breyona🏺

Yuji was the one who suggested saving, to console your protests and to hint at more promises for the future. That had been enough to silence your protests as ultimately you would have agreed to live in a closet if it meant you could be together and not separated by dorms at Jujutsu Tech.

Yuji could be a little clueless at times, sure, but your boyfriend does always try his best to make you happy.

Honestly, the two of you rarely have any disagreements even though you are a stubborn brat most of the time. His easy going nature takes your faults in stride. Yeah he can be clueless but once he does know what you want he meets your needs without complaint. 

In fact, Yuji is always doing sweet things for you— waking up a bit earlier so you could drink your coffee (that he always burns) in bed. He will shower you with soft kisses to coax you awake with a wide grin and a whispered ‘good morning’ that makes you feel warm just remembering it.

You really can't ask for a better boyfriend.

You are happy with Yuji.

You love him and are very happy with Yuji. 

Sigh.

So then ms. ma'am, if you are 'so happy', why exactly is your mind torturing you with thoughts of the cursed object inside your boyfriend taking control of his body and fucking you dumb into the mattress?  

Chewing your lip in nervous anticipation, the truth is that your mind wouldn’t allow you to sleep because it was filled with Sukuna, The King of Curses, and every jujutsu sorcerer’s sworn enemy. 

Sukuna is your enemy.

How could you let it come to this? 

The guilt you feel is insurmountable, yet it’s not like you had asked for this to start happening.

That said, you made no real attempts to stop Sukuna thus far from showing up to fuck you silly before disappearing again like a thief in the night. 

Rode hard and put away wet, Sukuna would use you on his whims and it had been happening more frequently ever since the day you and Yuji moved-in together—the night of your housewarming party.

Ironically enough, you didn't even want a damned housewarming.

You thought it was impractical and honestly a bit embarrassing to throw a housewarming for such a small flat. Everyone would be on top of each other all night.

But Gojo had insisted. Promising to supply the drinks and food which automatically had Yuji on board, so you just gave in. Seeing Yuji happy, and hearing Gojo was buying the two of you a new washer-dryer combo, you got on board.

The housewarming itself went well enough, albeit the cramped space, until the six eyed sorcerer had suggested a ‘friendly’ drinking game. All which would have been fine if Gojo hadn’t brought over what he called Reggae Punch.

However, it wasn’t the standard recipe of peach liqueur and oolong tea you could find in any Tokyo bar. The dark orange drink Gojo concocted was a heavy mixture of actual punch and different liquors that you couldn’t identify until you were already 2 cups in.

The son of a bitch.

That wasn't Raggae Punch—it was fucking Jungle Juice.

You were already faded as hell by the time the game started so you eliminated yourself early on purpose. 

Yuji, who was a good boy and never even took a sip of alcohol until he was legal enough earlier this year, actually thought he stood a chance at winning against his seniors. Foolishly, he joined-in with earnestness.

Rolling your eyes at the memory, the night ended as expected—with Yuji was beyond shitfaced and you of course left to take care of him. 

Yuji's head hung low, barely resting on the edge of the chabudai by the time Nanami—clear winner of the night—managed to drag an even drunker Gojo out of your apartment. Gojo was still singing loudly, slurring through songs on the expensive digital karaoke machine he'd gifted you both earlier (yeah, no new washer/drier set for you).

Maki and Yuta, sensible enough to stop drinking early like you, had already left. Nobara, Inumaki and Megumi, all pretty lit themselves, had the near impossible task of dragging Panda home which you did not envy. 

With everyone gone, getting Yuji into bed proved far easier than expected.

You left ibuprofen and a bottle of Pedialyte on the nightstand, along with a small bin beside the bed in case he woke up nauseous. Truthfully, you really didn’t mind taking care of your boyfriend.

Yuji always takes such good care of you.

But...you just wished it hadn’t been this night.

The night you realized that mixing that much alcohol in those quantities sent the heat straight to your pussy.  

Pleasing yourself usually wasn’t an issue.

But after you dragged a second, still-unsatisfying orgasm from your body, that’s when Sukuna appeared without warning—his low chuckle curling through the room at your failed attempts.

Admittedly, you were terrified at first.

You and Yuji had been together for two years, but Sukuna rarely surfaced and he had never addressed you directly before, preferring to ignore you all together. It was dangerously easy to forget that the most powerful curse in existence lived rent-free inside your boyfriend’s soul.

Nevertheless, you were desperate for real relief.

Lust clouded your thoughts, thick and heavy and it didn’t take much coaxing at all before your legs parted, pliant and willing, like warm jelly for The Curse King.

And Sukuna did not disappoint. 

His sharp tongue poured filth into your ears—degrading praises that sent electricity racing through your veins, crackling down to your core, where the even sharper thrusts of his hips corrupted you from the inside out.

Your senses shattered. You came hard, messy and mindless—soaking Sukuna, yourself, and the sheets beneath you.

And that was only round one.

Sukuna, of course, had near-limitless stamina.

The next morning, achy and sore, you could barely look Yuji in the eye.

You were preparing to beg for his forgiveness but you quickly realized Yuji only remembered bits of the party and nothing of what happened after. 

In fact, it made you feel even more terrible that Yuji apologized to you.

Yuji was upset with himself for being so rough with you when he noticed the bites, bruises and marks that decorated your body thinking you both actually had sex the previous night. 

Yuji gave you the perfect out and thinking it would never happen again you let him believe it was him...well, in some essence it was still his body in a way.

Urgh, you are the worst. 

Realistically, if you confessed to Yuji in that moment, he likely would have forgiven you then without question. 

It’s not like you alone could stop Sukuna from doing anything he wanted to you while Yuji was unaware.

You were a semi-grade 1 sorcerer, strong enough for most curses, but you would be kidding yourself to think you could take on Sukuna in a fight—hell you couldn't even take Yuji. 

In fact, wouldn’t the issue of Sukuna being able to take over Yuji’s body freely while he was unconscious be a much more pressing concern rather than how many times the curse king had made you squirt? 

Yet in spite of the danger, the logic and your better judgment, you were too ashamed to tell Yuji what really happened. 

That was because subconsciously a part of you knew you would have to admit that you did enjoy it and you wanted it to happen again.

And it did. 

Many more times after.

Except for tonight. 

Sukuna had yet to make his appearance tonight. 

In fact, he hadn’t shown up in the last 5 nights in a row—the longest you had gone without his cock since he started toying with you. 

You recall snapping at him after his last visit—right around the time his insults shifted from targeting you to dragging Yuji, mocking his inability to satisfy you. Your guilt had you snapping, telling Sukuna to fuck off and never to come near you again. You even threatened to tell Yuji if he did.

Honestly, you hadn’t expected the threat to matter.

It never had before.

And as much as you wanted to feel relieved—maybe Sukuna had finally grown tired of dealing with "Yuji’s bratty little pillow princess," as he so often called you while he was buried deep inside your sloppy cunt—you weren’t relieved at all.

You were annoyed.

He hadn’t listened the first time.

Or the second. Or the third.

So why now?

Why when your pussy has become so well trained its started to ache for that stretch—the delicious, punishing burn of your walls tearing that only Sukuna could bestow on you?

You shiver, thinking of Sukuna’s heavy grip sinking into the fat of your hips—his claws always just shy of puncturing your skin.

He loved to remind you how easily he could tear you apart if he wanted to, growling it against your ear while pounding into you from behind, each clap of his hips shaking the breath from your lungs.

Nearly salivating at the memory, you snap your head up—too eagerly—when you felt Yuji stir beneath you, heart jumping at the thought it might be him.

But it wasn’t.

And the disappointment hit harder than it should have.

But it wasn’t until Sukuna corrupted you that you realized: you didn’t want to be treated like some fragile, precious thing.

You want to be handled.

You want to be ruined.

You want to be called names—dirty, brutal, humiliating ones—because that’s exactly the kind of filthy, cheating whore you were proving yourself to be.

But Yuji?

Yuji is too kind. Too big of a softy. He’d never fuck you the way you needed—yet you couldn't deny you were still in love with him.

You squeeze your eyes shut like that might somehow block the thoughts out—but you knew the truth.

You can't sleep because you were horny for Sukuna.

The heat in your belly keeps climbing steadily, making sleep a distant, impossible hope. Your clit throbs, swollen and aching while your pussy flutters helplessly, clenching around nothing.

The motion forces out a slow trickle of Yuji’s cum from earlier, warm and wet as it slides down your thighs and you catch yourself wishing it was Sukuna's instead and in that moment your resolve breaks.

Yuji was just an appetizer.

But you are still starving—for the main course.

Sukuna.

Swallowing hard, deep down, you already know you’d already resigned yourself to whatever the hell Sukuna dragged you into.

You nuzzle deeper into Yuji’s chest, your fingers drifting lazily across the ridges of his lower abs beneath the blanket. Your voice is barely a whisper against his skin.

“Yo… um… hey… Hey, Sukuna... c-can you hear me?”

Silence.

You try again. Still nothing.

You huff, your patience thinning.

“Dammit, Sukuna,” you whisper, harsher this time, voice rising with irritation.

You wait but the only answer is the slow, steady rise and fall of Yuji’s chest beneath your cheek.

Your jaw tightens, seeing red.

This lame-ass motherfucker. 

So that’s it?

After everything—after wrecking you, haunting you, owning you—he’s just... done?

You slowly lift your head from Yuji’s chest, narrowing your eyes at your boyfriend as if you could scowl straight past him and into Sukuna’s smug, hidden soul beneath.

Muttering under your breath, you shuffle across the bed toward the nightstand.

“Fuckin' headass Lord King of body-snatching curses... got more dick in his personality than he does in his pants,” you grumble, dragging the drawer open with quiet venom.

Turning on the small bed lamp, you dig deep into the drawers to pull out a toy you saved for nights you were particularly hard up and Yuji was out on a mission. 

Sukuna may have been ignoring you but you could no longer ignore the throbbing screaming at you between your legs. 

Maybe if you rubbed one out, you could calm down. Just enough to stop feeling so pissed off.

You needed something, shit anything, to take the edge off before you did something truly insane, like knocking the Mario coins out of your sweet, unsuspecting boyfriend out of sheer frustration with the curse inside him.

Yuji doesn't deserve that.

Just like he doesn't deserve any of this. Not the monster squatting in his soul—and certainly not a girlfriend who'd spread her legs so easily for a cocky smirk and a thick tattooed cock.

Settling onto the bed beside Yuji, you switched the vibrator on to its lowest setting—quiet enough not to disturb him.

Slowly, you drag it across your skin, savoring the soft buzz as you trace a path down past your heaving chest, across your belly, and lower still.

Your lip catches between your teeth as the toy barely ghosts over your clit—

When before you can even scream, a hand snaps around your wrist.

Another one rips the vibrator from your grip and flings it across the room with enough force for it to shatter against the wall.

“You really are a bratty fucking whore, you know that?”

The voice was unmistakable—Sukuna.

How could it not be?

Deeper than Yuji’s, richer, more decadent. Every word curls around you, teasing and scolding all at once, the bass of his voice making your clit throb in time with each slow, deliberate syllable.

“As your King, I don’t recall giving you permission to touch that nasty lil cunt, bitch.” 

You bristle in protest, trying to pull away, but Sukuna's grip on you doesn't budge. His fingers burn against your wrist—just his touch alone was enough to ignite you, the heat spreading fast, licking over your skin and threatening to consume you whole.

Exceeding the levels of any sexual frustration you ever knew in your life, his further denial to let you touch yourself threatens to spill the tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. 

“I don’t recall asking you, my lord,” you snap back, biting words a reflex for a brat like you. “I’d ask you if you knew you were a trifling asshole, but we—”

You didn’t get to finish.

In a blink, Sukuna is on top of you.

His tattooed hands seize both your wrists and pins them above your head, his body locking you in beneath him. The air shifts—charged, heavy, dangerous as his snarl scorches your cheek.

The red glow of Sukuna's four eyes sear into yours as they go wide with alarm. Your mouth dries instantly, heart pounding with the reality of who you just decides to sass finally sinking in.

And that maybe, just maybe, you'd fucked around a little too far… and were about to find out.

Sukuna, on the other hand, seems to delight in your panic.

“‘Eh? Triflin?” he says, mockingly, twisting your tone and slang into something cruel. “Me? Not the filthy slut begging me to use her boyfriend’s body to dick her down while he’s asleep? And then throwing a tantrum when I don’t?”

Fuck. So he had heard you earlier.

“You think a bratty bitch like you can summon me on a whim—and speak to me casually?” Sukuna's tenor is darker now as he hovers over you, “I’ve killed for far less.”

Sukuna is closer now. Too close. Yet aside from the bruising grip on your wrists, he still hasn't touched you.

But he doesn't need to.

The heat rolling off him, the sheer weight of his cursed energy, pressing into you from all sides making your nerves sing in horror for your impending doom—your body reacts all the same.

Fear and arousal tangles together into something volatile, something dangerous, churning in your gut like it might split you open from the inside if Sukuna didn’t do it first.

Your lip trembles as you shift restlessly beneath him.

Despite your best efforts, you are completely at his mercy once again.

“And Yuji?” Sukuna's words are like daggers into your heart as his breath brushes your lips.

Shakily, you exhale—only now realizing you’d even been holding it.

“You’re still this needy after he already gave you cock tonight? Tsk, tsk. You really are a brazen, greedy lil' whore, hm?”

He wasn’t wrong.

Not about you being a whore at least. That much, you couldn’t deny—not now, not like this.

But he is wrong to imply this was the same as being with Yuji.

Because when Sukuna takes over, Yuji’s face is where the similarities end. Sukuna is taller, more muscular and thicker in every way—his cock not excluded from that either.

The black markings stretch taut over the expanse of Sukuna's entire body, binding tight over powerful muscle and making him look infinitely more dangerous than Yuji ever could.

Even Sukuna's scent was different—darker, heavier. Almost as threatening as his presence and intoxicatingly masculine.

A pure predator.  

Pouting, you know fighting Sukuna is pointless, like playing a losing game.

Still, part of you is pissed. He’d ignored you all night. Leaving you writhing in your own heat like you were nothing likely laughing at you all the while.

But now?

Now he's here.

And you are so close to getting what you need.

If it meant surrendering the last scraps of your dignity to finally get it?

So be it.

There wasn’t much left to protect anyway.

So you surrender completely—like the needy little bitch in heat that you are—appealing to Sukuna's ego.

“If you know I’m a whore,” you whispered, breath shaky, “then fuck me like one already, Sukuna. My King… please? Pretty please? I-I need you. Make me cum, pleaseeeee…”

Your voice is all sugar-dipped desperation, each saccharine plea spilling from your lips like a twisted prayer.

And you hated it.

You hated humbling yourself like this.

Your cracks begin to show as tears of frustration finally spill from your eyes, sliding hot and silent down your cheeks.

Still, you blinked through them, locking eyes with him. Needing him to see just how much you want him—to see the desperation that called to him from every fiber of your being.

Of course, Sukuna sees it loud and clear.

The raw, aching desperation radiates from every inch of your trembling body—and it only makes the devious smirk across his face stretch wider.

Releasing your wrists, Sukuna's hand is around your throat faster than you can blink. His thick fingers curl tightly around your neck, squeezing just enough to make your head swim as he leans down to lick up a trail of your tears.

“Tch. Even when you’re desperate and begging,” he murmurs, voice a low rasp against your skin, “you still can’t help but be an insolent lil' brat.”

Sukuna's breath ghosting over your ear makes you gush, especially as his tongue slides into your canal, slow and deliberate before retracting to scrape his teeth over your lobe.

And then—finally—the full weight of Sukuna’s naked body sinks onto yours, heat and muscle pressing you down into the mattress.

You moan at the blissful maddening contact, feeling the thick length of his cock twitch against your belly, heavy and hot.

His mouth trails lower, lips dragging down your neck, leaving behind a constellation of angry red marks—evidence you’ll be scrambling to hide come morning.

Arching into him instinctively, you grind against him, savoring every ounce of friction as waves of heat roll through your body.

But just as quickly as he gives you what you want—

He pulls away. “You should know by now, Y/N…

You gasp, your body jerking at the loss.

“—disobedient sluts get punished.”

Before the chill of his words can even settle, your world flips. Sukuna moves you effortlessly, draping you across his thick thighs at the edge of the bed.

The exact situation you are in not clicking until a loud smack reverberates in your ears and white hot pain blossoms across your left asscheck.

Smack. 

You’re ready for the second, but it still forces a hiss from your teeth as the impact jolts through you, deeper than it should.

Smack. 

By the third, a broken moan slips from your mouth before you can stop it.

Sukuna keeps going, unrelenting. Each strike leaves you more breathless than the last. Your body easily turning pliant and shaky over his lap.

Your tongue lolls as you pant, dazed from the relentless rhythm of his strikes.

Smack. 

On the fourth, you grab his thigh for leverage and push yourself back toward his hand without thinking. The movement sends a jolt through your core that makes your body shudder.

“S‑Sukuna!”

His name tears out of you as the next strike lands directly on your pussy.

Already drenched from your arousal and earlier romp with Yuji, the squelching sound your slit makes is absolutely vulgar. The sounds turn you on more than you can bear at the moment and you could tell from laying across his lap, it’s having a similar effect on Sukuna as well. 

You can feel how much he’s enjoying this from the way he holds you in place. And the need for him to finally take you is unbearable.

“FuckMeFuckMeFuckMePLEASEEE!” your words slur, jumbles as you writhed against the bulge thickening beneath you.

“Fuck you, slut?” Sukuna drawls, mocking your desperation with a wicked grin.

Another soggy smack rings out from your pussy. 

Your eyes roll back as your teeth sink into your lower lip—hard enough to draw blood, not that you’d even notice.

“Not when you address me so casually...”

Smack.

“...and certainly not when you still have that other brat’s spunk in your cunt, slut. It’s fucking disrespectful to me.” 

Smack. 

Smack. 

SMACK. 

Each strike to your swollen clit knocks the breath from your lungs, your face flushing with raw, burning shame.

“Hn… we’ll have to fix that, won’t we, Brat?”

And with that Sukuna plunges three thick fingers into your messy cunt, pulling a sharp cry from your throat as your body jerks in surprise.

His fingers gliding-in effortlessly thanks to how pathetically wet you are, pumping into you with a punishing rhythm.

Your cries and whines far on deaf ears, Sukuna already knows how much you fucking love his fingers. They reach deeper than your own fingers ever could—faster, rougher, more reckless than Yuji has ever dared to be.

True to his word, Sukuna fucks every last trace of Yuji’s cum out of you, pulling it from your body like he’s reclaiming what’s his while you come undone, unraveling completely across his lap.

“Did I not make it clear last time,” Sukuna growls low in your ear, “who this sloppy hole belongs to?”

You can't even process the question—mind blank, body twitching, mouth open and silent, utterly ruined.

Your breathy moans and the ASMR from his fingers tearing through your cunt as your walls sucked him in were thrumming in your ears and drowning out everything else.

Vision spotty, you're closer to attaining release with every rough scrape of his fingers. The tension in you pulling taunt like a rope as Sukuna abuses the little bundle of nerves inside you. 

Toes curling, your entire body strains for release.

Almost there. 

“Ah—s‑so clo—” you manage to gasp, your mind focused on nothing but coming.

And then—he stops.

Sukuna’s fingers go still inside you, an evil laugh barking from him.

“I fucking hate repeating myself, brat. If the little whore can’t focus enough to answer me properly while I finger fuck her, I’ll simply have to stop.”

The sudden loss burns and you want to sob, the need to cum swallowing every rational thought in your head.

Any attempt you make to push your hips back and fuck yourself on his fingers are thwarted by Sukuna’s free arm locking you in place.

He has you exactly where he wants you.

“N-No! P-PleasePlease! My pus-syy i-it’s yourssss, Suk- Lord Sukuna!” you corrected yourself, desperately wanting him to continue.

“Hm?” Sukuna one is skeptical, testing. He doesn't think you fully understood just yet who owns you. 

“Sure about that, bitch? You gonna let anyone else cum in this pussy again?”

You shake your head vigorously, tears splashing onto his thigh.

“N‑no,” you sniffle out.

“What was that, slut? Speak up.”

Sukuna's voice is harsh—but his fingers begin moving again. Slowly, in agonizing circles that make your back arch.

It's maddening.

“I won't! I-I won’t let Yuji come in your pussy again, so please… PLEASE let me cum!”

The words spill out without thought. You’d say anything right now for release.

And Sukuna knows it, a real bastard for actually making you say it though.

Sukuna pauses—and suddenly laughs.

It almost sounds like it’s meant for someone else, but you can’t think long enough to question it before his fingers press deeper, harder than before.

Your eyes roll back again as pleasure wipes your mind clean.

His thumb joins in, grazing lower, teasing a place no one has ever touched before.

“Oh—o‑oh god—” you sob, eyes squeezing shut.

The prodding of his thumb into the rim of your ass while he finger banged your cunt was too intense. 

Not even Yuji had touched you there before. 

The feeling was foreign but you were too overstimulated at this point, you couldn’t process anything from it but pleasure.

“Yesyesyesyes!” you sigh out like a mantra.

Sukuna could feel your walls clamping down on his fingers, letting him know you were close.

“Shit- That's it." Sukuna murmurs with dark amusement. "Cream on my fingers, slutty brat.”

As if your body actually needed his permission, those words are what finally breaks the dam inside of you. 

You cum with a loud moan as your body convulsed with pleasure, the first taste of the sweet release you’d been yearning for all night. Babbling nonsensically as you repeated Sukuna’s name over and over, dissolving into pure noise.

Your tears, drool and squirt continue to dribble out of you as they drenched his thighs from both ends. But Sukuna’s fingers don't stop, they continue to bully into you not slowing until you completely rode out your orgasm.

Your chest heaves constricted against his lap and your legs are still trembling but you know he is far from finished with you. 

His fingers slide out of your weeping pussy with a slimy pop. 

“On your knees, slut.” 

Sukuna’s gruff command booms and you move quickly, not daring to test his patience this time. You could feel welts on your ass begin to form the spanking you received, your legs jelly as you slide onto the floor, careful of putting too much pressure on your bruised bottom. 

Once you steady yourself, you look up.

Sukuna is now manspread, legs reclining wide on you and Yuji's shared bed like it was his throne. Reclining the view he offers you is delicious, his tatted, hard cock, catching your eye like a beacon.

Your lips part as your gaze drops to him. The flushed tip of his cock bobs slightly with each slow breath he takes, a bead of precum trailing down and streaking across his stomach.

Nevertheless, you couldn’t help but hesitate as him finally letting you cum had cleared a bit of the fog in your brain.

You know what he expects now. You’ve just… never done it for him before.

Sukuna’s size is intimidating enough to make you nervous but you really didn’t know how to react right now as you weren’t used to this much foreplay with him. On his previous visits Sukuna would show up, fuck you into a stupor and leave. You didn’t even think he had even teased you as much as he had tonight. 

Tonight feels different.

You’re not sure why—but the thought sparks something defiant inside you. A small, reckless flicker of the brat he’s always accusing you of being.

A sudden urge takes hold—to see how far you can push him. 

To test how much control he’s really willing to give you.

You could tell by how his engorged cock swayed impatiently that him delaying his own gratification to punish had an effect on him. 

The game you decided to play was a risky one of course, but you wanted payback for the way he treated you. 

And that’s when you decide—it’s a risky game to play, but you want a little payback.

For ignoring you for days.

For breaking your favorite toy.

For making you beg.

And, most of all, for turning you into a moraless slut who still aches for him to ruin you all over again.

“Put that fuckin’ bratty mouth to good use for once, whore." Sukuna growls, baring his canines at your stalling. "If I left now, that sloppy cunt would still be unsatisfied.”

You pouted at his cruel insult but it was mostly to suppress a small smile as he confirmed your suspicions. 

Oh, he wouldn’t dare leave you now. 

And if he wants head? Then you’ll give the King Asshole of Curses the nastiest, sloppiest toppy you can muster.

Mind set, you wet your lips, making careful eye contact with him through moist, batting lashes.

Slinking up between his legs, your hands caress his calves, skimming upward with feather-light touches over his thighs.

Your tongue lingers on the inside of his thigh, lapping up the mess of your own juices that still stain his lap—never once breaking eye contact.

It’s faint, but you swear you hear Sukuna suck in a breath through his teeth.

Rising to your knees, you settle yourself in close, pressing between his legs until his heavy cock nestles between your breasts.

He holds a strong poker face, but you see it—the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the deeper drag of his breath.

He wants this too.

It gives you back a sliver of the nerve you lost feeling just how massive he really is.

Still meeting his gaze, you flash him a sweet smile, then part your lips and let a slow string of spit fall from your tongue—thick and heavy, like honey—onto his cock.

The wetness flowing from your mouth is instantly cooled by air as it leaves your lips. This earned you a low hiss of approval from The King of Curses as it landed on his hot tip.

Wasting no time, you gather the mixture of drool and precum now slick between your tits and begin to move them slowly up and down his massive length.

Indulging yourself, you squeeze your neglected nipples and moan, head fuzzy with lust, wishing it was your pussy—not your tits—smothering his cock.

Your jaw stays lax, mouth open and dripping, letting more saliva slide freely onto him as your eyes stay locked on his.

Sukuna’s just about to snap at you—ready to call you a cockteasing whore—when, as if sensing the insult forming, you finally break eye contact.

You lower your head and take his cockhead between your lips, while your tits continue to work his shaft.

Your tongue swirls over the slit at his tip, lewdly slurping up the precum gathering there.

Sukuna’s hand shoots into your hair.

“Fuck,” he grits out.

His claws dig into your roots with a grip that borders on painful—but it only urges you on.

You lick, kiss, and slobber your way down his length, taking him deeper with every stroke.

Sukuna grunts. He honestly hadn’t expected this from you.

He’s broken many before—twisted them, corrupted them. But he can see it in your eyes now: your eagerness isn’t submission. It’s defiance.

His earlier punishment didn’t tame you.

It lit a fire.

He thought you’d pout, whine, maybe shrink away from sucking his cock like the spoiled pillow princess you are with Yuji.

Not attack it like it’s your last breath of air.

Fuckin’ manipulative ass brat. 

The King of Curses would never admit it out loud, but your brattiness turns him on.

It always has.

He watches you from within Yuji—every slick comment when something doesn’t go your way, every pouty protest when you're denied what you want.

And Yuji? He gives in every fucking time.

It infuriates Sukuna that brat never puts you in your place.

The kid is too pussy-whipped to see the truth—that he has a filthy, devious lil whore on his hands, just begging to be turned out and used like a proper fucktoy.

Sukuna stifles a groan, resisting the urge to tilt his head back when he feels your soft fingers trail down and gently cup his heavy sack.

You fondle him, teasing, while your mouth works lower over his cock. Your hand pumps the base as your tits press around the shaft, your lips stretching to take him deeper.

He can’t let this go on.

He won’t be undone by you.

Your brattiness entertains him—but his pride won’t allow you to hold the upper hand for long.

Taking control over the situation, both his hands clutched the back of your skull keeping your mouth on his cock as he stands. 

Then—one rough thrust of his hips—

He slams his cock up next to your tonsils.

You gag immediately, choking as your hands scramble for leverage against his thighs but there was still plenty of your slick left from earlier causing you to lose your grip and lurch forward. 

The motion forces you to take him to the hilt, your jaw stretched painfully wide. Tears spill down your cheeks as his cock fills your throat, leaving barely any room to breathe.

“Now, now, silly whore.” Sukuna chides, watching you flail weakly against him.

“You were so eager to suck on this cock a minute ago, show me how well your throat can take it too.”

Your throat—stretched raw and helpless—is being fucked without mercy, your face is shoved deeper into his crotch causing his course pubic hair to scratch at your cheeks and the and the pungent scent of his arousal floods your nostrils. 

Combined with the lack of oxygen, it makes your head spin.

You croak out a moan as you gag even harder on his cock.

The vibrations travel down his shaft, and Sukuna growls, driving himself deeper with a brutal thrust, stuffing more of his length into your already-overstretched throat.

Your jaw aches like hell—but it’s nothing compared to the jealous ache in your weepy cunny.

Your pussy flares with phantom need, syncing up with every vicious thrust into your mouth, like your body’s begging to be filled again.

The roughness only turns you on more.

Trying to ease the pressure, your nails dig into his hips instead—scratching red welts into his skin as your body instinctively claws at him.

“Take it, woman. Swallow it all like a good little fuckdoll. Don’t spill a drop.”

Sukuna's snarl wraps around you just as his cock pulses violently in your throat. A few more deep thrusts—and he comes.

His curses spill into the air as hot ropes of cum shoot down your throat, filling you as it warms its way down into your belly. 

Sukuna doesn’t let go of you until he feels your throat milk the very last drop from him.

When he finally rips you off his cock you are collapsing onto the floor, coughing hard, spit and seed dripping from your lips as you gasp for air.

Despite all your earlier bravado, you weren’t ready—not for the size, not for the depth, and definitely not for the overwhelming heat and weight of him as he spilled his essence inside your tummy.

“Brats like you never follow instructions properly, do they?” Sukuna sneers.

You want to flip him off for nearly suffocating you—but all you manage is a sharp glare as your hands rub at your throat, trying to soothe the sting.

“Tch. Cumming just from getting your face fucked—and without permission, too?” Sukuna scoffs, that smug grin spreading across his face. “You still don’t deserve any dick.”

You stare up at Sukuna in disbelief, your brows knitting together. “Y‑You’re kidding me,” you cough out, voice hoarse.

As far as you’re concerned, you’ve more than earned it.

Sukuna chuckles at your reaction.

Manspread and seated once again on the bed, he pumps his cock slowly as he gives you a once-over.

He’s made an utter mess of you.

Stray strands of your disheveled hair cling to tear-streaked cheeks. Cum dribbles down from the corners of your mouth and chin, and every attempt to wipe it only smears it worse across your face. Your chest heaves, glistening with sweat and whatever else he’s coated you in, while that disobedient pussy of yours is leaking a wet spot onto the floor where you sit.

Just filthy.

He could deny you further if he wanted.

Tease you longer. 

Make you beg. 

He knows how much you hate that—which only makes that much more delicious.

But denying you would also mean denying himself.

You rose to the challenge of sucking him off with such filthy enthusiasm that it’s making him impatient now—to see you ruin yourself even more on his cock.

And his cock, twitching harder as he watches your sullied form, clearly agrees.

“Slut, if that nasty pussy of yours want to cum on my cock, she’s going to have to fuck herself on it.” Sukuna says, shifting back on the bed to fully recline, eyes never leaving you.

You nod silently, your voice still too raw to answer.

It’s not the position he usually has you in—Sukuna likes you face-down, ass up, bent to his will—but if this is a punishment, you’ll take it. 

Gladly.

You’d take any position, so long as it ends with his cock inside you.

Crawling over his massive frame, you straddle him, letting your palms run across the taut planes of his abs. Your fingers trace the dark ink of his tattoos as your slick pussy begins to grind against the length of his cock.

The feeling is incredible.

His thick girth parts your folds, dragging perfectly against your clit and causing you to quiver with every slow, sinful grind. 

“On with it already, pillow princess,” Sukuna smirks, landing a sharp slap to your ass.  He wasn’t going to cum like some virgin just from you rubbing up against him.

You yelp, clenching in response. Your ass is still sore from earlier, but Sukuna never lets you enjoy anything for long—not unless it's on his terms.

“Then just lay back and let me fuck you, okay?” you snap, your brattiness flaring again.

Still, you don’t resist. You align his cock to your entrance, giving him a few pumps, coating him in your gooey slick.

A part of you fully expects him to flip you over and choke you for that backtalk—to slam you into the mattress and fuck you breathless.

But when you glance up?

He’s transfixed.

His gaze is locked onto your pussy as it slowly lowers over him, watching as your cunt attempts to swallow him whole all on her own.

“Then just fucking do it, whore,” he growls, giving your cheeks another hard smack. 

Sukuna wouldn’t let you off this easily by provoking him. You were going to ride this dick, he would make sure of it.

You want to glare at him but you are too preoccupied with getting his monstrous dick inside of you and your eyes shut in concentration. Pressing yourself down onto him you only met firm resistance.

Your body was screaming at you that it wouldn’t fit even though you knew it would as it had many times in the past with him bullying it in you.

You hissed, pushing yourself down more. You hoped gravity would do its job here but you had barely gotten the head in and your tears are already flowing, the stretch was too intense, he was too thick. 

“Aw… am I too much for the little brat?” Sukuna taunts lazily. “And here I thought I was going to get fucked.”

“I am,” you whine through clenched teeth.

You’re drenched. Prepped. Already stretched from his fingers. And it’s still this hard.

You lean more of your weight onto him, trying to adjust your angle—but the movement only makes his cock slip slightly back out.

“Too slow.” Sukuna snaps, firmly gripping your hips and ramming up into you. 

The scream Sukuna’s cock rips out of you is raw—loud enough that it should wake the whole neighborhood, but you aren’t capable of thinking about anything other than Sukuna splitting you open right now.

His blunt tip slams deeper inside you, knocking straight into your cervix. Your back violently arches as all the breath is stolen from your lungs, your vision goes dark for a moment as your body reels from the force of it.

Trembling, you fall forward onto his tattooed chest, too much, too fast, of what you’ve been begging for all night hits you all at once.

Your walls fiercely clamp around Sukuna’s length, squeezing so tight his dick felt it might snap off. He couldn’t stop the growl that echoes from his throat at the intensity.

“Shit bitch—did you just cum again!?” 

“S’your f-fault,” you slur with a breathy sigh, wiping drool from your chin.

Pushing yourself upright, you shakily begin to swivel your hips, grinding on Sukuna in a slow circular wine. 

Your whole body buzzes from the orgasm. You’re overly sensitive—but it’s still not enough.

You need more.

Leaning back, you grip his thighs for support and pick up your pace as you recover, until you’re rocking hard against him.

The angle has you taking him fully, each movement dragging him through you. You’re putting on a show without even realizing it, and Sukuna watches, drinking in the sight of you falling apart on his cock.

Your tits bounce wildly with every motion while your cunt greedily sucks him in deeper, ignoring the sting of the stretch in favor of the pleasure flooding through you.

“That’s it, brat. Use that filthy pussy of yours to gobble up this dick.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head as more obscenities spilled forth from him. It only made you hornier and you could feel him start to move in tandem with you, his hands leaving your hips and finding their way to your breasts, pinching your nipples harshly. 

“Mmm shit, t-too good, t-ooo good”, y you groan, the sensation pulling another gush from you that slicks his cock, creating a white ring of fluids at his base

–Sukuna grits his teeth and adjusts his hips, thrusting up into you deeper.

Watching him beneath you—seeing the pleasure written across his face because of what you’re doing—sends a surging rush of power through your body. Sitting up straighter, your hands slide over his as they clutch at your breasts before settling on his forearms for balance.

Each thrust makes your pussy flutter. Every nerve feels lit on fire.

You’re not just playing with fire.

You’re dancing in it.

And it makes you feel higher than anything ever has.

Fucking him like this had to be a drug. 

You would probably still hate him and yourself in the morning but right now you were his greedy lil’ whore and you wanted him to give you even more. 

“I—I—I w‑wan‑t…” you start, but the words fall apart as your focus slips. You’re drifting again, pleasure threatening to swallow you whole, but you still have one more thing you want before you go over the edge, one more trick up your sleeve.

“Yes? Use your words, brat. Tell your King what his lil’ slut wants.” Sukuna purrs.

He sounds teasing enough, but the strain in his voice is unmistakable.

You lean into him, your chest pressed against his as continues fucks into you his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your ass

“K-kuna… d‑daddy… y‑your tongue… k‑kiss me,” you coo, putting on your sweetest, most pitiful babyface as you pout down at him, silently begging him to indulge you.

His eyes flash as you catch him completely off guard and tighten your legs around him just as he suddenly sits up. 

Sukuna’s hand snaps around your neck again—but his hips never stop moving, fucking up into you..

Your eyes widen, not in fear—but excitement.

The thrill of pushing him, of testing how far you can go, sends a shiver down your spine. The danger of it all is intoxicating.

The air was heavy with the smell of your sweat and sex. You lean into the hand at your throat, smiling faintly as your fingers trail over Sukuna’s arm—almost as if you’re inviting him to squeeze tighter.

Audacious.

Do you really get off on edging death? Sukuna could kill you now with the mere twitch of his muscle. 

The urge to actually snap your neck rising hot and sudden in his chest.

You took liberties with him that he would have killed his concubines for without a second thought back in his day. But as much as he mocked, taunted and called you all manners of whore, you were no concubine. 

You were a sorcerer, much weaker than him of course, but a strong one nonetheless.  

One that he had either since turned into sex-crazed whore who had developed a death wish kink…

…Or one that he had severely underestimated and was far more manipulative than he gave you credit for. 

One who would do or say anything to provoke him into giving you what you wanted.

Truthfully you were all of those things. 

He could punish you later but Sukuna would not deny you at this moment. It’s absolutely sinful how you would whore yourself to him, completely forgetting about Yuji as soon as he was in your guts. 

Sukuna loosens his grip on your neck only to seize your jaw, pulling you closer.

“Open.”

You obey immediately, parting your lips and sticking out your tongue.

The second Sukuna tilts your head back you feel his spit land at the back of your throat.

“Swallow.”

You’re already doing it before the word fully leaves his mouth, savoring the taste of his thick heady fluids before sticking your tongue back out to show him you’ve taken it all.

“Good girl.” he mutters—and then his mouth crashes into yours.

The kiss is brutal, your teeth clashing as he devours your tongue, his lips rough and demanding. Even this is dangerous—his sharp canines nick your flesh, and you taste blood as it flows into his mouth.

You feel him groan into you as he drinks your spilled blood eagerly, nipping and sucking on your tongue, savoring the flavor. Not realizing how little air you’ve had until he finally pulls back, your blood smeared across his lips.

Sukuna chuckles at the dazed look on your face as you hang onto his shoulders. When you finally manage to inhale, you lean back in, your tongue sliding across his lips to taste yourself there.

“M-more…w-wanna c-cum Kuna daddy.” you mewl against his lips.

“More?” he muses, eyes glinting mischievously. “Not sure if daddy’s bratty baby can handle it.” 

Sukuna’s breath fans across your face as kisses you again, rough and hungry.

One hand moves behind you—

And the next sensation hits you like a shockwave. The mouth on his palm opening and it’s tongue diving directly into your asshole.

You cry out as your body instinctively presses closer to him. The kiss breaks as you bury your face in his neck, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation and keep his tongue from going deeper. 

However, that only gives the mouth on his stomach better access. The devious grin on his torso widens as its thick tongue laps at your clit while Sukuna continues to fuck up into you.

“Don’t run from this, slut,” Sukuna grunts against your ear, the smirk audible in his voice. “Is this not everything you’ve been begging for?”

You had asked for more but the sensations of being fucked and sucked from both ends was making you crazy. 

“Damn, so fucking tight. Gonna cum in this pussy just like this. Going to breed her, you’d like that wouldn’t you, whore?” 

Sukuna’s taunts travel through your ears and straight to your cunt.

His free hand came up to yank your head back for your response but you could barely keep your eyes opened and focused on him. 

“Uh‑h… uh‑huh…” you nod weakly, the only sounds you can manage dissolving into incoherent babble.

You’ve never felt your senses assaulted like this. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on the verge of combusting. The heat inside you spreads everywhere, turning your entire body hypersensitive.

“Cum for me baby girl”, he whispers into your neck mockingly as he bites down enough to draw blood.

Your chest tightens as your stomach flutters.Your body betrays you completely.

Every trick you’ve tried on him tonight has backfired.

Every time you push him, he pushes back harder. Returns your energy 10 times more.

And you realize, finally, you’re never going to win this game.

The pathetic part is you don’t even know if you hate him for it… or are love-in with him.

Any sane thought you had is long gone. All that’s left is the overwhelming need for him to finish inside you, to fill you completely. 

Claim you as his.

Sukuna swallows your scream as another crushing orgasm tears through you. Your body jerks violently against him, trembling from head to toe as the pleasure crests and spills over.

Your mind goes blank.

You collapse forward against him, tapping out as your senses fade into darkness.

You’re only out for a moment.

When you come back to yourself, you realize he’s moved you onto the bed. You’re on your stomach now, and he’s shifting behind you.

“I’ve fucked you stupid,” Sukuna chuckles. “Just look at you. Half unconscious and that pussy is still quivering for more.”

You can only grumble at him as your whole body felt drained of both your fluids and your energy. 

“Hands and Knees.” Sukuna orders, not giving a fuck about you being tired. He let you have your fun, now it was time for his.

“5 minutes Daddy pleasssseeee” you slur, you can’t possibly take any more of him at this moment, you think you might actually break no matter how badly your treacherous pussy is screaming for more.

“Fuck no. Hands and knees slut. It's gonna take more than one load to knock that greedy cunt up.”

You groan. Your limbs feel like liquid, useless beneath you. You can’t push yourself up with your arms.

So you turn your head to the side, resting it on the pillow, and lift your hips into the air instead. Your hands reach back, spreading your messy pussy lips open for him.

Sukuna whistles softly at the sight of you open, his cum dribbling out of you.

“Look at you.”

His hand comes down in a sharp smack, and you whine at the sting.

“Need fuck this cum back into you and fill you up again.” Sukuna’s evil laughter fills the room as he positions himself behind you, lining himself up once more.

His heavy hand landed with a smack against your puffy pussy for emphasis. You whine as the slap causes your mixed fluids to spurt out of you, squirting down your sex and onto the bed.

Plowing into you once more Sukuna blesses you with the toe curling backshots you’ve learned to crave and causing you to come undone once again over his cock as he fucked you senseless over and over. 

Sukuna only pauses after this fourth load, you in prone-bone now, flat on your stomach—only able to moan and gush more as he uses you just as you wanted. 

You’re barely conscious. Sukuna’s speaking but… not to you? You’re confused and then your blood turns absolutely icy at The Curse King’s next words that crush you.

“See, Yuji?” Sukuna says darkly. “When I told you I could breed your bratty pillow princess into an obedient cum dump… I meant that.”

all rights reserved. please do not steal fic/gfx. no translations. no ai. blkkizzat©2023-2026

𝓪𝓷: lol this is like a trip down memory lane. honestly i want to write more fics about sorcerer reader trying to date sukuna in yuji body lmfao, not like cheating next time but just like dating them both jsdfbjhsd. like what if sukuna had decided to just live on inside yuji? how would they both pull bithes hjfsbhdkkfhbhjvsd. thots to ponder lol.

you walk over and climb onto her. just to steal another kiss. its supposed to be innocent. that’s the lie you tell yourself.

“hi,” christina smiles when she feels you on her lap, her hands land on your hips automatically, muscle memory, thumbs warm.

nothing about it stays innocent.

the kisses start slow, lazy, like you’ve got all the time in the world. she hums softly as you deepens it, head tilting back against the couch, mouth opening without thinking. you feel that sound everywhere. you shift just slightly, and her breath hitches.

you both pause.

“you okay?” she murmurs, forehead pressed yours.

you nod, but her grip on you tightens. “yeah.” it comes out more breathless than intended.

she smiles, smug and pleased, and lifts her hips up.

you can’t help the groan that escapes your mouth. her head drops forward onto your shoulder. this is the thing that breaks you everytime. she laughs.

she leans down, mouth brushing your jaw instead of your lips. “what?”

christina’s hands slide, firmer now. like a switch flipped inside her. you feel it and press closer, knees straddling christina’s thighs, fully settled now.

your kisses get messier. deeper. christina kisses you like if she stops you’ll fade away.

you still suddenly, studying her face—her dilated pupils looking up at you like you’re the greatest thing shes ever held. her grip hasn’t loosened even a little.

christina swallows. her thumb traces a slow line into your hip, absentmindedly.

“can i tell you something without you laughing at me?”

you soften immediately. “always.”

there’s a long pause. christina looks up at her from under her lashes in a way that makes your chest ache.

“i’ve been thinking about this,” she admits quietly. “about you. about us. and what i want to do to you.” her voice drops on the last part, rougher. “and i can’t get it out of my head.”

your breath catches excitedly. “yeah?”

“i want you to sit on my face.”

the silence that follows after is palpable.

you blink. then laugh, just stunned. you have been dating for a year now, and she’s never said anything like that before. never talked about the fantasies she had about you. but now that it’s out, you’ve never wanted anything so bad.

“i’m serious,” christina says, immediately. “i mean only if you want to. i don’t want to make it weird. i just—” she exhales, embarrassed but steady. “i think about it a lot.”

you stare at her for a second.

“it’s not weird,” you murmur against her mouth. “its… very convincing.”

christina lets out a shaky laugh, relived.

you pull back just enough to smirk. “bedroom,” you say. “now.”

and christina knows—she knows—she’s already lost.

you don’t say anything else—just stumble to the bedroom, laughing under your breath, hands everywhere, tripping over each other like gravity’s optional.

christina barely has time to sit before she’s being pushed back onto the bed.

she lands on her back, blinking up at you. you feel calmer now. focused. you crawl over her, slow and deliberate, palms pressing into the mattress on either side of christina’s shoulders.

“you okay?” she asks, voice rough, eyes never leaving your face.

“never better,” you smile. not sweet. dangerous.

your fingers slide into christina’s hair, just testing at first, then gripping. christina’s breath stutters immediately.

then you lower onto her face. the second you do, the second her tongue flattens against you, the second her nose hits you, everything breaks.

christina’s hands fly to your hips on instinct. like she’s afraid you’ll fall apart if she doesn’t hold on.

you gasp, sharp and surprised, your whole body jolting as sensation crashes through you. it’s different, out of this world almost. and you’re suddenly shaking, trying to stay upright, trying to breathe.

“oh chris—,” you whisper, voice already wrecked. “oh my god.”

she does not slow down.

if anything, she gets faster. her mouth moving more desperately, like she hasn’t eaten anything in days. something has shifted deep in her chest. her grip tightens, thumbs digging in as you start rocking without even realizing, chasing her mouth.

“holy shit,” you pant, head tipping back. “god you feel so fucking good, baby.”

christina laughs into her, cocky like she knows. it sends you spiraling. the sounds that come out are broken and helpless. your fingers are tangled into her hair now, pulling without meaning to.

christina’s nose keeps bumping the spot you need it the most and you see stars, head is in the clouds. her tongue is everywhere, so deep, so good, and completely relentless.

“i can’t—” you choke, hips stuttering. “i- im so close—“

christina just holds you tighter, letting the weight of you press down onto her face more. this is exactly where she wants you. she’s waited for this. there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be than right here, completely gone.

you finally collapse forward, forehead dropping to the headboard of the bed, still shaking, breathing hard, the room spinning.

for a second, neither of you move.

then christina’s hand slides up your back, slow and grounding.

“you good?” she murmurs.

you laughs weakly, pressing a kiss into her skin.

“yeah,” she says. “i’m… yeah.”

christina smiles to herself, still wrecked, still catching her breath.

“told you it’d be fun.”

you lift her head just enough to look at her, eyes dark, smile lazy.

“next time,” she says quietly, “i’m not warning you.”

“Please pick up,” you mumble again, calling Shoko's number when the call goes to voicemail.

Cold air rushes against your cheeks and hands, sharp enough to make you draw in a breath. The sky is a flat grey, sheets of rain drops slants across the student car park, pooling into puddles in random spots.

You stand beneath the narrow metal canopy beside the entrance. It isn't generous, barely covering half your body and the wind drives the rain sideways anyways, but it's enough to keep the worst of it from immediately soaking through. You adjust your tote bag, tucking it against your chest protectively and angling your shoulder to shield the opening. The beige fabric darkening when a stray water droplet lands.

The rain grows heavier, hammering against the canopy until it sounds almost metallic. A car passes at the far end of the car park, tires hissing against the water.

The call goes to voicemail again.

You lower the phone and stare at the screen as if irritation alone could summon her. She’s probably studying with her sound off, or maybe she's sleeping. Or just maybe she's ignoring you on purpose because she has already warned you about staying late before. You can already imagine the flat look she'd give you.

You glance out the rain again.

You could walk. It's only twenty minutes.

But twenty minutes in this weather means soaked sketchbook, warped paper, bleeding ink, smudged graphite, hours of work ruined.

You bite down on your lip, navigating on your phone to get an Uber. The prices would be hiked up and your phone is mere minutes away from dying but you're running out of options.

An engine's low growl cuts through the sound of water. It's closer than the others, deeper, the kind of sound that vibrates faintly in the middle of your chest. Headlights sweep across the wet ground and briefly illuminate the underside of the canopy you're refuging under.

You don't mean to look, but you do anyway.

The car that pulls up in front of you is sleek and black, its window tinted dark enough to reflect the rain back at itself. Even in the slipping evening light, it looks expensive in a way that makes you take a step back.

Then the passenger side window rolls down, revealing the man inside.

He doesn't lean out, doesn't crowd the space between you and the car. He stays where he is, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, the other near the gear shift. The interior light isn't on, but from the streetlamps spilling through the windscreen, you can see the mess of pink hair, the sharp line of his jaw and the faint pattern of ink tracing the edges of his face.

His gaze lands on you steadily.

Not intrusive or leering, but steady.

“You're going to get soaked,” he finally says. His voice is low, even, the kind of deepness that carries without being raised.

You're suddenly aware of how you must look. Your hair fizzy at the ends, sleeves damp, tote clutched to your chest like you're shielding a sickly animal.

“I'm fine,” you manage out, though the wind immediately drives a spray of rain beneath the canopy and proves you wrong.

Water dots the canvas near the opening of your bag. You instinctively turn your shoulder, shielding it.

His eyes flick to it.

“That bag waterproof?”

You hesitate. “No.”

Rain drums harder against the metal above you. The car engine hums a low, controlled purr that contrasts the weather.

He studies the downpour for a brief second, then looks back at you.

“Get in.”

The words aren’t softened and they’re not coaxing, either. Just direct.

Your stomach tightens. You don’t know this man. You don’t recognise him beyond the vague awareness that you’ve probably passed him somewhere on campus before. He looks like someone who belongs in a car like this. Dark clothes, sleeves pushed up slightly to reveal more ink curling along his forearm. The tattoos don’t look like an afterthought, they look like they're apart of him.

“I don’t know you,” you say, because that feels like the most reasonable thing to say.

He tilts his head a fraction, considering you.

“It’s raining,” he replies.

As if that answers everything.

Your phone buzzes weakly in your hand.

1%.

You glance down at it, then back up.

Another gust of rain splashes against your tote, and the fabric darkens again. You imagine the pages inside curling, ink bleeding into watercolour ghosts of what they used to be. The thought makes something twist low in your chest.

“If I get in,” you begin, and your voice sounding steadier than you feel, “I’m taking a picture of your number plate. And your licence. I’ll send it to my friend, just in case you abduct me and kill me in the forest.”

A beat passes.

“That's dramatic,” he says, but he made no moves to stop you.

You take a step towards the front only to halt to a stop immediately after.

Your phone dies.

You stare at it. Press the button on the side. Nothing.

Of course.

You swallow and lift your eyes slowly.

He's still there. Watching you without impatience. Without a smirk. Without a smug amusement you were half expecting.

The car is warm and you can tell from the faint condensation beginning to fog the lower corner of the windscreen from the heat inside.

He doesn’t rush you.

He doesn’t repeat himself.

He just waits.

Your options rearrange themselves quickly in your mind: twenty-minute walk, a soaked sketchbook, hours of work potentially destroyed. Or a ten-minute drive with a stranger who, so far, has done nothing but state the obvious and offer to help you.

You step forward before your brain can generate a new set objections and pull the passenger door open.

Warmth greets you instantly.

The scent inside is subtle but expensive. Leather and something darker beneath it, clean and restrained. The rain becomes muted the moment you shut the door, reduced to a dull beat against metal and glass.

You sit upright, buckling in and your tote still pressed protectively to your chest.

He reaches across slightly and adjusts a dial on the console. The heater hums louder, warm air spilling towards your legs.

“Your address?” He asks.

No small talk. No commentary about your near-death-by-rain situation.

You give it to him.

He nods once, typing it on the maps on the screen in the space between the two of you, and pulls away from the pavement, tires slicing smoothly through shallow water.

Music filters through the speakers. Low, bass-heavy, controlled, not loud enough to overwhelm the space.

For the first few seconds you’re hyper-aware of everything. The enclosed space. The proximity. The faint hum of the car beneath your shoes. But when you risk a glance sideways, he isn’t looking at you at all.

He’s watching the road. One hand steady on the wheel, the other relaxed. His posture is loose but deliberate, like he knows exactly how much space he takes up and sees no need to prove it.

He doesn’t look at your legs. Doesn't even look at you at all. Doesn’t ask prying questions about yourself. He just drives.

At a traffic light, he leans over and offers you a charger.

“For your phone,” he says simply.

“Oh, thank you.” You accept it gratefully, plugging your phone in.

It's quiet once more, the traffic light turning green and he's driving again.

“You're in fashion design.” He says, not quite a question.

You offer him a look, “how'd you know?”

“I know your friend, Shoko,” He says evenly, taking a turn.

“Oh.” You say plainly, not sure what to say. “How'd you know I'm friends with Shoko?”

“She told me.”

He doesn’t offer much information, and you just stare forward at the rain splattering against the car hood.

“I'm not trying to be creepy,” he adds reassuringly. “Shoko talks about you a lot whenever I see her at our parties.”

You don’t know how to feel about that.

The idea of Shoko talking about you at parties, his parties, apparently, makes something small and unsettled shift in your chest, not quite embarrassment but closer to exposure, like someone opened a window you didn’t realise had ever been shut.

“Oh,” you say again, because it’s the only word that comes.

He doesn’t elaborate.

The wipers drag across the windscreen in steady intervals, pushing aside sheets of rain. Streetlights smear into elongated gold streaks against the glass. You watch them instead of looking at him.

“What does she say?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

There’s the faintest pause.

“That you overwork,” he replies. “That you forget to eat when you’re designing. That you don’t answer your phone when you’re stressed, then panic when she doesn’t answer hers.”

Heat creeps up your neck.

“That’s not-” You stop because it is true and press your lips together. “She talks too much.”

A low sound hums from him, something softer than a laugh and not quite mocking, just acknowledgement.

Your phone screen flickers back to life, battery icon blinking before slowly inching upward. Notifications flood in all at once. A few notifications from various social medias from earlier in the day. A message from Shoko sent ten minutes ago:

shoko ♡: alive. just took a nap. you okay?

You stare at it.

You could tell her you’re in a stranger’s car, but you’re not sure what you’d even say beyond that.

The car slows as he turns into your street. The buildings here are familiar—brick walls, small balconies, the corner shop with the flickering sign.

He pulls up neatly outside your building and shifts into park.

The engine keeps running and for a moment, neither of you move.

Up close, without the distortion of rain and distance, you notice details you hadn’t before. The faint scar cutting through one eyebrow. The way the tattoos follow the natural, sharp lines of his face. The calm in his posture—not stiff or awkward.

“Thank you,” you say, unplugging your phone and winding the wire carefully before placing it back in the centre console.

He gives a small nod. “Don’t ruin your work.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it lands softer than you expected.

You adjust your tote, fingers tightening around the strap. “You didn’t have to park.”

“I know.” He says, and he presses a button on the side to unlock the doors. “See you around.” You take that as a cue to start leaving.

You open the door and the cold rushes back in immediately, rain speckling your tights as you step out. The warmth disappears the second the door shuts behind you, replaced with the sharp scent of wet pavement.

You hurry towards your building entrance, shielding your bag again on instinct. Halfway to the door, you glance back.

His car is still there.

Headlights cutting clean lines through the rain. Engine idling. He isn’t leaning over the steering wheel or watching you in any obvious way, but he hasn’t driven off either.

Waiting.

You fumble your keys slightly before finally scanning your key fob. The door clicks open and you slip inside. Through the small pane of glass, you see the car remain for a second longer.

Then the brake lights flare red and he pulls away.

You stand in the hallway for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of old carpet and the weird smell of radiator heat. Your heart is still beating a little too fast, though you’re not entirely sure why.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

Shoko's calling.

You stare at her name on the screen for a moment before you answer.

“Don’t yell at me,” you say immediately.

There’s a pause on the other end. “Why would I-” she begins, then stops. “You sound weird. What happened?”

You glance at the door as if the car might still be there. “Can I stop by your place?”

You don’t bother stopping at your apartment to change into drier clothes. You stop at the door next to yours, quickly knocking.

There's shuffling inside. Something Drops. A muffled swear. Then the door swings open a moment later.

Shoko Ieiri stands in her oversized uni hoodie, loose pyjama short, hair slightly flattened on one side like she's been either sleeping or hunched over her textbook for too long. There's also a green highlighter tucked behind her left ear.

She squints at you. “You look… wet.”

“You didn't pick up,” you say immediately.

She winces. “I know. I'm sorry. I passed out for, like, I think twenty minutes? I was doing organic chemistry.”

You step inside as she moves to the side, revelling in how warm her apartment is. It smells faintly of coffee and smoke and something medicinal, probably the muscle rub she uses.

“I thought you were dead,” you mumble. “Or maybe you wanted me to die.”

“Die from the rain?”

“I had my sketchbook and I didn't bring an umbrella.”

You hover awkwardly by her sofa, and she studies your expression more closely now.

“You're not just here to guilt-trip me, are you?” She quirks an eyebrow. “What happened? You said not to be mad at you but I don't even know what happened.”

You hesitate, perching on the edge of her sofa. “I got a lift home.”

“...Okay?”

“From a stranger.”

She blinks once. “Define ‘stranger’.”

“I don't know his name.”

Her posture straightens, a look of interest playing on her face. “Start from the beginning.”

And so you do.

You tell her about the rain, the dying phone, the car, the window rolling down.

“He had pink hair.”

Shoko pauses mid-step as she reaches for her mug. “Like, fluffy pink hair?”

“Yeah.”

She narrows her eyes. “Built like he fights bears recreationally?”

You blink. “That's… oddly specific.”

“Just answer the question.”

“...I mean, sure? I guess? I wasn't really paying attention to his muscles.”

Shoko freezes before slowly setting down her mug.

“Stay there,” she says before moving to grab her phone from the kitchen counter. Her face does that thing it does when she’s putting pieces together. Mildly exasperated, deeply aware.

She turns the phone towards you.

The first photo is clearly taken at a party. A crowded living room, red cups, LEDs lights. A pink-haired guy is grinning at the camera, arm slung around someone out of frame.

“That's not him,” you say immediately.

She swipes.

The second photo is darker. Same house, maybe? Maybe the same party too.

He’s standing slightly off to the side this time, drink in hand, expression flat like he’d rather be anywhere else. Pink hair. Tattoos. Broad shoulders under a fitted black shirt, with a guy with impossibly white hair slung over his shoulders and pulling some silly face.

You point without hesitation.

“That,” she says, “is Ryomen Sukuna.”

You stare at her.

“Isn't that a name for a mythical two face demon-”

“I don't know,” she replies abruptly before you could finish, locking her phone.

The name sits strangely in your mouth when you try it silently. Ryomen Sukuna.

“He’s in Gojo’s frat,” she adds.

You blink. “Who’s Gojo?”

Now she looks at you like you’ve just admitted you don’t know how to breathe.

“Satoru Gojo,” she says slowly. “Tall. White hair. Freaky blue eyes. Thinks he’s God’s favourite. My best friend from high-school.”

You stare blankly.

She sighs.

“Sigma Psi.”

“Oh.”

That means absolutely nothing to you beyond vague campus lore.

Shoko gestures vaguely as she speaks, listing all the guys she knows that's in the frat because she grew up with them.

“What about Sukuna?”

She studies you carefully. “I don't know him well, but he kinda just does whatever he wants.”

That’s not helpful.

“You see them around campus all the time,” she continues. “You just don’t notice because you’re always speed-walking with your headphones in and your head down.”

You open your mouth to argue.

You close it.

Fair.

“He didn’t say his name,” you mutter.

“He wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t introduce himself unless he feels like it.”

You sink onto her sofa, ignoring how cryptic she sounded, tote still clutched in your lap.

“He waited,” you say quietly.

Shoko tilts her head. “Waited?”

“Until I got inside.”

Something unreadable flickers across her face.

“…That tracks,” she says eventually.

You look up at her. “Is he awful?”

She considers that. “No, I wouldn't say that.”

You relax slightly.

“He’s just not… soft? I guess?”

That makes sense.

Silence settles between you for a moment then Shoko snaps her fingers once. “You should come over in three days.”

You blink. “Over where?”

“Their house. Not for a party,” she adds quickly, reading your expression. “Gojo and Geto are hosting a study night. Midterms are coming up. It’ll mostly just be us in the dining room.”

“Us?”

“Me. Them. Probably Nanami because he hates himself. Maybe Haibara if he remembers he has exams. It’s not a rager or anything at all.”

You hesitate. The idea of a frat house makes your chest tighten slightly. “I don’t really do big groups.”

“I know,” she says calmly. “You won’t have to. You can sit next to me and ignore everyone. They’ll be too busy arguing about something stupid anyway.”

You consider it.

“And he’ll be there?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Her mouth twitches into a small smirk. “Probably.”

That does something small and uncomfortable in your chest.

“You don’t have to talk to him,” she adds. “But if he remembers you, he will.”

That feels strangely ominous.

“I don’t even have his number,” you say lightly.

Shoko gives you a look. “You might.”

You narrow your eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” she says, picking her mug back up, “people don’t usually go out of their way like that for no reason. Something is bound to happen to you.”

You stare at her.

“I hate when you’re right.”

“I’m a sleep-deprived premed student,” she says dryly. “I usually am.”

Outside the rain continues to fall, and three days suddenly doesn’t feel very far away.

Getting to Sigma Psi would’ve taken ten minutes quicker if Shoko had driven.

But the second she locks her apartment door and sees the way you’re clutching your tote like you're about to pee yourself or something, she pauses.

“Do you want to walk?” she asks casually. “The weather is good and it might help.”

You nod a little too quickly.

Walking means nice, clean breathing space with the breeze on your face. Walking means you don’t arrive sooner than if you drove, it'll give you more time to relax.

The air is cool but not unpleasant, the sun starting to set, leaving the sky drizzled with the last bits of sunlight. You keep your hands tucked into your sleeves as you move beside Shoko.

“You don’t have to talk,” she reminds you gently. “You can just sit. No one’s going to interrogate you or something.

“That sounds exactly like something someone says before I get interrogated.”

She snorts softly. “Gojo maybe will, but he bothers everyone like that.”

You don’t know who Gojo is beyond ’white hair, freaky blue eyes, and a big ego problem’ which isn't really reassuring.

The Sigma Psi house comes into view around the corner.

It’s bigger than you expected.

Wide porch, lights glowing warmly through large windows, no music thumping. No chaos spilling out the door.

Still, your grip on your tote tightens.

Shoko nudges you lightly with her elbow. “You’ll be fine.”

The front door opens before she even knocks.

A tall man with stark, white hair and round glasses grins down at Shoko like she’s personally delivered oxygen back into his lungs.

“Shoko!” He announces dramatically. “You’ve returned to bless us with your intelligence.”

You blink.

He looks at you.

Bright blue eyes widen behind the lenses.

“And you brought a friend.”

Shoko sighs.

So this is Satoru Gojo.

He leans sideways to look at you properly. “You must be the mysterious fashion friend Shoko always talks about.”

Your brain stalls.

“I-”

“She doesn’t like loud people,” Shoko interrupts flatly.

“I can be quiet,” he says immediately, lowering his voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Super quiet”

From somewhere deeper in the house, someone says, “You’re still loud.”

You step inside. The house smells faintly of coffee and smoke, which reminds you of Shoko's place, and down the hallway you spot the dining table covered in open textbooks, stationery and various cups and mugs.

At the table sits a man with long, dark hair tied neatly back, reading through highlighted notes with calm focus. He glances up briefly, offering you a polite nod before returning to his page.

Next to him, a blond man, who looks equally sleep-deprived as Shoko, is pinching the bridge of his nose like he's regretting every life decision that had led him here.

A seemingly joyful boy with big, brown, soulful eyes waves immediately. “Hi! You’re Shoko’s friend, right?”

You freeze for half a second before managing a small nod.

“That’s Haibara,” Shoko murmurs. “He’s normal.”

“Mostly,” Haibara corrects cheerfully.

Your eyes drift instinctively across the room.

And then you see him.

He’s already there.

Sitting slightly apart from everyone at the table but still within it, chair tipped back slightly hanging a dark hoodie, a textbook open in front of him with sheets of notes that he doesn’t seem particularly invested in. He's wearing a dark grey shirt, his tattoos visible beneath pushed-up sleeves and his pink hair catches the warm light of the sunset from the window behind, and it practically makes him look like he's glowing.

He looks up.

Your stomach flips in a way that is deeply inconvenient.

You look away first.

You choose a seat at the far end of the table next to Shoko and begin carefully unpacking your bag, hyper-aware of every movement. Where to put your pencil. Whether your chair is too loud as you shuffle closer. If you’re breathing too loudly.

Gojo is already talking again. Loudly pretending to study. “I swear, if I open my paper and there's questions I'm walking out.”

“Saying all that as if you don't normally do good.” Nanami says flatly.

“That’s beside the point.”

Geto doesn’t even look up. “It’s exactly the point.”

Haibara laughs.

The chatter continues. Not overwhelming.

Just… annoying?

Not that you think any of them are annoying of course. In fact, you're finding them quite funny. But after years of studying in the pin-drop quiet of your room, with your headphones over your ears and a blanket perpetually wrapped around you—the constant talking around you constantly pulls you out of focusing on your sketchbook.

Maybe you can make up an excuse to go home. You could just sneak out without anyone noticing. Maybe you could say something about needing to go home because you left your stove on.

Then, you can feel someone looking at you.

When you glance up, he’s looking between you and your sketchbook.

His chair shifts.

You freeze.

He doesn’t cause any commotion. He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches forward, clearing loose bits of paper and notes on top of each other into a neat pile, moves a textbook aside, and then nods to the now-clear space next to him.

A quieter space slightly separate from the chatty group.

He doesn’t look at you while you contemplate moving.

Shoko notices, of course she does, and she nudges you once under the table.

You swallow before you start gathering your sketchbook and pencil, trying not to look like you’re moving under duress, and stand. The chair legs scrape faintly against the floor and you wince internally.

You sit beside him, close enough to feel the warmth from his left arm.

He doesn’t comment, doesn’t look at you. Just resumes writing something in his notebook.

The noise of the room continues around you, but it feels slightly dulled now. And so you focus on your sketch.

At some point in the evening, Gojo loudly declares he requires sugar to “keep the big brain functioning” which somehow results in him dragging Shoko into the kitchen to help him locate cookies that are apparently invisible to everyone but her. She goes with a tired sigh, tossing you a brief look that says ‘you’re fine’ before disappearing around the corner.

You don’t fully register that you’re alone at the table until all the noise shifts.

Haibara gets lured upstairs by the promise of a “quick game” that will absolutely not be quick. Nanami closes his textbook with the kind of resignation that suggests he has already accepted he’ll be back studying with everyone tomorrow. Geto remains at the table, calm and focused, but absorbed enough in his notes that he might as well be in another room entirely.

And you’re still sitting beside Sukuna.

You become acutely aware of your posture again. Of your hands. Of the way your pencil rests between your fingers. You force yourself not to fidget with the edge of your sleeve, or to stop bouncing your knee under the table in fear you'll accidentally brush his leg.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” he says quietly. “Stop worrying.”

You glance at him. “I’m not worrying.”

“You are.”

You look back down at your sketchbook, attempting neutrality. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t argue with you. He just lets the silence sit between you, steady and unthreatening, like he’s already decided you’ll settle if given enough time.

Eventually chairs scrape, books close, the sky outside is dark, and the low hum of conversation begins to dissolve into people gathering their things. When Shoko appears next to you, she looks faintly apologetic.

“I’ve got a lab report due at midnight and by the time we get home, I won't have enough time to finish it.”

“I don't mind waiting.”

“It’ll take ages and you have an early lecture tomorrow.” She says, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You can head back by yourself if you want, just be careful.”

Your stomach twists slightly at the idea of walking alone, even though it is just twenty-five minutes. You'll just need to send her your live location, take all the streets with the most lamp posts and avoid any smaller ones that are dark with no cameras.

“I’ll walk with her,” Sukuna says, standing up and pulling on a hoodie he had hanging at the back of his chair.

Shoko looks between the two of you, then shrugs. “Text me when you get home,” she tells you, already half distracted as she focuses back on her laptop screen.

Outside, the air is cooler than before. The pavement shimmering faintly under the streetlights, but it isn't too windy tonight. You walk side by side, not touching and not speaking at first. The quiet isn’t uncomfortable, just present.

“You looked terrified tonight,” he says after a while.

“I wasn't.” You say quickly.

“You didn't hide it well.”

You glance at him, your voice coming out deflective. “You cleared me a space.”

A faint shift in his expression, not quite amusement, not quite dismissal. “You looked like you were plotting an escape.”

You were.

The corner of your mouth lifts before you can stop it, small and involuntary.

By the time your building comes into view, your pulse has steadied into something manageable. You slow slightly near the entrance, adjusting the strap of your tote on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you say, all sincere and genuine. “For the ride home earlier this week, and tonight, and walking me home.”

Sukuna studies you for a moment, as if weighing whether gratitude is really necessary.

“Give me your phone,” he says.

You blink. “Why?”

“In case you get stranded in bad weather again.”

The explanation is practical, almost impersonal, and yet something about it makes warmth flicker deep in your chest.

“Oh.” You reach into your pocket automatically, clicking it on—and then freeze. “It’s dead.”

He exhales softly through his nose, something between a sigh and restrained disbelief. “Then charge it.”

“I will,” you reply defensively, though that doesn’t solve the immediate issue.

For a second he considers you, then reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a pen.

“Your arm,” he says.

You hesitate only a fraction before extending it, palm angled slightly upward. He steps closer. Close enough that you can feel the residual warmth from him through the cool night air and the scent of his cologne. He gently pushes your sleeve up before his fingers close gently around your wrist to steady it. Not tight, not lingering, just firm enough to keep you still and close.

He writes slowly across the inside of your wrist, the tip of the pen dragging lightly over your skin as he forms each number with careful precision. You watch the movement instead of his face, hyper-aware of the closeness.

“There,” he says, releasing you.

You look down.

A string of digits and his name sits inked against your skin, slightly smudged at the edge where your pulse beats rapidly beneath it.

“If it washes off,” he adds, sliding the pen back into his pocket, “that’s on you.”

You huff a quiet breath that almost resembles a laugh. “I’ll memorise it.”

“You won’t.”

He’s probably right. But you know the minute you power on your phone, you'll be contemplating with yourself on messaging him.

You step backwards towards the door, fingers digging into your bag for your fob.

“Text me when you get inside,” he says.

“My phone is still dead,” you remind him.

He tilts his head slightly. “Then you better plug it in the minute you get inside and text me.”

There’s something steady in the way he says it. Not teasing. Not flirtatious. Just certain with a slight edge of cockiness.

You unlock the door and slip inside, and through the narrow pane of glass, you see him still standing there beneath the streetlight, hands tucked loosely into his pockets.

Waiting.

Only when the door clicks fully shut does he turn around and look up at the sky.

You lean back against the wall for a moment, staring down at the ink on your wrist.

The ink numbers feel heavier than they realistically should.

Two days ago, you didn’t know his name.

And now it’s written into your skin.

You make your way to your apartment, quickly unlocking your door and rushing to your bedroom to plug your phone in.

And when your phone finally lights up, it looks brighter than it should be.

The screen flares to life in your dark bedroom, notifications cascading down in a small avalanche. Lecturer emails, a sale message from a fabric store you forgot you've subscribed to, two missed calls from Shoko. You text her first, quick and efficiently.

You: im home and alive and safe !!

Her typing bubble appears almost immediately,

shoko ♡: good. did he walk you all the way?

You hesitate.

You: yes

Three dots appear again.

shoko ♡: and? did anything happen??

You lock your phone before she pushes further and lean over to turn your lamp on.

Your wrist catches the light when you reach for your tote, the ink slightly smudged but still legible. His handwriting is sharper than you expected—clean, deliberate strokes, nothing messy in that typical, boyish way.

You sit on the edge of your bed, leaning against your mountain of plushies and unlock your phone again.

For a second, you just stare at the number. Then you open your contacts and type it in carefully, double-checking each digit like it’s a formula that could explode your phone if entered wrong.

You hover over the keyboard before opening a new message thread.

This is stupid.

It’s just a text.

He told you to.

It’s not like you're disturbing him or anything.

Still, your thumbs feel clumsy.

You type. Erase it. Type again.

You: im inside, phone is charging

You stare at the words. Too stiff. You quickly tack on at the end:

You: im inside, phone is charging like you told me to

That somehow feels worse.

You send it before you can edit it again anyway.

The message whooshes away, and immediately your stomach flips.

He’s probably still outside. Or maybe he’s already halfway down the street on his way. Maybe he won’t answer. Maybe he will. Maybe-

Your phone buzzes in your hand and you jolt.

Sukuna: Took you long enough.

You quickly type back before you could overthink it.

You: my phone was dead remember i needed a minute

Three dots appear almost instantly. Then it disappears. Then reappears.

Sukuna: You're bad at planning.

You draw eyebrows together.

You: i didn’t plan on my phone dying

You pause, watching your message send and his typing bubble dance.

Sukuna: Also didn't plan on the rain a few days ago?

Touché

You roll onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows, phone warm in your hands as you stare at his messages. The rest of your room feels dim in comparison to your phone, like the world has narrowed down to the small print of his name at the top of your phone.

You: i usually plan !! just not the weather apparently

His reply comes quickly.

Sukuna: You plan escapes?

Your stomach drops a little.

You: it was loud, and im just not used to studying in loud places

Sukuna: I noticed

Sukuna: That's why I cleared the space.

Heat creeps up your neck.

You: You didn’t have to.

Sukuna: I know.

You stare at that longer than necessary, before you send a message to close the conversation.

You: well im home and i put my phone on charge.

You: im so responsible

Sukuna: Barely.

Sukuna: Go to sleep.

You smile to yourself, locking and placing your phone on your bedside table before quickly getting ready for bed.

Tuesday afternoons are the most tolerable.

Not because the lectures Ryomen Sukuna has on that day is particularly engaging, though the discussion on Gothic symbolism has been interesting, but because they end early enough for him so he can take a walk down to Main Street.

Sukuna leaves the humanities building with his Airpods already in, music playing low in his ears, and his copy of The Monk tucked in his bag, margins half annotated and spine cracked in a way that would make a book lover wince. A line that was discussed is still lodged somewhere in his head when he pushes the door to a small patisserie on the corner of the street.

A bell chimes overhead.

The place smells like sugar, warm butter, sweet strawberry glaze and fresh coffee. He steps into line, scrolling absent-mindedly through his notes on his phone for his essay thesis, when something familiar catches his attention.

Right in front of him.

Soft sweater, tote bag he's seen before, hands tucked into sleeves even though it's decently warm today.

He pulls an Airpod out slowly.

You're studying the display case like it requires strategic planning to order a simple sweet treat.

He watches for a moment longer than necessary before reaching forward and tapping your shoulder lightly.

You jump, and he almost smirks.

“Relax,” he says, voice low and even. “It's just me.”

You turn, eyes widening slightly before recognition settles in. “Oh, it's you.”

That tiny exhale you do when you realise that you're not being subjected to social interactions by a complete stranger.

“You come here often?”

You blink at him before a small smile forms on your lips. “That sounds like a rehearsed line.”

“It wasn't.”

“It definitely was.”

He shrugs, “just answer the question.”

You smile a bit bigger. “Yeah, they make the best pastries here. The strawberry tart is their best.”

He glances at the display case. “You've ranked them, or something?”

“Well, no… just the tarts.”

The line shifts forward. You step with it automatically, and he follows.

“I didn’t know you liked places like this,” you say after a second, a little quieter. “It’s… calm.”

“I like quiet,” he replies simply.

When you reach the counter, you straighten slightly, rehearsed politeness settling into your posture.

“Hi,” you say softly to the cashier. “Can I get one strawberry tart and an iced vanilla latte, please?”

Sukuna steps forward immediately after.

“And a medium coffee” he says, nodding toward the machine. “No milk, no sugar. And one dark chocolate éclair.”

“That's quite bitter,” you say absent-mindedly. “Not a fan of sweet things?”

“Maybe? Do I seem like someone who would like sweet things?”

You ponder for a second, “you don't strike me as a strawberry person—though, you do have pink hair.”

“I'm not.” He says, and before you could even take out your wallet, he's already paying.

By the time the box is handed over, you’re both standing awkwardly near the door, scanning the small patisserie.

Every table is full.

He watches you shift your weight slightly, seemingly calculating exit strategies to casually leave him without it being awkwardly, volume levels, how long you could reasonably stand here without looking strange.

He notices, of course.

“Park’s a few streets away,” he says. “Less noise.”

You glance up at him. “You want me to join-”

He's already pushing the door open.

You fall into step with him, with no forced conversation, just the sound of distant traffic and the crinkle of the pastry box between you. The park is mostly empty this time of day, a few students sprawled on the grass, someone reading under a tree.

He nods toward a bench half-shaded by branches.

You sit at one end and he sits close enough that your shoulders almost touch but don’t.

You open the box carefully, like it contains something fragile. The strawberry glaze catches the light, glossy and precise.

You look pleased.

He takes a sip of his coffee first, expression neutral, then breaks the éclair in half with deliberate care.

“You always get the same thing?” he asks.

“Usually,” you admit. “It’s always a safe option.”

You take a bite of your tart, and for a second your entire face softens.

He watches, then looks away before you can catch him.

“It’s good?” he asks.

You nod quickly. “You should try it.”

“I’m not a strawberry person,” he reminds you.

“You should still try it,” you insist, nudging him the tart.

You hold the tart toward him, hesitant but offering.

He studies you for a second, the slight tension in your shoulders, the way you’re pretending not to care whether he says yes or no, and then leans forward just enough to take a bite from your hands instead of taking it from you.

It’s sweeter than he prefers.

“It's fine,” he says, but one glance at you tells him how flustered you were from the closeness.

The wind shifts slightly, brushing leaves overhead. You relax back against the bench next to him, shoulders no longer tight, hands no longer hidden.

For a while, you both eat in comfortable silence. Just strawberry glaze, dark chocolate, and the slow settling warmth of something that doesn’t feel overwhelming. When you both finish, you brush invisible crumbs from your sleeve and glance sideways at him.

“Thanks for not making it too weird,” you say.

He looks at you evenly. “You’d tell me if I did.”

“…Maybe.”

A faint smirk touches his mouth.

“Next time,” he says, standing and taking the empty box from your hands, “we’re trying something that isn’t strawberry.”

You stand too, adjusting your tote.

“Next time?” you repeat.

He doesn’t look at you when he answers.

“Wednesday,” he says simply, like it’s already decided.

“But that's tomorrow,” you say, following him as he starts to walk away. “And how would I know what time to meet you?”

“You'll just need to text me.”

You actually did text him, surprisingly so, though you did draft the text in your notes app before sending it to him, even if it was only like ten words.

You: im free after 3 tomorrow if you were being serious

Sukuna: I was being serious.

And now you're sitting on the grass beneath a big tree, Sukuna leaning against the trunk as he plops the paper bag down on the grass between you, filled with more pastries than two people realistically could eat in one sitting. This time you'd gone into the patisserie together without the awkward shuffle of strangers-who-know-each-other. You stood side by side, debated which ones to get, and he paid before you could offer to.

Now the bag sits between the two of you as you hold the cardboard drink holder carefully on your lap.

“One black coffee for you. No milk, no sugar.” You pass his cup to him and his fingers brushes your for a second before you quickly pull your hand away when he properly holds it.

“You memorised my order?” He says, referring to when you casually said both your orders to the person behind the counter.

You pull your iced coffee out from the holder. “It's not too hard to memorise.”

You take a peek inside the bag. There's a spinach and feta pastry, a butter croissant, a sausage roll, a chocolate tart, a lemon custard slice—and because you refused to go without it, a strawberry tart.

“You know,” Sukuna starts, eyeing you as you pull out the little, white box holding your tart, “I did say we're going to try something that isn't a strawberry tart.”

“It's my safe choice.”

You both take out the rest of the pastries from the bag before lining them up in their little paper bags they came with. You tear the croissant in half and offer him the larger piece before you can overthink the gesture. He takes it without comment, their fingers brushing briefly. You don’t snatch your hand back this time.

The park is louder than yesterday. Children somewhere near the swings, a dog barking in the distance, but it feels distant. The tree you're sitting under is so far away and secluded from everyone, it feels rather intimate. The sun is also warmer than yesterday, soft light filtering through the leaves.

“Here.” You hand him the spinach and feta pastry after. “You seem like a spinach person.”

He gives you a flat look. “That's the worst profiling I've ever heard.”

“It's green.”

“What about me gives green?” He says, gesturing to his pink hair before taking the pastry from you.

You glance at his hair, then back at his face. “Not the colour. The vibe.”

“The vibe,” he repeats flatly.

“It’s a kinda calm colour. But also slightly intimidating. Like it knows more than it’s saying.”

“That’s just spinach.”

“That’s you.”

He stares at you for a long moment before taking a bite. “You just described a vegetable.”

“You asked.”

He chews, unimpressed. “This is the worst character assessment I’ve ever heard.”

“You're still eating it.”

“That’s because I’m hungry. Not because you’re right.”

You smile into your drink. “Sure.”

A small silence settles between you, but it isn’t sharp. It feels like space rather than pressure. You sip your iced coffee, glancing at him from the corner of your eye as he brushes flakes of pastry from his fingers.

“So,” you say after a moment, picking at the edge of the chocolate tart because it feels easier to talk when your hands are busy, “what do you actually want to do after uni?”

“Survive,” he replies dryly.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You nudge his knee lightly before you can second-guess it. The contact is so short and brief, if anybody else, they probably wouldn't even realise. “English Literature doesn’t exactly scream stable income.”

He swallows, glancing at you sideways. “You're studying fashion design.”

“That's different.”

“How?”

You open your mouth confidently and then… pause. “It just is.”

He huffs quietly. “Incredible argument.”

You laugh softly, then quickly look down as if you hadn’t meant to be that loud. He notices but doesn’t comment.

“I’ll probably do postgraduate,” he says after a second. “Research. Maybe teach.”

You look him up and down, taking in his tattoos and tall stature. “You’d terrify your students.”

“Good.” He picks up the lemon slice. “What about you? Fashion house? Your name on a label?”

Your shoulders lift slightly. “I don’t know. I like designing more than I like presenting. Or networking. Or talking to people.”

“You’re good at talking.”

You glance at him quickly. “I am not.”

“You are. You're good at talking to me, you just overthink a lot before you do it.”

You look at him properly then, searching for sarcasm, but there isn’t any.

“I’m only good at talking to you because you don't… react?” You admit, now fiddling with the napkin in your hands. “You just listen.”

“I react,” he says.

“You raise one eyebrow.”

“That’s a reaction.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Exactly.”

He watches you for a moment longer than necessary, gaze steady but not heavy. “You’re not bad at it,” he says finally. “You just need to let go of the idea that everyone would see you differently if you say one word wrong. The world won't stop spinning if you accidentally slip up.”

You don’t know what to do with the psychological analysis, so you tear a piece off the sausage roll and offer it to him like a distraction. He takes it without comment, leaving you in silence to linger on what he just said.

The sunlight shifts slightly through the leaves above, dappling the grass and the sleeve of his shirt. Your shoulders feel looser than they did when you first sat down. You’re not measuring every word so intently before speaking, though it's mostly so you can internally spite him.

“This is nice,” you say quietly.

“It’s food,” he replies.

“It’s not just food.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“It feels intentional,” you say, gesturing faintly between the two of you. “Like we planned to be in the same place at the same time.”

“We did.”

You hesitate, then the thought slips out before you can really think about it. “This feels like a date.”

He looks at you slowly.

“It’s not,” he says.

“I know. I just mean- it has the energy.”

“The energy,” he repeats flatly.

“You know what I mean.”

He studies you for a second, his expression unreadable, before taking the final sip of his coffee.

“If it was a date,” he says calmly, “I would've asked you properly.”

Having a wet dream about the guy you think you've become friends with isn't ideal for you.

Having wet dreams in general isn't ideal for you.

Being so socially inept had, sadly, made you so, so inexperienced. No relationships, no situationships, not even a hook up or a half-serious talking stage that lasted longer than a week.

You lie there staring at your bedroom ceiling surrounded by a mound of pastel plushies, mortified with yourself, like your subconscious has personally betrayed you.

It's not that you think you're supposed to have done anything by now. You've repeated your little mantra enough times—virginity is just a social construct. There's no deadline or expiration date. You'll do things when you're ready. When you feel safe. When you feel right.

But sometimes you can't help that quiet ache beneath that logic.

You missed out on the messy high-school crushes. The awkward almost kisses. The silly, fleeting romances everyone else seems to collect like funny stories to share in passing. You missed the experimental phase where people figure things out badly and laugh about it later. While everyone else was learning what they liked and didn’t like, you were learning how to keep your hands steady in conversations and hiding in the library during break and lunch.

It wasn't purity. It wasn't disinterest. It was kinda like fear.

Or maybe it's just fear.

The idea of someone that close, physically and emotionally, has always felt overwhelming. What if you say the wrong thing? What if you move wrong? What if they realise, halfway through, that you have no idea what you’re doing? Or that you were a bad lay? So you avoided it. Told yourself you didn’t need it. That being by yourself was better. Safer.

And mostly, you believe that.

Except now your brain conjured up Sukuna's touch. Instead of waiting for you to head into your building before walking away, he's joining you up the stairs and into your bedroom where he slowly peels your clothes away and makes you squirm and whimper with his touch.

You press your face into your pillow with a groan.

You don't even know how to hold someone's hand without internally freaking out.

And somehow your brain decided to skip ten steps.

Shoko smirked when you started asking more questions about Sukuna. About his reputation that leans precariously into “well, that's a bit personal,” territory.

You had tried to sound casual about it, sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling on your phone as Shoko tried on various outfits for her date that evening.

“So… Sukuna,” you started, like you were just simply asking about the weather.

Shoko didn't even look at you from pulling off a different top. “What about him?”

You hesitated, then pushed anyway. “Does he, um, date… a lot?”

That was subtle, right?

Shoko's mouth twitched. “Why? Scoping out your roster?”

Your face burned. You don't even have a roster.

“No,” you said, attempting to be casual and nonchalant. “I'm just asking.”

She finally glanced at you, amused and far too perceptive. “He doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t like,” she’d said simply, then, after a beat, “Why? Are you hoping he does?” You’d nearly choked on your own denial.

Nevermind that though. You have bigger issues at hand.

Like being stranded on campus again in the rain, with your umbrella still lying uselessly by your front door. The rain is heavy too, enough to soak your sleeves and make your hair clings to your cheeks. You find yourself standing underneath the small canopy by the student car park, staring at your reflection in your phone screen.

You could ring Shoko.

You could also admit you forgot your umbrella again and you'll have to hear her lecture about bringing your essentials during the unpredictable spring season.

Your thumb hovers over his name and you press the phone button before you could talk yourself out of it.

It rings once.

“Yeah?” Sukuna answers, like it's totally normal for you to call him, even though you've only ever texted him.

“Hi,” you say, clearing your throat when your voice cracks a little. “Are you busy?”

“Why? What's wrong?”

“I'm stuck on campus again. It's raining- I forgot my umbrella and I just-”

A quiet exhale cuts you off. Not annoyed, but relieved.

“Stay there.”

“I mean, you don't have to-”

“I'm already grabbing my keys. Send me your location.” And then he hangs up before you could interject.

Fifteen minutes later, his dark car pulls up to the same spot from the first time you saw him, headlights cutting through the rain. You slide into the passenger seat, all soaked and sheepish.

“You look wet,” he says.

“Thank you for picking me up, you really didn't have to.”

He reaches into the backseat and tosses a plain black hoodie at you. “Put that on.”

“Oh, thank you!” You tugged it over your head, and it's all warm and it smells like him.

He glances at you before returning his eyes ahead of him and starts driving.

“You eaten?” He asks.

You shake your head.

He clicks his tongue softly and pulls out of the car park. A few minutes later you’re in a drive-through line, rain tapping lightly against the windshield.

He orders without asking you. Two burgers. Fries. Drinks.

“You didn’t even ask what I wanted,” you mutter.

“You would've said ‘anything is fine’ and then panic,” he replies and you hate how right he is.

You eat parked beneath a flickering streetlight. The inside of the car is warm, windows slightly fogged. And when he finishes his burger surprisingly fast, he drives one-handed towards your apartment building, fries balanced in his other hand like this is routine.

And your knees are angled towards him.

The silence stretches, not uncomfortable but heavy in a way that makes your thoughts louder.

You stare at your drink cup.

You could just thank him when he drops you off. Go upstairs. Shower. Pretend the thought never crossed your mind. That would be the safe option. The strawberry tart of decisions.

Very predictable.

But your pulse hasn’t settled since you pressed his name under the canopy, and it definitely hasn’t settled since he answered your phone call like it was natural for you to call him.

You haven't stopped thinking about him since that dream you had.

But you keep thinking about how easy it’s been lately. Sitting beside him, eating with him, texting him without rewriting every word ten times. Just talking to someone about anything without worrying to death about how he's perceiving you. You like him. Not in a dramatic, dizzy, romance-novel way. Just in a steady, grounded way that makes you feel less like you’re performing and more like you’re just existing.

And that makes the question feel bigger. Riskier. Because if you ruin this, you don’t get to go back to how lovely it all was before—it'll just be tainted by your desperate decision.

But you’re also tired. Tired of being scared of your own curiosity. Tired of wondering what it would feel like to be touched without flinching or to want something and actually ask for it.

Maybe friends with benefits would be safer than a relationship—no expectations, no emotional exams to fail. Just honesty. Just two people agreeing. And considering what Shoko said, he doesn't really date anyways. It would be so easy. So, so easy.

Except you’ve never even kissed someone properly, and the idea of saying that out loud makes your stomach twist. So maybe you're getting too ahead of yourself.

What if he doesn't want to? That maybe he just sees you as just the girl he occasionally eats pastries with and picks her up when it's raining heavily because she keeps forgetting her umbrella.

Your fingers tighten around your drink cup.

If you’re ever going to step outside the careful little perimeter you’ve built around yourself, it would probably look exactly like this: rain on the windshield, his car warm, your heart racing, and the question sitting heavy on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” You say finally, your eyes trained in front of you.

He glances at you. “Sure.”

You stare at the windscreen wipers, watching the water swooshing to the side of the flask. “If someone was, hypothetically, inexperienced… would that be embarrassing?”

“Inexperienced how?”

You hesitate half a second too long.

“Oh.”

Heat floods your entire body.

“I mean- I just- I haven’t really-” you gesture vaguely, mortified. “Done anything.”

He doesn’t laugh.

Doesn’t look surprised.

Just silence.

Not the teasing silence. But actually consideration.

He stops at a red light and he turns to look at you.

“Are you asking me to take care of it?”

Your entire brain short-circuits.

“Wait- what? I just- I mean-”

“You don't owe anyone experience.”

You swallow, trying to redirect the conversation to something closer to what you want to ask. “If two people were… hypothetically friends. And they don't want to overthink things, but also don't want to ignore the possibility that things could be… different.”

He starts driving again before quickly glancing back at you. “That doesn't really sound hypothetical.”

Your face burns hot. “Just- answer the question.”

He shrugs slightly. “What about them?”

“What if they did something casual? Like. No pressure. No expectations.”

“You mean friends with benefits.”

You nod, eyes glued to the rain drops.

Silence fills the car again, thicker this time.

“You asking me,” he says evenly, quickly pulling over to the side of the road, “or are we still pretending this is a sociological discussion?”

Your heart pounds so violently, you're worried it might stop pumping. “I'm asking.”

“If I asked you to,” you push, because you’re already this far in, “would you?”

A heartbeat.

“You sure?”

You force yourself to meet his eyes. “Yes.”

Another heartbeat.

“Then yeah.”

That’s it.

No drama. No speech or added questions or long explanations.

You blink at him. “Right now?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Are we going to have sex right now?” you blurt, panic rising fast. “Because I didn’t prepare and we're in your car and I’m soaked from the rain and I need to shave my legs-”

“Relax,” he cuts in.

You inhale sharply.

“I’m not letting you lose your virginity in my car,” he says flatly. “You deserve better than that.”

Your stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with nerves. “Oh.”

He shifts the car into drive.

“I’ll drop you home,” he says. “You can decide if you’re still sure when you’re not cold and spiraling.”

You nod, hands twisting in your lap.

When he pulls up outside your building, you hesitate before opening the door.

“We could do it at my place,” you offer meekly.

“You said your walls are thin.”

You're surprised he remembers that, considering you only mentioned that briefly when you were messaging him a few days ago. “They are.”

“Exactly.”

Your hands hovers over the door handle, heart racing.

He looks at you steadily, not pushing, not rushing.

“Go inside,” he says. “Warm up. Think.”

“And then?”

“If you’re still sure,” he replies calmly, “text me.”

It was quite late in the night when you finally texted him, albeit you did shower and warm up before you texted him, ignoring the fact you paced around your apartment before finally typing out a quick message asking if you could come over.

The whoosh felt louder than it should have.

You immediately locked your phone and set it facedown on your bed as if distance would dull the panic already climbing up your spine. You had showered twice. You had shaved your legs after all—even though you told yourself that it didn’t matter. You had changed outfits three times before settling on something soft and simple with his hoodie pulled on.

The apartment was quiet except for the hum of your heater and the faint rush of cars outside.

Your phone buzzed.

You flinched before grabbing it.

Sukuna: You sure?

There it was again. Not pressure. Not eagerness. Just steady confirmation.

You swallowed.

You: yeah

You: i’m sure

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Sukuna: I’ll pick you up in 10.

Your stomach flipped so hard you had to sit down.

This was happening.

It was past midnight when you finally messaged him, and you were half-expecting him to just say it was too late and he'll pick you up tomorrow.

But now Sukuna's quietly leading you up the stairs of his frat house, a hand between your shoulders as he takes you to his bedroom.

It's surprisingly clean for a frat. A large bed with clean, dark sheets. An organised desk, some band posters tacked neatly on his walls, some weights in the corner of his room. It smells nice too, it smells like his cologne.

Though he does use cool light for some reason.

Psychopathic behaviour, to be honest.

“You use cool lights?” You say, because your brain has decided that's the thing to focus on right now.

Sukuna glances up at the light bulb, then back at you. “...Yeah.”

“That's kinda psychopathic.”

His mouth twitches. “You want me to turn it off?”

“No, I-” you clear your throat, “I just meant it's not really typical to have.”

God, what are you even saying?

He's watching you carefully, hands loose at his sides, enough space between you to not overwhelm you.

“You can sit,” he says, nodding toward his bed.

Right. Sitting. You can do that.

You perch on the edge of his bed, hands folded in your lap, and you immediately feel ridiculous. You quickly tuck them into the front pocket of his hoodie and your legs press together so tightly your thighs aches from the tension.

Sukuna sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours. He's dressed casually too—grey sweatpants and a black compression shirt that stretches so tightly across his shoulders and waist, you could see how defined his muscles were. You could also see the tattoos on his arm too.

The silence stretches.

“You're allowed to change your mind,” he says quietly.

Your head snaps towards him. “I'm not- I didn't change my mind. I don't want to.”

“Okay.” His gaze is steady. “Just making sure you know you can.”

“I know.” You twist your fingers together. “I'm just... nervous.”

“I know.”

“Not because of you,” you add quickly. “I mean- it is because of you, but not in a bad way. I just-” You exhale sharply. “I don't know what I'm doing.”

”That's fine.”

“You're not worried I'll be shit at this?”

His mouth curves upwards slightly. “No.”

”Why not?“

“Because I'm not shit at this,” he says simply. ”And I'm not gonna let you be.”

Your stomach flips. It shouldn't be that reassuring, that cocky confidence, but somehow it is.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He shifts slightly, angling towards you. “We'll go slow. You tell me if something doesn't feel good, yeah?”

You nod.

“I need you to say it.”

“I'll tell you,” you manage.

“Good.” His hand comes up slowly, giving you time to pull away, before his fingers brush along your jaw. His thumb traces your cheekbone. ”You're shaking. Are you sure?”

"Yes.” The word comes out too fast, too desperate. You feel your face heat. “Yes, I- I want this. Stop asking me that, it's stressing me out.”

His eyes search yours for a long moment, a small smile playing on his lips. Then he leans in, slow and deliberate, and kisses you.

It's softer than you expected.

Not rough or consuming. Just warm and kinda delicate.

His lips press against yours slowly, like he’s giving you time to register it, to pull away if you need to. For half a second your brain freezes, cataloging everything at once. The warmth of his mouth. The faint scent of vanilla and something minty. The solid weight of him sitting so close. Your hands twitch uselessly in the pocket of his hoodie before you finally let one slip out, hovering awkwardly before settling against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

And just slightly, you can feel his heart fluttering beneath your touch.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t demand more. He just stays there, kissing you like he has all the time in the world.

The nerves are still there, fluttering under your skin, but they start to blur into something softer. Something floaty. When he tilts his head slightly and kisses you again, gentle, a little deeper—and your stomach flips in a way that doesn’t feel like panic or doom and despair.

And somewhere in the middle of it, you think, distantly and almost dazed, why were you ever so terrified of kissing someone?

Kissing feels good.

Or maybe it's just Sukuna.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“Still good?” he murmurs.

“Mhmm.”

“Can I take this off?” His fingers tug gently at the hem of his hoodie.

Your heart hammers. “Okay.”

He pulls back just enough to carefully lift the fabric up and over your head. You raise your arms to help, feeling absurdly self-conscious, and then it's gone and you're just in your white shirt and leggings.

The cool air makes you shiver.

“Cold?” Sukuna asks.

“Yeah, a little bit.”

He reaches behind him and tugs a blanket from where it's folded at the foot of the bed, draping it around your shoulders. The gesture is so unexpectedly sweet that you almost laugh.

“Thank you.”

His hand settles on your thigh, warm through the fabric of your leggings. “Is this okay?”

You nod.

His thumb strokes slow circles against your leg. “You’re really tense.”

“I know.”

“Want me to do something about that?”

Your breath catches. “Like what?”

“Lie back,” he says quietly. “Let me take care of you.”

The words send heat pooling low in your stomach. You hesitate for only a second before shifting backwards, letting the blanket fall away from your shoulders as you settle against his pillows. They smell like him. Everything in this room smells like him.

Sukuna fixes the blanket over your shoulders again before he moves with you, bracing himself on one arm as he hovers over you. His other hand skims up your side, slow and deliberate, until his fingers find the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?” he asks.

You nod, breathing out a quick, “yeah,” before he peels your shirt up slowly, watching your face the entire time. You lift your shoulders to help him, and then it's gone, tossed somewhere onto the floor. You're left in just your bra and leggings, and the way he's looking at you makes your skin prickle with heat.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, pulling the blanket over your shoulders yet again.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” His hand spreads across your ribs, thumb brushing just under the lace band of your bra. “You’re beautiful.”

You don't know what to say to that, so you don't say anything. You just watch as he leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your breast above your bra. His mouth is warm and soft and your breath stutters.

“Still okay?” he murmurs against your skin.

“Yeah.”

His fingers trace around to your back, finding the clasp of your bra. “Is this okay?"

“It’s okay.”

He unhooks it with practiced ease, which would've made you raise an eyebrow in question, but right now you’re too focused on the way your heart is trying to break out of your chest.

The cool air hits your bare skin and you resist the urge to cover yourself.

Sukuna sits back slightly, his gaze dragging over you with an intensity that makes you squirm.

“Stop staring,” you mumble.

His hand comes up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, and you gasp. “Fuck, you’re sensitive.”

You are. You didn't realise how much until right now, until his rough thumb is circling your nipple and sparks of pleasure are shooting straight down to your core.

“Sukuna-”

“I know.” He leans down, replacing his thumb with his mouth, and you arch into him with a choked sound. His tongue flicks over the sensitive peak before he sucks gently, and your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the pink strands.

He groans against you, the vibration making you whimper.

When he pulls back, his pupils are blown wide. “Leggings next?”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

His hands slide down to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband. “Lift up for me.”

You do, and he pulls them down slowly, taking your underwear with them in one smooth motion. The fabric drags down your thighs, your calves, and then you're completely bare beneath him.

The vulnerability slams into you all at once.

“Hey.” Sukuna’s hand settles on your knee, grounding. “You’re doing good.”

“I'm not doing anything,” you manage.

“You are. You're letting me see you.” His hand slides up your thigh, stopping just short of where you’re already aching. “That’s everything.”

Your breath hitches.

His gaze drags over you slowly, deliberately, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. You feel the weight of his attention almost like a paperweight, and suddenly the urge to hide overwhelms you. Your knees turn inward slightly, an instinctive attempt to close yourself off, to shield yourself from his eyes.

Sukuna’s mouth twitches. “You know,” he says, his voice low, “I’m going to have my face between there soon enough.”

Your face burns. “Shut up.”

“Just saying.” He reaches down and gently nudges your knees back apart, his touch firm but not forceful. “No point being shy now.”

He stays quiet for a moment before quietly asking, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His fingers trail higher and teasing until finally, finally, he brushes against you. You jolt at the contact, a broken sound escaping your throat.

“Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he mutters, almost reverent. His finger slides through your folds, gathering the slickness there, and you can't help the way your hips twitch towards him. “This all for me?”

You nod frantically.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, it's- fuck-”

He circles your clit slowly, testing, and your whole body tenses. It's too much and not enough all at once. You’ve touched yourself before, obviously, but this, his hands, his focus, the way he's watching every reaction, it’s completely different.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

His finger slides lower, circling your entrance, and you tense again.

“Breathe,” he says softly.

You force yourself to take a shaky breath.

“Good girl.” He pushes one finger inside slowly, so slowly, and you whimper at the intrusion. It doesn't hurt, but it's strange, unfamiliar. “How’s that?”

“It’s okay.”

“Just okay?” There's a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Good,” you correct breathlessly, frowning slightly from how much he seems to be teasing you. “It’s good.”

He starts moving, slow and careful, working you open. His thumb finds your clit again and you nearly sob at the dual sensation. Pleasure builds in your core, winding tighter with every stroke.

“You’re tight,” he groans. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

The words send another wave of heat through you.

“Gonna add another,” he warns. “That okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay.”

The second finger is a stretch. You gasp, your hands fisting in his sheets, and he pauses immediately.

“Hurt?”

“No, just-” You swallow. “Full.”

“Yeah?” He curls his fingers slightly and you cry out, your back arching off the bed. “There?”

“Fuck, yes, there, please-”

He does it again, and again, finding that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. His thumb works your clit in steady circles and you’re already embarrassingly close, trembling and whimpering beneath him.

How long has he been fingering you? Would it be weird if you come right now? Surely it has been less than five minutes. How long should it realistically take to come with someone else touching you?

“Pay attention,” Sukuna says, his voice drawing you out from your thoughts. “Don’t go disappearing off on me.”

“Sukuna, I- I think I’m-”

“I know. I can feel you.” His pace increases slightly, fingers pumping steadily. “Let go. Come for me.”

The orgasm hits, crashing over you so suddenly you don’t have time to prepare. You cry out, his name broken on your lips, your whole body tensing as pleasure floods through you. He works you through it, fingers never stopping, drawing it out until you're shaking and oversensitive.

When you finally come down, gasping, he slowly withdraws his fingers.

“Oh my God,” you breathe.

Sukuna’s mouth curves into a satisfied smirk. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Your face burns, breaking the contact and turning to stare up at his ceiling.

You close your eyes, blocking out the cool light and figuring out how to casually say thank you for the orgasm before you feel him shifting down to the edge of the bed and settling between your thighs.

“What are you..?”

“Not done with you yet.” His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider. “Gonna make you come on my tongue.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Unless you don't want me to?”

“I-” Your brain is still fuzzy from your orgasm. “I want you to.”

“Good.”

He doesn’t waste time. His tongue drags through your folds in one long, slow lick and your bark arches off the bed. Your hands fly to his pink hair, gripping tight, and he groans against you.

“Fuck, you’re sensitive,” he mutters, almost pleased.

He licks you again, then focuses on your clit, circling it with his tongue in a way that makes your thighs tremble. You’re still sensitive from your first orgasm and it's almost too much, but then he’s sliding two fingers back inside you and the stretch combined with his mouth is perfect.

“Oh my God,” you whimper. “Oh my God, Sukuna-”

He hums against you, the vibration making you jolt. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot again, and you’re already climbing towards another orgasm embarrassingly fast.

You can’t form words anymore. You’re just a mess of whimpers and gasps, your hips rocking against his face as he devours you. His free hand comes up to press against your lower stomach, holding you in place, and somehow that makes everything more intense.

“Come on,” he says roughly. “Give me another one. I know you can.”

Your second orgasm is somehow even more intense than the first, pleasure rolling through you in waves that leave you gasping and shaking. He works you through it, gentler now, until you’re pushing weakly at his head.

“Too much,” you manage.

He pulls back immediately, pressing soothing kisses to your trembling thighs. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is wrecked. “Holy shit.”

His hands stroke up and down your thighs, grounding and gentle. “You did so well. So fucking beautiful when you come.”

You can’t even be embarrassed by the praise. You're too blissed out, too boneless.

After a moment, he shifts back up the bed, settling up in front of you. You tilt your head to look at him, taking in his flushed face, his dark eyes, the way his chest is rising and falling heavily.

“You’re still dressed,” you point out, eyeing the compression shirt he's wearing.

“Yeah.”

“That seems unfair.”

His mouth twitches. “You want me to fix that?”

Your heart kicks up even more despite the two orgasms you've just had. “Yeah.”

He sits up, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion.

You've seen him shirtless before. And by seen, you mean by the photos Shoko would show you whenever you try to casually ask about him from when she goes to Sigma Psi's parties, or when you stalk his friends’ social medias to find more glimpses of him. But this feels different. A lot more intimate. Your eyes trace over the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, the dark lines of his tattoos.

Then he’s hooking his thumbs into his sweatpants and boxers and pushing them down together. His cock springs free, hard and flushed, and your mouth goes dry.

He's... big. Bigger than you expected. Bigger than the vague mental image you'd tried not to think about.

“You’re staring,” he says, echoing your words from earlier.

“What the fuck you’re huge!” You blurt out, quickly averting your gaze on him to the ceiling again.

He huffs a laugh. “It’ll fit.”

You quirks a brow at him. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He reaches into his bedside drawer, pulling out a condom. “I’m gonna go slow. We’ll make it fit.”

You watch as he rolls the condom on with practiced ease, and then he’s settling between your thighs again, placing one of his pillows beneath your hips and bracing himself on his forearms above you.

“You ready?” he asks quietly.

Your heart is hammering so hard you're sure he can feel it. “Yeah.”

He reaches down, gripping himself and lining up with your entrance. You feel the blunt head of his thick cock pressing against you and your whole body tenses.

“Deep breaths,” he murmurs. “Relax for me.”

You force yourself to breathe, to relax your muscles.

“Good.” He pushes forward slightly, just the tip breaching you, and you gasp.

He watches your face carefully, his eyes dark and focused. You can feel the weight of his attention, the way he’s reading every flicker of expression.

He sinks in another inch, slow and controlled, and the stretch is intense. Not quite painful, but overwhelming. You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans.

He pushes deeper, and suddenly it’s too much. The stretch burns and you tense up completely.

“Wait! Stop,” you gasp. “Just- pause. Please.”

He freezes immediately, not moving a muscle. His jaw is clenched tight, arms trembling with the effort of staying still. “Take your time,” he says, voice strained but steady.

You breathe through it, forcing your body to relax around him. He's only halfway in and you already feel impossibly full. His thumb strokes your hip bone, a small grounding gesture.

After a moment, the burning fades to a dull ache. You shift slightly, testing, and it’s better. Still intense, but manageable.

“Okay,” you whisper. “You can- you can keep going.”

His eyes search your face, making sure, before he pushes deeper. Inch by inch, until he's finally fully seated inside you. You’re both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel incredible. So perfect.”

The praise sends warmth flooding through you. After a moment, the overwhelming fullness starts to fade, replaced by a different kind of ache. You shift your hips experimentally and he groans.

“Can you- can you move?” you ask.

He glances at your face, reading your expression, then nods. “Yeah.”

He pulls back slowly, almost half way out, before sliding back in. The drag of him inside you makes you whimper, and you immediately bite down on your lip, trying to muffle the sound.

His hand comes up to your jaw, thumb tugging your lip free. “Don’t hide those sounds from me,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Let me hear you.”

Your face burns, and when he thrusts again you let the whimper escape freely.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You're taking me so well. So fucking perfect.”

His hips roll against yours, each thrust deliberate and controlled. One hand comes up to cup your face, and he watches your expression intently. The way your eyes flutter, the way your mouth falls open, the flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Feel good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good.”

“Yeah?” He thrusts a little harder and you cry out. “Fuck, listen to you. So pretty when you make those sounds.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans low in his throat. His pace increases slightly, still careful but more urgent now. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixed with your whimpers and his heavy breathing.

“Touch yourself,” he says roughly. “Want you to come again.”

Your hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. The added stimulation makes you clench around him and he curses.

“Fuck, just like that. You’re so close, I can feel it.”

He’s right. You’re already climbing towards another orgasm, your third of the night, and this one feels different. Deeper. More intense.

“Sukuna,” you whimper. “I’m-”

“I know. Come for me. Let me feel you.”

His hips snap forward harder and that's all it takes. You come with a broken cry, clenching around him so tightly he groans. Your whole body shakes with it, pleasure slicking down your spine and leaving you gasping.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he grits out. His rhythm falters, becoming erratic. “Gonna- fuck-”

He buries himself deep with a low groan, his whole body tensing as he comes. You feel him twitching inside you, his face pressed into your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing hard, tangled together, your fingers stroking through his hair.

Finally, he lifts his head to look at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is hoarse. “Really okay.”

His mouth curves into a soft smile. “Good.”

He pulls out carefully and you wince slightly at the loss. He ties off the condom and tosses it in the bin beside his bed before climbing off and pulling his sweatpants on.

He disappears without a word, and for a moment you just lie there, staring up at the cool light, your body still humming with aftershocks. You hear the tap running in what you assume is his bathroom, and then he's back, a small damp towel in his hand.

“Here,” he says quietly, settling between your thighs again.

The warmth of the towel makes you flinch slightly, but he's careful, wiping away the mess with a gentleness that feels almost at odds with everything that just happened.

“Wait,” you prop up on your elbows to properly look at him. “Is that it?”

He raises an eyebrow, pausing his wiping. “You want more?”

“No- I meant like, do you not want me to…” you trail off for a moment, plucking the courage to spit it out. “Shouldn’t I do something for you now? Like a blow job or something?”

He shakes his head before he resumes back to cleaning the mess between your thighs. “I’m fine, tonight was all about you. It's also quite late.”

It's all intimate in a different way—tender and considerate. You don't know where to look, so you stare at the ceiling again, your face burning.

“You good?” he asks, tossing the towel into a hamper near his door.

“Yeah.”

He pulls his shirt back on, and he grabs a clean shirt from his drawers, tossing it onto the bed beside you. “In case you want it.”

You sit up slowly, your legs still trembling and reach for your underwear instead. You tug them on before pulling on his shirt and then his hoodie. It smells like him and it's comforting in a way you don't want to examine too closely.

Your heart is still racing, your hands trembling slightly as you smooth the fabric down. You take a breath.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For... all of that.”

He glances at you. “You already thanked me.”

“I know, but-” You twist your fingers together. “I mean it. That was... really good. You made it really good.”

His mouth curves into that familiar smirk. “I know.”

You huff out a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You're so annoying.”

“And yet.” He gestures vaguely at you, at the bed, at the situation.

“And yet,” you agree, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He checks his phone on the nightstand. “It’s almost two. You should sleep here.”

“Okay.”

“I can sleep somewhere else if-”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “I don't mind if you don’t mind.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods. "Alright.”

He turns off the psychopathic cool light and the room plunges into darkness. You hear him moving around, and then the bed dips as he climbs in beside you. There's space between you, not touching, but it doesn't feel awkward. Just really quiet and comfortable.

You settle into the pillow, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“Thank you,” you whisper again. “Really.”

Silence stretches for a few heartbeats. Then, softly, “go to sleep.”

His voice is low, almost gentle, and somehow that's all you need. You close your eyes, your body finally relaxing fully, and let yourself drift off.

Sukuna has always been a light sleeper. Not in a dramatic way like he jolts awake at every sound, but he never sinks fully under. Like recently, he's been slowly awoken numerous times to the sound of Gojo’s, his bedroom neighbour, bedframe slamming against their shared wall.

So when fabric rustles faintly in the dark and there's the delicate creek of footsteps against wood floorboards at what seems to be nearly six in the morning, he’s already awake before he opens his eyes

He stays silent for a moment.

You’re trying to be quiet. He can tell. The soft shuffle of leggings being pulled on, the muted zip of your bag, the pause between movements like you're figuring out how much noise your next step will be. It’s cautious in a way that makes something in his chest tighten faintly.

He opens his eyes when you step toward the door.

“You’re not subtle,” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

You freeze like you’ve been caught doing something wrong. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I’m awake.”

You hesitate. “…Sorry.”

There it is again.

He pushes himself upright, watching you properly now. You’re dressed in the clothes you came in, his hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, hair slightly mussed from sleep.

“I’ll drive you,” he says automatically.

You shift your weight. It’s subtle, but he notices. Your fingers tighten around your tote strap; your shoulders sit too high.

You don’t want the car. You want air.

He exhales through his nose. “Or we can walk.”

Relief flickers across your face before you smooth it away. “Walking’s fine.”

Outside, the morning is cold and quiet, the sky a flat grey that makes everything feel suspended. You walk side by side, close but not touching. He keeps his hands in his pockets and lets his mind wander in the loose, unfocused way it does when he’s underslept.

It replays things without asking permission. The way you’d gripped his sheets, the way you’d said his name like you weren’t sure you were allowed to. The soft, almost embarrassed “thank you” afterward.

He isn’t unused to sex. He’s just unused to gratitude.

“Thank you,” you say again now, softer. “For last night.”

He glances at you. You’re staring straight ahead, like you’re reporting a fact.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he replies. “You don’t necessarily owe someone gratitude for sleeping with you.”

“I wasn’t-” You falter. “I mean, I just… you were patient.”

“I wanted to be,” he says simply. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been.”

That quiets you.

He watches you again, noticing the nearly imperceptible limp in your step, and suddenly he feels guilty.

Should've insisted on driving.

After a few more steps, you clear your throat. “So. About this. The friends with benefits thing.”

He nods once. “We keep it simple. No pretending it’s something it’s not.”

“And if it gets weird?”

“We say it’s weird.”

“And if one of us wants to stop?”

“Then we stop.”

There’s no hesitation in his voice, and he sees the way that steadies you.

“Tonight,” he starts, catching your attention. “Gojo is throwing a party. If you want you can come. Shoko will be there.”

He watches you for a moment before quickly adding on, “I'll be there too.”

You consider him for a moment. “I'll think about it.”

By the time you both reach your building, the sky is beginning to lighten. You turn to him, nerves softer now, less frantic.

“Shall I text you when I get to my room?” You tease.

He huffs lightly at the burst of confidence to crack a small joke. “Go inside.”

You do. He waits until the door closes behind you before turning back down the pavement, hands still in his pockets, thoughts louder than he’d like. Not complicated, not romantic, just aware that something about last night doesn’t slot as neatly into “casual” as it usually does.

He isn’t sure what that means yet.

He sighed, drawled and dramatically weary. He bounced his leg. Once— twice— just enough crook into the underside of your clit and throb it.

Just enough to stir a pitiful whimper from your glossy lips. Another brand you hadn't even known the name of before he came around. Spoiled you with more gifts and affection than you could ever dream of.

Didn't mean he took your bullshit, though.

"Hmm. . . but she's not a sweet girl, is she?" His breath fanned your neck. Lips brushing over your fluttering pulse and smearing a chapsticked-kiss into it. Firm hands seized on your thighs. Squeezed.

"She's just. . . a slutty lil' brat."

Spank!

You jolted at the second swat to your thighs. Exaggerated another whimper because that always got you back on his good side.

Not this time, it seemed.

Satoru leaned back into his seat on the bench. Head slumped on the white wall as he observed your sorry excuse for riding his knee. His legs spread and hands returned to roaming your tummy. Skimming your breasts. Pinching on your tit through your pink bra that he'd bought for you too. Something lacy and cheeky. A befitting gift for your birthday.

"Eyes on the mirror." His chide clicked to your ear. Hand squishing your breast and squeezing another whine out of you. "Watch yourself since you wanna prance around with a slutty little ego. Think you're such a big girl, huh? Prove it."

Your thighs clenched around his knee. Thickening the pressure of your pulsing clit and slicking slit as you needily shoved down. Trying to press firmer. Get the right friction.

"Toru— baby, please," batting teary lashes in the mirror, you hoped to appease that soft part in his heart that he reserved for you.

His brow arched. No dice.

Instead you rocked your hips down quicker. Searching to spasm your clit just enough. The heat was already pooling in your tummy. You were sure that you were soaking through both your panties and his pants. You just needed a little more. Needed him.

"I'm sorry," your lower lip quivered as you dug your manicured nails into his other knee. Another symbol of the way he spoiled you. "So so sorry— I just— hngh."

Your spine arched. Tits pressing further into his hand as he fondled with the softness. Drawn to even the smallest of touches in hopes it'd get you there. Ease the surging heat that twitched your needy cunt.

"Sorry now, huh?" The deepness of his chuckle looped your tummy. Thighs stuttering as one of his hands traced down. Fingers slithering over your thigh and dipping into the squishy centre. "Poor baby. Sorry just cause I'm teaching her some manners."

Your hands abandoned reason and shot into your skirt. Ruffling it up to clear a pathway for his cold touch tracing towards your drenched panties.

His laugh vibrated against your back as he leaned forward. Flushing his chest to your shoulders and watching your teary eyes through the mirror.

"Say it for me again, pretty." He pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. "What're you?"

"Sorry!" You hiccuped, tensing your thighs and trying your damnedest not to buck into the sly finger that crooked into yours. Massaged on your clit in a maddening circle. A feather touch— and yet it was enough to spurt another filthy soak out of you.

"Sorry. 'm sorry— f-for being a brat. For giving you attitude." Reaching for his wrist, you clung above his silver watch and chewed on your glossy lip. Hoping to hold him there, rubbing your clit in slow, sanity-splintering strokes.

Your slick heat stained the pads of his fingers and he pressed harder. Scissoring your swollen bud between his middle and index, before sliding down in a lewd v-shape— only to stroke back up. Crook and torture on your poor clit that practically pulsed with whimpers.

Satoru hummed. Something low that crept into the heat pooling in your tummy and looped the knot tighter.

"Pretty girls with bad attitudes always make the cutest sounds." His other hand slipped beneath your shirt. Fished out one of your tits from your bra and circled his rough thumb on the pebbled nipple. Slow like his rubs between your trembling thighs.

"Fuck. . ." he breathed a chuckle as you squeezed around his hand reflexively. "I'm too old to be dealing with a brat like you, sweets. Why'd you gotta give your old man so much trouble? Can't you be a good girl like this pretty cunt?"

The heel of his palm nudged into your clit. Grinding into the nub so that you squirmed helpless in his arms. Consumed by the slyness of his touch and the intoxicatingly expensive scent of his cologne.

You knew you were a bad girl. Knew you gave him hell when all he wanted to do was spoil and please you. But really— could you be blamed? When those skilled hands ruined your pretty mascara and spilled your cunt into a messy puddle.

Really, how could you be a good girl when he made being a bad one so rewarding?

Still, you apologised. Too sweet for someone who'd clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes at him the second you both stepped into the boutique. Hips rocking into his hand as your pleasure crept higher.

"Sorry toru— I love you, promise."

You croaked, whining.

He chuckled, weary.

"Love me huh?" His grin tickled your ear. "Love me so much you're gonna cum on my hand in a fitting room?"

"Mhhm!"

You nodded quick. Pressed your lips together to muffle your moans and swayed your hips in a desperate rhythm. Chasing his hand with more greed than a bratty girl like you had the right to have.

The pleasure splurged into a hot, clenching knot between your thighs. Prickling through your thighs and up your spine as his cruel fingers returned to your bud. Stroking in quicker, tighter circles to work you towards that much-needed orgasm.

Higher— and higher— with his deep words on your ear like a sweet coffee as he rocked his hips up into your ass. Ground the ridge of his hard erection into the plush.

"There you go baby. There you go. Cum f'me."

You were there.

Right there.

Almost there. And then—

His hand withdrew.

You croaked a cry. Nails scratching at his wrist and helplessly trying to pull him back. Hips scrambling to press your drenched panties on his knee and cling to the heat that started to bubble away.

"Nononono please—!"

"Huh? C'mon. I told you to cum, didn't I? Don't you wanna cum?" He pouted at you through the mirror. Brows knitted at the centre as he watched you pitifully try to chase the fiction on his knee. Close to spilling tears and choking up cusses.

The pout morphed into a devilish grin. One that almost had you reaching behind and pulling at his hair till some of it was bunched in your palms. You would have— if your pussy wasn't throbbing so much and the disappointment of your missed orgasm hadn't scorned you.

"Satoru!" You whined, pitched and pouted as you squirmed into his hands that dared to rub up your sides. Comforting you as if he wasn't the fucking reason you're crying in the first place.

He hummed again. Too calm for a man who just pulled wool over his pretty darling's eyes and snatched it away when she got too excited.

"Can't give you everything you want, now can I?" A large palm cupped over your tummy. Pressing you back into him so that you flushed to his chest. His cold lips ghosted your ear.

"That's how brats are born."

Guess he was right. You were living proof of getting everything you ever wanted and spitting attitude back at the man who gave it to you.

With that in mind, you really didn't have any right to complain as he made you hold your skirt up while he undid his pants.

If this were a few months ago, you would have scolded him. Flushed in embarrassment and shook your head vigorously. Letting him fuck you in a fitting room where any of the staff could take a guess what the wet sounds actually were was definitely not something on your bucketlist.

But you've changed, ever since you became the pretty thing on his arm. Twice your age and yet he was the one teaching you to live a little.

Guess guiding you in even filthy ways came with the territory.

Just like he was now. Guiding the thick tip of his cock to your panties. Guiding the lacy fabric to the side with a crook of his fingers. Guiding those throbbing veins through your puffy folds and drowning in your slick. All while his sapphire stare pinned you through the mirror.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/dollywons . art cred: @/hunnismokah

Curse the greedy Ryomen bastard — his family’s so stinking rich that he should never have had to resort to drug distribution. He just does it for the love of the game, for control. Running a campus-wide empire must make him so fucking hard. 

Guess he’s been especially hard up on his lil cousin because of you. Guilt should consume you, and yet only frustration does.

Sitting in the passenger seat, you shake his arm with a whine. “But, Cho. I’ve got a super hard exam coming up; I need it to calm me.”

Plug!Choso pulls his arm away from you, crossing them altogether so you can’t touch him. “Sorry, I can’t. I’m serious this time. He’s still mad at me for last time, says he’s embarrassed to have such a spineless loser in the family. I’m on the last straw as it is.” He sighs at the memory. “You should go.”

Nah.

Manicured nails poke his beefy bicep, trailing upwards. Goosebumps rise on his skin. He frowns. 

“Choso…”

With a groan, he inches away, pressing himself to his window to get as far away from your wandering hand as possible. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what, silly boy?”

Plug!Choso’s messy pigtails bounce with his sudden panic. He’s growing redder in the face, messing up his usual blank expression. “Like that! Like you’re gonna make me eat you out for two hours just for some weed again.”

Since you got into his car, he’s been avoiding your eyes. Maybe he knew you’d come dressed basically like a hooker — tight shirt that hangs low to reveal ample cleavage, tighter skirt that doesn’t even cover your panties when you sit, and his favourite: fishnet tights.

Pouting, you drag your nails to his chin. You grip it firmly and force him to face you. Now that he’s looking at you, all of you, the fight in his eyes waver, washing away Sukuna’s threat and leaving behind only his unbridled desire for you. 

Hook.

“Chosito,” you drawl, “are you saying you don’t enjoy eating my pussy out? That’s hurtful.”

Line.

His lashes flutter, lips parting like he’s your puppy and you’ve rubbed at a good spot. “N-no…love your pussy…love your taste.”

Sinker.

You grin, devilishly. “Prove it.”

Adjusting the seat back, reclining all the way down, and parting your legs wide, you beckon him over. He all but scampers to your side, slotting his muscular self in the tight spot between your thighs. You can’t count how many times you’ve ended up in this position. Most times, it’d been for weed. Other times, you’re not afraid to admit, had been because he’s just really fucking good at eating pussy. 

Cold metal stings your skin when he grips the pudge of your legs. You hiss. 

Plug!Choso says, “Sorry,” before rubbing warmth into your inner thighs. He runs his hands up and down. “I like when you wear fishnets.”

“‘cause they make my thighs pretty?”

“Hmm. Also ‘cause they feel nice against my cheeks.”

You smile. “That’s dirty, Cho.”

He shrugs. Lacking any ounce of hesitation, he rips a hole in your tights, baring you just a layer more to his hungry eyes. His thumb grazes your slit through the material. You fight the urge to squirm. “Dirtier than you wearing lacey, purple panties for me?”

You hum. “I wanted you to have a good view.”

“I hate that you know I like it when you say things like that,” he mutters, breath teasing the sensitive skin. “I hate that you know I’ll always cave in.”

Then, he yanks your panties to the side and wastes no more time. An experienced tongue works its way between your swollen lips, spreading them open with his fingers so he may lap at your entire slit. 

“Oh god!”

“Mmm, missed this,” he moans.

His tongue piercing scrapes through the heated flesh, the coldness a sharp contrast. It provides the perfect friction against your clit, drawing it out of its hood. Not many men have a tongue piercing, or can even pull it off. But he…he can more than pull it off; he’s practically the CEO of tongue fucking piercings.

And there’s no faking the wetness gushing out of you. 

Honestly, you don’t even like weed that much. You just like this game you play; the prize is always too damn good. Maybe you’re absolutely insane to play with his attraction, but maybe he’s more so because he can never seem to say no. 

Not to you at least.

“Suck my clit, Cho,” you ask, growing more and more into it than you had planned. 

“You’re so bossy,” he grumbles, though he does exactly as you say. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you guide him, rubbing his face and nose to where you need him most. He’s so pliable under your touch, not a second of resistance. Such a good boy. “You -mm- love it.”

Plug!Choso’s drinking up your dripping juices like it’s his last meal, like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted, and he has no intention of letting you go until he’s had his fill. His gluttony fogs up the windows more as rain drizzles over the metal shell. 

It’s always like this with him: he says no, you look at him a little wrong, and then he gives in, as though depriving himself of using your body for his own pleasure is such a crime against humanity that he’d be doing the world a disservice by not making you cum.

“Tastes so good,” he mumbles against your clit. “Better than weed.”

“Nothing’s better than weed,” you moan.

His pretty eyes meet yours, all clouded and glossy and half-lidded so quickly. “You’re wrong.” The sincerity, the adamant assertion, the genuine belief in his raspy voice has your back arching off the leather of his fancy sports car.

He’s positively making out with your pussy — there’s no other way to describe it. He’s kissing and tonguing your clit and hole as if he’s channeling all his frustrations and devotion to where you’re most sensitive. Every time you’ve abandoned him after getting what you want, every time you’ve ignored him out in public, every time you’ve gotten him into trouble. He uses all of it against you.

Sluuuuuurrrp! Sluuuurrrpppp!

His name escapes your lips with a sharp cry. “More!”

Plug!Choso snickers against your pussy. “Sukuna’s gonna hate when he smells pussy on my breath. You know, he kidnapped Yuji for a weekend as punishment when I left your pink polka dot thong in his bed after I came in it?”

You laugh too, breathily, petting his head with a slight twinge of pride. “Yeah? Is that why I never got one of my favourite panties back?”

“No, I just kept it.”

“Along with seven of my other panties?”

“I’m building a collection,” he says simply.

Two nimble fingers work their way inside your pulsing hole, stretching past the rough pleats at the entrance. There’s only the slightest sting before your back arches at the pressure. You mewl.

“You’re so tight,” he says, marvelling like it’s the first time he’s ever felt you. “So warm…so fucking wet. God, I wish I could live in here forever.”

Mischievously, you reply, “You could…for free weed”

“Family-only privilege, sorry,” he playfully retorts, not sounding sorry at all. How can he when he’s too distracted with forcing squelches out of your cunt like he’s conversing with it? “So loud, so fucking dirty” he whispers. “Sounds so pretty. Love this pussy.”

“My g-spot, Cho,” you breathe out. “Do that thing I -ngh!- like.” When he curls his slender fingers, prodding at that spot inside you that has the whites of your eyes taking over, you yell out his name. 

Plug!Choso pants, like he’s equally as delirious with euphoria as you are. The car shakes with your combined squirming. “Love the sound of my name on your lips. Always sounds so good. Say it again. Please.”

“Choso!”

He groans. “Thank you, baby.”

Thank god the school parking lot is usually empty on Tuesday nights. Although the windows have fogged up, you’d never risk being seen in such a scandalous position. This is reserved for late nights you’ll add to your list of college regrets. 

Plug!Choso hikes up your leg so he can press in deeper, ramming a barrage of attacks at that spot inside you that has you seeing stars. “Faster? Deeper? Let me hear your voice. Tell me what to do. Boss me around. Tell me how to please you, to make you go fucking crazy. Tell me what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. Tell me everything. I want it all.” 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck Choso!”

“More,” he demands, pleads. “Give me more. Give me all of it.”

Your vision blurs. You scream. 

SPLASH!

Eyes dark, not a hint of humanity in them anymore, he scrambles over your body to do one of his most favourite things: making you taste yourself. A gulp-full of your cum is shoved inside your mouth. You taste your own sweetness and tanginess, moaning into his mouth and letting his pierced tongue explore the moist cavern like he had with your pussy.

Below the belt, he hurriedly unbuckles his belt, unzipping his ripped jeans, and freeing his already rock-hard cock. A wet patch meets your skin. 

Your bleary eyes flutter. 

“Did you…”

Plug!Choso nods, not the least bit ashamed. “Sorry.”

Man, you’d forgotten he has inhuman recovery speed. 

He yanks a condom down his heated length, prodding your entrance. Inch by inch, he enters you. Together, you moan. He’s so fucking big it steals your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. The stretch stings a little, but not so much that you don’t relish every second he’s filling you up.

It’s only a moment that he bottoms out and he’s quickly pulling out so that only his very tip is inside before he rams it to the hilt. 

“Fuck!”

Your skin slap together, rocking the car so passionately that if anyone’s walking past, they’ll know exactly what’s happening inside. The thought has you creaming on his cock.

“Sogoodsogoodsogood,” he mumbles up at the roof of his car, head bumping into it, like a mantra. 

You bite down on one of his chains, peering up at him. “Use me, Choso. Fuck me hard, baby.” 

“N-no, don’t say -hngh!- things like that.”

When he hits at a particular sensitive spot inside you, you clench down hard, unable to help yourself.

“S-shit!”

Plug!Choso groans, shuddering. The leather by your head creaks with the strain of his fingers digging into the material. “Nononono, fuck!”

He slumps into the crook of your neck, hips halting their movement.

One clench.

Just one, and he’s tapping out.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, bashfully and wholly humiliated, “I did it again.”

Cooing, you pet his head. “It’s okay. You can repay me with weed.”

Plug!Choso groans for a different reason. “Almost forgot why you’re here. You have a serious problem.”

“Says the one-stroke wonder.”

“...Shut up.”

.

.

.

Plug!Choso smacks his head against the steering wheel. “I’m dead.”

“Are you actually scared of your cousin? You know he can’t do anything to you, least of all kill you, right? He’s all talk.” You tuck the fresh bag he got from the boot of the car between your tits, smiling like you’d been given the world.

Dryly, he says, “You clearly don’t know him very well.” 

You don’t debate that; your interactions with the pink-haired man have been limited, thank god. But you still know him well enough to know he is, in fact, batshit crazy. You’ve seen that man hold a guy under water in the pool of a frat house during a party until people had to pull him off. Pretty sure there’s a rumour going around that he kicks puppies for fun too.

Knock.

You yelp.

A blur at his window prompts a wince from him. With heavy reluctance, he rolls it down. “Hey…”

Like all the talking had summoned him, pink hair comes into view. So does a scowl. “Don’t fucking ‘hey’ me you fucking loser.” His gloomy gaze slides over to you. “What the fuck are you doing here? Whoring yourself out for weed again?”

“No,” you mumble, pulling your skirt down a little.

Sukuna’s nose crinkles. “Don’t lie to me, you dumb bitch; It smells like pussy and STDs in here.” He turns back to his cousin. “Tell me you haven’t given Miss Druggie over there any of our weed.”

Plug!Choso says, “I haven’t.”

The other man’s eyes narrow. “You’re a shit liar.”

At that, your plug keeps quiet. Though not an ounce of fear radiates off him, he is smart enough not to say anything that’ll earn him more smacks against the head than what’s already coming for him, or something of the sort.

Frustrated, Sukuna stands to his full height outside the car and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I’m losing my mind here. Does no one have any entrepreneurial instincts?” He pops his head back in, fixing you a glare that could kill. “Get the fuck out. Walk home, get held at gun point by a hobo, or trip and scrape your knee — I don’t fucking care. Just get outta here and quit exploiting my loser cousin.”

Exiting the car, you rub at your arms to generate some warmth. At least it’s stopped raining. With the car between you, you return Sukuna’s scowl right back at him. “Leave him alone.”

Sukuna waves you off. “Yeah, yeah. Oh, and if he tests positive for anything, and I mean anything, I’ll personally make sure you never graduate from any respectable university.”

“I’m clean, asshole. Worry about yourself — everyone knows you have syphilis and that’s why you’re so highstrung.”

Sukuna growls out, pulling at his hair, “Fucking Gojo Satoru, that piece of twink shit.”

Rolling your eyes, you bend down to whisper a ‘bye, Choso’ through the window. He does a half-nod, slyly tucking your panties into his pocket. Guess you’re gonna be walking home pantyless again. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Liar,” he says without any real heat to it.

Metres away, you can still hear their pretty one-sided conversation, and you fight to stifle a laugh.

“If you want pussy so fucking bad, then buy yourself a pocket pussy, you absolute disgrace. Don’t fucking beg me to make you one of my drug goons just so you can get in her cheap ass panties and then fuck me over by shorting me.”

“Sorry.”

“Say that without a raging boner next time and I might believe you. God, why must my family be so fucking stupid? What did I do to deserve this? Was I some war criminal in my past life? A mass murderer, or something?”

“Probably.”

“Shut the fuck up and quit looking at her ass — look at me, you idiot…Fuck, go rub one out; I can’t take you seriously with a boner damn near poking my eye. You disgust me.”

Plug!Choso replies, “My bad.”

A baby?

Your mouth lathers in another bout of saliva at the way that your boyfriend seemed so hypnotized by the very notion. Lips puckering up with a slight tremble in your tone as you echo, “You want a-a baby-”

“Shit-” Toji hisses, calloused mountains of his palms bullying your thighs further and further open. Lightning bolts of his veins track down his thick neck when you’re being so rudely punished with a sodden thwack! against your cunt. “D-don’t say it with your pretty mouth ‘nless ya want me to f-fill this sweet pussy early.”

Toji Fushiguro…claiming he was going to cum early? 

You’re squirming your hips down his taut shaft in a way that gets you locked with five thick fingers wrapped around your throat - holding you in place. 

“What did I fuckin’- say-” 

“I want it-” Your nails carve red, red lines down his toned back. “-wan’ it all ah- inside me-”

Inside - oh, inside inside inside- God, you didn’t know what you did to him. Did you?

“Gonna be the d-death of me- swear-” Drawling out a low grunt at the clench of his cum-filled balls, he’s hunching over to pin you under his full, hulking weight and spit. Straight into your mouth- glissading one fat thumb through your lips and across your sopping wet tastebuds. “When I hngh- remember what that lil’ gremlin called you today I…” Toji gulps - thick and heavy. “You’d make the p-perfect pretty momma f’me, my wife.”

Wife? 

You felt dizzy. You’d mentioned wanting to start a family with Toji before - conversations that had him huffing and veering his face away, ears always stained a deep rouge. 

But this? What did Megumi even call you that had him- oh.

Oh. 

He’d called you momma. 

“Heh, ya remember now.”

That’s what had Toji’s head tumbling back as he’s barrelling you overstuffed all over again. Animalistic. Your jaw falls open stupidly when his rigorous inches pump in and out your goopy depths like Toji had no time to waste. 

No rationality when his gorging biceps lunge underneath your legs and pin them around his straining neck. Cushioned by Toji’s sweat-sheened deltoids, he’s dragging out a panting, “Lock them.”

But shit- “I-I don’t know if I can-” you’re whining. Every brushing French kiss of his rounded fat tip against that spot rendering your poor legs more and more useless with each sloppy second. Bolts of heat and electricity being spawned down your spine after every smooch of his divot. 

“Tch.”

And now, usually your boyfriend would have mocked those rippling mewls out of you until you’re begging him for mercy, usually he would have planted pound after teasing pound just shy of your g-spot to have you listening to his pussydrunken words yourself.

But instead, he’s keeping your ankles pinned with one hand in a vice-like restraint, your cunt glossing out another drenched ring of slick at the way his massive biceps flex. 

“M-making it sooo hard, f’me- aren’t ya, ma?” Toji giggles - giggles through clenched teeth when his sweat-sodden forehead bumps into yours. “S’alright s’alright- how do ya feel about ngh- makin’ Megs a big brother? Giving him a lil’ s-sister and a lil’ brother?” Manhandling you to be folded like lawnchair in the meanest mating press beneath him. You swear you spy a translucent trail of drool that tugs down the corner of his curled lips. “Gonna k-keep our hngh- kids all in line like this, too?”

And those words were meant to fluster you - they really were. 

But Toji’s finding himself shutter his dark lashes half-closed, thumping tip colliding into your cervix. So hard it was like he was ready to brand a permanent circumference into the very bottom of your melty cunt. 

Sloppy - he’s so sloppy. One set of knuckles wrapping around your precious throat to haul you back into every single one of his smacking thrusts. You’ve never felt more filthy-

“Oh shit- oh shit-” he’s spitting out into your lecherously opened mouth, condensed saliva warming you from the inside out. The bed creaks in a staccato when Toji’s muscled body collapses onto his elbows, caging you. Not anymore - he couldn’t do it anymore. It was building up and up and Toji was losing his damn mind. “I didn’t even th-think I wanted any more but- but oh– just had to trigger m’fuckin’ babyfever, huh? N’ not jus’ for one- for two more damn brats.” 

Two of his round-tipped fingers twirl around your plump clit and give her a teasing pinch. “A s-son with ngh- your eyes. N’ a daughter with mine.” The other hand nudges away the hair from your face. “-you’d just make the ngh- prettiest momma-”

“Y-you’re such a-” you mewl out, finger clutching for whatever expanse of the silken sheets that you can grasp onto. “-a softie, Toji–”

“A what?” he’s seething, heavy-handed palm gliding down your tummy and against the bruising nudge of where your melty walls were sucking the ever-loving soul out of him. “Repeat that.” And as soon as your stupidly cockdrunken mouth falls open to heed his word, he’s pressing down. Hard. Swirling a ruthless thumb over the rotund curve of his puffy cockhead. And that makes you choke- “Heh, th-tha’s what I thought.”

It’s like he was fucking you both dumb, weeping out a velveteen gush of milky precum every time your walls molded around him. Every time your pretty pussy was asking for something delicious from the very ends of his ruddy tip.

And fuck was it ever when he finally does. 

So much - too much sobbing out from the ends of his furious cock. Toji’s hiking up one muscular thigh flat onto the plush mattress to absolutely flood you with drenching splatters of seed that slobber all down every hidden ridge and orifice of your snug cunt. 

You felt like your walls were being inflated with every vicious load he fucked deeper and deeper. Torn between too much and more more more-

“Hey-” You’re flinching as your dominant hand gets trapped under something heavy - pinned to the sheets by Toji’s foot. And only then do you register it’s slow dance down to your clit. “N-no playin’ with this pretty pussy u-until-” Plugging into you even deeper to trap every pearly bead of seed, your puffy pussy lips burn with the stretch of his hefty base, the scratch of his dark happy trail. “-until we’re sure m’gettin’ my lovely Christmas gifts, ma.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Dad(dy) material

“M’gonna take haaah- care of you, my love.” Nanami’s rich baritone reverberates in your cottony-filled ears and over those saturatedly popping squelches from your drooling cunt down below. “M’gonna- take- such good c-care of you…and our daughter.”

And it’s not just that sternly filthy mouth of his babbling away drunkenly at your cunt, it’s not even a promise. It was a vow and your husband was well and fully intent on worshipping your pretty puckered pussy. 

Planting kiss after smooching kiss that made you whine. 

It made you buck your hips into a curvaceous arch off the silky sheets of the king-sized bed, painting a sodden drag down Nanami’s handsome features. Deeper. Harder. His button nose nudges up against your sensitive clit. “P-please, jus’ want you ngh- inside me again, Kento–”

Shit- Nanami’s huling body wrecks with shivers. Why would you say that? 

You could see the way that made his ruby red tip weep out a few glossy sputters of pre, staining down the side of his muscular thighs. Forming such a glinting sheen that makes your mouth water just as much as his. 

A slow, syrupy trail of his cum and your sweet, sweet juices dawdle down to his chin, you catch the way that the edges of his plump lips curve ever-so-slightly into a thoroughly pussydrunken grin. Nanami looming his heated mouth even closer to breathe you in-

“I told you, darlin’-” He sounds so sloppy now. Sensible glasses drooping down his nose, splashed with a few translucent stains. Words stumbling over one another and slurring when his tongue laps up a few pearly beads of seed from just before. He rolls his rugged tastebuds over your clit, “-hafta ah- clean up the mother of m’kids before I…before I- oh-”

And he couldn’t bear it - couldn’t finish that sentence. Couldn’t even glimpse down as another sloshing dredge of cum sobs its way from between your swollen pussy folds.

God, you’d driven him absolutely wild the very second your nervous self had confessed to him that you wanted kids. A mini you. And Nanami didn’t even bother taking off his work clothes, didn’t even bother carrying you to the bedroom as he usually would - taking you once on the kitchen floor. Twice in the hallway. And now-

You’re cumming. Verging over your peak and tangling your trembly digits through Nanami’s blond strands. Hips oscillating upwards in damp little gyrations over and over-

He’s lapping the remnants of cum onto his tongue, you’re watching with a strainedly hitched gasp as Nanami’s opening his mouth widely agape for you to watch the creamy mess pool on his tongue and slide down his throat. Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing in time with your own throat. 

He’d never acted like this before - hit with saturated, sloppy babyfever.

Fuck- you were so ruined. 

And so was he when he’s making you wait a few terse seconds, eyeing your drizzling cunt. Before gifting you with a low hum of satisfaction and a final squelching smooch against your peeking clit. “On all fours f’me, my love.”

Shit, it was like heaven.

Bumping into your pussy lips with his rosy head in a shy little peck. Once. Twice. You’re being slathered in such a thick shower of his wispy precum, Nanami’s head falling back with a heaving groan at the very idea of fucking a baby into you. 

“A-are you ready?” he’s gulping, more to himself than you. “Gonna…” Can’t even bear to say it. “-gonna fill you u-up. Oh- m’gonna…fuck a baby into ya.”

Just those words make him feel feverish. He doesn’t- can’t think anymore since being hit with the thought of you and a tiny lil’ girl with your smile and his eyes. 

And the very moment you nod - the very moment your head jerks even the slightest centimeter in compliance - you’re being stuffed overly full of his solid inches. No matter how many times your greedy pussy had gulped down his size, Nanami was staggering. 

All of his swollen, engorged inches massage hidden sweet spots you didn’t even know existed in your gummy walls. He’s spearing open your very depths with a barraging ram, not a single ounce inside left untouched. 

“S’that- s’that alright-” he’s gasping from behind into your ear. Hips moving before his mind, you’re being flooded full over and over in a heady back and forth of his pounds. “-tell me–”

And you’re nodding and nodding in a way you’re not even sure that Nanami catches with just how glazed his half-lidded eyes were. “S-so good- fuck- there- need it inside, okay, Ken?”

Oh.

THUMP! 

Before you know it, Nanami’s entire body is collapsing their fatigued muscles on top of yours. His glissading abs melting into your back, hefty weight pinning you to the mattress. You’re flinching at the feeling of two sharp canines punching neat indents into your tender neck, a low moan curdling at the back of Nanami’s throat. Raw and ruined, like he was trying to hold it back. “A baby- fuck! Ya really want a baby– gonna be the best mama, aren’t ya?”

But still not stopping - never even faltering. 

“Shh- I got ya, beautiful-” He’s kissing down a few flecks of sweat that dribble their way down your forehead, rough hands attaching themselves to your hips. “Sorry m’so- so ungentlemanly right now, darlin’. I’ll make it up to ya, but-” 

And you’re being overwhelmed by just how much power Nanami packs into each pound. Every clammy swipe down your bruised and battered g-spot. “-but you’re gonna sit all p-pretty and ngh- take it- right? Gonna milk me for every single drop, my wife- ngh- no wastin’ now.”

Can’t waste - couldn’t waste it. 

“D-do you think s’gonna fit?” your mouth babbles without you registering, eyeing down the chalky lamination of cum that coats Nanami’s heavy, thwacking! balls. The sheer volume making your head spin. 

And your husband was always the absolute sweetest, finally crashing his glossed lips onto yours with a shot hum. He’s shutting up every one of your nonsensical sentences - because what his wife wants, his wife gets. And if you want a baby…well…

“O-of course s’gonna fit, darlin’- I’ll make sure of it.” His minty breath fans your heated face when Nanami sinks into your pouty lower lip and tugs. Head nuzzling drunkenly into yours like he was magnetized to you, the squeeze of your cunt so good that he just couldn’t even bear the thought of parting even a single inch. “Took care of it hah- before, didn’t I? And I think- I- I think-”

Urgently, that velvety yellow tie he didn’t bother removing - didn’t have the fucking patience to remove - finds it’s way to your shaky hands. Directing you to pull, to choke-

And you swear you hear Nanami’s rugged voice crack when he whimpers. Whimpers. Gravelly and dangerous, and you feel his fat, bawling tip twitch with each word. Roughened palms cradling your tummy - your womb, yearningly. “M’gonna make a mess I’ll hafta clean up all over again, my love…”

♡ GETO SUGURU - SUCCESSOR

“So you see…”

And for Geto Suguru, it’s practically a battle to even babble out those words coherently. To bite back that pathetic fucking whimper at the back of his throat when he’s skimming his pearly teeth along the tender crook of your neck. 

“-th-this is your hah- official announcement of a successor.”

And the very sentence makes Geto laugh. Laugh. 

Humorless and ruined. Shit- he couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to.

Because it’s already too good to be true how he had you wrecked so filthily in the meanest of full nelsons, in front of rows upon rows of his association. Their heads bowed, breaths hitched, eyes dilemma-ed between looking away and peeking greedily upwards for more more more-

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit - he’s so drunk on the thought that Geto can feel himself drooling. Is this…fuck- is this what they call babyfever?

Softened fingertips idle down your thighs, smearing a messily trail down the leaky spatters of slick that your flooded slit just can’t stop drooling. And he finds himself grinning-

“Ahh- would ya look at that. Makin’ s-such a show, aren't cha?” Geto giggles - giggles - voice reverent in that exact same way that he had been since you’d off-handedly mentioned how the association would need a successor one day. Oh god, it was like your usually-composed Geto was possessed. Gone. 

He didn’t even know why he was feeling so fucked-out already. Why his fingerpads were dragging around and around your clit until you were sobbing. Mewling with every sticky plunge of his too-heavy girth into your cunt, “S-Suguru you’re being so-”

“Shut up.” Leaving a stinging thwack! against the curve of your plump clit, “Let ‘em hear- let her ngh- talk to me. Heh.”

And you couldn’t even whine in protest - because Geto’s already snatching a few thick digits to curl around your slacked maw. Letting your drooling lips coat him in sheer drivel and moans that slip through when he plants pound after pound.

He’s so greedy opening his way around, every rummaging jackhammer positioned exactly to recoil against your gummy cervix. Sloppy split-seconds between each battering ram leaving your gooey orifice bearing the incredible weight of him brushing his swivelling tip against your g-spot. He’s nodding and conversing along lecherously to the honeyed slurps! wafting from your poor pussy. 

“Mhm– mhm, I agree, ma…” And you’re being faced with a slurping pop! pop! pop! resonating from behind as Geto sucks on his fingers to clean off that sopping syrupy gloss. Savoring. Sing-song baritone lilting up just a notch in volume to address your audience, “Don’t you?” 

And when there’s no answer - you are the one being punished with a stinging smack! against the edge of your cunt. Geto’s digits latching around your gaping hole and twirling their way in-

Fuck- the sounds of hurried agreement thundering in your ears from all around you make you keen. 

And usually he’d be smooth, suave, private in bed. But right now Geto can’t help tug one rough forearm around your waist and pin your back against his glissading washboard abs. Massaging you with each rut up and down up and down up and-

“D’you w-wanna know what she’s sayin’?” he’s granting a long slather of his tongue up your bulbous tears, humming at the salty aftertaste. “Wanna know what she’s ngh- begging for?”

“Wh-what?” you’re blubbering out, lips wobbly oh-so-cutely in a way that he just can’t help but sink his sharp canines into. Tugging. 

And Geto didn’t know why he was feeling so…so needy. He had no idea what was making him stretch your jittery thighs open so wide it was like he wanted everyone to see - to know. 

But he has a feeling it’s to do with that idea you mentioned earlier. A…successor. 

Fuck- 

The notion is enough for him to gasp, for his entire body of hefty muscles to flinch like he’d just been zapped with a zillion bolts of bliss. And before you know it, your face gently meets the ridged tatami mats, and Geto’s manhandling you with his beefy limbs onto all fours. 

One hand kisses your puffy clit around and around in thorough circles, the other entirety of his arm curling around your throat - headlocking your lolling face upwards, you’re gasping. Drenched at the bulge of his flexing biceps against your neck-

“She’s sayin…” He bites down on your sensitive earlobe, “-she wants me t-to breed her until she’s overspilling.” And you thought he was done - you thought. Before he’s babbling away pussydrunkenly, head reclining mindlessly towards the front row. “Right?”

Yeah. Yeah, of course, he was right. 

It didn’t matter if Geto Suguru couldn’t properly think - couldn’t even breathe just about right now. Broad chest petering out the most heaving gasps from his lungs, he’s making sure every sloppy cadence of your hips back into his leave you reeling. 

Leave you yelping at the words cascading from his pretty coral pink lips- 

“S’what sh-she’s sayin–” His ragged grip tightens as does his claim on your spongy cunt, “-n-not me– m’kay- she wants me to fuuuck- fill her up. To breed her- wants me to put a baby in her so that everyone-” Those final words had you being lunged up onto your unsteady knees, leveraging the stranglehold around your neck to stick your arched back against his hardened front upright. You gasp- “-so that ngh- everyone knows what I did- all of ‘em. Gonna know what m’doin’ to ya- how I fucked a ngh- s-successor into you like this.”

“Suguru—” Comes that favorite syrupy-sweet song of his - and you don’t even have to voice your words to him. Because he can already  feel the squelching hug of your jostling walls, the way you give his thickened base a cute squeeze “M’gonna c-cu-”

Ah.

And he doesn’t give you the privilege of finishing your sentence before a sudden smack! right onto the hood of your beady clit makes you crash headfirst into your orgasm- and Geto into his. Multiple of them. 

His overworked cock torrenting the most saturated wads of ropy cum. They’re avalanching into your greedy hole, spilling down the side of his shaft into a creamy ring. Again. And again. And again and again and-

“O-oh–” Geto lets out a raw, guttural moan with your name tacked on like it was his favorite few syllables. The high so strong that he can’t even hold himself up. “Shit- s-swear s’your cunt– so heavenly for fucking what.”

Hypnotized. Collapsing onto a heap of long limbs on top of you, you’re squirming against the tatami floor. The knotted plug of Geto’s swollen base helping his copiously buttery amounts of cum stay safe and sound inside. 

Murmurs envelope you two- they’re still there. 

You’re jumping at the sticky schwf! of a few goopy traces of seed that slip down your puffy slit, being scooped up easily by a hawk-eyed Geto. Raising his hand up, up, up to bully between your pouted lips and oh…oh it really was babyfever.

He needed to see you with another two little girls that looked like you and had his status of leader. He needed to see you round and glowing. He still needed to see you full. 

“Gorgeous…you’ll never hah- believe what she’s tellin’ me now.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “I-inside…?”

Choso didn’t know whether this was supposed to happen. 

He didn’t know whether this was even possible. Was…was this some kind of strange new cursed technique? 

Because why did it only take one glimpse of you ruffling Yuji’s hair - just one motherly smile his way - for your beloved boyfriend to all but drag you back home the very first second he could. 

Shoving you against the cool platform of the front fucking threshold, melty brain churning with nothing but the strange image of you ruffling the hair of another little boy that looked strangely like a mixture of the two of you. 

But that was hours ago.

And Choso was still rabid. Still permeating open your bulging folds to watch the slow trickle of cum that you’re wetting down his wrist. “C-can you ngh- take more, baby?”

You’re clawing your trembly fingers down the wooden surface just past the entryway. Wetly condensed gasps escaping from your sloshed parted lips when he treks up one trembly, muscular foot on top of your body to pin you down. “Ch-Cho— how are you s-still going-”

Chosos’s racking out a low keen - the very sound of your voice making his furiously overworked tip swash a fresh wad of precum into your bruised cervix. Twitching with overstimulation when his wispy alabaster ropes lull into nothingness-

“I-I don’t know, baby–” he’s letting his dark head of hair curtain that utterly fucked expression on his face. Eyes sliding ravenously to the back of his head when his fatigued hips plant another yearning grind into your cunt. Dribbling maw slacking open, “I just- I just want…”

You already knew what he wanted - and the evidence was right there drizzling from your drowning slit, making itself at home in a creamy ring of cum down his gyrating hilt. But you’re whining out anyway, “W-want ngh- what, baby–?”

Fuck.

Fuck- he was being ridiculous. Being Choso Kamo knows that you’re simply using your sweet little nickname for him, he knows that. But he still finds his head lolling backwards with a groan. How pretty that sounds falling from your lips. 

SLAM!

“I- that-” He gasps. He heaves. Hunched over so you’re gifted with such a delicious eyeful of his sweat-slicked arms caging you from abovehead. Flexing and rippling as Choso’s sloppy cadence grows faster. Filthier. Pound after pound that frosts your tenderized g-spot in thick upheavals of creamy pre. “I want a baby– I don’t- ngh- I don’t know what this feeling is, baby…”

Whirling your sappy eyes over your shoulder to take a long look at him and- 

Oh.

Fuck, was that a mistake. Because your dear boyfriend was so irresistible - with his big, dark eyes dewey with pearly tears, rosy lips jutted out in a way that makes him look so kissable. So tired. Every twitch and bead of sweat trickling down his muscles made Choso look like he was on the very verge of falling apart. 

But he won’t stop - doesn’t think he even can anymore. 

“D-don’t look at me ngh- like- that-” So lovingly. Choso pecks a few pretty kisses down your arched spine, “S’gonna make me cum.”

You’re carding your fingers through thick, dampened locks of his hair to tug. “So do it, Cho–” And fuck, you’re scrambling your jittery hips in the most sinful of movements to meet his jackhammering pace - he thinks he just might pass out. Gulping at the smacking sting! that jiggles the mound of your ass against his toned abs, so hard that he sees his skin rub rawly red. “C-cum inside- again.”

Oh, he wants to. How badly he wants to. 

A few of his soft, rounded fingerpads smear along the treacle of excess cum from before that laminate your pretty skin. Swirling and swirling and he’s drawing gooey patterns right where you were bulging with every inch of him, puffed-up pussy lips engorged wide open when he’s nosediving with his thickened cockhead.

“But it’s s-so filthy, baby…” he trails off, lower lips all wobbly and whining. And Choso’s dark brows pucker into the cutest frown when he dances those very same sopping wet digits up to his pert mouth and sucks. Moaning. “Can I really- c-can I really cum inside? Again?”

“Mhm– trust me, Cho-”

And how could he ever not?

Before you know it, you’re feeling the spongy probe of Choso’s fat head kiss up against your womb. Thwack! Thwack! Thwacking a smooth staccato of wet swipes that your gummy depths are branded to remember, syncing up to that thunderous pulse of yours. 

“M’g-gonna cum- fuuuck- s’unfair-” he gasps against your ear, burning up. “-this pretty pussy of yours is s-sucking me up so ngh- well that-” Face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, you jolt when you feel a hot pitter-patter of tears- “-I-I’ve just gotta get you pregnant, baby–”

Flooding out thick, saturated spurts of his cum that glue to your mushy walls like a second coating of slick. He feels so hot inside swabbing around every nook and cranny, and you’re hit with the sleazy smell of sex and him. 

Shit. He was cumming nothing now.

“W-wait-” Choso’s voice grows ragged, his eyes snap open as if in a daze. And you catch the way one set of his slender fingers envelope the creamy base of his cock to squeeze. Pumping ever-so-slightly up and down up and- “M’cumming- dry- fuck! Can’t- I can’t cum dry–”

You’re sure that stupidly drunken reassurances are falling from your lips, but Choso doesn’t hear any of them. Can’t register them. Can’t recognize anything but the way he pulls out for just a split-second. Flipping you over onto your back, you take in the soft crackle of jujutsu when his hazied mind pumps every ounce of blood in his body back to his blanking cock.

“O-oh my god–” You’re sobbing out at the suddenly staggering stretch, the way your elastic walls were forced to accommodate that thickly expanding girth of his. “D-did you just use ngh- your cursed technique to-”

“Yes.” Choso’s wheezing out, chest storming back and forth while the overstimulation hits him mercilessly. He bores into your pretty face, “Yes yes yes yes- I…I want a baby– ngh- c-can’t fuck this pretty pussy pregnant if I cum dry.”

Over and over. He’s whispering out an almost-painfully rasping, “This time- this time this time-” when his achy cock splurges out a few more dry orgasms. Fuck-

He knew he was going to have you all round and glowing - he already knew. Knew he’d make Yuji an uncle and you a gorgeous momma - such a gorgeous momma, with a gorgeous son in tow.

Babbling out these very same words without even realizing into the crook of your tender neck, you huff out a cockdrunken bout of laughter. “S-seems you’ve been hit with ngh- babyfever, Cho–”

“Babyfever, huh?” he whimpers, startling tears trekking down the regal apples of his cheek when his poor cock cums dry again. You jolt at the electric buzz of jujutsu that zaps through your body when he’s hardening himself again. Again. “I like the sound of that…”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Too big? Funny.

“I just put one tip in n’ you’re already cockdrunk?” Sukuna’s rumbling, reverberating snicker echoes throughout the royal court room. He’s leaning back on his throne, basking you in the most sleazy grin, “Heh- anythin’ to say for yerself, brat?”

It’s honestly through sheer stubbornness that you’re finding it in your sugar-coated mind to huff. “N-no.”

The only one he’d let speak to him that way, he’s puckering up your pretty pussy lips around one of his fat thumbs. Swirling dousingly wet circular patterns around and around while another hand smacks his second cock down your sobbing slit once. Twice. “Then what, silly girl? Too big?”

He doesn’t realize if you know you’re nodding - nodding and nodding while mewling out the tiniest, “But m’not leaving until you c-cum inside, Kuna–”

Oh.

Oh.

Overgrown black nails digging neat crescents into the plush of your hips, he’s baring you with a snarling show of ivory canines. Voice shot - rasping. Weaved with something dangerous. “Oi oi- don’t talk outta ya ngh- damn pussy, woman. Use that pretty lil’ head of yours.”

“But it’s true–” Your arms find their way around his ridiculously broad shoulders, cushioned against his plush muscles. Batting your lashes, it makes Sukuna gulp when you slip and slide your grinding way along his extra length. And oh, you already know you won. “-I wan’ a baby.”

And no one has ever seen the infamous king of curses rendered speechless, no one has ever seen his devilishly red eyes bulge out almost comically, mean mouth - both of them - drop in slack-jawed awe. Except you, that is - right now.

Sukuna’s smug mouth gapes open and closes a few too many times that he will deny later on. “A-a baby? My baby?”

Nodding, “Mhm– a-” 

But, shit, you can’t finish your sentence - no matter how badly you wanted to. Because that very instant of confirmation makes Sukuna’s fat cocks perk up against your bulging g-spot, magical bolts of bliss sparking behind your eyes and making you dizzy

“A baby- an heir, is it?” He breathes - he gasps. And you’ve never seen Sukuna like this, never seen that special glint of something feral in his eyes as he spits out, “Don’t fuckin’ look at me like ngh- that.”

Curled digits planting just a few sodden slaps! of his staggering second length along your weepy folds before sinking in.

Shovelling all throbbing girths of his dual shafts into your snug orifice, it’s like both of Sukuna’s swollen cocks are fighting for dominance. Jostling against every single tenderized sweet spot embedded into your walls, spearing you open so wide that you can’t help but keen. Stupidly open mouth sinking into the flesh of his tattooed shoulder-

Smack!

“Tch, easy on the merchandise if you wan’ me ta ngh- fuck a baby into you-” he’s rolling his eyes, soothing over the sting on your ass. Bouncing his thick, muscular thighs up and down up and down to jitter your unsteady hips viciously along his lengths. “-how many?”

“Wh-what?” you’re blinking.

And of course Sukuna’s only growling something dark and heady at the back of his throat. Handsomely sharp jaw clenched when with one singular push of two beefy arms, you’re being stuffed splittingly full with his rock-hard cocks to the brim. His wet divots drizzling a painting of pre across your doughy cervix, splurging and rubbing up together. Till you felt like you were going to burst with every kiss of those pink, cushiony tufts of hair at his fat base. 

“Thereee we go—” he’s chuckling. Fucking up into you like he was angry. Like he hated you - even though it was the furthest fucking thing. “Look at you all ngh- t-taking the cocks you were saying’ was too fuckin’ big.” 

You’re pouting when he lilts his tone a few octaves higher to match your own - dramatically so. 

“But for bein’ my hahhh- good fuckin’ girl…” And that gravelling implication makes your glissading pussy greedily slick a fresh coating down Sukuna’s already-drenched shafts. “-how many heirs do ya wan’ me ta breed into this cute cunt?”

You’re not sure what you’re babbling out nonsensically - you’re not sure what you even think, but the monstrous curse in front of you arches a sharp, pink brow. Humming, “I’m thinking- hah- three. At fuckin’ least.”

And oh, the moment that promise leaves his mouth, it’s like a dam is being shattered open. 

Because it’s all that he can think about - all that he wants. He yearns. 

Manspreading until you’re teetering precariously on his staggering size, two of his beefy arms wrap around your middle to haul your pliant body cushioned against his sculpted pecs. One more veering to pinch your clit and the other- damn, that fourth one. 

Acting as if with a mind of its own when he splayed out a hand down your tummy, feeling for the cylindrical bulge of his dual cock spearheading you impossibly open. Caressing. Soft. 

“G-gonna have my power heh-” he’s babbling, biting his lower lip to hide a few weakened whimpers. “N’ your pretty features, ngh- and your dumb goo-goo heart and- and-”

And what was this?

Sukuna couldn’t stop thinking about that dangerous little vision you’d planted in his sugary mind. Couldn’t stop thinking about how gorgeous you’d look all round because of him - a pretty queen, with his pretty heirs. How much he’d love-

“S’all your f-fuckin’ fault, brat-” Sukuna snaps his teeth, words coming out hot. Feverish. As frenzied as his hips were when they’re crashing into your own so hard that it hurts. Bruising the planes of his sharp hip bones, buttering up your goopy insides until they felt viscous around him. “Fuck- a thousand fuckin’ years n’ this is what makes me ngh- lose- it-”

Fuming - seething.

Because every collision into your elastic cervix has him recoiling back just a haf-bounce. A gluey smear of precum tainted behind, but parting with your pretty pussy for just that was too much. 

He needed more. More, more, more-

“Kuna- Kuna m’gonna cum-” Your babbles cut through his shimmering visions of you with three kids dangling off your shoulders, fighting him for your attention. Heh. Hips jittering pathetically up and down to meet his sloppy cadence, your teeth sink into his tender earlobe. “M’gonna- hah- m’so close-”

Thwack!

His fingers smear along the mounded flesh on your ass, squeezing. “S’fucking cum, dammit.”

What Sukuna didn’t expect was for himself to cum, too - sharpened carnivorous teeth digging deep into your throat - for all to see. Curdling low grunts at the back of his throat and fuck-

Fuck, he sees white. 

Now, Sukuna always came so much. The double divots at the very ends of his two cocks splurging out candy-like seed that waters your melty cunt until you were overspilling. Every peak of your high being wrung out of you. Sukuna’s pulling out just one of his cocks to make an even bigger mess-

“Oh- ohhh-” Sukuna seeps with the puddle of opaquely milky cum waterfalling from the minute openings of your sloppy hole. Something about it makes him gulp. Parched. Second mouth manifesting on a free hand and slurping a few candied dredges, “I think…I think th-three isn’t enough.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - Wifey, wifey

“K-kiss me-” Ino gasps - he begs. And your breath just hitches at the way his pretty brown eyes flood with a glaze of tears. Rosy lips raw and puckered, “Please- please, I j-jus’ need you to kiss me, pretty–”

And how could you refuse?

With your splayed-out palms mountaineering over his heaving pecs, you’re craning your glissading body down, down, down to kiss him senseless.

And shit, he can feel the way your clingy walls hug his pulsing shaft even tighter. Careening his mushroom head to bump up against your bruised g-spot, he leaves a few gluey pecks exactly on the bullseye of your tender orifices. Just in time for Ino’s lips to wrap around your tongue and suck-

“M-mmpf- woah.” Ino’s weepy eyes scrunch wildly together, maw spilling slack to groan out. Like he’d just realized something - just had the world’s greatest epiphany. “S-sweetness, I…” Struggling - heaving to scramble up all the correct words, but it was so hard when your squelching pussy was talking to him like this. Only - only - continuing at your reassuring nods, “I wanna fuck a baby into you- two, actually.”

Fuck- fuck. That’s not how it was supposed to come out. It felt so…dirty speaking to his beloved girl this way. 

But Ino can’t help the way that his overstimulated mind was so heated it felt like he was burning from the inside out. Leanly strong arms manhandling you to scurry his ruddied face into your sweat-sheened neck, “I-I mean-”

“I want that too, T-Taku–” you’re moaning. “N-need you to fill me up so badly. Ngh- been wantin’ it for a while now…” Oh, it sounds like music in Ino’s ears and a mantra in his mind.

Over and over and-

“No-” Ino’s rutting his colliding cockhead against your pulpy cervix, teeth gritting furiously with such pathetic embarrassment. “No no no- fuck! M’gonna–”

And that’s just about the warning you’re being showered with, before something hot and thick dumps inside your cunt. Viscous spatterings of velvety ropes smear themselves on your slobbering walls, gummy insides so wet and sweltering hot. Just from those words you’d uttered - Ino thinks that he’d be happy even if they were the last fucking ones he’d ever head. 

That shrill gasp escaping from your lips is enough to make Ino groan. 

“Baby, did you just-”

“Yes.” He’ll berate himself later for cutting off your pretty voice, head now too busy reeling with trying to scoop up the gelatinous dredges of cum your gaping hole was slurring out. Deft fingers pushing each creamy ring back inside- “Move your fingers, pretty. Can’t let it go to ngh- waste. I-I’m sorry s’jus’ ah- this pussy is just…”

Truly, there was no word to describe the utter heaven that Ino was floating in right now. 

And the only thing justifying his words are the way his hips drill into yours. Not stopping. Not even slowing down. His thrusts were so filthy now - absolutely nothing like the measly languid slides you were gyrating down his fat cock. Flexing abs massaging your core, rounded cum-filled balls once more so heavy and stinging against your ass. 

No, it’s like something had snapped - something had…changed. 

Two rough hands clap around your vigorously gyrating hips, so pressurized that it was almost as if Ino was dying to bruise his patterned fingerprints right into your tender skin. And his delicate voice cracks with a ruined little whine of your name. Eyes sliding to the shadowy back of his lids-

“Th-this is alright- right?” His lower lip trembles, asking. Pleading. Slender hips curving up again and again in a way that had your sugary sweet pussy flaps creaming out drizzly sheen after sheen of fresh slick. “Can I really…”

Huffing out a teasing little puff of laughter, it makes Ino’s pretty cheeks flush even deeper. “Mhm— nothing to hah- be shy about, baby.”

God- he couldn’t even bear to say those sultry words out loud. Instead, reverently gliding one of his palms along your tummy, Ino’s breath hitches at the nudge and pull of his bawling tip. 

Pressing down. Hard. 

“M-m’gonna make you s-so ngh- full here– spilling.” he’s drawling out, words stumbling along into one another. And you can’t help but have your hips fucking even faster into his pirouetting grinds at the utterly husky tone of his voice. The way he sounds ruined already. “Use me until ya give me t-two sons–”

Shit- when did he even learn to talk like this? It’s like his mouth was declaring those deepest, darkest secrets of his. Oh…yeah he knew it - it was babyfever. And Ino was a hopeless, happy patient.  

Sappy pecks being lined up along your kiss-bitten lips, one of his thumbs expertly rummages for the bulging caress of where his smooth, curvaceous head was spattering thick wads of pre. “Think they’ll h-have my ngh- looks?” Head lolling all the way back at the sliding pressure. “Hope they have your haaah- smile, pretty–”

“Shit- shit shit shit-” you’re gasping, wet breaths being drunken in by a parched Ino. He’s greedy - ravenous. Such an uncharacteristically sleazy smile being smeared all over his lips when your cushiony g-spot gets bruised by his rotund tip. “I-it feels so good, Taku- Ngh-”

“Only the b-best for the mother of my kids, duh-” he rolls his eyes. 

Oh, his words were so sweet - pert lips grazing your own in a messy excuse of a kiss was so sweet. But what wasn’t was the way that one set of his long fingers spiral around your wrists and pin them behind your back. 

And it gives him the absolute perfectly heavenly angle to latch those gentle lips around your hardened nipples. “Gonna be s-so pretty- the ngh- prettiest momma-” Nuzzling his head into the valley of your heaving breasts, his teeth sink into one sensitive nub and tugs. “Have you all round n’ swollen and m-mine. Mine mine mine-”

All that resonates in your mind when he’s finally tipping you over to cum. Your eyes daze with a bleary tinge, tired thighs aching when your hips thwack! wetly into his.

His tired cock drooping out a few more pearly beads of seed that refreshes your gripping walls - before Ino sees sparks and cums dry. Eyes practically smothered white with how far they’re rolling back, sweat breaking out over his forehead all over again, mouth falling slack.

And out of it comes only two words-

“Marry me.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - HEAVEN N’ BACK

“D-don’t run away–” And to anyone else, it would sound like the strongest is begging on his knees. Words crumbling with hollow rasps, cracking into pathetic little whines. “Come baaaack- where’d you think you’re hah- goin’?”

But you knew better.

You knew that Gojo Satoru was just a single more saturated squeeze of your clingy walls from fucking snapping. And times like this, you wondered just how high the kill count would be - whether you would be number one on that list. 

As if reading your mind, his staggeringly long fingers grasp around your wrangling legs and drag you about halfway through those navy sheets like some ragdoll. 

With an innocently rosy pout, Gojo’s planting a pretty peck against your ankle, whispering out an utterly strained. “Just hngh- look at her-” And you’re realizing with a shockwave that he isn’t talking to you. Not even close. Cerulean eyes so hazy and glowing - smoldering into where your cunt was being speared right through by his solid inches. “-I c-come back from the fuckin’ ah- death n’ my girl’s zonin’ out.”

“I-I’m not–” you’re whining, being pressed with all his weighty muscles into the meanest mating press. 

“I-I-I-” Gojo’s mocking with such a sleazy grin - and for a split-second you’re wondering if he’s even realizing what he’s babbling. Eyes half-lidded, barely focused. Sweat-glistened forehead connecting with yours, the humorless grin that Gojo’s plastered on is so ruined. “-heheh, m’not gonna die w-without breedin’ ngh- this cute cunt ever again.” Boring down at your greedy hole, “Riiight~?”

It’s as if he expects your sweet, sugar-coated pussy to answer. Huffing with a dramatic pout once the only thing he’s gifted in return are the most lecherous squelches he’s ever heard in his life. Mumbling, “Got her mouth full– gonna be even f-fuller soon, y’know?”

“Y-you said that already, Toru–” you’re sobbing out, thighs drooping wider and wider open with every withering ram being punished upon your puffy pussy. 

He’s drilling into you so deeply that you swear there’s a permanently red imprint of your thighs on his washboard abs. Rummaging open your gluey walls that it was like they were permanently molded around his fattening girth. Thick, viscous sloshes of pre coating your poor, bulging folds. 

The sight is so pretty that shit- Gojo can’t help but have a little fun with it. 

Plunging out this entirety of his fat shaft to spy down at the way your poor unshut hole sloshes all over herself with a milky torrent of his cum. Gojo’s curling a few fingers over his hefty hilt and thwack! thwack! thwacking! your tearful lips even soppier. 

“Look at how much you’re ngh- wastin’-” And Gojo sounds genuinely upset, rosy lower lip wobbling at the frosty ounces of his voluminous seed. “Guess I jus’ hafta breed ya alllll over again…”

Ah, the things he does - the stamina he has. 

Well, stamina if it counts just a little cheating. Reversed curse technique currently working overtime to make sure that neither of you are breaking bones right now - though, that’s too late to say for the bed. You’re gliding a hand down the shattered headboards, avoiding those broken springs-

“B-being so greedy right now, Toru–” Yet, every scolding word of yours sounds like a whine as your slobbering flaps swallow up every inch he’d give. “What has hah- gotten into you.”

You knew. 

Oh, you knew.

Because Gojo really did think for a few seconds that it would be the end of it all right there on Shinjuku grounds…as if. 

Gojo Satoru had clawed his way over to you and he would always - from hell and back. And the one thing on his mind was-

“A baby–” He’s spitting out a lecherous mantra - the same one he’s been husking over and over for hours now. The thought enough to have his sculpted back hunching, his jaw slacking open, a sly drizzle of drool beading down the corners. He didn’t know why - he didn’t know how, couldn’t get it out of his mind. “A baby a baby oh- y-you’re gonna give me a baby, right?”

As if you could say no to that. 

Because even after so long - Gojo was willing himself to paint your cute cunt white all over again. He doesn’t know if he can, doesn’t know whether it’s fucking possible but fuck- if he wasn’t going to try. 

Shit- he felt so feverish with want and he didn’t even know why.

Gojo smears his lips down yours in a kiss, buzzing fingertips giving your pert clit a ready slap! It’s harsh. Right in time with the ruthless cadence of his fat, mushroom tip marching into your g-spot. “Now fuck yerself ngh- back onto this fuckin’ cock- milk a baby outta me. Take it all.”

Something about his words were so mean - desperate. And as soon as your mindlessly fucked self was writhing a few fingers down to your neglected clit, they’re getting rudely swatted away by Gojo. 

Eyes wild, teeth bared in such a base animal instinct. “Move that damn hand.” Rolling one fat thumb over the plump, tenderized hood. “I said fuck yourself not- hmpf- Can’t breed her hah- properly otherwise.”

You’ve never seen your lovely boyfriend ever act like this before. He’s sparking the ends of his eyes with blue lightning bolts of cursed energy. Free hand siding a few fingers right down the cylindrically carved pathway of his rummaging cock. 

Gasping, “T-Toru what are you-”

But he only smiles mysteriously, and you don’t know if you’re even capable of handling what he’d just examined at your gooey depths. Rendering you dizzy already.

But Gojo, it turns out, was doing far, far worse. 

It’s like his body is overtaken by some sort of fever, a giddy little giggle bursting from his lips. You’re being fucked so hard into the mattress that you’re sure you’ll be able to count the little outlines of the sheets on your skin even tomorrow. 

Neat, pearly rows of teeth smirking, “Our first is gonna be a g-girl.”

And maybe you’re cumming - maybe you’re not. By now the nth orgasms on top of orgasms simply leave you gasping at the crescendo of euphoria, your vision halfway blacking out. Gojo Satoru really was the greatest at everything and that included making you lose your mind.

Just about the only thing you’re registering is his fatigued cock spasming deep into the honeyed depths of your cunt. Coating your womb in a sugar sweet lather of cum - once. Twice. Sloshing with every rugged swivel and drip! between your pursed lips.

Gojo hisses when his achy cock starts cumming dry halfway through. And he doesn’t know whether he simply flipped the two of you over or fucking teleported; because when you’re blinking your vision back, you’re finding your unsteady legs straddling his slender hips.

Gojo’s head lounges hungrily behind on the pillows, face tilted cockily up at you. And his massive palms don’t know where to touch - anywhere and everywhere down your simmering body. 

“C-c’mon now- don’t think we’re done just yet.” Before finally resting on your slightly inflated womb, still convulsing with tingles of your high and the steaming hot weight of his cum. His hips rut- ah right…babyfever - that’s what it is. “F-fuck a few babies outta me, wontcha?”

“B-babies?” Plural. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Because of course, it’s plural. “I want six.” 

A/N. Ahhh honestly I don’t even know if I want kids but…anyways, hope you have a lovely week <3

INT. HOSPITAL - LABOR ROOM - NIGHT

The room is dimly lit, buzzing with machines and tension. Hair clinging to your forehead as you gripped the sheets of the hospital bed, legs trembling as your screams bounced off the walls. The nurse counted you down while holding your hand.

“Push, just one more you got this.” The nurse said encouraging you to give one more good push. Oliver paces near the wall, fists clenched, looking like he wants to bolt. He’s only 17, and reality is sinking in like a stone in his stomach. He’s dressed in a hoodie, black joggers, cleats still on from practice. He wasn’t ready for this. 

You had called him 40 minutes into his practice screaming at him to come get you NOW because your water had broken while watching a movie so he rushed over to your house and drove you to the nearest hospital while praying he wouldn’t pass out behind the wheel. 

“Why the FUCK are you standing over there for?! This is your damn baby too!” You screamed at him as he stumbled towards you grabbing your hand trying to stay calm while watching the nurses try their hardest to get the baby out.

“HURRY UP AND GET IT OUT!” You screamed at the nurses as the pain seemed to get worse, that’s what you get for refusing any medication when you first got here. “I’m here. I got you, okay? Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.” Oliver reassured you brushing hair out of your face. 

You snarled at him “You better not I’d fucking kill you.” The monitor spikes up as the nurse looks up at you and urges that you push one last time as you let out a deep guttural cry, and then a shrill, wet wail cuts through the room.

“IT’S A GIRL!” The nurse cheers Oliver's breath hitches. The world seemed to fade out as the nurse lifted the tiny little human and placed it on your chest.

Tears formed in your eyes as you looked down at your baby. You’re sobbing now, exhausted, broken but your eyes are wide with something Oliver couldn’t name, maybe fear, love, or maybe both. Oliver just stares, and it hits him, he’s a father, and you’re now stuck with him. Something deep in his twisted heart loves it.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Forever.” He whispered and you didn’t react, just held the baby closer to you. 

PRESENT DAY

After graduating and everything Aiku had also gotten big in the soccer world but that didn’t surprise you one bit he was an amazing soccer player he even started teaching your daughter how to play once she learned how to walk.

But nowadays your relationship with Oliver has been rocky, a lot of arguments about him doing shit he knows he’s not supposed to be doing. Last night the screaming match pushed you to your limits.

“So how is your relationship with ‘your future wife’?” The interviewer said quoting what Oliver had said about you in a past interview. 

He tilted his head a little. “Everything is perfect, I wouldn't ask for anything more.” “That’s nice to hear, what about your daughter? Sources say you’ve been teaching her soccer since she started walking?” The interviewer laughed causing Aiku to let out a small chuckle too. “Yeah she’s two now and what can I say she’s doing better than some of these big soccer players.” He joked letting out a small chuckle. 

“MOMMY!” Your daughter yelled marching into your room while you were packing your bags because of the fight. “Daddy’s on tv.” She said as you forced a smile on your face “That’s nice baby.” You said now facing the girl that stood at your doorway. “Where are we going?” She tilted her head similar to the way her dad tilted his head.

He made it so it looked like you were the perfect family on the internet and that pissed you off so much. “Nowhere..” You say now looking at the halfway packed suitcase with yours and your daughter’s clothes in it.

This was stupid you were overexaggerating, you were about to pack your stuff and leave over a petty fight. But you were sick of being in love with someone who didn’t care if he burned you out in the process of becoming everything he dreamed of.

-

You started at the clock on your nightstand as it displayed the time 2:53. The room was dark except for the glow from your daughter's baby monitor. “Everything is perfect, I wouldn't ask for anything more.” You stared blankly at your phone. No new messages, no phone calls, no updates. This wasn’t the first time this has happened. He'd come in tomorrow and say ‘I was out with the boys’ or some corny shit like that as an excuse. 

Your fingers hovered over his name in your contacts. You didn’t call. The front door never opened.

The front door opened at 8am, the sun shining through the windows of the kitchen shining on the marble floor as you made you and your daughter some breakfast. He walked in like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t left you alone all night. His hair was a little messy, hoodie half-zipped, and he didn’t even bother taking off his shoes.

“Good morning.” He said, wrapping his arms around your waist as you shoved him off of you. He moved back and looked at you, raising a brow. “What? Are you mad?” You stared at him for a second, then let out a soft, humorless laugh.

“Where were you?” “I told you I was with the guys.” He leaned against the counter, eyes scanning your face. “You don’t trust me anymore?” You let the spatula clatter into the sink. “You’re not someone worth trusting anymore, Oliver.” You say as your daughter walks her way into the kitchen “C’mon don’t start your shit.” You turned your whole body facing him “I’m tired of you making it seem like I’m the crazy one when I react to your bullshit.” You said eyes are sharp.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you before walking up to you grabbing your hands before you pushed him away causing him to lose a grip on your hands. “If you wanna play single, go ahead. But don’t pretend we’re some perfect little family for the cameras.” You shouted at him before you heard a sniffle from the kitchen table causing you to look over at the young girl that had tears in her eyes. 

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you as you went to pick up the 2 year old, jaw tight, like you were a problem he didn’t know how to solve. And the worst part? You knew he’d probably do it again. And you hated how a part of you still wanted him anyway.

After the small fight you went on with your day ignoring Oliver for the rest of the day but letting your daughter spend some time with her dad since he’s barely there due to ‘games’.

You watched as he showed her how to dribble the soccer ball praying he didn’t see the smile that appeared on your face. But you couldn’t lie, moments like this made you happy. You wished it was always like this.

Soon the sky turned dark as Oliver wrapped up the small soccer game he and his daughter were playing where he let the little girl score on him the whole time. You stepped outside “I’ll go give her a bath, could you order something.” You say picking up the girl entering the house.

Steam fogged up the mirror as the water splashed softly around your daughter. You were kneeling beside the tub, gently rinsing the shampoo from her hair, lost in your own thoughts “Do you hate Daddy?” She asked so innocently which made your heart ache “why would you ask that?” She shrugged her shoulders “Because you’re always mad at him. And Daddy said you don’t love him anymore.” You bit the inside of your cheek staring at the little girl who deserved a loving home where both parents are happy and there for her and most of all love each other.

She blinked up at you “So you still love daddy?” She asked as you bit harder, feeling the taste of blood in your mouth now. “Yeah I do now let’s finish your bath.” You are telling her the truth.

-

After eating dinner you put your daughter to bed because being outside wore her out. “We’re not done Y/n.” He said leaning against the doorframe, you didn’t respond but your back facing him but your hands clinched the bed sheets. “Alright let’s end it then. One way or another.” You whipped your head toward him “You’re a fucking mess.” “Then maybe we’re meant for each other.” He responded to you. Before you could say another word, his lips crashed into yours. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t romantic. It was a collision of frustration, anger, and desperate need. He backed you into the wall, your breath heavy, the fight still fresh in the air. His hands were on your hips, pulling you in closer as if he was trying to suffocate the tension between you both with passion.

He kissed you deeper, pulling at your clothes, and you didn’t even have the strength to stop him. You just wanted to feel something, anything but the crushing weight of the mess you’d both created. The sex was rough. A blur of tangled limbs, harsh words, and tangled emotions. But it was also familiar. Comforting, in a sick way. You let him inside you, let him have control, because you didn’t know how to control him, or yourself. 

Oliver didn’t pull out.

You thought nothing of it but he had this whole thing figured out, he felt you slipping away so he had to do something about it.

-

INT. PLANNED PARENTHOOD - NOON

You had just done a blood test a week ago. Now you were sitting on the table waiting for your doctor that told you about your first pregnancy to come back to the room. You bit your nails nervously more nervous than you were 2 years ago maybe because you had Oliver with you back then. Tears started to form in your eyes again similar to the first time but this time you didn’t have anyone to hold you and tell you it was alright and that you’d get through this together. 

“Please, Please, Please.” You said trying to calm yourself down only as your hands started to shake your mind going to the worst possible things ever. ‘What if Oliver leaves you this time.’ Or ‘You can’t even handle one kid, you're just 19 you’re still learning and growing yourself how could you take care of two kids.’ You held yourself firmly and soon after the doctor entered the room with an envelope in his hand.

“Here you go.” He said handing the envelope over to you, you opened the envelope reading through the basic stuff like thanks for your patience and stuff then saw the results in big bold words. YOU ARE PREGNANT🎉. 

Your whole world seemed to crash down on you, your hands started to shake and the doctor gave you a worried expression. “Do you need me to call someone?” He said looking down at his clipboard “I could call your mom.” You shoot your eyes towards him “What no! She died three years ago.” You said tears in your eyes while stumbling over words “Well I’ll call Aiku Oliver he’s the second person on emergency contact.” The doctor said keeping his composure so you wouldn’t freak out even more. 

“No please.” “I have to, I can't let you behind the wheel when you’re obviously not doing well ma’am.” He said picking up the phone dialing the number that was on the paper. He spoke with Oliver telling him to come pick you up but he never told him why you were there but Aiku was smart he knew exactly why you were there. 

It took him less than fifteen minutes to get there which scared you when he slammed the door open revealing him and your daughter on his hip. “What happened?” He said, faking the worried expression as the doctor handed him the paper you had read off earlier as his eyes read through it he finally got to the end of the paper and his eyes went wide as if he was surprised. 

He put down your daughter and looked at you with an excited look as he walked up to you pulling you into a hug, a tight one like if he let you go you’d disappear. “C’mon let’s go I’ll get someone to come get your car.” He said helping you off the table as your two year old just looked at the two of you confused as the three of you walked out of the building. 

“You did this on purpose.” You said putting your seatbelt on as he turned to look at you “I have no idea what you’re talking about L/n.” He said pulling out of the parking lot while your daughter started babbling about any and everything. 

-

INT. HOSPITAL - LABOR ROOM - NOON

The last nine months have been HELL on earth for Oliver. You made every single day hell for him even for the slightest thing but he put up with it because he loved you. Surprisingly he even woke up late at night for you driving hours on end for some weird fruit that you randomly started to crave. 

But then the day finally came you were about to yell at him to go get you some weird shaped pizza but then you felt the warm liquid run down your leg as Aiku went into panic just like last time and rushed you to the hospital making a quick stop at his moms house dropping off his daughter before speeding to the hospital. 

“PUSH ON IT ASSHOLE BEFORE I PUSH THIS BABY OUT ON YOUR CAR FLOOR.” You yelled and you weren’t lying you had already started to push which horrified him as he started to go over 100.

Now you were back in a similar hospital bed holding onto Oliver’s hand as he looked at you with admiration “You got it baby, I’m not leaving ever.” He said as a smile spread across your lips because you knew he wasn’t lying. 

“I know Oliver.” You said while pushing as he gave you a reassuring smile. As twisted as your relationship was, the two of you still loved each other no matter how much the two of you tried to convince each other you didn’t. 

“OHMYGOD GET IT OUT!” You yelled at the nurse as one of them laughed at you as you paused and looked at him “Did you just laugh.” You looked down at him as he looked scared for a second as Oliver laughed and you turned towards him as his facial expression went neutral.

Then you felt the urge to push and you did as the doctors panicked “NO, NO, NO, NO!” One of the nurses said trying to get you to stop pushing but you kept on as the baby’s head started to come out then a few more pushes the baby was finally out. “It’s a boy! Congratulations mom and dad.” The male nurse said laying the baby on top of you.

“Holy fuck he looks exactly like you.” You said looking at the crying baby who opened his eyes showing his Heterochromia eyes leaving Oliver shocked looking at his baby. You definitely weren't leaving him now.

-

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Yeah you just had a baby literally identical to Oliver and you thought maybe that would be enough to stop doing the stupid shit he was doing but no it was like a cycle that you wanted to break.

But if you couldn’t break it you would just leave him.

“Mommyyyy.” Your oldest daughter let out looking like she was ready to fall out. “Yes?” You said fixing the end of your dress. “I don’t wanna go to gammy house.” She complained falling out on the floor as you lifted her up dusting off her pants.

She had gotten used to being around you all the time so when it was time for her to go to someone else’s house or anything of that sort she wanted to fall out. The baby on the other hand, he was quiet most of the time unless you didn't feed him when he wanted then you’d have a huge problem. 

“I’m going out, you're just going to be with gammy for a few hours.” You said kneeling down to the girl's height she pouted but nodded her head. “Now go put on your shoes, we gotta go now and put an extra baby bottle in your brother's baby bag.” You said walking into your room picking up your bag and grabbing your keys. 

Oliver’s mom's house wasn’t too far away from your house so that was a quick and easy drive now you were on your way to the restaurant that the guy you met suggested. One part of you felt happy about it because he knew about your past and your two kids but still stayed. But another part of you felt guilty because you knew you still had love for Oliver, a toxic type of love, a type of love that nobody else could give you. 

Pulling into the restaurant's parking lot you felt a shiver down your spine but you still stepped out of the car and entered the restaurant. The guy you were meeting was also just entering the restaurant and gave the hostess the name and time and the hostess let the two of you enter and seat the two of you also.

“You look beautiful.” He said as a smile appeared on your face “Thank you.” Was the only thing you could say as you picked up the menu and started flipping through it “You have two kids right, how old are you?” You paused and looked at him while smiling “Yeah I’m nineteen turning twenty soon.” You said with smile not leaving your face because you refused to be ashamed of your own mistakes.

“Must be hard, is the dad still around?” “Yeah he loves them.” You said no lie detected before his face went straight “Does he still love you?” “No but at one point I wished he did.” You said looking back down at the menu.

Now the rest of the date was going well. He even got closer to you and you had the bright idea to take a quick boomerang on your phone. Your drink in one hand, his hand in full view on your leg. You post it to your story with nothing but a heart emoji. You knew exactly what you were doing.

INT. SOCCER STADIUM – LOCKER ROOM – NIGHT

Oliver's lacing up his cleats, phone in hand when the notification lights up his screen. He clicks, pauses, he stares at the image for too long. Too quiet. The locker room is loud, but his brain isn’t registering a word anyone’s saying.

“Yo, you good?” Niko asked, looking at the obviously upset Oliver. Oliver’s jaw ticks “Yeah I’m good.”.

He’s not, not when he’s walking out onto the field during warm-ups thinking about how some guy had his hand on you, his future wife, the mother of his kids. Thinking about what you were doing when he wasn’t there.

-

A sigh left your lips as you walked through the front door heels in hand before you heard the front door slam shut like in the movies. 

You looked behind you to see a very upset Oliver. “You left my fucking kids at my mom house to go out with a fucking man, Y/n are you fucking kidding me.” You just blinked at him then tilted your head. “Like you don’t leave me with them for days on end while you go out and cheat on me.” You said as softly as he scoffed at you before walking into the living room as you followed behind him. 

“You wanna act like me so bad, huh?” You looked at him with disbelief “No, I wanna remind you that I could be you if I wanted to.” You said as he started walking towards you.

“I cheated on you, you know this you’ve always known this and you got your get back. I won’t do it again, do you trust me?” You let out an unpleasant laugh in his face “THE FUCK?!” You said rolling your eyes at the audacity this man had.

“You’re fucking insane Oliver I’ve been wanting to leave your crazy ass for the longest you know?” You pointed at his face and shoved him away from you but he walked back up to you again.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He said grabbing your face pulling you closer to him “You have two kids with me, you’re stuck with me baby.” His hand now moved down to your waist. “Get the fuck away from me.” You screamed at him pushing him back off of you before you walked back towards the front door and slid on a pair of crocs. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” He was irritated at your actions “To get my kids and getting away from you.” You said, meaning every word you just said. “You’ll be back and you know it, you'll think you need someone else but really you just need me.” He said as you scoffed and walked out the door slamming it in his face. 

After picking up your kids you started to drive with no destination in mind till you realized you were on your way back to your old house. It was only an hour away so you continued to drive silently the whole time. The road stretches endlessly in front of you, headlights cutting through the dark. Your daughter is fast asleep in the back seat, curled against the window with her blanket bunched under her cheek. The baby’s quiet, occasionally letting out soft breaths that remind you he’s still there, still yours, still needing you. 

But even with the breathing of both of your kids your thoughts went back to Oliver. Every argument, every apology, every kiss that tastes like a trap, every time you swore it was the last time, and yet you stayed, your grip on the steering wheel tightens every time his voice echoes in your head. 

By the time you pull into your dad’s driveway, the sky’s started to bruise purple. The sun is barely rising, casting an orange glow over the porch. You sit in the car for a minute, hands shaking slightly as you look at your reflection in the rearview mirror. Eyes swollen, face bare, exhausted, you knock softly, once, twice.

When the door opens, your father doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you then your baby’s then back at you then let out a tired sigh as he steps forward and pulls you into a hug like he used to when you were little. You melt into it. The baby stirs in the car seat, your daughter still fast asleep in your arms. “Come inside,” he says quietly. “I’ll set up the guest room.”

You stay there for a week.

No posts, no texts, no calls answered, Not even his. The days are slow and quiet. Your dad makes pancakes every morning. You sit on the porch with your baby and let your daughter chase butterflies in the backyard. You cry once, in the shower because that’s the only place they won’t see you fall apart.

-

EXT. STADIUM – EVENING

It’s game day, the stadium is buzzing, stadium lights burning like suns overhead, music blares through the speakers, the announcers talk fast, hyped voices bouncing off every wall

“Aiku’s back on the field tonight fresh off a messy breakup. Will heartbreak affect the game or fuel it?” The crowd gets louder at the mention of his name. Section signs wave in the air, girls scream, cameras flash.

Oliver Aiku jogs across the field for warm-ups, sweat already glistening across his brow, his hair down, calm, confident. That same smug smirk on his lips. He dribbles the ball like nothing’s wrong, like his whole life isn’t unraveling in slow motion behind his eyes. He hears his name chanted “Aiku! Aiku!” but it’s all static to him, white noise, Like always.

Until he stops mid-jog, head snapping toward the front row, like something just shifted.

Section C.

His eyes narrow. Through the barricade of fans and flashing cameras, you’re standing, front row, lips glossed, wearing his jersey, his name and number on your back the same as the other two kids like a brand. Your baby boy is nestled against your hip, wide eyes blinking at the lights. And your daughter clapping like she knows every cheer in the book, swinging her legs like she owns the world.

And maybe she does, because you showed up, her mommy, his weakness.

Two days ago, Oliver looked right into a reporter’s lens and said, “We’re done. I’m just focused on my career and my kids.” And now she’s here, looking like everything he's ever lost and everything he still wants, like every sin he’s ever committed.

Oliver’s teammates are calling for him, The coach is signaling. The whistle blows, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe, because you’re here. Like you always were. Like he always prayed you’d be. Suddenly the crowd vanishes, the lights dull, the field blurs.

All he sees is you, all he hears is the memory of your voice in the dark. The slam of the door, the silence that followed. Because no matter who he’s sleeping with, no matter how many goals he scores, how much fame he earns, or how far you run.

——

For months and months prior to that, it'd been the same thing between you and Sato.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me, baby. You know you’re my favorite,” He’d say, cooing you with that manipulatively charming voice of his after you’d asked him about yet another woman he was talking to.

You weren't sure why you kept going back to him. He never told you how he felt about you unless he was inside you—and even then you’re certain those feelings were all sex-based and moderately untrue.

Yet something about him kept drawing you back in.

And if you had to guess what exactly it was...

“Fuuck, y’like that don’t you?” He’d groan, having one big hand clasped around your throat as he plowed you into the mattress. Sato rarely ever took his time during sex, too eager to make sure you cum & keep up his reputation of being a good fuck. “Like the way my cock kisses that sweet spot, huh?”

The rhythmic sound of his pelvis smack smack smacking! against your ass echoes throughout the room at a pitch almost louder than your sapped moans. “Mhmm,” You'd hummed in response, fingernails dug into the bedsheets below.

You couldn't bring yourself to think about all the other women that's been in this same exact position before you when his cock was far too busy gliding in and out of your soaking pussy. The same sheets your fingers are clawing at is also clasped in between your teeth tightly, drool wetting up the fabric pathetically due to how good you felt.

Only to be rudely interrupted by his hand gripping at your neck tighter and then tugging the upper half of your body allll the way up—his chest pressing into your back while his dick massages the gushiest spot inside you. “Don’t do that,” Sato huffs with that shit-eating grin on his face, “Speak up, pretty girl. I couldn't hear you.”

“Uhuhh, yes,” You pant, tongue beginning to dangle out of your mouth all whorishly, “I love it, Sato.”

Cocky like always, he'd let off that amused scoff and then nip at your ear playfully, “Yeahh, I know you do. Jus’ can’t get enough of me.”

Thinking back again, he had the biggest ego you’d ever seen.

Sato was tenderly humping the rest of his thick cock into you while you were nice and close, just to realize after the first few thrusts that you were trying to inch yourself away from him—your moans getting airier by the second.

His smile widened, “Hah, where’re you goin’?” He'd only made you cum three times since the two of you got here. Surely that wasn't enough to have you acting like this already. “Look at you, trying to run from me now," Sato scoffed with faux bitterness.

You barely got a moment to process what he was doing before you choked.

Warm lips pressing against your ear, “C’mon, I jus’ want one more outta’ you,” He purred, his arm slow to wrap around your neck while his bulking muscles pressed into the center of your throat. Whatever oxygen was on its way to your head all but died out as the man put you into a bullying chokehold and then flexed.

Your cunt squeaked juicily around him and his cockhead nudged in deeper because of the hold he had on you, otherwise rendering your body unable to escape.

That was one of many reasons why you always ran back to him. If Sato Gojo didn't know how to do anything else right, he damn sure knew how to fuck.

“Mhmm, that’s it, baby." His voice was huskier against your eardrums now and you felt your body shuddering with a sense of numbness as something slicker oozed around his shaft. "Take that fuckin’ cock—juuust like that.”

His thrust became slower while he held you in place and you'd never felt so full in your life. It wasn't until he suddenly snapped up into you that all air left your lungs and your eyes crossed.

Whatever sound you let out was beyond pathetic and only followed by a desperate, “S’too much,” that he could barely hear.

Rolling his eyes, he repeated the motion a few more times at a steady pace, letting you adjust to being arched and folded up how he wants you. “My dramatic girl, acting like you haven't been taking it just fine," He reminded you.

You almost believed him for a moment there until his free hand came snaking around your torso to press against your lower abdomen—right over the bulge his fat cock had created against your skin—and applying an egregious amount of pressure.

“M’gonna cum, Sato,” You cried out as his fingers slithered down to nudge against your clit. Never a firm rub or anything like that since he felt like his cock alone was enough to work what he wanted out of you.

He’d smile all victoriously and whisper, “That's it? Don't tell me you're still too scared to squirt on me?”

Truth be told, that was the one thing he couldn’t do for some reason.

He never said anything but he thinks maybe you’re just one of those women who need a little more effort put into in order to make you squirt. More effort of which he damn sure doesn’t feel like putting in.

Four orgasms in a row? That’s fine, he can do that no problem. Making you squirt? As badly as he wants to deep down inside, he just can’t.

You ended up leaving a creamy mess around his cock but it's not the spurting stream of wetness he was hoping for. After letting you tremble out of your high, he's slow with the way he unwraps his arms from around you.

You fall forward onto the bed and let out a heavy breath before smiling wearily in relief. No other guy on campus ever managed to make you cum even once so of course you didn't think much of the fact that Sato couldn't make you squirt.

Hell, you were unknowingly on the same page with him—thinking you might've needed extra effort put in for that kinda release. Which was fine, you didn't need that much from him. The fact that he could make you cum back to back was more than enough in your book.

Not his though.

Sato hated it. He hated how he couldn't make you squirt—the fact burned at his ego and wounded his pride greatly. He's made other women do it so he doesn't understand what the problem is. There were some nights where he wondered if maybe he was doing something wrong with you. Or maybe you'd found someone else who could—

He unknowingly scoffs at his thoughts, shuffling out of the bed and swiping up the nearest clean sweats to slip into. Who was he kidding? There isn't one other person on campus you'd go to over him.

And if he couldn't make you squirt, he knows there's no one else that could.

Amid his deep thoughts, you happen to look over and catch the way those white brows of his are neatly knitting together. He didn't even realize how his true feelings on the matter were written all over his face.

Your eyes had ran over him a couple times, pondering on all the scratch marks in various places. Places that your hands haven't touched.

And that's how the routine was with the two of you; high tension all throughout the day, let him fuck you 'til all your senses went numb, and then fade into quietness with little to talk about since Sato doesn't deem it necessary to get close with you in that way.

When you catch the way he's dragging his feet around the room, trying to clean the mess of clothes you two made prior to getting in the bed, your brows lifts with curiosity. Asking gently, "Hey, are you alright?"

Sato hums without turning around to you, running his a hand through his hair as if stressed out. "Yeah, m'fine." He grunts, glancing over at you after and adding a slightly comforting, "Are you?"

You nod in response to him and he stares for a moment longer than necessary, still deep in his thoughts about something he surely wasn't sharing with you anytime soon.

Why would he? You didn’t need to know that he was beating himself up over something so stupid. He’s well aware that he’s the best guy to ever sleep with you so, opening up to you about something so trivial wasn’t in his character.

There’d been jokes and banter between the two of you before—obviously—but it never went any further than that. The moment things threatened to dip into something real, something more tender or honest, Sato would shut it down with quick precision.

Which is exactly why you didn't try pressing for more of this dry conversation. Instead, you silently watched him tug a shirt over his head and then head over to the nightstand for his phone.

He's busy texting someone for a bit before he releases a huff and turns his head to see the way you've been quietly watching him, "Did you want me to run you a bath or—"

"No, no, I told you, I'm fine," You unintentionally cut off.

You weren't sure where the awkwardness had come from but it wasn't completely unwelcome since there was clearly something he wasn't telling you. You saw it in the way he pouted all grumpily just before looking at you.

Whatever was on his mind had to be eating him up on the inside.

Not that the frown pushed you to ask him anything else though. You ended up turning over and rolling off is bed a few minutes later to gather your things and leave, to which he'd peacefully helped you with.

Then Sato escorted you all the way out of his maze-like home and was "kind" enough to give you a kiss on the forehead before sending you off.

Little things like that always caught you off guard. Your heart would do that weird thing in your chest as you wondered if there was a possibility of experiencing more than just hook-ups with the man.

Though, reality is quick to slap you back to your senses when you see him with his arm around some other woman the next day while on your way to class.

You knew better than to get emotionally attached to Sato Gojo. Everyone did.

——

Some days later is when shit decides to hit the fan between you two.

It happens so randomly that you almost feel as though you dreamt the whole thing up. The day starting with him texting you to come over that night and somehow ending with you in thwarted tears.

In all the time you spent with Sato, there'd never been a moment where he was blatantly selfish. Something of which surprised you in the beginning of your relationship since he was known to be a fuckboy.

Yet, ending up in his bedroom for the nth time, as his thumb rubbed at your clit with unsteady, jerky motions, appearing otherwise annoyed about something—Sato had been selfish for the first time with you.

Foreplay was skipped entirely and you should've known something was up from that alone.

The most you got out of him prior to being stripped of your clothing was a messy kiss and a barely audible, "Need somethin' from you, baby," grunted into your mouth.

Then you were being carried all the way up to his bedroom, handled frustratedly down into the mattress, and soon fucked at a rate you weren't used to.

His thrusts were sloppy and needy, voice quiet since he didn't bother talking you through it or saying anything at all, and the only thing with a sense of normalcy to it was the way his thumb nudged over your clit as his cock dove in and out of you.

Midway through, you assumed he just had a bad day or something. Figured he wanted to take some of that stress out on you.

And that wasn't out of the ordinary for him, it's happened more often than not.

But as his thumb drew desperate circles around your twitching bud, Sato's cock twitched and he pulled out the moment you were about to cum. You were too dazed by his abrupt action that you nearly missed the way he stroked himself into finishing on your stomach and then scoffed. Bitterly.

Your eyes were glossed over since the taste of your own orgasm had been right there on the tip of your nerves, stripped away from you faster than you could blink.

Whatever had been bothering him about having sex with you was felt before it was understood.

He was already turning away by the time you pushed yourself to sit up, the sheets gliding down your arms as you watched him with wide, teary eyes. The room felt ten times quieter than it normally did. You saw how he crossed the room as if nothing had happened—as if this was just another unremarkable moment to be shrugged off.

"Sato," You say, his name tripping in your throat on the way out.

Only then did he pause, fingers curled around his drawer handle. Not sparing you a glance back, "What." he breathed out.

It was hardly even a response, more of a wall you'd audibly stumbled into. You'd never heard his voice so dull and flat with you.

Swallowing down whatever confusing emotions were building up in your throat, "Did I, um... did I do something wrong?"

Somehow that gets his attention. He glances back over his shoulder then, expression insipid and eyes casting over you all bored-like. "Don't start that," He said, irritation weaving into his voice, "You're overthinking shit already."

Your mouth opens to say something but it's like you'd been slapped in the face, leading your lips to seal shut for a second. His words were too heavy for you, coming off with weighted dismissiveness.

After a few beats, your words trail out slowly, "Sorry I'm a little confused, Sato. You asked me to come over for that..?"

He exhaled sharply, like the question itself had tired him, "What else do I ever call you over for?"

Something shrewd twisted in your chest, "Certainly not whatever the fuck that was just now."

Sato finally turned more fully and leaned back against his dresser, crossing his arms and letting his eyes meet yours firmly. "You sound upset."

"I feel used," You'd snapped back immediately.

His brow twitched, "'Cause I didn't make you cum?"

Again, the words came off blunt and careless.

Leading you to flinch internally, "I mean—yeah," You said as a humorless breath tiptoed out, "You normally do."

"Well, I didn't feel like it today. M'spent." He scoffed out.

It was almost as if that was supposed to be an explanation for everything.

You stared at him and felt the way your disbelief began to fade into something of anger, "You could've told me that."

"Would that have made you feel any better?" Every response came out of him like he'd rehearsed the entire conversation beforehand.

"We could've done something different," Your hands began to curl into the sheets a little, trying to steady yourself. "I could've-"

"I didn't want anything different." Sato cut off crisply.

You'd never been so utterly confused in your life. Everything was fine before this—for the most part—so what had come over him all of a sudden? Why was he acting like this?

The finality in his statement only made your stomach drop, your head shaking slowly in disbelief, "...So you wanted to use m-"

"No, sweetheart," The pet name sounds empty on his tongue, lacking its usual affection. "I wanted you to see how it feels to get into something thinking things are going to go like they always do, just to feel disappointed by the end."

The next sound that spreads throughout the room is your laughter as it exits you in incredulous fashion, "Sato, what the fuck are you talking about?"

He dragged a hand through the white tuffs of his hair, pacing only once before coming to a stop. "You..." Letting his words trail off, he released a long and stressed-out sigh, "Every woman I've been with has never had the problem you do."

That hits you square in the chest.

Head cocking back as you frown with immediate offense flaring over, "Excuse me? Are you... are you talking about squirting, Sato? You can't be serious."

"I am," He said without hesitation. "If it's just something you can't do, I'd rather you tell me than making me look like an idiot when we fuck."

"What?" Your eyes narrowed as your anger bled into something strictly hurt. "I... I'm sure I can. Maybe we're just doing something wro-"

"We?" Sato cuts you off instantly. Then his tone seemed firmer and you knew he didn't think things through when he said, "No, no, you've got shit backwards here. I can assure you I'm not doing anything wrong, that's all you."

Something inside you finally boiled over.

"All me?" You scoffed, pushing yourself out of the bed. The cold air wrapping itself around you felt like even more of a wake-up call than what he'd just said. "Oh, sorry for not being like all the other twenty girls you sleep with."

Grabbing your clothes with uncoordinated and janky movements after wiping away any lingering trace of what had happened, you subconsciously wished you could've erased the moment entirely from start to finish. Your hands trembled as you got dressed, seemingly more from the heated emotions waving through you than the embarrassment.

Sato stiffened upon hearing your words. For the first time—probably in his life—his confidence had cracked. "Shit—wait," He rushed out, trying to step towards you and stop you from leaving.

It was almost like he himself wasn't aware of how severely fucked up his actions and words were.

His hand reached out for your arm, "I-I didn't mean it like that, c'mon. I just—"

"Save it, asshole." You spat back at him, shoving his hand out the way and storming out his room before giving him a chance to say anything else.

He'd said more than enough to have your vision blurry and heart pounding in your chest as if pained.

The hallway was dim, your footsteps quickened to carry you as far away from him as possible, and your emotions buzzed all too loudly in your ears for you to think straight. You think you hear something clash against the wall back in Sato's room but you ignore it.

You're so wrapped up in your feelings that you're not even paying attention to where you're going. You only made it a few steps down the hall before you collided with something solid.

Someone solid.

Gasping as you stumble back, a pair of hands come up to steady you. "Ah, sorry," a voice hums out to you. The sound is soft as it reverberates throughout the hallway but your chest feels as though it's caving inwards since the guy in front of you sounded exactly like Sato.

There was a pitch of unfamiliarity in it, though. One that made you look up.

For a moment, you thought maybe you'd fallen off the bed earlier and that everything thus far had been some type of hallucination because surely Sato wasn't standing right in front of you right now.

...Except, with glasses? And a dorkier look in his eyes?

With the same snowy white hair, the same perfectly sharp jawline—that's somehow a tad softer—and the same dazzling blue eyes, he stared at you all longingly as if an angel had fallen right into his arms or something. The only difference between him and his brother being the black glasses sitting center on the bridge of his nose.

Despite the hallway's lack of lighting, you swear you see his cheeks flush with red as the moment of exchanged staring passes.

Prior to this, you'd only ever heard rumors of Sato having a twin brother but you never once imagined those would turn out to be true. The man's eyes widen slightly as he really looks at you, confusion flickering across his face whilst he takes in your flushed skin, the way your clothes are hanging off of you as though you'd rushed to put them all, and how your eyes are somberly glossed over.

"I-," You try to blink that wetness out of your gaze and then clear your throat. "Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's fine," He replies as he thoughtlessly continues to hold onto your arms. Then, uncertainly, "You're... Sato's, uh—"

"Sato's what?" You cut off harsher than you meant to.

There was no way he was about to refer to you as that asshole's girlfriend or anything like that, right?

His mouth visibly goes taut, realizing he was about to step into something fragile. Instead of responding, he just stands there awkwardly enough to piss you off even more.

Groaning, you push past him and continue storming down the hall. You didn't have time for whatever that was about to turn into.

Unbeknownst to you, he'd stood there and watched as you walked away—cursing himself out for letting his opportunity to talk to you pass him by like that. He'd known who you were for months prior to this. Out of all the women Sato brought over, you were the only one Toru took a genuine interest in.

It's unfortunate for him that Sato's a stingy asshole who doesn't care to introduce the two of you. Because of that, Toru had to go out of his way just to get glimpses of your personality.

He was always home when Sato brought you over, always in his room that's just one wall over while the two of you fucked—listening and secretly getting off to those gorgeous moans you let off. Toru knew it was perverted of him to do so, but he truly couldn't help himself.

Now here he is with sagging shoulders at the fact that he totally fucked up his first interaction with you.

He heard the whole argument between you and his brother and came out into the hallway hoping to come to your rescue or at least cheer you up, even if only for a second. Yet, all he managed to do was piss you off with his awkwardness and lack of confident social skills.

After a few minutes, Toru straightens up and settles his jaw in a way that says he'd made some type of silent decision. That wasn't going to be the last time he interacted with you—no matter how badly his brother fucked up—he knew you'd be back eventually.

As he turns back to his room, he promises to himself that next time he sees you, he won't hesitate or fumble things with you.

——

A few weeks pass before anything else noteworthy occurs.

In that time, things between you and Sato remain rocky, to say the utmost least. Conversations between the two of you were more careful, apologies came far slower than they should've, and some semblance of trust had been rebuilt in uneven steps.

Sometimes he was sweet and more attentive than he had been before that big argument, kinda like he was afraid it'd happen again. Other times he'd slip up and those old habits would seep through, any excuse he gave you dressed up charmingly enough for you to ultimately end up forgiving him again.

The fact that you both were trying had to be enough to count for something, otherwise the two of you were better off calling it quits months ago.

Somewhere in the middle of that relationship, Toru became familiar to you. You went out of your way to see him whenever you visited the Gojo estate, even if you were only there for Sato.

He was almost always cooped up in his room, drowning himself in his studies—textbooks stacked neatly on his desk, handwritten notes color-coded and meticulously organized.

It wasn't long before you realized he and his brother were complete opposites. Where Sato excelled in partying and socializing, Toru peaked in academics and hobbies that were far more niche.

You remember poking your head into his room one time to say hi and catching him lost in Digimon reruns with strategy guides pulled up on his nearby laptop. He was so engrossed in it that he hadn't even heard you saying something to him.

Situations like that are what got the two of you to be something close to friends.

Though, you still didn't know him any more than you knew Sato. You were still kept at an arm's length from either of their personalities beyond what was noticeable. Sato made sure of that where both he and his twin were concerned.

While he did soften up with you, he still wasn't interested in keeping you that close—not close enough to know him. And he damn sure wouldn't let you go off and try to find that in Toru.

Anytime you and the nerdier Gojo sibling were alone, Sato was intruding minutes later. Always interrupting.

Even when you ran into Toru on campus.

One time when you found him outside the library, standing near a vending machine and ran up to talk to him, Sato seemed to spawn out of thin air with his arm around you is if to silently tell his brother to fuck off.

You weren't sure what had gotten into him as far as that was concerned. He didn't care when you talked to anyone else.

This was but another unfortunate thing for you since you were quite fond of Toru. He remembered little things about you; your major, your favorite cafe, and even your preferred place to sit in lecture halls.

If you asked Sato questions about any of those things, he'd probably shrug and ask you why any of it matters in the first place.

But you bet that dick for brains could tell you which position makes you cum the fastest...

It's regrettably because of that as to why you're currently standing at the large front doors to his home, having rung the bell only a few seconds ago due to an earlier text requesting you come over.

In said text, Sato promised that he only wanted to talk to you and you chose to believe him.

Just for Toru to swing the door open with a surprised look on his face.

"Oh, hey." He began, pushing his glasses further up on his face so that he could get a proper look at you. "If you're looking for Sato, he's not here. I actually think he's been gone for the past three hours or so."

Disappointment settles into you and you roll your eyes, already annoyed. "Of course he has," You sigh.

Toru offers you a half-comforting grin before stepping back a bit and opening the door wider for you, "He'll probably be back soon though, if you wanna come in?"

You debated leaving but the prospect of being able to spend some alone time with Toru is what swayed you into staying.

Which is how you ended up in their living room.

The rest of the house was quieter than Sato ever allowed it to be. There was no music blaring, none of his restless pacing or constant yammering about fuck knows what. The only thing heard was the low hum of the TV ahead of you and Toru.

He'd put on a movie a few minutes ago and although you'd agreed to watch it with him, you kept glancing towards the front door hoping to see Sato walk in any moment now.

It never happens.

Sitting on the opposite ends of the couch, you and Toru are steady to find comfort in one another's presence. You eventually let yourself focus on what he'd put on, snorting whenever he laughed at the unfunniest bits of it and finding yourself mused by the easiness of it all.

You noticed how Toru also tried to sneak his eyes onto you here and there, lacking that smoothness his slightly older brother had and always catching your attention when he did it.

The two of you even shared those warm moments where you'd catch him staring and then whisper, "What, is something on my face?"

To which he'd swallow thickly and shake his head, "No, not at all. Sorry..."

His shyness is probably what drew you in the most about him. You loved how often he avoided eye contact with you, how gentle his voice always came out, and the way he'd begin to adjust himself against the couch due to the smallest of things.

The night was going well enough for you to forget all about—

Your phone rang and Sato's name was lighting up your screen.

At the sight, your shoulders went tense and you were unsure if you should answer it or not. Toru looked over at you but he didn't say anything.

The movie continued to play ahead as you picked up the phone and quietly spoke to Sato, "What?"

Whatever was said to you on the other end made your jaw clench—something of which Toru noted instantly. He didn't mean to be nosy but it was hard not to when minutes passed and you were clearly getting frustrated about your conversation.

"You sound drunk," You're heard muttering, making Toru's ears perk up and then strain to hear more.

Sato is just barely heard grumbling in response, "M'not drunk, baby."

Your shoulders slump, "Did you even mean to text me?"

There's a long pause. Toru tenses up and Sato's heard burping.

"I texted you?" The man on the phone asks, making your entire mood sink. "Hahhh, fuck. I don' remember doing that.. What uh, what'd I say?"

"You said you needed to talk." You reply rigidly.

He nods even though you can't see him, "Ah... I mean, I do need to talk to you but," Pausing to grumble, "Don't see why I didn't jus' call.. Anyway, s-so yesterday I was with this girl 'n she said m'not doin' anything wrong."

His early attempt at trying to convince you he wasn't drunk fell flat in that instant. You stare into space for a moment, "What?"

"Remember how we got into it about your squirting problem?" Sato blurts out in response.

You could feel yourself getting irritated with him all over again. You hated the way he said that like it was truly an issue on your end alone, even though the two of you have talked about it after the argument.

"My squirting problem? You mean the fact that you can't get me there?" You snapped back, matching his energy for just a second and unintentionally gaining the dull attention of his nosy brother.

At this point, you don't think you cared whether or not he overheard.

"No, no, I cannnn..." Sato drags out drunkenly. Then you hear this giggle in the background before he adds, "This girl told me it really is you 'n not me. Because like-"

You hang up the phone before he can continue.

The last thing you wanted to do was entertain whatever the fuck he was about to tell you for any longer than you had to. Your phone falls down into your lap and you feel it buzzing a few seconds later but you only swipe it back up to silence it entirely.

After which, the room falls into a thick quietness that swallows up both you and Toru. Even the movie playing ahead had switched to a soundless scene that only added to the shift in moods.

A few minutes of this stillness pass before you feel the weight on the other side of the couch shifting. Your eyes flick over and you see him readjusting himself in his seat.

You don't question it nor say anything but his sudden movements do manage to pull you out of your funk for a second. Ignoring it, you pick your phone back up to see that Sato had texted you a bunch of gibberish—the only sensible message you can make out being one of him begging you to text or call back.

As soon as you start typing, his twin decides to clear his throat again.

“I mean, it can’t be that hard.” Toru says all timidly, his words catching enough to snag your attention away from your phone.

Your thumb goes idle against the screen and you look up at him to see his cheeks colored over with bright red. He was looking off to his left and you could tell by the rapid rise and fall of his chest that his breathing had gone off-track.

Clearly, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

You chuckle as if intrigued by his words, humming, “Your brother said the same thing."

Toru scoffs and then speaks without thinking again, “He doesn’t care enough.”

Cocking a brow, “Doesn’t care enough to make me squirt?” You ask.

The sound of the man’s breath hitching was clearer than the dense tension between you both. “Obviously not,” Toru continues, lifting two slim fingers up to the center of his glasses to adjust them against his nose. “If he did, he would’ve made sure you… uh, did that.”

Never would you have expected to have this kind of conversation with the same man who can barely look you in the eye. But it was clear something had changed. Even in his body language, you saw how he'd sat up a bit straighter against the couch and let his legs sprawl out wider—almost invitingly so.

He was still avoiding your gaze but the sturdiness in his voice is what intrigued you the most.

“Did what, Toru? Say it,” You pressed, putting your phone down and turning on the couch to face him fully.

You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with the way he gulped thickly. “He would’ve uhm..." Toru pauses to take a deep breath—mentally reminding himself that he swore not to embarrass himself in front of you again—and then clears his throat one more time, "He would've made sure you squirted.”

Too shy to look at you just yet, he misses how the look in your eyes changes entirely. It was like seeing him in a new light.

Not that you hadn't thought about it before. He does look exactly like Sato and there's been a few times where you've wondered what it'd be like to be the cause of his glasses going crooked 'n foggy.

Biting back a smile, “Well, he makes me cum a lot.” You explain to him casually. Certainly Toru wouldn't have started talking to you about this if he didn't at least have some advice for you, “Like, back to back.”

He nods, nimble fingers fidgeting over one another in his lap, “Then, he just doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

You bat your lashes at him all cluelessly, “But—“

“As I said the first time,” Toru looks at you all of a sudden, his eyes mildly terrified behind his frames despite the attempt of confidence spreading over his face. There was a devilishly sexy blend of sureness and hesitancy plastered all over his features, “It can’t be that hard.”

The direct eye contact and few inches of space between where you two were sitting made everything feel hot all of a sudden. Blush melts itself into his skin again and it was clear that this initiated flirting of his was a first time thing.

You knew Toru found you intimidating and that subconsciously accepted fact only made you want to see more. More of your affect on him.

Sliding closer to him on the couch, your voice slyly dips into something more taunting, “You sound like you wanna try.”

Watching the way his jaw flexes, teeth tightly gritted within his mouth, and throat struggling to conceal the high-pitched sound that threatened to jump out of him—your affect on the man was as clear as day.

Somehow, Toru manages to maintain his confident facade, “Would you let me if I did?”

“Do you?” You ask quicker than he expects you to.

His head felt like it was spinning already. Is this what it's like to do drugs? Does his brother get to experience this all the time?

Toru gulps again, “Do I.. what?”

Now he was playing dumb on purpose, as if he wasn't the one who commenced this whole thing with his earlier statement.

Which makes you giggle, “You’re the smartest guy I know, Toru." Your compliment makes his heart skip a few beats. Then your head tilts and your tone softens, "Don’t start acting dumb just to appeal to me.”

He bats those pretty white lashes at you with his eyes all doe-like on you for a moment before he looks down, “I just… I wanted to hear you say it.”

You stand up from the couch all of a sudden and he freezes up. Then you walk over and stand right in between his legs, moving a hand to his chin and forcing his head up. “Do you wanna try making me squirt?”

Toru shakes his head and your brows furrow. His face nuzzles into your hand, forcing it to spread open as his cheek presses into your palm, “It’s not something to be tried, it’s just something I can do for you.” He explains.

Your thumb brushes against his cheek and his glasses slip down his nose a bit. Smiling, “Someone's confident.”

He merely whispers, “‘Can’t be that hard.”

——

Ten minutes later and you're wondering why he wasn't the first Gojo twin you met.

Loong fingers stretching your pussy out crudely, hot tongue attacking your clit like he wanted to lick you into numbness, and eyes still doe-like as they remain glued up on your face—Toru was nothing like his slightly older brother.

No, no, he aimed not only to please but to learn how you like to be pleased.

Whereas Sato would just sleep with you the same way he did with anyone else—beyond confident in his own abilities to bring a woman pleasure—Toru was the kinda man who took his time to work you up specifically.

“Taste s’good,” He praised in a tone deeper than you knew to be capable from him. You were laying across the couch now and he was stuffed neatly in between your legs. Whining, “More,” as he tugged at your thighs, his jaw going slack, and his mouth smearing against your cunt. “Gimme’ more—mmpfh. Please?"

You weren't sure what more he could be referring to when his fingertips were already twirling something sinful against your g-spot. You had a hand buried into his hair, your other behind you as you held onto the couch to steady yourself with the way he feasted on you as if your pussy was the best thing to wet up his tongue.

“Ah, T-Toru, fuck!” You cried out, unconsciously pulling away from him when his fingers focused in deep against that soppy spot—addicted to the way your slick gushed out around his hand and left a sweet mess against the couch.

His fingers leave your insides for only a second and a half before he's shoving them into his mouth to suck the taste off. Toru's eyes rolled back for a moment before he let both of his hands redirect to your inner thighs and then spread you out wider just so nothing was obstructing your view of the way he sloppily kissed your cunt.

Small strings of aroused filth would hang in between his mouth and your puffy pussylips, all of which would get licked off by his eager tongue before he dove back in for more.

Before you'd let him make his way down there, you recall the way he oh-so-awkwardly kissed you. He hardly had a clue what to do with his tongue when it was against yours but now that he was in between your legs, he became an entirely different person.

Suckling the dewy tastes into his mouth and guzzling it down his throat just to let it linger, Toru was nothing short of desperate to make you feel good. So much so that his brain practically turns off as he moves his hands to grip your hips and then lifts the lower half of your body up against his face.

His mouth nuzzled harder against you and you felt the wiggling tip of his tongue slap against your clenching walls. He softly humped the couch as he ate you out, letting the sounds of your moans coax him into giving you everything he could.

Toru only pulled away from your cunt when his glasses fogged up too much for him to see your face. And before you could offer to wipe them off or anything, you met his gaze with the way his head angled for you to do so.

His voice deep and aching, “Sit on my face,” He requested before whining again. “Pleasepleaseplease,” the man panted almost puppy-like and then seared his next words right into your clit with the edge of his tongue, “Need it s’bad.”

You don't think you had it anywhere in you to deny him when he was asking so nicely like that.

But by the time the two of you had flipped over and you were left hovering over his pleasantly flushed face—his shaky hands tight against your hips—you were a little too nervous to sit down.

Toru had caught his breath by now but nothing about his starved appetite had changed. Those previously soft blue eyes of his seemed to pierce straight through you in a way that Sato's sometimes would. You know they're twins and all but fuck, it was nerve-wracking to experience that hungry look from the alleged "shy" twin.

“Ride it," Toru husked out all of a sudden, giving your body the faintest pull.

Your eyes went all wide, “…Your mouth?”

Instead of clarifying things or being patient with you, he snatches your frame down with a strength you didn't know he possessed. Moaning before your core even reaches his lips again, “Want you to feed your pussy to me.”

Then he was practically suctioned to you again, eyes rolling back far enough for the whites to be visible beneath the foggy frames of his glasses.

“Ohfuck,” You cry out, the upper half of your body slumping forward a bit as your thighs squeeze around his head.

You felt the way Toru smiled at the feeling, almost like he was exactly where he'd wanted to be. His tongue skated up into you with a vigor you'd never felt before.

The man ate pussy like he wanted the results of your release plastered all over those pretty glasses of his, leaving him with sogged vision and a numbed tongue. It was yet another thing that made him so much different than his brother because although that man had stamina like no other and knew how to use his cock, he never once ate you out.

Meanwhile Toru couldn’t seem to get enough.

He even left a needy smack to your ass, encouraging you to do as he initially asked of you and ride his face. It wasn’t until his tongue was constantly plunging past your glissading folds that you unconsciously rolled your hips forward and earned a whimper from him in response.

Then the hands on your hips began to tug at you again, not even begging you for more but demanding it now.

You could no longer focus on the way he looked with splashes of your slick spread out on his glasses in nasty droplets since the tip of his nose had bumped up against your clit, and his jaw went slack just to adhere to your drooling nerves.

The sensation made your entire body flinch, but he wouldn’t let you pull up. For the nth time, you were stunned by Toru’s strength.

His tongue was thick and gathering against your pussy, not letting a singular drop of your taste escape his mouth until something light ghosted out of you.

“S-Something feels-, nngh,” Your struggles were just the cutest thing. “Different.” You tried to warn him.

His head tilted slightly and you felt his lips curve against you again as he smiled knowingly. Plucking his mouth away from you for the first time in forever with a wet pop!, Toru let his warm breath pat your quivering hole as he whispered, “It’s supposed to feel different, sweet girl. That’s what happens when you come to the right twin.”

Cocky. You never knew Toru had that in him—must be a trait that runs into family.

Except, it’s not like he was wrong. Once he lathered his tongue back in and sucked on your cunt like it was the only thing keeping him sane, you felt that coiling burn building up inside you. You knew you were gonna squirt despite never experiencing it before.

But it felt like too much, made you feel dirty as you neared that shattering edge. So much so that you tried so hard to snatch yourself away from Toru, whining excessively only for each sound to fall on completely deaf ears.

Your legs had clamped around his head so tight that he was getting lightheaded from his lack of oxygen—not that he cared. He had one singular goal and nothing was gonna stop him from reaching it.

It wasn’t long before it happened as his complimenting moans turned into graveling groans. The sounds vibrated against your pussy and you were tongue-fucked right into something blissful. Bleary white streaks coated your vision and you think you would’ve fallen over if not for the mean grasp he had on you.

Toru had done it, he managed to make you squirt.

By the time your brain feels like it’s functioning enough to hold a conversation, you let your vision come back to you and look down to see his soaked face.

His eyes are dazed whilst they peer up at you, appreciation swirling through his pupils. Those same glasses you’ve managed to squirt over are now crooked and you wonder if that’s from the way you unconsciously started rutting your hips forward just a few minutes ago.

Toru didn’t do anything but pant heavily—his breath stuttering here and there due to how long he went without breathing properly. When he finds the energy to send you another boyish grin, you feel a wave of embarrassment flutter over.

“Shit,” You huff, slowly moving from over his face and then grabbing his glasses.

With his face revealed, you saw how unfairly pretty he was with content written into his skin.

Then he chuckles softly, “You don’t have t’clean those.” Toru tells you, tone mumbled.

You were trying to wipe his glasses off with your shirt but he’d moved his hand to your wrist to stop you.

“I like the mess,” he added.

After which you’re stuck staring at him while he takes the wet glasses out of your hand and puts them back on his face. Surely there’s some hygienic concerns to take into consideration here but he’s not at all worrying about that right now.

Not with the painfully hard cock he’s got twitching in between his legs.

He wasn’t gonna tell you out of fear you’d assume he was some kinda loser (he is) but, not only did he cum half-way through eating you out, he also got hard again when that messy stream came pouring out of you.

Toru’s never made a woman squirt before but he did study enough videos to—clearly—figure out how it’s done. He didn’t think it would work so easily with you since all he had to use was his tongue but considering the way you just-

“Can you do that again?” Your voice hits his ears all of a sudden and his eyes widen.

“W-What?” Toru chokes, “You uh, you want me to make you squirt again?”

You nod and then move to sit back a little, not exactly in his lap but still close enough for your body heat to mingle. Your finger trails down the center of his torso slowly as you speak, “It felt really good. I wanna do it again,” You requested almost innocently. “But, on your cock this time.”

He doesn’t know how he managed not to cum at the sound of that.

Toru knew you were bold, he knew you could be a bit of a ditz at time, but fuck—did you have any idea of the things you were asking for sometimes?

Mustering up that faux confidence from before, he leans up and hums. “Alright, yeah… I can do that.” He thinks. Not that he’ll admit his lack of assuredness to you though. His hands simply move against your body and you hardly realize what’s going on until he’s swooped you up in his arms. “But not here.”

You blink dumbfoundedly, “Why not?”

“I have a better idea.”

——

When he said that, you didn’t think the better idea in question would be having sex in his brother’s room.

You recognized the path there as Toru carried you, felt the familiarity when he laid you down on the bed, and smelled the same scent of Sato lingering around even as Toru tried to distract you with kisses.

It seemed to be surprise after surprise with this man.

“I think after all the times I’ve had to hear the two of you fuck,” Toru’s hands were running down your body—his touch smoother than his brother’s ever were. “It’s only fair that I make you squirt in the same place he never could, right?”

Too many thoughts of sin swirled in your head for you to answer that properly so all you did was nod your head again. Which was yet another thing he found cute.

It’s no wonder Sato kept you to himself all this time.

That realization becomes even clearer by the time Toru’s got his cock freed from his clothing, his pinkish tip dribbling precum down onto your cunt while he gapes at the sight.

With his clothes all gone, you realized that he’d been hiding a ripped body under all those baggy, nerdy-branded tees he wore. His muscles would flex without him even trying and he didn’t even notice how badly you were drooling over him until he stopped looking at your weeping hole and remembered to redirect his gaze up.

Seeing how you’re staring at his abs like you wanted to take a bite out of him, he leaned all the way up and allowed himself to be on full display for you. His cock bobbed with its hardness due to the way you admired him.

He was only reminded again that his brother got this time and time again and was too selfish to share.

What an asshole.

Toru scoffed and let his head cock to the left, peaking down at his length still hanging over your lower abdomen. “Hm,” His hand moved and he began to measure himself in comparison to how deep inside you he’d be within the next few minutes—hand stopping only a few inches short of your belly button. “Does he reach this far?”

You flinched out of your gawking thoughts and moved your attention to where his hand was, gasping at the debauched sight in between your legs.

Truth be told, the fact that they were twins clearly applied to every inch of their bodies. But if you looked hard enough, you could notice that Sato’s is a bit longer while Toru’s has that veining thickness.

To avoid making the man jealous, you shrug and make eye contact with him again, “Put it in and find out.”

Toru laughs dryly and you throb. Something had changed from before. His shyness seemed like it hid itself away considering there was nothing shy about how he wrapped his hand around his cock and then let it slap slap slap! against your swollen folds.

Your body twitched at each slap but what caught his attention most is how your cunt salivated with each one.

“Huh. I think I figured it out,” Toru breathed, his glasses slipping a bit.

Then he guides his dick up to swab around your clit for a couple seconds just to see the way your hips instantly squirm up for more. The smile that drags out across his face is chillingly close to the one Sato wears while he fucks you.

“There it is,” Toru whispers, hauling his cock down and letting his plump tip poke against your hole to feel you clench, and then slide back. “That’s what you like. You like being teased.”

You were so needy that you felt your slick wetly sliding down your skin to pool beneath you, “N-No, I just—“

“Shhh, focus on how this feels, pretty girl.” He instructs. All the shakiness you normally heard in his speech was gone and replaced with something sinfully commanding—yearning only to teach you true pleasure. “See how my cock keeps slipping out? Mmgh,” He repeated his action from before and your hips bucked for more this time, making him huff. “Don’t you want it inside you sooo badly?”

Your hand reached down for him, trying your damndest to angle him into you, “I do. Toru please,” You pleaded delightfully.

His naturally submissive nature leads him to slip an inch in but the dewy warmth of your pussy makes him let out a stuttered gasp. Then he lets his cock slop right out of you with another ringing sound of filth spurring out into the air. His deft cockhead thwacks at your quivering hole again and your eyes roll back.

"Say that again." Toru grunts, slapping your parted folds with his cock again to emphasize his words, "Beg me for it."

Your back arches up off the bed this time and you’ve got the prettiest look of desperation on your face, "Mnh, please?"

Fuck. He was not strong enough to drag this out any longer.

Nor was he reader for how welcoming your cunt is for him. Swallowing him in inch by stretching inch, Toru’s left with a slacked jaw as he finally slides into you. Choking on his own breath, “O-Ohh… Oh fuck.” he pants, “You’re so wet. F-Fuck, were you always this wet? Shit..”

You let off a pleasant string of moans that make his cock twitch wildly inside you before he even makes it halfway in.

Managing a short breath, you smile up at him, “Didn’t know you could curse s’much, Toru.”

He knew right then and there he was fucked.

“G-Gonna cum,” He whimpers as he drops his face down into your neck. The singular utterance of his name is what did it for him.

You thought he was just being dramatic but when you feel velvety ropes of creamy cum flooding into you followed by his throaty grunts against the crook of your neck, you realize he was being everything but.

The man could barely move his hips and all he had to offer you was thick loads in sporadic spurts and whiny groans.

By the time you feel his cum escaping where the two of you are still connected, you’re slow to snort, “…Toru?”

“Shit,” He gasps immediately, “Shitshitshit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to cum,” His head flies up, white hairs sticking to his forehead from sweat and eyes all wide and apologetic on yours, “I just-, you felt so good. I couldn’t-, fuck. I’m—“

“It’s okay,” You giggle, moving your hands to cup his face, “Just keep goin’.”

“But-,” His eyes travel back and forth between your own as he continues to stare. It takes Toru a long moment to realize he’s… still hard.

With a breathless oh tumbling out of his kiss-bitten lips, he rolls his hips forward and pushes his cum deeper into you as a creamy squelch rings out. “O-Ohh, fuck. That sounds s’nasty...” He murmurs, arousal decorating his expression from the sound.

“Mhm,” You whir, tugging him down to kiss you.

If Sato had good stamina then, as twins, Toru should too, right?

A very intimate mess of his hips rocking down into you carries on with your lips sliding over one another. Unlike his older sibling who typically fucked like his every thrust guaranteed pleasure (it did), Toru moved inside you in the same way his mouth moved over yours—awkward but careful.

The streeeetch from his cock definitely made up for his lack of hurried strokes since his steady pace forced you to feel every prodding inch.

He may not have lasted long inside you without cumming but he was able to bring you to an orgasm of your own, whispering things into your mouth about how perfect you were—how his brother never deserved any of this.

It made your heart feel heavy and your cunt sloppily sang around his cock up until the sound of something dropping made you both gasp.

“What the fuck.” Sato’s voice was heard seething, having dropped the bag he had hanging off of his shoulder.

When Toru pulls away from you and glances back, you manage to move your head enough to catch a glimpse of how Sato stuck was staring at the way his twin steadily fucking you to gentle tears.

“S-Sato,” You sputtered out, suddenly feeling Toru’s hand move to press down your lower abdomen—tightening the pressure around his cock and making him feel impossibly bigger inside you. “Ohmygod-,” Both men heard the way you choked, “M’gonna cum.”

Only to be interrupted by Toru scoffing, "Not yet. Someone has to teach this guy how to make you squirt, right?"

“No one has to teach me shit,” Sato argued as he fully entered his bedroom.

What a sight—his own brother fucking his favorite girl. Sato never thought he’d see the day, honestly.

Hell, he didn’t even know what to say. The sight of you two wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Toru had his face so it was like seeing himself fuck you. But, y’know, with glasses…

“Clearly someone does,” Toru’s delayed response came after he’d tugged his cock out of you, watching his cum sap out and soil his brother’s bedsheets. “Especially if I was able to do it.”

Rolling his eyes, “Bullshit.” Sato spat without letting his brother’s words register properly. When they finally do, an appalled expression colors over him, “Wait, what? No way, show me.”

Toru moves a hand to scratch the back of his neck, looking off to the side dorkishly, “Uh, we didn’t record it or anything–”

“No, I mean do it again, four eyes.” His older brother clarifies rudely.

You sit up at that. Glancing back and forth between the two for a moment and then settling your eyes onto Sato, “What?”

“I don’t believe him,” Sato huffs as comes to sit on the edge of his bed. Throwing his eyes onto you, “So, if he really made you squirt then surely he has no issue doing it again.”

You blink. “You want him to do that in front of you?”

“I want to see you squirt, period,” He admits, “I don’t care who gets it outta’ you at this point.”

You and Toru then exchange glances before looking at him.

“Well?” Sato scoffs. “If you’re gonna go out of your way to fuck in my bed, don’t stop now that I’m here. Put on a fuckin’ show for me.”

Ever so demanding he was…

——

Not that you or Toru seemed to care.

The next position you end up in is rather… precarious, to say the least.

You thought you were left stretched before but that feeling was utterly pale in comparison to what you felt now. Toru had you bouncing up and down his heavy cock, letting it talk you through every pummeling thrust by leaving sweltering smooches against the deepest crevices of your cunt.

Your maw was left to dangle open and you looked like a true slut in the eyes of the Gojo twins. As one fucked you beyond dumb, the other was sat in front of you with his hands wrapped around his shaft, his palm running up and down that wildly long cock of his as sticky precum glistened out from his tip.

Drool and spit trickled all down your jaw and fell onto the floor below and you couldn’t move in any way to escape Toru’s desperate thrusts.

The sound of sweaty skin slacking and clashing against one another echoed through Sato’s large bedroom whilst he watched and got off to the sight.

Your arms and legs were locked firmly in Toru’s grip and he was just using your pussy to satisfy that swollen ache he’d been dealing with for fuck knows how long now.

The remnants of his cum sobbed downwards and left a messy ring around his base, the pearly color nearly mocking the white happy trail of hair he had.

"Tighter-, hahh.. squeeze around me tighter, please." Toru muttered into your ear, having found himself pussydrunk and slopped. The walls of your pussy narrowed around him and his hips snapped up a little faster, "Good girl, just like that. F-Fuuck... you're gonna make me c-cum." Toru whimpered.

A singular gasp of, "Inside.” from your horribly sore throat makes both him and his brother groan.

"Again? Shiit," Toru sent a bragging smile ahead before bucking his hips up into you faster as if to prove a point. Still talking into your ear, "Y'want me to breed you in front of Sato? Damn, you're sluttier than I thought you'd be."

You feel his weighty balls pounding up against your skin as his cock bullied in deeper, your pussy stretched into the prettiest shape and molded perfectly around him.

Sato couldn’t take his eyes off the errotic sight and his hand moved faster, his own hips thrusting up as he reminisced on that feeling of positioning into you. The man swears he could feel you wrapped around him just from watching his brother handle you.

It was so different to see things from this perspective but fuck was it sexy. Your tits bounced as Toru dragged you up up upp and then let his hips meet you halfway with a needy thrust as he let your body come back down.

"Mmngh, Toru!" You moaned softly.

To which his teeth nipped at your ear, "It's so cute when you say my name like that," He huffs, "Do you like me that much? Hm? Like the way Toru treats this pussy?"

You weakly moved your head in agreement, tears running down your cheeks, "Uhuhh… f-fuuuck, Toru. M’cummin.”

His movements grew faster then, ruder. The plump crown of his cock mashed into that sweet spot of yours over and over and over as if to make the spot his new home—imprint himself there permanently.

Breathing all heavy against you, “S’okay, let it out, sweetheart. Show him what he should be making you do, yeah?”

Sato cums a split second before it actually happens, based on the fact that it was about to happen. Thank god you were too drunk to see it because he’s watching with teary eyes as you squirt all over Toru—his dick slipping out of you because of it and the mess spraying ahead filthily.

Your pussy quivers from the release and you’re whining all through it, the cooing sound of Toru whispering you through your high prominence in your ear. You could barely think, barely breathe because of the intensity of it all.

When you calm down from it, Toru’s still got you in his arms and all you’re left to focus on is Sato’s pouty face as he continues to stroke himself.

“Well, fuck. Look at you,” He spoke hoarsely the moment he noticed your attention on him, his head resting back against his headboard, “Just a whore for some Gojo cock, huh?”

Your head barely bobs in response—far too dazed to answer that with a properly functioning brain.

Sato’s hand squeezes around his tip and his brows furrow, “Yeahhh? Y’liked watching me jerk off like some pathetic loser while I let my brother fuck you?” He hardly waited for another answer out of you before nodding his chin, “Bet you do. Look at that pussy, so fuckin’ wet from this.”

Toru’s easing you down on the bed in between the both of them, puffing, “Unfair of you to keep her all to yourself, Sato.”

Keeping things simple, “I’m willing to share now.”

…

Things should have ended there. Seriously.

But, allas, the hold these two have over you appeared to be much stronger than you thought.

“Wrap those lips around me, baby.” Sato had requested, watching your shaky limbs move in between his legs.

Toru was somewhere behind you, diving his face back into your cunt to… clean the mess he left in there, apparently.

Out of both of them, Toru was definitely the more perverted one—currently eating his own cum out of your cunt after giving you some bullshit excuse about wanting to keep you clean.

All he wanted was to stick his tongue inside you again. You weren’t that dumb.

While you gathered Sato’s cock into your palm and let your lips press into his tip, he hissed as his face twisted up due to sensitivity. Easing a hand onto your head, “Atta girl. Choke on this dick while he cleans you up. Wanna see every inch down that throat.”

His words never failed to leave your cunt soused, a physical reaction of which met Toru’s compliant tongue.

Sato’s bed was a mess of all sorts of fluids—overly due for a washing after all that had taken place thus far. His cock was somewhere in the back of your throat and he felt your moans tremble against him whenever Toru slurped against you just right.

The three of you were lazy with everything by now and the only thing that made the Gojo siblings perk up was when you ended up gifting Toru’s mouth with another raining mess.

Oh, Sato was in awe at the sight all over again. So much so that it’s what caused his next orgasm. He was so dazed by your squirting that he didn’t even bother to ask you to swallow what he’d just unconsciously thrusted into your throat.

Normally that’s his favorite part; watching or asking you to swallow his seed. Yet, he’d missed all of that because seeing his brother’s face smothered in your wetness left him shocked.

“Ohhh, shit. That was more than the first time.” Toru said as he finally pulled himself from in between your legs.

Sato’s ears twitch and he cocks a brow. Daze broke completely, “First time?” he asked. It was clear he still didn’t believe that his geeky, clumsy, and overall awkward sibling made that happen before he walked in.

Toru looks at his brother, “Yeah… More than the first time she squirted.”

Sato stares. “You… You made her squirt before I got here?” Disbelief was evident in his tone.

He chuckles, “You asked me that like it’s hard or something, of course I did.”

You pull yourself up from Sato’s softening cock just in time and give the two slow blinks while transferring your gaze back and forth. Sleepiness wasn’t slow to overcome you.

Sato met your eyes with his pointed ones and puffed all brat-like, “Soooo… you’re gonna do that for only me next time, right?”

There’s not a singular thought inside your head as you blatantly ignore him. Then, you turn over and plop onto the bed to lay down—back facing the two of them.

“Hello?” Sato taps your shoulder and then jokingly adds a comedic, “Chat, am I muted…?”

Toru snorts with a shake of his head, getting out the bed to start cleaning up the mess you three collectively made within the past few hours.

Then, you’re wondering if the roles had reversed for a second when he grumbles, “Fuckin’ loser…”

part two here!! || perm gojo tags (1/2);

@imyourightnow @cupidstrace @billiondollarworth @navyllll @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa444 @sugo-jo @etsuniiru @not-a-glad-gladiator @2kool4skoolll @yulissacastillo11

@daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @oookore @blubearxy @wonderfullymickey @iaintblockinnobody @anothergojostan @kitassecretgf @nanasukii28 @iam-souless

@nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @kunababy @withersworld @suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke @kvsqkiii @forest-nymph666 @yourlocalcatscammer @viiennie

@1stmagnoila @moonmilk102 @v33326 @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @serenadesvt @bloxdhawks @riameriash

@arminseas2 @palanggaaa @makingtimemine @theodoresvalentine @salmon-ella @miss-f0rtun3 @jinjen @blcknebula @babblybebe @iluvatsumuuuui

(if u wanna be tagged for future gojo works pls lmk here—it is almost full though!)

Enjin was a simple man with simple needs. 

A couple cigarettes. The rush of tearing a trash beast apart piece by piece. The relief of a joint right after. Hitting up his favorite local spots at the end of a workday, surrounding himself with gorgeous women who couldn’t deny the fact that he, too, was quite the specimen himself. 

Simple. 

Once you joined the Cleaners, he’d been ecstatic to finally share the burden that was being in your twenties while babysitting a bunch of brain-wrecked teenagers. 

For the first time in a while, he had room to breathe—time to indulge, and not just in stolen moments.

He could prep joints at night for the next day. Take long baths. Hook up with strangers. Stumble back home high out of his mind at bonkers hours in the morning.

He wasn’t above sharing his pleasures, either. He’d invite his adult coworkers to go out with him from time to time.

Gris usually took him up on it if his day had been particularly rough—especially after some heavy trash-beast ass-kicking.

Semiu, on the other hand, decided on a whim whether she felt like tagging along or not.

As for Zanka, Enjin was already looking forward to the day he’d be old enough to become a potential drinking buddy. Fingers crossed.

He’d even invited you along a couple of times as well, only to learn—pretty quickly—that you were more of a domestic soul. You liked taking care of yourself in your room during your spare time, doing chores, sticking to your own quiet routines and little rituals.

You spent a good chunk of your time tending to your vital instrument. Other than that, you just… existed among the residents. Easy. Steady. Reliable.

He exhaled slowly, letting the tensions of the day roll off him as his thoughts drifted towards the night ahead, an unlit cigarette sitting between his lips. The places he might go, the people he might see, the things he might do. 

His steps echoed through the atmosphere of low humming halls. It was easy to slip into autopilot, leave monotone routine behind—as monotone as his job could get, really— and trade it all for the simple pleasures waiting outside. 

Enjin had already clocked out in his head. Cigarette, street air, somewhere loud—he was halfway there when August’s voice tore through the hall.

“IT’S DONE! HAHA! I DID IT!”

Enjin stopped. Clicked his tongue. Figures. Nothing out of the ordinary. He put his foot in front of the other. 

Then August yelled your name.

The lighter stayed in Enjin’s pocket. Instinctively, he turned back around to watch the scene unfold in front of him. 

You appeared like you always did — clothes draping over you like they were just a size too big, hair half-tamed (much like you).

Mildly tired, mildly irritated, yet entirely unbothered by the chaos that was August himself. He leaned back against the doorframe behind him, eyes following the way you yanked the fabric out of August’s hands. 

“On my fucking life,” you groaned. “Why’re you yelling? M’right here.” 

“Wow, you’re so fun and energized,” Enjin chimed in, as sarcastic as he was relaxed.

You shot him a look — flat, unimpressed. He grinned anyway, like he’d just won a prize, or something. “You asked for a new uniform?” 

“Not really,”—you held the clothes up to get an impression—“he just said he’d make me one ‘cause he felt inspired, so I let him.”

He couldn’t help but notice the fabric of the new uniform— or rather, the lack thereof.

Enjin then realized, distantly, that he’d never really thought about what you looked like under your layers of much too oversized clothes.

The sweaters swallowed you whole, the pants hung low and loose, and somewhere along the line his brain had filed you away as safe. Familiar.

Not something to think about.

“August,” you said, turning the scraps of fabric over in your hands, brows knitting together, “are you sure this is for me? This is so not what I’d usually wear.”

Enjin almost agreed out loud. Almost. It didn’t match you—not the way he knew you, anyway.

You were all soft edges and practical comfort, huge sleeves and borrowed pants, a presence that blended into the space instead of demanding it. This thing looked like it wanted to be noticed. 

He should’ve written it off right there, should’ve sided with you and moved on. Instead, he found himself staring a second longer than necessary, curiosity gnawing at him in a way that felt unfamiliar. He wanted—unexpectedly—to see it on you.

Wanted to know what August had seen that he hadn’t. The thought settled in his chest, stubborn, yet not entirely unwelcome.

Enjin was a simple man.

“Are you doubting the gear genius?” He teasingly tilted his head.

“Yeah? How dare you?” August scoffed.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m not doubting anyone. I’m just saying—this doesn’t really look like something I’d wear.”

August waved you off, already vibrating with confidence. “Just try it on.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Give me a minute.”

And just like you’d seemed to appear out of nowhere, you were gone again the very next second. The door to your room clicked shut.

Enjin didn’t realize he’d been watching until August lightly elbowed his side, muttering to himself about unique stitching, unmatched genius, and a true artistic vision needing proper time to take shape.

Adjusting his weight against the doorframe, Enjin finally lit the cigarette that had been resting between his lips.

Huh, weird.

He’d seen people change before—hell, had undressed people before, had just been about to go out and find someone to undress again. None of this should have registered.

And yet.

Seconds ticked by, and his mind counted them anyway.

He took a drag. Exhaled. Then did it again. The burned-down bud at the tip of the cigarette fell to the floor in what felt like slow motion.

He shifted again, cigarette now between his fingers, trying to convince himself that now could be the time follow through with his original plan: go out, fool around, return at some ridiculous hour. No obligations. No reason to stick around. 

So why weren’t his feet moving? 

His gaze drifted toward your closed door. For the briefest moment, he imagined what it might look like. Immediately, he shook his head. He really never thought of you this way. 

And yet.

The thought lingered. The thought of you—any way other than your usual comforting, gentle, easy self—refused to disappear. He heard the soft shuffle and toss of clothing behind the door until all that remained was quiet nothing.

He couldn’t lie to himself. He was curious. Whatever pleasures waited outside weren’t going anywhere, and he was entertained enough right where he was—so why force it?

There was no rush. No harm in sticking around a little longer. If nothing else, it gave him an excuse to annoy you about it later.

Another drag. Another exhale. The cigarette was now less than half its original length. A few more inches fell to the floor, slow, unimportant, meaningless.

The lock of your door clicked. And it mattered so much, for some reason.

Enjin’s head tilted, cigarette now forgotten between his lips. He imagined your last couple motions behind that door— a careful tug at a new hem, flatting a creased surface of the fabric, adjusting the fit and drape of certain places. Your hands moving along yourself in a familiar fashion. 

Your hands moving along yourself.

And that was new. In spite of all the trouble he usually got up to, he’d never thought of you as a woman before. Not once. 

Then, you stepped out. 

The uniform fit differently than he expected. On its own, it wasn’t flashy, or anything, but it conformed to your shape in a way that made it undeniable. Attention-seeking. And you…

You made it look effortless.

The seams traced your lines perfectly, moving and folding with you in one fluid motion as if the fabric had been waiting for you.

The uniform was stripped down, tight, and sharp. The skirt hugged your hips, short enough to catch the eye without feeling ridiculous. It was tasteful. 

The top clung to your torso in a way that left neither room for more fabric, nor for imagination. 

Over it, the cropped jacket—Cleaners’ emblem bold across the back—fit snugly, following your every movement without losing its structure. 

And the boots—chunky, scuffed, ready for anything—grounded you in a way that made the whole thing feel both dangerous and effortless.

And what shouldn’t have mattered suddenly mattered so much. Because, fuck… you were hot.

Every little shift you made—a tilt of your head, a small tug at the hem, the way the fabric moved with you—kept catching his attention. He bit the inside of his cheek. Ain’t no way you’d been burying all that under those layers. 

And yet.

Something in him knew better. Your figure fit the style of the uniform perfectly. Natural. Balanced. Built in all the right places. That shouldn’t matter. And still, it did. His pulse ticked a little faster, and he kind of hated that he noticed.

What he was most shocked to have to face was the fact that you were pretty much exactly what he imagined whenever he thought of an ideal type. 

His lungs tightened. Not from desire—at least, not fully. Fascination, awareness, intrigue—all tangled together. The version of you he’d filed away as “safe, familiar” no longer fit. Something was… different.

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for judgment. Approval. Anything.

He exhaled slowly, smoke he’d forgotten in his lungs curling upwards past his curious eyes. “Fits,” he said, voice low and casual, as though he was trying to convince himself he hadn’t been holding his breath for the past couple seconds.

You blinked, then tilted your head to look down at yourself. “Yeah… I guess so.”

Neither of you moved. The hall felt quieter, smaller, like any sudden movement could cause him to bump into you. August had gone silent as well, half inspecting his work, half sensing the shift in the air without caring to pinpoint the energy. 

Whether or not you had realized it, that was up for debate.

Enjin took another long drag. Exhaled. Hoping the smoke would create a barrier between him and your form.

It was then, that he realized it wasn’t just the uniform that mattered. It was the subtle shift in you, the way you carried yourself differently, the unfamiliar side of you quietly asserting itself—and him noticing, no pretending otherwise. 

Your back straightened, chest lifted ever so slightly—oh, fuck—and the natural sway of your hips whenever you shifted your weight had him chasing after his own breath. 

“Honestly,” you spoke, smoothing the fabric of your skirt over your hips, “I thought this would be uncomfortable, but… it’s really not. I do actually like it.” 

“TOLD YA! I’M A GENIUS!” August screamed, dancing with wild pride. 

Enjin couldn’t help but simply stare. An involuntary smirk grazed his features. “Yeah… you are a genius.” 

He was a simple man with simple needs.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

By the time the last trash beast went down, you’d forgotten what it felt like to wear anything else.

Given the nature of your fighting, bruises were inevitable—something you hadn’t even considered when you first received the outfit. Now, black-and-blue marks bloomed along your legs, stretching from mid-thigh all the way down.

It was a sight quite familiar to you, the difference being that—with your new uniform— it was visible to everyone around you as well.

You were going to have to do something about that. 

The adrenaline hadn’t quite worn off yet. Your limbs buzzed from all the movement, body feeling hot and fuzzy. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other in pursuit of some sort of relief for each limb. 

And in spite of all your movements, the pieces of clothing hadn’t shifted in any unwanted way. No hems to adjust, no creases to smooth over. Nothing. The uniform didn’t just cling to your body—it practically felt molded to your physique.

You hadn’t had to think about it once during the fight, which, honestly, was the highest compliment you could pay to the resident “gear genius” who had so carefully tailored it to your needs.

You glanced over at Enjin, who seemed to be in a similar state as you. Chest heaving, skin dusted with the thinnest layer of sweat and grime.

He leaned back slightly, the ever-present teasing grin tugging at his lips—a feature that somehow only grew more pronounced after a good fight at the edge of the No Man’s Lands.

He put most of his weight onto his dear umbrella as his gaze flickered towards your form. You caught it flicking down for a split second—a questioning twitch in his lip, a curious squint of his eye—and then back up. 

“Don’t start,” you said, already anticipating a comment about the state of your legs.

“Wasn’t gonna,” he replied easily, his hands up in defense and then catching Umbreaker just in time before it fell over. Then, after a beat, “You took quite a hit back there, though.”

“Well,” you looked down to properly inspect the spots this time. The bruises blossomed mostly in the areas around and on your knees, though your shins weren’t exempt of the hues of color. Frankly, it looked like it usually did. “Comes with the job.” 

“Huh,” his gaze flickered down again, lingering long enough for you to take note of it. “You always bruise like that?” 

“Pretty much?” You responded, putting one leg behind the other, as if it was going to do anything to hide it. “Legs usually take the worst of it.” 

“Figures.” he responded, lifting a joint to his lips—his habitual celebration joint, as you’ve come to learn about him.

His attention to your legs lingered just a second longer than you’d expected it to, before focusing on lighting the end of the blunt with his lighter. 

“You know,” he teased as the fire finally caught, then dropping his lighter back in his pocket, “the amount you bruise in a day feels like the amount I take in like, what, two weeks?” 

“Wow, you’re so cool for that,” you shot back—unimpressed, sarcastic. “Is this your way of telling me to be more careful?” 

“Nah,” he smirked, taking a drag of his joint and exhaling the smoke, a relaxed groan escaping along with it. “You handle yourself just fine.” 

That earned him a look. “High praise.” 

“Don’t get used to it.” he retorted, a challenging expression adorning his sharp features.

“Aw, why not?” You finally took a moment to stretch. 

Hands pressed together, you reached overhead, trying to ease the tension built up in your back during the fight. Even as you moved, you couldn’t help but notice the hem of your top riding up just slightly—enough to follow your motion comfortably, never restrictive, never bothersome.

It was honestly impressive. 

When your arms dropped back to your sides, you caught the faintest flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye—and for a moment, it felt like Enjin’s gaze was still following you. Just for a heartbeat, though.

“What’s up with you today?”

“Huh?” A cloud of smoke tore through his lips. “What do you mean?”

“You’re, like, looking at me all the time,” you said, resting a hand on your hip. “What’s up with that?”

“I’m not.” He scoffed, taking another drag, huffing little smoke circles and watching them disappear into the air.

You rolled your eyes. “You are, though.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, shooting you a hopelessly charming smile, eyes shamelessly flicking down and back up your figure. “Maybe a bit.”

Unfortunately for you, his charms didn’t leave you entirely unaffected.

You couldn’t help it. Anyone with working eyes knew exactly that Enjin was the unfortunate epitome of attraction. 

The sharp line of his jaw catching the light as he tilted his head, the way smoke curled lazily from his lips, forming all sorts of organic shapes before vanishing into the air. 

The collar of his shirt revealing the ink nestled underneath his skin, curving alongside his neck, giving him this edge that somehow fit that permanent teasing expression he always wore.

You shook your head slightly, trying to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything. But your pulse had its own opinion, quickening with the small, easy awareness of him in front of you. 

But no. This guy was more than likely carrying a choker filled to the brim with booty calls. There was no reason for him to be paying you that kind of attention, especially since he usually didn’t.

Something you’d always been painfully aware of, to your dismay.

“Whatever,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. “Can you drive?” 

“Why?” he grinned. “‘Cause your legs are busted?” 

“You’re so funny today,” you mustered the most obnoxious fake-laugh you were capable of. “No, genius. I’m asking, because you’re high.”

“That would certainly be a valid concern,”—he took another taunting drag—“if you weren’t talking to me right now.” 

“Silly me,”you said, not-so-subtle sarcasm yet to unlace from your voice. “No, but really.” 

You walked past him toward the off-roader, unable to hide the little bounce in your step—half from the lingering adrenaline still coursing through your veins, half from the excitement you felt at the prospect of returning back to your base—home.

Heavy steps followed you until you both slid into the vehicle, him in the driver’s seat.

“I’ve done wilder things stoned,” he scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes as he inserted the key into the ignition.

“Like what?” You asked, getting comfortable in your seat. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You’re so insufferable sometimes.” you sighed, shooting him a displeased look. “Just focus on the road.”

He smiled, eyes meeting yours as if to admit guilt. “No promises.” 

His fingers moved quickly over the keys, firing up the engine before shifting gears and getting the car rolling.

“Buckle up, princess,” he said. “Just ‘cause your legs are bruised doesn’t mean I’ll be slowing down any time soon.” 

The little nickname definitely didn’t go unnoticed by you—as well as the double innuendo, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for him—though you felt too something to really comment on it.

“Don’t you worry about my legs,” you shot back, trying for a casual tone. “Not like I’m made of sugar or something.”

He smirked to himself, taking a last long drag of the joint before flicking it out the window. “Good to know.”

You caught him muttering something under his breath—more to himself than to you—but decided to let it slide. Your pulse still hadn’t quite settled—whether that was from the fight or due to certain body-modded men within your vicinity was something you chose not to worry about— and honestly, you didn’t really feel like picking fights, anyway. 

The motor rumbled beneath you as the off-roader stumbled over the uneven ground of the No Man’s Land, gradually leaving the chaos behind. The road began to flatten with each passing mile, though the ride already felt surprisingly smooth—especially considering it was Enjin behind the wheel right now.

You kept your hands folded in your lap. Your gaze kept wandering between the trash-ridden landscape — a rather unpleasant sight — and, of course, him — an admittedly rather pleasant side. 

Despite every warning you’d given yourself, despite every attempt to keep your guard up, he slipped past it effortlessly. He didn’t need your consent to get under your skin—and you couldn’t really help letting him, either. He was just good at getting people’s guard down—at least among the Cleaners.

Or maybe it was just you. 

Your gaze drifted back to him, more often than you cared to admit. His side profile looked sharper and even more defined against the warm rays of a setting sun kissing his dirt-ridden skin. 

It was honestly a bit annoying how attractive he was. 

You mentally traced the patterns of the tattoos disappearing beneath the nick of his shirt, wondering about the way they might continue. Your focus drifted towards the flex of his strong hands on the wheel, covered in similar shapes—how did they curl under his sleeves?

You shifted in your seat, throwing one leg over the other, and felt the faint sting of bruises along the length of your legs. Nothing severe, but enough to remind you that your fight hadn’t been gentle. 

You flexed them subtly under the skirt of your uniform, partly to stretch, partly out of curiosity, playing a quiet game of “how long before it hurts too much”. Of course, it never got to that point. It’s just some light bruising. 

He glanced at you then, out of the corner of his eye, and his smirk widened just slightly, like he knew about the silly game you were playing in your head to entertain yourself. A small quirk of his eyebrow, a tilt of the head—it was enough to make your chest tighten, though you pretended (miserably) to focus on your legs instead.

“So,” he said, voice casual but teasing, “you planning on sitting there looking broody all the way back, or are we gonna talk?”

You let out a soft breath, shoulders sinking into the seat. “I’ll be honest… I’m kind of tired.”

“I was wondering when you’d say that.” His tone softened, the teasing thinning out. “You can sleep, if you wanna. I’ll wake your ass at HQ.”

“Mm,” you hummed, eyelids already heavier than you’d realized. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll wake you up good,” he added lightly. “Get Delmon to hose you down.”

One eye cracked open. “Okay. I’m not sleeping.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m kidding.” A pause. Then, softer, more genuine: “I’ll wake you up real gentle. Promise. Get some rest.”

The hum of the engine filled the space between you. The road stretched ahead, steady and uneventful.

You shifted slightly, adjusting against the seat, legs stretching out a little more carefully this time. Your head tipped back. The exhaustion wasn’t dramatic — just the slow kind that settled into your bones after a long day.

You felt it before you saw it — his hand adjusting the climate dial so the air wouldn’t blow directly at you. The smallest thing. Almost nothing.

But not nothing.

Your eyes fluttered closed.

The last thing you registered was the faint sound of him muttering under his breath — something about how easily you wear yourself out — and the way the vehicle seemed to move just a little smoother than before.

You were asleep before you even realized it.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

The common area was louder than usual—music bleeding from a battered speaker, empty bottles clustering along the tables, the air thick with smoke and laughter. Someone had dragged out a deck of cards, another group arguing loudly over rules that changed every five minutes.

Enjin fit right into it.

He leaned back in his chair, one arm slung over the backrest, a drink balanced loosely in his hand as he laughed along with the others. Easy. Relaxed. This was familiar territory—post-mission chaos, shared exhaustion, celebration for still being alive. The kind of environment he absolutely thrived in.

His eyes roamed the room in a moment that was supposed to be all about appreciating his weird, little family.

And then, they stopped. 

You hadn’t made any sort of announcement. No dramatic pause, no random attempt at drawing attention. You just slipped into the room like you always did— quiet, familiar, reliable. 

His gaze flickered down before he could stop himself. 

The uniform sat on you as disgustingly well as it always did. Skirt hugged you too well, top accentuated your physique, jacket hung loose over your shoulders, sleeves slinging in the air.

He had just gotten somewhat used to seeing you this way. It was supposed to be safe. It should have been safe.

You chose trouble today. 

It wasn’t the uniform that threw him off.

It was what you added. 

Dark fabric hugged your legs beneath the skirt, reaching high enough to erase the bruises he knew were there. Practical. Sensible.

That, somehow, made it worse.

He knew why you were wearing them. A part of him basked in the fact that he was probably the only person here that knew why you were wearing them, that this was your attempt at hiding your bruises. And, somehow, knowing what it looked like underneath made it that much more… intimate? 

Not to mention the way that the plush of your legs perfectly spilled over the hem of the fabric, which was the best part about these types of socks, anyway.

But this was you. Cozy, unchanging, reliable you.

With a single addition to your work attire, you’d managed to take it from blurring the lines of professionalism to… well, overstepping them entirely. At least, in his eyes.

He couldn’t tell if he minded or not. Or he just couldn’t admit the truth to himself. 

The card game, the drink in his hand, the music running in the background—all of it faded as he took his sweet time observing you.

He eased back into the loveseat he was occupying, spreading his long legs like he owned the space, as if waiting for you was the most natural thing in the world.

You greeted a few people, checked on the kids at the children’s table, but never seemed to settle in one spot.

And so, he called your name before he could stop himself. 

Your head snapped toward him, eyes locking with his as you made your way to the poker table.

“Hey there,” you greeted, arms loosely crossed.

“Hi,” he replied, flashing that infuriating grin. “Sit down. We could use another player.” He shifted over, leaving just enough space for you to slide in, and you did—probably closer than you’d expected—after greeting everyone at the table.

His hand draped over the back of the two-seater, half-encasing your frame. His legs stretched, one brushing the side of your thigh, claiming the space with casual confidence, yet leaving enough for you.

“So… what are we playing?” you asked, voice light, like you were trying not to notice the proximity.

“It’s called Bluffing,” he said, eyes flicking toward you briefly. “Basically, the deck is evenly split among the four of us and we have to place cards in order of Ace to King facedown. The catch: You won’t always have the right card at the right turn.” 

“Ah,” you murmured as you took the drink from his hand and sipped, the weight of his gaze lingering on you. “So—you’re gonna have to bluff.”

“Right,” he replied, brow quirking just slightly. “You can place in multiples, though. If you gotta place an Ace and you have two on your hand, you can place both.”

“I see,” you replied, voice casual and airy. “How do you win? Or lose?”

“Oh, yeah—anyone can call a bluff at any point. If you’re right, the person who bluffed gets the entire pile on the table. If you’re wrong, you need to take the pile,” he responded. “Whoever has no cards left wins. You’ll get the hang of it.”

He leaned back slightly, letting his arm drape lazily over the loveseat, the movement deliberate, stretching closer to you without touching… yet. The proximity was ridiculous, and he knew it, and of course, so did you. 

He could feel the subtle brush of your leg against his, hear the faint shift as you adjusted your seat, the way your hand lingered on the drink he’d gotten himself.

His mind did a quick double-take, because… damn. You smelled good. Closer than he’d ever been, and now it was impossible to ignore.

Enjin reached for the full deck on the table, shuffling it, before he split the cards evenly between the four of you, movements smooth and practiced. Cards slid across the table in neat stacks.

“Alright,” he said, glancing around. “Who’s got the Ace of Hearts?”

Everyone checked their hand.

A beat.

“I do.”

His eyes flicked up immediately.

Of course you did.

“Then—you start.”

He leaned back, watching from the corner of his eye as you looked down at your cards. You took just a second too long. Your lips pressed together, like you were holding back a smile.

That was new.

You placed a card face-down.

“Ace of Hearts.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Bluff.”

The word came easy. Calm. Certain.

Bro snorted. “Already?”

You turned toward him slowly. “You don’t even know what I put down.”

He tilted his head, studying you openly now. “Don’t need to.”

It wasn’t about the card.

It was the way you sat a little straighter. The way your fingers lingered on the edge of the card a fraction too long. The almost imperceptible satisfaction in your eyes.

You were asking for it, really.

“Flip it,” Delmon urged.

You held Enjin’s gaze for half a second—a silent challenge—before turning the card over.

Six of Hearts.

Bro burst out laughing.

Enjin didn’t. He just smiled—slow and smug—because… well, there it was.

“I knew it,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t know anything.” You rolled your eyes.

He huffed a low laugh. Then, using the arm that wasn't draped casually behind you, he reached down and lightly poked a spot on your leg he knew was bruised. You yelped, just enough to make him grin wider.

Meanwhile, he couldn't help but savor the fact that he was the only one who knew what your legs looked like beneath the thigh highs. It was his way of telling you that—at least in split second—you belonged to him.

“I know you.”

You muttered something under your breath as you took your card back, clearly annoyed—but not really.

“Alright,” he said, settling back again. “Go on.”

You drew in a breath, adjusted your grip on your cards, and this time when you placed one down, your expression was steady. Almost neutral.

“Ace of Hearts—for real this time.”

He watched you carefully.

No lingering. No spark. No tiny flare of pride.

Just calm.

He held the silence for a second longer than necessary—just to make you feel it.

“Alright. Continue.”

Delmon cracked his knuckles. “Two.”

He placed two cards down in a neat stack. No hesitation. No theatrics.

Bro eyed him briefly, but didn’t bite.

“Three,” Bro said next, tossing one card onto the pile with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Stil, no one called anything.

Then it was Enjin’s turn.

He looked down at his hand. The next number was four. 

He just so happened to have two.

A small part of him considered holding one back for the next cycle.

He didn’t.

He slid both cards into the center. Calm. Clean.

“Two fours.”

He didn’t look at Delmon.

He didn’t look at Bro.

He looked at you.

Your fingers were still resting on your cards. But he saw it — that tiny shift in your posture. The way your shoulders squared. The way your eyes flicked to the pile and then back to him.

You were thinking. Good.

He leaned back slightly, arm still draped along the seat behind you.

“You gonna call it?” he asked lightly.

Delmon scoffed. “Here we go.”

Enjin ignored him.

His gaze stayed on you—not challenging. Just steady.

He wasn’t bluffing. But he almost hoped you thought he was.

For the most part, you upheld the eye-contact—eyes flicking towards the cards in his hand from time to time, as if questioning the legitimacy of them. 

“I wanted to,” you murmured, eyes flicking toward him, wary, “but… now that you want me to call it, I won’t.”

Enjin huffed a laugh.

“Fair enough. Your turn.”

You placed your three cards with a smile. “Five.”

Delmon’s brow furrowed as he eyed the pile.

“Bluff,” he finally muttered, leaning forward, elbows now resting on his knees.

You blinked, keeping your expression calm. “Oh?”

Enjin watched from his spot, leaning back slightly, arm still stretched behind you, smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to see your cards to know what was coming.

“You sure about that?” Enjin asked lightly, just loud enough for the table to hear. His voice carried a teasing edge, though he kept his own cards close.

Delmon hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. “What are the odds of having three fives on your hand? I’m calling it.”

You flipped your first card — five. Then the second — five. And the third… five.

It was true.

Delmon froze, eyes widening as realization hit. “Huh?”

You leaned slightly toward the center of the table, a faint, triumphant smile tugging at your lips, sliding the small pile towards him. “There you go.”

Enjin’s gaze lingered on you, amusement and something warmer flickering in his chest. You weren’t even aware of the way you’d slid closer, your side almost fully pressed against him. 

He felt a soft nudge against his chest — your shoulder lightly stabbing into him. He didn’t move. He could feel the warmth radiating from you, the faint brush of your side against his, and the subtle weight of your presence.

He looked down at you, catching your eyes before you looked away. The next second, you muttered something under your breath, too faint to carry over the pounding bass from the speakers. Enjin might have only noticed because—well—he'd just been looking at your lips anyway.

An idea struck him. 

As if the proximity weren't already enough, he inched closer, letting his body press lightly against yours as he

leaned down, silently signaling that you should repeat yourself.

His arm draped over you more than it did over the seat, head tilted ever so slightly as his gaze locked with

yours, faces just inches apart—a challenge you were doomed to fail. He caught the brief flicker of your eyes

down toward his lap, though you didn't pull back.

He caught your gaze again, right as your pretty lips began to part. “I just asked if we start from ace again,” you spoke, almost in a whisper.

“No,” he replied, voice casual, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Next is six.”

You fit against him perfectly, your frame settling into the dip of the cushions at his side, curves aligning just so. You seemed comfortable there, either unaware of how close you’d slipped toward him or simply finding it as natural as he did.

Everyone eyes shifted to Delmon now that it was his turn. He placed one card down. “Six.”

Right after, Bro laid down a seven. Supposedly. 

The turn circled back to him. 

Enjin looked at his hand. Not a single eight. It was time to bluff. No big deal.

He slid two cards into the pile, careful, measured. “Eight,” voice calm, almost casual. Not rushed, not nervous—just like always. He let his gaze flick toward you out of the corner of his eye. The way you were watching him, that slight narrowing of your eyes.

“Bluff,” you said, quiet, steady, like it wasn’t a guess—like you already knew.

He froze just for a fraction of a second, more amused than concerned.

“You think so?” he murmured lightly, leaning into the seat a little more. Not defensive. Not worried. Just curious what you’d do.

You held his gaze, unwavering. Calm. Confident.

Enjin exhaled slowly, sliding the pile toward himself. “Alright, fine,” he said under his breath, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “You got me.”

He was just flattered to know you’d watched him so intently.

“Damn,” Bro sighed, hand on the back of his neck. “You guys are really good at this.” 

Enjin hums. “Yeah,” he says. “Something like that.”

Minutes passed, then stretched into what felt like hours. The pile grew steadily, now close to a quarter of the deck, and no one could afford to lose. Yet somehow, bluffs hadn’t been called in forever.

“You’re taking forever,” you groaned, tapping your cards lightly, fidgeting.

“I’m thinking,” he replied evenly, though the tiniest twitch of a smile betrayed him.

“Thinking about what—bluffing?”

“Wanna call it? I dare you.” 

He glanced at his cards, then back at you, then back at his hand, before cautiously sliding a ten onto the ever-growing pile.

“One king.”

It was intense.

“You’ve got to be lying, man!” Delmon exclaimed, eyes fixed on the pile as if staring harder would reveal the truth.

“Okay, call it then. See what happens.” His empty threat earned groans all around—Bro rubbing his forehead in frustration, Delmon gripping his knees like he needed an anchor. And you… still. Too still. Still in a tense way, like you were frozen in time. 

He didn’t know if it was reflex, instinct, or just a quiet urge, but his hand had started tracing lazy shapes along your shoulder. You seemed to relax into it, even if only slightly, and he was quietly glad to be of some comfort.

It also seemed to distract you from the game, which was a bonus.

It was your turn now. The pile demanded an Ace.

You picked a card and slid it onto the pile, voice even, airy. “An Ace.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. He could tell. 

The way your fingers lingered on the card before letting it go, the tiny pause in your voice, the way your gaze flicked to him and then quickly away—you weren’t enjoying the lie as much as you should have been.

He considered calling it. Just for a moment.

But he couldn’t bring himself to let the pile crash down on you. 

He leaned back just slightly, letting his gaze rest on you for a beat longer than necessary, noting the faint lift of your chest as you exhaled, and the subtle tension easing from your shoulders. Not because he needed to, not because he wanted to punish you—just because he could.

Just because he liked it.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

You played round after round after that, the hours slipping by unnoticed. The table shifted, drinks were replaced, the music grew louder and then blurred into the background.

By the time the night began to thin out, he’d walked you through the halls and left you at your door, talking about nothing and everything at once—recent expeditions, Rudo’s progress, who had handled the trash beasts better on the last mission (obviously you). You said your goodbyes like you hadn’t half-sat in his lap just moments earlier.

And you just couldn’t shake the thought of him. 

His lingering looks.

That honeyed tone to his voice.

The way his words always seemed to push just enough to see what you’d do with them.

You’ve been trying to catch sleep for a couple hours, but the phantom sensation of his finger lazily tracing circles into your shoulder hadn’t faded. Neither had the warmth of his body pressed against yours, or the image of his sharp, calloused hands working the deck.

You groaned into your pillow, kicking your feet against the mattress (which was dumb, because your legs still hadn’t recovered—it hurt really bad).

This was frustrating. 

Even now, your body felt as though it was running just as hot as it had when pressed right against the side of his hard chest. Tingles ran over every bit of skin that touched him. Your thoughts wandered places you usually always tried to keep them from and you were failing miserably tonight. 

His naked, inked skin. 

His strong, broad frame. 

His stupid hot fucking smile. 

The way his hands would feel…

You’d usually always been able to handle him, but something was just different this time. 

This wasn’t the same old big-ego Enjin. It was him threading himself into your thoughts, somehow playing with the pace of your heartbeat, the temperature of your skin, the electric feeling in your stomach.

Sleeping was pointless. You were lucky you had nowhere to be in the morning. 

Maybe you should take a shower. 

You begrudgingly lifted your face from the squished pillow and pushed yourself up, heading to grab a change of clothes before shuffling toward the bathroom. 

By the time you reached it, your resolve had wavered enough that you didn’t even bother shutting the door fully before peeling off your sleep shirt, carelessly throwing it onto your pile of laundry you had yet to find a day to tackle. 

The water felt relieving against your skin. Today felt like the kind of day that justified turning it really hot—which Enjin always hated, since it usually meant a cold, miserable shower for him the next morning. After tonight, you figured he kind of deserved it. 

If he was going to occupy your thoughts, you were claiming the hot water. 

The sensation of the water running down your body seemed to numb the pain in your legs, but it did little to wash away the feeling of his skin pressed against yours—because of course it wouldn’t. This wasn’t a physical sensation, it was him in your head.

You turned the temperature up a notch.

It burned, but it felt good.

Single droplets pierced you like hot needles—a type of pain you actually welcomed. All the tension of the day seemed to wash off your body, disappearing down the drain along with the water.

You could stay here for hours, maybe even fall asleep like this. All your senses felt cut off from the outside world, with no room for any unwanted thoughts. Just the unbearably hot water, close enough to feel endless.

And then, there was a beep.

You froze. You hadn’t taken your choker off yet.

Someone was calling. 

You feared you knew exactly who. 

“Enjin, what the fuck? It’s, like, 1 a.m.!” you whisper-shouted, covering the choker as best you could with your hand, as though that was going to shield you in any way. 

“Huh? It’s almost 3. And I can hear you,” he replied.

“Yeah, I know, we’re in a call!” you said, exasperated.

“No, like… I can hear your shower,” he clarified, a faint chuckle in his tone.

“And you thought it’d be a good idea to call me in the shower?”

“You picked up, didn’t you?” His grin practically radiated through the call.

What you hated most in this moment wasn’t that he called—it was the fact that you were excited about it. 

And the fact that he was right.

“You don’t even know how hot my shower is running right now.” you challenged him, hoping to get him right where you knew it hurt. 

“That’s fucked up,” he laughed, like he wasn’t taking you seriously at all. “Just to tick me off? Or you just felt like showering hot?”

“I don’t have to answer that.” you mumbled, reaching for the shampoo bottle. 

“And that says so much,” he replied. “Why’re you taking a shower in the middle of the night? Didn’t you say you were tired?” 

“I was tired,” you admitted, letting the water cascade over your shoulders. “I just couldn’t fall asleep.” 

“Mm, same,” he replied. “It’s kind of your fault for turning on the shower, though.” 

“Thats on you.” And you regretted these words the moment they escaped your lips.

“What’d I do?”

Because what were you even going to tell him? That you couldn’t stop thinking about how good he smelled? That you wished his arm had fully encased you? That you actually kind of liked it when he pressed down on your bruises? That just thinking about any of it made your body react in ways you could never, ever admit out loud?

“I just don’t like you.” you muttered, scrubbing shampoo into your hair, trying to keep your voice even.

“I know that’s not true, sweetheart,” he said, his smile as audible as ever through the line.

Again with that pet name.

“I’m just gonna stop talking.” 

“You could also just hang up.” 

“Why don’t you hang up?

“I don’t want to,” he chuckled lowly. “I feel like you don’t really want to stop talking, either.” 

You heard him shuffle on his end of the line—things cluttering and moving around.

“You’re very confident in yourself.” 

“Hang up, then.” 

You didn’t reply. You didn’t hang up, either. 

“Thought so,” he murmured with a faint exhale—was he smoking?—“Wanna come over?”

“What. Now?” 

“Yeah. Or, you know what?” The sound of shifting feet, a quiet grunt. “I’m coming over.” 

Your fingers clenched slightly around the shampoo bottle, as if it was your lifeline. “I’m in the shower!” 

“Well, hurry, my foot’s out the door already.” And the click of his door shutting was, indeed, audible on the other end. 

The moment you felt the shampoo rinse completely from your hair, you stepped out of the shower, grabbing the first towel within reach.

“At least wait, like… two minutes,” you said, tugging it tighter around yourself. “Please.”

“But then I’d have to walk all the way back.”

“Our rooms are next to each other!” you shot back, exasperated.

“Yeah… way too far. Damn, you should lock your door.”

“Are you in my room right now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, as if that settled everything.

“Just wait—sit down somewhere. I’ll be right out.” you replied hurriedly, dropping the towel after drying yourself off and getting into your giant sleep shirt. 

Shutting the bathroom door behind you and quickly shuffling your way back to your space, you find him splayed out on your bed, staring at the ceiling—or perhaps following the pattern of the smoke as it rose into the air. 

“Well?” he asked, his focus not shifting toward you quite yet. “You gonna keep me waiting?”

You crossed your arms, trying for irritation. “Do I look like I had a choice?”

Then, he spared you a glance, eyeing your frame for a moment. Then two. 

He smiled. “You look good.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Sorry?” you asked.

“You look good.” He met your eyes after letting his attention wander all over you. “Like… really good.”

You shifted on the spot, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Don’t start with me, Enjin,” you muttered, though a faint warmth had already started spreading through your chest.

“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” he said, propping himself up against the wall. He made space on the mattress, patting the newly free spot as a silent invitation for you to get comfortable.

He brought the blunt to his lips and took a long, unhurried drag. You could practically see the smoke fill his lungs, his chest expanding before he leaned his head back slightly and exhaled, the haze curling lazily toward the ceiling. The sound he made—low, pleased—had no business shooting right through you the way it did.

You took a short breath, grounding yourself, then crossed the room and settled into the space he’d made for you. You leaned back against the pillows, angling your legs carefully so they didn’t tangle with his, even though the mattress dip made closeness unavoidable.

When you glanced over, he wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His gaze had gone distant, unfocused, like he’d drifted somewhere else entirely as the drug settled in. For a moment, you just watched him—his relaxed posture, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the way the smoke still lingered around him.

The thought that he looked kind of ethereal quietly passed your mind. 

Then, with the slightest tilt of his head, his eyes found yours again.

“Wanna try?” he asked, holding the blunt out toward you. You blinked. Once. Twice. 

“What—smoking?” you echoed.

“Yeah.” His smile was lazy, unpressuring. “You don’t have to.”

You hesitated. You’d never really felt the urge before—never saw the appeal. Still, curiosity nudged at you, persistent and annoying.

“…If you teach me?”

Something softened in his expression, just briefly, before a faint smile took over.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He held it closer, waiting. You took it carefully, immediately aware of how little you knew about what to do with it. You’d seen people smoke before, sure—but holding it yourself felt strangely intimidating. For something so small, it suddenly felt like it carried a lot of weight.

And you were supposed to breathe that in?

“It’s pretty intuitive,” he said, watching you with open amusement. “Just don’t inhale too deeply.”

“That’s your instructions?”

“To be fair,” he chuckled, lifting his hands in lazy defense, “you’re probably gonna start coughing anyway. Just a heads up.”

Your eyes rolled on instinct.

You studied the blunt like it might give you some sort of guidance if you stared long enough. Then you brought it to your lips and took a tentative inhale.

Nothing.

Frowning slightly, you tried again—deeper this time.

Instant regret.

The burn hit fast and sharp, ripping the air straight out of your lungs. You sputtered, coughing hard as smoke escaped in uneven bursts, shoving the blunt back into his hand while you struggled to breathe. You were hunched forward, absolutely wrecked, eyes watering.

Enjin was already laughing beside you, completely unapologetic.

“I told you not too deep,” he said between laughs. “I gave you one instruction.”

You wanted to snap back—had a dozen words lined up—but air still hadn’t fully returned to your lungs, and all you could manage was a glare that only made him grin wider.

“Easy,” he said, laughter still in his voice as he shifted closer. His hand came up to your back, warm and steady, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

He guided you gently back against him, your spine settling against his chest.

You coughed again, sharper this time, eyes stinging as you tried to suck in air that didn’t burn. “You—” you rasped, grounding yourself with a hand on his leg. “You’re evil.”

He hummed, clearly entertained. “Yeah, yeah. Deep breaths. In through your nose. Just like that.”

You did as he said, partly out of necessity, partly because the weight of his hand made it easier. The coughing eased little by little, your chest still tight but no longer on fire.

“There you go,” he murmured, closer now, voice lower. “See? Still alive.”

Without really thinking about it, you leaned back, letting your head rest against him for just a second as you caught your breath. “I hate you,” you muttered—though it came out far less convincing than you meant it to.

His thumb traced a lazy line along your shoulder. “Mhm. I can tell.”

You exhaled sharply, shoulders tense. “You absolutely set me up.”

“I warned you,” he said, lifting the blunt past your frame and bringing it back to his lips. “You just didn’t listen.”

That’s when two things hit you at once.

One—you felt it.

Your thoughts began to loosen in a way they never had before. The constant noise in your head softened, blurred, fading into something distant and manageable.

And two—the position you were in.

Your hand resting on his thigh.

Your back pressed flush against his chest.

His arm lazily draped around you, like you just did this all the time. 

It was a dangerous combination. With your thoughts dulled and hazy, you didn’t have the energy to filter your thoughts about how much you actually liked it anymore.

He shifted slightly behind you, just enough that the pressure of his chest against your back deepened, and you felt the subtle weight of his attention resting along the back of your head.

“See?” he murmured, more to himself than you. “Knew you’d feel it.”

You frowned faintly. “Feel what?”

“The quiet,” he said, his finger lightly tapping against your temple. “You stopped fidgeting.”

That caught your attention. You‘d usually try to deny it—but you couldn’t. Your thoughts felt slower. Softer.

He sensed it before you even said anything—the way your breathing evened out, the tension in your shoulders easing, the subtleties of the things you didn’t do—like pulling away, or fighting back.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low, almost cooing. “So calm… seriously, this might be the longest stretch you’ve gone without barking at me.”

“Shush,” you muttered, cheeks warming. “M’not calm. N‘ I don’t bark.”

“Sure, baby,” he said, that word curling around your spine. “Whatever you say.”

And you didn’t even have it in you to fully process the new pet name. 

His hand found the hem of your shirt, tugging it lightly between his fingers, testing the fabric against your skin. Not enough to pull it up, not enough to be overt—definitely enough for you to notice.

You felt the faint brush of his thumb against your side with each little pull, a whisper of contact that made your stomach tighten.

“You’re kind of comfortable.” you muttered, trying for casual as you pulled your hand back—slowly, like you didn’t want to draw attention to it.

“Only kind of?” he asked, voice easy, almost amused. His fingers flexed once against your side, just enough to be intentional. 

“Okay,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “You’re really comfortable.” 

“Mm, sure seems like it,” he let out a soft hum. “You feeling tired?” 

“No,” you replied, letting your words trail just slightly. The warmth of your body pressed into his was dizzying. “M’just very good right now.”

His hand moved lazily along your side, brushing your hip with an absent-minded care that made your stomach twist. “Mm,” he murmured. “Want me to stay?”

You nodded. 

“Okay.” 

The room fell into a quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable, just… present. No teasing, no jokes—just him and you.

Slowly, his fingers traced the curve of your waist, mapping the gentle swell of your sides as if committing every line to memory.

Each movement was bold in intention yet measured, teasing—like he was daring you to react, and you found yourself holding still, caught between hesitation and anticipation.

The warmth of his touch spread through you in ways that weren’t just physical; it was the attention, the quiet focus of him exploring without words.

His hand was no longer just playing—it was present, outlining the frame of you, leaving you aware of every point of contact, every subtle press of skin against fabric.

His other hand slowly lifted, fingers weaving through your hair. With a practiced ease, he swept it over to one side, letting your thick sleep shirt slip just enough to expose your shoulder. The fabric pooled lazily around the curve, leaving your neck bare to the warmth of his gaze.

A content sigh left your lips. 

“You like that?” he whispered, his warm breath brushing along your ear. You already knew he didn’t need an answer—he just wanted to hear it from you.

You complied with a soft hum. 

He took one last slow drag of the blunt, the tip glowing faintly in the dim light. You caught the plume of smoke in your peripheral vision as he exhaled, and it curled lazily over your shoulder, teasing your bare skin.

With a subtle flick of his fingers, he sent the finished blunt spinning onto the floor. You were too caught up in the moment to care, letting the tension in your body unravel under his attention.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this relaxed.

The hand that had been tracing your side drifted lower, slipping past the hem of your shirt. It moved agonizingly slowly, skimming over the soft skin of your bare thigh, his thumb drawing lazy, teasing patterns—just a little too far up, just a little too far in.

Just a little too much to pass off as friendly.

He was giving you just enough—enough to make your skin burn—but never enough to truly satisfy the ache that had built up inside you. The moment felt charged, but it wasn’t as simple as just raw intimacy. 

His breath skimmed the skin of your neck in slow, even intervals. “You’re really soft.” It almost sounded like a question. 

You could feel his attention on you—the hazed focus of his gaze lingering along the line of your neck, the faint feeling of his hair grazing your skin. Then he inched in closer—slow, gentle kisses traced along the length of your neck. And despite all the tension coiled in your body, they weren’t meant to provoke—just soft, unhurried.

He pulled back, resting his head atop your shoulder. 

Part of you was relieved he didn’t take it further. Another part of you screamed at the loss of the feeling. 

“You’re not telling me to stop,” he whispered into your shoulder. 

And, yeah. You weren’t. 

You swallowed, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sleeve. “Yeah,” you said quietly, words slower than usual, “Should I?”

There was a pause. Not the heavy kind. Just enough to let your words settle.

“Up to you,” he replied easily, his thumb returning to trace an absent-minded line along your side. “I’d be a bit butthurt about it—but, you know. Whatever.”

That made you laugh. 

He stuck to caring strokes and gentle touches.

You drifted off to sleep in his embrace that night. 

─────────୨ৎ─────────

He was a simple man. At least, he’d always thought he was.

Things just failed to feel simple lately. 

Enjin sat at the table, leaning slightly forward as Semiu traced patrol routes on the worn map spread across the surface. Corvus flipped through the mission logs, scribbling notes in the margins with a pencil that had long since lost its eraser.

He answered questions when prompted, offered minor adjustments to the routes, corrected a timing estimate—on the surface, he was engaged.

His thoughts were entirely elsewhere.

They’d gotten stuck with you in your bedroom that night, about a week ago. 

The memory lingered at the edge of his mind, pulling his attention away even as Semiu traced the eastern perimeter—and he was fucked, since he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why she was outlining it in the first place.

The scratch of Semiu’s pencil across the map, the rustle of papers, the muted scribbling of Corvus’s notes—they all faded into the background. 

He could almost feel your warmth, hear the soft sighs you’d given him, see your eyes closing at the subtle pleasure of his touch. 

He understood heat, understood want—the easy kind, the kind you didn’t have to think too hard about. Touch, tension, release. He’d never been precious with it. Never needed to be.

So this—this gentle kind of caution—sat wrong in his chest.

The way his hands slowed before touching you. How instinct kept telling him to pull you closer, but something quieter told him not to rush. Like moving too fast might shatter something he didn’t quite have a name for yet.

That part confused him.

You’d always felt safe. Why did that matter so much right now?

And then that uniform. 

It should’ve been the usual—charming smiles, lingering touches, the spark of attraction he knew how to handle. Instead, it had hit him sideways. Like the sight of you had shifted something into place rather than set it on fire. Pride, maybe. Something that settled instead of burned.

The realization crept up on him slowly, unwelcome in how obvious it suddenly felt.

He wasn’t being gentle because he didn’t want you.

He was being gentle because, somewhere along the way, you’d started to feel precious.

And that thought lingered far longer than he wanted it to.

He absently rubbed the back of his neck as Semiu asked about polluted zones by the border of a No Man’s Land near the eastern perimeter. 

“Uh… yeah, those are clear,” he said, eyes drifting to the empty chair across the table, imagining you slumping into it, hair damp from a shower, in nothing but that huge shirt you’d worn that night.

Corvus glanced up sharply. “You even paying attention, Enjin?”

He blinked, shook his head slightly, and forced a nod. “Yeah, just… thinking ‘bout the deployment,” he muttered, realizing how transparent that sounded.

He’d like to get deployed with you again. 

No. Stop. Not now. 

It wasn’t about him seeing you for the first time when he laid eyes on you that day in the hallway. Something in him had been stirred awake, something that had been dormant for quite some time.

Granted, the way you looked definitely didn’t hurt.

He just hated how smitten he felt about it.

Once he realized you’d fallen asleep, breathing slow and even against his chest, he’d chosen to give you space. He’d tucked you in carefully—too carefully, if you asked him—pulled the blanket up to around your shoulders and all that. Left without waking you.

He took a shower after. Cold.

For once, he didn’t even mind that you’d used up all the hot water. He’d planned on it anyway. 

He just couldn’t believe the way he was treating you.

Enjin wasn’t selfish—just a bit indulgent. A hedonist in the simplest sense. He liked what felt good and had never been shy about reaching for it. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar with want. He knew exactly how far he could’ve gone, how easy it would’ve been to guide you there with him. You would’ve let him. He was sure of that. And he would’ve taken care of you — that wasn’t the issue.

Because, fuck—he wanted to.

So why didn’t he take you?

You hadn’t been tense. You hadn’t been provoking. You’d been safe.

Again, safe. 

He was starting to get fed up with safe. 

He clenched his jaw. It annoyed him, the way he’d held back. Especially considering the things he could’ve done to you—wanted to do to you. Thinking about making you call out his name like it was the only thing you knew how to say anymore—over and over again.

And yet. 

He didn’t. 

He replayed it in his head more times than he cared to admit—the way you’d leaned back into him without thinking. The way your voice had softened. The way you hadn’t told him to stop.

You would’ve let him.

That was the problem.

It wouldn’t have taken much. A slight shift of his hand. Turning your face toward his and closing the distance. You were already pliant in his arms, hazy and warm and trusting.

Trusting.

His jaw tightened again.

Of all the things he could’ve done—wanted to do—he’d chosen restraint.

His mouth had found your neck, yes—but only in the softest way. Slow, measured presses of his lips against your skin. It was the one thing he couldn’t quite stop himself from taking.

Even then, he’d been careful.