You spent two weeks hand-knitting a Gabumon scarf hat — complete with floppy ears, tiny claws, and a ridiculous little horn. It’s absolutely absurd. You hope he’ll love it.)

Kyoto is blanketed in snow when you land — your breath visible in the air as you drag your suitcase outside the airport, gloved fingers fumbling with your phone. You manage to request a car (thank god for global apps), but the second the driver steps out and starts speaking rapid-fire Japanese, your brain goes static.

“Uh…. sumimasen?”

It’s the only word you know that seems remotely polite. That, and arigatou. Oh, and you know, baka, (thanks to Satoru’s anime rants about how “sub is superior to dub.” He swears by it, so naturally, you’ve started watching anime. In sub. Maybe because it feels like holding onto a piece of him.)

As you enter the car, you press your face to the frosty window and Kyoto whirls past — ancient shrines nestled between sleek buildings, power lines framed by snow-laced branches, vending machines glowing like beacons in the dark. The city is beautiful. Foreign. Dreamlike.

But then, the car pulls up to his house — and suddenly, you’re the one who feels foreign.

Because what the hell.

The place is huge.

It’s walled off with an iron gate, and a winding stone path leading up to a home that looks like a cross between a modern compound and a high-end ryokan. He’d told you his family was well off, but you didn’t realize well off meant a fucking dynasty.

Great. Now you’re standing here with your thrifted suitcase, the handmade gift for him, wrapped in a flimsy bag, wearing your own knitted scarf and a coat you borrowed from your roommate because your own has a busted zipper. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every chipped nail, every dollar you don’t have in your bank account.

God. What are you even doing here? This man seems ever more too good to be true. What if he’s playing you? What if… Mei’s right. Does he even want you? What’ll he do when he sees you? What’ll he say?

Fuck.

You take a deep breath, tugging your scarf a little higher, gripping his present like a lifeline. It’s fine. Whatever. You came all this way. No turning back now, right?

When you ring the doorbell, a faint chime echoes inside the estate. The air bites at your cheeks while voices murmur on the other side. Footsteps near the entrance and then—

Click!

The shoji slides open. You’re grinning nervously — heart hammering in your chest, steadying yourself as a figure comes into sight. A figure whom is—

A woman.

“えっ…誰？何かご用ですか？”

She stands with one hand on the frame, backlit by the warm glow of the house behind her. Dark hair pulled into a lazy bun, a cigarette balanced between two fingers, smoke curling lazily into the night air. She’s tall. Cool. Effortlessly poised in a way you’ve never been. And she looks… young. Maybe your age.

Mei’s laugh is echoing in your goddamn ears.

Double fuck…

Did Satoru lie? Is this his girlfriend? His wife? A casual fling he forgot to mention? God. Is this why he never video chatted you?

It feels like a kick to the chest.

What the hell were you thinking?? Flying across the world for a guy you’ve never met in person?!

 “ちょっと、聞こえてる？”

She’s still looking at you, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed with vague curiosity — and you realize with a jolt you haven’t said anything. Not a word.

“Oh! I—uh—sumimasen?” you stammer, fumbling with the little Japanese you know. “S-Sorry, I… I don’t speak Japanese,” you laugh, awkward and breathless. “I think I have the wrong house, though. I was looking for someone named Satoru but—” with a glance past her, you try not to look desperate.

God. You’re such an idiot.

“Uhhh… never mind,” and clutching your suitcase, you attempt to retreat. “I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”

Though her hand shoots out, catching your sleeve.

“Oh. Satoru? That idiot?” she says casually, in English this time — voice smooth, tinged with amusement. She flicks ash off the edge of the porch. “Yeah, you’re at the right house. He’s just at the FamilyMart with Yuji right now. Craving strawberry shortcake, apparently.”

As your brain begins to short-circuit, she takes one last drag of her cigarette, then steps aside, gesturing toward the entryway.

“C’mon. You’ll freeze your ass off.”

“Oiii,” Shoko calls. “We have a guest, guys! Say hello to—oh, um… sorry, what’s your name again?”

Before you know it, you’re stepping inside – toeing off your shoes at the entrance. Your feet pad against the tatami as you round the corner, and you’re greeted with a group of three other men sitting casually around a low table, with an abundance of snacks at the center.

Though, despite how laid-back the room appears, with pillows and drinks and half opened bags – there’s an underlying tension so thick, you swear it could cut glass.

They’re all staring at you with stone faces.

One man is blonde, with a chiseled jawline and a stern demeaner. Another has bubblegum-pink hair and tattoos crawling up both arms, and the third is a teenager with messy black hair who looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

Are these Satoru’s… friends? Family? He’s never mentioned them before.

Shoko takes another drag from her cigarette, unfazed. “I’m Shoko, by the way,” she says lazily, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Known Satoru for years. Unfortunately.” She smirks. “This is Kento, Sukuna, and Megumi.”

“H-Hello…” you murmur, gripping the handle of your suitcase as you hold a tight, nervous smile. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for… dropping in like this. I just flew in from America and… I was hoping that — well, Satoru would be here?”

“Gojo?” Sukuna gruffs, leaning back on one elbow. He plucks a piece of pocky from the snack tray and chews it without breaking eye contact. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be? His secret girlfriend or somethin’?”

The words hits harder than it should.

Girlfriend? Secret?

God, what are you to him?

And now, it dawns on you that they haven’t a clue who you are either. Of course, they don’t. Why would they?

You feel your cheeks heat. “O-oh, no. No, it’s not like that,” you say quickly, waving your hand like it’ll brush the embarrassment away. “I mean… we talk. We’ve been talking. But—”

You trail off and they’re all looking at you with raised brows.

“We don’t have a label or anything. We’re just… friends.”

“Friends?” Sukuna perks up, grin widening. “So lemme get this straight. You flew twelve hours across the globe for that pretentious dick?” He scoffs. “And he hasn’t even put a label on you?”

There’s something dangerously amused in his tone now, and he tosses the half-eaten pocky stick back onto the tray.

“Damn. Lucky bastard.”

You blink, unsure whether to feel insulted or embarrassed or both.

"Don’t you worry sweet thing. You decide to stay and I can show ya how a real man can take care of ya, hm?"

Kento shifts, cutting him a glance. “Sukuna…”

“What?” he says, raising both hands innocently. “This girl is hot as fuck. And I’m just saying — if it were me? I’d at least make sure she knew what she was walking into. Or out of. I'm not like that asshole.”

You blink again.

Is he… hitting on you?

“Great... here we go…” Megumi mutters.

And Kento sighs, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Please ignore him,” he tells you, voice calm but firm. “Everything is a pissing contest with Gojo where he’s concerned.”

“Okay, first of all — fuck you,” Sukuna snaps, sitting up straighter now, suddenly defensive. “It’s not about competition. I’m just not blind. Look at her!”

You blush subtly, and Megumi mutters, barely glancing up.

“Don't take him seriously... trust me. He says that. But every time Gojo brings a fangirl around, he's always trying to take her home like it’s a fucking game.”

...fangirl?

The word slams into your chest like a hammer. Is that what they think you are? You stiffen, heart dropping. Because that proves it. You shouldn’t be here. Of course someone like him would get dozens of women throwing themselves at him.

What made you think you were any different?

You shouldn’t have come.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, grip tightening around the suitcase as you fumble to gather your things. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to barge in. I’ll just—”

And bowing your head, you spin on your heel, until suddenly you collide into someone. But it all happens so quickly; you don’t register who. Because with a gasp, you stumble backwards, entirely focused on how your giftbag slipped from your grip, making Satoru’s scarf fall to the floor.

“W-What… what are you doing here?!”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

'Sorry' must be your go to word tonight. You’re too embarrassed to look up and see more of Satoru’s friends judging you. You’re dropping on your knees, scrambling to gather things with shaking hands mumbling under your breath.

“I’m leaving now… god, I shouldn’t have come. Please don’t tell Satoru I was—"

“WHOA, is that Gabumon?!” a new voice exclaims, bright with curiosity. “Hey Gojo, who’s this?”

At the mention of his name, you freeze.

Your head slowly lifts, eyes tracing up to catch sight of another pink-haired boy, peeking out from behind the man directly in front of you.

But… the man doesn’t look like Satoru. Not the Satoru you’ve come to know.

No. He has snowy-white tousled hair, tucked beneath a beanie, with bright blue eyes, blinking behind thick-rimmed glasses.

Nothing like his profile pictures.

“Satoru?” you breathe.

His mouth parts, speechless while he’s looking at you like you’re a ghost.

“Dude, that’s so cool! Did you make that?” Yuji asks, eyes sparkling. “Gojo she’s a keeper, huh?”

“Mmm… clearly.” Nanami glances over. “Because since when do you let girls know you like Digimon?”

“About damn time,” Shoko snorts, already lighting another cigarette like this is the most amusing thing she’s seen all week.

“And, she flew here for you,” Sukuna laughs from the back, sounding far too smug for someone uninvolved. “Shit, I’ll marry her if you don’t, asshole.”

The voices layer over each other — praise, laughter, awe. But it’s too bright, too loud, and you’re frozen in the middle of it. Feeling completely detached from reality while the blatant truth stands directly in front of you.

He lied.

And the worst part? You believed him. You came all this way. Mei Mei was right.

Love is dead.

“Um, actually. I—I left something outside,” you blurt, shoving the scarf back in the bag and clutching it to your chest, blinking back the tears. “Excuse me a moment.”

And before anyone can stop you, you’re slipping past them — out the door, out of breath — your chest aching with something you can’t yet name. While behind you, footsteps follow as he calls your name.

“Wait—shit. Wait!”

Satoru knows he fucked up. And by the time he barrels out the front door, you’re already halfway down the street, boots crunching through the snow like you’re marching to war.

He feels like a grade A idiot. Because somehow, against all odds, you — this ridiculously perfect girl — came all the way to Japan thinking he was someone worth showing up for.

And now he’s watching you walk away.

“Waitwaitwaitwait…” he groans, jogging after you, breath puffing white in the air. “Slow down and just… can you just—fuck. Just stop for a second?!”

“Stop?!” You whirl around, eyes wet and furious. “Why should I? Who the fuck even are you? What kind of psycho catfishes someone for months and then just lies to their face?!”

He blinks, defensive instinct kicking in before his brain can catch up.

“W‑Well—what kind of psycho flies across the country and shows up on someone’s front lawn?” he fires back, hands flailing. “In Japan, might I add!”

A bitter scoff tears out of you. “You said—and I quote—‘I wish you were here with me for Christmas,’” your arms fold tight across your chest like you’re holding yourself together. “Why the hell would you say that if you didn’t mean it?”

He backpedals immediately. Because fuck — he did mean it. Every late‑night call. Every laugh. Every stupid wish whispered into the dark.

But instead of admitting that, panic takes over.

“L‑Look—that’s just—something people say, okay?” he rambles. “Like… ‘your baby’s so cute,’ or—um— ‘my diet starts tomorrow,’ or—”

He’s waving his hand, scrambling for humor — something to soften it — but the words die on his lips when he sees your face drop. You blink hard, like something inside you just broke. And the sight of it makes his stomach twist into knots.

Great. Now he feels like even more of an asshole.

“Shit… okay,” he blurts, voice softer now. “That was... yeah. Um. That was a dick move. I know...”

“Fuck you…” you mutter, turning back around.

“Hold up! Please… just come inside, yeah? We can talk it out. If you'll just let me explain—"

“I don’t want to talk to you. Ever again.”

He can hear the hurt underneath the edge of your voice, and he stands there, watching you trudge through the snow – your figure getting smaller against the snow-washed street. He knows there is no salvaging this. He fucked it up. But still… reality slams into him all at once.

You don’t speak the language.

You don’t know the city.

You don’t have a car.

Fuck. Do you even have anywhere to go?

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck… fuck!” he breathes, running a hand through his hair as he begins to jog back toward the house, bursting through the door.

“Guys, I’ll be right back!” he shouts to no one in particular as he grabs his keys off the counter, hands shaking. “She left something at the airport!”

Then, he’s gone again. Chasing the only girl who ever made him feel seen.

It’s cold. Too cold for someone with no plan and no fucking clue where you’re going. But the cold doesn’t sting as much as your heart does.

You don’t even know how far you’ve walked. Five minutes? Ten? Your fingers are numb, your phone battery is nearly dead, and your boots are soaked through.

By pure luck, you stumbled into some sort of Japanese bar. And the kanji on the glowing sign outside might as well be ancient runes, but the warmth spilling through the door felt like something close to safety. Like maybe if you just stepped inside, you’d stop feeling so fucking alone.

Because hey, at least the sake tastes good.

You have no Wi-Fi, no plan, not a single ounce of pride left. All you have is the stupid hope that maybe if you drown yourself in enough of this bitter rice wine, it’ll burn the ache out of your chest.

The edges of the bar blur slightly. Everything’s warm and loud. Someone’s laughing too hard in the corner. Across the room, beyond the haze, there’s a man with a dark bun and violet eyes, sipping from a bottle with his head tilted back.

Beautiful.

Almost like…

The photos on Satoru’s profile?

Are you delusional? Drunk? No... that is him. Right??

You’re blinking through the blur, trying to make sense of it. But then? The room begins to spin and sure enough, nausea hits.

“Shit—” you whisper, grabbing the edge of the bar.

You’re pushing off your stool, stumbling outside the icy curb, before you double over and hurl into the snowbank.

Great. Fucking perfect. Can this day get any worse?

“Hey—hey! There you are!”

Oh, yeah. It can.

Tires crunch as a car jerks to a stop beside the curb. The door flies open, left swinging in the cold and Satoru rushes out, barely remembering to throw the gear into park before he’s crossing to you, boots skidding slightly on slush.

“Jesus—fuck. Are you okay?” he drops beside you, crouching low. “What the hell happened—”

“Don’t touch me,” you snap, pushing at him weakly while your body sways. He pulls back like you burned him.

“I’m fffine,” you slur, though your stomach still churns and your face is damp with cold sweat. “Gooo away.”

He sighs, exasperated.

“You’re not fine. You’re pale and shaking and—wait. Are you… drunk?” He exhales, brushing his hand through his hair like he’s trying not to lose it. “Come on. Let me take you home.”

“Home?” you laugh, bitter and sharp, scoffing as you shove at him again. “You mean your home?”

“No. I meant… wherever you’re safe. I just—can we not do this right now? Please?”

You snort, head lolling as you stare at the ground. “You’re a liarrrr,” you mutter, voice thick and sloppy. “Jus’ like everyone else.”

The words land heavier than he expects. Wind howls between you, carrying the smell of snow and alcohol and regret. Satoru opens his mouth—closes it. For once, he doesn’t have a smart comeback.

“I’m gonna stay right here,” you announce suddenly, sliding down until your back hits the wall. You cross your arms, chin lifting like it’s some kind of moral victory. “I don’t need you.”

“…in the snow?” he asks flatly.

“Yup,” you nod, blinking too hard. “Maybe I’ll meet someone who doesn’t lie for fun.”

“Jesus, woman—” he drags a hand down his face. “You’re in a foreign country. You don’t speak the language. You’re drunk off your ass. I’m not just gonna abandon you in an alley behind a bar you can’t even read the name of!”

“Pffft... well I liiike this bar,” you say bitterly, voice cracking. “S'greeat. They poured the sake fast. And nobody lied to me.”

Every time you say it, it hurts him even more. Satoru exhales hard, pacing a few steps like if he stops moving, he might actually lose it. But when he turns back, ready with another argument — another plea — he freezes.

Because you’re... crying.

Not quiet tears. Not dignified ones. Ugly, shaking sobs that pull from somewhere deep in your chest, shoulders hitching as you scrub at your face with the sleeve of your coat.

“I hate you,” you mutter, voice wrecked.

His chest tightens. He doesn’t know what to do with that. With this.

“I really liked you,” you continue, words tumbling out now, unstoppable. “Like—really liked you. I don’t do this. I don’t fly across the world for people. I don’t—” you hiccup, laughing wetly through the tears. “S'bullshit…” you mutter bitterly.

He blinks, lips pressing in a thin line like he’s unsure what to say. The cold wind blows as you sniffle.

“Plus… you’re hot as fuck. I don’t get it. Like… you didn’t even need to lie…”

You mutter, shifting in the snow. And that one makes him flinch.

“S’stupid… you could’ve jus' been you,” you say, gesturing vaguely at him. “But no. Instead you make up this whole fake version. Lying about everything. Liarrr. And now I can’t trust you. Betcha lied about liking me too, huh? All of it.“

He opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because that’s the cruel part.

He didn’t lie about everything.

He thinks of the way people’s eyes light up when they recognize his last name. The way conversations shift the second they realize he’s that Gojo. He thinks of years spent being wanted for the wrong reasons — money, status, face value.

And you’re the one person who ever made him feel like it’s okay for liking what he liked. The nerdy, cocky, compulsively sarcastic guy who collects Digimon cards and corrects Wikipedia entries in his spare time.

“Oh yeah… ya know who I saw in there?” you suddenly say, jerking your thumb toward the glowing doorway behind you. “That hot guy from yer pictures.”

Satoru stiffens.

“Uh… Suguru?”

“Oh,” you sniff. “So he’s a real guy?” You laugh again, hollow and dizzy. “Figures. Y’know what? He looks like he wouldn’t lie. Bet he’s honest. Bet he doesn’t make fake profiles and pretend to be someone else.”

You’re too drunk to notice the flinch in his jaw, the way he shifts his weight like the words physically hurt. 

“Maybe I’ll go back in and see if he’ll take me home, huh?”

You try to shove off the wall and nearly trip again, but Satoru steadies you without thinking — hands warm and steady under your arms.

“Look…” he murmurs, voice gentler now. “I know you’re mad. And I deserve it. But I’m worried about you.”

His grip adjusts — one hand rising to gently cradle your elbow, the other slipping around to the small of your back as he lowers his head to meet your bleary, mascara-smudged eyes.

“It’s cold,” he says, voice pitched just above a whisper. “It’s late. You’re probably jet-lagged out of your mind. Just… come back to the house with me, alright? Sleep it off. And if you still hate me in the morning—fine. I’ll even help you hook up with Suguru… if you want.”

Your head jerks back slightly, eyes narrowing. “W-What?” You squint at him, breath curling white between you. “Seriously?”

He shrugs with the ghost of a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, me and him used to be friends. I’m your best bet.”

“That’s insane,” you mutter.

“I’m aware,” he says dryly. Then, more cautiously: “All I’m asking is that you pretend to be my girlfriend. Just until Christmas is over.”

You scoff, half stumbling again as you try to push away from him. “Why the hell would I do that?”

He hesitates. Then breathes out through his nose, gaze flicking away for a second.

“Because… you saw how excited my friends were to meet you. I don’t have a great relationship with my family, okay? Those guys… they’re all I have. I’ve spent holidays alone more years than I haven’t.” His voice cracks a little, just a hair. “I don’t wanna ruin this one… please?”

Something in your expression softens. It hits you all at once, stupid and sharp: how close he is. How blue his eyes are. Maybe it’s the crack in his voice, or the tired honesty in his face, or the fact that for the first time tonight, he doesn’t look like a liar. He just looks… sad.

“…okay,” you whisper. “Fine. Let’s just… go.”

But when you step forward, you falter slightly, ankle twisting in the snow, and he moves without hesitation — an arm looping under yours, the other bracing your elbow as he helps you upright.

“Shit—okay. Easy, sweetheart. I got you,” he murmurs, adjusting his grip.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or the heartbreak, or the fact that your guard’s been sanded down to nothing. But for a second? You let yourself lean into him. Just a little. Just enough.

He guides you carefully toward the car. The passenger door creaks open. He ducks down to guide you in, one hand braced above your head so you don’t hit it on the frame. His other hand lingers at your lower back. You glance up at him in the doorway.

“Do you… really think Suguru would like me?”

There’s a flicker in his expression. Then a tight smile.

“I think… he’d be lucky if he did.”

You frown, unsure how to read that. But you don’t press.

He closes the door behind you, gently. And as he rounds the car to take his seat, you rest your head against the window — watching snow dust the windshield like ash.

It’s going to be a long Christmas.

The drive home was quiet. When Satoru glanced through the rearview mirror, he realized you were out cold before he even hit the second red light. Your head was tilted against the window, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even.

You looked impossibly beautiful.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, the snow picked up again, soft and powdery in the glow of the porch light. Satoru kills the engine and glances at you one more time.

“Hey… uh. We’re here?”

But you don’t wake. And honestly, he can’t find it in his heart to wake you himself. So instead, he sighs, “C’mon, sleeping beauty…” climbing out and circling the car. “Right… well. Up and at ‘em.”

He lifts you gently, bridal style. And your head lolls against his shoulder, warm breath ghosting across his collar. When he adjusts his grip, you snuggle closer, burrowing into the crook of his neck. And he tries to act like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting.

As he approaches the estate’s entrance, the door slides open before he can knock. Yuji stands there with a bag of chips in one hand and a soda in the other.

“Woah. Dude. She okay?”

“What?! Of course!” Satoru huffs. “She’s fine. Just—tired. Long flight. Jet lag hit her hard, y’know?”

Yuji nods solemnly. “RIP.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Move. Gotta put her to bed.”

Yuji moves. Nobody presses further. Satoru doesn’t stop in the hallway, just takes the stairs two at a time, heading straight for his room, nudging the door open with his foot while he eases you inside.

He lowers you onto the bed slowly, like you might break. Your coat bunches beneath you, and he hesitates — then gently shrugs it off your shoulders, exposing some of your bare skin. You murmur something incoherent, head rolling to the side.

“Shhh… time to get some rest, sweetheart…” he breathes. “Lay back for me, yeah?”

As you lay back, he slips your boots off next, one at a time, fingers brushing your ankles. And god, your feet are freezing.

But as he’s reaching for the blanket—

“Mmmph.”

Your hand fumbles blindly and finds his shirt, tugging him down with you. He stumbles forward slightly, one knee landing on the edge of the bed, catching himself on his palms as you tug him down. Your arms wrap loosely around his waist, burying your face into his chest.

“W-Woah—hey,” he breathes, voice cracking a little. “You’re—uh. Kinda clinging there, huh?”

You don’t answer. You just… sigh. Sleepy and content. He lies beside you, unsure where to put his hands, heart racing. You’re cold. He can feel the way you press into him, like he’s the warmest thing in the world. Your fingers bunch his shirt. Your nose nuzzles the fabric.

“Mm… s’toru…”

His heart flutters, and he knows you’ll probably hate him again in the morning, but he doesn’t move.

Because he likes the way you cling to him. Because he’s selfish. Because the girl he lied to for weeks is now curled up in his bed, face pressed to his ribs, saying his name like she’s dreamt it a hundred times.

So, he sleeps beside you that night. Pretending, just for now, that none of it was a lie.

‘I keep thinking… if this is what you’re like over the phone, what the hell am I gonna do if I ever see you in person?’

You’re dreaming again.

Of his voice — that voice. Warm and easy. The one that used to call you at midnight, laughing through the line like it was nothing, like you weren’t slowly losing your mind for a stranger you’d never met.

‘Cause… I really love talking to you. Might just get addicted to you, sweetheart.’

You sigh, stirring slightly against the warmth pressed to you. It’s a heavy, encompassing warmth – like you’ve been swaddled in sunlight and something sweet. There’s an arm draped languidly around your waist, and a thumb twitching against your lower back.

Dreaming.

“Mmph…”

Your thighs are warm, tangled, clinging to something… hard. You wiggle your hips as the rhythm of breathing ebbs and flows beneath you. And that movement makes a low, sleepy sound rumble against your chest.

“Fffuck…”

The groan isn’t innocent, and your brow furrows with a whimper as something firm twitches between your legs. Beginning to grow. A hand flexes at your back, and you instinctively press your thighs tighter, making him gasp.

“Unngh… b-baby…”

As your eyes flutter open, fluttering against his skin, you’re greeted with the slope of his throat, pale in the gray morning light. And the throbbing heat between your legs makes it undeniable now.

This isn’t a dream. This isn’t your bed. This isn’t your blanket. And your thighs are straddling Satoru’s hips with his morning wood right there and holy shit—

“S-Satoru?!”

You squeak. And his brow twitches, snowy lashes fluttering, lips parting on a sleepy inhale. When his hazy gaze focuses, you’re met with that blue. Bluer than the sky, bluer than anything should be this early in the goddamn morning.

But then, awareness sinks in, and he stutters. “H-Huh…?” gaze flicking down to the very compromising position you’re both in.

“Shit!” his voice cracks as you shove at his chest, face molten.

“Oh my god—why the hell are we sleeping together?!” you shriek, and he’s desperately trying to explain. “I—You—” he wheezes as you push his again. “Ow, okay, damn, don’t commit a felony! You literally pulled me into the bed when you were drunk. And then you passed out on top of me! I’m the victim here!”

Your hands are still on his chest, mid-push. But you stop. Breath catching. Eyes locking.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

You both look down at his dick.

“…so,” he mutters, throat bobbing as his eyes flick back up to your face—very carefully avoiding your chest, failing miserably. “You, uh… gonna move?”

“R-Right!” your cheeks erupt in flames as you scramble off him like he’s on fire, nearly tripping over the bed. “Shit—sorry—I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s uh… fine. Totally fine.” He mumbles with an awkward laugh. “I mean… not that I’m complaining… but damn. If this is how you serve breakfast in America? I might need to move and—”

“Don’t.” You snap, making him freeze. “Don’t say that…”

Your arms are crossed as you stand, pressing your lips together tightly. His expression instantly drops, the humor fading. And god. You want to be mad at him. You should be mad.

But mostly?

Last night comes flashing back – your drunk, pathetic sob story. And really, you just feel… humiliated.

“You don’t get to make jokes right now,” your tone trembles as you try to hold it tight. “Not after last night. Not after I flew across the world for someone who doesn’t exist. For some who—” you trail off, failing to find words that don’t sound even more pathetic. And scoff. “God… I’m such an idiot…”

There’s a long pause. Satoru’s quiet, but then you hear him sigh.

“…you’re not. You’re not an idiot.”

Your eyes flick over as you watch him shift upright, pushing a hand through his messy hair. His expression softens, vibrant eyes dimming with a tenderness. And for once, it doesn’t feel like he’s reaching for some smartass line to soften to blow.

“I told you… I shouldn’t have lied. Okay? I know that…” he scratches the back of his head, knowing there’s no excuse he can give you that’ll make him sound any less pathetic. He exhales, pushing on. “Look… just stay until Christmas. Please? I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you. Even… hook you up with Suguru, like I said.”

He hesitates as he says it. But that’s what you want… right? After all, you expected him. You expected Suguru.

You blink, mouth parting as your conversation at the bar comes crashing back towards your foggy memory. You’d said it to spite him. You were drunk and stupid and humiliated, and you just wanted to wound him.

Because you liked him.

You really, really wanted it to be real.

Your mouth parts. You’re about to answer when your phone buzzes.

Mei: How’s Japan, darling? Is he real? I expect those lines~

You stare at the screen. Something twists in your chest — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. And with a bitter smile, you tuck the phone away.

“Right…” you mutter, rubbing your arm nervously. “Uh… sure. I guess I’ll stay.”

a/n. hello my darlings. merry christmas, i hope you all are enjoying your holiday! i will have pt 2 out before the end of december, lmk if you wanna be tagged. this fic kinda gives me supermodel! gojo vibes? at least with the message it's exploring. hehe. anyways, love you all. thanks for reading 💖 part 2 >>>

general/random!

⟢ half german (dad), half french (mom); jean is french for douchebag btw (slap aot ref LMAOO).

⟢ knows how to speak french; not a lot he's close to being fluent but he only speaks it with his mama. never speaks it in front of people usually, including his close friends because he's lowk embarrassed that his accent sounds weird asf. (it doesn't he sounds so so so sexy)

⟢ however if he's tried, pissed tf off, drunk, he will start talking in french / mix his sentences (canadian francophone core lowk)

⟢ his voice is deeper in french and there's A LOT more emotion and like just general yearn in his tone cause french is just such a romantic language (saying this as someone who is fluent in french LMAO)

⟢ once again we got ANOTHER mama's boy. loves his mom to death, even if he lowk used to be SUCH an asshole to her in front of people smh. calls her maman (french for mom), or mama (<3).

⟢ that one time he was an asshole to her in front of his friends after she called him jean-boy is one of his life's biggest regrets and to this day he apologizes for it and feels SO guilty abt it

⟢ nerd. nerd. nerd. man is a NERDDDDDD A LOSER NERD. he LOVES classic novels (oscar wilde, jane austen, emily bronte, fyodor dostoevsky).

⟢ at first he lowk only started reading classics like the picture of dorian grey to look cool and mysterious but he soon realized that classics were actually really good and he genuinely enjoyed them

⟢ cinema buff. loves classic films like LOT trilogy, the godfather, scarface, fight club, whiplash, etc. BUT he also secretly loves romcoms and tragic yearning romances like la la land, pride and prejudice, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, 10 things i hate about you. but also loves other movies that would be on a teenage girls fav movie list like beautiful boy, interstellar, little women, lady bird. also brokeback mountain stan. he cries every single time he watches that movie.

⟢ he would not like timothee chalamet. i said what i said. even though he really enjoys the guys acting.

⟢ lowk a performative male without really noticing it or trying. it's just like built in him to be a genuinely attractive guy to women. (just never the women he actually likes unfortunately) like HE IS the female gaze.

⟢ lowk a raging bisexual icon but he often confuses feelings of romance for those of stronger platonic friendships (case in point marco- but lowk jean was genuinely in love with marco but just didn't have the balls to say anything or admit it to himself but everyone lowk knew it...) (also found armin very very attractive even after learning he was a boy and not a girl LMAO. we love jearmin in this household)

⟢ LOVES music. over like 200k minutes on his spotify wrapped. his fav artists/bands would definitely be cigarettes after sex, the arctic monkeys, jeff buckley, radio head, the smiths, the cranberries, frank ocean but also tyler the creator, a$ap rocky, drake, kendrick, carti, kanye, central cee, and unironically he enjoys taylor swift (only her older songs and some songs from ttpd, hates the new taylor). again seems performative but it mostly isn't- he's just naturally like this. he likes everything.

⟢ with that said he had a shit ton of playlists and will make his friends playlists for their birthdays or just randomly and would probably burn them onto cds. but he might chicken out and not give them it cause he feels like it's lame.

⟢ has multiple pairs of headphones on him at all time. wired. airpods. over-ear. his fav is however wired, but he usually has an airpod in one ear at all time playing music.

⟢ unironically team jacob, team stefan, team second lead male love interest (cause he relates asf)

⟢ would be VERY into pop culture and celeb gossip but tries to be lowk abt it. he knows the ENTIRE phoebe bridgers paul mescal daisy edgar jones thing and is invested to the point where he follows a gossip page

⟢ he'd have a public ig account where he follows everyone from school and uni and stuff but he'd also have a close freinds/spam acc with like 12 followers where he just shit posts and posts vlogs and videos of his friends and pics of himself.

⟢ he would have a tiktok and he'd probably post fit checks and hockey stuff probably. stuff like this LMFAO and also this

⟢ would be very close friends with everyone but especially sasha and connie who are like his younger siblings, marco who is his rock, and eren who he will never admit to liking but he genuinely cares very very much for him. would also notably confide in armin when he needs a proper no bullshit answers and advice. him and ymir would get along well enough (drinking + smoking buddies), but ymir thinks he's a pretentious rich douchebag LMAOOO and also he probably has tried hitting on historia at some point so that doesn't help.

⟢ black coffee. no milk, no creamer, no sugar. straight black coffee. he likes hot black coffee in the winter or when it's cold he'll sometimes put a little butter in it cause his throat gets sore easily. in summer he loves iced americanos and connie and sasha make so much fun of him for it cause plain black coffee is so yuck

⟢ knows how to cook. helped his mama in the kitchen growing up (only child core) and will often cook for sasha to show he cares for her <3

⟢ athletic. i've seen a lot of people say he'd play football and i can sorta see it but lowk I feel like he'd be just so so so much better at ice hockey. i feel like he'd be known for being very graceful for a hockey player. he just gives off canadian (specifically french-canadian) hockey bro vibes but he's the least douchebaggiest on the team of exclusively douchebags

⟢ chews a lot of gum as well since he always needs to make sure his breath smells good

⟢ he would love cats. would specifically have a black cat with like green eyes

⟢ very very nice neat handwriting. knows how to write in cursive.

⟢ studious asf. very competitive about his grades. when he was younger he used to flaunt the fact that he was so smart because he studied hard, but as he got older he was more quiet about it.

⟢ he would probably study psych (abtr reference...) or business (i feel like his dad would be a business owner/own a law firm perchance). however, he doesn't really even enjoy what he's studying. he tried to convince himself that he did but it was lowk just because the degree would provide him a secure future... he craves stability... but...

⟢ his true passion it art. he loves to paint, draw, sketch all of it but he never pursued it because 1) his dad discouraged him and told him it wasn't a safe career and he'd never make it in the industry 2) he genuinely thinks he's not any good- not trying to humble brag or fishing for compliments or reassurance; he GENUINELY does not think he's good. he's very secretive about his art, not a lot of people know he even does it and he gets very defensive about it and will even get mad if you try and bring it up in front of others, especially his parents.

⟢ also with that said, he doesn't have the best relationship with his dad. i feel like his dad was always just busy with work and was never around much (which is why jean is so close to his mom) but his dad also expected a lot from him and jean genuinely looked up to his dad growing up and wanted to always impress him so he'd study really hard and try to get the best grades and he was always pushy with people cause he wanted to act better than everyone else but it was lowk just because he wanted his dads attention...

⟢ more on his family; he's not like super rich considering he lives in trost, but his family is def comfortable compared to a lot of his friends families.

⟢ a pretty big car guy. him and eren probably worked at a mechanic shop in highschool/uni (jean more for fun since he didn't really need a job). him and eren would talk about cars a lot. ymir and him too probably since i imagine ymir as a mechanic hehe

⟢ want's a big family. because he was an only child + he grew up around sasha and connie's families that were big and they had a lot of siblings and he was always lowk jealous cause sasha and connie weren't his real siblings and they had actual siblings </3

⟢ would be the best dad ever. so supporting and loving and spoils them rotten. would be a fantastic girl dad specifically. he wants a daughter more than anything in the world.

⟢ took piano and horseback riding lessons as a kid.

⟢ FATASSSSSSS. eats so so much. especially omelets. he loves omelets. but his nicotine addiction in the recent years has killed his hunger </3

⟢ loves loves loves ice cream. his fav dessert. a nice big scoop of expensive ass vanilla bean ice cream after a long day MMHMMM.

⟢ cigarettes > vapes. he hates people who vape and thinks they are posers asf and pussy cause just smoke the damn cigarettes vapes are terrible for u.... (cigs are also just as bad but hey)

⟢ thankfully u can like 90% of the time not smell the cigarette smoke on him. he's very clean and careful abt it.

⟢ drinks. he likes beer but he prefers whiskey or bourbon.

⟢ likes flowers a lot.

appearance.

⟢ this specifically his how i feel like he'd look. also this. and this.

⟢ i specifically always imagine him to look like a mix of jeff buckley and a little bit of chase crawford (specifically him in gossip girl as nate archibald LOL)

⟢ TALL. SO SO SO TALL. (taller than eren ofc and ALWAYS makes sure to point it out.)

⟢ not pale but also not as tan as eren. he's very sunkissed??

⟢ would have lots of moles/birthmarks on his body

⟢ body is muscular but on the leaner side. in between how lean eren is and how buff reiner is because he plays hockey.

⟢ lanky asf. legs for days and long arms

⟢ big veiny hands, but they are more like delicate looking (??) and his fingers are slender. he has pretty hands. i like hands.

⟢ you would think that he has callouses but his hands are SO fucking soft and they smell really nice

⟢ fun fact: french men tend to be pretty hairless.. jean doesn't get a lot of hair on his arms/legs/chest, however he has a happy trail 🤤

⟢ with that in mind, he also lowk struggles to grow out his facial hair like eren but he actually keeps it and doesn't just shave it off- he's probably on menoxidil and has an extensive beard care routine for that fuckahhh goatee. (connie and sasha have both pointed out how it looks like pubes on multiple occasions)

⟢ smells REALLY good. citrus, vanilla, warm musk, sandalwood- he would just smell so so so amazing. i wanna lick him.

⟢ takes A LOT of pride in the way he looks. if he sees a mirror he is unfortunately the type of guy who will stop and stare at himself and will fix his hair

⟢ long thick eyelashes that are naturally curled that im totally jealous of

⟢ showers twice a day. this bitch is CLEANNNN

⟢ his hair would be that ashy blonde color a lot of french people have but in the sun it sometimes comes off as a strawberry blonde <3

⟢ mullet. yes. ofc. over grown in the back, occasionally gets it cleaned up. reference image for when it's grown out 🤤 vs fresh cut

⟢ the prettiest honey brown eyes. like this super nice light golden color and if ur up close there's flecks of green so they are technically hazel

⟢ BIG ASS NOSE. LONG. POINTY. HAS THAT BEAUTIFUL FUCKING BUMP ON THE RIDGE... MMMMMMMMMMM (exactly like this.) so so so so so so sexy

⟢ is just so so so pretty and perfect looking and attractive oh my lordddddddd

⟢ dresses very very nicely. a lot more put together than connie and eren who tend to dress for street ware. lots of button up casual dress shirts (sleeves rolled up to the elbows so u can see his veins YAS GOD!!!!), crewnecks, quarter zips. when he does wear tee's they are more fitted. will wear grey sweats and zip ups during exam season. lots of neutral colors, greys, browns, but he wears darker shades of green, reds (maroon would prob be his fav color icl), navy. no yellow. never any yellow. he dislikes yellow clothing.

⟢ i don't think he'd get any tattoos tbh. if he ever did get one it would be very very very meticulously planned out. he likes the idea of tattoos and how they look, he just isn't sure abt them on himself.

⟢ not a huge jewelry person. has a couple of rings and chains. i see him as a gold person tbh... would have a gold chain. maybe a dog-tag?

⟢ not really appearance but lowk his aura is just so sexy. like he just screams sexy. like just looking at him or being near him MMMMM turns literally every girl ever on (me. im every girl)

⟢ sasha and historia have painted his nails in the past and he's open to doing it again. yes. bisexual confident in himself icon rmr?

⟢ doesn't really blush but when it's cold his nose gets red. when he's embarrassed his ears are bright red.

personality

⟢ can come of as THE BIGGEST ASSHOLE EVER. idgaf what anyone says this man is just so sassy and stupid he just seems straight up mean at times...

⟢ specifically he is a loud, judgemental, sharp-tongued asshole who says what everyone else is thinking- often without thinking twice about it himself. he doesn't care if what he says will hurt someones feelings in the moment- especially if he doesn't know this person, dislikes the person, or specifically if he finds the person attractive he will be an even bigger jerk cause he's so stupid and doesn't know how to express himself LMFAO

⟢ he's very very very blunt. rarely ever sugar coats things and gets straight to the point.

⟢ a flirt. so so so flirty. flirts with everyone. and he's SO damn good at it. he's naturally very charming to the point where it's annoying. often the flirting is a defense mechanism, an ego boost, and sometimes he just genuinely enjoys the banter. not a sleazy flirt for sure.

⟢ very pessimistic. he's a realist for sure. likely his worst trait. always thinks of the worse case scenario and assumes that things won't go the way he wants them too. it's not that he's hopeless- he's just practical.

⟢ teases people a lot hehe. he just loves to poke and provoke people (him and ymir often gang up on eren, connie, and reiner) for literally no fucking reason other than to get reactions LMFAOO

⟢ similar to eren, he's VERY hot headed. gets angry very quick HOWEVER unlike eren he's verbal first. he explodes emotionally, raises his voice, snaps, but he's not usually the type to get physically violent unless something REALLLLLLLY pisses him off.

⟢ i feel like he doesn't like arguing. he's actually not a very confrontational person, he's just hotheaded. he literally gets into arguments by accident. he finds it difficult to talk about his feelings and put into words what he's thinking about- it's hard for him to articulate his feelings. he also often realizes what he meant to say later on when replaying and overanalyzing the argument LOL

⟢ swears. so fuckin much. "jesus fuck". "fuck you you dumb fucking fuck". "oh for fucks sake." however he's also very mindful and respectful and will almost never swear in front of his parents or people older than him

⟢ swears in french when he's super pissed off.

⟢ when he's comfortable/drunk he's very very loud and outspoken and always has something to say, but very often he gets quiet all of a sudden and zones out. i feel like he gets emotionally overwhelmed easily and just checks out. he's so emo.

⟢ playful asf. jokes to cope!!

⟢ gets easily embarrassed and will hardly show emotions cause he wants to be mysterious so fucking bad. he wants to act nonchalant asf and be like black cat energy naturally like eren, mikasa and levi, but he's just a big golden retriever. he radiates good boy/dog energy so bad

⟢ a diva with an attitude problem.

⟢ overthinks everything for NO REASON BRO. he's always thinking and thinking and thinking- i lowk do think this man would be depressed for literally no reason because he just ruminates so much. canonically jean has a lot of guilt, survivors remorse, pressure, self-doubt, and fears of inadequacy and i feel like all these things can translate into a modern au even if marco (the fire that started jean's character growth) isn't dead, i feel like he'd still be like this...

⟢ very prideful and likes to flex how good he is at things. will loudly boast how good he is at things. can come off as pretentious and self absorbed because of it and lowk... he sorta is... so fucking self obsessed but if i was jean kirstein i totally would be too. HOWEVER that was how he was younger to like 11th maybe 12th grade. in university he's definitely toned it down a lot more and has learned when it's appropriate to do it and has limits. but when he's with like eren or reiner? you best believe he's prideful and so full oh himself.

⟢ easily flustered. this man tries so hard not to get flustered but fails miserably.

⟢ so incredibly caring and thoughtful. he notices a lot of things and has mental lists of the things the people he cares about likes/dislikes. in fact, i feel like he'd have a folder in his notes app for it.

⟢ a natural leader. he would be captain of his hockey team. despite the fact that he's so pessimistic- somehow, it just works. probably because he actually cares deeply for every guy on the team and knows them inside and out and is somehow able to put his pride aside and say meaningful things. (that scene in the rumbling arc where he tells reiner that their scouts </3)

⟢ yearner. yearner. yearner. he yearns like no other. like hello he was into mikasa FOR YEARS despite her never once showing ANY interest in him even after eren was out of the picture. and marco? jean YEARNS for him. everything jean does is in the memory of his dearest friend and soulmate.

⟢ however jean fixates and idealizes. he sees the very best in people to a fault unfortunately.

⟢ i seriously don't think jean would be an f-boy. yes he flirts a lot but it doesn't mean he sleeps around. when it comes to actual real emotional and physical intimacy, he's cautious as fuck. he's not the type to sleep around with random people to pass time or treat sex like it's meaningless. oh, and he's terrible at casual relationships. casual sex, friends with benefits, situationships? the bane of his existence he HATES it.

as your boyfriend <3

⟢ falls in love slowly but its irreversible. he doesn't even realize it's happening at first. he starts to notice small things abt you without even trying, wants to spend more time with you, wants to reach out and touch ur hands, your arms, your waist and he just can't understand why. he'll blame it on the fact that he's just physically attracted to you, but obviously it's SO much more than that. and by the time he eventually clocks it, he's already fucked. when jean loves someone- it's permanent. you will always own his heart even if you break it a million times over and over again.

⟢ LOVES drawing you. has sketchbooks FILLED with drawings of you.

⟢ makes playlists for you. multiple playlists. a new one for every date. for your birthdays. when you have an important test coming up. anything and everything he just loves showing you he cares in this way.

⟢ doesn't seem outwardly clingy but he's always around you. like he's ALWAYS right there. sitting beside you. standing just a little too close. leaning in when you talk. his eyes follow you wherever you go.

⟢ however pda is his kink of all kinks. he adores pda but like very subtle pda. not enough to make people uncomfortable and ick them out and shout at you guys to get a room, but just enough to let everyone in the room know your his. he'll pull you by the waist onto his lap when the gang is sitting together, and wraps his arms around you and buries his head into your shoulder. kisses you so much- not full on makeouts (though he loves to do that in front of everyone too), but forehead kisses, kissing the top of your head, kissing your hands. all of it. he adores when you kiss him first too.

⟢ touch starved. like he literally is like a starving man. hands are constantly on you tbh. if you guys are sitting at side by side at dinner, his hand is on your knee. if you guys are just sitting he grabs your hand and rubs his thumb over your wrists pulse point. when you initiate touch he melts instantly.

⟢ yearnerrrrrr yearn yearn yearn. he'll flirt, joke, try and act nonchalant but trust at night he's replaying ur conversations in his head over and over and over again, overthinking everything he said, remembering all the microscopic little things that you did and wondering why you did those things.

⟢ overthinks the fuck outta your relationship. (before getting together and when you're together as well) jean will convince himself you don't feel the same. and then he yearns even harder. it literally causes him physical pain because he wants you so fucking bad.

⟢ "NOW I WANT SOMEONE BADLY!!" this song is his fucking anthem when he's in love with you so bad.

⟢ a major big fat slut for eye contact. eye contact turns him on so bad oh my god. if you're talking to him and holding eye contact the entire time or if he's telling you something and you guys are holding eye contact trust me that man is rock hard.

⟢ gets flustered in a VERY humiliating way that bruises his ego, especially if you tease him like "hmm jean, don't tell me you like me or something?" his ears go bright red. jaw tightens. he's suddenly very aware of his body and the way he looks and his hands especially- he'll cross his arms over his chest, make fists, shove his hands into his pockets. and he avoids eye contact but keeps glancing back at you while getting increasingly more flustered all the while trying to play it cool (fails miserably) and says things like "fuck off"

⟢ MR DARCY HAND FLEX. MR DARCY HAND FLEX. MR DARCY HAND FLEXXXXXX

⟢ so affectionate in private. so so so touchy it can almost be overstimulating. always grabbing onto your waist, hips, ass. wraps his arms around you, pulls you onto his lap, makes your lay down on top of him, loves putting his head on your chest or lap. he NEEDS to be close to you.

⟢ loves when you touch him absentmindedly. your hand touching his arm while you talk. tracing shapes on his chest. running your hands through his hair. it makes him relax and feel so at ease. sometimes he'll close his eyes without realizing and you lowk freak out and think you put him to sleep with how boring the conversation was.

⟢ loves the sound of your voice and your laugh. loves when you imitate the way he talks like you try to make your voice deeper and shit. LOVESSSS how you talk to pets, specifically his cat who he refers to as your daughter the minute your guys are official.

⟢ with that in mind he literally talks to his cat in a baby voice and would say shit like "ur mama's comin' over tonight so you gotta be good, alright?" hes such a fucking dork omg

⟢ will kiss you a couple of times and then take you out on a date and then when he's absolutely certain your feel even a fraction of what he feels for you, he begs you to let him be YOUR boyfriend. more than you being his, he NEEDS to be yours. your one and only. so he would specifically ask "please let me be your boyfriend" not "please be my girlfriend." PATHETICCCCC

⟢ calls you by your name cause he loves your name so much. but he does also love calling you baby, lover, my love, pretty girl, MY pretty girl, beautiful, my lover, angel, all sorts of names. he also loves calling you pet-names in french!! mon cheri (my dear), ma bell (my beautiful one), ma biche/ma bichette (my doe, ob reference perchance?) and also mon petit chou = my little cabbage. that one probably weirded you out at first but it's actually really cute.

⟢ everyone knows how he feels about you. it's painfully obvious. he's ALWAYS staring right at you. when he talks to you his voice get's softer. he's always checking in on you, asking if you're okay- something he never really does with anyone else.

⟢ he's also always smiling around you but not that cocky smirk he has with everyone else, not it's like a pathetic down bad boyish grin.

⟢ remembers EVERYTHING about you somehow. things you don't even remember about yourself.

⟢ JEALOUS JEALOUS JEALOUS JEALOUS SOOOOOO JEALOUS. and hes SO fucking petty about it to holy fucking shit. imagine you guys are at a party and some guy is hitting on you, you don't really realize it- or maybe u do- well the minute jean sees it he will infact walk over and wordlessly pull you into his arms by grabbing your waist/hips or he straight up grabs your face and kiss you while looking RIGHT at the guy. and he'd smile afterwards and be like oh hey, who exactly are you? bonus points if he knows the guy and pretends like he doesn't remember him LMFAO.

⟢ very possessive as well. you're his. you BELONG to him and he belongs to you. no one else.

⟢ protective as fuck normally ofc but especially when it comes to you. if something happened like you getting into an argument with someone. he will push and push and push until you finally tell him what happened and he won't give up no matter how much you tell him to fuck off. it's so annoying but ugh he just loves you so much he wants to fix everything and take care of you so bad.

(case in point, aot chapter 116)

⟢ the reason why you even avoid telling him what happened 90% of the time is cause you alr know he's somehow gonna get involved in the mess and make it even worse cause hes so fuckin stupid omg

⟢ hates arguing so so much. but with you, he actually tries. he doesn’t shut down or dodge the issue the way he usually does with his friends. when you’re fighting, he wants to get to the root of it instead of pretending everything’s fine, because he cares about you more than anyone else. he actually tries to explain how he feels, even when he doesn’t have the right words and he gets really frustrated because of it. In the heat of the moment, he might snap—say something harsh without thinking—but the regret is instant. He backtracks immediately, voice breaking, apologizing over and over, practically begging for your forgiveness because the idea of hurting you or losing you terrifies him.

⟢ with that said—if you’re genuinely pissed at him, he's a complete pathetic mess. all that pride and ego is GONE. he’ll literally drop to his knees in front of you, hands settling at your hips, forehead resting against your stomach and then he'll looks up at you with tears glassing those stupidly pretty honey-brown eyes—begging. It’s embarrassing. It’s pathetic. he doesn't care though. all he cares about is how bad he needs your forgiveness. he can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t even breathe right knowing you’re angry with him. Every second stretches until it hurts. (Think Art Donaldson in Challengers—that bedroom scene.)

⟢ has so so so much respect for you. only ever has amazing things to say about you. he quite literally worships you. he sees you as the only source of light in his pathetic, miserable life and you are perfect, you can do no wrong literally 99% of the time

⟢ he would never break up with you first tbh and if you did break up he would be in denial until you finally tell him to leave you the fuck alone and then he would try SOOOO hard to hate you but he literally is incapable of it and it makes him so angry so then he lowk just starts hating himself LMFAOO

⟢ wants a life with you the moment he realizes he's in love. and yes, even though he wants kids and a big happy family and all that shit, if you don't want kids that's fine too. he'll do whatever you want as long as you stay by his side.

⟢ domestic intimacy is lowk his fav!!!! he LOVES cooking with you, grocery shopping, studying side by side, sitting in comfortable silence.

⟢ he loves when you wear his clothes around the house or outside.

⟢ when he first realized he liked you he'd literally get hard just thinking about you. your voice. your laugh. your scent. your smile. your eyes. YOU. you are his biggest turn on ever. nothing has ever gotten him as hard as you do.

⟢ at night trust he just repeatedly gets hard replaying your interactions with him that day he's so pathetic holy shit

⟢ but just cause he's pathetic DOES NOT mean he's pathetic in bed. that man is big. i'm talking stallion sized easily 7, 8 maybe even 9 inches big when he's rock solid. like ik that's unrealistic but this is jean kirstein were talking about.

⟢ so big that the first time you felt it you got all nervous and he said something like "i know you can take it my pretty girl."

⟢ rough. possesive asf. hands on your neck, boarderline choking you out (consensually ofc), leaving marks everywhere, using you until your literally shaking, unable to even speak. he has the most stamina out of like any of the aot men and i will die on this hill.

⟢ praise praise praise. he loves to praise you so so so much. literally worships you, whispering sweet nothing constantly.

⟢ his lips would be on yours like every 5 seconds. he loves loves loves kissing you.

⟢ he wants to be able to see your face. hes a missionary and cowgirl fanatic.

⟢ he's so so so needy. literally always in the mood. there has never been a time where you wanna do something and he's NOT in the mood.

⟢ he loves getting you on your knees, burying his hands in your hair and face fucking you until your a mess, your eyes a red and so so so watery, your gagging- he lovessss hearing you gag on him. he has one hand cupped on your face, brushing away tears tellin you you're doing such a good job for him and that you're makin him feel so so so good. AHHH

⟢ when it's his turn to make you feel good, he will literally hold you down and keep going while you beg him to stop saying it's too much. his hands are big like i mentioned and he has long pretty fingers that always hit the right spot perfectly and he is a tongue god holy fucking shit.

⟢ he will tease tf outta you. constantly ruining your orgasm, not letting you cum, leaving you a completely mess to the point where you can't even beg anymore and then he'll smile and be like "what do you want me to do baby?" he loves having that bit of control over you.

⟢ will rip your clothes off and have you stand while he sits at the bed and just stares and stares and stares OR the other way around, you on the bed squirming BEGGING for him to touch you and him just watching you in utter awe

⟢ kissing your thighs and arms and stomach and just any parts of you you may be insecure about and whispering sweet nothing about how fuckin perfect you are.

⟢ loves to fuck you in unconventional places. the bedroom is fine but the thrill of fucking you in a tight dark space, in the car, in the kitchen, the bathroom, THE SHOWERRRRRR. if ur in the shower he begs PLEASE LET ME INNNNN

⟢ your legs resting on his shoulders.

⟢ big nose..... hehe..... sitting on his face- WOAHHHHHH WHO SAID THAT

okay enough im going crazy i love jean kirstein so fuckign much. i think i know/imagine things about him more than people ik irl...

you were already kicking yourself over the smile you had given as you sat across from him. it was quick, you immediately looked at away right after. dinner was quiet, as expected, and you silently kicked yourself over that too-- how he was the one to carry the conversation, trying to get to know you better by asking casual questions. some about school, but mainly about your life outside of it, like what your hobbies were, what kind of music you were into.

you were convinced that the first time he asked you out would also be his last, but he was back in your messages just days later.

| r. sukuna: there's gonna be a night market a couple towns over this weekend. wanna go?

| you: yeah! that sounds fun.

| you: what time?

| r. sukuna: like 8-ish. gonna let me come pick you up this time?

| you: sure lol

| r. sukuna: atta girl (: see you then.

the second date was a little better. maybe because you were a little more comfortable with him, but you couldn't take much credit for that. he was touchier since he finally had the chance to. throwing his arm over you just moments after you two got out of his car, guiding you through a sea of people like it was second nature to him. he let you pick which stands you wanted to check out, leaning down and lending you his ear each time.

so casual, yet so intimate. it shouldn't have effected you as much as it did, yet there you were, feeling your cheeks warm up and heart skip a beat everytime he murmured something in your ear. everytime he held out a skewer, insisting you take a bite out of it.

he was still somewhat intimidating, but he made you feel comfortable-- safe, making it easier to let your guard down. you actually let yourself have fun with him, abandoning any pessimistic thoughts you would've had if he had kept his distance.

yet your heart picked up once more as he walked you back up to your apartment. you said you'd be fine, but he insisted, walking slower than you usually would've had you been alone.

he kept his hands in his pockets the entire time, not giving off the energy that he wanted to go in with you, but there was still something in his eyes that said there was something he wanted from you.

you two were only a few doors down when he finally spoke up.

"i had fun tonight, did you?" his tone was softer this time around, like he was searching for some sort of validation. it was sweet.

a word you never would've associated with a man as big and burly as him.

your lips curled into a smile as you slowly nodded, "i did." you almost sounded like you were surprised when you said it, pulling a low laugh out of him.

"that's good. almost thought you were gonna turn me down when i asked if you wanted to go."

"why's that?"

he shrugs, "you were pretty quiet that first time we grabbed a bite to eat. you're usually a lot more talkative at parties."

"sorry," you stifle a laugh, stopping at your door and turning to look at him, "guess i'm just a little shy when im not taking shots with a bunch of people."

"don't be," he smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "i think it's kinda cute."

"yeah?" you hold your breath a little as his hand stays, snaking it around your neck and rubbing his thumb over your cheek rather than pulling away.

"yeah," he murmurs, eyes tracing down to your lips for a moment before looking back up.

and there was something about it that made you lean into his touch a little more. you could tell he was going to ask you something, but watching the way your lids slowly dropped was all he needed to abandon the question altogether.

his lips were soft.

that's the only thought that went through your mind after he pulled you in and closed the distance, tasting the faint remnants of the mint he had to erase the beer he had earlier. it wasn't dizzying in the way you had imagined what kissing sukuna would be like.

it was warm.

tender.

and it's not like you've never kissed anyone before, but it was the first time a man had ever kissed you so gently.

“Aht aht-” A low rumble echoes out from behind you, its sheer primal tone enough to make the hairs on your body raise. Just as soon as you’re registering Toji’s lowered tone, a sudden spank! rings out against your cunt.

And as you’re yelping in surprise, he lingers his stinging touch right over your clit. The padded tips of his fingers teasing and twisting your swollen clit, “And where do you think you’re going, hm?” 

You’re biting back sobs, “N-nowhere- oh.” Right before your entire throat seems to feel the thumpin’ impacts of Toji’s pulsating red tip. Thwack! He was just so hard that you could almost taste every throb, widenin’ out your goopy walls to his length. Sloooow and sensual, so that you’re feeling each vein primally scrape its pattern out.

And it’s almost as if he’d expected your whiny denial.

Almost as if he’d expected you to react exactly like so, stupidly being tunneled by his inches.

Almost as if he’s been waiting—because in positively no time, Toji’s burrowing the slippery rotundness of his tip against your cervix. Not slow anymore - he was just bashing his circumference in until your eyes damn near bulge out of their sockets.

Such an incredible impact that only he could do, such an incredible speed. It’s leaving you stunned and shaking for a few seconds. A reverie that only Toji can break with his gruff voice, “Nowhere? Hah…” A voice that absolutely didn’t bode well for you or your poor cunt.

The next thing you’re feeling are his roughened digits, slamming down upon your folds once more. Hard. “Leaking all over the sheets- all over. It’s a fucking waterpark down there, and you call that- tch, ‘nowhere’?” His rude grunt is followed up with yet another spank- though, this time, it’s on those jittery hands of yours that still held onto the headboard. “Trying to run from my fat fuckin’ cock and you call that ‘nowhere’?”

You’re squirming your hips away at the pleasure with a whine—

“And look- look! You’re still trying to run.” He breathes, his hold on you tightening enough that you swear you heard your joints pop! “Ya reeeeally think you can run away from me? With my strength?”

“S-swear m’not…” 

“How cute.” Tittering to himself, “Y’know I hunt down people for a living, doll?”

Your mouth lolls agape, just the merciless swipes of Toji’s cock down every orifice made you drool. Somehow, and the slightest rub-a-dub of his winding veins left you seeing stars.

It’s just about all you’re managing to get out before your boyfriend’s hand comes slamming down yet again - this time over your gaped maw. “So to have my girl trying to run away- ‘specially when I’m just trying to fuck her right, is just…” Beads of saliva splatter out, and Toji doesn’t even hesitate before he’s licking the mess off himself. Heavenly restriction flowing through his body, he pins you to him until your body aches lewdly. “One chance to explain yerself. I know you’re in denial because you know you did it, mama- and you’re still trying to say ‘nowhere’.”

Dazedly you can only nod, entire body quivering after the slide-slide-sliiiides of his prolonged shaft. And it wasn’t that you were just overstimulated, it’s that Toji had been hitting your favorite hidden spots for what feels like hours by now (and probably was). “Nowhere…I was just feelin’ sensitive, I promise I wasn’t– oh, fuck.”

As if to prove his very point, he’s dragging his crowned fingertips on your clit- with a particularly hard thrust that has you squealing.

Your limbs weakening, body bucking, arms weakly tugging on the pillars of your mahogany headboard. And through it all, Toji’s looking down at you with a grin.

The headlock tightens, “Still nowhere, huh?”

In shock, you’re immediately letting go of the headboard-

“Too late for that now, mama.” Toji snickers, ignoring those cute pleas of yours. He’d already given you your chance, and now you can do nothing more but arch your back against his chiselled figure, the scritch-scratch of his dark happy trail against your ass- and take it. “You know m’not a patient man…”

Your spit-glossed lips wobble, “Oh, fuck- hck!”

“Nowhere.” Toji hums, and you can almost hear the utter greed in his tone. The breathy octaves. The carnal want. In one fluid motion, he’s giving your traitorous hips two direct smacks! upon either side, and then two more on the inner parts of your thighs, one more straight onto your puffy pussylips.

Just so swollen with need- just so sensitive that you almost don’t register the final two swats he’s hitting on the backs of your hands.

Smack—smack!

Before he lets go of the headlock. Before both his hands clasp your own, fingers tight around your wrists. Toji’s easily pulling and pulling them behind your back, your arms straight and outstretched so that you couldn’t use the headboard for escape anymore- holding you up with nothing but that as he fucks you like an animal.

Bouncing your upper half in midair, inches off the sheets with how hard Toji was manhandling you - easily, at that, he didn’t even break a sweat. “Oh p-please.” You’re whimpering, your head feeling dizzy at the constant pressure from all sides. “Please I wasn’t really going to- oh, my neighbor’s going to hear us-”

“Nowhere.” But you don’t think that Toji Fushiguro can even hear you right now. “And fuck your neighbor.”

He’s driving his toned hips against you like a madman- thrashing and thrashing, bruising your softened cervix. “Nowhere nowhere- nowhere.” That lil’ mantra of his leaving him in scorching hot pants, breezing down your arched spine. Less steady than usual. Less stable. 

In-between each of his feral ruts, the slamming pushes of his cock, “Nowhere.” Sometimes, your eardrums can even make out the sound of Toji chuckling following the word, like even saying it made him laugh. He’s whispering it out as if a broken record player, growing even more crazed by the second. “Nowhere- fuck- nowhere.”

“Toji, you just sound so…” And then you’re turning your head over your shoulder, just to see the expression on your boyfriend’s face- only for any and every breath in your lungs to be instantly wiped from existence. “-oh.”

Oh.

Because Toji’s drunken, half-lidded eyes—fuck, you couldn’t even begin to describe the sheer predatory glint in them right now.

Scarred lips parted into a permanent ‘oh’. The tips of his ears blushing. A thin line of sweat dribbling down the side of his temple. Biceps bulging as he was the only one supporting your weight now. His dark brows furrow in such concentration as he reels his hips back and plunges hot wads of pre straight into your womb—

“You’re going nowhere without me.”

.

.

.

Shiu yawns the moment you and Toji take your seats opposite him, the soft trill of the restaurant bell still following you two. And as you look on curiously at the action, your boyfriend merely scoffs.

“That excited to see us, huh?”

Shiu smirks, “As always.” Before a more weary expression seeps into his face, and you’re noticing the dark circles that have made themselves at home underneath the other man’s eyes. “But oh- I wish. Remember how I told you I moved into that new place? Yeah, so just last night my neighbors were going at it like crazy- fuck! It’s like they were trying to break the damn bed or something, it sounded like a fucking crime scene. I didn’t sleep a wink the entire night, and by the time it was morning, they were still not done.”

Your thighs clench, still sore from your own activities last night - oh, Toji had made sure that you couldn’t run for sure. “You don’t say…”

“Hah! Serves you right, bastard.” Toji’s absent-mindedly looking through the menu for the cheapest options, “What dump did you say you ended up moving to again? So that I never have to come over- ever.”

With yet another sigh (and a yawn), he’s listing off an address that sounds oddly familiar. A building name that you knew too well. An amalgamation of numbers that was much the same as your own home’s…exept for just one digit.

And then you’re remembering that you’d forgotten to greet the new neighbor next-door.

“Wait.”

“Fuck, wait-”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Tie, tie, again.

“So…never thought about having kids yourself?”

You snap your head to Principal Yaga so fast that you think you might’ve gotten a brief whiplash. But the man merely keeps his arms crossed, stare indiscernible behind those shades but obviously pointed in the direction of the school training ground: where your husband, Nanami Kento, was busy sparring with one of his newest students.

You watch as the pink-haired boy gazes up at Nanami with such glimmering admiration, weaving between punches that were slowed down just enough to go easy on the kid. 

And you manage to squawk out, “E-excuse me-” Pupils flitting between your former teacher and the fight happening just meters away, “Did Kento say anything to you about that?”

“No.” Yaga shakes his head, though you think you catch the corner of his mouth just slightly turning upwards. “No, just…saying.”

“I see.” Your mouth was dry, and you weren’t entirely sure why. It’s not as if this isn’t a discussion that you and Nanami have had before - though, admittedly, it wasn’t at great length - but you were under the assumption that he wanted to wait. At least for the time being. Right? Right? “Are you sure he didn’t-”

“He’d make a good father, y’know.” Yaga suddenly says, and you follow his gaze to where the duel had finished by now. 

Though it was inevitable that Nanami would be the winner, he was consoling Itadori with a hand on his head. Crouched down on the grassy field to whisper quiet words of motivation to the boy. Lips slightly curved in that way you knew meant he was holding back a soft chuckle. Almost like father and son.

Yaga turns to walk off, and you almost don’t want to rip your gaze from the sight. He hums, “Just saying~”

.

.

.

“Don’t move a single inch, my love.” Nanami growls, his voice running ragged. “Not a single inch.”

And that was just about how well that conversation with your husband had gone.

Your bleary pupils snap open, and even through the film of tears you can make out the utterly feral expression on your husband’s handsome face. The way his sweaty blond locks plaster all over his forehead, the way his eyes narrowed, the way his jaw grit itself as he reels his sloppy hips back mere inches and thrusts—

“Oh fuh-fuuuuuck.” With your feet planted flatly on the bed, you’re curving your body up into his and rutting- and you honestly don’t know whether you’re trying to move away or down for more, more, more. “Oh my god, Kento, it feels so-”

“And there it is again.” His rugged tone cuts through your whines, and you’re shivering at the purely primal glint in it. With an almost mocking sigh, he scoops a hand underneath your hips and tugs you down.

You’re shaking, “K-Kento…”

“What have I told you now, hm, darling?” He asks, bending your jittery legs without even breaking a sweat. With a hand scooped under your hips, Nanami tugs you down so that your legs are wrapped around his hips instead of pushing against the mattress. You’re being bent so pliably underneath his big, beefy arms- “Keep your legs around my- hah, waist. You can think of tapping out after we conceive our child, m’kay?”

And then your husband plummets a few sopping swipes at the very end of your pussy, making the wads of cum inside you splosh! about. 

And the only thing you can do is gasp, the only thing you can do is nod. Midway through that particular conversation, and his honed cockhead has been drilling into you for hooooours by now, and you think he’ll keep going for hours longer.

The fatness of his thick thumb slides between your pussylips, nudging at your clit. So sweetly sensitive by this point that you’re actually seeing stars—

“And there it is again.” 

Oh, it just made you so much wetter when your beloved husband’s tone got so stern like that. It takes you his parched few words before you’re realizing that you’d started bucking once more- in fact, that last motion of his fingertips had left you arching all the way against his muscular front. “F-fuck, I promise I wasn’t trying to run, Kento.”

“Mhmmmm—” And that was a tone that told you he didn’t believe you. Through his foggy glasses - sliding down his handsome nosebridge - you swear you see him slightly roll his eyes, “But don’t you know that you aren’t supposed to run, my silly wife-”

“I know- mmpf, fuck…”

Just the entire orifice of your throbbing cunt being pummelled by his fat girth, he was the perfect size- with so many winding veins that massaged your sweetest spots. With his blushin’ red tip reaching directly towards your womb, Nanami tightens his grip on your waist, holds you to him, slashes every slick-speckled inch inside you. “If you knew then you wouldn’t be running, hm? Just look at the mess of m’cum you’re making already.” 

Your chin strikes your chest, “I don’t see…oh.”

Before Nanami’s palm flattens over your core, and suddenly he’s pushing down on the slight inflation of his seed. “Now you see.” A creamy puddle of seed drips out between your legs, ropey ribbons of sap drenching the sheets below you. “It’s leaking out so much, what a waste, haaaah, fuck- now we’re never gonna get our pretty lil’ daughter at this rate, my wife.” 

“But there’s already so much.” You’re marvelling, feeling his clingy cum fill you up all the way to your throat—it lets out the most sinful slurps as he’s thrusting his thickened length in and out.

And Nanami’s only leaning his crazed eyes closer, wilder. “But there could be so much more.”

“Oh.”

In an instant, he’s groping your hips and tugging you down- “Mmm, so much more of my cum to give.” Pulling you even deeper onto his hot, veiny length. “So much more to fill you up.” Just your slightest clench is enough to make the man spew out a few more pearly drops of his cum, emptying out all the way into your womb. “So much more of me to fuck you pregnant, pretty momma.” Until the hand on your hip grows bruising, “And you want to fucking run away…”

“Gonna- ngh, m’not—fuck.” Your mouth blabbers away, full of trickling saliva. It was so very easy for his bulbous tip to leave you stupid, somehow reaching across every ridge and crevice, and turning your brain into mush.

“Shhhh shhh sh—” Nanami drawls out, above your lecherous noises. His left hand caresses your face, wiping away a few speckles of saliva that drained the edge of your lips. “I know you won’t run away, my love. Oh, I know you won’t-” Pinpointing the door to your womb just right, he thud-thud-thuds right there. “-I know you won’t run away before I can- hck! get you pregnant. Tha’s what my beautiful wife has been asking me for, isn’t it? To breed her pretty pussy? To make that cunt mine mine mine- until everyone else just has to take one look at you before they know, too, what I’ve done with you?” He purrs, “I know you want me too…”

“P-please!” Nodding, “I want you to- ngh, I really, really…”

With a shudder, you’re letting your feet fall from his waist, arching your back into the perfect lewd curvature. 

And it’s enough for a few more webbed wads of cum to escape from you- and to your surprise, this only makes your husband grin. Something feral. Something gone. His eyes widen crazily for a split-second as he takes in the mess splatterin’ in a glaze all over his v-line, “And yet you’re doing it again.”

“Oh, fuck.…”

You can only watch, with slightly widened eyes, when Nanami leans over the creaking bed. He reaches his arm out of your line of vision, shuffling with something on the bed stand.

And when he’s coming back- oh, Nanami Kento is holding none other than his favorite yellow tie.

The one with the leopard-like print that you’d gotten him a few anniversaries ago. And he’s easily letting go of your body to pin both your wrists together and loop the fabric ‘round and between them, tying you up with a pretty knot.

“Aaaand—there we go.” Nanami gently says, as if he didn’t just finish restraining you with his tie and throwing both your shaky legs over his shoulder. Knees to your chest. Scourin’ tip to your cervix. Pushing you into such a sinful mating press, “All done.”

“Mmmpf-” Teeth grit, you’re instinctually struggling against the restraint whilst he accelerates his hips like an animal—

“All ready to get fucked pregnant, my darling.”

.

.

.

“Hey…Yaga-san? Is it alright to come in?” A few months later, you and your husband find yourselves shuffling inside your former teacher’s office once more. It was later after the school day, and as expected the man was still looking through reports from recent missions. He looks up as you enter.

It’s been years since the time where you’d been here for detentions and important debriefings, and now you were here for a much different reason. 

Slowly, you’re intertwining your hand in Nanami’s as you both face Principal Yaga. He squeezes your hand, golden wedding ring frigid against your skin.

You take a deep breath-

“Kento and I wanted to ask whether you’d like to be our future daughter’s godfather?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - WATERWORKS!

Toshihisa Negi, commander of the Time Vessel Association, a proud core part of Geto Suguru’s ‘family’ of sorcerers, has been having a bit of an issue lately.

Nothing to do with their leader, of course!

He would never speak ill of their glorious leader - never - rather, it’s everything to do with the place of their hideout. The temple made such strange noises at night. Sometimes it’s a constant rhythmic thumping, other times it’s what sounds like nails clawing on tatami- and Negi has half the mind to believe that this particular sanctuary might just be haunted!

And that certainly won’t do for their leader, who only ever deserved the best and nothing but the best. This cacophony must certainly interfere with Geto’s sleep, which must be why his handsome face has been looking a little pale lately, dark circles underneath his eyes.

Which is why the commander took it upon himself to do a little digging, a little snooping around. 

He’s sure he can catch this damned ghost and bring it before their leader (can ghosts be sued? He’s not quite sure…) But either way it’s the dead of night and there’s no turning back now. The man found himself tip-toeing through a winding hallway inside the building, the one where these noises seemed to frequent from. And if this ghost couldn’t get any more audacious, it was the floor their leader’s bedroom was in!

Butterfly net in hand, back plastered against the wall, he’s making his way through the dimly-lit corridor.

Creeping in.

Creeping in…

And there! There it is! That thud-thud-thudding noise was starting up once more. And with a gulp, Negi was tightening his grip on the net and looking into the room where it was emanating from—Geto Suguru’s bedroom.

And what he saw was, oh—

“Once.”

“I d-didn’t—”

“Twice.”

“That was just—”

“Three times you have tried to run away from me tonight, hm?” Geto’s ruthlessly cutting off your pleads, those amethyst eyes of his narrowing in a way that made his pretty face look so mean. And before you can get a proper word out, he’s smacking his fingertips down on your puckered folds.

Not once. Not twice. But three whole times that leave your swollen nub all stinging n’ raw.

Just the wet gush of your slick making you shiver, you’re somehow managing to babble out. “It- it was just reflex, it just felt so good so I-”

“But you know what I’ve told you about running from it, right?” Geto doesn’t raise his voice beyond that familiar purr. “You know?”

And it was almost a challenge to hear him beyond the smack and the smack of his clammy v-line, sticking against the backs of your ass cheeks for a few seconds. You’d been manhandled into a full nelson that was almost too sinful to even look at. To spy on.

Geto had his strong forearms looped underneath your knees, pushing your knees up to your chest. His chiselled body was in control of the pace from beneath, the entire length of his looooong aching cock shoving inside. Hard. Just vicious.

All the way from his pinkish globular tip, and uuuuup between your glistening folds. You can practically hear the grin in his throaty tone, “Or are ya fucked dumb enough that you can’t even remember, gorgeous?”

“I-I remember- I remember!” You’re sobbing out, trying to buck your body on top of his- but the only thing that does is make him pin your body to his even harder.

Geto arches his muscular body upwards, so that the large erection between those legs swerved n’ swerved constantly inside. “Oh reeeeeally—?” It’s almost a growl, a warning, and his slender fingertips slither upwards to pinch that throbbing clit of yours. “And do you remember exactly what I said?”

Hiccuping, “Y-yes–”

He twists that nub of yours, sparks flowing through your body at the act. “Hm—?”

“Yes yes yes!” Yelping, just as loud as he wanted. You’re trying to buck your sheeny hips against his- but all that Geto does is haul your legs upwards until your hamstrings scream, pushed all the way up till your tits. “I remember- ngh, I remember. You said that if I r-run away three times, then…”

“Then?”

“-then I have to- hah, squirt.”

Thwack! The rotundness of his balls end up smacking against your cunt, making a few glittery beads of slick escape your cunt- as if a premonition of what was coming. “Exactly.” There was something breathy in his tone, something that sounded as if he was on the verge of breaking. “Exactly- exactly.” Oh, he already was breaking. “Exactly, you’re going to squirt.”

“Ohhhh, please-” You’re gasping, helpless against his roughening thrusts. Harder and harder, hitting your g-spot multiple times per second. “I don’t even know if I- hah, if I have the possibility to even-”

“You can.” He hums, “And you will.”

You will, you will, you will.

You will and he was thoroughly pumping his shaft into you, just the blossomin’ red tip of his cock entering your womb. You could feel the wetness of his precum seep all over, and it was making your cunt gush out twofold. “Fuh-fuck, it just feels so good-” Running your hands down your front, holding your own core. “-can feel you all the way here.”

“Mmm—” His free hand glides up the middle of your body, just the rotund end of his index drawing a steeeeady line up to your throat. “-not here?”

And then he’s hammerin’ away even faster, hard enough that the circumference of his cockhead bangs your softness- making your entire body go on edge. “C-can feel you there too, please-” You’re writhing in his arms, but Geto’s not letting you move a single inch- you were being fucked to his sloppy pace, with his sloppy wads of precum swirling your insides. “Please, I don’t think m’gonna last long-”

“Then squirt, gorgeous.” His dark lashes flutter as he rolls his eyes, slight amusement in his voice. “Don’t even think about cumming, you better squirt.”

Your nails claw down his forearm, slipping with the thin layer of sweat. “I- I think-”

“Mhmmm—?”

“I think m’gonna-”

Just the flared ridge of his cockhead rubbin’ all over your g-spot, again and again and again. Until that particular bundle of nerves felt way too tender, and you could feel the tug at the pit of your stomach. “Squirt, gorgeous, squirt.” Geto’s hot breath wafts at your throat and down your shoulders, and you can feel yourself veering on the edge of your orgasm. “And don’t think about- hah, running away when you do…”

“I won’t—fuck.”

It’s as if you’re exploding into your sudden bliss- so much of it bursting from between your sopping pussylips that it’s like a faucet. Those splattering wads drip down from your entrance, creating a glaze along his solid inches.

Peak after peak. Thrust after thrust.

His roverin’ red tip perfectly locates your sweet spot, banging against that lil’ treasure trove until you’re almost crying from your high. “It feels so good-” You’re gasping, with your back arched so deep. “Oh my god- fuck! I can’t believe it feels so good.”

“Mmm, told you so.” Geto’s inching in so that he can take goooood long glances between your legs, at the way your sultry hole was swallowing him up with ease. Molded to his thickened girth, “Now just sit back, relax, cum-” His honed canines sink into the left shell of your ear, “-and don’t- fucking- run.”

“I won’t- hck! I won’t…”

At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

Braving through the incredible sensation of his puffy pink veins, they massage into every inch of your walls and make you whimper. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Toes curling.

Back arching.

You throw your head back and the only thing you’re seeing is the white of your high. Your every feeling was heightened, and you can feel the line of his slit embed deep into your cervix, as if carving out his own mark there. 

And it twitches restless each time you’re clenching, it jolts, it spurts out in wads of precum after each convulse- and Geto is just fucking you like an animal. All the way until way past your high, and your hole stops splashin’ out your syrupy sap. All the way until it peters out, and Geto is still pounding up restlessly into you-

“M’high’s over, Suguru…” Your mouth lolls open, slobbering down the front of your chin. Twitching as his slick-glazed cock just keeps going faster, “I said- fuck! I said it’s over, Suguru, I can’t cum again so soon-”

“So what?”

Oh.

A shudder wracks through your entire body, and you’re in sheer awe at the way his thickened length seems to plunge into you. Rapid. Urgent. Not even proper thrusts anymore, mere half-thrusts from the middle of his vein-covered shaft just because he was so eager to feel you. “It’s just so-” And just as urgent, your body thrums with your own pleasure. “Just feels so- hck! Fuck! I can’t even speak-”

“Mmm…you can’t speak, but remember you can’t run, either.”  He warns, slightly chuckling at his own joke.

“And yet- how am I supposed to help it-”

“How am I supposed to help it, hm?” Geto coos, all faux-innocence that you knew too well. Because the problem is- he was fucking you like he wanted you to run from it. Wanted you to squirm away. Wanted you to worry that it was too much. Hard and fast and rough. “I just wanna keep on fuckin’ this pretty- hah, pussy. How m’I supposed to do that if you keep fucking- running- away.” With a slight growl, those fingers on your clit squeeze once more, and you find yourself lurching off of his drilling hips with a gasp. “Just like that.”

“What-” Your eyes snap open, “Wait- wait that wasn’t me running-”

“And yet, it was.”

Such a sweet tone that he’s taking on with you, and yet his actions are so mean. 

One hand moving up to choke your pretty neck, the other twisting over your clit. “I’m not a good man, honey.” He growls in your ear, thrusts speeding up. “I’m not a good man at all- no one in this city can run from me.” Until you think you might just be veering into yet another wave of bliss, mind so muddled that you barely even register it. “Not even you.”

You’re begging, nails attempting to drag down the floor. “P-please-”

“And for running from me four times, hm…how about…” You’re waiting with bated breath as he rattles on, pretending to think when you knew damn well that Geto Suguru always thought his words out beforehand. “-how about we breed you, hm?”

Fuck.

It hits you just as hard as it hits Negi, watching from the doorway—frozen. 

He doesn’t know what do to - laugh at his impression that it’d been a ghost, when it was really this all along (fuck, he should’ve known), or cry because he’s never been harder in his life-

Just then for the briefest second - the briefest - Geto Suguru’s eyes meet his through the slight crack in the sliding doors.

And the glorious leader only smiles.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Giddy up!

Which one of you was more drunk n’ gone by this point?

You had absolutely no idea.

Absolutely no fucking idea—because you were riding you pretty boyfriend until he was spilling out in great, glittering tears. Just the cutest wobble of his pinkish lips, sensitive with how many times he’d been gnawing down on them. Skin flushed a lecherous rouge all the way from the tips of his ears, down to his abs.

And the entirety of his muscular body wracked with shivers after each clench of your clingy walls ‘round him, “Hck! Fuh-fuck!” His quiet baritone shook with so many whines any time he opened his mouth, “Fuck, it just feels so good, baby.”

“S’that sooooo—?” And then there was you - quite frankly, you were just addicted to riding Choso Kamo until he was all overstimulated and tender. Because he just made the prettiest noises, just said the cutest things, just fucked you in the filthiest way.

Because he was addicted too, didn’t you know?

Those hazy chocolate eyes of his bore up into yours, “Mhm, i-it is so.” And he lets out a cracked whimper as you’re kissing away the line of drool built up on one corner of Choso’s maw. “And you better not stop until m’cumming dry, alright?”

You’re holding back a giggle at the way he was urging his head upwards, so thorough in his pleads. “But of course, Cho.”

And he was going to hold you to that.

It wasn’t just a request, it was a promise.

It was an oath- because even numerous bounces of your hips later, when your hamstrings are all screaming and sore, Choso still doesn’t want you to stop. Even as he’s feeling the sensitivity build up in his red, raw cock- Choso still doesn’t want you to stop. Even as he’s fucking beading out a few pearly beads of white from the end of his shaft—

“Some more- some more-” Choso hiccups from the back of his throat, noises wrenching out thickly. By now, the creaking of the bed was so loud that you could barely even make out his sultry words. “Just a little more- hck! I feel like m’getting close to cumming dry, baby.”

“Still just ‘close’?” You ask, through a slight gasp of surprise. “Oh, baby, your stamina is just off the charts.”

Just at that, you can feel his flared tip splash! out a few more webbed wads of cum. Such a pretty blush taking over his cheeks, “Th-thank you for that, baby.”

Grinning, and this time you’re dragging your hips reeeeeal slow along his shaft while you think. Just the sultriest figure-eights that leave the man underneath you panting and begging for more. “Mmm, but that makes me think, Cho-”

“Wh-what does that pretty mind say, hm?” He’s somehow managing out through his tears. Hanging on your every word (as he always did) even when he was being fucked stupid by your pussy, the slip-slip of your velvety walls snatching away every coherent thought in his mind.

“Hmmmm—” And with the final, loudest slurp! Choso’s grabbing the side of your right ass cheek and helping you bounce on his upright cock. Simply moving you with his strength, biceps flexing maddeningly - times like this, it’s hard to forget that his strength was simply inhuman. “Y’know how you still haven’t cum dry, Choso?” He’s fervently nodding, head throwing backwards as your speed picks up once more. “Well, m’wondering whether maybe with your- mm, half-curse body it’s possible for us to even make it out alive before you cum dry-”

“But I’d rather die than stop-” Choso cranes his head upwards in alarm, crashing his spit-glossed lips onto yours in an effort to get you to stop talking.

To stop overthinking.

To stop doing anything but swervin’ and swervin’ his rock-hard cock inside you, until each and every inch of your innards was pinpointed with his cum. 

With both hands he’s grabbing either side of your hips now, pulling you down to meet his wild, thrashing bucks- “Would rather- fuck- fucking die than let go of this pretty pussy.” He’s muttering between each thrust, more to himself. “Would rather fucking die than hafta say goodbye t-to her.” Just the edge of his pinkish tongue darting out as he concentrates on hitting your g-spot juuuust right. “Would rather- hngh, oh, baby, I’d do so many things for you- but giving up when your pussy needs me is something I’d rather die than do. Would rather die- rather die- rather—”

“Oh- fuck!” You’re arching your back into his movements, now more taken over by his own vicious cadence. 

You didn’t even know that your sweet boyfriend could move like this, and he was positively ruining your pussy by stretching out ridge and crevice to mold exactly to his size. Whispering, “Because just feel the way she’s clenching around me- suckin’ me in like she d-doesn’t want me t-to leave.” 

Dark brows furrowed in concentration, in a way that made him look so handsomely serious as he pummelled your pussy raw. “And the way her cute womb twitches juuust like- that- she’s getting herself ready for my seed, y’know- heh.” Babbling on the most nonsensical things, the most pussydrunk, “And the way she’s just dripping- oh, it makes me wanna…makes me wanna…why are you running, baby?” 

Your eyes snap down to meet his, slight shock in your voice. “Wh-what?”

“Running.” Choso’s lower lip juts out in what looks like a slight pout, and he’s running one of his hands down from your thigh to graze down the front of his abs. Down the front of where you’d left a glistening snail trail of your slick, “Look at the mess you’ve made trying to escape- ngh, why are you running from me, baby?”

“That’s probably from it smearing-” You try to explain-

“But it isn’t.” As if to prove his point, the hand at his sheeny-slicked abs moves to grip your throat and drag you back closer to him. “That thing you do- yes, that-” And that’s only when you’re noticing - the way that your hips bucked juuuust slightly upwards in sensitivity, whenever his cockhead veered too close to your battered g-spot. So that was what he was talking about. “-don’t you think of running away from me, baby.”

“I didn’t think I was…”

“Why’s she trying to run a-away? Doesn’t it feel good enough?” He’s pleading up at you, left hand now pinning your lower half to his own. You could feel every single ripple n’ flex of his waist as he fucked up into you like a madman, and it made even the man himself tear up in sensitivity. “Doesn’t this pussy like it? Hck! Don’t I hit—” Stroking the target of your g-spot until you see stars, “-eeeevery good spot so well? Do I need to cum even more inside?”

Dazedly, you’re shaking your head. “No- hah! No no, it’s not that, Cho, it’s just—”

Long lashes fluttering, Choso’s holding you down to him so tightly that his knuckles stretch themselves white. Nails digging into your flesh. Heat seeping into your body. “Jus’ what, baby?”

“It’s just that I’m so sensitive.”

And there, you’d said it.

Blinking past your tears, all there was left to do now was to watch Choso’s reaction. Just the most adorable way he was blushing down to the roots of his hair as he took in your words- took in the way that his needy cock was the one to have done that. 

Mouth slightly agape.

Cock twitching inside of you.

And his mouth opens to let out a scorched pant- perhaps you’re waiting for him to say something. But before saying, Choso’s doing. Acting. Flipping your sweaty bodies over so that you have your back against the silken sheets and your legs thrown over his shoulder.

His perspired forehead sticking to yours with a slight thud, Choso’s pressing you into a fucking mating press before you even know what’s happening. “And here- this-” He crushes your limp legs tightly to himself, stopping you from squirming a single inch. “-you can’t run away in this position, right, baby?”

Your jaw drops, “I-I guess not-”

“Good.” And it’s accompanied by the most lecherous plap! of his rotund tip entering your womb, leaving bruises for days. “So you can take me until I- hngh, cum dry, can’t you?”

“Yes-” The only thing you can gasp out, like a broken record player. “Yes yes yes yes-” You were still so damn sensitive, and every rub-a-dub of his veiny shaft left you reeling. Tears streaming down either of your cheeks. Your toes curling. Back arching-

And then…just then, a sudden realization hits you.

“Wait- Choso, have you stopped your blood manipulation technique from going to your cock yet?”

“What do you-”

“How are you gonna cum dry if you- hck! keep regenerating? We’ll just never stop-”

“Oh.” And yet another few vulgar slams, another smile. “I see no problem there.”

.

.

.

Perhaps it hours later, days later, weeks later—but by the time that Choso’s finally slowing down, finally letting cock dryly orgasm out into your sloppy cunt- you think you can see the sunlight filtering through the curtains.

What day was it?

“Dunno.” Choso hums—did you say that out loud. He huffs out a bark of hoarse laughter, “Yes, yes you did.”

“Mmmm.” You’re curling up into his side, feeling the splash! of ivory sap streaming between your legs. 

Stuffed so full by Choso’s thickened base, “Now…have you ever heard of a ‘rut’, my baby? Especially for curses?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Four arms// Four escapes.

“I really don’t know how you do it, my lady.” The elderly attendant mutters behind her hand, catching your attention from where you both had been watching the infamous King of Curses train.

Punch after punch dealt onto tall wooden pillars.

With his bare hands.

The oak shatters easily beneath his strength, all four arms dealing powerful blows that make the ground trundle beneath your feet. And once he was done with each pillar after one or two strikes, a group of Sukuna’s attendants would totter over yet another one. Hastening to stand it upright in the middle of the dojo, and sprinting away before they, too, were caught in the shockwave.

You supposed that it wasn’t particularly the most productive pastime, especially considering that you were simply an avid spectator.

But oh—did you have much to look at.

The thin layer of sweat on Sukuna’s shirtless body, emphasizing his every prominent muscle, biceps rippling as he moved his arms, abs tensing, eyes honed in on his target. It simply sent shivers down your spine, and you find yourself almost forgetting that you’d been in the middle of a conversation - technically.

“F-forgive me, the noise of the wood is quite loud, isn’t it?” You’re explaining, turning to your attendant with much difficulty. “What was that?”

“I said I really don’t know how you do it, my lady.” She places her palm on one cheek, staring over at the scene with a sigh. “I do not wish to speak ill of his majesty, of course, but with all those extra arms, those extra eyes, those extra mouths- all that monstrous strength…”

“Yes?”

“Forgive me for asking but…isn’t it almost fearsome?”

And you can only smile, “Far from it.”

.

.

.

Less than an hour later and you were splayed out all across the dojo floor - empty, now, except for you and your husband. The King of Curses. Ryomen Sukuna. Shoving you down onto the carpeted ground and shoving his dual cocks inside you.

“What was that- tch.” Sukuna’s snarling out from above you, a hint of amusement in his grumbling tone. “Ya were gossiping about me with the help, were ya? Saying such sappy things- pah! don’tcha know that a king has an image to keep up, lil’ brat.”

And you’re gasping through your tears, words slightly muffled by the way that Sukuna clasps the sweaty back of your scalp and pushes your face deeper into the soft floor. “But- but I wasn’t lying–”

“And for that yer getting it even harder.”

Because they were right - Ryomen Sukuna is merciless, he is vicious…when it’s to do with your aching hot pussy, that is. 

That red, rotund ends of his shafts were so fucking hard that it almost felt like he was about to burst- swirlin’ your insides in combination with his translucent precum. Pushing his wads into even the tiniest crevices within you, he swabs his lengths against your g-spot and then straight down to your cervix.

Creating two dull thud-thuds! that make your teeth set on edge, body weakly crawling forwards from his ploughing hips. “Oh my- oh my god—ngh.” You’re clawing at the ground in an attempt to hold on for dear life, “I will stand by the fact that you’re- ngh, actually a sappy softie-”

“Ohhh, you have such a mouth on you, woman.” The bridge of his nose crinkles in a smile that almost looks like a snarl. “Is it really yours- or that pussy of yours that’s talking now?”

You throw a dopey grin over your shoulder, “Why don’t you c’mere and find out- hck!”

“Mmmm, really is that pussy talkin’ then.” Sukuna’s tutting, and you can almost hear the roll of both crimson sets of his eyes. One of his clawed hands scraping down your spine, “I know my lil’ human isn’t brave enough to challenge me-”

“But I just said-”

“-unless she just wants ta be fucked even harder.”

Even harder. Even rougher.

The sloppy, sloppy glides of his cockhead ends up hitting your every tender orifice inside- just emptying out his pre into every crevice it’d stick. It slips down the sides of your channel and ends up leaking out of your hole, a delicate stream that his second cursed tongue flops out to lap up.

The slimy edge of his monstrous tongue ends up slipping between your quivering legs, ticklin’ back and forth to gulp up your sweetened juices.

Leaving you attempting to uselessly pry your hips away with a whine, “Oh- oh my goodness. Both cocks a-and your tongue, fuck, now that’s just unfair-”

“What’s unfair?” Sukuna humans, and oh—the audacity for both his smirking mouths to snicker down at you. Just raising his pale pink brow at the way you blabber out stupidly with the scourings of his shafts, “And here I thought you said I was sappy-” The words bursting down at you after each heavy probe of his dual tips, “-here I thought you said I was soft-”

“W-well you are t’me…” Bubbling out through the miry ribbons of saliva between your lips, you push your hips back n’ forth into his maddeningly. 

“And yer saying- this is soft?” Only to be shoved a proper few inches down the floor - and you don’t get too far. Because two of his hands end up on your hips, one more on top of your scalp, yet another one wrapped ‘round your neck. All of them tightening to haaaaaul you back into him- “Really? Soft? Soft?” Striking your cervix particularly hard, “Because s’feeling reeeeal hard t’me, mama.”

“It does- it does feel hard.” You’re mindlessly agreeing, and he just finds it so adorable how you’re fucked so beyond stupid that you can’t do anything but whimper out your agreements. And yet, still stubbornly, “But you’re still…”

“Heh, cute.”

It’s just so easy to grip your body from four sides and draaaag you back onto his cocks, sliding across that floor, pulled until the curve of your ass cheeks were snug against his pink happy trail. 

“N’ is it because m’sooooo soft that yer trying to fucking run away, brat?” Sukuna was merciless, manhandling you to him as if you were nothing but a ragdoll. Honed, he shovels all his matching inches into yours until it felt wrong to not have him stuffed inside your cunt. “Is it? M’just too- heh, sweet that you need to escape from my fat fuckin’ cocks? Just such a big softie that you can’t even handle it?”

Insisting, “I can handle- oh.”

“And it’s because the king is so merciful that I need ta be even rougher, don’t I?”

“Oh.”

Before you know it, you’re being bodily lifted off of the floor. And Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t even need to break a sweat to have you moved around just how he wanted it, and you blink- you’re suddenly carried off the dojo ground. 

Arms scrambling to latch around Sukuna’s shoulders, ankles locking over his toned waist.

He’s lifting you clear seven feet off of the flat surface, where you have absolutely nowhere to escape from his thickened cocks. Swelling even further the deeper they push inside of you, “Heh- standing up.” Sukuna’s calling out over your crackling whines, “Now you have nowhere to go. Nowhere to run-” He nuzzles you with his handsome nose, so prominent. “-from your softie, huh?”

“I don’t- fuck.” In practically no time, he’s drilling into you like an utter madman. The round ends of his lengths constantly swabbin’ your sweet spots back and forth, “When I said you were a- ngh, Kuna-”

“Oh, shush, woman.” He’s fondly rolling his eyes - his favorite hobby, fucking his wife dumb. “And fucking- take- it.”

.

.

.

The next time you’re watching Sukuna train, it’s seated.

With your body sore from the day before, and your thighs still quivering. You’re clasping your hands together, gulping, as you watched on at the repetitive motions of Sukuna destroying those towering wooden pillars once again.

A sight that you found hypnotizing- oh, the way he moved-

“I must say.” Your trusty attendant pipes up from her seat beside you, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen his majesty wear quite this many layers when he is training. Quite strange.” She turns to you, “Is he suffering from some ailment? Must I summon the royal physician?”

“I uh-” You’re blinking down at your husband who- yes, was wearing an extra training robe today, unlike yesterday when he’d simply been shirtless. Though there was a damn good reason for that. “Not that I’m aware of…”

“Then I believe it would be a good idea to have his majesty undergo a check-up.” She’s nodding fervently, leaning into the middle of the battlefield to take a closer look at the fighting royal. “After all, we wouldn’t want to miss anything when it comes to his majesty, I trust that it isn’t anything serious but nevertheless- oh!”

And it’s then that you see it - the both of you.

The way that Ryomen Sukuna’s robes shift just slightly to the side as he gears up yet another punch. The way that Ryomen Sukuna reveals his skin, decorated in a pattern of bruises and lecherous nail marks and bite marks that leave the both of you gaping.

And the attendant snapping her eyes away from the king and towards you-

“W-well, I believe we must summon the royal physician despite that.” Looking at your middle, your own skin peaking out with nail marks of his own hands. “For…other purposes.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - XOXO!

“O-oh, Taku, just the feeling of it is so…” Your mouth waters, and you’re unable to even finish your sentence at the time.

The only thing you can even think about is the feeling of your boyfriend’s long, pretty cock. It was stuck all snugly inside of your cunt, opening up even the tiniest orifices - and not just that, but you were hypnotized by the feeling of his latest Prince Alber’s piercing—

It’d been just over a month and a half since Ino had come back from the tattoos and piercings shop with a surprise. Showing off that silvery orb he’d pierced along the sensitive line of his slit.

And fuck- was it hot.

Bu the waiting had been torture.

You had to wait for weeks after until he’d properly healed, until you could finally corner him in your shared bedroom and all but pounce on him. Until you could finally, finally feel the coldness of that lil’ sphere travelling back n’ forth inside your cunt, a sensation like never before.

“You don’t hafta be nice t’me, pretty.” And oh—Ino Takuma sounded as if he was on the very verge of falling apart as he’s begging down at you. Hips rutting into yours in a mean missionary, just the classic position so he could stare at both your pretty face and your pretty cunt. He blushes, “But…but do you really like it that much?”

You’re nodding furiously, “Like it? I love it, oh—can feel exactly where it is. Just a little to the right, Taku, and you’re gonna hit my- ngh, right there.”

Easily, the frigid circle of his piercing finds itself pressin’ down on your g-spot as if it was nothing but some cute lil’ button for him to push away. “Right there.” He whispers to himself, brows furrowing adorably in concentration. “Right there, right there, right there- you know how my piercing feels all- hngh, inside you, sweetness? How you can’t hide a single spot from me now?”

“Yes yes yes—” You were just so damn wet that any time his cock pulled out, that piercing near the top of his shaft glinted with so many layers of glazed slick. “Feel so perfect inside- hck!”

“If you think that’s perfect just wait until m’hitting your pretty cervix.” Ino coos out, his right hand falling down to the side of your hip so that he could properly control where he aimed. 

Your legs curled tighter around his slender waist, “Well h-hurry up then-”

“My impatient girl.”

And you don’t have to wait too long - Ino Takuma never made his pretty girl wait too long - before the curved edge of his cock finally finds your most fragile spot. And not only is he grazing it with his length, Ino is taking the time to angle his hips and rub right along that particular spot.

Rubbin’ and rubbin’.

A few times until your eardrums pop with pleasure, and you almost don’t hear the next words out of his mouth- “Y’know I purposefully got my piercing exactly where I knew it’d hit your g-spot, sweetness?” Ino proudly announces, making your jaw drop. He did what? “Because I knew my girl’s pretty pussy would appreciate it, and of course- why wouldn’t I wanna always kiss that cute spot?”

“You’re- you’re insane.” You’re somehow gasping out, your entire body overtaken by the precise way that his Prince Albert’s piercing massages your nerves. “Oh my god, you’re driving me insane.”

“Mmm, in a good way- right?”

It takes you a few more cold smooches against your g-spot for you to finally snap -  your legs planting upon either side of the mattress as you thrust yourself higher up the bed. Jerking sensitively every time Ino successfully manages to knock-knock-knock his mushroom tip against your g-spot. “I mean-” You hiss, “I mean- yes- fuck!”

“But then why are you running away…?”

After Ino’s pouty question, he’s grabbing a good handful of your waist and lugging you back down onto his cock. Your eyes snap open as you hit his toned v-line with a smack! fully plunged with his cock- before he’s starting his rugged pace once more.

Hips rutting down into yours like such an animal- “Why are you running?” He breathes, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe your action himself yet. “Don’t run from me, pretty, we still have so much to doooo—”

“M’not really-” But then his cold cold orb lodges against your g-spot once more and you swear you see white, “Oh my god-” Body moving instinctually before your mind once more to bounce away, “-holy fuck, it just feels too good.”

“If it feels too good then maybe this pretty pussy just needs to learn how to take it, hm?” He’s questioning, one brow raised. Pleading, “Don’t run, please.”

“I c-can’t help it- oh.”

And then…and then the strangest thing, Ino finds himself looking forward to that helplessly cute way that you’d try to steady your wobbly legs and push up the bed- as if you were torn on whether you wanted to escape or come back down for even more of him. 

He’s finding himself hypnotized.

Finding himself addicted.

Ino’s growing even impossibly harder every time he has to pretend to roll his eyes, perhaps even sigh. And with the most sleazy smirk on his face, he’d clap his hand down upon your hips once more and gyrate your body back down. “But I haven’t even gotten ta kiss every part of you with this- ngh, piercing yet, pretty.” He’s throwing back his chestnut bangs and pouting, “First I hafta kiss your pretty clit here—mwah!”

Pulling out, you shiver and twitch once he taps his bulbous piercing down on your sensitive nub. “Oh my- ngh.”

“Don’t run.” He’s pinning you back down to him, until your clit gets crushed underneath the mass of his body, the tufts of his happy trail. “And theeeeeen I hafta kiss that s-sweet g-spot right here. Mwah!” 

Precisely striking your g-spot with that metallic addition.

You’re bucking wildly a few times before you realize that you’re not going anywhere with Ino pinning you down. And it’s times like this that his strength, trained with so many missions, so many exercises, really left your cunt soaked.

Letting off the sappiest squelches as he keeps drilling his vein-covered shaft in- “And then- oh, can’t forget your cute cervix. Mwah!” Just sliiiding his cold piercing down the sopping wet end of your pussy,  it draws frigid lines there that you feel even as Ino’s pulling back to do it all over again. “And your womb- oh, how I love her always. Just the sweetest gal, askin’ for my cum—mwah!”

You gasp, “Oh, you’re j-just so filthy, Taku. Didn’t even know you had this side of you.”

“Well, the piercing just has me appreciating every inch of you that I get to call mine, sweetness.” He hums, dragging his kiss-swollen lips down yours. “And next up is gonna be these pretty lips of yours- mwah!”

Shuddering at the implication, you couldn’t move even if you wanted to- and even though that’s what Ino was manhandling you into the entire time, well…

He couldn’t believe it himself, to be quite honest. He’s already hankerin’ for the way those glossy walls of yours would clench around him, would move all over and stir his thickened cock. You just had him drunk on your pussy with just a few sultry swerves.

And he’s holding one hand to your hips, pressing you against his toned pelvis- “Hey- hey, pretty.” Getting your attention, now matter how stupid you were fucked by him. Ino was already starting to move your hips by himself, signalling you to fuck back- “How about s’your turn to get kissed by me this time, hm?”

.

.

.

The tattoo and piercings shop got a speedy appointment the very next day, and their brows slightly raised when they saw the name written down on the register.

INO TAKUMA—3:15PM APPOINTMENT TODAY

(MORE GENITAL PIERCINGS—POSSIBLE JACOB’S LADDER?)

So this was the very customer that’d wanted a Prince Albert’s piercing less than two months ago, and had nearly cried on the chair whilst getting it- though, despite how many times the piecers had suggested perhaps they do something else for the day, it was almost admirable how adamant he’d been. All for his lovely girlfriend, you, it seems.

Ultimately he’d ended up talking about you and showing pictures throughout the entire experience, leaving half the store swooning and the other half disgusted yet happy for the two.

And if he was coming back then- well, they can only assume that the surprise piercing went very, very well.

♡ GOJO SATORU - MARATHON

“Satoru?”

“Yes, my beautiful wife~?”

“Can reverse cursed technique be used in bed?”

.

.

.

And that was exactly what’d gotten you into this mess in the first place.

With your face pushed into the mountains of your pillows, now drenched with all the pathetic droolin’ you’d been doing these past multiple hours. With your ass held high in the air, your skin there stinging and raw with constant impact.

Quivering at the next—

“Come on.” Gojo’s hoarse bass echoes out from behind you, enough to send goosebumps skittering across every inch of your body. “Come on come on- come on-” Because oh—he just sounded so unsteady. So gone. So ready to snap any and every second he’s plunging his red, wettened tip into your insides.

Voice breathy. Octaves higher.

Earlier, you’d made the mistake of slightly attempting to escape his aggressive thrusts- out of sheer surprise at the filthy pressure. And now - instead of being offended, instead of ignoring it, instead of rolling his eyes at your dramatics - your husband was urging you to do it again.

More.

Faster.

Further. 

Shaking every time he’s reeling his hips back to slam into the deepest depths of your cervix, throwing you forwards a few inches down the bed. And Gojo’s watching the entire thing unfold with nothing but a shaky chuckle at the way your poor body was nothing but mush against his maddened pace. “Come on- come- fuck! come- on.”

“Oh my-” You’re throwing your head back, only for Gojo to lean forwards and bite down on the side of your neck like some animal in heat. “Oh my- hck! god- when you s-said regeneration, I didn’t think you’d be able to last- ngh, this long.”

“Come on- fuck, you mean my stamina, sweetheart?” And it was a pure wonder that he was able to even register the words you were saying, let alone form a coherent response. “My stamina’s always been like this, pretty girl…”

And as he trails off, you’re holding your breath- for the way that he’s then slamming a few greedy fingertips down on your clit and letting it buzz with sparks of cursed energy. “Oh fuck- oh.”

Gojo coos as you start to buck with the pleasure that flashes behind your lids, “It’s just that- oh, with my reverse cursed energy now—” He’s leaned up so close behind you that you could feel the glissade of his toned core, abs massaging down your spine. “-I don’t have to worry about breaking bones.”

And something in his tone told you that he was well and fully capable of doing so.

Well and fully.

He drags one of his training-roughened hands down the sides of your body, soothing all those sore tendons and ligaments. “So don’t be afraid to go all out, sweetheart.” Gojo’s humming, voice airy- with just an inkling of something…dark that sets you on edge. “Don’t be afraid to…h-heh run if you need to.”

“R-run?” You’re repeating after him. And you’re only halfway through your wonderment at just why you might need to run, when you’re getting your answer already.

When Gojo’s pummeling his puckered edge into you until you’re seeing stars- and you’re just so overstimulated that his strawberry divot has you crying out. 

Body quivering as you jerk just a little, move just a little off of his rhythmically drilling shaft. Almost running from it.

And you swear that Gojo’s half-lidded peripherals burst with a faint few bolts of lightning as he catches the act, lips squiring up into a shattered smile. “That’s right-” One hand of his finds itself latched onto the back of your neck, forcefully bouncing you back n’ forth. “That’s right that’s right- run, my pretty little wife, run. Come on, run.”

“Satoru—” Whining out, your body can only weakly take his thorough pushes. Shivering as you pap! your hips down onto his, his cum from round prior sploshin’ all around. “Satoru it’s just s-so much…”

That’s all it takes for his blushin’ tip to throb just a little bigger deep inside of you, Gojo’s voice turning breathy as he exclaims. And any time you moved, he would just draaaag you back down. “O-ohhhh, yeah keep saying that. Just a little further, come on now- mhmmm, further.”

“T-trying—”

A cool breeze of reverse cursed energy refreshes your muscles, “Come on. Coooome on, this pretty body can give me a little more- s’just so cute how you keep runnin’ from it but still come back down for more. A little further now, my wife.”

“So bossy.” You’re huffing out.

“Oh yeah, that’s right-” And Gojo’s upturning his pretty pink lips and giggling—the audacity! He leans his weight further down on your lower half, making the gravity of it push you further up the creaking bedsprings. Whispering into your ear, “Does that make you wanna run from me, sweetheart? Wanna- hck! show me what I’m missing? Make me beg for you back again?”

“Yes-” You’re gasping, your entire body still aaaaaching- even despite the reverse cursed energy that flowed through you. As you didn’t have the years of training and stamina that he did, “Yes yes yes, it makes me want to…”

Your mouth waters once Gojo’s tip expertly locates your g-spot- so bruised by now with his constant thrashes. He tap-tap-taps against there a few times, “Makes you want to what, hm?”

“Makes me want to—oh.”

And you’re not quite sure what was about to fall out of your mouth, you’re not quite sure what you were even thinking at that point - because in a split-second, you’re crashing into your nth high of the night. 

With your body dropping drunkenly down onto the bedsprings below, and your eyes glazing over with a fresh bout of overstimulated tears. Toes curling. Mouth squealing his name like a mantra.

Gojo has so much fun simply starin’ down at his pretty wife and sighing fondly - how cute. How easy it was for him to let his cursed energy go out of control- invisible tendrils of power lift you off of the bedsprings, raising you in midair. “I thought I told you to fuck back t’me- I thought I told you to run, my pretty girl.”

“I-I tried-” You’re sobbing, feeling his thick tip thud your g-spot without even trying - as expected, you’re looking over your shoulder and gasping at the lightning sparking around his eyes. He was using his Six Eyes to find your g-spot each and every time.

“Mmm, you tried? But s’not time to- ngh, tap out just yet, y’know?” He drawls out, amused. Those coils of Gojo’s power still keep you moving to his every whim and want- “How about there- the headboard. Try n’ grab it if yer gonna run, might just help you.”

Arm limply reaching forwards, “L-like this?” And it’s Gojo that has to help you properly clasp onto it, too. The audacity. 

“Yeahhhh come on now.” He snickers, “Try to run- yes like- oh, put your back into it, sweetheart.” Whilst he’s pounding your geysering orifice like he’s just gone wild, he’s encouraging you to move your body. “Just a bite more- aw come on.” And just like that, he’s dragging you back down onto his furious cock with ease. “You’d never make it on the battlefield against me- heh.” 

“Well you are the strongest.” You’re blubbering out, and it might just be the most sensible thing you’d said all day.

“Heh, you got that right.” Gojo hums, the prettiest pussydrunken smile on his face. He ends his ruby-red tip out at your cervix with a wettened squeeeelch! “And m’fucking you like it, too.”

The final lewd noise before your cunt gets plugged up again with so many webs of cum, the ropey lines of it taking over every inch inside you. 

He lets his sweaty head fall back with a groan. His back arching into yours. His hips pinning you down to stuff you full, despite how insistent he was on letting you squirm away to your heart’s content. He wasn’t leaving a single bit of space for you, and Gojo watches with a smile at the way the ivory sap gleams out from your pussylips.

Gojo watches with his Six Eyes at the way the ivory sap gets fucked even deeper inside of you, ending up embedded all the way into the backs of your womb-

“Mmm, I think it finally took, my wife.” He announces.

And you have to look over your shoulder with a gasp, “It- oh.”

But Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to give your pussy up that easily, “Now, how about a study on whether infinite void can be used in bed?”

.

.

.

Gojo wanted to burst out laughing, he really did.

He watches Yaga’s face grow paler and paler by the second, by the neat lines, of his jujutsu report. It was probably the first one he’s done since- well- ever (semantics), and if you asked Gojo himself then he’d tell you that he did a damn good job of it.

Diagrams and annotations and all.

Anecdotes, too.

The council of elders wanted a report of his cursed prowess, then they were going to get it.

And by the end of it, Yaga’s dark brows were lifting above his sunglasses- and the hand that’d been holding the report had started to grip it so hard that his fingers were breaking through the paper. “Ay! Easy there, Yaga-san, I only printed out one of those and it’s actually a very through deep dive on the use of my powers in sexua-”

“Gojo Satoru, you’re fired.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - T(rack)star

“Aww, my poor angel.” Higuruma, your loving husband, rubs your nipples softly through your ratty t-shirt. His fingertips alternating between rolling over and just lightly massaging your hardened nubs, slightly cracked from your recent bout at breast-feeding. 

He hums to you gently, nudging his face along the inner part of your throat so that you can seep in his calming familiar musk. “So you’re saying that our daughter has been biting on my wife’s pretty tits too hard, hm?” And you’re nodding, wincing at the memory of your young daughter - you love her, of course, but she’d just started teething and the pain was getting almost unbearable during feeding time. “I’ll have to have a stern talk with her.”

You laugh at his half-joke, so deadpan. “My hero. But no- all I really need is some time to relax, I think.” Sadly gesturing at your tits, “Maybe pamper these girls a little.” 

“I’ll book you a spa day at once- for tomorrow.” Higuruma states, eyes darkening with intent. “And a getaway next month, perhaps for just us. And we’ll start to wean her onto bottle-feeding, it’s about time, anyways. And…”

“And?” You’re raising a brow.

And oh- the way he was looking at you just now…“And for now…I have another solution.”

Less than two hours later and you find yourself flatly on your back, coursing through your second orgasm of the night. The sheer primal bliss rips through you and makes your limbs twitch each n’ every time Higuruma was fucking you through your high.

He was ruthless with it, just swipe-swipe-swiping away any droplet of your slick inside n’ replacing it with his own clingy sap. Claiming you from the inside out, he’s letting his translucent pre overflow from your leaky hole. Muffled, “Feels- mmpf, feels good, sugar?”

“Y-yes—” You’re trilling out, unable to help yourself. Before you’re glimpsing down at the vision of your husband, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Hiromi.”

He pops off of your right nipple with a wettened plop! “My apologies.” And swear you can catch a thin line of saliva glide down a stern edge of his lip, something so out of place for your attorney husband. “How m’I supposed to be a father if I don’t even- hah, know manners myself?”

“Exactly what m’saying.” You huff, back arching- the nubs of your nipples were all glazed with his spittle, cold against the bedroom air. And you almost missed the hot cavern of his mouth- “H-Hiromi—”

“Mhmmm…” His eyes look down at your bitten-over tits all dreamily, lashes batting. “M’here- your husband here for you, my pretty angel.”

“Just want you to- fuck!” And he’s exactly back where you want him - with his gaped maw rovering over your nipples. Kissing. Licking. Biting. Loving.

He’s paying equal attention to both, swirlin’ the hot edge of his tongue over and over each one- before popping off and sucking on the other. Right as he pummels his achin’ cock into you, he massages your tits—bulbous tip twitching each time he gnawed down on the softness of your tits, and you swear you can feel him swell just a lil’ bigger inside of you.

Your husband was just ravenous- nostrils flaring like he didn’t even need to breathe, face flushing red with exertion, a thin line of perspiration running down his forehead and he can’t even stop.

“There there—” Purring, voice thick in the back of his throat. “Does it feel just a lil’ better, sugar- these soooore pretty tits, after a long day of nursing my daughter? And you- heh, you taste like sugar.”

Your jaw drops, chin falling down to your chest- meeting Higuruma’s sultry stare dead-on. “Wh-what are you talking about, Hiromi?”

Letting his pearly white canines lightly snag on your left areola, he’s humming from the back of his throat. “S’exactly like I said- y’know I’m a lawyer, angel, I don’t mince my words…much.” Lightly snickering, he’s then sucking on your tits- trying to squeeze both pretty nubs into his mouth. “But fuck- you taste so sweet…so creamy…” Dark eyes taking over a glazed look, “-almost like…milk.”

“Milk?” 

And it wasn’t at all the first time that your husband had buried himself in the valley of your chest, sucking on your nipples like his favorite candy. But it was the first time since you’d had your daughter, considering the hectic schedule that came with raising a child- and Higuruma was positively lavishing your poor breasts with attention.

And it was the first time he’s saying that sucking on your swollen, sore nipples tasted anything like…milk.

With a hitched gasp, you’re reaching your dominant hand down and pryin’ aside one corner of Higuruma’s lips. Where he leans into the touch- where his kiss-bitten maw falls ajar for you- where he’s letting a thin stream of something milky white spill out.

“Oh- oh my god…” You breathe, “Hiromi, I’m lactating right now-”

“Mmmm—” He’s drunkenly opening his mouth even wider to lap at your overspillin’ nipples, the sappy gush of milk falling straight to his gullet. Greedy. Gluttonous. “I know.”

“Fuh-fuck!”

Because, as if it was even possible, Higuruma’s increasing the sloppy staccato of his hips. Letting his thick cock somehow swell even bigger. Redder. He was just so hungry scourin’ into every inch of your depths, pinpointing a bead of white precum for every ounce of milk that you were letting out.

A few stray trickles fall down his chin and Higuruma’s instantly darting his tongue to lap it up, not letting a single dewdrop go to waste. “Mhmmm—m’fucking you alright, sugar.” Slurring through his words, it’s almost as if he was pussydrunk and milk-drunk. “Fuckin’s what got these pretty tits all filled up with- ngh, sweet sweet milk, hm?”

“W-well-” You can’t help but arch your hips- unsure whether you wanted them away or papping! back down onto his for more, more, more. “Well, you’re right but-”

“Oh, I know m’right.” With a few more vulgar thrusts, you’re almost numb with pleasure.

Reaching everywhere - anywhere - for something like a lifeline, something to ground you to the constant bashes that Higuruma was roverin’ out on your walls. With so many veins that dappled along your sweetest spots, “You are-” Jerking, “You are and- oh, fuck, it just feels so—” Your milk coming out in streams—and fuck, the sight was just so lecherous. Higuruma gone on your cunt, gone on your overspilling tits.

“And I wonder if…” He briefly pauses in the middle of his lil’ monologue, leaving you curiously peering upwards at his hazy expression. 

Before you even know what he’s doing, Higuruma has his hands detached from one of your tits and dragging you just a few inches deeper down his throbbing shaft, all the way until the tuft of his neat curly hair scratches against your clit. A carnal itch. His baritone sounded so damn serious as he rumbles—“No running.”

You shiver, “I- I wasn’t-”

And your husband’s shaking his head, lightly tutting at the way you’d just been so far from him. “Now now, then why are you so far away—?” Higuruma’s thick cockhead flinches inside of you, making you buck away once more in surprise- “Ah ah- I said no running, angel, how m’I going to- hah, fuck you pregnant again?” Just slobbering down the peaks of both your tits, letting himself gurgle on the creamy liquid. Just choking on it- “And make you leak outta these pretty tits twofold?”

You weren’t even sure if he was making sense at this point- and you weren’t sure if you were, either. Just rounding your hips down to meet every inch of his overeager cock, “I don’t know if it even…” Before you’re looking down at the utterly feral expression of your husband once more, “Well, maybe it could work…”

“Hah-” Higuruma cracks a smirk, still unwilling to detach himself from your nipples. “-s’what I thought, my beautiful wife—now get ready- don’t run.” He has a hand ‘round your throat instantly, pinning you down. “Ngh, you taste like yer about to cum again.”

“Oh, fuck.”

.

.

.

You wake up feeling refreshed, a deep contentment in your bones that you haven’t felt in nearly forever. 

Just slowly blinking your eyes open, just lazily sinking into the soft mattress of your bed- you know instantly by the brightness that you’d slept in late. And it wasn’t just because of last night that the world seemed just a little bit brighter.

“Fuck-” You’re hissing, sitting up on the bed in a panic. There were so many things that needed to be done- for staters, breakfast, and then getting your daughter ready for her debate lessons, and then you had to kiss your husband goodbye and- “Fuck fuck fuck- fuck-” 

Nearly tripping over yourself (or maybe you do, you can’t quite keep track in your urgency) you tumble out of the bed and look over at the clock on your bedside table. 10:45AM. Why hadn’t your alarm woken you up already?!

Struggling to find your clothes from where they’d been…thrown around the bedroom, you’re just about to shrug on a robe of yours and race downstairs when-

“Shhhh, honey- don’t rattle those plates, you’ll wake mommy.” Higuruma’s calm, gentle tone speaks out - to none other than your daughter, you’re guessing. 

“Okay!” Pipes a sweet voice, a tiny rattle of plates. And you’re assuming that your husband reached over to grab them himself, because she then says- “No no, I got it, papa. It’s your off-day so you should relax, too. I wanna surprise mommy with bed in breakfast.”

“Breakfast in bed, honey.”

A/N. I would like breakfast in bed Higu smh-

The man cocks his head to the side and even though his thumb is actively rubbing your jaw as if to comfort you just a little, there’s still a scarily smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Swatting his tongue out over them, “Yeah? Earn it, then.” He orders before spitting down at you, the splatter landing somewhere on your cheek.

You try to better the way you’re sucking his him into your mouth—you really do—but with the way Gojo conveniently presses his palm into the arch of your spine, causing his wet cockhead to place syrupy kisses against your spongey sweet spot, you all but choke around the thickness in between your lips.

“Suguru, look at her, she’s tryin’ her best—mmgh-, fuck,” Your much sweeter boyfriend tries to sympathize, despite the fact that his tip is busy branding a mean smear of cum against your cervix. Huffing, “You gotta reward her some. Like this,” Gojo explains breathlessly before swooping a hand underneath your poor, overstimulated frame and letting his fingertips locate your clit with ease, gently swatting at it just to feel 'n watch the way your entire body twitches in reaction.

“Hnngh,” You're gagging out your moans again as your eyes start to travel alll the way into the back of your skull.

Gojo only smiles as if he's being any kinder than Geto, “See? She’s squeezin’ me even tighter now,” He points out. Then he's leaning down so his words can hit your ear properly, voice a soothingly deep tone that has you dripping from everywhere. “Y’like that, sweetheart?”

Like always, you're nodding before you manage to hum a muffled, “M-Mmhm!"

“Liar,” Geto sears with a harsher thrust of his hips. It's almost like he wanted you to literally eat your own words, his wide cock filling every crevice of your throat just as he'd trained it to, time and time before. Head tilting and knowing smirk flashing, “You like someone that’s mean to you more, be honest.”

Gojo's head flies up and his brows are all furrowed. An immediate pout takes over his lips and you think his hips stutter for a second, “Are you trying to say she likes you more than me?”

“Hah," Geto laughs dryly while weaving a hand through your hair, ignoring your gags and only ever acknowledging how good the vibrations feel around his shaft. "You’re a smart boy, Satoru. You can figure it out.”

The man behind you is left to scoff and the smack! he leaves on your ass doesn't exactly seem like it was directed towards you, “See how easily you praise me?" He asks, rolling his eyes before looking down again. It was clear by the sudden throb in his cock that the simple phrase from Geto was getting to him. So, naturally, he had to turn the attention back to you, "Why can’t you do the same for her?”

“She’s not y—oohh f-fuck, hey-, wait…” Geto's the one stammering now as he's entirely caught off-guard by your sloppy fingers dragging against his balls, his dick having somehow fallen out of your mouth and left you below him with a jaw slicked with saliva 'n spit, and your lips kissing his most sensitive places. “Shiit, you missed my attention on you already? Hm?” He teases.

“Mmnh," You hum while nodding. He watches you stick your tongue out like some whore before you let him see the center of it slather over a particularly delicate vein of his that trails the left side of his shaft. Then your head tips to the side and you start leaving kisses all over his length.

“Fuck, I hate it when you’re cute.” Was his way of telling you he's dialing it back a bit, his touches an awfully lot softer and smoother now against your face.

You let off a moan right against his skin when Gojo pulls out of you for a second just to watch his cock wetly thwack! up against your folds, “He’s lyin’, sweets. He loves it.”

To which Geto shakes his head and only sends him a glare, “Shut up, Satoru.”

perm gojo & geto tags (list still open here):

“missed havin’ you like this, angel,” satoru purrs, his half-lidded blue eyes tracking every inch of your face as his long fingers slowly rub your pussy, “missed having’ her sucking me in—oh, fuck yeah.”

you’re dripping and clearly just as pent up as your husband is. your cunt is spasming around his fingers and you’re overly sensitive—cumming over and over again as he curls and scissors those slender fingers inside you.

satoru doesn’t stop there. he never does, even if you cum for the nth time. now is his chance to worship every inch of you without any interruption and he will gladly enjoy every second.

but not without teasing you until you’re sobbing.

tears roll down your cheeks by your fourth orgasm, your legs shaking as they wrap around your husband’s head. his white hair tickles your inner thighs as his tongue flicks over your throbbing clit.

“‘toru,” you cry out and your teeth are clenched together. you’re trying so hard not to squirt all over his already slick covered face again, “‘s so much. . . feels like am gonna explode.”

“that so? awwh,” satoru grins against your pussy, his large hands tugging your hips up against his mouth, “do it then, baby. let this greedy pussy cum all over my face again.”

he presses small kisses all over your puffy slit before suddenly eating you out like he’s starving. he slurps and sucks hard, tongue flicking in and out of your cunt without pause.

his blue eyes flicker up to you, staring seductively at the way your stomach is trembling, the way your head is thrown back against the pillows. your fingers tug at his hair and he knows you’re close again.

“c’monnn,” satoru coos and his nose bumps against your clit as he buries his tongue deep into you, lapping up all the juices that drip down to your ass, “cum for me—cum for your hubby.”

your eyes widen and you feel the moment you’re pushed over the edge. you keen and your press his head against your sloppy sex out of instinct, “ahnn! cummin’!”

satoru groans and closes his eyes, his hands digging into the doughy flesh of your ass as he slurps up every drop of your cum. his adam apple bobs in throat, working overtime to drink up everything you give.

“that’s it, mmhh,” he murmurs, voice muffled as his mouth still works over your overstimulated pussy. he only pulls back when you’re left shaking and whining.

satoru licks his glistening lips, wiping some of your slick from the sides of his mouth with his fingers, only to make a show of licking them off. his cock is pulsing against his boxers at the sight of you—sobbing pathetically while your hips buck and twitch uncontrollably.

“you look so pretty when you cry f’me,” the white-haired man sighs and pats your drooling cunt in an almost gentle but teasing manner.

your body jolts at the slightest touch. “mmhg,” you hiccup and instinctually clamp your thighs around his hand, keeping him trapped there.

satoru grins as he looms over you, “how cute. you don’t want your dear hubby to pull away, hm?” he pries your legs apart with both hands, giving them a squeeze before he settles his hips between them.

“heh, don’t worry, baby. am not going anywhere. i still need to hear you cry for my dick.”

GETO SUGURU :: the trying-to-show-restraint-but-fails type

suguru helps you put the kids to sleep once it’s their bedtime. on the outside, he’s a doting father who’s simply helping his children get ready for the night. on the inside, he’s a husband who can’t wait until he finally has his wife alone.

the two separate personalities clash and make it difficult for him to focus.

suguru smiles softly at his kids and tells them ‘goodnight’ in that usual soft and sultry tone before you two walk out of their rooms. once the door closes, his eyes darken almost instantly. they follow the delicious lines of your body as you walk ahead, already imagining what he’ll do to it.

you don’t notice until you’re walking to your bedroom. before you can take a step inside, suguru grabs you by your shoulders and pins you against the wall besides the door.

his eyes dart down to your lips and he lowers his head before you can react. the kisses start out soft and loving, though quickly turn passionate. he’s biting and sucking on your bottom lip, his tongue flicking against yours.

“sugu—honey,” you gasp for air between kisses, but your husband shuts you off by grabbing your ass and hoisting you up. your feet dangle off the floor before you quickly wrap them around his waist.

suguru is too lost in the taste of you to notice the way your hands are weakly tugging at his shirt. he only pulls away to breathe, gazing down at the dazed look in your eyes.

“ah, my bad,” he mumbles and reaches a hand up to wipe the mixture of spit from your bottom lip.

“you just look so good,” he whispers as he tilts his head to kiss and suckle on the skin of your neck, “couldn’t hold myself back after seeing you being all maternal with the kids—being such a good mama. it’s so fucking hot.”

you can feel him humping his bulge right up against your clothed cunt, his hips rolling in an maddeningly slow way, ensureing you can feel every ridge of his covered dick—ensuring you can feel how hard he is for you.

suguru bites your shoulder with a low groan, “almost makes me want to have another.”

your breath hitches at the thought, your cheeks heating up simultaneously. suguru notices the embarrasment on your face, but also the excitement and desire slowly swimming up to the surface. it makes his resolve waver.

“ngh,” you bite your lip at the way your husband's touching you all over, “that… doesn’t sound so bad.”

it was meant to be a teasing comment, but little did you know that it fuelled suguru’s desire to the point he snaps.

in record time, he has your back flat against the wall, his hands holding you up against him by the back of your thighs, his hips smacking against yours. your panties are messily shoved to the side to make way for his pistoning dick.

“you feel so good, fuck,” suguru grunts, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm as he punctuates each word with a sharp thrust, “did you get tighter thinking about me filling up your sweet cunt? about me putting another kid in your belly?”

all you can do is sweetly and quietly moan in his ears, trying not to be too loud as your kids are still asleep down the hall. the last thing you want is them interrupting this moment.

though you can’t muffle the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out your dripping cunt, the noises of your pussy eagerly sucking all inches in which echo throughout the dark hallway.

“yes, please. please, please—need it,” you beg. the idea of having suguru’s cum flooding your womb and it flowering into another mini-him, or a mini-you, has you drooling.

“ah, you beg so nicely,” suguru groans lowly, his thrusts turning into deep and slow ones, to drive his dick impossibly deeper into your pussy to the point his tip bumps against your cervix.

that’s right where he wants it to be. his heavy balls clench and he knows he doesn’t have much time until he's filling the space in your womb.

“hold onto me, angel. i’m not letting you go until i'm sure every drop of my cum is buried deep into this pussy.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI :: the just overly freaky type

toji can barely wait until you’ve finished tucking megumi in. he’s eyeing you up and down slowly as he leans against the doorframe, muscular arms crossed over his chest and his lips slightly curled into a promising, wicked grin.

you can feel his heated gaze, but try your best to finish reading megumi his bedtime story. your four year old son is attentive, but also still childishly innocent, as he notices the way toji is looking at you.

“mama—papa looks like a monster. he wanna eat you!”

and your husband did exactly that, though not in the way your child had intended it to. in a more mature and sensual way that has your toes curling and your mind going hazy with pleasure.

toji has you shaking from the multiple orgasms he’s put you through ever since you put megumi to sleep just over half an hour ago. you’re already fucked out, pussy sore from the quick fucking it has received in such a short amount of time.

but your husband isn’t done, not by a long shot.

“keep y’r leg up, doll,” toji grunts as he notices your foot slipping off his shoulder with each hard thrust of his hips. you’re laid out on your side this time, one shaky leg up with toji kneeling between your legs.

his fat dick is stretching you in ways you’re never going to forget. his previous load of cum sloshes around his base each time he drags his hips back, staining your duvet with no shame.

“tryin’, am… trying—“ you whimper, your fingers curling around the sheets to steady yourself both mentally and physically.

your husband scoffs and doesn’t let up. his veiny hand holds your leg in place against his torso, sweat dripping from his temples and his eyes fixed on the place you’re jointed together.

“fuckkk—look at that,” toji spits on his fingers before circling your clit with them, trailing up to press down on your lower abdomen, “y’r little cunt is takin’ every fucking inch so deep. it’s made for my cock, yeah?”

you mewl and your back arches sharply from the stimulation. you clamp down on his twitching cock which gains you a rough groan from the dark-haired man looming over you.

toji drives his cock further up into you, watching the skin of your stomach stretch taut, outlining the head of his dick as it appears and reappears with each thrust.

“y’know,” his eyes flicker up to your bouncing tits before up to your blissed out expression on your face, “maybe i should give this poor pussy a little break before i make ya pass out.”

“mmh?” you snap out of the fog of pleasure when toji slides his dick out of you, it slipping out with a wet pop. the impressive length is covered with a mixture of your cum, translucent white drops trickling down to his sack.

toji snickers at your adorable and confused pout. “don’tcha look so pathetic now,” he clicks his tongue before easing you onto your back, positioning you so that your head is somewhat hanging off the edge of the bed.

his cock dangles enticingly between his thighs, curving towards you as he comes to stand over your head.

your eyes widen and you nearly choke on your spit. his dick creates a shadow over your face due to the lighting of your bedside lamp, the tip pointed just mere inches from your lips.

“toji, can’t—“ you whine, though feel a shiver of excitement run down your spine when one of your husband’s hand wraps around your throat. not yet squeezing, but resting there at the base.

toji glares down at you with a dark glint in his green eyes. the image of him is upside down in your current vision, but you don’t miss the way he’s grinning wickedly.

he taps the engorged head of his cock against your plump lips before pushing past.

“relax y’r throat for me, doll. thaaaat’s it. gonna fuck this pretty face raw.”

NANAMI KENTO :: the keep-it-quiet-but-passionate type

whenever he has the chance, kento gets your kids ready for the night on his own. he tells you—almost forces you—to relax and lie down in bed. you’ve done more than enough during the day and the least he can do is take over for the night.

you do as he says and relax back on your soft mattress, letting the duvets swallow you whole. you’re lying there, eyes drifting close as you fade into slumber.

kento walks in after a couple minutes when your children have settled. the house is quiet and he lets out a sigh, finally able to cuddle with his wife without his daughters popping in every second to show him something.

as much as he loves them unconditionally, he’s still just a man who wants to give his wife a proper loving.

kento lies down on his side of the bed and smiles softly at your peaceful face. he traces the shape of your nose, to your cheekbones and back to your mouth. his gaze lingers on your parted lips for a moment too long.

you’re beautiful. too beautiful for your own good, in the eyes of your husband. he feels the urge to kiss you, to make you feel good, to see you reach that edge of ecstasy again and again. to make you feel loved and sated.

kento always put you first.

which is why you’re not surprised to wake up to him peppering your face with kisses. you smile warmly and wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his blonde strands, pulling him in for a proper kiss.

it starts of innocent and loving. a make-out session you both need after such busy days. though, it slowly turns into something more. you’re both grinding against each other, panting against your lips, shrugging off clothes until you’re naked.

“shh shh, i got you, sweetheart,” kento whispers against your ear as he moves deliberately, his hard dick dragging along your slick walls back and forth, “don’t want our princesses to wake up, do we?”

you swallow a moan and nod, “‘kay, ken.”

you feel his calloused palm gently press against your mouth to muffle any sounds. you cling onto the same arm with both hands, eyes rolling back from the steady rhythm of his hips.

the slow pace is somehow more than enough to drive you insane. especially when kento presses his pelvis against yours, holding it there, making your pussy swallow every inch down to the base before rolling his hips in a circle.

the bulbous tip of his cock presses against that sweet spot inside you and he keeps rubbing it with that grinding motion. your jaw goes slack and you almost let out a long moan, your hips jerking as you nearly cum right then and there.

you barely hold it in, but you catch yourself just in time. you squeeze your eyes shut and manage to delay your orgasm as well.

kento smiles and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose in reassurance. he rests his forehead against yours, his own breathing heavy with the strain of holding back grunts of pleasure.

“such a good wife—listening so well,” he murmurs, biting the inside of his cheek as he feels you tighten up from the praise. the bed creaks just slightly from your coupling—a faint squeak of the bed springs that only intensifies the intimate moment.

you can’t help but lick a stripe up kento’s palm, wanting to see how he’d react. your husband raises an eyebrow and lets out a deep chuckle at that playful gesture, “mhm, keep that up.”

you shiver at that. it was a simple sentence, though you can hear the promise behind it. a promise of something more if you kept testing him.

you can see the veins in his neck bulging a bit, his jaw clenched. you know he’s already holding back, to try and be as quiet as possible. any type of provocation can set him off easily.

“mmph,” you let out a muffled noise as you wrap your legs around his hips, locking him inside you. you bury your nails into his bare back as you feel his dick digging deeper than ever because of the change of position.

it was a surprise move that has kento’s restraint slipping—no—completely dissolving.

“fuck, i warned you—“ he mumbles, brows furrowing. your heart stammers against your chest as you see that stern look in his eyes. the chilling look that tells you you’re about to have a mindblowing orgasm.

kento hooks your legs over his arms, letting your heels rest atop his broad shoulders, your knees pushing up to your chest as he opens your pussy up further. his balls rest snugly against your ass, promising you an extra deep penetration.

your husband hums at the way your back is already arching, your cunt spasming and fluttering around his dick.

“no no, sweetheart. i haven’t properly started yet and you’re already on the verge of cumming. hold it in for me, yeah?”

RYOMEN SUKUNA :: the don’t-care-if-anyone-hears type

sukuna is a menace. he lets the servants take care of the kids while he has you speared on his cock in all kinds of positions. that is if he has no business to take care of. ‘waiting until the kids go to sleep’ is a concept that doesn’t apply in his way of life.

however, when he spends time with you and your children, he manages to hold himself back from pouncing on you when he’s in the mood. you told him it’s good for their development when he spends time together with them, so he does just that. although a bit grumpy sometimes.

after those days, sukuna’s even more pent up because he hasn’t touched you in any way for the longest time. and you feel it, really feel it, when you’re alone in your chambers with him at night.

you can barely breathe as your face is smushed into the pillows. spit and cum is smeared all over your skin, from your face to thighs. you haven’t had a break since he started… an hour ago? two? three?

you can’t remember.

“damn brats,” sukuna scoffs, two rough hands kneading your hips while the other play with your clit and tits, “always in the way.”

his upper cock is plunging in and out of your asshole, the lower one stretching your cunt. you’re gripping onto anything you can find; from the sheets to the headboard of the bed and back at sukuna’s arms.

you can’t focus on anything. the only thing you’re hearing and processing is the way sukuna’s hips surge forward against your ass in lewd, meaty thwacks.

“ryo! ah, i can’t no more,” you babble, moaning in-between slurred words. your body jolts back and forth like a ragdoll, your limbs gone limp as you struggle to get air in your lungs.

“oi—breathe, woman,” sukuna grumbles as two of his hands grab your wrists and pull your arms backwards, pulling your upper body off the mattress.

you gasp as your face is lifted from the pillows. one of sukuna’s hands shoot up to grab our jaw and tilt your head. he scoffs at the dumb and fucked out look on your face, your drool and his leftover cum staining your chin.

“ye look like a dumb, cock-drunk slut,” the king of curses snorts and slaps your cheek slightly to snap you out of your daze, “get y’rself together. i need ya to fully feel my cum flooding these tight fuckholes of yours.”

at the same time he snaps his hips harshly against the plump flesh of your rear, holding it there. your eyes widen and your tongue lolls out instinctively. that delicious feeling of both his dicks reaching the deepest parts inside of you never gets old.

“oh, oh! is so deep!” you mewl, tears rolling down your cheeks as you feel his fat tips battering your sweet spots, “feels so good!”

“that’s what i thought,” sukuna grins smugly, realising you’re good to go for another round. of course you are—your body has learnt to take him. has learnt to be addicted to his big cocks molding your holes to their shape.

his lower hands switch to hold your wrists back so his upper pair can maul your tits. his rough fingers tweak and tug at your nipples, palms squeezing the mounds. the soft skin there is also already tainted with his semen, from the boobjob you gave him before this.

“squeeze me some more, c’mon,” sukuna commands and pinches your nipples to make your body tense. you do and both your gaping holes tighten up around his dicks, “fuck yeaaah, squeeze the cum out of my fuckin’ balls like a good wife.”

your back is arched so sharply, you’re sure you’re going to feel it in the morning. but for now you can’t care less as you find the energy to move your hips back against sukuna’s.

your husband groans at the sight. his lower pair of eyes are fixated on the ripple in your ass with each thrust, your body eagerly taking everything he’s giving you.

“fuckin’ yourself back on my dicks, huh? nasty slut,” sukuna hisses and smacks your plush bottom, “y’re basically begging me to ruin this little cunt. to claim your insides again and again, ‘til you can feel your stomach swell with my cum.”

you nod mindlessly along to his words. you don’t care about anything else anymore. you just want your husband to ruin you for everyone else, to make you forget about the world with his double cocks bringing you to the edge.

“yes, please—cum inside, please!” you beg nicely, high-pitched and whorish moans leaving your throat.

sukuna snarls, fangs appearing as he fights the urge to break you in half. his feral instincts nearly take over at the way his human is pleading for his cum.

he pins your upper body down onto the bed again, hand shoved against the back of your head to muffle your noises. he plants a foot on the bed, urging you to lift your ass up more in the air so he could hit his thrusts right on—

“you asked for it, brat. i’ll fuck you ‘till ya pass out on my dicks and i’m not stopping ‘till you do.”

raw tempo ⇦ word count ~ 14k choso's always had strong feelings for his sweet, impossibly cute roommate. after introducing you to his band mate suguru, the man starts to take an interest in you. drummer!choso becomes more jealous and agitated with each fucked up thing geto puts you through, and he finally snaps. his jealousy turns dark, messy, and impossible to ignore. (jealousy, slight angst, messyyy, toxic relationships (suguru –> reader) comfort, fluff, smut.)

sticky situation ⇦ word count ~ 26k one night of accidental sex with your stoner friend choso destroys the safe and comforting friendship you once had, the both of you spiraling while being in love with one another and not being brave enough to be honest with your feelings makes things sticky for not just you, but your whole chaotic friend group! (ANGST, a lil smut, comfort, crack)

you, always. ⇦ word count~ 12.8k you were best friends first. then the hookups started. now it’s messy, emotional, and way too late to pretend it doesn’t hurt. a frat party turns everything upside down. heartbreak, weed, jealousy, and finally, maybe, something real. (angst, comfort, crack)

gojo satoru !

babydoll ⇨ (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) word count ~ 28k frat boy satoru spots the most adorable girl he’s never seen on campus before and just has to have her, suguru throws in a bet and it gets crazy when your ex sukuna gets involved. (fluff, angst/comfort/ smut)

it girl ⇨ (part 1)(part 2) word count ~ 38k nerd gojo finally plucks up enough courage to talk to the popular model he stalks on instagram on the daily, what happens when she seems interested in him as-well? things get wild when your fling!sukuna gets involved. (fluff, smut, angst, comfort)

suguru geto !

show off ⇨ (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) word could ~ 27k you’re the campus it girl dating the golden boy satoru gojo. everyone thinks you’ve got the perfect life until the façade cracks and you catch him cheating. when everything falls apart, it’s suguru geto, gojo’s best friend and your quiet anchor, who’s there picking up the pieces. the only problem? falling for him means breaking every unspoken rule in their world. (angst, cheating, betrayal, toxic relationship, eventual comfort)

satoru gojo and suguru geto !

ruin me ⇦ word count ~ 26k obsessive nerds satoru and suguru have fawned over you since freshman year, jointly thirsting over your instagram and watching you silently in the halls. the stoners are invited to one of choso's partys, and fuck, they get really lucky. they worship you like a goddess and end up being thrown into your perfect orbit, in a secret affair behind your horrible boyfriend sukuna's back. (fluff, smut!!! angst, comfort, toxicity)

ryomen sukuna !

off limits ⇦ word count ~ 21k five years younger than your brother toji, you’ve always been the one off-limits, bad decisions spiral into a heated back and forth of forbidden love between you and your brother's best friend. (smut, angst, fluff, comfort, forbidden relationship)

scandalous ⇦ word count ~ 15k tempt and revolt are the band everyone craves. louder, wilder, insanely popular. onstage, sparks fly between you, the magnetic lead singer, and sukuna, the tattooed guitarist fans swear you’re in love with. an old fling with toji, the bassist, resurfaces. a scandal explodes, and in the chaos, you and sukuna find yourselves pulled into something deeper than late nights and lust. fame is brutal, but so is love, and this time, neither of you can hide behind the 'bestfriend' label. (smut, angst, fluff!)

mine, eventually ⇦ word count ~ 11k he’s your slutty frat-boy-best-friend and you’re his sweet, bubbly angel who has no idea that sukuna's been in love with you for months. he hasn’t fucked a single soul since he realized his feelings, not one. pretending he’s fine while you curl up into his chest at parties like it means nothing is slowly driving him insane. (slow burn, fluff, lil angst, comfort.)

torture ⇦ word count ~ 13k five months after your very messy breakup with ryomen sukuna, things have been heating up. between jealous mind games, hooking up with his best friends for revenge, and flirting with men just to piss him off at parties, you manage to drive ryomen so crazy he can't contain it any longer. old grudges flare, stolen glances ignite lust, and every chaotic night threatens to pull you both back into each other’s orbit, messy, raw, and unavoidable. (angsty, messy, and oh so tense!)

chemically bonded ⇦ word count ~ 17k sukuna doesn't give a shit about chemistry, that is until the big red 8% on his last test threatens to get him kicked out of his frat. desperate, he turns to the only person who can save him: you, the adorable, shy girl who aces every quiz. you agree to help, but only if he helps you get the attention of your hallway crush, his best friend, toji. what starts as a deal between you slowly turns into a spiral of love and jealousy. (18+, fluff, slight toji x reader (?), no angst for once omg go me)

chemically bonded headcanons ! ⇦ frat sukuna x his shy, nerdy girlfriend.

kento nanami !

in the hush of it all ⇦ word count ~ 10.3k in a bustling frat where everything and everyone has something going on 24/7, nanami is the lull in an ever changing sea. through longing glances and awkward first meetings, your relationship with the stoic man who keeps the frat together grows. (fluff, slowish burn.)

drabbles / oneshots ⋆‧₊˚

gojo satoru !

mr. take your girl ⇦ frat satoru stealing sukunas situationship and ultimately saving her from a horrible relationship. (smut, angst, fluff) ~ wc: 10k

are you impressed? ⇦ frat satoru with a massive crush on you! (suggestive) ~ wc: 2.5k

perfect ⇦ satoru taking his shy girlfriends v-card! (smut) ~ wc: est. 3k (this is so ass bruh dont read it)

home ⇦ overworked satoru coming home to his caring girl! (fluff, comfort) ~ wc: 1.5k

diva ⇦ nerdy gojo loving on his popular baddie girlfriend. (fluff) ~ wc: 500

suguru geto !

my girlfriend gets so, depressed. ⇦ suguru and his depressed girlfriend figuring out the world together, based on tv girl's song, 'girlfriend.' (poignant, lil angsty) ~ wc: 2.5k (?)

prayer ⇦ very religious geto and you in a relationship (poignant) ~ wc: 2.5k

sketch me ⇦ friends who yearn to be lovers. (slight angst? no comfort?) ~ wc: 500

ryomen sukuna !

mean!sukua x shy!gf!reader ⇦ mean sukuna finding out he cant treat his adorable girlfriend like the brats hes dates in the past... (angst to fluff, yelling on sukuna's end, lowkey kinda toxic sukuna but he gets better in the end :p) ~ wc: 3k

hear me out cake ⇦ micro celebrity reader doing a chaotic hear me out cake with a fan favourite, your 'friend(?)' sukuna. (chaotic fluff) ~ wc 1.5k

yearn ⇦ sukuna getting high regretting his actions. (angst) ~ wc: 1000

© 2025 sixxels. All work belongs to @sixxels Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

about sixxels ! ⋆‧ ₊˚

i'm a 19 year old girl in my second year of studying surveying in university! i'm from australia and i live next to the beach! (ironic, i know.) i love art, going to pilates, walking my two dogs, listening to music and clubbing with my friends! my favorite anime is nana! my holy grail frl i love it with all my heart. my favorite music artist(s) would have to be either sonder or tyler, the creator.

i love writing fanfics, it really heals my inner geek icl. writing brings me the most joy , being able to see others take such a liking to my ideas makes me so happy. although i could never tell anyone in my personal life about this hobby, its hands down one of my most rewarding pastimes.

MOST OF ALL i love love LOVE ALL OF YOU GUYS YOU KEEP ME GOINGGG ! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ i love hearing from you so always feel free to reach out through my asks !

frat!sukuna can’t stop touching you when you’re in his room. your waist, your hair, your jaw. always grounding himself with a hand somewhere on you. sometimes he just holds your face, thumb brushing your pretty lips before kissing you slow, like he’s savoring every second. afterward, when you pull away to breathe, he whispers, “yeah, we're definitely chemically bonded.”

frat!sukuna loves when you get all serious and nerdy about chemistry, talking with your hands and forgetting he’s there. he’ll nod along, pretending to follow, eyes fixed on your mouth. “kuna, you’re not even listening!” you say, narrowing your eyes. “nah, i am,” he grins. “just distracted by how hot my genius girlfriend looks explainin’ equilibrium or whatever the fuck.” you shove his muscular arm, he’s still smiling.

frat!sukuna gets real quiet when other guys talk to you. he doesn’t blow up, doesn’t make a scene, just slides an arm around your waist, lips brushing your temple like a warning as he pulls you close to him. “you good, baby?” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. the guy always backs off. later, in the comfort of your apartment he’ll grumpily mutter, “i don’t like sharin’ your attention,” against your neck.

frat!sukuna always wakes up before you, no matter how late he stayed up. he’ll just lie there for a while, propped on his elbow, watching you breathe against his big chest. he traces the outline of your shoulder with one finger, slow and careful, like he’s taking note of every inch of your soft skin. sometimes he’ll press a kiss to the crown of your head, whisper something like, “so fuckin' adorable, its unfair,” he’ll get up quietly, make coffee that’s way too strong, then come back just to sit on the edge of the bed and watch you stretch. you always catch him staring, and he never denies it.

frat!sukuna always keeps your things in his hoodie pocket. says it’s because you’re “always losin’ your shit,” but you know it's just because he likes to keep pieces of you close to himself. he'll randomly pull out one of your favourite glosses and take your jaw into his hand, unscrewing the lid with his teeth and free hand before carefully swiping it across your lips for you.

"there you go, baby. your lips were chapped." "when did you even take that?" "don't worry bout' it."

frat!sukuna grumbles every time you steal his clothes, but his smirk always gives him away. he’ll say something like, “that’s my favorite hoodie, you little shit,” while tugging the hem just to see how it fits on you. the sleeves swallow your hands, and he can’t look away. it’s half possessive, half soft. he’ll act like he’s irritated but if you try to give it back, he just shakes his head. “no, keep it. looks better on you anyway.”

frat!sukuna always finds an excuse to touch you when you’re studying together, knee against yours under the table, fingers brushing the back of your hand when he steals your pen. you roll your eyes when he asks questions he already knows the answer to, pretending to explain the chemistry problem just so you’ll lean in closer. when you catch him staring, he doesn’t look away. “focus, ryo,” you tease, and he grins. “oh, i am,” he says, voice low. later, when you finally finish the assignment, he’ll close your laptop and pull you into his lap, murmuring, “you know i only study ‘cause you make it look hot.”

frat!sukuna starts calling you “my girl” more often than your actual name. it slips out casually at first, in front of friends, during late-night calls, when he texts you goodnight. but the way he says it carries weight, like a promise. “my girl’s got a big test tomorrow,” he’ll brag to toji, pride softening his voice. when you call him out, teasing, “what, you get bored of my name?” he just smirks, leaning close until his breath ghosts over your ear. “i can't help it. been mine since that first day in chem, sweetheart. you just didn’t know it yet.” and when you blush, he grins like he’s just won the lottery.

frat!sukuna loves cooking with you even though he can’t cook for shit. you try to teach him, but he keeps sneaking behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. he’ll whisper something stupid like, “why cook when i can just eat you instead?” before you elbow him and tell him to stop teasing. still, he watches every move you make. by the time the food’s done, it’s cold because he’s too busy hoisting you up into the counter and kissing you deeply. “worth the wait,” he murmurs between gasps, lips tasting like spice and warmth.

frat!sukuna gets weirdly gentle after a fight. you’ll be pacing, still mad, and he just stands there, hands in his pockets, eyes following you. when you finally snap, “aren’t you gonna say something?” he sighs and pulls you close before you can protest. “i hate when we fight, baby,” he says, voice soft in a way that breaks you down instantly. he won’t apologize with words, he’ll do it with his hands, with the way he presses his forehead against yours and whispers, “you drive me fuckin’ crazy, but i can’t sleep without you next to me.” it’s messy, but it’s sweet.

frat!sukuna texts you random shit all day, even when he’s with the guys.

“miss you,” “you’d look cute in this shirt,” “come over, the house’s too quiet.”

you tease him about being clingy, but he never denies it. if you don’t reply fast enough, he sends an over the top reaction pic captioned: guess i’ll just shoot myself in the throat, then. but when you finally show up at the frat, he’s leaning against the door like he wasn’t waiting patiently. “jeez, took you long enough,” he says, smirk slipping the second he pulls you in by the waist. his texts are playful, but the way he kisses you isn’t.

frat!sukuna always keeps something of yours in his room. maybe your scrunchie, a necklace, your perfume bottle half-empty on his shelf. he says it’s accidental, but you catch him holding your hair tie once, twirling it around his fingers like a nervous habit. “smells like you,” he mumbles, eyes distant. when you tease him, he shrugs. “reminds me why i put up with you.” but when you’re gone for a few days, that’s the first thing he grabs, the small trace of you that keeps his chest from feeling too empty. he’d never say it, but those little pieces are his comfort.

frat!sukuna is addicted to your laugh. he’ll make the dumbest jokes just to hear it, smirking every time you try to hold it in. “don’t hide your laugh,” he says, voice low. “it’s adorable.” sometimes he tickles you until you’re crying with laughter, his grin wide and boyish. “never seen you this happy,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. then, quieter, “wanna be the reason for it every day.” it’s moments like that when his walls drop, when you see the softness under all the tattoos and sharp grins. he looks at you like you’re the first good thing he’s ever known.

frat!sukuna likes when you wear his shirts to bed, thin fabric slipping off your shoulder, nothing underneath but skin. he’ll pull you closer, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. “fuck, i want you, so badly,” he whispers against your ear before kissing that spot on your neck that makes you melt. "you look so fuckable in my clothes, you're so adorable." his shirt ends up forgotten somewhere on the floor after a few minutes.

frat!sukuna pretends he’s focused on the movie, but his hand keeps wandering. first your knee, then higher, higher, until he's got one of his fingers pressing down on your clothes clit, you gasp his name. he smirks without looking away from the screen. “you're so tempting,” he says, voice low, “be a good girl and let me take care of you.” the credits roll before you realize you haven’t seen a single frame.

frat!sukuna gets off on seeing you flustered. loves leaning in close when he talks, just to watch your breath hitch. “what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he murmurs, eyes dark. “can’t handle me this close?” when you push him away, he only grins wider, whispering, “you're so easy to tease. y' sure you don't want me closer?” knowing damn well you do.

frat!sukuna always ends up behind you when you’re brushing your teeth at his sink. bare chest against your back, arms sliding around your waist. he’ll kiss your shoulder between words, muffled by toothpaste. “you look so pretty in the mornings, love.” he murmurs, “so adorable, even with bed head.” you roll your eyes, but his reflection in the mirror is smiling.

frat!sukuna has a thing for hearing you say his name. not “sukuna,” but the quiet, breathy way you say it when you’re half-asleep or half-undone under his relentless hands. he’ll push your hair back and whisper, “say it again,” like it’s the only word he wants to remember. you notice the way his eyes blow out with that feral look each time you let the word slip, his pace always shuddering with desperation as the syllables fall out of your mouth.

frat!sukuna makes you sit in his lap during parties. says it’s “so no one else gets ideas,” but his fingers trace circles on your thigh the whole time, his breath hot against your ear. you try to focus on what the people around you are trying to talk to you about, but all you can feel is him murmuring, “good girl, stay right here.” and you always do, feeling him grow harder and harder underneath you as you squirm in embarrassment.

frat!sukuna likes when you steal his rings. he’ll catch your hand midair, smirk tugging at his mouth. “you tryin’ to claim me or somethin’?” he teases, sliding one onto your finger himself. “fine. but now everyone’s gonna know who you belong to.” you pretend to protest, but the way his eyes linger says you love it too.

frat!sukuna has a habit of whispering filthy things between soft ones. “you’re beautiful,” he says, lips brushing your neck. “you drive me fucking insane.” then lower, rougher—“can't wait til' we're alone... m' gonna ruin your pretty little body, make you forget everything but me.” his tone shifts so easily it leaves your head spinning. and afterward, when you’re tangled in sheets, he’s still whispering, “all mine,” like it's gospel.

frat!sukuna takes his time with you. he never rushes sex. he’ll kiss you like he’s got nowhere else to be, fingers pushing into you slowly with careful attention, his voice a low rasp: “fuck, you're so tight for me, baby. taking me sooo well.” when you finish and you're a mess of breathless gasps, he grins. “told you i could make you forget everything, didn’t i?”

frat!sukuna is constantly staring at you. in the library, in class, even across crowded rooms. he doesn’t look away when you notice — just smiles big and dopey, like he got caught stealing something he already owns. “whattt?” you ask. “nothin’,” he says, eyes lingering on your lips. “just can’t believe you’re real sometimes.” you never stop blushing after that.

frat!sukuna only really trusts you around a handful of people — nanami, choso, maybe gojo on a really good day. everyone else? he keeps a hand on your back, eyes scanning the room like he’s ready to start something. “don’t need the guys talkin’ to you too much, fillin' your head with their bullshit ideas,” he mutters. “can't have them corrupting your pretty little mind.” you just smile, because sukuna's possessive side was the cutest thing you'd ever witnessed.

frat!sukuna loves buying you little things for no reason — hair clips, pens shaped like beakers, plushies he pretends are for “decoration.” when you ask why, he shrugs. “saw it, thought of you.” but the truth is, he likes knowing that everywhere you look, there’s something that reminds you of him. every trinket a quiet, wordless kind of love note.

frat!sukuna lays across your stomach while you study, head turned toward the pages like he’s pretending to read. really, he’s just listening to your heartbeat. you complain that he’s heavy, but he hums, tracing circles on your side. “helps me focus,” he lies. you know he’s just trying to anchor himself in your calm, his chaos finally quiet.

frat!sukuna gets obsessed with the way you concentrate. the way your brows furrow, your lips move when you read under your breath. he’ll be across the room, supposed to be doing something else, and he’ll just stand there, watching. “what?” you ask without looking up. he grins. “just admirin’ my favorite nerd.” you roll your eyes, he smiles like an idiot.

frat!sukuna gets territorial in tiny, stupid ways. wipes your lipstick from his cheek but leaves it on his throat. lets people see the marks you leave but glares if anyone stares too long. when you scold him, he just smirks. “you started it, sweetheart.” the next day, his jaw’s bruised from your teeth, and he’s never looked prouder.

frat!sukuna keeps showing up at your dorm with snacks, claiming it’s for “study fuel.” half the time he just watches you eat, chin in his hand, smiling like he’s got everything he’s ever wanted right there. “you’re so cute when you chew,” he teases, dodging your pen when you throw it at him. he laughs. “my favorite nerd.”

frat!sukuna was being mysterious. you got a text from your man at some random hour of the afternoon, it simply read, "i'm coming over, baby." you hearted the message and sent a cute sticker in return, just assuming he was coming over to chill.

you open the door to see his big, brooding stature, dressed in a casual black beater and loose sweatpants.

"hey, sweetheart. missed you." he gave you a peck on the cheek before walking past you into your apartment like second nature. you smiled and let him drag you to the couch, falling down onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist and peppered your face in feather light kisses.

"i'm gonna show you something, but you promise you can't freak, hmm?"

you looked at him skeptically, but smiled anyway, nodding your head as he grabbed the hem of his shirt. without warning, he lifted it up and off, revealing his tatted upper body, one you'd seen countless times. only, there seemed to be a new addition...

resting softly against his left pec, was a tattoo of your name in a pretty, classy font. your eyes go wide as you cover your mouth with your hand.

"are you... are you deadass?"

"i'm so deadass." he replied, smiling down at you as your fingers trailed over the slightly red mark. he laughed at your expression, one of pure shock and enthralment.

"okay... we have to get married now."

gojo and choso would whine at him, suguru and toji would roll their eyes, but he didn't give a shit.

he'd strut out with a grin on his tatted face, because now he could go home and see you, the single most important thing in his chaotic nightmarish life, his little slice of perfect, peaceful heaven.

when he made it back to your small, shared apartment, he scuffed his boots off and headed down the hallway hoping to find you curled up on the couch, watching fruits baskets or whatever cute show you were into at the moment.

he peeked his head around the corner hoping to come up behind you and scare you, but to his surprise, you were busy working away in the kitchen. with flour on your nose and butter smeared on the cute little cat apron he bought you a month ago, you pulled a tray of somethings out of the oven.

he bit his lip, you looked so adorable. everything about you already made his heart swoon in a way he had quite literally never felt with anyone else, but on top of it all, you seemed to have this effect that made him a million times more possessive.

he walked from the hallway to the kitchen island and took a seat on a breakfast bar stool. sukuna was massive, but surprisingly very quiet. so, when you turned around to place the tray of freshly baked tarts on the island, the sight of him made you yelp and drop the tray onto the counter, a little harder than intended. (thankfully none of them were damaged.)

he laughed immediately, then he was up and closing the space between you, wrapping you against his big, warm chest. his arms felt impossibly big and muscular, you felt yourself being squished in the best way.

“sorry, baby, didn’t mean to scare you that bad,” he smiled and kissed your forehead.

you giggled, "it's fine, kuna. i just wasn't expecting you to be home so early." your voice was as soft and delicate as usual, and his eyes softened with love.

"eh, the bar got boring. rather be here with you, sweetheart."

you giggle to yourself, he was becoming more and more anti-social with each function he ditched, but you didn't mind.

you stepped back gently, picking up a plate with one of the strawberry tarts ontop. “i made these for you,” you spoke, setting it on the counter. he looked down from your glistening eyes and at the perfect custard tart, his favourite.

the overwhelming urge to scoop you up and kiss your face until it hurt became all but too unbearable. he tried, god, he reallllly tried to keep his hands to himself and not smother you, but it was no use. he couldn't stop the impulse.

before you could react, he had you pulled up in his arms, laughing as you squealed and wriggled. “ryo!” you huffed between giggles, but he didn’t stop, peppering big wet kisses all over your cheeks and forehead, your eyelids and nose.

finally, he had enough and set you down onto the island, pressing one last soft kiss to your pretty nose. "god, you're cute." he stood in between your legs with one hand still around your waist, with the other, he grabbed the tart and took a messy bite.

you slapped a hand over your mouth at the boarder-line pornographic moan that came out of his throat. "my god, this is so good, babe. you're getting cracked tonight." he said with his mouth half full, you only flushed red in response.

he turned back to your face and let you wipe a crum off his lip, he smiled and kissed your knuckles in appreciation.

"what kind of deity was i in my past life to deserve you? you're cute, you can cook, bake, you're smart, you take dick like a-"

"h-hey!" this time you were slapping a hand over his mouth. the action made that overwhelming feeling of possessiveness flow back over his brain, settling in the crevasses. you were just too cute, he really couldn't handle it any longer.

"what? just appreciating my beautiful girlfriend."

you sat these on the counter letting him yap on about how much he loved you for the next hour, eating tarts and kissing you tenderly for the rest of the night.

this was so much better than that shitty bar.

idk what my obsession is with sukuna loving strawberry tarts but yeah have this to tide us over until pt.3 of show off 🙂‍↕️❤️

"where's that girl? the one that does the piercings." his voice rings out through the shop, distinct, gravelly. you know it's him before you even see him.

you poke your head out from the back, where your room is, eyes landing on the broad, hulking figure at the end of the hall. your waiting room isn't small by any means, but it certainly seems that way with him standing in the middle of it.

"you have an appointment?" you question, racking your brain because you can't remember seeing anyone on your calendar at this time— and you'd remember if sukuna had signed up.

he responds quickly to the sound of your voice, his body turning, crimson stare finding you immediately. "nah, not yet," he starts, long legs carrying him towards you with confident strides, "i wanna make one though."

"yeah, of course!" you beckon him into your studio, gesturing for him to sit down. and you have to stifle a laugh at the look on his face when he sees the little wooden chairs you have lined up against the wall.

you'd thrifted them a while ago for clients that like to bring a friend or family member with them, but it's a little comedic seeing someone of sukuna's stature taking a seat in one. for someone so large he was sure moving gingerly, expression suspicious as he carefully dropped his full weight onto the vintage piece.

"don't worry, it won't break," you assure him, but the wood creaking right after makes you doubt yourself a little.

"you sure 'bout that?" he questions, tone flat but laced with something akin to amusement.

"well, i guess we'll see," you shrug. "anyways, you said you wanted to make an appointment?"

he grunts in lieu of a 'yeah'. "wanna get a piercing done and heard you'd be the best for it."

you hum softly, resting a hip on the side of your counter, arms crossing in front of you as you look over him, curious as to what he's planning to get done. there's plenty of talented piercers in your city, but if he's convinced you're the one for the job then it must be…

"wanna pierce my dick." yep.

he waits, eyes scanning your face for any evidence of shock, maybe a little look of approval to feed his ego. he tries not to care when he gets nothing, just you nodding your head indifferently as you reach for your ipad to pull up an appointment form.

"you know what kind of piercing you want?" you ask, gaze cutting back up to his once you get the form set up.

"jacob's ladder," he replies smoothly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

that gets a reaction from you. the slightest ghost of a smile graces your lips and he can feel his chest swelling with pride. he shouldn't really care, he doesn't even know you, but ultimately, he's a confident man who likes to get what he wants. and from the first time he saw you in the shop— tight tank top clinging to your chest, leading away some client who was following you like a lost puppy— he wanted you.

and sukuna knows he's better than the other losers you pierce, probably just asking you for something basic, something you do every week. and he knows from your coworker how often they ask you out, thinking that they have a chance, just for you to politely turn them down and complain about it later. they never had a chance, but sukuna? he had a chance. that much was obvious with the way you'd curiously peek in during his appointments, eyes slowly raking over his figure each time, drinking in the sight of him before asking how it was going.

"good choice?" he asks, standing and crossing over to you as you keep scribbling on the ipad with your stylus.

"they're not too common," you muse, shifting to face him. ignoring the flush creeping up into your cheeks when you see through your periphery just how close he is, "but they're a personal favorite so… i'd say yes."

sukuna's grin widens. "personal favorite, huh? to pierce…" his voice drops as he leans down, hovering over you as your lower back presses into the counter, "or to look at?"

your breath hitches in your throat at the warm feeling of his breath fanning close to your face, and you pray he didn't catch it. but he did. his tongue darts out quickly to wet his lips as his gaze flicks between your eyes and your cleavage.

recovering quickly, you set the ipad aside, hands coming to rest behind you on the counter. you pretend you don't know what you're doing— pushing your chest out towards him, head craning back slightly to look up at him with that innocent look on your face. you flash him another smile of your own. "all of the above."

you know it's not professional. but was it so bad to indulge every once in a while? sukuna was attractive, very much your type, and very much into you.

your mind flashes through memories of lame dates and unsatisfying hookups, a montage of your depressing sex life as you look over him once more. every muscle is defined, like they want to show you that they're right where they need to be, his body practically radiating heat. you take in the way his compression shirt sticks to him like a second skin, the way his shorts bunch up ever so slightly around his crotch because his thighs are just that big. not to mention his voice— the timbre, the way he effortlessly commands attention at the slightest word.

everything about him oozes sex appeal, and you can't help but feel like you'd be crazy not to capitalize on his interest in you.

"oi, my eyes are up here."

your head snaps up to see sukuna's signature shit-eating grin on his face. "huh?"

"you were starin' at my dick. not very professional," he tuts.

you roll your eyes, heat pricking just beneath the surface of your skin as you realize that you were just staring at his dick. "well i'm gonna be piercing it, aren't i? just checking it out for the job, y'know?"

sukuna nods slowly. "right, right," he affirms sarcastically.

"shut up," you mumble, turning back around so you don't have to see him anymore, worried that your face might betray you even more. "anyways, it's probably going to be a few sessions—"

you're cut off when a large hand comes to rest beside yours on the countertop. you don't have to see him to know the way he's looming over you again, nearly caging you in.

"go on," he urges, other hand coming up to scratch his chin as he listens, like he's not being the world's greatest distraction.

"it's easier on the healing process if we just do a few barbells at a time, but there's some wiggle room there with exactly how many you want to do each session," you explain, mentioning that the first appointment can be used as a trial run. he can gauge the pain level and see how many he can handle at a time. after that, you'll determine roughly how many more appointments to schedule.

"so how long's this whole thing gonna take?" he asks gruffly.

"well… with a couple months between each appointment it could take around a year give or take— but it all depends."

"alright, think i can do that," he hums, "anything different about the healing process that i should know about?"

you reiterate the basics that he probably already knows, given the jewelry adorning his face already. "… other than that it's just no sex for a while."

sukuna freezes. didn't think that part through. he'd been so focused on the aftermath— of what it'd be like to have sex once he got it done— that he completely forgot about the whole time during the piercing process.

"how long is a while?" he questions, quieter than his usual self, making you chuckle.

"well ideally you'd wait until they're all healed," you start, neck craning to see the disappointed look on his face, "if you're certain the ones that are already done have healed up before your next appointment, obviously i can't stop you— but i would recommend wearing a condom to keep it drier, and be sure to clean them after."

"oh, thank god. okay."

your eyes narrow, "don't go sleeping around if they're not ready just because you can't keep it in your pants."

sukuna shoots you a look of feigned scandalization, free hand coming up to his chest. "sleep around? who do you think i am?"

"i think you're someone who likes to sleep around."

that pulls a laugh from him. a low, rumbling sound that makes your stomach flip. "maybe. but don't worry, i wouldn't wanna mess up your work."

"better not," you mutter, poking him with the stylus. "now sign here."

after ironing out a few more details, sukuna's first appointment was set for a week out. he paid the deposit and made for the door, the bell chiming softly above his head as he leaves, flashing you a quick wink.

you're behind the counter when sukuna returns. the glass door sliding open, a wave of heat rolling in with him as he steps out of the summer sun and into the air conditioned waiting room. you glance up from where you were scrolling on your phone, pretending to be busy but more-so just trying to distract yourself from the anticipation of seeing the tattooed man again.

you aren't really one to get nervous before appointments, but you can't help the swirling feeling low in your gut. it has less to do with the thought of actually piercing him, and more to do with the thought of being confined in that small room with him again— this time with his dick out.

your spine straightens, standing taller as sukuna strides over to you, large hands resting on the glass display case between you two, fingers drumming on the top.

"long time no see," he grins, gaze hungrily trailing over you, just as it does every time he sees you. he lingers on your chest, lips twitching at the sight of your cleavage in the low-cut top you decided to wear today.

all you can do is hope that it's not too obvious the effect he's having on you as you mutter a sarcastic "funny."

"i try," sukuna shrugs, always cocky. he shifts, coming down to rest on his forearms, the thick limbs stretched across the case towards you.

veins litter his tanned skin, running up perpendicular to the nicely healed tattoos, the dark ink a complement to the black painted on his nails. you instinctively shift closer, hips near pressing against the counter, against his fingers that are much too close. they twitch, drifting towards you just enough to brush along the hem of your shirt, soft enough for him to play it off as an accident. but you know better.

you ignore it. you ignore the way that when you don't react, it only spurs him on to tug the fabric lightly between his fingers, playing with it as you ask him about the jewelry he wants. "silver or gold?"

sukuna hums, like he needs to think about it— like all the metal already planted in his face isn't silver. he just wants an excuse to stay there a moment longer. until you clear your throat, arms crossing in front of your chest as you look at him expectantly. "silver's good."

"finally," you grumble, but it lacks any real bite. "follow me." he lets go and you lead him to the back, the heavy weight of his gaze bringing goosebumps to your skin. you don't need to see him to know he's staring right at your ass. it's not like it's his fault, he reasons silently, maybe if you weren't sauntering away, hips swaying side to side with each step, he wouldn't be ogling so hard.

you point to the table as you walk in, not bothering to check if he's watching you— you already know he is, "sit."

"yes ma'am," he practically purrs as he sits on the cushioned top, propping himself up on his arms behind him.

you shoot him a deadpan look, one that you hope hides the fact that his words, the tone of his voice, it all has your stomach tying in knots. you turn back around to rummage through your drawers and cabinets, pulling out everything you'll need and a singular silver barbell.

"just one?" sukuna asks, both skepticism and offense in his tone. did you really think he wouldn't be able to do more than one in a session? the same man who'd easily sat through multiple tattoo sessions that lasted several hours?

"we'll see how you're feeling afterwards. if you're up for it, i'll just grab some more."

"i'll be up for it."

you sigh— he's stubborn, that's for sure. but if it'll give him peace of mind then whatever. you retreat to grab two more barbells before swiveling back over to him in your little chair. "happy now?"

he grins, "sure am, baby."

"baby? that's new," you muse, pulling on your gloves with a snap.

"you like it?" he teases, shifting in his seat, legs falling further apart.

"maybe. i'll answer that after you've pulled your pants down," you shoot back. keeping your eyes fixed on what you're doing, you get everything in order on your tray so that each piercing can be as swift as possible. as tempted as you are to let your gaze slide up, trailing over his muscled thighs to the apex of his shorts— you're not giving in that easy.

he wants your attention, it's obvious, and though he's already got it, you find that you like playing with him. making him work a little harder than he's probably ever had to before, making him think that you're not quite there with him yet.

sukuna huffs out a laugh, confident and smooth. "just say the word."

"whenever you're ready, we can get this over with."

he rolls his eyes, fingers hooking into his waistband, muttering, "well don't act too excited." only now do you let your gaze drift down to his crotch and— is he hard right now? you don't realize the way you've tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, breath baited in anticipation, but sukuna does. and the look on your face is enough to have even more blood rushing down between his thighs.

his hips lift up, just enough to slide his shorts and briefs down over his ass. the waistbands catch on the tip of his dick, tugging it along with them as he pushes the garments down further. you can see the way the fabric shifts along the head as his cock fights to return back to its upright position, little by little until it's freed, the full length slapping up against his abdomen.

your mouth feels dry. tongue heavy, sitting against the roof of your mouth, it feels like it's filling the entire cavern. you could have guessed he was big, the way he carries himself is a tell-tale sign. he has that kind of confidence that you just know is well-founded, not something used to compensate. but— "damn."

"you wanna give me that answer now, baby?"

"shut up, sukuna," you snap, eyes still fixated on the distraction in front of you. he's big, pretty, even. veins trail up the thick shaft, a guide for your eyes, leading you up to the red tip, all flushed and swollen. your core feels hot, the initial dryness in your mouth being replaced with a rush of saliva.

"you stare at all your clients' dicks like this?" sukuna goads, hands coming back behind him so he can recline, putting himself on display for you. he knows that you definitely don't look at all your clients this way, and that you usually are very professional— but nothing about your relationship with him has ever been.

"we might end up needing another appointment or two," you finally tug your gaze away from his cock. his eyes are dark, pupils swallowing the red of his irises as he looks down at you situated between his knees.

"and why's that?"

"because we're gonna need more barbells than i thought." you're convinced you can literally see the man's ego growing at those words, and it makes you want to take them back. but you really do still have to be upfront with him, so he knows what to expect throughout this process. "or if you can handle one more each session then we might not need to drag this out. we'll see."

you grab your marker, mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable— when you'll have to touch his dick. reaching forward gingerly, you glance up at him once more, silently searching his expression for any hesitation. when you find nothing but a cocky grin, you wrap your fingers delicately around the middle of the shaft to stabilize him and hold his length up straight.

it's warm through the nitrile gloves, heavy in a way as it rests in your grasp. sukuna shifts lightly, sucking in the smallest breath at the feeling of your fingers against his most sensitive body part. and as much as he loves flirting with you, he's trying to keep his thoughts, his urges, at bay.

a part of sukuna wants to just say fuck the whole appointment, wants to roll his hips, rut into your fist, tell you to take the gloves off and let him feel you skin to skin. part of him wishes he could make a move on you now, a real move, instead of just dancing around the obvious tension in the room. but the stronger part of him knows that he can't.

he's wanted these piercings for a long time now, and he'd regret it more if he never got them done just because he couldn't keep it in his pants for a few measly hours.

so, sukuna wills himself to think of something, anything, but the feeling of your pretty hand wrapped around his cock.

still, by the time you finish marking up the piercing spots, he's tense as ever. jaw tight, his signature smirk is gone as he stares down at you through lidded eyes. you clear your throat, quickly looking away, busying yourself with capping the marker and setting it aside. then you grab a small hand-held mirror and offer it to him, "wanna check that they look alright?"

he shrugs, snatching the mirror and holding it out between his legs, the sight of his own cock reflected back to him. only now, there's little purple dots lining the underside of the shaft— where the barbells will be lined up over the next months.

he gives a rumbling hum of approval, handing the mirror back to you. "yeah, that's good, baby."

and the only thing you see reflected back in the glass is the piss-poor attempt to control your facial expression when those words reach your ears. there's a burning heat spreading across your cheeks as you pick up the hollow needle and barbell from your tray before turning back to sukuna.

"ready?" you check in once more, holding the needle and jewelry up.

he bares his teeth in a quick smile as he nods, "'course i am."

you line up the needle at the base, stabilizing it with your pinky. "deep breath in," you wait til you hear him inhale, doing the same yourself, "aaand breathe out." you press the needle under the skin, swiftly pushing it through, immediately following with the barbell.

sukuna hisses through his teeth, fingers digging into the plush table beneath him. pain sears through him, from the piercing site to the tip of his cock, a sharp sting that fades into a dull throbbing.

you sit back, giving him a moment when you see the furrow in his brow, the way his eyes are shut and his chest is heaving. "you can let me know if you'd like a longer break between them," you offer gently.

his eyelids flutter open, heavy as his gaze slides down to you. there's a faint pink dusting his cheeks, his bottom lip swollen from when you didn't even realize he was biting back a sound he wouldn't dare let out. his expression gives you pause, an unexpected intensity simmering just beneath the surface. he shakes his head lightly before jutting his chin out at you and muttering a "jus' keep goin'."

if you thought the tension was heavy before, it's near suffocating now. you feel dwarfed in your position sitting before him, right between his thighs, face inches from his cock. he's towering above you, body broad overhead as he looks down at you intently. the space between your own legs feels as hot as your cheeks, realization dawning on you that you'd mistaken his expression for discomfort, when what he was feeling was far from it.

swallowing loudly, you nod. you're wiggling awkwardly in your seat as you position yourself once more, trying to ignore the way you can feel your underwear starting to stick to your skin.

you get through two more before stopping, not wanting to do more than three piercings in one session. normally you'd stop at two, but since he really had no issues with the pain, you figured it was alright. not to mention he had the space for them.

while you clean up, sukuna's still sitting on the table, shorts around his thighs as he admires your handiwork in the mirror again. with him distracted, ogling himself, you can finally take a deep breath and try to quell the aching in your core. you've had attractive clients before, but there's something about sukuna. the mutual desire was palpable, and you're going to have to figure out a way to keep yourself in check during the next appointments or he might never get all these piercings done.

"you like them so far?"

sukuna doesn't even look up, eyes still locked on his own dick, "fuck yeah."

you chuckle, amused at how entranced he is by four new additions to his shaft. "alright, sukuna, you can keep staring at your dick when you get home—"

"'m not staring, i'm lookin'," he interrupts, handing the mirror back to you.

"whatever, just put your pants back on."

"you sure you want me to?" he teases, but still his hands reach for his waistband.

"trust me, i'm sure," you mumble, thankful for the fact that your voice didn't waver, fearful of giving away how much of an effect sukuna has on you.

"so mean, baby- ah shit!" he cuts himself off, flinching at the feeling of his briefs pressed snug around his swollen cock. "shoulda worn boxers," he grumbles as he finally gets situated.

you're ringing him up at the front again, giggling quietly under your breath whenever you catch him wincing and adjusting himself out of the corner of your eye. "aw, doesn't feel so good, now?" you coo, eyes running over over his figure, lingering on the slight bulge that remains in his shorts.

sukuna grumbles something incoherent, ears tinted pink and eyes averting to look at something very interesting on the wall.

"so you know the basics, keep it clean, keep it dry—" you're running over the aftercare with him as you two walk out to the parking lot together. "and don't fucking touch it. i'm serious," you add sternly, jabbing a finger into his bicep which he swats away weakly.

"yeah, yeah, i got it woman, y'said that shit twice already."

you raise an eyebrow at his tone, pulling a long sigh from him which you take as an apology— it's probably the best you'll get from the stubborn oaf.

since the beginning, there had been banter between you and sukuna, though you can't help but think about how much you feel like your relationship has evolved in such a short period alone with him. these few hours that you've gotten to spend cooped up together in your little studio have you two acting like old friends as you part ways now— bickering back and forth, laughing lightly.

there's a slight discomfort in your chest when you think about how you likely won't see the pink haired man for the next four months.

and you experience that same feeling at the end of each appointment.

every few months you'll double, triple check that your schedule is clear of all but one client. you'll wear those tank tops that you know sukuna likes, pretending it was all you had left in your closet as you relish in the way he can't stop his eyes from drifting downwards. you'll lead him back to your room, have him plop himself back onto your table and pull his pants down.

and each time, you're left speechless for a few moments. like over the weeks your understanding of his size was diminished, the concept of him was warped with the passage of time to where it feels as though you're seeing him for the first time again.

and he fucking loves it.

that stupid smirk on his face as he lounges like a king, presenting himself before you, his gaze resting lazily on your face— a misrepresentation of how much of his attention you actually have. because the truth is, it's all of it.

the truth is that sukuna is just as affected by you as you are by him. only both of you are too stubborn to address the tension outright.

but you can feel it starting to bubble over. when the room feels too hot to be in despite the air conditioning being on. you can feel it in the silence that followed the first time you pulled his pants down to find sukuna not only hard but leaking.

swollen, mushroom tip sitting stiff and pretty before you and right in the slit it was there— that pearly, translucent bead of precum.

you can feel it in the way your stomach tightens now when your fingers remain wrapped around his cock just moments longer than they need to be— nerve endings firing with each subtle twitch beneath your finger pads.

you can feel the attraction starting to bubble over when you finish the very last piercing, leaning back to see each silver rung decorating his shaft— each one there because of you. because you were the only one he wanted to trust with the delicate task.

the two of you are quieter than usual when you head back to the front counter to take sukuna's final payment. the weight of a million things unsaid filling the silence between you, but neither of you feels the need to speak them aloud. instead, you offer him a free check up appointment four months from now. an appointment you rarely set up in advance with other clients, but one you strongly urge him to make.

you just want to make sure that everything heals properly, that's all!

and he eagerly agrees, ever the dutiful client. he wouldn't want all your hard work to go to waste because of poor piercing maintenance!

so, it's really best that he comes back in four months, say… around 6:00 pm when your coworkers have long gone home. just to make sure everything's looking good.

and those four months were by far the worst. the lingering implications of what your next appointment entailed hanging over both your heads leaving you and sukuna restless. but the waiting was worth it.

it was worth it for the feeling of your body practically buzzing with anticipation as you open your studio this friday at 5:30. you poke your head around, searching for your coworkers. there weren't any cars in the parking lot when you arrived, but sometimes they've been known to take public transport and you want to double check.

you're scurrying around the shop when you hear the bell chime. the soft scrape of the metal door against the floor as it's pushed open. the familiar gruff voice.

"oi— damn, it's cold in here—"

you still in the hallway as your eyes find crimson. sukuna lets the door shut behind him, his gaze raking over you as it always does. only it's slower, like he's deliberately taking his time, re-memorizing each feature, each curve of your figure.

"long time no see," you break the brief silence.

"hey, baby." he's not meeting your eyes yet, still trailing up around your hips, your stomach, your chest. you cross your arms, your signature move when you're feeling impatient with him. finally, he looks at you.

sukuna crosses the room with steady strides to where you're waiting. you can feel your heart rate picking up at the closeness, neck craning slightly to look up at him as he stands before you now. leaning forward, a finger hooks under your chin, tilting your head up further. "miss me?"

you scoff, like he's out of line for asking. like your face isn't burning up at the single touch of his skin against yours. "not even a little bit," you lie, turning your head to the side.

he brings his hand to his chest, scoffing then pouting at you as he straightens up. "well now you're breakin' my heart."

"something tells me you'll be just fine, kuna," you reassure him with a pat on the shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the way your little nickname punched every retort straight out of his head. "c'mon."

sukuna's hesitant when he walks in after you, like he's not sure what to do with himself. this isn't an actual appointment so he doesn't know if he should sit on the table, a chair— should he just stand? he's never found himself in a situation where he felt so out of place, especially despite having been in this exact location several times before with you.

you can tell he's unsure, the sight bringing a soft smile to your lips. the ever cocky ryomen sukuna is suddenly feeling nervous? who would have thought.

"how's it been feeling?" you ask, partially as a way to give him something to talk about, and partially because, well, you do want to know.

sukuna shuffles toward the counter next to you, hip resting against it as he hums, "'s been fine. got used to the healing process after the first time so, wasn't too bad."

"you taking care of them like i told you?" you don't really have any doubts, but figure you should ask anyways.

he scoffs, "course i am, been keepin' 'em squeaky clean."

"good boy," you coo, biting back a laugh at the way he's beet red, grumbling under his breath about how you're an "insufferable woman." he's never had a partner be so forward, so dominant with him.

your hands reach forward, grazing along his waist, fingers dipping slightly beneath the hem of his shorts. your grip the fabric as you push him, guiding him until his lower back is pressing into the counter. "i've still gotta check…" you dip your fingers further, tugging down gently til you see the elastic of his briefs, "make sure you're telling the truth."

sukuna's hands come to grip the counter, knuckles white. you're looking up at him with wide eyes, bullshit innocent look on your face as you sink to your knees, dragging his shorts down with you. "how you plannin' on checkin'?" he breathes, so much blood rushing south from mere words and touches, his cock feeling like it has a heartbeat of its own.

you bring a hand up between his legs, resting over the tent in his underwear. humming like you're mulling over your answer, you palm at his bulge making him exhale a shaky breath. "you're a smart guy, i think you know already."

taking your time, you stretch the fabric away from his hips, finally freeing his stiff cock. you're licking your lips at the way it hangs heavy before your face as you pull his briefs down to his shorts. from where you're perched on your knees you have a perfect view of the underside of his shaft— still veiny and now glinting, light reflecting off the new silver jewelry adorning it.

"fuck, you really made the best choice." the compliment comes easy, rolling off your tongue without needing to think about it because just the sight of him has you rubbing your thighs together, heat starting to pool between them.

"you think so?" sukuna grins, tongue darting out to swipe across his teeth. he brings a hand to your head, patting it twice. "go on, baby, show me ya mean that."

you spit into your palm before reaching for the base, his balls twitching when your warm hand finally wraps around it. sliding up slowly and back down, you smear your spit around the top of his shaft, the tips of your fingers grazing the edge each barbell along the way. sukuna's hand weighs heavy atop your head, stroking lightly, a form of nonverbal praise when your tongue lolls out to swipe up the underside of his cock.

"seem healed?" sukuna grits out through clenched teeth.

your lips press a chaste kiss to his tip before parting, lowering, and enveloping the head. you hum in response, the vibrations paired with the feeling of your tongue flicking against his slit, lapping up his precum making him groan. the sound is deep, rumbling in his chest so loud you think it's the cause of the buzzing in your core.

you pull off of him with a soft pop, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his tip which your break with a swipe of your tongue across your lips. "feel any pain?" you ask, eyes locked on his as you drag your tongue up the side of the shaft, cool metal balls rolling under the slippery muscle.

sukuna sucks in a breath, fingers digging slightly into your scalp as he shakes his head. you shift, tongue running back down the other side of the ladder, the taste of metal lingering on your tongue even when you pull away. "what about here?"

"nah— feels good," he grunts, pressing down, urging you to return your mouth to him.

you flash him a sly smile, "didn't think those were mutually exclusive for you." sukuna huffs out a short laugh at that, because you're not wrong. he doesn't need to confirm it either— at least not with his words. you lap at the barbell closest to the base, flicking at it with your tongue before drawing it between your teeth and tugging gently. he hisses, his cock twitching in your grasp at the slight sting, and the moan that follows is enough confirmation of his little kink.

pulling on each rung as your tongue climbs back up his ladder, you revel in all the sounds you're able to pull from sukuna along the way. you note the way his gruff moans turn pitchier, louder the harder you tug. but you're tired of teasing him too, wanting to get a real taste of him when your lips part and wrap around his head once more.

"keep goin'— think you can take all of me?" his voice is deep, strained as you start to sink down onto his length, your hot mouth swallowing his length inch by inch. your tongue stays flat along the bottom, running over the jewelry as you force yourself to take him deeper.

you continue pushing him further into your throat, ignoring the way tears are starting to well in your waterline and your jaw is already aching from having to accommodate not just his length but his girth.

"that's it, almost there baby," sukuna reassures you when you start to gag. the tip of his cock is nudging against the back of your throat, saliva pooling in your mouth but you're determined to take him all.

you slide back off of him until just the head rests on your tongue before sinking down once more. repeating the motions over and over, you're bobbing steadily, taking more of sukuna each time until the salty droplets slip past your lashes and drool starts to trickle out the corners of your mouth. until you feel the hair at the base of his cock prickling your nose when you finally manage to stuff his entire length into your tight throat.

"knew you could do it— such a good girl, deep throatin' my cock like a slut," he smirks, the degrading praise reaching your ears like a sweet melody that has your cunt clenching around nothing, slick starting to stain the gusset of your panties. "now suck," he grunts, pulling you off of him harshly before snapping his hips and thrusting back into your mouth.

a muffled whine vibrates around his length as your eyes stare up at him, all watery and desperate as he uses you. your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging into the skin and making him grit his teeth— the pain and pleasure taking him higher.

"mouth feels fuck— fuckin' amazing," sukuna groans, fucking your face faster, harder, despite the way your tears are streaming steadily down your cheeks or the way you're gagging and sputtering around him. but he doesn't slow, taking no pity on you because still, each time he looks down past your needy gaze, he can see the way your knees are rubbing together trying to create a friction you're craving. "god, you love when i use you like this, huh?"

you try to nod, try to moan. but all that you can manage is a pathetic, strangled whimper that gets drowned out by the wet sounds of your mouth slurping around sukuna's cock when you hollow your cheeks. he chuckles, low and mean, sharp canines flashing at you. "come on, baby— shit- why don't ya use your words," sukuna coos, only grinning wider when your glassy eyes narrow at him. "aw, c'mon don' look at me like th—aah fuck-"

a moan is ripped from his lips, interrupting him when you let your teeth ever so slightly graze along the top of his shaft. his whole body is buzzing, the wet heat of your mouth contrasting with the sharp sting of your teeth— you're successfully able to shut him up, save for a slew of curses being the only thing falling from his lips now.

you bring a hand to cup his balls, rolling and tugging on his scrotum, and it's not long before you can feel his cock pulsing on your tongue. you hear his breathing turn ragged, his voice strained and choppy and prepare for him to cum, salty and warm on your tongue. only he doesn't.

a large hand wraps around your nape, fingers squeezing painfully tight as sukuna yanks you off of him in one harsh movement.

you're coughing, rubbing your lips and drying your cheeks with the back of your hand as sukuna stares down at you. now his cock is aching, throbbing from being denied its orgasm but he needs to feel your cunt stretched around him.

your eyes are glued to one another, panting haggardly as you sit in silence catching your breath for just a moment before sukuna pulls you towards him. he's tugging you hard by the back of your neck til you're collapsing into him. hands splayed across his chest, your lips meet in a messy kiss. normally, he would have taken his time, kissed you slow and explored what you liked while his mouth moved with yours— but he can't be bothered. you can't be bothered.

pure hunger fueling your actions as your teeth clash, tongues swiping at each others lips, twirling around one another. sukuna sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down and tugging away before letting it snap back in place. he gauges your reaction, smiling wide and cocky against your mouth when your hands grip his shirt and yank him back down to you.

you return the favor, biting down hard on his lip, sucking it harshly into your mouth before finally letting go leaving it red and swollen. you're moaning into each others mouths, what was already a sloppy make out deteriorating further into a slippery mess of saliva and tongue.

your fingers tighten around the fabric in your grasp as you step backwards, guiding him with you. you're stumbling blind, trying to lead him to your chair though you're not really sure what way to go. you're too addicted to the feeling of his soft lips and the taste of his groans to break away even for a second, and he can't either.

letting you drag him wherever you want, he doesn't think. he doesn't need to, just focuses on ravishing you while you figure out what to do with him.

and then you feel it. the tip of your foot nudging against one of the wheels on your chair, prompting you to spin the two of you around. only then do you separate from sukuna with one last kiss before you shove him backwards making he falls into your chair with a thud.

sukuna's looking up at you now, eyes wide and pupils blown. his hair is a mess and his lips are bruised and glossy, coated in a mix of your spit and his. you can see the flush on his cheeks get darker, his eyelids get heavier as you strip before him.

your fingers grip the hem of your shirt before pulling it over your head and tossing it off to the side. you do the same with your pants. sukuna mimics you, taking off his last article of clothing by discarding his shirt next to yours.

you can't hide the way you're even more entranced by him fully naked now. his abdomen is toned, bulky, his shoulders broad. dark hair sprouts from his chest, a complement to the untrimmed happy trail that leads your eyes back down to his bush which sits around the cock that's now half covered by his hand.

he's stroking himself languidly as your eyes rake over him, a mirror image to the way he's looking at you as you slip your soiled panties down your hips. you can feel the stickiness as the fabric is peeled away, goosebumps peppering your skin when the cool air hits your sex for the first time. kicking the garment away, you bring your hands behind your back to fiddle with the clasp on your bra before that too is forgotten on the floor.

"fuck," sukuna rasps, hand squeezing himself tighter at the sight of you fully naked before him. every inch, every curve is perfect, his eyes thirstily drinking up all of you as you strut towards him.

he spreads his legs wider, both hands reaching out to settle on your waist the second you're in reach. and now he sees them— your own glinting modifications. a simple belly ring catches his attention first, his thumbs rubbing along your skin, massaging your hips as he looks over you.

"when'd ya get these?" he purrs, fingers sliding up your waist, hands coming to cup your breasts. you let out a sigh as he paws at them, groping lightly and you arch into his touch. "fuck, they look good— perfect fuckin' tits."

"got 'em a while a-ah— ago…" calloused fingertips pinch your nipples, rolling them gently. your eyes flutter shut as you move to straddle sukuna, needing to be closer to him, to feel the heat radiating off of his body. his cock is resting against your stomach, settled between your torsos as your legs rest on either side of his.

"yeah?" sukuna asks and you wrap your arms around his neck as you nod in reply. "good." one of his hands comes down hard against your tit, landing across the flesh with a hard smack!

"fuck! kuna," you whine, rolling your hips. his shaft is settled between your folds, your arousal smearing around it and your clit catching on each piercing as you grind down on his lap.

his other hand comes down fast, slapping your other tit. guess he's learned a little something about you too. each hit, each pinch that's a little too harsh, has you getting his cock even wetter, has you humping him even faster. and those sounds— the pretty little moans that fall from your lips, they're even sweeter whenever the rough palm of his hand collides against your supple skin.

"all of you's just perfect, ain't that right?"

the hand still on your ass creeps inward, your body shuddering when you feel a fingertip circling the rim of your asshole. you arch into his touch, whimpering and distracted until—

smack!

you fall forward to bite down on sukuna's shoulder to muffle your cry after he lands another hit to your chest, that one harder than the last.

"asked ya a question— 's rude not to answer," he scolds you, hands rubbing soothingly over your breasts, working to ease some of the pain that's prickling under the skin. "said ain't that right?"

you're nodding fervently, face flushed and beginning to sweat, "y-you're right," you mumble into his neck, exhaling long and slow when he tugs a nipple piercing between his fingertips again.

"good girl," he whispers, head leaning against yours as you kiss down the column of his neck once more. "c'mon," he pats the side of his thigh, "needa feel that pussy, you're leakin' all over me."

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, a little glint in your eyes that he can't quite place. and then you shake your head, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. "hmm, no."

sukuna's brows furrow and he tilts his head at you. "the fuck you mean 'no'?"

"so rude," you pout, bringing a hand to his cheek, your thumb stroking it lightly. "ask nicely and i might."

"excuse me?" he seethes, eyes narrowing. but you feel the way his cock twitches against your clit, nerves being set alight.

you smack him lightly— a warning and a test— your eyes scanning his face for his reaction. the tips of his ears are pink, his chest rising and falling deeply beneath you. "beg me, kuna. if you want me to fuck you."

you can see the conflict simmering beneath the surface mixed with a blend of arousal and embarrassment. he's mulling over his words, choosing the right action. the silence is starting to stretch and you're starting to get impatient so you roll your hips again, pressing hard along his length.

"please let me fuck you." he mumbles, eyes avoiding yours now.

"you can do better than that," you roll your eyes, hips still moving. you can tell his restraint is slipping, can tell you're close to getting what you want. just a few more grinds, a few more cascades of your fingers through his hair with a pout on your lips and he's folding.

"fucking- please, baby. please fuck me, i need you so badly," he rasps, desperation swimming in his irises.

you squeeze his jaw, forcing his lips apart as you gather your saliva, and then spit directly into his mouth. the glob hits his tongue, warm and mildly salty, a lingering taste of his own pre.

"good boy," you praise, rewarding him with a couple rough pats on his cheek.

"shut up," sukuna grumbles, hands returning to your waist and picking you up. he maneuvers you until you're sitting over his dick, the tip prodding at your dripping entrance. your hands perch on his chest for stability as you two lower your hips down onto him with loud sighs. "oh god— you're tight, loosen up f'me."

"'m tryin'," you whine, wiggling your hips. you're trying to get used to the feeling of his jacob's ladder rubbing against your walls, adding even more to the sensation of him stretching you out.

you're so close, almost to where you'd be sitting with your thighs atop his, and he can't wait any longer. sukuna's hips snap upwards and in one fluid motion he slams your own down onto him, fully sheathing himself inside you. "f-fuck! kuna, oh my god—"

"sorry," he grunts— he doesn't mean it— "couldn't wait, needed to feel this cunt stranglin' me."

your eyebrows knit together in mock irritation. but the truth is, it feels so fucking good to finally be stretched out by him, to finally feel him buried entirely inside you, every inch, every ring.

"just fuckin' sit still," you command, gyrating your hips, rubbing your clit against him. you know he probably wants you to ride him, to lift your hips and smack them back down, fucking yourself onto his cock— but you don't plan on doing that.

you're humping him steadily, each roll of your hips leaving your clit more stimulated, more sensitive. each roll making you wetter, soaking his cock as your arousal leaks out onto the base towards his balls.

"like that?" he whispers, hands finding your ass, kneading the plush fat under his fingers. "just use me— make yourself feel good on me."

"i-i will," you assure, humping him faster. you can feel your stomach getting tighter, the coil in your gut winding up more with every grind and nudge of your clit against his rough skin. "doing s'good for me, kuna."

your hands paw at his chest, your own fingers pinching at his nipples now. you squeeze them tight, tugging and twisting gently, eliciting a quiet moan from sukuna. he shifts, his hips coming up slightly off the chair, trying to match your movements as his finger returns to your ass, this time pressing inside. and in an instant your hand comes down across his cheek with a loud crack!

"i told you— shit- to sit still," you snap, both hands now settling around his neck.

sukuna's eyes are wide, shock coursing through him less from the fact that you slapped him and more from the fact that he fucking loved it. he's never had a partner do half the things that you're doing to him, and he would've never expected himself to be so into it. and still, the sharp impact, your words and the look on your face— he's entirely ready to submit himself to you. for now.

"i know—" sukuna starts, words trailing off when your grip tightens around his windpipe.

"but you d-didn't listen."

you're trying to keep your voice steady, but your encroaching orgasm is dangerously close. you're teetering on the edge of your release and fighting to keep it at bay so you can enjoy this moment just a second longer.

sukuna's face is covered in a sheen of sweat, more than just his cheeks are red now from the lack of oxygen.

you hold on a little more, a little tighter, using his neck to support your body as you chase your high. and then you let go, collapsing into his chest as he breathes deeply once more. he takes the opportunity to pump his finger slowly in and out of your ass, the added pressure making you squirm.

"'m sorry baby," sukuna chokes out, "c'mon cum on me— want you to cum all over my cock, please."

his voice is strained, cracked, his throat dry and sore from your hands. but you can still make out the desperation laced within each word and his pleas are too much.

with one last cry you're shaking— your whole body going limp against him as his hands move to your back to hug you into his chest when your orgasm crashes over you.

"there you go… you did so good, baby."

sukuna's muttering sweet praises into your hair, his hands rubbing gently across your skin as they shift back down to your thighs. you're sitting in your post-orgasm daze, a temporary wave of tiredness coursing through you. it makes it so you're not worried, when maybe you should be, about how sukuna's standing now, still buried deep inside you and carrying your body with him as he walks across the room.

until you feel the rough wall pressed up against your back. your feet are dangling, legs locked in the crooks of sukuna's arms so your thighs are being pushed into your chest now.

your eyes find his, being met with a sudden intensity, a sneer on his lips. "had fun back there?"

fuck.

you nod meekly.

"yeah? had fun smackin' me around and chokin' me out?"

you swallow loudly.

"say it."

"i d-did— aah-kuna!"

a hand snaked out from under your leg to rip across your face, the force sending your head snapping to the side. "you like that?" he growls, pinching your cheeks and making you look at him again. "pussy's clampin' down around me— dirty girl."

and then he's fucking into you. sukuna sets a ruthless pace, giving you no time to ease back into it after your first orgasm, primarily concerned with his own now.

"sukun-ah! shit— slow down-" you whine, the abrupt acceleration leaving you overstimulated. you're wiggling your hips, but whether it's to try and get away or fuck yourself down onto him— you're not even sure.

it's overwhelming. each thrust stretching out your gummy walls in a way you haven't felt before, each piercing scraping along the inside of your cunt.

"nah, fuckin' take it—" he slaps you once more, hard and fast before his lips crash down onto yours in a hungry kiss. he's swallowing your whines, moaning into your mouth in response.

every part of him is all consuming, the man you though you'd had a hold on suddenly reminding you exactly how much control you really have.

"god, you know how long i wanted this? wanted to see you fall apart on my cock?"

you whimper, shaking your head as tears return to your lash line after a particularly hard thrust.

"couldn't even jack off n' think about you— y'know how hard that was?"

"mmhm…" you sniffle, head falling back against the wall.

large, thick fingers splay across your throat, digging into your neck. "no, you don't," he spits, "don't even have your clit pierced— never had to go months without gettin' off after having a pretty slut handling you."

you try to choke out an apology but his grip tightens cutting you off. "spoiled brat."

sukuna's voice has a dangerous edge, one that makes your stomach flip and your core burn hot once more. you know he can feel the way your cunt is fluttering around his length, his hips stuttering for just a moment.

and that spurs him on. every bit of confirmation that you're just as needy, just as depraved as he is leaves him wanting even more from you. his muscles are aching, already pushing himself to his limit and still he finds the energy to move faster, deeper. he has the energy to make sure that every. single. thrust. has him balls deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix.

"o-oh god, oh god, kuna—" your moans are getting louder, head falling forward now onto him.

"gonna fuckin' cum again? god, you're greedy," he groans, like he isn't overcome with pride that he's coaxing a second orgasm out of you already.

"s-sorry!" you whine against him, your saliva and tears starting to wet his skin.

"don' apologize," he grits, both hands back on your ass for leverage as he ruts into you with a carnal desire, "thank me." he punctuates his command with a merciless smack to one of your cheeks, the pain making you cry out.

"thank you, thank you, thank you!" you sob, your climax being ripped from you with an unexpected force. your teeth sink into his shoulder, the taste of copper starting to trickle into your mouth.

you can hear sukuna hiss above you, his fingernails digging into your flesh. his pace falters one last time before he slams you back onto him and holds you there, pressing you tight between his body and the wall.

"fuuuck— you're perfect, baby-"

his cock twitches, pulses before you feel his seed spurting inside you— sticky, white ropes of cum paint your poor, abused walls. you're lapping at his shoulder, soft kitten licks to soothe the minor injury you caused as he fills you to the brim.

you don't need to look to know that his release is starting to leak out around his base, a mix of both of your spend seeping onto his balls.

sukuna's gentle as he handles you now. cradling you close to his body, the sweat and heat serving as a comfort for you as he sits back down on the chair with you in his lap. he's still plugging you up, just letting you sit there soaking him as his cock starts to soften inside you.

you're pressing kiss after kiss to his neck, collarbones, jaw, cheeks, as he rubs your back and massages your thighs.

"you really are fuckin' perfect," he pants, his exhaustion catching up to him.

"you too, baby," you mumble tiredly, missing the smile that graces his lips at the nickname.

"so… all healed i'm assuming?"

you giggle at that. "you're an idiot."

"and you're mean," he shoots back playfully, "can't believe i was gonna ask you out after this."

likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡

A/N: i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! sorry for any mistakes editing long fics is hell

The finance floor of Kohana & Pierce Capital had been a battleground for the past month—the prize: a newly opened Vice President role with a seven-figure bonus attached and a future fast track to Managing Director. You and Nanami had been front-runners since day one. And everyone loved watching you fight.

“Kento, your proposal is too risk-averse.” You leaned across the glass meeting table, voice calm but smug, pen tapping against the printout of his pitch deck.

He didn’t even look at you. “And yours is unsustainable.”

“You’re not afraid to make money, are you?”

“I’m afraid to lose it,” he replied smoothly, flipping the page with practiced indifference. “Which you seem very good at.”

There was a small collective gasp from the younger associates. One of them nearly dropped her cold brew.

Your smile was sharp. “You wish I was bad at this.”

Nanami looked up then, finally meeting your eyes. Calm. “No. I wish you weren’t in my way.”

The room went silent.

You didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just sat back with that same infuriating smirk. “Then work harder.”

He did. So did you. And neither of you were planning to lose.

Your parents had always said the same thing: "You work too hard. You should live somewhere nicer."

You’d brushed them off for years, happy in your high-rise downtown apartment where the espresso machine never stopped humming and the Wi-Fi was faster than your patience. But something shifted this year. Maybe it was the relentless hours, or the way your mother sighed every time she saw your tiny kitchen. Maybe it was that quiet, aching itch to make things feel permanent. Real.

So, you moved. Begrudgingly. Into the sleepy, painfully upscale villa community your parents had practically handpicked for you. Asahi Grove Residences. Custom brick. Private driveways. Mailboxes with gold accents. It was aggressively suburban.

The kind of place where the neighbors actually waved, the landscapers showed up before sunrise, and the air always smelled like jasmine and money. You hated how quiet it was. Hated how the walls didn’t vibrate with traffic. But it was beautiful. Uncomfortably beautiful.

You took your time settling in. Decorated room by room. Avoided walking around too much outside because it all felt too... polished. You weren’t used to this kind of silence.

The first few days passed without incident. Until the morning you saw him.

You were halfway out of your driveway, distracted by your GPS rerouting around some ridiculous community detour, when a sleek black Mercedes coasted by—slow enough to catch your attention, fast enough to make your stomach twist.

You glanced up. Broad shoulders. Blonde hair. A familiar profile.

Your jaw dropped. No. No fucking way.

You parked crookedly and practically jogged to the edge of your driveway. The car had turned down the street and into the cul-de-sac at the very end—right into the villa with the dark gray shutters and the stupidly perfect lawn.

You squinted. Waited. And then, sure enough, the driver's side door opened.

Nanami Kento stepped out, briefcase in hand, tie already loosened, wearing that same world-weary expression you’d seen ten hours ago in the office conference room.

You froze. He did too. You stared at each other across the yards—two stunned statues with way too much shared history. Then, finally, you called out, voice half-disbelieving:

"You're kidding me."

Nanami sighed. “Of course you live here.”

You marched toward the sidewalk, eyebrows raised. “I just moved in. My parents basically bullied me into it. What the hell is your excuse?”

“I’ve lived here since 2015,” he said flatly. “After the firm downsized for the first time. Moved in with my parents. Never left.”

You blinked. “Wait. You live with your parents?”

He didn’t dignify that with a response.

You folded your arms. “So we’re coworkers and neighbors now? Fantastic.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Nanami said, already turning toward his door. “I don’t talk to my neighbors anyway.”

You watched him disappear inside, then stared at the closed door for a long, stunned second. You weren't sure whether to scream or laugh. Maybe both.

Saturday morning crept in with dew on your porch railings and the faint scent of rosemary from the neighbor's garden. You stood at your kitchen window, hands wrapped around a mug, watching the street slowly wake up. A dog barked somewhere down the road. Sprinklers clicked on. It was almost peaceful.

Until you saw him.

Nanami jogged past your window like clockwork, right on schedule—6:45 a.m., hair tied back, t-shirt darkened at the chest with sweat, headphones in, gaze fixed ahead. The cadence of his run was maddeningly calm.

You lifted your mug in silent mockery. He didn’t see you.

The next weekend, you were sitting on the porch.

Not intentionally. Just… getting some air. With your tea. And maybe a book you weren’t reading. Your eyes followed the rhythm of his stride again. You watched the flex of his calves beneath his joggers. He didn’t wave. But he slowed.

Later, it was the mailroom. You reached for your package at the same time.

“Go ahead,” he murmured.

“I insist,” you replied.

“It’s heavy.”

“Good. You need arm strength.”

His lips twitched. You weren’t sure if it was irritation or amusement.

Then there was the HOA meeting, where you both voted against the new lawn regulation but refused to acknowledge the agreement. And the community group chat, where he edited your message to correct a single comma.

You deleted it. He reposted it. Edited again.

He corrected your grammar once in person. You said nothing. Just glared at him across your hydrangeas for three days straight.

But there were glances. Pauses. You caught him watching you as you talked to the neighbor’s toddler. His eyes lingered longer than they should have. And you didn’t look away either.

The universe was clearly playing a long joke. You were sure of it.

And still, you kept making coffee at 6:30 a.m. You kept walking to your mailbox when you knew his car would pull up. You kept bickering. But you never stopped looking.

The Monday after your third official neighborhood run-in, the tension followed you to work. You arrived late. By three minutes. Which wouldn’t have mattered, except Nanami was already in the conference room, sleeves rolled, tie loosened just slightly—just enough to make you pause in the doorway.

He didn’t look at you when you walked in, but you knew he’d seen you. His pen stopped moving. His jaw flexed. One long inhale through his nose. Then he turned the page and resumed writing. Petty, yet so predictable.

You sat down across from him, tugged your skirt into place, and crossed your legs slowly. His eyes flicked up. One second. Two. And then he looked away.

The meeting started. Something about capital strategy and client portfolios. You could barely hear it over the scratch of his pen and the heat crawling up the back of your neck. He kept adjusting his sleeves. You kept licking your bottom lip. The intern next to you was blushing for reasons you couldn’t begin to unpack.

“Your numbers from Q2 seem inflated,” he said without looking at you.

You leaned forward. “Maybe your standards are just too low.”

He glanced up then, eyes hard, but there was something else underneath.

Something sharp. Curious. Curious enough that when you reached across the table to slide your folder toward him, his fingers brushed yours for just a second too long. Neither of you moved.

The room buzzed around you. Someone said something about quarterly growth. No one was paying attention. He pulled the folder toward him, slow. You exhaled and the heat settled there, between you. Not just rivalry anymore.

When the meeting finally ended, you stayed behind under the excuse of catching up on notes. The rest of the office emptied around you—chairs scraping, laughter echoing down the hall until the glass doors sealed the noise off completely. The city outside began to glow blue and gold, skyscraper lights flickering on one by one.

Across the floor, Nanami was still at his desk. He hadn’t left either.

Through the glass wall of his office, you could see the line of his shoulders bent slightly forward, a hand braced against his temple as he read. The faint reflection of your own silhouette hovered beside his in the window, and you hated how your pulse reacted to that—like the air itself was aware of him.

You told yourself to keep typing. To finish the report. But the sound of his pen against paper carried through the quiet, and it was impossible not to listen for it. Minutes passed. Maybe more.

At some point, he looked up. The motion caught you, instinctive. You pretended to be checking figures on your screen, but the reflection in the glass betrayed you—his gaze lingered, calm and unreadable.

Then his phone rang, breaking the spell. He reached for it without looking away from his work.

“No, mother,” he said after a pause, voice firm but measured. “I don’t need you to schedule dates for me.”

Your stomach dropped. The words hung in the stillness. You froze, fingers suspended above your keyboard. A heartbeat later, your own phone buzzed against the desk.

Mom.

You groaned, half under your breath, and answered without thinking. “Hey, I’m still at work—”

“Perfect,” she said cheerfully. “So is your match.”

“What?”

“Dinner this Saturday. You’re coming. It’s just family. Very casual.”

“Mom—”

“You’ll love him. Polite, respectful. Career-minded. Clean shoes. And! Your father and I already spoke to his parents.”

“You what?”

She hummed like she hadn’t heard the edge in your voice. “Seven o’clock. I’m ironing the tablecloth. Love you!”

The line went dead. You stared at your phone. And from the office beside yours, Nanami sighed, voice low but clear through the glass.

“I already said I would come to dinner. That should be enough.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. No. It couldn’t be.

The printer in the corner clicked to life, as if mocking the silence that followed. You looked up, and through the reflection on the glass, his eyes met yours. Neither of you spoke. But something told you—you didn’t need to.

The next few days moved differently.

Work didn’t feel like work. Not because it was easier—but because everything around him suddenly felt louder. The hum of the printer. The click of his pen. The way his reflection lingered in the corner of your computer screen whenever he passed by your office door.

You’d never been this aware of him before. You told yourself it was ridiculous—that you were imagining it. But on Wednesday morning, when you went for coffee in the break room, he was already there, sleeves rolled up, stirring his cup with slow precision. Steam curled between you.

“Morning,” you said, trying to sound neutral.

He didn’t look up. “You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m avoiding a migraine.”

His mouth twitched. A ghost of something dangerously close to a smile. “How’s that working for you?”

“Poorly.”

You grabbed your coffee and left before he could reply, but you felt his gaze follow you all the way back to your office.

Thursday night, you caught him outside your villas again. He was taking out the trash—mundane, normal. Except for the rolled sleeves, the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the way his eyes flicked toward you as if he’d been waiting. You said nothing at first. Neither did he.

Then, quietly: “You look tired.”

You huffed. “So do you.”

“Maybe we both should stop staying late.”

You adjusted your grip on the mail in your hands. “Maybe.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t. Just gave a faint nod and went back inside, leaving you staring at the closed door a second too long.

Friday came and went in a blur of unfinished reports and sidelong glances. He was quieter than usual, and you hated that it bothered you.

Every time he spoke, his voice felt too close. When he leaned over your desk to point something out in a spreadsheet, you caught the scent of cedar and soap, and it nearly made you dizzy.

By the end of the day, the only thing louder than your heartbeat was your mother’s reminder text blinking on your phone: Saturday, 7pm. Wear something nice. You typed out a response, deleted it, and turned your phone over.

Saturday came quick. The sun poured through your windows, lighting up every wrinkle in the dress you’d changed out of twice. You’d told yourself all morning that it wasn’t a date—that you were simply being polite, showing up, surviving the evening, and going home. Nothing more.

But when the doorbell rang, your pulse betrayed you. You weren’t even at the door yet when you heard your mother’s delighted voice drift through the foyer. “Oh, Kento! You made it! We’ve heard so much about you.”

Kento.

You froze halfway down the hall.

He was already inside by the time you appeared—hair neat, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar open just enough to make your mouth go dry. He carried himself the same way he did at work: calm, controlled. But his eyes found you instantly, and the control faltered for a fraction of a second. Just a flicker.

“Of course,” he said, his voice smooth. “It’s good to see you again.”

Your father clapped him on the shoulder. “Didn’t realize my daughter worked with you! Small world, huh?”

“Small,” you muttered. “Suffocating, really.”

Dinner was already waiting. Your mother had outdone herself—linen tablecloth, candlelight, a centerpiece that looked like it belonged in a magazine. She was glowing, thrilled. You, on the other hand, were not.

Nanami took the seat beside you. Of course he did. Too close for comfort, not close enough to blame him for it. The first twenty minutes passed in a blur of forced politeness. Silverware clinking, glasses filled and refilled.

“So,” your mother began, smiling like she’d planned this line for days. “You two must work very closely at Kohana & Pierce, don’t you?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Not that closely.”

Nanami didn’t look at you, but his jaw tightened. “We collaborate when necessary.”

“Collaborate,” your father repeated, grinning. “That’s what they’re calling it now, huh?”

The table erupted in laughter—except for you. And Nanami. You could feel your heartbeat behind your ribs. It shouldn’t have felt this exposed—this personal—but your parents were peeling back every layer you’d built to keep him at a distance. Talking about your late nights, your ambition, your so-called ‘chemistry.’

Nanami didn’t defend himself. He didn’t have to. He only spoke when your father teased you for being too driven.

“I think ambition is admirable,” Nanami said quietly. “She works harder than anyone in that office.”

The room went still. You turned to him. His tone wasn’t flirtatious, wasn’t performative—it was honest. Uncomfortably so.

You blinked, throat tight. “That’s… generous of you.”

“It’s not generosity,” he said, meeting your eyes. “It’s fact.”

Something in your chest cracked open at that. The rest of dinner blurred. You didn’t remember what was said, only the weight of every glance, every breath that seemed to draw you closer. When the candles burned low and the plates cleared, your mother insisted you see him out.

The front door clicked shut behind you both. The air outside was cool, quiet. For the first time all night, there were no witnesses.

You exhaled, shaky. “They really outdid themselves.”

“They mean well,” he said. “Even if they’re… misguided.”

You laughed softly. “That’s one word for it.”

He looked at you then, and the sound caught in your throat. The porch light cut across his face—sharp jaw, tired eyes, the faintest crease between his brows like he was thinking of saying something he shouldn’t.

“Do you think this was on purpose?” you asked.

He hesitated. “Our parents? Absolutely.”

The silence that followed was full. Too full. You could hear the faint hum of the streetlamp, the rustle of trees. His hand brushed yours as you both shifted toward the same step, and neither of you moved away.

“It shouldn’t have gone this far,” he said finally. “We should—”

“Stop?” you finished.

He nodded once. “Yes.” But he didn’t sound convinced.

You were close enough now to feel his breath, to see the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Close enough that you didn’t know who leaned in first.

It wasn’t a kiss. Not quite. Just the nearness of one—so close you could feel the shape of the want between you.

Then, just as quickly, he stepped back. Hands at his sides. Composure snapping back into place.

“Goodnight,” he said, quiet but certain.

You stood frozen on the porch long after he left, staring at the empty space where he’d been, your pulse refusing to slow.

The next office day had never felt louder. Phones rang. Keyboards clicked. The air conditioner hummed like it was mocking you. Normally, the rhythm of Kohana & Pierce was white noise—but today it grated on your nerves. Everything did.

Because Nanami Kento was three desks away. And pretending the previous night hadn’t happened. You’d seen him differently now—under warm porch light, too close, too human. Every time he looked up from his desk, your stomach tightened.

You hadn’t spoken since that almost-kiss. Not on your drive home. Not in the elevator that morning when you both reached for the same “up” button and immediately looked away. You’d spent the ride staring at the floor indicator, pretending not to feel the static between you.

Now, sitting at your desk, you could still feel it. In the air. In your pulse. Like something unspoken was sitting between you, waiting for acknowledgment. You were doing a great job ignoring it—until Itadori Yuji appeared.

“Good morning!” he said brightly, voice carrying over the cubicle wall. “I brought breakfast for the team! Nanami said it’s important to start the day with fuel, so I got extra croissants!”

You looked up in time to see him grinning, arms full of a bakery bag almost too big for him. “Thank you, Itadori,”

Nanami said evenly without looking away from his monitor. “Next time, you don’t have to announce it to the entire floor.”

“But everyone should know! You can’t beat the market on an empty stomach,” Itadori insisted, plopping the bag down between your desks. He turned toward you, eyes wide and friendly. “You want one? I got chocolate-filled and almond.”

You blinked. “Uh, sure.”

Itadori smiled even wider. “Cool! You and Nanami always look like you’re about to outsmart each other, so you definitely need the sugar.”

You froze mid-reach. Nanami coughed once—quiet, deliberate. “Itadori.”

“Yeah?”

“Go file those reports.”

“Oh! Right!” The younger man scrambled away, still beaming. “You two are, like, the dream team, though! Everyone says so!”

You didn’t dare look at Nanami until Itadori disappeared down the hall. When you finally did, he was already looking at you. No smile. No expression. Just that unreadable calm that somehow made your chest ache.

“He’s enthusiastic,” you said softly.

“He’s a distraction,” Nanami replied. But there was no bite in his tone.

The silence between you thickened again. You fiddled with your pen, eyes flicking to the faint reflection of him in your monitor. “You didn’t tell him about the dinner, did you?”

He shook his head once. “Of course not.”

“Good,” you muttered, focusing on your screen though you weren’t reading a thing.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he said, “You look tired.”

You didn’t look up. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“Neither did I.”

The words hung there, weightless but heavy all the same. You could feel his gaze before you heard the soft scrape of his chair moving back.

“Meeting in ten,” he said finally, standing. “Try to focus.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once. “You too.”

He paused, something flickering behind his eyes. Then he turned and walked toward the conference room, leaving you staring at the empty space he’d just vacated, pulse thrumming like a metronome gone mad.

Across the office, Itadori peeked over the cubicle wall and whispered to Nobara, “Are they… fighting or flirting?”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Both. Obviously.”

The next day started with practicality—or at least, that’s what you told yourself. The client deck you two had been assigned to work on together was due by morning, and the office lights had gone out hours ago.

Staying meant another night under cold fluorescents, another dangerous ride home half-asleep. You’d both been through that too many times already. So you said, as casually as possible, “We can finish the last revisions at my place. I’ve got a better coffee maker.”

He hesitated only a second before nodding. “Fine. I’ll bring the files.”

When he arrived, it didn’t feel fine at all.

The knock came soft, even, polite—like him. You opened the door to find Nanami standing there in a charcoal sweater and dark slacks, hair slightly tousled from the evening wind. No tie, no pressed cuffs. It shouldn’t have been so strange to see him like that, but it was. The sharp edges of his work persona had blurred. He looked younger somehow—tired, but more human.

“Come in,” you managed. “Shoes off, please. My mom would have a heart attack if she saw dirt on this carpet.”

He obliged, of course.

While he set down his briefcase, you disappeared into the kitchen. The kettle was already warming. Steam curled in the dim light, the scent of jasmine and lemon lingering in the air.

When you returned, he was standing by your bookshelf, hands clasped behind his back. He was looking at the framed photos lined along the shelf—ones you’d almost forgotten were there. You at graduation. You and your friends in the rain somewhere in Tokyo. A faded one of you as a kid, missing a front tooth but smiling anyway.

“You were loud, even then,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “And you probably had a tie collection in elementary school.”

“I did,” he said simply, and you laughed.

The tension eased a little after that. You handed him his cup, and he accepted it with a quiet thanks. He looked strangely at home standing there in your living room, the lamplight catching the edges of his profile. You sat at your coffee table, spreading out spreadsheets and notes, and he joined you on the floor beside the couch.

For a while, you worked in companionable silence. The click of your keyboard. The faint clink of his pen against glass. Outside, the city murmured beneath the windows. Every so often, your knees brushed. Each time, neither of you moved.

“You missed a decimal,” he said after a while, pointing at your screen.

You sighed. “I didn’t miss it. I was testing you.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “You’ll need a better excuse when we present this.”

You made a face. “I’ll just bat my eyelashes.”

His lips twitched. “I doubt that would work.”

“You'd be surprised.”

He didn’t reply, but the faint shake of his head told you he was fighting a smile. Time blurred. The tea went cold.

The numbers stopped making sense somewhere between eleven and midnight, and you leaned back, stretching your arms over your head with a groan. “If I see one more pivot table, I’m quitting.”

“You say that every week,” he murmured.

“Maybe this time I mean it.”

He looked at you then—really looked. Your hair slightly mussed, eyes heavy with exhaustion, but still there, still fighting through formulas and charts. Something in his expression softened.

“You’re very persistent,” he said quietly.

You met his gaze, heartbeat uneven. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not.”

The air changed after that. The lamplight seemed warmer. The room smaller. The hum between you sharper. He reached for your laptop, fingers brushing yours, and for one suspended second, you both forgot what you were doing. His eyes dropped to your mouth—slow, like he hadn’t meant to.

Then a knock shattered the moment. “Nanami? Are you guys still awake?” Itadori’s voice, bright and clueless, echoed through the door.

You jerked back, almost knocking over your mug. Nanami exhaled.

“Of course he’s here,” you muttered under your breath, standing quickly to open the door.

Itadori grinned, holding up a plastic bag. “I brought snacks! Thought you two might need fuel for the big project!”

You blinked. “How did you even—”

“Nobara said you guys were working late again, so I figured—oh, wow, your place is so nice!”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yuji.”

“Right, right, I’ll drop these off and go!” He bounded inside, placing the bag on your coffee table and beaming. “You guys are like the dream team! Totally unstoppable!”

You and Nanami exchanged a look. Equal parts amusement. Equal parts despair. “Thanks, Itadori,” Nanami said. “You can go home now.”

“Got it! Good luck, you two!” he chirped before vanishing down the hall.

The door closed. Silence again. You exhaled, half laughing. “He’s going to kill us one day.”

Nanami’s mouth curved just slightly. “Unlikely. But he’s certainly trying.”

Your laughter softened, fading into something quieter. The moment was gone—but not entirely. The heat lingered, tucked into the space between his steady gaze and your racing pulse.

You turned back to the laptop. “We should finish this.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

But neither of you reached for the keyboard right away.

Another day, another dinner plot.

You expected another awkward family dinner—the kind where your mother worries about your hair, your father makes a joke about retirement funds, and you check emails under the table. But when you walked in and saw Nanami already seated at the table beside your parents, something inside you went still.

“Good evening,” he said, polite, as always.

“Hi,” you managed, taking the seat opposite him.

Dinner passed in small talk until your father sighed, folding his napkin after bringing it to his lips. “You both need to stop living at work.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Sweetheart,” your mother said gently, “we’re worried about you. You haven’t been home in weeks. You never rest.”

Nanami’s mother chimed in softly. “Kento’s the same. We wanted you both here because we thought maybe—if you heard it from more than one person—you might listen.”

Nanami adjusted his tie, eyes down. “We’re adults. We can manage our own choices.”

“That’s the problem,” your father said. “You’re managing. Not living.”

The silence stretched. Something in your chest pinched tight. “I’m fine,” you said. “Really.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Please, not tonight.”

But they didn’t stop. They talked about balance, about health, about how lonely you both looked when you thought no one was watching. And something in you snapped.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” you burst out, voice sharp. “Do you think I haven’t noticed that I wake up in a different city every other week or that my friends stopped calling because I keep canceling? You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to work twice as hard just to be taken seriously—”

The words tangled, broke off. The table went quiet. You stood abruptly, the chair scraping the floor. “I’m sorry. I just—can’t do this right now.”

And then you left. Upstairs, your old room looked smaller than you remembered. You shut the door, slid down until your back hit the wood, and pressed trembling fingers to your face. The tears came hot and fast.

You didn’t hear him approach at first. The knock was soft.

“Are you alright?”

You laughed wetly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.” Silence. Then, quieter: “I couldn’t just sit downstairs and pretend it didn’t matter.”

You wiped your face with your sleeve and sniffled. “They think we’re the same, you know. That we’re broken in the same way.”

“Maybe we are,” he said after a pause. “I started working the hours I do because it felt safer. The more I focused on the numbers, the less time I had to think.”

You rested your forehead against the door. “Think about what?”

He hesitated. “About how empty it gets when the day ends.”

You closed your eyes. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes it real.”

The quiet between you shifted—softer now, but heavier. You could hear him breathe on the other side.

“I used to think if I worked hard enough, I’d earn peace,” you said, voice breaking. “But it never comes. There’s always something else. Another deal. Another client. And if I stop—if I slow down—maybe everything falls apart.”

He spoke gently. “Or maybe it doesn’t.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You sound so sure.”

“I’m not,” he admitted. “But I’ve thought about it more lately. Especially when you’re there.”

The words caught in your throat. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s unfair. Because you’re calm and rational and I’m—” You inhaled, tears threatening again. “I’m terrified of needing anyone.”

On the other side of the door, you heard the faintest sigh. “Needing someone isn’t weakness.”

“It feels like it.”

“It isn’t.”

The sound of fabric shifted—he’d slid down too, his back against the door, mirroring yours.

For a long moment, you just breathed. Together. The wood between you warm now from where your shoulders touched opposite sides.

“I thought we were getting somewhere,” you whispered.

“We are,” he said. “It’s just not easy.”

“Then why does it feel like I pushed you away?”

“You didn’t,” he said softly. “You just showed me the part of you that’s tired. That’s allowed.”

You pressed your palms flat against the door. “Kento…”

He was quiet for a long time before he answered. “I don’t expect you to let me in tonight.”

You swallowed. “Then why stay?”

“Because you shouldn’t have to cry alone.”

That did it. Your breath hitched, another tear slipping down. You wanted to open the door—God, you wanted to—but your fear sat heavy on your chest.

“Please go,” you whispered.

There was no anger in his reply. Only warmth. “If that’s what you need.”

He stood slowly, and for a moment, you thought he’d walk away. But instead, he rested a hand flat against the door between you. You could feel the faint press through the wood.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready,” he said quietly.

And then he left—footsteps fading, leaving only the soft echo of his promise in the stillness. You sat there for a long time, your palm against the same spot, listening to the house settle around you, wishing you’d had the courage to open it.

It took six days before you could look at your laptop without feeling hollow.

You told yourself the break was necessary.

Three days to breathe. Three more days to quiet the static that had taken over your head. You silenced the calls, ignored the messages, let the city move without you.

When you finally stepped back into Kohana & Pierce, everything looked the same—the polished floors, the hum of printers—but the air felt different. The way people turned to look at you was different.

Then you saw it.

A new plaque mounted beside the corner office:

KENTO NANAMI — VICE PRESIDENT, INVESTMENT STRATEGY.

Your heart dropped so fast you almost missed the way the receptionist’s smile faltered when she said, “Welcome back.”

You found Nanami before lunch. His door was half-open; he was standing by the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled, phone pressed to his ear. His posture was straight, but his tone—low, clipped—was anything but calm.

When he noticed you, he ended the call mid-sentence.

“You’re back.”

You stayed in the doorway. “Mhm. Congratulations.”

He studied you for a long moment. “You heard.”

“It’s hard to miss the new nameplate.”

He sighed, the sound heavy. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“Like what? You winning?”

“Like me presenting our project alone.” His eyes sharpened. “You disappeared. The partners called an emergency review. I waited an hour before they forced me to go in without you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I called. Twenty-two times. I emailed. I even asked Itadori to drive by your place to make sure you were alive.” His voice cracked just slightly—anger and something else tangled together. “I didn’t want to do it without you.”

You gripped the doorframe. “I turned everything off. I needed a minute.”

He laughed once, bitter. “A minute? You vanished.”

“I was drowning, Nanami. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

“I do understand. But I was drowning too, and I still showed up.”

That stung. You looked away, throat tight. “So what, you’re mad that you had to be the hero?”

“I’m mad that you didn’t trust me to carry you when you needed it,” he said quietly. “That you keep pretending you don’t need anyone, not even me.”

Silence filled the office. Outside, the city traffic hummed, muffled through glass.

“I didn’t ask you to wait,” you whispered.

“No,” he said. “You never do.”

You looked up then, finally meeting his eyes. They weren’t cold—just tired, hurt.

“I didn’t want to ruin what we built,” you said. “I thought if I left, maybe the pressure would reset.”

“It didn’t,” he murmured. “It just broke something else instead.”

Your pulse kicked hard. The air between you thickened, heavy with everything you’d both been avoiding.

He stepped closer. “You think I wanted that title? You think any of this felt like winning? It was supposed to be yours.”

You couldn’t speak. You could only feel the heat of him, the quiet burn of resentment and something deeper curling beneath it.

“Say something,” he said, softer now.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t,” he murmured.

The space between you went still, the kind of still that could shatter with one wrong breath. Nanami didn’t move from where he stood. The hum of the city filled the pause between you—phones ringing faintly down the hall, someone laughing by the elevators, the world continuing like nothing had happened.

You finally broke the silence.

“So that’s it? You get the office, the title, the story everyone will whisper about, and I just… go back to work?”

His jaw flexed. “I didn’t ask for any of it.”

“Doesn’t matter. You still have it.”

He exhaled through his nose, slow. “You think this feels like winning?”

You looked down at your hands, the faint tremor in your fingers. “I don’t know what it feels like anymore.”

For a moment he looked as if he wanted to say something else—something that would undo the distance hanging between you—but he only reached for his jacket instead. The movement was deliberate, careful.

“You should go home,” he said. “You still look tired.”

“Don’t tell me what I look like.”

His gaze softened, almost apologetic. “Then rest because you need to, not because I told you to.”

You didn’t answer. The words wouldn’t come out right anyway. You just turned and left, keeping your shoulders square until the door closed behind you.

By the time you reached your car, the sky had shifted from bright to gray. Rush hour glared against the windshield, streaks of red taillights and the metallic pulse of the city. You drove on autopilot, the conversation replaying over and over—the way his voice broke when he said you vanished, the way you couldn’t meet his eyes long enough to argue.

Home was too quiet when you got there. You dropped your bag by the couch, kicked off your heels, and walked to the window. The glass was cold beneath your fingertips. You stared at the dark window across the street for a long time, waiting for the feeling to fade.

It didn’t.

Your chest was still tight from everything he’d said—the anger, the hurt, the way his voice had dropped when he told you to rest. You’d spent all week drowning in silence and the only thing louder than your thoughts was his name.

You told yourself to sleep. You told yourself you were done.

Then you grabbed your house keys.

The air outside was cool, damp with the promise of rain. Each step across the pavement felt louder than it should have, the sound of your heartbeat following you.

By the time you reached his front walk, you could see the faint glow of a lamp through the curtains—he was still awake after all, sitting at his desk again, jacket off, sleeves rolled.

You hesitated once. Twice. Then you pressed the doorbell.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Nanami looked at you like he wasn’t sure you were real—surprise flickering into concern, then something else entirely.

“You shouldn’t be—” he started.

“I know,” you cut in, breath unsteady. “I just—couldn’t sit there anymore.”

His hand tightened around the edge of the door. You stepped closer, the space between you filling with everything that hadn’t been said since the moment you left his office.

The apology, the anger, the need to understand each other—all of it sat there, waiting. He exhaled slowly, a sound that was almost your name. You met his eyes, searching for a reason to turn back and finding none.

“Let me in,” you said quietly.

He moved aside. You stepped over the threshold, and the door clicked shut behind you. He stood across from you, silent, arms crossed like he was holding something in—and failing.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he beat you to it.

“You should have called.”

You blinked. “I know.”

“You should have told me you were leaving.”

“I know, Nanami.”

His jaw flexed. “Do you?”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

He exhaled through his nose, sharp. “Do you actually understand what it was like to walk into that boardroom with your name still on the title slide? To see the empty chair next to me and have to explain—to all of them—that the woman who built half the goddamn model wasn’t answering her phone?”

Your hands clenched into fists. “I didn’t plan to disappear.”

“You just did.”

“I had a breakdown—”

“And I had no idea.”

“Because I didn’t want anyone to know!” Your voice rose, cracked under the weight of everything unsaid. “I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t sleeping. I didn’t trust myself not to cry through a client call, let alone pitch to the partners.”

“And you didn’t trust me to handle it?” He said it so quietly it hurt. “All you had to do was show up.”

You swallowed, hard. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” His voice was low, but laced with heat now. “Because I was there. Every late night, every night in the office. I was the one keeping us on schedule while you were still editing footnotes. I was the one who told you we were good enough to pitch it early. And when everything fell apart, I was still here.”

You crossed your arms, matching his stance, tension thick enough to choke on.

“And what did you do with all that loyalty?” you shot back. “Took the title. Took the credit. You didn’t even look surprised when I came back.”

His eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t surprised. I was furious.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in his voice.

“I was furious that you left me to clean up the mess. Furious that you made me care so much I couldn’t even enjoy the win. And then you walked back in like you hadn’t lit a match and watched the whole thing burn.”

You stared at him, your chest tight. “That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“No,” he said, voice rough, “it’s not.”

The silence that followed was ugly. Loud. Two breaths from falling apart.

Something took over you, and suddenly, you stepped toward him.

“Are your parents home?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Are they here?”

He hesitated. “No.”

You didn’t think. You just kissed him. Hard. Like you were trying to put the fire out with your mouth.

He froze for a fraction of a second—shocked—but the second your fingers fisted into his shirt, he was on you like gravity finally won.

His hands gripped your waist, dragged you closer, mouth crashing back into yours with months, years—of restrained want. It was teeth. Tongue. The crackle of fury turning molten under your skin.

The kiss was a fight and a plea, all in one. He pushed you back against the wall of the foyer, one arm braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip so tight you knew he’d leave fingerprints. Your fingers threaded into his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and he groaned into your mouth.

"This is a mistake," he growled against your lips.

"Then don’t stop."

He didn’t. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip. He made a quiet sound—half groan, half laugh.

“You’re still mad at me,” you whispered against his mouth.

“I am,” he said, voice low, eyes burning. “You still drive me fucking insane.”

“Then shut me up.”

You kissed him again, deeper now, your hands sliding under the hem of his sweater. His breath hitched when your palms skimmed over the soft cotton of his undershirt and the firm heat of his stomach beneath. He tugged you closer, walked you back until your thighs hit the edge of the couch.

“Sit,” he murmured.

You sat.

And for the first time since you’d stormed out of his office, he looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

You reached for him first. Your fingers curled into the hem of his sweater and gave it a tug. “Come here.”

Nanami stepped between your knees slowly, like he was still holding onto the edge of his temper by the thread of his self-control. He didn’t drop to his knees. He didn’t drag you down. He sat. Right on the couch. Legs spread. And you moved into his lap like you’d always belonged there.

Neither of you said anything at first. The heat of his body under yours, the pressure of his thighs between your knees, the throb of your heart in your throat—it made your breath hitch.

His hands settled at your hips, hesitant. Yours rested on his shoulders. The silence was unbearable.

“You make me so fucking mad,” you whispered.

His hands tightened on your waist.

“You think I don’t know that?” he muttered. “Every time you corrected me in front of a client, every time you changed my numbers without telling me, I wanted to lose it.”

Your nails dug gently into the muscle at his shoulders. “And every time you talked over me during a pitch, every time you told me to ‘be realistic,’ I wanted to slap the glasses off your face.”

He huffed a breath. “We were always like this.”

“We still are.”

His lips brushed your jaw. “Then why does this feel like mercy?”

You didn’t answer.

You kissed him again instead—slower this time. Softer. No teeth. No fight. Just your mouth on his. You pressed closer, your thighs tightening around him, your arms winding around his shoulders. And Nanami…

Nanami finally melted into it.

His hands slid under your blouse, fingertips warm against your bare back. He moved slowly, reverently, as though this moment—you—was something he’d never expected to have.

You could feel how hard he was beneath you, the stiff ridge of his cock pressing up against your center through too many layers of clothing.

But neither of you rushed. You rocked against him once, the friction sending sparks through your core, and he gasped into your mouth. You bit his lower lip. He groaned.

His lips moved from your mouth to your throat, dragging kisses down the column of your neck, slow and open-mouthed. You tilted your head to give him more access, breath catching when his tongue flicked over your pulse before his lips closed around it.

“God,” you whispered, thighs trembling. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

He sucked a bruise into the soft skin just above your collarbone. “You made me want things I’ve spent my whole career avoiding.”

You lifted your hips and ground down on him again, slower this time, and he broke off with a groan, his hands snapping to your hips to hold you still.

“Stop,” he breathed.

“No.”

“I’m trying to be patient—”

“Don’t,” you whispered, kissing the hinge of his jaw. “Don’t be patient. Not with me.”

He looked up at you, pupils blown wide. “You don’t want gentle?”

“I want real.”

He nodded, like he understood the difference.

You tugged your blouse over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you. His eyes dropped to your chest, and then he leaned forward, mouth brushing the curve of your breast like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed.

He kissed you there, and you arched into him with a soft whimper when his tongue licked over your nipple. You could feel him twitch beneath you, cock straining against the seam of his pants, and you rocked again, drawn to the friction like gravity.

He was breathing hard now, his teeth catching your skin lightly, then kissing the sting away. “You still want to fight?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes,” you whispered. “But I want to fuck you more.”

His breath hitched when you said it—“I want real”—like he didn’t think he’d ever get that from you again. Not like this. Not bare. Not honest. Not here. You felt the weight of it settle between you. But he didn’t hesitate.

Not this time.

His lips ghosted down your chest once more, tongue warm, drawing slow circles around your nipple until you were arching into him with a quiet gasp. He switched sides. Did it again. Not to tease, but to memorize. Like he was filing away the taste of you in case this was a mistake, and it all went to hell again in the morning.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, anchoring him to you, but your hips rolled forward—friction and instinct. He groaned into your skin, dragged his hands down your waist, slow and strong, until he was gripping your thighs and guiding you back against the cushions.

You let him move you. Laid back on the couch as he tugged your skirt from your hips and tossed it somewhere behind him. He kissed down your stomach next, each press of his mouth softer than the last, until you were shaking under him.

And then he paused. Hands at your thighs. Mouth a breath away.

“You sure?”

Your heart stuttered. Not from nerves. From the way he asked—like he needed it as much for himself as for you.

You nodded. “Yes.”

He leaned in. He pulled your panties aside and his mouth met your cunt like he’d dreamt about it. Tongue flattening against your slit, slow and soaking, collecting every drop of slick with a groan that vibrated through your core. His hands kept you open, thumbs spreading your folds as he dragged the tip of his tongue up to your clit and circled it once, twice, then wrapped his lips around it and sucked.

Your spine arched off the couch.

“Kento—fuck—”

He didn’t stop. Not when your thighs trembled. Not when your moans got high and desperate. He ate you like a man starved—like the days you were gone had left him hungry for this, like the only way to forgive you was through the slow unravel of your body under his tongue.

You were already close.

Your heel dug into the cushion, hips stuttering, fingers tugging at his hair as you ground against his face—messy and needy and so, so close. He moaned into you again, tongue relentless, and that was it.

You came with a cry. Thighs clenching around his head. Eyes squeezed shut. The kind of orgasm that felt like an apology spilling out of you.

He kissed your inner thigh when it was over. Just once.

And then he stood. Towering over you, cheeks flushed, mouth slick, cock straining against his slacks.

He didn’t ask again. He just unbuckled his belt.

You sat up as he pushed his pants down, breath catching when his cock sprang free—long, flushed, already leaking from the tip.

You reached for him on instinct, fingers curling around him, and he hissed through his teeth as you gave him one slow stroke. But he caught your wrist.

“Later,” he murmured, voice ragged. “I need to be inside you now.”

You didn’t argue.

You leaned back. Pulled your panties to the side once more, exposing your soaked, swollen cunt for him. His eyes dropped to it. Lingered. And then he knelt on the couch between your thighs, his hands shaking as he lined himself up.

You held your breath, and when he pushed in, you both gasped.

There was nothing between you. Nothing to dull the stretch. Nothing to protect you from the way he sank in, inch by inch, until he bottomed out and you swore you could feel him in your throat.

“Fuck,” he choked. “You’re…”

He couldn’t finish.

His head dropped to your shoulder, forehead pressed against your skin as he held still, buried deep, struggling to breathe.

You wrapped your arms around his back. Scratched gently down his spine. Your walls fluttered around him, greedy and wet and still pulsing from your last orgasm.

“Move,” you whispered. “Please.”

He did.

Slow, at first. Like he needed to feel every ridge of your body. Like he was trying to remember how to exist inside you without falling apart. He pulled out halfway, then pushed back in with a low groan, hips trembling from the effort of holding back.

You moaned and clung to him. Wrapped your legs around his waist and tilted your hips just enough to pull him deeper.

He shuddered. “Feels too good,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

You turned your face to kiss him. Tongue against his. The kind of kiss that swallowed your breath and gave it back.

He picked up the pace. Hips snapping into yours, pace quickening with every wet slap of skin, with every needy cry you gave him.

You were soaking him.

Slick dripping between your thighs, smearing against his skin with every thrust. He was breathing hard now, panting in your ear, his control fraying fast. You felt it in the way his rhythm stuttered, the way his hands tightened on your hips like he was afraid to let go.

You clenched around him on purpose.

He swore, loud and ragged. “You’re gonna make me cum—”

“Inside,” you begged. “Please.”

He pulled back to look at you. Something wild in his eyes. Desperate.

“You want that?”

You nodded, already chasing another high. “Want to feel it. Want all of it.”

His mouth dropped open. And then he slammed back in.

Your orgasm hit with no warning. Your back arched, legs shaking, eyes rolling back as you cried out his name, body pulsing around him like you were trying to keep him there forever.

He didn’t last long after that.

Three more thrusts and then he spilled inside you with a groan that sounded like a sob. Thick warmth flooding your cunt, pulse after pulse, his body shaking as he pressed himself as deep as he could go, chest heaving against yours.

Neither of you moved.

He stayed inside. Stayed in you. Head resting in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your collarbone as you both came down from it.

After a long while, he kissed your shoulder.

And this time, when he pulled out, your bodies stuck. Slick and sweat and cum dripping down your thighs—but you didn’t care.

You were here and he was still holding you. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Tangled in the breath you both fought to catch and the weight of everything that had finally broken open between you.

Nanami’s chest was still rising and falling against yours, slower now, but not steady. Like he was still holding something in.

You didn’t move. You stayed on the couch, his body half-draped over yours, his hand smoothing gently along your thigh like he didn’t want to stop touching you. His other arm was curled under your back, keeping you close, as if he hadn’t already been inside you, as if some part of him still didn’t believe you were real.

Eventually, his lips brushed your shoulder.

“You didn’t call,” he murmured. Quiet. Not angry now—just tired.

You swallowed hard. “I wanted to. I just... I didn’t know how to come back without falling apart.”

“You could’ve let me help you fall apart.”

You looked up at him but he wasn’t looking at you. Just staring at the ceiling like it held all the things he couldn’t say out loud.

“I thought if I stayed quiet, I could hold everything together,” you said softly. “But the longer I waited... the more ashamed I felt. I wasn’t trying to shut you out. I just—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently. His voice was frayed at the edges. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

That’s what got you. Not the sharp words from earlier. Not the cold truths. This. This ache behind his voice.

You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair, brushing the sweat-damp strands away from his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

His eyes finally met yours. There was no mask. Just exhaustion and care with the quiet ache of a man who’d spent too long pretending he didn’t want more.

“I hated you for it,” he admitted. “And I still wanted you anyway.”

“I know the feeling.”

He laughed, but it sounded more like a breath.

You both lay there for a while longer. Just breathing. Letting your bodies cool. Letting the silence become something softer than it had been before.

Eventually, he shifted to sit up, muscles stiff. You missed the weight of him immediately, but said nothing. He reached for the throw blanket at the end of the couch and tucked it over your bare legs before standing, tucking himself back into his pants silently.

“Stay,” you said, before you could second-guess it.

His back was to you. Shoulders tense. But he paused.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” he said after a beat.

He disappeared for a moment, into the kitchen. You heard the sound of running water, the cabinet creak of a glass. When he returned, he handed you a cool glass without a word and sat beside you again—closer this time, knees brushing yours.

You drank in silence. When you were done, he took the glass from your hands and set it on the table. Then, finally, he turned toward you fully.

“What now?” he asked.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Was this closure?” His tone was careful. Too careful. “Or was it something else?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you reached for his hand. You’d spent years arguing with this man. Outworking him. Outmaneuvering him. And somehow, despite everything, this was the first time you were doing none of those things. You just held his hand.

“Do you want it to be closure?” you asked.

His thumb traced slowly along your knuckles. “No.”

“Me neither.”

Another pause. Then: “I don’t know how to be with you without fighting,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Nanami smiled faintly. “Then maybe we just… fight less cruelly.”

You let out a soft breath. “You think that’s possible?”

“I think it’s worth finding out.”

You nodded.

And for once, neither of you had anything left to prove.

TWO WEEKS LATER

The dining room was too polished. Too familiar. The same folded napkins. The same porcelain. The same heavy crystal glasses sweating condensation beside pitchers of lemon water and wine neither of you had touched.

But this time, the silence wasn’t from resentment. It was anticipation.

Nanami sat across from you at the table, looking as calm and unbothered as ever—gray suit, gold watch, polite smile. Your mother was retelling the story of how your father proposed on a fishing boat with a plastic ring from a vending machine.

You were barely listening.

You were too aware of Nanami’s thumb brushing slowly across the inside of his palm. A tiny, nervous tic you’d started to notice since that night.

The night you’d kissed him and let yourself fall—entirely. He hadn’t brought it up again. Neither had you.

But he’d started walking you to your car after work. Waiting in the elevator with you. Texting you once a day—short, dry messages like “Did you eat lunch?” and “Meeting got pushed to 3. Coffee run?” that said more than they used to.

And now you were both here again.

You shifted in your seat. He looked at you. Your parents were laughing across the table. His were quietly watching the two of you—like they knew something you didn’t.

“Anyway,” your mother said, clapping her hands once and jolting you back to the present. “We’ve been meaning to ask again, now that you two are—well, speaking again.”

Your fork froze halfway to your plate.

Nanami’s wine glass paused at his lips.

“There’s no pressure,” his mother added delicately. “But we’ve had the documents drawn up again. Just in case.”

“The engagement contract,” your father clarified, like you might’ve forgotten. “Same terms. Joint property holdings. Optional prenup. Deferred ceremony if needed. But you’d be legally—”

“Yes,” Nanami said.

The word landed so hard, your stomach dropped.

You turned to him slowly. “What?”

His expression didn’t change. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

The table went quiet.

Your heart started to race. “You’re serious?”

He looked at you directly. “Are you not?”

You stared at him. Mouth open. Then shut.

The room swam for a second. You weren’t expecting that. You weren’t expecting him to say it first, without even glancing at you, without discussing it.

You were the impulsive one, the reckless one. He was measured. Always calculating risk.

And yet here he was.

Saying yes.

Like it wasn’t the scariest thing in the world.

“I…” you glanced down at your plate. “Yeah. Yes. I’ll do it too.”

Your mother let out a small, surprised gasp.

“Finally,” his father muttered into his wine.

Nanami didn’t look away from you. Not even when the parents started murmuring approval and plans and venue options. Not even when your mother stood to pour another glass of wine with slightly shaking hands.

He just kept watching you.

You blinked. “Why did you say yes?”

His voice was quiet. “Because when you left, I hated it.”

Your heart thudded.

“And when you came back,” he continued, “I realized I’d rather be stuck across a dinner table from you for the rest of my life than sit another week in silence.”

You laughed softly. “That’s a terrible reason to get married.”

“Maybe.” He smiled faintly. “But it’s mine.”

You leaned back in your chair. Your knee bumped his beneath the table.

This time, he didn’t move it.

The next day, your mother had suggested it like she was just casually mentioning the weather.

“It’s not an official engagement if there’s no ring,” she’d said over the phone. “And anyway, wouldn’t it be a good time for you two to spend some... quality time together?”

You hadn’t rolled your eyes aloud, but Nanami definitely heard it in your voice when you told him.

Still, he agreed.

So here you were, standing in the center of a quiet boutique downtown, surrounded by velvet trays of diamonds and rose gold bands and men who smelled like cologne and money.

You weren’t touching anything. You kept your hands at your sides.

Nanami, of course, was already talking with the sales associate like he belonged here. Charcoal slacks. White dress shirt rolled at the forearms.

“You’re quiet,” he said to you after a while.

You lifted a shoulder. “This feels like... playacting.”

He looked at you.

“Doesn’t it?” you murmured. “We’re shopping for something symbolic when neither of us—” You caught yourself. Swallowed the rest.

He studied you for a moment, then turned back to the tray in front of you.

Without looking, he picked out a ring. Slim. Understated. A gold band with a flat-set diamond, almost architectural in its shape.

He handed it to you.

You raised a brow. “What if I don’t like it?”

“Then pick one you do.”

You hesitated. Then slipped it on.

It fit perfectly. You didn’t say anything about that.

He didn’t either.

You were still standing there in that weird, heavy silence when the door jingled behind you.

“No fucking way.”

You turned just in time to see him—white hair, sunglasses indoors, pushing a stroller and looking like he owned the world.

“Satoru?”

The hug was inevitable. You were laughing by the time his arms wrapped around you. His husband was right behind him—Suguru, sharp in all-black as always, long hair swept back, rolling his eyes with fond exasperation.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Suguru said smoothly. “I thought you’d sworn off romance forever.”

Satoru leaned down and stage-whispered to the toddler in the stroller. “You’re witnessing history, Megumi. Auntie's getting married. To a man.”

“I never said I’d sworn it off,” you said dryly. “I just didn’t expect it to come with legal paperwork and a matching pen set.”

Nanami cleared his throat behind you.

You turned. “Right. Uh—this is Nanami Kento. My... fiancé.”

Satoru let out the fakest gasp you’d ever heard. “You’re the one who cracked the code.”

Nanami nodded politely. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Geto extended a hand. “Suguru Geto. This idiot’s husband.”

“A pleasure,” Nanami said, shaking it.

Satoru wiggled his fingers at Nanami. “Do you have a brother? A cousin? A cardboard cutout? Asking for a friend.”

“I’m standing right here,” Suguru said.

“Exactly.”

You grinned, already unbuckling Megumi from the stroller. “Hi, baby,” you cooed, scooping him into your arms.

He was older now—maybe two or three—but still small, with dark eyes and pouty cheeks and the kind of baby curls that hadn’t yet been trimmed away.

You carried him like it was second nature. Held him on your hip, brushed a hand through his hair, made a silly noise that pulled a rare giggle from him.

Satoru blinked. “She’s gonna make me want another one.”

“She’s always been like that,” Suguru murmured. “Kids melt around her.”

Nanami didn’t say anything.

Because he couldn’t.

He was watching you. Watching the way you lit up with a child in your arms. The way your voice softened. The way your smile turned real, not practiced. The way you looked down at Megumi like he was a gift and not a weight.

It hit him so fast he almost stepped back from it.

You’d be a good mother.

The thought came fully formed. And not in the vague, abstract way he’d thought of family once or twice in passing. This was sharp. Specific. It was you—barefoot in a sunlit kitchen, smoothing a hand over a toddler’s head, laughing softly when someone small ran to you for comfort.

His throat tightened.

“You okay?” Geto asked.

Nanami blinked.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m fine.”

Gojo leaned in conspiratorially. “How’d you do it?”

Nanami looked at him. “Do what?”

“Get her to say yes.”

He paused. Then glanced back at you.

You were letting Megumi press his tiny palm to your cheek. He was babbling nonsense. You were nodding solemnly, like every word was sacred.

“I didn’t convince her,” Nanami said.

“No?”

“No. She just came back.”

Gojo tilted his head. “That simple?”

“No,” Nanami murmured, more to himself than anyone. “Not simple at all.”

You turned then, Megumi still in your arms. “He’s getting sleepy. Want to help me buckle him back in?”

Nanami stepped forward without hesitation.

You didn’t say anything when his hand brushed yours. When his fingers settled gently over Megumi’s tiny knee to help guide his legs back into place. But your eyes met his as you pulled the straps over the boy’s chest, and something in that moment felt... permanent.

A shared life.

A future that hadn’t existed until now.

The car ride home was mostly quiet.

Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of streetlight and late-autumn rain, the kind that turned glass into watercolor. You sat with your legs crossed, one hand still resting near the box in your lap, thumb grazing the edge of it like you weren’t sure if it was real.

Nanami hadn’t said much since the store. Not since Megumi.

You stole a glance at him.

He was relaxed, at least on the surface—one hand on the wheel, sleeves pushed to his elbows, jaw set in a calm, neutral line.

But you’d learned him well enough to know what that silence meant.

“Are you thinking about the ring?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

His lips twitched—just slightly. “Not entirely.”

“Then what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept driving. The light changed. The turn signal clicked. Then: “You were good with him.”

You blinked. “Megumi?”

Nanami nodded. “Most people don’t know how to talk to kids that age. You did.”

You smiled a little. “I’ve always loved kids.”

“I could tell.”

The quiet settled again. But it wasn’t heavy this time—it was warm. Thoughtful.

Still, there was something in his expression. The way his brow furrowed faintly, the way his fingers flexed against the leather of the steering wheel like he was working through something.

Finally, his voice broke the silence again.

“Have you ever thought about it?” he asked.

You turned toward him. “Thought about what?”

He glanced at you—quick, meaningful—then back to the road.

“Having kids.”

Your stomach did something weird and tight. You weren’t expecting it. Not tonight. Not… from him.

“I mean,” you started, then cleared your throat. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it. Not seriously. Not recently. But... yeah.”

He nodded slowly, like he’d expected that.

You studied him. “Why?”

Nanami didn’t answer right away. He made another turn, slower this time, letting the silence stretch just long enough that you almost dropped it.

Then he said, “When I saw you with Megumi, I—”

He stopped.

Started again.

“I think I realized I could see you being someone’s mother.”

Your breath caught.

“And I’ve never been able to picture that before,” he added. “Not with anyone else. Not clearly.”

You swallowed. “And with me, you did?”

He looked at you, finally. Terrifyingly tender.

“Yes,” he said. “With you, I did.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Your heart was too full. Your mouth too soft around the words that didn’t feel real yet.

But you reached over the console, and slid your hand into his. He gripped it back like it meant something. Like it meant everything.

And when he parked the car outside your villa, he didn’t get out right away. He just sat there.

Your hands still entwined. Both of you knowing something had shifted. Neither of you needing to say it out loud.

You told your families you were postponing the wedding until summer.

You said it with a smile and a rehearsed shrug, something about venue availability and weather and how you “always imagined a summer ceremony.”

Which was true. You did love summer.

But more than that, it bought you time.

Time to figure out what it meant to build a life with someone without contracts and dinner guests and strategic timelines breathing down your neck. Time to fall in love like normal people did. Not through documents and family expectations, but through the small, impossible moments that couldn’t be planned for.

It started with coffee.

One cup, left on your desk before 8 a.m., perfectly made. Your usual—half oat milk, no sugar, one cinnamon stick. The lid labeled with your initials in his tight, precise handwriting.

The next day, it came with a muffin. Blueberry. He didn’t ask how he knew your favorite. And you didn’t ask why he was getting in early just to do it.

The morning coffee turned into morning car rides. He’d be waiting outside your place, tie already done, passenger-side vent tilted away from your face because you hated the air blowing directly at you—it always messed up your hair.

You didn’t stop him when he started adding his favorite jazz instrumentals to your playlist. You just kept sipping your coffee, trying not to smile when he tapped the wheel in time with the keys.

At work, things changed, too. You were still competitive. Still sharp. But now you passed notes under the table during strategy meetings. Shared documents with silent comments that made him huff quiet laughs over his laptop. Ate lunch together in the glass conference room no one dared bother you in.

One afternoon, your managing partner walked by and muttered, “You two are disgustingly efficient together.”

You didn’t even look up.

Nanami just said, “Thank you.”

You became the firm's favorite power couple. Even if no one used the word “couple” out loud. You didn’t have to.

People smiled differently when they spoke to you now. Joked about who handled the spreadsheets and who did the sweet-talking with clients. More than once, an intern whispered to another, “They look like they’re in a movie.”

And maybe it felt like that, too.

He started coming over more often. Not for work. Not for wedding planning. Just to exist in the same space.

Sometimes he brought dinner. Sometimes he he made it in your kitchen. Sometimes he sat on your floor in slacks and a t-shirt, glasses sliding down his nose while he read something with small text and big implications. Sometimes he didn’t even make it past your couch before falling asleep.

You started buying extra tea just for him. Rearranged your bookshelf so his favorite essays weren’t stuffed between your fantasy paperbacks.

It wasn’t love all at once. It was quiet. Gradual.

One night, you had a tension headache that wouldn’t go away. You curled up on the couch, eyes burning from screen fatigue, and Nanami pulled a blanket over your legs without a word.

Then he sat down beside you and started reading aloud.

Not a novel. Not poetry. A quarterly report on renewable energy funding.

His voice was calm, steady. The cadence of someone who understood how to make sense of complex things. You fell asleep halfway through a paragraph about government subsidies.

He thought you wouldn’t remember what he whispered when he closed the folder.

“I love you.”

So soft it could’ve been the air itself. But you remembered.

God, you remembered.

There were other nights.

You’d fall asleep in his lap. He’d press his lips to your temple and whisper something he’d never have the courage to say in daylight.

You’d steal his dress shirts and leave your hair ties in his car and pretend not to notice when he rearranged your pantry because the labels were “facing the wrong direction.”

You left notes on his desk.

“Don’t forget to eat today.”

“Client call moved to 4. Pretend to be impressed by my math.”

“Dinner tonight. No suits allowed.”

He kept every one.

Tucked them in the top drawer under his keyboard.

One morning, you came back from making copies and found a sticky note on your screen.

“You looked really beautiful when you laughed earlier. — K”

You stared at it for ten seconds longer than you meant to.

And when you looked up, he was already watching you from across the bullpen. Not smiling—but not looking away either.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, the idea of marriage stopped feeling like a chess move and started feeling like something else.

Not perfect—not easy, but real.

And suddenly, summer didn’t feel far away at all.

Before you knew it, spring hastily approached.

It was another late evening spent with Nanami. The kind of late where the city lights had dimmed to soft halos through the windows, and your tea had gone cold in your hands. You were curled into the corner of Nanami’s couch, barefoot, legs stretched across his lap, hair slightly mussed from the wind.

He hadn’t said much all night. He never did when he was thinking too hard.

Your fingers were tracing the rim of your mug absently when you noticed he’d turned off the TV. The screen went black. The quiet filled the space between you.

You looked over at him. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just shifted slightly, then reached into the drawer beneath the coffee table.

When he pulled out the ring box, your heart stopped.

But it wasn’t the same one from before. It wasn’t the family-approved, carefully selected, pre-engagement placeholder from months ago. This was smaller. Simpler. A velvet box worn at the corners.

He turned it over in his palm once, then looked up at you.

“I want to ask you again.”

You blinked. “What?”

His voice was steady. “I want to ask you for real. This time... not because of anyone else.”

Your hands tightened around your mug.

“I know we already said yes,” he continued. “I know the ceremony’s planned. I know the guest list is half-written and we’re technically two-thirds of the way through the gift registry—”

“Three-fourths,, baby,” you corrected without thinking.

That made him smile, just a little. “Right. Three-fourths.”

He opened the box.

The ring was beautiful. Not overly flashy. Not designed to impress anyone but you. It was delicate—a white gold band with a perfect diamond that caught the light like it had been waiting to be worn by you.

You stared at it. Then at him. He looked nervous.

Nanami Kento looked nervous.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he said, quickly. “But I need you to know that if I could go back—if I could ask you differently from the start—I’d have done it like this.”

You swallowed.

He stood. Then—slowly, carefully—got down on one knee. Right in front of your crossed legs, his hand still holding the open box, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Will you marry me?” he asked. “Not because it’s convenient. Not because it’s smart. Not even because we’re good together. But because I love you. And I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

Your breath caught. It didn’t even feel real. Not this version of him—barefoot, hair slightly messy, voice a little cracked around the edges.

“I love you,” he repeated. “Not the version of you in the office. Not the one who wins arguments or closes deals. Just you. As you are. Right now.”

Tears hit your eyes so fast you couldn’t stop them.

You reached for him. Tugged him gently off his knee until he was kneeling between your legs, forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes.

“I think I have for a long time,” you said. “Even when I hated you. Even when I didn’t understand why everything you did got under my skin.”

“You get under mine too,” he said, voice thick. “Still do.”

“Good.”

You kissed him. A little salty from your tears.

And when you pulled back, you let him take your hand. Let him slide the ring onto your finger. It fit like it had always been meant to live there.

“I’m really marrying you,” you whispered, half-laughing.

He kissed the back of your hand. “This time, it’s mine.”

The wedding was in late June.

Late afternoon sun spilled across the villa garden, catching on glassware, silk petals, and a canopy of soft white blooms strung above the aisle. You could smell roses. Hear laughter. A string quartet was playing something elegant but low-key—Nanami’s request.

And somewhere near the back row, Satoru was openly weeping.

“I always cry at weddings,” he sniffled, sunglasses still on, Megumi perched on his lap in a little black suit, kicking his shoes against the folding chair. “She looks like a princess. *Like a fairytale bride. Sugu, look—she’s crying. Oh god, I’m crying again.”

“You’ve cried three times and she hasn’t even reached the altar,” Suguru muttered, dabbing his husband’s face with a tissue like this wasn’t their sixth wedding this year. “Control yourself.”

“I’m emotionally invested,” Satoru whispered dramatically. “They were enemies. And now they’re in love. This is like some fanfiction turned into real life.”

You walked slowly, sun kissing your shoulders, dress catching in the wind like something from a dream.

Nanami stood waiting, gold tie sharp against his suit, jaw tight, expression soft.

Shoko was behind him in the groomswoman lineup, holding a flask and the backup ring box. She nodded at you once. Approval, in her own deadpan way.

Nobara, seated in the front row in a designer slip dress and sunglasses she refused to take off, gave you a subtle thumbs-up when your eyes briefly met hers.

Yuji stood near the altar with the actual rings—grinning so wide he nearly dropped the box when the officiant nodded at him.

“I knew they were gonna end up together,” he whispered to himself.

Toji—yes, that Toji—lingered near the back of the crowd, half-shadowed by a tree. No one invited him. No one ever did. But you weren’t surprised to see him here. He nodded once when Nanami glanced his way. They didn’t speak.

They never had to.

You reached the altar, heart hammering in your chest, and Nanami took your hand like he’d done it a thousand times. The officiant welcomed everyone. The string music stopped and the world quieted. Nanami turned to you, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

When it was time for vows, you went first.

“I never imagined I’d fall in love with someone I argued with every day,” you said, laughing softly as Satoru let out a dramatic gasp behind you. “But I think part of me always knew it would be you.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change—but his eyes burned.

“You taught me that love isn’t always soft,” you continued. “Sometimes it’s earned. Sometimes it’s a challenge. But it’s worth showing up for. You’re worth showing up for.”

A pause.

“And if you steal another client deck from my desktop again, I will burn your French press.”

Shoko snorted. Nobara muttered, “God, I love her.”

Nanami went next. “I used to think love was a distraction,” he said. “Now I realize it’s a choice. A discipline. A devotion. You are the part of my day I never want to miss.”

And then, softer, just for you:

“I love you. Entirely. Without condition.”

You blinked back tears.

The officiant asked if he took you.

“Yes,” he said.

Then she turned to you. “Do you—”

“Yes.”

Laughter all around.

The kiss was soft. Real. Everyone clapped—Satoru the loudest, of course. Yuji dropped the ring box in the grass. Nobara caught it with one hand.

“Power couple,” Nobara said into her champagne flute later. “Can’t believe it actually worked out. I had money on enemies-with-benefits and a tragic breakup.”

Shoko leaned back in her chair. “Sucks to be wrong.”

Satoru was already trying to coax Nanami onto the dance floor for a “symbolic arm-wrestling match.”

You stayed beside your new husband, fingers laced with his. The air smelled like citrus and wine. Laughter rang out across the garden. Confetti still clung to your hair.

“You okay?” Nanami asked, glancing at you.

You looked at him—your partner, your friend, your once-rival who now loved you better than anyone ever had—and nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, quietly. “Summer suits us.”

The sheets were warm when you woke up, sun spilling over your skin like honey. Somewhere outside the window, waves lapped gently against the shore. The linen curtains fluttered in the breeze, the scent of salt and oranges hanging in the air. You stretched, half-lidded, still sore in the sweetest way.

A shadow passed over your face. Then came lips.

Nanami kissed your shoulder from behind, his arm slipping tighter around your waist, pulling you back into his chest like gravity was stronger between you now.

His voice was still sleep-rough when he murmured, “Good morning, wife.”

You laughed softly. “Say it again.”

“Wife.”

Your cheeks heated. “Weird.”

“Not to me.”

His palm skimmed across your stomach, like he had no plans to be anywhere else but here—with you, in this bed, on honeymoon, in this hour that belonged only to the two of you.

“You’re staring,” you whispered.

He didn’t deny it. “You’re beautiful in the morning.”

You rolled onto your back, let his fingers trace the curve of your bare thigh beneath the sheets. “You’re extra sappy on vacation.”

“I’m in love,” he corrected, eyes soft and golden in the sunlight. “There’s a difference.”

You kissed him slow, indulgent, like you had nowhere to be. Like you were tasting a lifetime. His hand slid up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing beneath your eye, and for a moment there was no teasing—just reverence.

“I still can’t believe we did it,” you whispered against his lips. “That we’re here.”

He didn’t smile, but you felt it anyway—in the kiss he pressed to your temple, the way his thumb traced your ring.

“I can,” he said. “I’ve believed it since the moment you made Megumi laugh.”

You laughed quietly, eyes closing. “You fell in love with me over a toddler.”

“I fell in love with you the second I realized you’d make an amazing mother,” he said. “Everything after that just proved it.”

Your breath caught. He kissed your knuckles.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured. “To wake up to you. To hold you without wondering when I’d lose you.”

You kissed him again. And again.

And then you were climbing over him, straddling his waist, letting the morning light wrap around the two of you as you rocked into him slow.

The honeymoon ended, but the softness didn’t.

Mornings began with the kettle whistling and Nanami’s hands around your waist, pressing a kiss to your neck while you brushed your teeth.

There were grocery lists on the fridge, laundry piles that never stayed folded, and his coffee cup always next to yours—even when he left before you woke up.

There was no grand adjustment period. Just quietness. Peace. The kind of rhythm that felt like you’d been doing this forever.

But then your period was late. Not just late. Gone.

You didn’t panic. At least, not right away. You counted the days again. Stared at the calendar. Told yourself you were stressed—travel, time zones, too much wine in Santorini. And then, quietly, you bought a test.

Nanami found the box on the bathroom counter the next morning.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held it in his hand, fingers curled around the edges like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

You stepped out of the bedroom, still in his shirt, hair messy from sleep. The moment you saw him, you froze.

“I was going to tell you,” you said softly.

He looked up. “Are you scared?”

You blinked. “Are you?”

He came over, hands settling gently on your hips. “I think I might pass out,” he admitted, forehead pressed to yours. “But only because I love you. And this would make everything more real.”

“I haven’t taken it yet.”

He nodded, stepped back. “I’ll wait.”

The test sat between you on the bathroom counter like a loaded secret. Nanami didn’t look at it first. He watched your face.

When your eyes welled with tears—happy ones, terrified ones—he pulled you into his arms and held you like he could keep the whole world steady just by not letting go.

“So,” you whispered, voice trembling. “We’re going to have a baby.”

He exhaled shakily, then kissed your forehead. “I guess this is where we fall in love all over again.”

You’d been home for a month when you decided to quit.

The first trimester was rougher than you expected—constant nausea, dizzy spells during meetings, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that made your old workload feel laughable. You were trying to keep up, but Nanami noticed the moment your eyes stopped lighting up in the mornings.

So when he found you asleep at your desk with your laptop still open to a deck you couldn’t finish, he didn’t tell you to tough it out. He just closed the lid and carried you to bed. He asked the next morning if you'd thought about stepping away.

You’d blinked, unsure. “You mean… quit?”

“I mean rest,” he said gently, fingers brushing over your knuckles. “I can take care of us.”

And you believed him. The decision came easier than you thought. Maybe because it wasn’t really quitting.

Maybe because the woman who used to measure success in pitch decks and quarterly growth had been replaced by someone who found peace in slow mornings and hand-written grocery lists. Someone who laughed more. Napped more. Loved deeper.

The first time you felt the baby kick, Nanami had been reading to you in bed. His voice stilled mid-sentence when you gasped, his hand freezing where it rested on your bump.

“A kick,” you whispered, tears already welling.

He pressed his palm closer. Another kick again.

“She’s strong,” he murmured, voice full of awe. “Just like her mother.”

And when the doctor told you at twenty weeks that you were officially having a girl as he predicted, he cried. Right there in the room, shoulders shaking silently as he held your hand.

“A girl,” he said again and again, like the words alone were sacred. “I’m going to be a girl dad.”

You leaned into him, heart spilling over. “She’s going to be so loved."

He kissed the crown of your head, arms wrapped around your shoulders as the image of a little girl with your smile bloomed quietly in his mind. You didn’t say it then, but you didn’t need to.

He’d already picked out bedtime stories. And every time he passed your future daughter’s room, still half-painted baby pink and full of folded onesies, he smiled like the world was still worth trusting in.

And when your water broke at 3:17 a.m., Nanami was already halfway dressed before you could even say his name. He was calm and focused. But you caught his hand shaking ever so slightly when he helped you into the car.

“I’m scared,” you admitted through a painful contraction.

He squeezed your hand, lips brushing your knuckles. “I’m not. Because I’ll be right here. Every second. I promise.”

And he was. All of it—every breath, every squeeze of your hand, every tear wiped from your cheek.

When your daughter entered the world, crying, perfect and impossibly small, he kissed your forehead and whispered three words against your skin:

“I love you.”

Then four more as the nurse placed her in his arms:

“I love her, too."

His overlarge palm cupped the side of your hips, and you’re only glad that Yuji couldn’t see from there the way that Nanami gives you a good squeeze—

“Kento-” With a breathy whisper, you’re swatting at Nanami’s chest. Right in-between his prominent pecs, where Nanami’s usual office shirt was pulled tightly over his broad front, buttoned up like a gift- and even then, you glimpse slivers of his white undershirt peaking out.

Nanami was just so naturally chiselled, in all the years you’ve known him. And you could swear that he’d only grown more built since expanding your family, with more hands-on labor - you guessed there was no better gym than a house with two children.

Slightly leaning up to him, you’re biting back a smile to mutter. “Yuji’s going to see.”

Nanami only softly chuckles, walking out through the front door to meet his son halfway. Dutifully, Yuji turns around so that his father can re-pack that haphazard bag of his, squeezing the (also) Spiderman-patterned lunch box inside. 

The boy pouts, “I pwomise I packed it.”

“Mmm, I believe you.” He replies, with just a slight hint of amusement. And once Nanami was done zipping up Yuji’s backpack, he turns his son around and crouches down to meet him at eye-level. “But, next time, how about we double check, sunshine? Just to make it easier on poor momma?”

Yuji considers it for a second- “Okay!” Before he runs back down the smooth, grey-stoned pathway leading up to your cozy lil’ house. 

Nobara and Megumi were already waiting for him beyond your house gates, and they slightly balked as they watch their friend’s father stand to his full height afterwards. Marvelling at those huge shoulders. His towering height. The way that Nanami Kento was just so large that his hair seemed to form a coiled, golden halo in the morning sunlight. 

It casted shadows on his handsome, handsome features. Accentuating that kind smile of his, just the tiniest dimple at the end of his lips.

You couldn’t blame them - you were ogling him, too.

“You’re huuuuge, Mr. Yuji’s Dad.” Nobara squeaks, once Nanami has accompanied his son safely outside. She casts a tiny hand over her brows to shade it from the sun as she stares.

Nanami smiles shyly, and hastens to grip onto the lil’ handle at the back of Yuji’s backpack - likely to stop him from running into (soon) oncoming traffic, you knew what your son was like. “Why thank you, my dear. But you can just call me ‘uncle’ if you’d like-”

“Is your willy huge, too?” That question was, expectedly, asked by none other than Fushiguro Megumi. And you don’t have to look to know that the surly little boy was likely pointing, too.

Honestly- not even covering your mouth and gnawing down on the insides of your cheek can stop the bark of laughter from leaving you. Pwah! Your eyes crinkle into slits of amusement, and through them you’re catching the helpless look that your husband throws your way. Cornered by a vicious, merciless trio of elementary schoolers.

You’re waving your hand in front of him—a motion to just go on.

You wanted to see what he’d say (or not say). And Nanami just opens his mouth when-

“It is.” When all of a sudden, Yuji’s the one to pipe up with the long-awaited answer. Proudly, he’s turning to his laughing friends with his hands on his hips, “Once I needed to pee real bad when papa was showering, so I just went in and saw it- it’s huuu—”

“Look- look! The bus is coming.” Rapidly, Nanami claps his hand over Yuji’s mouth and diverts all attention towards the hounding yellow school bus that was crawling towards them now. Like an oversized caterpillar, of sorts, with the antenna and painted-on face in front to match.

And Nanami Kento was never a fan of these decorated school buses. Never a fan of those soulless blue eyes that a bus should honestly never have.

But right now it felt like the pearly gates of heaven had just opened.

He was bathed in warm relief, ushering the still-giggling trio inside the opening doors of the bus. With a kiss on his cheek goodbye, soon enough you and Nanami were waving off Yuji as he was ferried off to school. 

Leaving behind only his gap-toothed grin, the clouded fumes of the bus, and you sighing- “Well, it’s certainly a loud morning.” You’re turning to Nanami, who was still slightly pale from the- ahem…discussion before. “You know, he’s already insisting on making his own school lunch? I just barely managed to keep it contained to packing only his school bag.”

Nanami snorts, “What- and survive on a pack of goldfish all day?”

“And the bugs from the playground, I don’t know why he keeps picking at those.”

Your husband throws an arm around your waist as you walk back to the house together. And his strong, heavy forearm almost seems reluctant to leave your body so that he can continue tying his work tie. 

From where it was left off earlier- “Strange child he is.” He loops it ‘round that collar of his, and your eyes watch the bob of Nanami’s throat - so unintentionally attractive. “Can you believe that he’s five already? And Choso’s about to start middle school, they’re growing up too fast.”

“They certainly are.” You hum, handing over Nanami’s neat briefcase once he’s done. “I almost miss when they were just so tiny, and I could pick them both up at once- oh, but I do love them as is.”

He huffs out lovingly, that dimple making an appearance once more. “I know what you mean perfectly, my love.”

It’s a comfortable affair retracing your steps back to the front door, like you had with Yuji earlier. Though much slower, much more…lingering. You’re hanging by the frame of the door as he steps out, and just before he was about to say his goodbyes—“You know- I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again.” Nanami damn near snaps his head turning back to face you, looking you dead-on in the eyes. “The children.”

Two fatal blows.

Nanami’s eyes widen. Nanami’s mouth drops, drier than the Sahara right now. A thin line of perspiration glides down his face. And you watch his body almost step all the way back inside the house. Nanami’s fingers tremble on his briefcase, and you watch it slightly slip- 

Before he’s managing to stop himself. 

Shaking his head, the blond-haired man retracts his step and clears his throat. “Is that-” Faltering, he has to do so again. “I mean- ahem, is that so, my darling? You wish to have another ch-child?”

Slightly bemused, you only nod.

But of course, Nanami is paying laser-focused attention to each of your words, your signals. And you can see the bump of his Adam’s apple gulp—as he takes in just what you were implying. Tightening his formal silk tie ‘round his throat, “Then I believe, ah…I believe we should perhaps discuss this a little more. For both our own goods. I’ll be back a little early tonight, and we’ll talk through the um- details, is that alright?”

“Sounds good to me—” You hum, not oblivious to the man’s shattering composure inside. Nanami Kento hid it well - always so stoic, always so sensible, always so respected in his work place. On more than one occasion, you’d gotten comments from tittering women that they only wished they could have a husband that held it together even half as much.

But as his wife you knew it all.

And you knew when there was a chance that this stoic, sensible, stern Nanami Kento was about to…break.

So without a single second of hesitation, your dominant hand reaches out to grab him by the tie- simultaneously straightening it at the middle of his chest and dragging Nanami’s head down to meet yours in a soft, soft kiss. Just the slow slide of your lips. Sensual. “I’ll see you then, Kento.” Murmuring against his lips, you pull away with a smile. “Can’t miss the daily kiss. Have a great day at work~!”

A smile that utterly kills him.

Your husband walks slightly stiffly all the way to the car. And with a final wave, he’s speeding off down the street as if getting to work sooner might just make the day end sooner, as well.

With a slight giggle, you head back inside.

.

.

.

T-minus 4 days until the long weekend.

Unfortunately, that ‘discussion’ had to wait until the day after, because Nanami’s workplace had been overdue on a few proposals (inconveniently misplaced by the new intern, and conveniently handed to your husband). And he’d ended up driving back home past 12AM, after you’d already put both the kids down to bed. 

With you so tired after a long day of taking care of the house and waiting up for him, how could he possibly even think of infringing on your precious hours any longer?

So all Nanami had done was clean himself up hastily, and carry you back to your shared bedroom where you’d been drowsing on the living room couch. Cuddling you to sleep. Promising that you’d talk about it the day after.

You understood, of course.

You and Nanami had been together for about twelve years, after all (if you wanted to know the exact date, down to the number of hours and minutes, you could ask him and he’d certainly remember). From lovers to a married couple, to being blessed enough to adopt Yuji and Choso when they were young.

Despite two bustling boys, you had to admit that yours and Nanami’s sex life hadn’t exactly died down.

Just a sneaky quickie before anyone woke up…perhaps getting handsy underneath the covers after a long day….And with Yuji now old enough to share a room with his older brother (they’d been begging for bunk beds for too long), you could finally start having sex at home again.

Perfect.

Right?

Except, well, it wasn’t exactly the same as it once was—

“N-ngh, fuck…” Your jaw drops open with a sloppy moan, saliva cascading out of you with a splosh! just as soon as Nanami’s stuffing you all the way to his hilt.

Here was the result of your ‘discussion’ tonight - if you could even call it that.

The trimmed golden hairs decoratin’ his base carnally scratch your clit, and you’re lewdly grinding yourself backwards. Every tiny movement leaves him stirring up your insides oh-so-perfectly, and your body wracks with shivers. “Please- please, Kento. S-start moving…”

“So needy.” Nanami’s crinkling his straight nosebridge as he stares you down, with your spine curved perfectly back into him. Those plump lips of his kiss a line down your back—long tongue coming out to taste your skin. “Missed you s’much. Fuck, you don’t know how much I missed you-”

And with that, he gives a heaving thrust that makes you gasp and grab at the rickety headboard. You could feel the plumpness of Nanami’s tip throb-throb-throbbing at your throat- “Missed you, too. Been wantin’ for you to- ngh, fuck me so bad, baby.”

“N’ that’s exactly what I’m about to do.” He’s smugly crooning out, the curvature of his shaft just lightly puckering up at your sweetest spots - Nanami had you mapped out exactly. 

Hard and fast.

Moving in slight bucks and grinds.

Smearing his reddened, swollen tip against your tender insides.

“Exactly about to fuh-fuck you until that pussy’s all satisfied.” The toned lines of Nanami’s hips rut into you like such an animal- and his meaty thighs push you further and further up the springy mattress. “To fill you up.” Leaving you whining wildly at his spears. “To pound a ba- mm.” Leaving you limp under his touch, leaving him reaching his hands over and cupping your tits so that he can manhandle you upright and at his mercy when-

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

“Momma? Papa?”

And that was exactly why it wasn’t the same as before.

You freeze instantly.

Tiny sniffles ring out from the other side of the door, and the locked door handle jingles to no avail. Yuji’s small, scared voice pipes up, “Momma, I frew up…”

You look at Nanami, and Nanami looks at you.

“Shit.”

“Shit-” 

He’s easing out of you with the loudest, messiest sluuuuurp—! Multiple ribbons of slick n’ precum combine to form a sheen that glues the insides of your thighs together, and you’re shivering at the feeling of his wide girth pulling out.

Letting off a slight noise of discontent as your walls clench emptily, cunt throbbing angrily for him to fuck you again. Your hips buck in primal instinct as you watch Nanami tuck himself back into his pants and put on his large shirt, though you have to hold yourself back - you were missing him already.

“Shhhh, shhh.” Nanami’s clammy palm rests down on your sticky thigh, and he’s carressin’ the skin there back and forth to soothe you. It works…somewhat. 

And you’re making to move off of the bed, “I’ll get-”

“No, let me.” Firmly, he’s pinning you back down just with that singular, clammy palm plastered to your thigh. Just that show of his strength is enough to make your glistening hole throb once more- and you’re forced to bite down on your lower lip to stop yourself from making a noise. 

He lovingly taps your leg, and lets the bedframe creak in agony after him (you felt much the same). Nanami hums, “I’ll take care of it. You just get some rest, my darling. You did so well.”

You’re burying yourself underneath the soft covers as the spike of light from the hallway enters the room. Nanami - fully softened now, fully shook of the shreds of carnal desire within him - opens the doorway to crouch in front of his teary son. “Let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll read you a bedtime story, how about that, sunshine?”

The pink-haired boy nods, “Mhm!”

By the time he got back, you were peacefully slumbering away. 

Nanami Kento only fixed the straps of that cute nightgown you were donning once more, snuggling up to you underneath the covers with the half-asleep promise of a proper (proper, this time) discussion tomorrow.

.

.

.

T-minus 3 days until the long weekend.

Nanami Kento was hungry.

Famished.

Absolutely ravenous.

He’d made it only two steps after getting home early from work. Inside your sweet-smelling kitchen, the scent of vanilla and summer heat in the air- before your strong husband was sprawling you out across the marble counters and lavishing his long tongue down the side of your cheek.

Swirlin’ tastebuds licking away the smudges of cream on your skin, “Mmm—” Nanami’s groaning against the side of your face, his scorching breath simmering against your flesh. “Something smells…” His fingers slipping down between your trembly legs- “-sweet, darlin’.”

And before you know it - fuck, before you can even think of it - you’re gnawing down on the edge of his plush deltoid. 

Your moans cracking at the back of your throat as he’s slipping his way inside, the deliciously curved tip of his cock stuffs against the roof of your cunt. Burrowing out a bruise there that makes your eyes roll to the back of your skull, “Shit- I swear you become bigger- ngh, every time.”

“Mmm, that’s because this pretty pussy’s been missing me too much.” He breathily chuckles, a slight hitch in his breath as your sloppy walls clench. “Probably harder for her to take me every time.”

“No no, I swear—” With a whine, you’re arching your back in a signal for him to rover past your folds even deeper. Teeth setting on edge once one of Nanami’s thick veins grope into your slobbery insides, stretchin’ out your cunt to his sheer size.

He was being so gentle. He was being so loving. He was absolutely ruining your pussy on his half-thrusts- just trying to fit inside.

Probe after probe, the slippery line of his slit leaves your mouth watering. The perfect crevice that renders you babbling away stupidly, “I swear you get even bigger whenever we- hck! talk about—ngh.”

“Yeeees?” There was something wild in your husband’s eyes, boring down at you through his clammy blond strands. It was just so fuckin’ cute the way that you lost your train of thought anytime Nanami’s length went mazing inwards- “Whenever we talk about what, my love? Haaaah, finish your sentences.”

As he tuts you’re gasping—and he knows exactly what you’re alluding to. “Whenever we t-talk about-”

“Mhm—?”

Drooling mouth snapping open, he’s bottoming out. “Ba-” Directly hitting your cervix with the crowned, globular end of his shaft. So, so reddened with need. “Bab-”

“Momma—? Papa—?” A voice calls out, young and painfully oblivious to what was obscured in the kitchen. In the distance, you could hear the slamming of the front door. 

A bag being set down on the table.

Footsteps.

Choso’s voice echoes out once more when he doesn’t receive an answer, unused to not having his parents respond to him immediately. You could hear the slight pout in his voice even from here- “Can one of you help me with my homework—?” 

Mercifully, Choso doesn’t enter the kitchen - instead, keeping himself confined to the television room where he was starting to set out his school books. Choso doesn’t take a peak at where you’d urgently disjointed yourself from Nanami, smoothing down your upturned skirt and taking a look at the clock-

“Oh my goodness, I forgot his art classes were cancelled today- it’s time already.” You gasp, reading the ticking face of the clock that knew what you two just did.

Apologetically, you’re whipping your face around to face Nanami - who was back to tucking his softened length inside in a way that reminded you of just last night. Despite the slight furrow between his blond brows, Nanami shakes his head understandingly. “S’just time.” He grunts, zipping his pants back up and wiping away the droplets of sweat on his forehead. Your husband kisses your temple, “We’ll find some other time, my love?”

“Mhm.” Heart fluttering at the soft peck, you watch as his hulking frame walks out of the kitchen to help Choso with his homework. “We will…”

Though, a part of you doubted you might.

But you hoped.

.

.

.

T-minus 2 days until the long weekend.

“Fuck…” Nanami’s peering down at you through partially-cracked lids, and from down here it looked as if his molten peripherals were almost made of fire. 

Burning straight at you underneath his professional work desk. Trying for al his will not to flutter them shut at the feeling of your lavish tongue gliding down his cock—“Fuck, my love- that mouth of yours is absolute sin.”

He’d been wading through some important work documents before you’d ambushed him in his office. Before you’d simply dropped to your knees and fumbled with his shorts like you were a woman starved.

Lappin’ all over his thick, throbbing like the shiniest of lollipops.

Lick after lick.

Your saliva-glazed muscle flattens over the top of his cock for a few seconds. “Mmm—” You’re vibratin’ out your moans against his length, and it sends sparks travelling all the way down from the line underneath Nanami’s plum-colored tip. Where your husband’s shaft was just dribbling out hot wires of pre down to your tastebuds, puddlin’ all over. “Tastes sho, mmm, nice-”

“Oh- fuck!” His head falls back against the back of his chair, and you catch the way that Nanami’s Adam’s apple bobs at the feeling of your greedy tongue.

Just that sensual ridged texture- fuck, it was all that he could think about. A carnal scratch. The way you were flopping it right out into his most sensitive spots, drag-drag-draaaagging it along his elongated length. 

Nanami’s right hand comes down to grip his base, and you’re whining as he lifts his shaft off of your open tongue. With a chuckle, he’s placing his cock side-by-side with your face- and your cunt throbs at the fact that his nine, massive inches looked incredible up so closely.

So sensually rubbin’ his girthy hilt up and down the corner of your mouth. Just teasing.

Up and down. Up and down. Up and down—

“Shouldn’t be saying these dirty things with such a s-sweet mouth, y’know?” Nanami tuts, merely lining the edge of your lips with a gloss of your pre. He was so hot and syrupy—practically melting against where your tongue was darting out to try n’ taste him even more. “Should control yourself- what if- fuck.”

“Mmm—” Moaning, you’re managing to press his rotund tip against the middle of your tongue once more, starting to suck.

“What if you say those things and- oh, you’re too loud, hm?” He prattles away still, mouth working overtime whilst you stuffed yours. And yet…and yet even disciplined Nanami Kento couldn’t stop himself from bucking off of his cushiony chair, “What if- haaaah, if you’re too loud and the boys hear-”

“Momma—! Papa—!”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

Nanami groans, “-us.”

Ah, well…you’re removing yourself from Nanami’s still-twitching cock. Red-hot. Rock-hard. 

He was so needy that just wrenching yourself off with a wettened plop! makes Nanami’s hips chase the soft insides of your mouth, a translucent wad of precum spraying out of him instantly.

And as he looks down at you with a dismal face, you’re managing out a smile. “I’ll go see what it is.” And Nanami Kento thinks that he might as well pass out before any ‘next time’- because you’re pressing a chaste peck to his mushroom tip, and pulling his shorts up. “Next time, Kento.”

Nanami puts his face in his hands and lightly groans.

With a huffed giggle, you’re sauntering your way out of the office - knowing damn well just how intensely his eyes were locked on the sway of your hips. The way your thighs were more clenched than before.

“Alright-” Unlocking the firmly-shut door (thank goodness for Nanami’s foresight), you’re met with the tear-stained face of your oldest son. Snot-faced and bawling. 

Your brows raise right up to your hairline as you take in the vision of your usually-calm Choso, turning your sights to his (only slightly tear-stained) younger brother beside him. Yuji, who hurries to explain what his brother couldn’t- “I wanted bubba’s comics but bubba wanted bubba’s comics, so then we got into a- um, ah…” Slightly squirming underneath your stare, your boys knew you hated when they fought. “-scuffle, and then I got bruised.”

He raises a chubby hand up, and you can easily spot the faint blue-ish mark on his forearm.

Yuji looks at Choso, “But bubba’s the one crying.”

And that was being generous, Choso was all but choking on his sobs. Taking one look at the bruise you were appraising - the place where he’d either directly or indirectly hurt his little brother - and bursting into peels of cries all over again. “I’m so- so- sor- wahhhh—”

“Aaaaalrighty then-” You hasten to pick up your oldest boy, with slight exertion due to his size. Though when you finally do succeed in hoisting him onto your hip, he wraps his arms around your neck and buries his wet face into it. “Now, how about we go downstairs and make ourselves a cup of hot chocolate, hm?” It seems to calm Choso down a bit. “Maybe we can even watch a movie- a movie night?”

“Yippeeee—” Yuji squeals, arms raised as if he wanted to be carried, too. “Me as well?”

“All of us.” Comes a deep voice, and Nanami’s finally making his way out of the office. Having calmed himself down, he carries his younger son and places an innocent peck on your temple.

Choso gags, “Bleh!” Whilst Yuji only giggles - and despite the slight embarrassment coursing through your body at your husband’s obvious loving gesture, you were glad to have Choso express anything other than sadness.

You’re starting to walk as a family, “Now, who’s up for some Kpop Demon Hunters?”

“Meeeee–!”

.

.

.

T-minus 1 day until the long weekend.

“Fuck-”

“Kento-”

“Fuck, just a bit-” He’s hotly whispering into your shoulder, blond strands tickling your skin once Nanami’s jerking his hips back and rutting them into yours. You could feel his thick, throbbing erection against the globes of your ass cheeks - so hard by now that you could count every throb.

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump-

And with every furious pulsation, he’s jerking his pelvis forwards- almost thrusting. Dry humping you like an animal in heat. “Just- just a little bit.” So rough that the sheer force leaves you bending even deeper against the dining table, and Nanami has to loop his greedy hands underneath your body n’ jerk you backwards. Push. Pull. “Just want to feel you a little bit- haaah- my love.”

“You’re being so- oh.” Even though you both still had your clothes on, Nanami’s pryin’ aside those flimsy panties of yours to let his bulge smear against your naked cunt. “-so insatiable, Kento.”

And with a few more vulgar strokes, he’s finally answering. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you all day- no, all week, darlin’. I’ve been running into that damned office bathroom to fuck my fist like some- ngh, fuckin’ teenager all week now.” 

“Oh, Ken—” With a mewl, you’re grinding your hips backwards- but the friction just wasn’t enough.

Just wasn’t the feeling of his incredible cock splitting apart your insides, and the way that you knew he could fill out your every orifice so perfectly leaves you wanting more, more, more. So without thinking much - without thinking at all, really - you’re whipping your body back around.

Nanami grunts at the loss of contact with your drippin’ wet core- only for a brief moment before he realizes what you’re really trying to do. And the blond-haired man eagerly leans his hips forwards when you start to fuss with the buttons n’ zippers on his trousers.

“Shit-” Impatient, you thrust your hand directly down his pants, and Nanami throws his head back with a sultry shiver at the feeling of your ravenous palm. 

Accurately cupping his swollen erection, you feel him splurge out a slimy wad of pre at the mere touch. Just so sensitive. “We’re gonna hafta to be quick.” You’re murmuring, back to fiddling with his buttons. Pop! Pop! “Before they come back-”

SLAM!

“Momma, what’s for dinner?”

Pop!

The last of Nanami’s buttons are torn open- right before they’re forced back shut at the sound of your sons entering the home. It’s a team effort by the both of you, and you’re just barely putting your rumpled clothes back in place, making sure anything was covered, ready to act like everything was normal before-

“Oh, shit.” Your eyes drop back down to the place between your husband’s legs. 

His erection had softened by now, and there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary…except for the massive stain of syrupy slick that’d been left by your grinding, gyrating cunt. It darkens the beige fabric of Nanami’s trousers like a puddle, glistening in the yellowish yolky lighting of the kitchen. Your hands are on him immediately - though, not like earlier. “Shit, Kento, you’re going to have to go-”

“Go?” Nanami balks, but he doesn’t resist when you start pushing him out of the second entrance to the kitchen. “Go where?”

The house you’d chosen for your family was one of those large, more open plans; and the kitchen itself had one entrance for those who accessed the house by normal means, and then one more entrance that opened up to the bottom of the house’s staircase. Ones that you lead him up the first few steps of, “Go change those pants!” You squawk. “I tell them that you’re- I don’t know, showering, or something!”

“Good thinking, my love.” He chuckles, clearly finding amusement in your panicked charge. With his palms raised in surrender, he’s making his way up- though, not before landing a peck on your forehead once more.

“Now!”

“Aye aye, my madam.”

Nanami (and his stained trousers) just barely makes it out of the kitchen before the boys walk into the kitchen, mud-stained and slightly out of breath still.

“Cho!” You’re admonishing before they’re able to take their seats, “How many times have I told you not to put your skateboard on the dining table? We eat there.”

“Yes, momma.” The dark-haired boy recites, listening to what you were saying and placing it on the floor. As he kicks it out of the kitchen, he turns to you and asks- “Where’s papa?”

Turning your back to your sons, you’re fussing over the dishes set on the kitchen counter now - what you were doing before you’d been…interrupted, that is. “Papa wanted to take a shower, it was getting a bit ah- hot in here.”

“This time of year?” Choso raises a brow, but doesn’t question it any further.

“Anyways-” You hasten to change the subject, “-why are you boys in so early today? Papa and I had just barely gotten started on dinner.”

And at this, Yuji jumps up in his seat- eyes sparkling as he slams his hands down on the table. “Oh, momma, you’ll never believe it. So Nobara said she had to go to some dentwist’s appointment and Megumi was feeling sick- so I went with bubba’s friends but then we decided to do some exploring- and then there was also this ice cream truck that—”

And so it went on. By the time that Yuji was done with his (condensed for your enjoyment, according to him) version of events, Nanami was back downstairs in a new pair of unstained trousers. The two of you quickly wrapped up dinner preparation, and used the boys’ help to set out the food.

In less than an hour or so, you were all seated around the rectangular table.

Nanami beside you, and your sons in front of you.

“So-” And, to your surprise, he’s the one starting off the conversation. Dinner always was quite a lively event with the four of you, with either you or Yuji being the ones that dominated the nightly discussions most days.

But to have Nanami be the one to start off? It must be something quite important…

So you all turned towards him, excited to see what he had to say.

He gulps down a bite of rice, and continues. “Remember that starting tomorrow there’s a long weekend, my loves. Monday is a holiday.” Nanami addresses all of you, in that soft tone that always makes you melt. Yuji cheers at the mention of such a thing- “It’s rare that we get a treat like this to be together, and I wanted to know what you all wanted to do on those days?”

“I’m fine with anything.” You hum, turning to Yuji and Choso.

“Something fun.” Choso stares off into space ponderously, “Maybe like to the park? Or a resort?”

You nod, “Fancy, I like it. And what about you Yuji?” 

And, dear little Yuji - who’d been so patiently waiting for his turn to speak, who oh-so-sweetly hadn’t wanted to speak over anyone else - simply just burst. “Joypolis!” He stands up on his seat, and you don’t even have the heart to tell him to sit back down properly. Chanting, “Joypolis! Joypolis! I want to go to Joypolis—”

Choso’s eyes light as well, excitedly- “Oh- oh, can we?” Turning to face the two of you with pleading eyes.

And, of course, you’re turning to exchange a look with Nanami.

“Of course!”

You’re humming thoughtfully, “And since it’s for a few days, I’d heard of this really nice resort nearby that I think would be a nice place to stay at? We could make it a long stay for Saturday and Sunday, and come back on Monday morning.”

Expectedly, Yuji bursts into even more cheers.

“It’s settled then-” Nanami speaks over the cacophony of voices- and what was clearly not settled were the two boys, who were having trouble listening to your calls to not jerk the table lest they wanted to splash over the food. “Kids, listen to your momma.” Until, finally, some semblance of silence broke through—“We’re going to Joypolis.”

“Yippeeeee—!”

“Hell yeah-”

“Cho, language…”

Nanami chuckles, about to say something more about the plans for the weekend when- 

BZZZZZZZZZZZ—!

In your peripheral, you see Nanami reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. Clearly, you imagine, it must be something important for him to forgo (his own) rule about no devices during dinner time. And you’re watching on in slight curiosity-

“Oh.” Nanami’s mouth slightly parts, a somewhat surprised expression dazzling his face. The longer the phone call goes on, the more dazzled he grows. “Oh?”

By then, even Choso and Yuji had quietened down. And you’re tugging on his elbow in slight concern, “Something the matter, Kento?”

He’s shaking his head, attention still on the call. “Oh?” Perhaps unable to communicate anything more eloquent, whoever was on the other end of the line seemed to have said something that made one of his blond brows raise. And for his tongue to finally work, “Have the kids stay overnight?”

.

.

.

T-minus 0 days until the long weekend.

In other words: 9 hours and 17 minutes into the long weekend.

Also in other words: 9:17AM, Saturday.

According to what you, Yuji, and Choso had derived from your instant interrogation after Nanami had set down the phone- it seems that your mother-in-law had won a raffle just that day. The prize? Tickets to a two-night trip to the hot springs of Oita. 

Three of them - and she claimed that she didn’t want to spend the holiday with her friends who couldn’t move as well as they were once able to. Might as well give the kids the time of their life, huh? There was much to see in Oita, and they were practically bouncing out of their seats once Nanami had announced the change in plans - neither had been upset about the postponement of Joypolis, either!

With their sheer excitement, the two of you had trouble setting them down for bed. And they’d been jumping on yours like a trampoline before the clock had even hit five-

“After all—” Nanami’s mother had crooned, her eyes wrinkling prettily at the ends as she smiled - Nanami had her eyes, and her smile. The very same dimple at the end of her lips, “-it’s a lot of work taking care of kids, isn’t it? Oh, I was blessed to have one as sensible as Kento, but even then…”

“Certainly is.” You’re chuckling, setting the boys’ luggage down inside her house - one lil’ Spiderman suitcase, and another that was just pitch-black in color (it’d been a long night sorting and packing).

She’s nodding her greying-blonde head, “It’s important that the two of you spend some time together, too. Can’t forget that you’re lovers, as well as parents.” Looking towards your husband, who was firmly giving Choso instructions on how to keep him and his brother safe throughout all times of the trip. 

You can feel your veins bubble up, and hope that the sinful evidence of these past few days don’t show up in your expression. “Th-that’s true, it’s quite important to have time for each other.”

“Besides- I’m sure the children don’t mind spending some time with their grandma, hm?” As Nanami finishes off his lecture, your two sons run towards their grandma and hug her tight- agreeing in tandem. 

“I can’t wait for the hot springs! Bubba says he’s going to teach me cool new swim tricks, grandma-”

“That are within papa’s safety guidelines.” Choso gulps, feeling his father’s burning stare already. “And all end up with the both of us, as well as grandma, coming home to mama and papa safe and sound and perfectly alright. With no limbs missing and also no ugly souvenirs- only pretty ones, because momma deserves only the prettiest ones.” He recites, beaming back at Nanami’s bemused expression. 

Your husband stands next to you and shrugs at your deadpan gaze. 

With delighted laughter, Nanami’s mother looks up at the two of you. There was a somewhat knowing look in her eye- “You two don’t mind, do you?”

You glance at Nanami.

Nanami glances back.

You know you’re both thinking the same thing.

In unison—

“I-if you insist!”

.

.

.

10:08AM, Saturday.

A tender goodbye.

A hasty drive home.

A slam! of a door that you’re only later recognizing as your home door.

You could barely even remember anything before you’re suddenly back inside your home and turning to Nanami with a meaningful, “Kent-”

His lips are on you instantly.

Teeth clawing.

Moaning.

Ravenous.

“Fuck- shit, you’re so—” You’re languidly gliding your hands down Nanami’s front, feeling the way his ripped muscles ripple n’ flex through his thin shirt.

And Nanami’s panting so hard that every scorching breath simmers against your face, and as you speak- your husband’s gripping you easily by the back of the throat to re-slot your mouth over his. Unable to even speak past his crashing, open-mouthed kisses. 

You’re whining as you tug down on his cold belt buckle, “Kento- mmpf, I want- fuck.”

And before you know it, you’re being pushed against the closest flat surface that Nanami Kento can find. You’re being shoved against the wall. You’re being pinned by the strength in his hips- grinding the raging hot erection already between his legs.

“Hngh, fuck.” You’re hearing him snarl in a ragged tone behind you, kissing your neck, your shoulder, down the length of your spine. “Fuck- fuck- fuck- fuck.” Each one was faster than the last, smooch after smooch after smooch, and there’s a dull thud! ringing out across the empty house when Nanami’s knees finally hit the floor.

“Oh my-” Shivering once his roughened fingertips latch onto your easy skirt n’ flips it upwards. You’re left practically bare, with only your flimsy cotton panties on as he holds up your skirt and shoves his handsome face nose-deep between your folds.

From behind.

Letting the straight edge of his nose bridge plap against your cunt, your jaw drops once you feel your husband filthily breeeeeeathe in—“Fuh-fuck, darling.”

Your knees feel weak already, “Kento, are we really just going to do this over here-”

“No.” Comes Nanami’s guttural mutter and oh…by the husky need in that tone, you already know that he’s far from sane. Already gone. “No, not at all.”

“Really?” Brows slightly raising, you almost want to look back- when another one of Nanami’s hands reach over and flip your restless body around. It doesn’t take him much to manhandle you with his incredible strength. 

Your back against the wall. Your glistening cunt facing his mouth.

You’re still standing up. But one of your legs is being picked up and thrown over his broad shoulders, now you’re being held up with partially his support - mostly his support, you imagine.

And it’s with this position that he can take a goooood, long look at your pussy. Your puffy folds spreadin’ open. Your hole clenching around nothing. She was just so dripping wet with your honeyed sap, streaming right down your thighs—“No- don’t you worry, darling.” He mutters, and you wonder just who he’s talking to - you or your pussy, right now.

“Don’t worry, because…?” You’re babbling out.”

“Because-” Nanami’s gusting out with his hot, sticky breath clinging to your cunt. And he’s leaning in closer, closer, so much closer. Until the curve of his attractive chin edges towards the end of your cunt, “-because m’gonna take you here.”

And then your body flinches with a shock of pleasure as he leans his plump lips in and presses a firm peck to the front of your pussylips.

Sloppy and wet.

“And on the dining room table-” Mwah! “And in my office-” Mwah! “The kitchen-” Mwah! “And the- fuck, the bedroom-” He’s snarling, dimpled lips curling as he sniffs your sweet folds once more. “-gonna take you all over the fuckin’ house-”

All those promises - he can’t even finish them before your husband, Nanami, has his face stuffed between your pretty legs and his tongue lapping your cunt like a madman.

Darting to every slippery nook and crevice that his tastebuds can reach- first he’s sliding up n’ down your folds, lapping up the ounces of slick that spray out of you. “Mmmm—” His head throws backwards- or, at least, it tries to. Before that dark, carnal part of Nanami’s own self manages to stop himself, and his quavering hand guides one of yours to grab onto his blond scalp.

“Roughly.” Nanami gasps between your wet pussylips, his drool drenching it in a whole new layer of gluey liquid for him to taste. 

Your mouth gapes, “You want it…”

The veins on his large hands pop out as he tightens your fist on his hair, “Roughly.”

Finally letting go of your smaller hands, Nanami’s then holding onto both sides of your waist- practically glued. Pushing and pinning you back down against the cold wall when his tongue slithers out.

So loooooong and lucious, he’s tingling your tastebuds over your swollen clit. “Mmm- mmpf-” Gurgling, gulping, swallowing the cloying wads of syrup that dripped to the back of his throat and alllll over the lower half of his face.

He’s grunting, “So sweet so- fucking- fuck- sweet.” You could feel your husband’s wet lips flapping away at your nub, before they’re finally parting and plunging between your pussylips like he was possessed. “Never gonna get used to this. This pussy- she’s the- hah, sweetest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ tasted- and I think I might just be addicted-”

“Shit- ngh.” You’re clawing at his sweaty scalp for dear life, because Nanami Kento was usually such a gentle lover. Usually so smooth. So slow. But now…“Oh my god- I don’t even want to ask what’s gotten into you today- fuck.”

It takes him a few vulgar strikes with his tongue to even think of responding- to even formulate a coherent enough answer.

And it’s only with a sloppy mwah! that he’s bringing himself to part with your dewy cunt, just the most lecherous damp noise ringing out in the air. When Nanami speaks out, it’s with his ribbons of saliva departing into your quivering hole. “Can you fucking blame me?”

Oh. Your eyes widen, “You- you really are-” Fuck, but his sloppy tastebuds are back to drilling into your entrance. His scratchy tastebuds plaster against the roof of your cunt, back n’ forth. “You really are pussydrunk? But the thing is- already?”

It’s easier for Nanami to detach himself from your damp pussy- with his two thumbs swervin’ down, he’s smearing apart your folds and spitting straight inside your hole once more. “Can- you- fucking- blame- me-”

It wasn’t even a question, and his lengthy tongue probes between your folds after each word. Slipping straight into your deepest depths, with the curvaceous tip of his muscle sticking in, in, in.

Again and again.

Preeeeeeessing into every depth, “Can you fucking imagine what I’ve been going through these- hah, these past days without you?”

“N-no?” His carnal strokes make you throw your head back with a whine, tears starting to bead behind your eyelids. “What have you been- fuck, you’re going in so deep, Kento.”

Though Nanami doesn’t even seem to hear you- “How can you blame me-” Like a mantra, he’s muttering between those swollen pussylips of yours, eating you out so raw that even the slightest movements of his lips make you see stars. “How can you blame me- hah, how can you blame me, how can you blame me—ngh.” The flatness of his sizzlin’ tastebuds moves back and forth into the roof of your cunt, making itself well at home there. “Not when I haven’t had dessert for a week now-”

“Haven’t had dessert?” You’re questioning, your senses slightly hazed by his ministrations between your legs. Is that what he’s been talking about going through? “What do you mean, baby, just last night for dinner we had-”

“No.” He says, meaningfully. And Nanami looks up at you straight in the eyes when he’s spreadin’ that wet muscle of his wiiiide open and probin’ into your hole- “I mean…dessert.”

Your back arches off of the wall, a perfect curvature. “Dessert-”

Your pussy. 

Your mewling whines are cut off by the feeling of him pulling out of your cunt with a wet plunge, strings of your slick following his movements n’ still connecting his mouth to your core. There was something crazed in Nanami’s hazy peripherals, something utterly gone. “Yes.” He spits for the nth time into your cunt, swervin’ right past your folds. Pinning you down whilst you try to run, “Don’t you fucking run- don’t you fucking know that she’s my favorite dessert, darlin’?”

And then you sob. With a loud, primal sluuuuurp—Nanami’s splittin’ you apart from the inside.

“And I’ve been without her for too long, my wife.” Perfectly molding your channel to him, the cushy tips of his fingers open your entrance up- and oh, he’s digging them deeeeply into your tiniest orifices. Scissoring in a second finger as if it already wasn’t enough to have his thick joints pushing your insides apart. “How can a husband be expected to go so long without his wife’s pretty pussy?” Gently nibblin’ on your clit, “I’ve missed her.”

“I’ve missed this mouth of yours.” You don’t think you’ll ever get used to just how big his size was, the blustering crowns of his two fingerpads opening up your insides. He filled up every cranny- “Fuck, keep going.”

“You have no idea how- hahhh—” Nanami emits a breathy laugh, like he was in utter disbelief at his own self. And you watch as your husband’s jaw hangs open to collect the glittery wads of slick that constantly leak out of you, “-how fucking thirsty I’ve been. I would eat the sweetest sundaes after work- remember the ones I bought for us? Fuck, just imagining that was you.”

You’re shivering at his admission- he’d what?

But Nanami wasn’t done yet - in fact, he was only lapping away his tongue even harder. And when you get used to the caress of his velvety underside, he’s spanking it down on your clit. “Just wishing that was you on my tongue- but nothing would even come as close.” He gasps, “So now that I have you, oh, I could drink from this pretty pussy for aaaaages with how parched I am.”

You’re tugging at his hair, and Nanami only directs you to pull at him even rougher. To use him. Teasing, “And here I thought that large water tumbler of yours was enough-”

“Oh, my love, it’s not even close to enough- look at this-” You’re being guided to look down at the ropes of sap that he was tunneling out of you- chin hitting your chest. After each movement of his fingers, your slick glazes his wrist in splats. 

Sensually, he’s ducking his head down to lick off the polish on his skin. Gleaming like glitter, Nanami moans when the candied taste hits his tongue- “You’re like a fucking waterpark f’me. And I’ve- hah, I’ve been dreaming about her for ages now. Been hungry. Been imagining-”

Lapping and probin’. A third crowned tip rovers inside and starts pushing in and out with the others, “Yes- yes yes yes yes-”

“I’ve had to run to the fucking- ngh, office bathroom more times than I can count.” He admits, spittling between your lips. “All because I spent a whole meeting imagining just how wet you’d feel on my tongue, mmm, like this.” 

You’re crying out, bucking your hips into his- and though he might’ve usually pinned your squirming hips down for moving, teasing, now…now Nanami was welcoming those half-ruts. “More- deeper-”

“And look how eeeeeasy I can slip in-” With a final cobweb of saliva, he’s trying to pry inside a fourth finger—managing. 

Nanami’s prolonged length empties out right near your cervix with harsh thuds, you could tell that he was searching for that sweet spot inside you. 

Babbling away, Nanami seemed to be getting even more drunk on your pussy with each passing second. “Wanted to feel you dripping like this- aaaaaall up in my throat- see- watch.” Your husband commands, and with your head turned down like this you can’t help but watch the way he takes a big swallow of your slick. With a messy glistening face, he grins up at you. “If you could possibly be any- ngh, any fuckin’ wetter then I’d want you to in a second.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been wetter in my life, Kento.” As if to prove your point, even more tear trails of your slick drip down - all for Nanami Kento’s munching delight, of course.

“…Yet.”

And you know one quality that attracted you to your husband the most? It was the fact that, no matter what, he would do what he promised. He would deliver.

Because with a few more sultry slams, his long index is burrowing into your g-spot. Perfectly. It’s as if that bundle of nerves was a target, and Nanami’s able to slide his trimmed nails right where you wanted him to.

Your knees bend limply as the pleasure hits you, and you wail. “Oh- there!” Too gone in your own bliss, he’s actually holding up your weight with one of his strong arms now, looped at your waist.

“Found it.” You can feel his grin against your entrance, “And you did get wetter, my love—”

And he’d found it, alright. Constantly thump-thump-thumpin’ away near the back of your pussy with his relentless fingers, Nanami made sure that the plush pads of his digits would then graze your nerves- making you twitch n’ whine n’ buck in pleasure maddeningly.

“I- I don’t think-” With one of your legs raised upon his shoulders, it was just so easy to squeeze Nanami’s bobbing throat. Almost suffocating him. You blurt, “I don’t think m’gonna last long, Kento-”

“Good.”

The firmness with which he says that one word makes your entire body quiver- and you don’t know whether it’s because of his purely carnal tone, or the way he slithers his fingers inside your cunt, presses down on your g-spot and holds it there.

Unmoving.

No matter how much you squirm or whine.

And Nanami doesn’t waste a single second before he’s immediately trying to topple you over the edge of your high, “Because you don’t have to.” He pants, “Your dear husband is here for a- hah, a reason, my wife. Don’t you know?”

“A- a reason.” You’re babbling, and you don’t know which one of you is more gone by this point.

You’re having trouble holding yourself up, and Nanami claps his chin against the end of your cunt with enough pressure to keep you standing straight. His tongue teasingly rolling out over your clit, “M’here to make you cum.” Push after push, thud! after thud! “Because don’t you know…”

“Don’t I know- fuck, don’t I know what?”

His grin is just sinful—“Don’t you know that you taste sweeter when you cum, my love?” Said in such a tender tone, even though the slashes of his fingers were anything but.

In next to no time, you’re gripping one hand into Nanami’s hair and the other onto his shoulders as you cum all over his mouth. It’s in invisible waves ridden straight from the tip of his nose n’ down to lacquer his chin with gleam, “C-cumming.” Even though he already knew, “M’cumming, Kento. Cum- fuck, s’the best I’ve ever had.”

“Mmm, why thank you, darling.” He’s crooning out lovingly, not even a hint of teasing as he takes it on. All your pushes and bucks- until the skin ‘round Nanami’s mouth was red and raw.

Until his jaw aaaaaached.

And yet, he’s still eating you out through your high, the sparks of bliss absolutely leave you shaking. Toes curled. The top of your crown feeling light and airy- “Think you’ve fucked me- ngh…” Stupid. Even though you don’t say it out loud…at least, you don’t think you do.

But Nanami puffs out a slightly drunken giggle between your pussylips as he hears that word leave your mouth - without you even knowing. Realizing. Dutifully, your husband doesn’t tease you as he plunges his tongue in n’ out, in n’ out. “C’mon- c’mon, c’mon- oh. I was right, you do taste so sweet.”

You’re whimpering as he pulls his fingers out, feeling your convulsing shockwaves peter out into almost nothing.

And even then, Nanami rolls his thick thumb over your clit a few times- just to watch you shake and whine prettily above him. “Done cumming?” He asks, once he feels your body go slightly wobbly. And when you nod- “But I really do wonder if you’d taste even sweeter if I overstim you a little, darling…”

“Oh my god-” Your chin drenches with the spittle that falls out of you unbeknownst to your subconscious, just so sensitive that they’re about the same as the tears dripping from your eyes. “I don’t know if I even can cum so soon again, Kento.”

“We’ll never know until we try.”

He’s tracing squelching wet—hearts?

It feels even more teasing than usual when Nanami’s fingers are toying with your clit, because right now he’s drawing the cutest patterns to watch you react. The way you flinch even more when he draws a big heart- and that cute hitch in your breath when it’s a little one.

“So cute…” Nanami groans, fingers nothing but a blur on your cunt. Spreadin’ you wide open, you can’t believe that your husband then has the audacity to bear his canines and gnaw down on your puffy pussylips. “So sweet-”

“Kento-” You bawl, the pleasure making your senses all bleary. “K-Kento-”

“Oho?” Those blond brows of his raise in interest, and through your tears you can make out the pinkish outline of his tongue coming out to taste his slick-glossed lips. Purring, “It tastes like you’re going to cum again, my love.”

And that’s exactly what you do.

Hard and fast. This one takes you by surprise, just a surge of white-hot electricity that shoots up your spine and leaves your thoughts all muddled.

And, just like before, he’s dragging you through it incredibly. Through every peak of euphoria. Through every flash of bliss every time his slurpin’ tongue accidentally slipped past your entrance when he was sucking you dry.

“Cum- fuck, I’ve already….” Mouth dry. Body shaking. By the time that Nanami’s lengthy tongue has finished lapping up every droplet of your slick, you’ve felt thoroughly fucked through your orgasm. You honestly wouldn’t even have been able to keep yourself standing had it not been for his unrelenting grip on you, refusing to let you fall.

You lean onto his support, feeling your joints protest at the long time you’d spent in this position. “Kento, now I really don’t know if I can cum any- hck! more.”

But Nanami Kento could read what you were saying without saying.

He knew you well enough.

And you knew he did.

Just because you didn’t know doesn’t mean he sure as hell wasn’t allowed to try.

In an instant, your husband’s pulling away—mwah! All that sloppy slick that he wasn’t able to swallow now drips all the way from the tops of his cheekbones, and all the way down his chin. Partly down his neck. Nanami then grips your hips with a loving, pussydrunken smile. “But, when I have a wife that looks like you, my darling, how can I not make you cum?”

Oh.

11:57AM, Saturday.

“Oh my g-god—” Your voice is cracking out in both sobs n’ whines, dribbling out saliva like slick as Nanami’s rutting his naked hips against the globes of your ass cheeks.

It’d taken your husband only a few minutes to manhandle you from the threshold of your house entrance down through the house. Having to hold you up where you were so overstimulated, he’d carried you princess-style. Where he’d pressed you face-down against the polished mahogany of your dining room table. 

All fours. Ass up. Cunt dripping.

You’d shivered as you heard Nanami’s pants hit the floor- his belt ending up in a heap with the rest of it with a loud clang! of metal on tile. And he was simply oooozing out thick pre at the sight of you bent over for him like this, just smearin’ it down your pussylips so that it looked like a gloss. “Mmm—” Nanami grunts out from behind you, his mouth watering at the hot feeling. “So pretty like this, my wife- fuck, so pretty.”

And you’re clawing onto the wood - trying not to make too much of a mess (you’ll have to disinfect this entire house, later) - as he just lightly smooooches your tight orifice with his mushroom tip. “Sh-shit- you’re so hard, Kento.”

“Mhm–” Nanami huffs out smugly- so drunk on his cock, you were craning your head over your shoulder to take a good look at him. “Admiring your husband?”

“Yes.”

In all his rock-hard glory. Nine entire inches.

Veins were zig-zagging down Nanami’s shaft, and they end where his sparse golden hairs start to decorate his hilt. He was just aaaaching to enter you- plump tip colored the prettiest shade of pink, almost as if his painful cock was almost shy to meet your cunt.

You can’t help but notice that it matched the blush creeping up on your husband’s ears, as he leans down and purses his lips to spit straight down to your cunt. Hitting his target dead-on, Nanami grins- “I wonder why we haven’t done it like this sooner, daring?” One of his hands attach to the side of your hips, and he’s just smearin’ apart your folds to take a good look inside. “Before me I see the tastiest fucking dinner I’ve ever seen-”

“Y-you’re so filthy, Kento.” You almost can’t even believe your ears, and you arch your back into his touch. Hamstrings quivering when you nudge your hips up into his, “Why don’t you just f-fuck me already- oh.”

“As you wish, my madam.”

Because he’s already entering you as you squeak out your demands - Nanami Kento was never a man that would leave his wife yearning and wanting, of course.

Anything you wanted, it was yours.

And the same went for his throbbing, hot cock- just the curved end of his shaft plops inside your elastic hole. Because of his sheer girth, Nanami doesn’t even have to try to push apart your tight pussylips - you’re already opening up lewdly for him.

With a cracked whine, your snug channel is gobbling his inches up with a sluuuuurp—making the blond-haired man raise his brows with a chuckle. “Oh- oh, my god.” He pants, breaths coming out ragged. “Ohhhh fuck- you’ve been needy, my wife.”

“I’ve been- hah, been what?” Pathetically, you can only turn your face ‘round to meet his and take it- because Nanami wasn’t letting you off easy just because he was rovering his thick cock inside.

No…in fact, he was pounding and pounding his flared tip past your tender orifice- or, at least, he was trying to. Despite the slight resistance of your tightness, Nanami has one hand on your hips, dragging you back into him with each thrust. “Fucking- needy-”

“Not as much as you.” You’re protesting, feeling the wetness of his precum mix with your slick to travel downwards. “You’ve been the one eating me out like you’re addicted-”

“And you’re the one swallowing me down like you’re trying to suck me dry, my love.” He’s bickering back gently, “Or…” And there was a tinge of something in his carnal tone that makes you shiver, “-should I put all the blame on her instead?”

Her.

Your sultry, wet pussy.

The one he was probin’ his split-ended cock into. The one that was making him grunt after every one of your slight squeezes. The one that was so cozily tight that Nanami had to hold onto your hips and jerk you backwards to try and fit himself all inside.

Jerking and pulling.

Manhandling.

When he feels the tight shield of you still trying to get used to his sheer size, Nanami properly loops his arms ‘round your thighs. And then he’s fucking holding you up- your heels dangling off the tile, your body supported only by the dining table and your husband.

Your geysering cunt purely at the mercy of him, him, him.

“O-ohhhhh, this pussy.” As he sinks in, it’s so good that Nanami hunches his bulky body over - as if he was breaking apart on your hole. Properly in half, breaths heaving out. With every inch of his globular cockhead spearing inside, you can feel Nanami grow more and more feverish. “Oh this pussy- oh, this- this pussy-”

You’re moaning at his broken mantra, “Nanami, are you fuck- alri-”

“The first time in- in what feels like ages that m’getting to fuck you the way I’ve been aching to.” He’s spitting out - literally, back down your sultry slit to make you even wetter for him. And with that, Nanami’s voice veers octaves higher. Crazed. “And you ask me whether m’fucking alright, darling?”

“Well I’d say you were becoming- ngh, pussydrunk already.” You’re whining out, staring into Nanami’s eyes and oh—they were so dilated.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen them this dilated.

They always were, whenever he was gazing at you. But to this extent? It seemed as if his entire iris had just turned back, and Nanami Kento was hanging on your every word, your every breath. You’re whispering, “But…but I think you’re even past that now.”

“P-pussydrunk?” He breathes out the word as if it was a joke- spits it out in almost distaste. Which was strange…because it was honestly one of his favorites. “You think I’d be pussydrunk by now?”

Confused, “Y-yes?”

Before you’re being shocked by a sudden burst from his hips, his meaty thighs striking the backs of yours until his skin there turns red. His blustering tip scrape-scrape-scrapes your insides carnally, and you can feel the line of his slit driving in even deeper.

“Oh, honey- oh, my love- oh, my wife…” Nanami’s droning on out, and if you were in any better state of mind then you’d have realized that the usually-eloquent Nanami Kento was slurring. Smack! Through your kaleidoscope of tears, you’re registering that the skin of his pelvis had just slammed into yours, a stinging impact.

Your husband pliably scoops you up, dragging your hips back down his shaft as if you were nothing but a ragdoll. Your gummy channel was being meshed apart for his upright erection, sliding down it slooooowly. Bit by bit. Inch by solid, throbbing inch. “Don’t you know that- hah-” Until you were fully bottomed out, “-I’ve been pussydrunk aaaaall week?”

All week?

Your mouth opens - perhaps to question him, perhaps to counterpoint him - but the only thing that echoes out is a sensual whine as he then starts ramming into you at a sloppy cadence.

Sloppy and fast.

Hard.

Nanami’s pulling all the way back till juuust the crown of his red tip kissed your entrance, then shoving back in until the hilt. Your orifice stretched all widely open ‘round his base, the spattering of curly golden hair tickling your folds. “Don’t you know?” Your husband asks, “Didn’t you know I’ve been- hngh, ruined on your pussy all week?”

“Ruined?” You repeat, clawing onto the table for some semblance of stability. “But we haven’t even properly-”

“Exactly.”

Oh.

He was now rutting into you like an animal, the curve of his luscious tip swabbin’ at your every ounce of space. “You don’t know how fucking greedy- how impatient I’ve- hah, I’ve been-”

And that surprised you, “Impatient?” Though, he was certainly fucking you like it. After every rugged bash of Nanami’s cockhead, he was surging back in for more  - barely even letting the springy recoil of your walls start before he’s plummeting back in.

Again and again.

A particularly hard thud! has you feeling him at the back of your throat, and your cheeks stain with a few lacquer of tears. “I almost can’t believe that- oh-”

He’s pinning down your squirming hips, and you can feel the line of Nanami’s happy trail scritch-scratch your skin. “I am not a patient man, my wife.” He says, darkly. Holding you down whilst he fucks you like a madman- “I could barely hold myself back this entire week- could barely- haaah, you don’t know how many times I’ve almost cracked n’ called off work just to be able to stay home and fuck this pussy stupid for a few hours.”

“And- and then?” You’re hiccuping, feeling his slamming tempo get even faster. “Then what?”

“Oh, you’re enjoying this—little slut.” Pure shock sparks down your body at the words he was using - absolutely filthy. “Let’s see how much you like this then-” And before you know it, one of his hands lifts off of your waist to rover down to between your legs.

Nanami’s rough index and thumb pinches your clit- “Fuh-fuck! Kento!”

“Wanted to do that for so long.” He watches with relish as you shake beneath him, “If the boys weren’t there- ngh, you have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to just reach over as you ate and pinch this cute clit. Just to tease. Just to see if you’d gasp.”

“Please- please-”

Only toying with your sensitive nub even harder - no matter what, he was always such a rough player. “Wanted to see if you’d scream my, mm, name like that.” Now alternating with his sensual drags of your clit, and rough rolls of his thumb flat. “If this hole of yours would get even wetter because—fuuuck.”

And then the girth of his length starts snaggin’ against your pussy walls, every ounce of blood in Nanami’s body flowing to his cock and swelling it up even further.

“-because I’d sure get harder when you do.”

Just as he said, he had.

Your head lolls stupidly in front of you- but of course, Nanami couldn’t have that. So he’s using his free hand to help you rest your clammy scalp back against his shoulder, so bent forwards that it wasn’t much of a stretch, honestly.

Like any good husband, Nanami Kento wanted to gaze lovingly into your eyes will he fucked you deep. 

“Aaaand then there’s this spot-” Plop! The raw vibrations start from where he’s bashing in your g-spot, set your teeth utterly on their edges. He angles his hips so that it digs a pretty bruise right there on your nerves, “-this spot that I looooove- n’ I know she loves me, too. Because she’s- haah, squeezing me so tight- never wants to let me go-”