—

The lab was quiet. Another experiment gone wrong— his sixth attempt— and Satoru Gojo did not fail six times. Period. The word alone was foreign to him. Chemicals he shouldn't have gotten ahold of. A lab he had full access to. He was like a kid in a candy shop, and if anyone could pull this off, it was him.

Failed. Again.

Sleep pulled at him harder than it should have. Just an hour. His body could handle three days without sleep—one hour would be fine. When he woke, drool had smeared weeks of data into illegibility. He groaned, dabbing at the page. And then he froze. Beakers that had been meticulously cleaned now had fingerprints. Ones he didn't place.

Someone else had been here.

Listening, Satoru whipped his head around the room, eyes trying to catch anything in sight. Slightly panicked, no one else was meant to be here; if there was, he would be royally fucked. Facing the intruder, seeing a mirror reflection of himself, wherever his shirt had gone, along with his pants, and everything else.

Stopping in his tracks, he patted his body, making sure he was indeed wearing clothes and not raw dogging it in a lab.

Staring like a deer in headlights, Satoru watched as he(?) clenched his finger, moving his appendages like they were new and getting accustomed to them. Except it wasn't Satoru moving, but someone else who looked exactly like him.

Identical.

"Yo, what the fuck?!" the voice called out, the same to his, but had a little bit of an edge to it, not noticeable to the average listener. "Who are you?"

"I should be saying the same to you..." His eyes narrowed approaching the figure cautiously, like a stray cat on the streets that was particularly aggressive.

It was almost impossible for him to have a doppelganger who looked this similar to him, and it's not like he had a secret twin hiding somewhere; he hoped not, at least.

Satoru tried coming up with some sort of explanation, anything to explain the man before him. "A clone...perhaps?" he mumbled.

"So that's your what, hypothesis?" Satoru, the clone, asked, catching onto Satoru's drift. "What the hell is with this red and blue goo anyway?" he scoffed, wiping the remaining off of his skin.

"How did you get in that?"

"I woke up with it," he said as though the answer was obvious. "You seriously think I would roll around in mystery shit for fun?" he rolled his eyes.

Satoru finally came to the realization that perhaps it was not something out of this world coincidence, but rather his own calculated mistake in his own.

A wicked grin spread across his face. Either he has finally lost his mind from inhaling copious amounts of chemicals, or he has done something even more wonderful!

Life, not only a new life but an existing life of himself!

He couldn't possibly let this scientific breakthrough slip through his fingers. Life with his replica was uneventful, to say the least. It was hell trying to get his new experiment back home with him. Satoru told himself it would be worth it in the end, so he persevered.

For science!

He let Satoru 2.0 do what he wanted, being like himself in most aspects. Habits, diet, and build were similar. Intelligence surely differed in more ways than one. Satoru 2.0 seemed to lack the knowledge he had. He wasn't disappointed, not in the slightest; this only aided his research.

A few days in, and he had 8 pages of notes on the clone. He didn't know if or when this experiment would end. Satoru was going to make the most of this.

Personality was different; the man before him was crude and lacked the reserve Satoru had. It was like he came from a different universe. Satoru groaned in his seat, getting a headache from all the hypotheses filling his head. He'd resorted to calling him Satoru 2.0—referring to someone who wasn't technically someone else by his own name only confused his thoughts.

All Satoru 2.0 did was complain.

Satoru suspects he only does it to provoke him. It was working. He heard his own voice in his head enough, hearing it externally while his thoughts were running amok, too fast for him to grasp; his eye twitched.

"Is this what you do all day?" Satoru says, head dangling off the bed. Satoru had spent most of the day studying and documenting whatever Satoru 2.0 did. It was obvious he was itching to get outside.

Satoru didn't want to risk being out the same time and people catching on that there were more than two Satorus. They were completely different; he would be appalled if others thought they were the same person.

"Pretty much... I mean, sometimes I play D&D or a quick battle of Digimon." Satoru shrugged.

"Dude, you're seriously lame as hell," the other grimaced. "I thought your closet was the only depressing thing in here," he acts as though he isn't wearing his clothes. Sure, it was styled differently, lacking one of Satoru's flannel shirts, which he threatened to burn if it came close enough to touch his skin. "I am starting to doubt we are the same person."

"Based on our DNA results and the corroborating information, I can assure you that we are the same person." He said matter-of-factly, his clone groaned loudly, stopping whatever scientific rambling that Satoru was about to proudly go on.

"C'mon, bro, let's go out, what's the Greek life out here?" he sat up, a mischievous grin on his face."Ya' know-"

"Don't need it." Satoru quickly responded. He has never been much of a partier, much less into fraternities. There was no substantial appeal to him. Dirty, crowded houses of inebriated peers did not seem attractive in the slightest.

Alcohol dulled the senses anyway; he preferred to stay aware. The taste alone was revolting.

"Fine, stay here cooped up in here like some city rat. I don't care, but I am losing my fucking mind in here." Satoru 2.0 whined, staring outside the window.

He knew there was a party today, reading one of the texts on Satoru's phone, prompting his continuous whining. Satoru was skeptical about what his clone would do; they shared the same appearance, and he would prefer keeping his clean slate reputation on top of his stellar grades. "Imagine what kind of research you could get out of this."

"Research? What kind?" Intrigued, Satoru whirled his chair around, giving his full attention.

"You're the genius here, think about it." He wasn't wrong; there was substantial research to be found when his replica interacted with others besides himself. A change of environment was an essential scientific process.

"It's a win-win. I get to get the fuck out of here, and you get to analyze or whatever you do," he bargained, hand pushing his hair out of the way, a habit Satoru quickly wrote down. Perhaps Satoru 2.0 wasn't completely asinine.

"Fine, but you must report back everything. Interactions, behaviors, everything."

"Whatever, whatever." Satoru 2.0 lost no time readying himself, taking Satoru's spare phone. He seemed to work the technology just fine.

—

When he arrived, he didn't expect his nerd ass counterpart to know more than 4 people, himself included. To his surprise, a man with brown hair met him at the door, thoroughly shocked to see his face.

"S-Satoru?! No way— I didn't think you'd show up!" Haibara said, a name Satoru soon learned as he led him into the house. A smell Satoru had savored after he's been stuck in that lame apartment. It was just as good hearing his own name rather than 'Satoru 2.0'.

"You look so different, man, what's with the switch up?" he asked, pouring him a concoction from a jug into a red solo cup. "Almost didn't recognise you," he laughed.

Satoru shrugged, taking the cup and throwing back half of it in one go. The burn was welcome. "Needed a change of pace. Been cooped up too long."

Haibara's eyes went wide. "Dude, you never drink. Last time someone tried to get you to take a shot, you gave them a twenty-minute lecture on ethyl alcohol's effect on synaptic transmission."

"People change," he smirked.

The party was everything Satoru had been craving. Bodies pressed together, bass vibrating through the floorboards, the sticky-sweet smell of cheap alcohol.

This was living. This was what that lab rat was missing out on while he categorized his fucking beakers by size and color. He genuinely did not see the allure; while he nerded out over aspects of life, he would be living it out in this strange place.

He'd been working the room for about an hour, charming his way through clusters of people who apparently knew "Satoru" but couldn't quite place this version of him. The glasses were gone, for one.

Rolling the sleeves of the plain black t-shirt he'd found in the original's disappointing wardrobe. The shirt was too big on him—well, on them technically—but he'd made it work, the fabric draping in a way that suggested he'd just thrown it on without caring, which he had.

"Yo, 'Toru!" A voice cut through the noise, and he turned to find a guy with black frosted tips waving him over to a corner where a group had gathered around someone sitting on a couch. "Get over here, man. We're doing shots."

Now that caught his attention.

He sauntered over, pushing through the crowd with the easy confidence that apparently didn't come standard with his model. The weirdo probably would've stammered something about germ theory and backed away slowly. Fucking nerd.

And then he saw you.

You were sprawled across the couch, tiny skirt riding up just enough, legs stretched out with a red solo cup balanced on your thigh. Your eyes met his, and something sparked recognition, sure, but something else too. Interest.

"You're in my spot," he said, grinning down at you. Your long nails tapped the cup nervously, eyes glancing around as if you didn't know he was talking to you.

Your eyebrow furrowed. "Pretty sure I was here first."

"Yeah, but I'm prettier."

The laugh you gave him was worth the corny line. "You wish, Gojo."

So you knew his name, that's even more Interesting. Dweeb hadn't mentioned anyone worth mentioning, or anyone at all other than a scientist, but here you were, looking at him.

He was pretty sure you were not one of the figures Satoru spent hunched over his desk reading about. He dropped onto the couch beside you, closer than necessary, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours. "You gonna save me a shot, or what?"

You held up the cup between your legs. "Come get it."

—

Satoru left his seat, kneeling, spreading your legs as he placed the shot in between your thighs, your skirt hiking up to reveal more of your thighs. You almost didn't recognise him in his new get-up or attitude.

"Don't be shy, baby." He smirked. You didn't even know the dorky little shit could ever be like this. So charming, sexy.

His hands covered the tops of your thighs, head dipping lower to the plastic red solo cup rested in-between the the flesh.

He buried his head in your thighs, slurping the liquid from inside the cup. It was too much. He was really putting on a show. He was hot, and he knew it, just as much as he knew the answers to all the professor's questions.

Taking up all the class time he could, taking up as much space in between your ever-so shaky legs. It made you wonder if this was even the same guy, thought interrupted by his finger groping your thighs.

Your mind started to glitch, wondering what he would look like if there weren't as many people here, if your panties and skirt were off, and him licking up the wetness in your panties and not the cheap alcohol.

Fuck, you didn't even care if the others watched. You wouldn't usually get down in front of so many people, so suddenly, even. Did it really count as a record if you already knew him, spending most of the semester staring at his hair?

He was good eye candy, especially in a class you barely understood. Satoru wasn't your typical pick, well, not previously. The nerd thing was cute and all, but seeing him like this was making your pussy flutter.

His cerulean eyes look up at you, not behind a pair of thick glasses, watching you watch him. As if he were seeing your reaction.

The tips of his ears were tinged pink, even brighter in contrast with his bright white hair. You wanted to touch him so bad, take him away so that you could get the real thing.

Holding back, you lean your head back, holding your hand over your mouth to stop from saying something stupid or worse. The display was bordering on pornographic, which didn't bother you; you've done worse in worse places.

Satoru picked up the rim of the cup, tongue going up the sides, placing it flat to the rim.

Fuck...

The rest of the party blurred after that. He stayed glued to your side, hand finding your waist, then your thigh, then your waist again, like he couldn't decide where he wanted to touch but knew he needed to be touching you somewhere.

You learned things about him—about this side of him—that didn't match the guy from class at all. He reminded you of the frat guys you used to mess with, a lot smoother and a hell of a lot cuter.

You never met one who wasn't a dick for brains, at least.

But when you asked about class, about Professor Yaga's lecture on cellular biology, he went quiet for a beat too long before deflecting. "Don't wanna talk about school at a party, babe. That's against the rules."

That was suspicious to say the least, you would've thought, given the chance to 'nerd off', he'd take it happily. You brushed it off even as the thought lingered in your head.

You should've noticed then. Should've caught the discrepancy. But his hand had slipped lower, thumb tracing circles on the inside of your thigh, and rational thought had packed its bags and left the building.

He grinned, sharp and wolfish. "Made me wanna find out if you taste better than cheap vodka." You fell back onto the seat, pulling him with you.

When you mentioned you wanted a change of scenery, eyelashes falling low as you played with the thin chain around his neck. A move you have performed more times than you can count. Realisation dawned on his face as he led you to a car outside.

"Only one way to find out."

He didn't need more encouragement than that.

His mouth found your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin there while his hands worked your top. Impatient. Desperate. Like he couldn't get you naked fast enough. You felt the same way, fingers fumbling with his belt, his jeans, needing to feel him, all of him, right now. Your patience was shorter than the skirt you were wearing.

"Fuck, you're so soft," he groaned against your collarbone, pushing your top aside to reveal the lace underneath. His thumb traced the edge of your bra, teasing, watching your face for every reaction. "Been thinking about these tits since I saw you on that couch. Wanna put my mouth all over 'em."

"Then do it."

He did.

His mouth was hot and wet and perfect, sucking marks into the swell of your breasts before finally, finally pulling down the lace and taking your nipple between his lips. You gasped, back arching off the bed, and he hummed in appreciation, the vibration making you squirm.

"That's it," he murmured against your skin. "Love how responsive you are. Gonna make you feel so good, baby."

His hand slid down your stomach, past the waistband of your skirt, fingers dipping between your thighs. You were already wet. "Fuck. You're soaked."

"Do something about it, Toru," you managed, breath hitching as his fingers found your clit through your panties.

He laughed, low and dirty. "I like the way you think."

He pulled back then, settling himself between your legs with a purpose that made your stomach flip.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your thong, dragging them down your legs slowly, agonizingly slowly, watching the reveal like it was the best thing he'd seen all night.

"Pretty," he observed, running a thumb through your folds, spreading your wetness. "So fuckin' pretty."

He ate pussy like he was getting a grade for it. His tongue worked you with a rhythm that bordered on cruel, soft and teasing one moment, firm and demanding the next.

His fingers joined in, two of them sliding inside you with an ease that made you moan, made your hips buck against his face.

"You like that?" he asked, words muffled against your cunt. "Yeah, I can feel how much you like it. Squeezing my fingers so tight, baby." You couldn't form words, could only moan and grip his white hair—so soft, you'd wondered about that.

It was methodical in its intensity, thorough in a way that reminded you, absurdly, of how he answered questions in class. It made you wonder where he learned this from.

But there was nothing academic about the way he moaned against you, the way his tongue delved deeper, the way he looked up at you with those impossible blue eyes while he worked you toward the edge; you couldn't help but gush around him.

You never would have thought Satoru to be a messy eater; you didn't think him to be an eater at all, to be honest.

"Close," you gasped. "Fuck, 'toru, l'm close-"

He doubled down, fingers curling to hit that spot inside you while his mouth sucked your clit, and you shattered, crying out his name as you came on his tongue.

He didn't stop, didn't let up, worked you through every wave of it until you were shaking, oversensitive, pushing at his head. Both of you were interrupted by the ringing of his phone, tempted to ignore it till he saw the name displayed at the top. Picking up the phone, much to your dismay, he started typing viciously, irritation visibly growing on his face.

"Hate to say this, babe, but we gotta cut this short, 'kay." He grumbled, shutting the phone off and stuffing it in his back pocket. He licked up the rest of your release and pulled up your panties and skirt skillfully. You exited his car satisfied but thoroughly confused as he drove off with a wink and a wave.

What the hell?!

—

When he got back to the apartment, Satoru was waiting up like an excited puppy, notebook in hand. "Well?" he asked, practically vibrating. He wouldn't be surprised if he got off on research results."What did you observe? Any notable behavioral differences in the subjects? Did anyone suspect—"

"You really pick the worst time to call. I was in the middle of something super scientific." He pouted, "I got laid," Satoru announced, just to watch his counterpart's face crumple.

"You WHAT? The experiment was for observational purposes only, not for—"

"Relax, nerd. I didn't actually sleep with anyone." He tossed himself onto the sofa, grinning at the ceiling. It was not a total lie; he didn't sleep with anyone, as close as he was to doing so, until Satoru called. "But I did meet someone." he technically met a lot of people.

Satoru's pen stopped moving. "Who?"

The replica started describing you, leaving out some details like the body shot and eating you out; the dork didn't need to know everything. "I talked to her tonight. Got her number."

"She's in my Bioethics class…you're kidding?"

"Relax, I'm not gonna steal your girl. She seemed pretty into us, bro." he leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

Satoru blinked behind his glasses, as if that thought never crossed his mind. "She did?"

"Oh yeah, super into you, can't believe you didn't hit that yet." he paused, "You know if you like her, I got you a hell of a start. If not, this may help your experiment."

"I never said that." Satoru shook his head, thinking for a moment. "I guess it wouldn't hurt..."

"I am great, I know." He pulled out the phone, scrolling to your contact. "Here. Text her tomorrow. Ask her to study or some shit. Don't know how far your nerd-ass will make it though."

"My nerd-ass has worked perfectly fine for twenty-two years."

"Yeah, and look where it's gotten you." Satoru gestured vaguely at the apartment, the stacks of books, the half-finished experiments, the single bed in the corner. "Alone with your Digimon cards."

"They're not cards, they're- you know what, never mind." Satoru took the phone, staring at your name. "And you're sure she... she seemed interested? Unwilling participants are never fun."

"Bro." He laughed, just slightly. "Take my word, she's interested as hell."

ー

It took a week for Satoru to say anything to you. Guys like him, you assumed he would be texting by the time you were pulling your panties back up.

Hey, it's Satoru. From class. I know this is random, but I was wondering if you wanted to study together sometime? There's a coffee shop near campus that's pretty quiet.

You stared at the message for a solid thirty seconds. After the party last week, you'd half convinced yourself it was a dream. But here he was. Texting you.

Sure, it pissed you off that he was now texting you, but you typed back, fingers moving with speed. He never bothered saying anything to you all semester; you were suspicious, to say the least.

If this was his way of getting into your pants, you'd give it a chance. Less blatant than many other attempts to get with you. It's better than a dick pic, you were curious about what was under those khakis though…

When were you thinking?

His response was immediate. Tomorrow? Around 2? I'll send you the address.

Tomorrow. He wanted to see you tomorrow.

Although you were planning on going shopping, checking out the new clothing store that opened at the mall. You'd been waiting for them to open, but you could postpone your shopping trip.

You spent the next twenty-four hours in a state of barely contained anticipation. It's not like this was your first dick appointment, but you knew what to expect. Satoru was different than your usual types.

A café wasn't your typical spot, but you could work with it. Changing your outfit four times before settling on something casual but cute and easy to take off.

The coffee shop was exactly the kind of place you'd expect him to like: quiet, filled with the smell of old books and fresh espresso, cozy corners with overstuffed chairs. You spotted him immediately, tucked away at a table near the window, laptop open, glasses perched on his nose, looking so fucking adorable.

"Hey," you breathed, sliding into the chair across from him.

He looked up, and for a moment, his expression was polite. "Hey. You came."

"Of course I came. I said I would."

"Right. Yeah. Of course." He pushed his glasses up, a nervous habit you were starting to find endearing. "I, uh- I got you a drink. I didn't know what you liked, so I got you a vanilla latte. That's what most people seem to— but if you don't like vanilla I can get you something else, I just didn't want you to have to wait in line and-"

"Satoru." You couldn't help but smile. "Vanilla latte is perfect. Thank you."

"Oh. Good. Good." He nodded a smile, stretching his lips slightly. "So, um. Bioethics. Chapter six?"

You studied together for two hours, and somewhere between discussing utilitarian approaches to medical resource allocation and him explaining the difference between deontological and consequentialist ethics with hand gestures that somehow helped you understand the concept further.

Your leg bounced under the table. His change from the other day was confusing. It was like whiplash trying to deal with the thoughts racing through your mind. The most repetitive one being, what the hell?

He looked so cute in his flannel and glasses, much different from the other day, but still hot. You wanted to pounce on him till you forgot his name.

You didn't do that, obviously. But you thought about it.

"Same time next week?" he asked as you packed up.

"Yeah," you said, a little confused. No offer to head to the back or to his place. "Same time next week." You couldn't believe you spent two hours getting ready to study.

The texts started slowly at first. Him sending you articles he thought you'd find interesting. He sends memes that make you laugh. Gradually, they became more frequent.

Good morning texts. Goodnight texts that made your heart clench. No unsolicited nudes or any flirtatious messages, it was puzzling.

When the coffee shop that both of you frequented was closed, and he offered that you come over instead, you took the opportunity immediately.

His apartment was huge, much more than an average college student would be able to pay for. You didn't question it, slipping your heels off. He led you inside to the couch, where he had an area set up for both of you to study.

Today, he had ditched the flannel and wore a crewneck sweater. You scooted a little closer to him on the couch. He looked through the textbook trying to find a particular page. Humming when he finally found it.

Throughout the study session, you took the first step and gradually touched him. You thought it was the alcohol that made him so bold; you can work with shy guys.

At first, his hands, your nails tracing over his veins, and then his hair, playing with the short hair of his undercut. He didn't seem to mind in the slightest, letting your hands wander where they wanted.

You did as little as graze his collar, and he was nose deep in your panties, now his little playboy exterior missing, and he was acting like you weren't even there.

"And this…" He paused, laughing slightly. "You're not even listening."

"I am." You lied, making eye contact with him. You haven't been listening for about an hour now, responding with hums. You liked the sound of his voice as he explained topics. You'll have him go over them later anyway, not like you'll be listening then either.

"Then what did I say?" He asked, putting a page through the textbook before closing it shut. He waited for a moment for your response, "See, I knew you weren't listening, starting to think you didn't come over just to study," he stated simply.

Duh, you don't usually put this much effort in, not like you ever had to anyway, men are easy.

"If I didn't?" you leaned in closer, tilting your head just slightly. Your eyes glancing down towards his plump lips, you didn't even get to kiss him last time. Lifting from your knees, you kissed him on the side of his mouth.

He froze, mind visibly thinking about what to do next. It was simply a test, but he pulled you closer onto him, practically on top of his lap. His lips were soft, tongue exploring the inside of your mouth.

You moaned into his touch, hips grinding against him. You broke away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. You traveled down your neck, leaving hickies in your wake.

It's immediate, the way his hips buck up into you, his bulge pressing right against your core through both your clothes, and he groans in the air, the fresh mark you're sucking into his throat.

One hand squeezing your ass while the other is splaying across your lower back, pressing you harder against him. His touch was awkward, like he didn't know where to touch.

You roll your hips experimentally, whimpering when the friction hits just right, and his whole body tenses beneath you. His head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long column of his throat, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly.

Those bright blue eyes behind his glasses crack open just to stare up at you, pupils blown so wide the blue is barely visible.

"That's it," he breathes, and his hands are pushing up the hem of your shirt, leading his hands as you shove the thin fabric off over your head.

Bringing his hands to your breast— just barely shaking against your lace-covered tits. You don't even bother with the clasp— yanking your bra down, spilling your tits out into the open air, and his mouth is on them before you can process the loss of fabric.

Wet and hot and desperate, tongue dragging over your nipple while his fingers work the other, pinching and rolling. He lacked the same technique you seen before, instead slobbering over your tits.

His sweater is in the way. Too much fabric, too soft, too there when you need to feel his skin, see what has been hiding under his baggy clothes. You tug at it, and he pulls back just long enough to rip it over his head, white hair staticky and wild, and god—he's huge. Broad shoulders, thick chest, arms that make you feel tiny even straddling his lap like this.

You run your hands down his pecs, over the faint trail of hair disappearing below his waistband, and he shudders.

That phone call better have been worth it for him to take this from you.

"Yeah, touch me," he huffs, grabbing your wrists and pressing your palms flat against his stomach.

You grind down again, and his hips stutter up, his thick length pressing against your clothed cunt in a way that makes stars pop behind your eyes.

The friction is everything—denim rubbing against denim, the seam of his jeans catching right on your clit as you rock against him. His hands fly to your hips, guiding, controlling, forcing you down harder and faster until you're both panting.

"Shit-" He chokes, head dropping forward to watch the place where your bodies meet. You follow his gaze and see the way his cock strains against his jeans, the dark spot of pre-cum already soaking through, your hips move in frantic little circles trying to get more pressure exactly where you need it.

"'Toru-"

"I know, I know." He leans up to catch your mouth again, all spit and tongue and messy, open-mouthed kisses that leave both of you gasping. His hands slip down, grabbing your ass and spreading you open over his lap, and the new angle makes you see white.

You're grinding right against his length, the ridge of it catching your clit with every roll of your hips, and you can feel the coil tightening low in your belly.

He must feel it too—how close you are—because his grip turns bruising, forcing you to keep the pace even when you're shaking. "Don't stop," he stutters against your lips.

You nod frantically, unable to form words, too focused on the pressure building and building and building.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip, and that's it—the coil snaps and you're coming undone on top of him, grinding through it while he groans against your mouth and his hips jerk up helplessly beneath you.

Your vision goes spotty, coming down from your high gradually. Slumped against his chest and trembling, you feel him shake beneath you. Look down and see his jaw clenched, veins prominent in his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Your turn," you whisper, and you meant to sound sexy, but it comes out wrecked. Neither of you had heard the door open, and the figure standing there watching the scene unfold.

"Damn you actually did it…" Satoru stood by the door with a shocked grin on his face. You froze, your cloudy haze clearing up at the sight of two Satorus. "Y'know, I was about to complain about how dumb your classes are, but…" he whistled.

Were you losing your mind?! Sure, your orgasm was pretty damn good, but nowhere near hallucinating.

Panicked, you climbed off of Satoru, whose hands you had to swipe off of you. Satoru's nonchalance wasn't helping, as you tried covering yourself from the man at the door.

"You have the worst timing…" Satoru groaned beside you.

"You're one to talk. I was in the middle of working my magic when you decided to call over some bullshit, payback bitch."

While the two of them went at it, you were left completely dumbfounded. "Satoru?" Both of them answered, "What the hell is going on? You have a twin?" Two Gojos, standing in the same room, looking at you with expressions that ranged from inconvenienced to proud.

You stared in shock at the two men. Well, not one but two Satorus, according to both of them. That would explain why the weird behavior and why he looked so different when you saw him outside of classes and studying. "So... you're the same person?" you examined, looking between them.

"Pretty much, Alstein over here mixed the wrong shit up," he affirmed. "I wouldn't say 'same', I am nothing like him," Satoru replied, denying any accusation that he was anything like his replica.

"Einstein," Satoru flatly corrected, "but pretty much."

You nodded cautiously. You may not be the smartest person in the world, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this was insane.

"And you're just…... okay with this?" you asked, gesturing between them. "With him running around pretending to be you?"

Satoru shrugged. "It's been useful for research, when he's not trying to burn my flannels, at least. I wouldn't say he was pretending to be me, when he technically is me." He looked back at the other man, "on a biological level at least." He added scornfully. The other didn't fail flipping him off, picking up on his more than arrogant tone.

"They're an abomination against fashion." Satoru 2.0 shuddered dramatically. "Seriously, wear something else, your taste is ass."

"I like flannels."

"Again, zero fucking taste."

You couldn't help the exasperated laugh that escaped. It was absurd, standing here with two identical men arguing about fashion choices like one of them hadn't created an entire clone of himself. If he wasn't lying at least.

"So all those times at the parties, and the car," you said slowly, looking at the clone. "That was you."

"Guilty." He didn't look regretful at all, pretty proud himself. "There's no way this virgin has these skills, babe," he gestured, poking his tongue out playfully.

"The car?" Satoru looked between you, "What happened in the car?"

"The first time I got out, ate her out in the car, before you woefully interrupted." Satoru sighed, reminiscing on the moment as his eyes looked toward your breast, his gaze was anything but polite.

"You couldn't have said something two weeks ago; now I have to go back and add that to the data log." Satoru glared, rubbing his temples.

"Don't get distracted, assholes. I would have preferred not getting involved in this 'experiment'." You used your fingers to add quotations around experiment. "And all the study sessions?" You turned to the real Satoru.

"Correct." That would explain why he wasn't as eager to get in your pants compared to his counterpart.

"And the texts?"

They exchanged a look. "Uh," Satoru mumbled. "That was... both of us. Sometimes."

"Bro- babe," the other started, "think about it, you're like a research assistant, y'know." He tried to make the situation seem better than it was. You couldn't deny it; it was pretty fucking cool that he made a clone of himself, but that didn't negate the fact that you were just an unknowing subject in their schemes.

"Is that what this is? Research?" Both of them nodded cautiously. You should storm out, block them, and pretend this never happened. Go to the mall as you would have, instead of messing with these two. But then the cruel thought of missing out on two Satoru's crossed your mind.

You had worked hard fake studying to get in Satoru's pants, and his little clone wasn't half bad at giving head. Groaning, you prayed you would not regret this. "Fuck it, you better credit me in your paper."

You've already made it this far.

"You'll be in the acknowledgements, I promise," Satoru—the real one—grins, surprised by your response, and it's that same infuriatingly charming smile that made you get onto his couch and car in the first place. "But uh, we might need to collect a little more data first."

His clone's already moving before you can process the words, sliding onto the couch behind you while the original stays in front. You're trapped between two identical bodies, two sets of impossible blue eyes watching you with matching intensity.

"Wait—" The protest dies in your throat when four hands find your skin simultaneously.

The one behind you—Satoru, you need to start calling them something—drags his nose up the curve of your spine, breathes hot against your vertebrae. "Smell so good," he murmurs against your shoulder blade.

The real Satoru cups your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. His thumb traces your swollen bottom lip, and you hate how your body responds, how your nipples peak under the clone's wandering hands. "I—" You gasp when his mouth closes over the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. "Fuck."

"That's not a no." The real one's eyes crinkle with amusement. He leans in, kisses you slow and deep while his twin—clone—whatever—works his way down your back. Teeth scrape against your shoulder blade, your spine, the dip just above the swell of your ass.

You break the kiss with Toru— you decided to call him that. He didn't seem to mind— his hands spread your cheeks apart, when you feel his breath against your sensitive rim.

"Look at that," one murmurs, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "She's already dripping. You think she wants my mouth here, too?"

"Only one way to find out." Satoru's watching over your shoulder, eyes darkening as his replica drags his tongue through your folds from behind, a long, slow stripe that makes your knees buckle. You missed his tongue.

"Fuck-" The word punches out of you as Toru's tongue circles your clit, then dips lower, presses against your entrance, then lower still—"Oh god, what are you—"

He answers by licking into you from behind, tongue flat and hot against that tight ring of muscle, and your brain short-circuits completely.

"That's it." Satoru's got his forehead pressed to yours, watching your eyes go wide and glassy. "Lay back." You don't have a choice—Satoru's hands guide you down until you're flat on the couch, and then they're positioning you however they want, rolling you onto your stomach and pulling your hips up until you're on your knees with your face pressed into the cushions.

"Perfect," someone breathes. Could be either of them. "Look at this view."

Something slick and cool drips down your crack—lube, you realize, lots of it—and then fingers are spreading you open, exposing you completely.

"Who wants first?" Satoru's voice, from somewhere to your left.

"She squirted on my face already. You owe me." Toru's right behind you, and you feel the thick head of his cock nudging against your wet folds.

"That was your choice. You could've fucked her anytime."

"And miss watching her come apart on my tongue? Never." He pushes in just an inch, just the tip, and you whimper into the pillow, your hole clenched around nothing, anticipating him. "But now I want to feel that tight little pussy squeezing me while I fill her up."

"Greedy," he scoffs. "Fine. But I get her mouth." Satoru's on his back now, cock standing wet and ready. Your mouth waters, tongue flicking at the slit before taking him into your mouth. He moaned, your tongue swirling around his cock expertly.

Toru, behind you, groans against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight up your spine and making you moan around the real Satoru's cock. Your thighs tremble on either side of that beautiful face, and you feel his tongue curl inside you.

"Shit—" Satoru's head falls back, hips twitching, and you feel him hit the back of your throat. "Y-you're amazing." You hum around him, sending vibrations to his cock, only making him gasp louder.

Toru pulls his mouth away just long enough to gasp, "Don't make him cum too fast, babe." Then he's diving back in, tongue stiff and pointed, fucking into your dripping hole while his nose bumps against your hole with every movement.

You're caught between them, suspended in pleasure. Every time you try to focus on sucking Satoru's cock, the clone does something devastating with his tongue that makes your throat clench and your vision blur.

Every time you try to rock back against that perfect mouth, the other pushes your head further down, cock hitting the back of your throat.

"Look at me." Satoru tugs your hair, just enough to drag your eyes up to his. They're almost completely black, pupils blown wide behind his thick glasses, cheeks flushed. "That's it. That's so fucking good."

Behind you, his replica's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He pulls you down onto his face like you're nothing but a toy for his mouth, tongue plunging deep, then retreating to lap at your clit in quick, cruel circles.

You come with a broken scream around Satoru's length, your entire body convulsing, and you feel Toru behind you groan against your pulsing cunt, feel him drink everything you give him like it's the finest thing he's ever tasted.

Close, Satoru tried to pull your head off of him, you stay planted, he cums down your throat in warm spurts.

His thighs twitching under your grip, it didn't taste bad, slightly sweet even. "Jesus Christ." He falls back against the couch cushions, chest heaving. "That was-"

"Not done." Satoru's voice was determined. He's sitting up now, pulling you into his lap, and you feel his cock—still hard, still leaking— press against your soaked folds. " I'ma show you how it's done, virgin."

Satoru's eyes light up despite his recent orgasm. "How many times- I'm not a virgin." He leans forward, cups your face, kisses you slow and deep— the taste of his cum still lingering.

You nod frantically. "Fuck me, Toru." Hands finding his condom-covered cock, making slow strokes. At least he knew better.

"God- love your voice, baby." Toru's hands guide your hips, and you sink down onto him in one long, wet slide. "Ohhhh fuck- yes so tight, so fucking tight-"

You can't help the sounds you make, can't help the way your head falls back and your mouth drops open. The stretch was dizzying but so delicious. You hadn't been fucked good in weeks, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. He's so thick, so deep, and the angle lets him hit somewhere inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

"Look at that." Satoru's voice is awed. He's stroking himself again, already hardening at the sight of his twin fucking you slow and deep. "How perfect she looks stretched around our cock."

Our cock. The word shouldn't make you wetter, shouldn't make you gush on his length until he groans and grips your hips hard enough to bruise. But it does.

God, it does.

"Don't cum in two pumps, virgin."

"N-not a virgin, dickhead." Satoru groaned. "Ride her." Watching with hungry eyes. "Want to see you fuck her properly, or I'll do it myself."

The other obeys instantly—because of course he does, they're the same person, they share the same brain, the same desires. Even if they deny it, they are two sides of the same shiny coin. "You wish," He lifts you easily, almost casually, and starts bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing. "Like this?" Each word punches out of him with every thrust. "Like- fuck watching her tits bounce?"

"Yeah." Satoru's hand moves faster on his cock. "Just like that. Harder."

"We'll give him something actually useful to report, baby."

You're nothing but a toy between them, a perfect little hole for them to share, and the realization should horrify you, but instead it sends electricity crackling through every nerve. Toru fucks up into you brutally, no gentleness now, just pure need, and you can feel every inch of him dragging against your walls.

"Oh god—oh god, I'm gonna-"

"Not yet." Toru's hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just present. You hear Satoru move. Feel the couch shift. Then his mouth is on your shoulder, teeth sinking in, and his hand joins his twin's on your hip, fingers intertwining.

"Please-" It comes out broken, desperate. "Please, I need-"

"I know what you need." Toru's thrusts are losing rhythm, getting sloppier. "Feel that? Feel how close I am? Want to come?"

"Yes—yes, please-"

"Come with me, babe." He releases your throat, hand sliding down to press against your clit, circling roughly. "Come on my cock."

The command snaps something loose inside you. You come, clenching down so hard, Toru roars, and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and deep and endless. In front of you, Satoru comes, his release splashes across your stomach, warm and wet and marking you.

"So you can ejaculate…interesting," Satoru commented, noting it in his head to write down later.

You can't speak. Can't move. Can't do anything but slump between them, trembling, completely and utterly ruined. But they're not done with you yet. "Bedroom." Satoru's voice has an edge to it now, dark and hungry, that makes your pussy stir despite itself. "We're not done. Not even close."

The other lifts you easily, still half-hard inside you, and carries you toward the hallway. "Agreed. Need to try some things. Not the only one with hypotheses, dork."

"For science, of course," they say in perfect unison.

And despite everything—despite the ache in your knees and your juices dripping down your thighs and the absolute madness of this situation—you laugh. Then moan as the movement shifts his cock inside you. "For 'science', right…" you agree weakly.

They laid you out on Satoru's bed. The sheets are cool beneath your overheated skin, a brief respite before they're on you again—one on each side, bracketing your body with their heat.

Toru's already mouthing at your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin while his hand trails down your stomach. "Want to try something," he murmurs against your pulse. "Want to see if we can make you squirt together."

Your breath catches. "Together?"

Satoru grins, that familiar, charming smile, made infinitely more dangerous by the context. "He fucks you from behind. I'll be in front."

"It's basic physics," Toru adds, nipping at your collarbone. "Double the stimulation, double the pleasure. Or whatever."

"Quadruple, technically." Satoru's hands on your stomach, fingers intertwining. "Since there are two of us."

"Sure-" You swallow, try again. "Just get inside of me."

They move with the kind of synchronization that only comes from being literally the same person. The clone one positions himself at your back, cock brushing against your ass, while the real one lifts your hips and settles in front of you, his length sliding through your soaked folds teasingly.

"Ready?" Satoru says behind you, his voice is strained, barely holding onto control.

You answer by taking him deep into your pussy, moaning around him, and that's all the invitation the other needs. He pushes in in one smooth motion, seating himself completely against the other, and the world narrows to the feeling of being utterly, impossibly full.

His cock stretches you perfectly, reaches places you forgot existed, and every thrust presses him against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

Above you, Toru groans and thrusts deeper into your cunt. "Oh fuck-"

"Can feel her clenching around me." his thrusts are measured at first, controlled, like he's savoring every inch. "Every time you move, her pussy squeezes me l-like a fist."

They find a rhythm eventually— two bodies moving as one, using you between them. "Look at that." Satoru's voice is reverent. He's pulled back just enough to watch, to see both cock disappearing into you over and over. "Look at how well she takes us. Like she was made for this."

Toru's thrusts are getting harder, faster, and less controlled. "Fuck—she's getting tighter—she's close."

"And I'm the 'virgin', sure." But Satoru's eyes are half-lidded, his hips stuttering. "Want to feel her come on both of us at the same time."

The words alone might be enough to push you over. But then Satoru reaches down, fingers finding your clit and circling brutally, and Toru tangles his hand in your hair and holds you deep. You cum gasping.

You feel Toru moan above you, feel him pulse hot and deep inside your clenching walls. Satoru follows a second later, glasses crooked on his face, hips jerking as he paints your walls, and you realize neither wore a condom. Had it been any other moment, you would've cussed both of them out and broken their dicks off, clone or not.

When you finally come down, you're shaking. Actually shaking, muscles trembling uncontrollably as they ease you onto your back and arrange themselves on either side of you.

The day blurs into night in a haze of pleasure. They take turns— sometimes literally, swapping positions so seamlessly you can't tell who's inside you anymore.

Sometimes they're both inside you, one in your cunt and one in your mouth, or one fucking you while the other watches and whispers filthy things in your ear.

—

You're in the shower— finally, blessedly cleaning up— when the curtain slides open and two identical bodies crowd in behind you. The water's hot, the steam thick, and their hands are everywhere at once.

"Thought we'd help." His voice is innocent, but his cock pressing against your ass is anything but.

"Make sure you get really clean." One in front of you, hands soaping up your breasts, your stomach, sliding lower between your legs.

You lean back against the other's chest, let the water cascade over you while the clone's hands grip your hips, steadying you as you lift one leg over the real one's shoulder, then the other. He supports your weight easily, holding you suspended while the others cock aligns with your entrance.

"Look at that," the one holding you breathes. "She's gaping a little from earlier."

"Let me see." Behind you, peers over your shoulder. "Oh. Oh, fuck. She really is."

The one holding you—you think it's the real one, but honestly, they keep switching, and you're too fucked out to tell—tilts his head. "I bet we could both fit."

"What?" Your voice comes out strangled.

The other behind you hums thoughtfully, his thumb tracing down your spine, over your tailbone, pressing gently at your tightest ring of muscle. "He's right. You're so warm and stretched already from 'Toru fucking you."

"Oh, I'm not 2.0 anymore? You got real influence, baby." Toru is holding you nuzzles against your inner thigh, tongue darting out to taste where the others' cum is still dripping from you despite the shower washing it away. "You can take more. You're a greedy girl, aren't you? Wanting both of us?"

Toru's cock slides between your cheeks, not entering, just... resting there, hot and heavy against your tightest hole while Satoru's tip nudges at your weeping cunt.

"Whatcha think, sweetheart?" They ask in unison, and the effect is devastating.

"Please put them inside me. Both of you."

"See? Told you she'd say yes."

Toru, behind you, laughs, and the sound vibrates through his chest pressed against your back. "You owe me twenty bucks."

"You bet on whether I'd beg for you at the same time?" You're indignant for approximately half a second before his cock notches against your ass, and Satoru lines up with your cunt, and all higher brain function evaporates. They don't push in together. That would be too easy, too merciful. Instead, they take turns.

Satoru slides in first—just the tip, just enough to make your eyes roll back as your abused cunt clenches around him greedily. Then he stops, holds perfectly still while the other behind you presses forward, stretching your pussy inch by agonizing inch.

You cry out. The water swallows the sound, but they feel it, feel every vibration of your body as you're stretched wider than you've ever been.

"Shh, shh, you're okay." The one in front kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips, all tender and sweet, while his twin works his cock deeper into your ass. "You're doing so well, sweet girl. Taking us both. So fucking p-perfect."

Toru's hips meet your ass with a wet slap. "I'm in. Fuck, she's tight. She's so fucking tight around me."

"I know." he starts to move, shallow thrusts that have his cock sliding against the other's cock. One thrusts while the other holds still, then they switch, then they figure out how to move together, opposite directions, so one is pushing in while the other pulls out. "I'll be sure to write that down."

You're nothing but a moaning, drooling mess between them, held upright by two sets of strong arms, fucked from both ends by identical cocks in identical bodies with identical grunts falling from identical lips.

"Want to move to the bed," you manage to gasp out. "Want to see it. Want to watch."

They exchange a look over your head that communication thing that's so unsettling when you're not being split open on their dicks, and then you're being lifted, carried, still connected, still filled, water dripping everywhere as they maneuver you out of the shower and down the hall to the bedroom.

Satoru lies back on the bed, pulling you with him so you're straddling his hips, his cock still buried deep. The clone kneels behind you, positions himself, and pushes back in with a groan.

"Look down," Satoru whispers. "Watch us fuck you."

You look.

Between your legs, two identical cocks disappear into your body, your own flesh stretched thin around them. When they move—and they do, immediately, finding that rhythm again—you can see the bulge in your lower stomach, can see the way their cocks press against each other through you.

"That's me," Toru breathes, reaching around to press on that bulge. "That's my cock right there, fucking into your pussy. Can you feel it?"

You nod frantically, tears streaming down your face, drool dripping onto his chest. "I can feel both of you. I can feel—oh god, I can feel every-"

"Good." Satoru's hands grip your hips, start bouncing you on his cock while the other fucks into you from behind. "Want you to feel us for days. Want you to sit on his cock tomorrow and still feel me stretching you open."

The other laughs, breathless and wrecked. "Possessive much?"

"Shut up and fuck her."

He does. They both do. They take turns being gentle and rough, one whispering sweet praises while the other fucks into you like he's trying to split you in half.

They switch positions—you on your stomach, you on your side, you on top of one while the other takes you from behind—and through it all, they never stop talking.

"You're taking us so well, sweet girl."

"Look at that pretty pussy gripping my cock."

"Can you feel him twitch inside you? He's close, I can tell."

"Shut up, you're closer dickhead."

"Y-you're both-"

You come first, finally, spectacularly, squirting around their cocks while they fuck you through it, both of them groaning at the added wetness, at the way you clench and flutter around them. Satoru follows seconds later, filling your cunt with hot ropes of cum that leak out around his cock immediately.

Toru pistons into your pussy twice, three times, before he stills and you feel him emptying himself deep inside you.

Between their bodies, with their cum leaking out of both your holes onto the ruined sheets, you think maybe sharing isn't the worst idea in the world.

"Round whatever in an hour?" you ask hopefully. Both groan, but they're grinning. You settle back against the pillows, feeling thoroughly used and utterly satisfied. "I'm serious about that credit in your paper." At first, you didn't care that much; it wouldn't hurt having your name down in the history books.

Satoru slides his glasses on after cleaning the lenses. "You'll be the co-author, baby."

"I'm here too, ya know."

"Why would I credit you?" You close your eyes, letting their bickering wash over you like white noise. But looking at the two of them, still arguing while their hands never stop touching, you, one drawing circles on your hip, the other playing with your hair.

"You think you could clone me, too?"

“Never leavin’ you again baby,” Toji grumbled, forcing you to meet his powerful thrusts. You could only choke out a moan in response. Your upper body dug into the plush couch, your nails digging into the cushion. “Gotta make up for lost time-” he groaned, his eyes focused on the way your cunt wrapped around him so tightly like you were made just for him. So perfect. He doesn't even know how he lasted so long without you. He could barely restrain himself from breaking into your apartment after you told him to leave a week ago. When you called him to “pick up his things” both of you knew neither would last. He had you bent over the couch within 5 minutes of entering the apartment.

The strength in your legs was starting to give out, they slipped slightly, but Toji pulled you by the hips, keeping your lower half up. Your pussy was completely soaked, slick drooling down your thighs. You chanted his name like a prayer, a grin on his face whenever you looked over your shoulder. The couch was rocking against the flooring scratching up the wood, you almost felt bad for the apartment below you. The furniture creaked but was subdued by the sounds of moans and his skin hitting yours. “Toji- the couch,” you sobbed trying to get attention as he was too focused on your body. 

“What about it?” he shrugged, not even slowing down to check. The way his tone dipped lower sent a shiver up your spine. Your walls convulsed around his cock signaling your incoming orgasm. He muttered something under his breath, you couldn't hear it over your own pants. The familiar tightening in your core pushed your tired body to keep up with him. You tried to force your voice out to the couches rocking, but only sobs came out only pushing him to chase his own climax. “We tried it your way,” he moaned your name as your gummy walls tensed around him. Your eyes rolled back, your mind going white digging your nails into the couch cushion. With a final thrust, his hips snapped into yours painting your insides white. 

He sat inside you for a minute enjoying how warm you were. “Oh shit…” he laughed, pulling your body onto his lap; his cock still hard inside. 

“What?”

“We broke the couch.” He smiled leaving kissing on your nape. If you weren’t so fucked out you'd kick his ass but you’ll enjoy the moment. 

CHOSO ♡ KAMO

The girl smiled pushing her tits higher flaunting them to your boyfriend. Any other time you sensed some girl trying to flirt with your boyfriend right in front of you then you'd cuss her ass out and send her running where she came. Watching from one of the seats a few tables away from them. Sure Choso could be a little oblivious but this was either being blind to the girl flirting with you or letting her instead of declining. You held yourself back from getting up and socking him in the face for everyone to see. You waited patiently just so you could see how he acted when other women came up to him. 

You stared daggers into them and if looks could kill they would both be six feet under. Choso’s brown eyes met yours and instantly he gave her a curt smile before nodding and she walked off with a look of glee on her face. When you approached his table you pulled the seat from across from him. He looked at you confused, you didn't try to hide the annoyance on your face. “What was that about?” you asked looking behind you to the girl at the table with her friends giggling. 

“Oh, she came over to ask for my number,” he said as though it was nothing like a daily occurrence. He was attractive though you weren't the one to ask him out first you were eyeing him for a while. He picked up his phone from the table shoving it into his pockets, your eyes followed his movements like a hawk. 

“Did you give it to her?” you questioned him about the waiter coming up with your drinks and setting them on the table. You would have thought it was sweet for him to order your favorite drink but the only thing on your mind was the situation that had unfolded in front of you previously. Choso thanked her as the waiter scurried away awkwardly away from the two of you. 

“Hm?” he took a sip of his iced coffee looking up at you. You tried to keep your composer and not blow up on him, perhaps there is a good explanation and he didn't give it to her. Deep breathes. 

“Your number. Did you give it to her?” you would like to believe you weren't one of those jealous girlfriends who would go ballistic when someone would simply talk to their partner but the way irritation picked at your nerves it was going to take your will alone to not lose your mind. 

“Yeah?” he looked at you like you were crazy for asking. Your knee bounced taking a sip of your drink. The expression of plain confusion on his face sent you off the handle. You really tried, you didnt raise your voice not once instead you sucked down the rest of your drink Instead you told him that the both of you needed to go. 

In the car, he tried to hold onto your thigh but you swatted him away. He may be oblivious but he wasn't an idiot. Your arms stayed crossed over your chest looking out the window. The car was silent only the sound of his playlist playing, you zoned out recapping what happened at the cafe to make sure you weren't crazy. Every time you came to the same conclusion, he must have lost his mind. 

Choso pulled into an empty parking lot. “Are you okay? What is wrong?” He looked genuinely concerned. You stared at him in disbelief. If this has happened this time while you're around it has most definitely happened when you weren't. 

“How would you feel if I gave my number to another guy?” you put it from his perspective, you could practically see the gears turning in your head before a lightbulb went off. His hand landed on your thigh rubbing circles on it. He knew how much you loved his touch, that when he knew you were furious even after arguments you would still let him touch you. 

“Bad,” he answered shortly after the thought alone made his skin crawl. “Carrie is in my lit class and she was asking for my number for notes.” now he could see why you were mad, that's a step forward. You really tried not to look him in his eyes or else you would forgive him. You needed to stand on business. 

“She was so obviously flirting with you Choso, she didnt want it for no fucking notes.” irritation laced your voice. You needed to make this very clear now or else it would happen again.  

“Carrie? She knows I'm with you though.” he turned his body fully towards you. He replayed what happened in his head, Carrie was being a little weird but he assumed she was just really friendly. You started to speak up until a message from an unknown number popped up on the infotainment system. 

“Hey Choso, it's Carrie, do you want to go see a movie before studying?” 

The both of you stared at the message. Bingo. “Holy shit you're right.” he went on his phone pulled up her contact and typed a quick no and that he would just send the notes she missed digitally. He showed his phone to you as you stared at the messages. You might have lost it had she sent a single emoji. “I'm sorry baby I didn't realize I would've told her no had I seen it.” he looked sincere, searching your face for an ounce of approval. You held up the poker face even as he leaned over the car’s console kissing you on the cheek. His lips continued to kiss down your neck, his hair tickling at your collarbone. 

“I can’t stand when you're mad at me. What can I do baby?” 

Your hips grinded against his pubes giving your clit that friction you yearned for. His cock twitched inside of you, his hands sitting at his sides begging to touch you. He bit his lip resisting the urge to lift his hips to slam into you. You rode him at your own pace chasing your orgasm, his expression pushed you even further. As much as you wanted him to fuck you in the car seats you wanted to see how far he could go more.

He could feel your sweet pussy tighten around his so beautifully he couldn't help you ride it out, only watch. The car windows were slightly foggy neither of you exactly cared if anyone saw. He couldn’t touch, move, or cum unless you said otherwise. He stared at your body above him convulsing on his cock, he tried begging you but nothing went through; you were determined to make him suffer. You lay on his chest breathing in his scent, your panting breaths hitting his hot skin. He raised his hips ever so slightly, you were too distracted from your orgasm to realize until his cock slid back into your warm heat. He waited for you to say something but you let out a small moan pushing back on him. 

“Can I?” he watched your head give a short nod and that's all he needed. He held you by the waist slamming your body onto his cock as he ranted out apologies and how you're the only one for him. It didn't take long for him to climax cum dripping out your hole. You looked satisfied as your boyfriend stared at your leaking hole. 

Maybe you'll get the both of you matching “I love my girlfriend” and “I love my boyfriend” shirts.

SATORU ♡ GOJO

It took 3 hours, worst of all you were the one to crack first. To be fair, being in the same home didn’t help either. You were with Satoru all the time, you thought moving in would help his constant need to be near you. When people would think of you they would think of him; you felt as though you were losing yourself in him. Hanging out with friends meant Satoru would find his way to the same place “by accident” or just follow you out the door. When you’d tell him to stop he would pull out his puppy dog eyes winning you over completely.

Naturally, you suggested taking a break, but only for a little while. You would still stay in the house, but the two of you wouldn’t be doing the same things you would before. To your surprise, Satoru did not beg or complain; rather, he simply said, “Okay, if that's what you want, " in a calm tone. He threw an entire tantrum at his big age when you joked that you would never cosplay as Angewomon. You finally caved and told him you were joking when he started offering to buy you another car. His expression was composed and didn't even roll his eyes. You tried to keep a poker face from the astonishment, but the way he continued to discuss with you during dinner as if you hadn't said what you said, confirmed that he wasn't going to go against your decision. 

He took your empty plates, taking them to the sink to wash. “So when is this break starting?” the way his tone was so unruffled like he didn't care pissed you off. It's not like you were searching for a reaction from him but the way he was acting just wasn't him and it threw you off big time. 

“Now.” Irritation filled your voice, and you turned back on your heels and headed toward the couch. It was a little petty, but he had acted worse toward little things. Why was he acting so nonchalant?! Like a switch went off, Satoru acted as though you weren't there. He passed by the couch, not even glancing at you. He took his charge from the socket and went upstairs. Those two hours felt like a lifetime. It was complete silence, not a word spoken between the two of you. Grey’s Anatomy wasn't pulling your attention towards Satoru’s presence in the home that wasn't near or on you. This was pathetic. Sighing you headed toward the kitchen needing a snack to help with the sadness overtaking you. 

Looking through the cabinets on the tips of your toes looking for the popcorn. Scanning the kitchen you saw that it was on the very top cabinet. Just as you started debating if you should climb the counters, Satoru waltzed into the kitchen. Instinctively your mouth opened to ask him to help you but you stopped yourself instantly. There was no way you were going to yield. 

Determined you climbed atop the marble countertop your hand holding onto the underneath of the cabinet for balance. Successfully you grabbed the popcorn box making a small celebration in your head. Setting the box next to your knees you started to climb down until your hand slipped. You braced yourself for the fall but your back met hard muscles, large hands holding onto your waist. He picked you up, getting you off the counter. Your eyes met once your feet were safely planted onto the floor. Like a trap your eyes couldn't leave his azure ones nor did his hands leave your waist. 

His cock drilled into your poor pussy taking in every inch. “Don't ever say anything like that ever again.” Satoru groaned, his fingers digging into your hips. You stood on your toes one of your legs over the island in the middle of the kitchen. You sobbed out apologies drool falling from your lips on the cold marble. The moment your lips crashed onto his a smirk on his face letting you take control desperately grasping on his skin. You lasted a lot longer than he thought you would. He estimated 30 minutes. When you suggested taking a “break” he almost had a stroke, he asked you when the “break” would start as a joke not believing you were serious. He almost pulled you on him right then and there but he resisted the urge. Those 3 hours (technically 2 and a half if you don't count dinner) were absolute torture. 

The sound of your moans and pleas was music to his ears letting you cum around his cock all you wanted. The way he fucking into you as if he wanted you to forget about the words “Maybe we should take a break.” from your dictionary. 

“ ‘Toru please,” you hiccuped feeling yourself wanting to cum again, “I said I’m sorry.” you pleaded tears flowing out of your doe eyes. He pushed his messy hair out of his face staring at your fucked out face in delight. He is sure you're sorry but he just had to make sure. His hips stuttered as his hips slammed into yours shooting ropes of cum into your pussy. Your walls twitched around his cock he groaned at how tight you were but he refused to pull out. Clear fluid dripped onto the floor, your body jerked a scream erupting from your lips as you came. He stuffed your cunt full making sure not a single drop fell out. 

“So it's over now right?” he asked, looking down at you with a pout on his face. You nodded a smile on your face. 

Honestly, you didn't even need help on physics but if it meant you got to be with the hot nerd in your class at his apartment you'd act as clueless as possible. Satoru had been tutoring you for a month on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. But today, he invited you over for some last-minute studying before Monday’s exam.

“Let's take a break. We have been at it for a while now,” he said, glancing at his watch. You nodded, closing your notebook full of notes made by Satoru and yourself. “You're doing amazing at this point. I don't even think you need my help anymore,” he joked, taking a sip from his mug full of green sweet tea.

“You're just a really good tutor.” It wasn't a complete lie, he was a good tutor however you weren't trying to learn anything other than the probability of him bending you over the table.

“You flatter me too much, if anything I'm only checking what you've gotten right.” he laughed, his thick frames going a little crooked. Before he could fix them you did so for him by re-adjusting them. “Oh, thank you,” he murmured a small blush tinting his face.

“No problem, you have really long eyelashes, I'm jealous,” you grinned leaning onto the coffee table with your hands cupping your face. He was just too cute not to tease the way his face began to grow red every time you complimented him or how his glasses would fall to the tip of his nose whenever he moved a little too much. It was addicting.

“You have nice eyelashes as well, they are really pretty,” he said, opening his laptop to his last saved tab. “Anyway, let's get back to work.”

“Aye, Captain Satoru.” you giggled opening your notes back up. The last few problems were good practice and you occasionally asked Satoru for help just to hear your name roll off his tongue.

“Awesome work today,” he yawned, giving you a high five after you finished the last problem. If only he knew how much you enjoyed his praise. “I'll see you Monday I'm sure you'll do great,” he said as you packed your things into your bag a little too slowly but it's not like he noticed.

After pulling on your coat and shoes you hugged Satoru. He was so tall you had to stand on the tip of your toes to reach his neck. “Thank you so much for today, see you later!” smiled as you left out the door. He waved back as you left.

In the car, Satoru sent you the notes he had in case you hadn't written them down. You sent a short thank you with a pink heart acknowledging his message. Scrolling through the messages you shared it was mostly filled with notes and tips he gave you but littered in between them were good night and good morning messages and what you guys had done that day or how either of you were doing.

“You have fun with your lil’ boyfriend.” your roommate joked as you entered your shared dorm. She knew about your crush on Satoru and was the one who encouraged you to ask him for help.

“He is not my boyfriend”

“Yet” she laughed rubbing in her moisturizer on her face on her vanity. You hoped she wasn't wrong because if you wanted to get into this nerd’s Levi jeans you needed far more than a miracle.

- - -

The bass of the music vibrates through the floor, thumping in rhythm with the erratic beat of the crowd. Laughter, chatter, and clinking glasses fill the air, a chaotic symphony that almost drowns out the buzzing hum of my thoughts. The neon lights flicker in jagged bursts, casting fleeting shadows on the faces of people I barely recognize. The scent of alcohol mingles with perfume, the air thick with the warmth of bodies pressed too close together.

Yet all of it—the noise, the movement, the heat—fades when your attention lands on him.

Satoru.

“Holy shit isn't that-”

“No fucking way,” you murmured staring at the white-haired man across the circle from you. He looked so out of place that it was almost funny. You're glad you didn't deny your roommate's invitation to join her at another party when you could text Satoru all day instead of carrying her drunk ass back to your dorms again but this was far better.

“I'm pretty sure all of us know how to play spin the bottle, however, if you've forgotten someone spins and whoever it lands on they have to kiss or take a shot. Is that clear?” Shoko announced to everyone, she picked someone at the end of the circle.

The game was a little childish but not as much as you who silently prayed the bottle didn't land on Satoru anytime it was someone's turn. A few people took shots when it landed on someone just to take a shot or not to kiss them. Every few minutes you would steal glances at Satoru who was talking to a guy with long black hair.

The bottle spun before it landed right in front of Satoru who looked a little shocked since it was the first time it did. The girl did not even hesitate before walking over to Satoru.

Damn it.

She cupped his face before locking lips with him. You stared in utter jealousy as they drew away from each other. A few people oohed at them as the girl sat back down. Satoru's face was a little flushed which you hoped was from alcohol at the party and not the kiss.

A few more people went a few close calls where the bottle almost landed on Satoru again. Then it was your turn, you made a silent prayer in your head for the bottle to land on Satoru. With a flick of your wrist, your braclets making a clattering noise at the movement.

Your heart thumped in your chest as the bottle spun towards Satoru, stopping slowly barely landing on him. You thanked whichever god granted your prayer, hiding your blatant excitement you tried to look a little shocked. You didn't even look towards the shot in front of you when you strode across the circle to him.

Leaning in closer, your breath mingling with his, the scent now mixing with the stale air of the room. Your heart is pounding in your chest, thudding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. The pulse of the music seems to echo in your veins, matching the rhythm of the anticipation hanging between you.

Crawling onto his lap you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer towards you. Your lips connected to his, and his hands, firm yet careful, gripped your waist as he dragged you closer to him. You gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with slow, intoxicating precision.

The party continues to swirl around the both of you, but you felt alone in the midst of it all with him.

Your fingers locked into his hair, it was as soft as it looked, and your hand caressed his nape, feeling how hot he was beneath you. When you finally broke away, your breaths were uneven, and his lips were slightly swollen. Your thumb grazed his bottom lip wiping off your pink lip gloss that was on the outside of his lip.

“Alright love birds break it up.” Shoko quipped taking a shot herself. You sat back in your spot across the circle adjusting your clothes. You glanced at Satoru whose face was tinted red, your lip gloss still on his lips. He adjusted his glasses peering down at his hands the same ones that were on your waist just moments ago.

He smelled like his usual vanilla scent but now there was a faint smell of marijuana on him, possibly from the people smoking somewhere in the house or perhaps he smoked before he came in, you couldn't help your imagination wandering to where his long fingers rolled up a blunt, his pink tongue swiping across the edge of the wood. It was enough to wet your panties as you tugged down your sequin mini-skirt.

Again the bottle spun like it did many times before for the first time it landed on you. You didn't even notice still in bliss from your kiss with Satoru.

It was a guy you didn't exactly recognize, the kiss was short nothing more than a peck yet you couldn't help but notice Satoru’s gaze on you burning holes into your side. Once he backed up and went to his spot you swiped your finger over the outside of your lips cleaning up any lingering lip gloss.

The party kept going, the bottle spinning, people laughing, taking shots, stealing kisses. But your mind was stuck on one thing—Satoru. When it was finally his turn he twisted the bottle it moved fast it passed you twice. Sure it would be greedy to say you didn't want anyone else putting their lips onto Satoru and wanting to keep him to yourself however humans were inherently selfish and you weren't the exception.

Both you and Satoru held contact as the bottle spun, when it stopped Satoru didn't even look the slightest bit shocked. Your brain practically short-circuited at the thought of him explaining the rotational dynamic of the bottle or better yet drawing the equations on your skin.

Quickly he grabbed the shot sitting in front of him and your heart sank. Taking the shot he removed his glasses, clipping them onto the collar of his t-shirt. You could tell he didn't swallow. The circle of people, yourself included, looked thoroughly confused as he approached your lap. You could hear someone say get a room or something of the sort however you couldn't care less. You had Satoru kneeling in front of you glasses free, a rare sight. The last time you saw him completely take his glasses off you reacted the equivalent to a Victorian man catching a glance of an ankle.

He kept his eyes on you. They were so beautiful you couldn't look away even if you tried. His hand cupped your face tracing your jaw, his other trailing up your thigh to the hem of your mini skirt to your bare waist.

He pressed his lips to yours, slow and deliberate as the warm liquid traveled from his mouth into yours. He gave you time to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, your hands found his chest and you swallowed the alcohol. Your throat burned as it traveled down your esophagus. His body was warm beneath your touch, his heartbeat fast against your palm. The kiss deepened naturally, your lips parting just enough for his tongue to brush against yours. It was slow, intoxicating, heat pooling low in your stomach.

You sighed into his mouth, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and that was when something changed. Satoru let out a quiet groan, low and barely audible, but you felt it vibrate against your lips. His grip tightened, his tongue sliding against yours making your knees grow weak.

When he separated from the kiss, your breaths were jagged, your lips tingling. His eyes were slightly dazed, his pupils blown wide. He pulled the hem of your skirt down that had ridden up before walking back to his spot across the circle. You watched as he put his black frames on not focusing on whatever his friend was saying to him.

“Freaky.” your roommate whistled next to you. “Bet $100 you're not coming back to the dorm tonight.”

Once the game was over you returned to your circle of friends who had also attended the party. You kept your eye on the white-haired man a few feet ahead of you. The air between you and Satoru was thick with something unspoken, something heavy. The party kept moving around you, laughter and music filling the space, but none of it mattered. Not after what happened less than 10 minutes ago. Not when you wanted to take him out of here and jump his bones.

Fuck it.

You approached Satoru, tapping him on his shoulder and leading him upstairs. It was relatively empty except for a few people waiting to get in the bathroom or going downstairs. The loud party going on downstairs was simply background noise. Before you could say anything he spoke first.

“I'm sorry about the drink, it was impulsive-” you interrupted him pulling him down towards you and connecting your lips to his. Your lips withdrew the saliva still connecting your lips. Taking your hand he led you into one of the bedrooms, His bedroom door clicked shut behind you and was quickly locked. The muffled sounds of the party fading away, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the rapid thump of your heartbeat.

He cupped your face, his movements were fast but intentional, like he was savoring the moment like he wanted to memorize the way your skin felt beneath his fingertips. Then he kissed you, and this time, there was no hesitation.

It was all-consuming, deep, and searching, his tongue sliding against yours with a heat that made your head spin. His hands moved down, tracing the curve of your waist before gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him. You gasped at the contact, and he took the opportunity to kiss you even deeper, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, making your stomach tighten.

You barely registered him moving, only realizing when the backs of your knees hit the edge of his bed. He guided you down, following without breaking the kiss, his body pressing into yours, warm and solid.

His fingers traced the hem of your cropped tank top, hesitating just slightly. “You're so fucking pretty,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough with restraint opposite to his smooth voice.

You looked up at him, your fingers threading into his soft white hair. “Don’t stop.”

Satoru let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his forehead resting against yours for a split second before his lips found your neck trailing down to your breast leaving wet red marks in his trail. His hands, warm and careful, slipped beneath your top, fingertips ghosting over your skin, sending shivers up your spine.

You arched into his touch, silently urging him on as he fondled your boobs under your fitted top. His breath hitched when you tugged at the hem of his black t-shirt, and he leaned back just enough to peel it off, tossing it somewhere behind him. Your fingers traced his toned stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. He was always hiding under loose hoodies and oversized tees, but damn, the man had a body.

“You're so cute,” you teased, dragging your acrylic nails lightly over his skin.

Satoru swallowed hard, preparing to take off his glasses, but you reached up first, pushing them back up his face. He blinked at you, his ice-blue eyes raking up your body.

“Keep them on.”

His hands explored your body with more confidence now, tracing every dip and curve, like he was memorizing the way you felt beneath him and what kind of reactions he could get out of you.

A deep blush spread across his cheeks, and you could feel how hard he was trying to keep his composure. But the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips traveled down your abdomen, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

Your fingers found his belt, working at it with practiced ease, and that’s when he groaned—low, quiet, but full of barely restrained tension. The leather fell to the ground as your fingers dipped into his pants stroking his hard cock. He hissed above you, his movements staggered under your touch.

“Fuck- I should've done it at my apartment,” he muttered before pulling up your top only exposing your breast and kissing your nipples, deeper. His fingers found the zipper at the side of your skirt, tugging it down with agonizing slowness. Your breath hitched as he slid it down your hips, his fingertips grazing the bare skin beneath.

He moved back gazing at your figure beneath him like he was saving it like a picture. He tugged at your pink lace thong spreading your legs further. He yanked you by your legs towards him, his head between your thighs. His thumb caressed the thin wet fabric sending a jolt through your body.

“You're this wet from a few kisses?” he chuckled, pulling the fabric from your wet heat mesmerized as the fabric clung to you. Pulling the panties to the side he kissed your clit testing your reaction. His finger rubbed your entrance before pushing in. He started at an unhurried pace before adding another finger curling in your insides.

His tongue swiped your bud before he started sucking it into his mouth. Your back arched as he quickened his movements. Gasping you found leverage onto his hair, your toes curling as his tongue flicked your sensitive clit.

His mouth engulfed your cunt light suction around your clit. He pulled off staring at the mess he made beneath your fluids pooling onto the sheets. He spits on it the saliva rolling down your folds, fucking his fingers back into you using the spit to make you even wetter. The squelching sounds of your pussy and Satoru looking at you above his glasses as he ate you out was a view from out of your dreams. You're almost mad at whoever taught him.

“Just like that,” you moaned, widening your legs to give him better access. He continued his same pace massaging your boobs with his hand as the other thrusted into you. Your hand pushed at his head as you felt your orgasm wrack through you. He made slow strokes with his fingers before pulling them out, he opened your mouth with his thumb as you wrapped your lips around his fingers, your tongue swirling around them licking them clean.

Suddenly Satoru turned you over onto your stomach, pulling you toward the edge of the bed where he was standing. Arching your back you let your feet dangle off the edge of the bed. You watched him dig a condom outside of his discarded jeans, taking off the wrapper and rolling the plastic over his dick. In his pants, you could feel how big he was but looking over your shoulder you knew it would take a minute to adjust to him.

The cool air of the room sent shivers up your spine as Satoru made languid strokes in between your folds, the tip kissing your clit at every stroke. “You know, I know you don't actually need help with physics.”

“What-” Abruptly his tip entered your pooling hole, and you breathed in sharply gripping the sheets. “Fuck- Satoru go s-slowly.” you gasped as his cock penetrated your cunt inch by inch.

“It's okay, you can take it,” he said, massaging your spine. He spat on your pussy watching the spit roll onto his length. The extra lubrication made it easier for you to handle. The slow stretch and the way he was massaging your back almost made you cum on the spot. Every inch felt like he was in your throat yet he wasn't done yet. You wanted him to fuck you so bad you pushed back forcing another two inches that made your toes curl.

A loud smack echoed throughout the room, moaning loudly as his hand left a red mark on your ass. “Don't rush it,” his hand soothed the spot on your ass. You nodded your head against the sheets, your walls tightening around him. “Damn- you're so tight, if you wanted my attention so badly you didn't need to act dense,” he groaned slowly, dragging his cock into you. “I noticed you the minute you walked into that class, so pretty,” he admitted, mesmerized by how his length disappeared inside of you.

“You still tutored me.” you teased, grinning back at him peering over your shoulder.

Once you feel his pelvis against your ass you let your body adjust to his length breathing cautiously. “You're good,” you said, creating a v with your fingers over your entrance spreading your stretched pussy for him. He patted your ass making slow thrusts making sure you were good. Your hips rolled against his, using your fingers to rub circles around your clit.

It was slow, but it was good. However, you wanted to be fucked into the mattress until whatever lessons he taught you were engraved in your head. “Harder, please,” you whined arching your back further, you heard him murmur something behind you but you couldn't exactly make it out. Following your request he increased his pace, his cock making long drags out before slamming back in. It was so fucking good.

“The probability of the bottle landing on you- hah- was 0.25 chance of the bottle landing on you, fuuck- I didn't think it actually would.” he rambled lost in your cunt.

“D-don't stop ‘Toru.” you moaned drooling onto the mattress as you gripped the bedding for leverage. You felt his cock twitch inside you and his hand found your neck not choking just holding it. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head. The pleasure was too much, even better than you imagined. You screamed your newfound nickname for him which only encouraged him. Pushing back onto his thrust you both matched each other's rhymes perfectly, your toes clenched and the sudden wave of your orgasm made your body twitch violently beneath Satoru. “Aah- ‘Toru, please too- much.” your core tightened further, your body still sensitive to your previous orgasm.

“Baby- just a little more I'm almost there.” he moaned his thumbs digging into your back dimples. “Fuuck, hah- you're so perfect.” groaning his eyebrows furrowing as he chased his orgasm. The way he was drilling in you, tears fell down your face, the mix of pain and pleasure you felt like you were going to come again yet it was something else too.

“ ‘Toru, please- oh my god-” fluid flooded out of your cunt as your body spasmed struggling to keep your legs up as Satoru fucked into you. Your head was smashed into the mattress from his thrusts. “T-take it off.”

“What?” he breathed sharply, his hand still holding your neck. His fingers flexed signaling he was close.

“Cum in me-hngh-” you moaned, your thighs soaked in your fluids and sweat. The sound of skin and your heavy breathing mingling together was overwhelming. “I want it- so bad.” his hips were staggering, “give it to me-” You wanted to feel his cum fill you up, you were way out of it to think rationally and the only thing on your mind was getting his cum leaking out of you.

“Are you su-”

“S-so fucking sure, fill me up ‘Toru,” you whined looking back at him tears flooding your eyes pleading with him to give you want you wanted, no needed.

He cursed before quickly pulling out and ripping off the condom and tossing it into the bin. You were almost whined from the loss of contact keeping your legs propped up.

Satoru groaned before slamming into you, his cum filling your gummy walls, his dick twitching inside of you. Looking over your shoulder he looked so incredibly sexy. His forehead was drenched in sweat brows still furrowed as he pumped his remaining cum out. Once he let go of you your legs gave out still a little twitchy from your last orgasm. Whoever he was fucking before you they were going to have to cut that shit right off.

“You'll still be my study buddy right?” you yawned your voice a little hoarse as you crawled under the sheets.

“Yeah I'll still be your study buddy,” Satoru confirmed, wiping a drying tear from your face. You were so tired you practically forgot where you were. Even if you did, you didn't care. The walk of shame is for the future you, right now you are going to relish in the present breathing in Satoru’s scent as you drift to sleep.

When you woke up your head was pounding and your legs were sore as hell. Blinking your eyes the room was dark and roomy with a shelf full of Digimon collectibles in front of the bed and the bed was far more comfortable and smelled like Satoru.

You tried to get up but a muscular arm dropped over your body and held you down. Satoru woke up slowly pulling your body closer towards him. You were even wearing a shirt that was too large to be your own.

“Sorry did I wake you?” twisting your body towards him, raking your fingers gently through his soft hair.

“No you're good, I figured you didn't want to stay at Geto’s so I brought you back to my place.” you nodded cuddling back into his warm embrace.

“You're so cute Satoru,”

“What happened to ‘Toru?” he joked peppering kisses across your collar.

“Fine, you're so cute ‘Toru.” you stifled your laughter as you felt Satoru grow hard against your thigh. It's okay you can take him.

He was so particularly frustrated both mentally and sexually.

It's torture, coming in from shopping or whatever you do outside, you undress at the door tossing your clothing into the hamper. Parading around the house in just your panties and bra or if he was lucky you would at least wear a shirt. Although it was a small relief, the shirt was thin as hell and you never wore a bra under so he could still see whatever was “hidden” underneath.

At night however was where his sanity was tested, in your bedroom he could hear the sounds of you streaming. At first, it sounds like those regular ones he saw on social media a few times until they would quickly shift into whatever perverted fantasy you wanted to reenact with your viewers. Even in his new form, his senses weren't dulled. He could hear each thrust, moan, and notification you got. Every few minutes you read one out letting the compliment go to your ego, thanking them, and teasing them on through the screen.

He has never seen you stream, fortunately, Toji doesn't think he would stay sane if he had to sit there and watch you get off. Perverts behind the screen begging to touch you or what they wanted to do to you didn't even compare to what he was thinking. Other than what he would do to the person who hired him, he made a promise to get you back for all the shit you were putting him through. With interest of course.

The issue was, Toji just had to figure out how the hell he was going to get out, or if he could. He tried starving himself to see if dying as a frog would transform him back, however realizing Toji’s suicidal mission you rushed him to the vet for a shot. Now you watched him eat, sitting in front of his terrarium. Occasionally you would eat with him, probably thinking it would make him feel better. In a way it did, he hasn't eaten with another person in years. It was a nice change but it would be infinitely better if he were in his human form.

“Jinshi? I'm home!” you cheered coming through the door with a bag from PetSmart, perhaps it was because he was a frog but the food wasn't half bad. Jinshi wasn't even his name but after seeing him you declared it instantly. He would much prefer to hear you screaming his actual name instead but he can work with this, for now. “I got you some more food, I hate touching it but if it's for you…” You pulled your face away from looking inside the bag.

“I was gone for so long, the cashier and I were talking, honestly kind of cute but I have a feeling he might recognize me.” you rambled, pulling out one of the bags full of bloodworms, with a heavily gloved hand and a big pair of tweezers you plucked a few out and dropped them in his habitat. Swiftly closing the bag tightly and putting the rest up into containers, you screamed loudly when one of them escaped.

“C’mon! Ugh, okay…” You tried hyping yourself up to pick up the worm off the ground. Even at its pace, you were somehow slower than it to capture it. If he were able to, he would've picked it up by now, maybe scare you with it, but still pick it up way faster than the 10 minutes it took you to. “Jinshi! I did it, did you see that?!” You were so happy that you even petted him a little bit from inside the terrarium.

He couldn't wait to get his hands on you. He was tempted to hop out and climb onto your hand knowing you would back out in fear, and finally make his grand escape. However, if he did do that, it wouldn't make his life easier. Then he would have to find somewhere else to live and it's not like he can do anything in the form he has taken now. Settling he gave you a ribbet as a reward for your bravery.

He would have to postpone your introduction to his cursed worm, if you would even see it. You can barely handle the small ones, this was closer to your size, you might pass out on the spot. You haven't gone screaming about ghosts, so he doubts it.

“Aww Jinshi, my sweet baby. I'm so happy I found you,” you said fondly, being extra gentle with his skin, even kissing the outside of the tank. Almost by instinct, he went to kiss it back but he couldn't so he stuck his tongue out and outlined the pink glossy imprint. It was the closest he was going to get to “kissing” you so he was going to take the opportunity.

Based on your insistent squealing, the act seemed to please you. What he didn't expect was tears to start falling from your pretty eyes, they were fat, coming down in laughter as you stretched your arms out to hug the tank.

“What would I do without you, Jinshi?” thoroughly happy you went into your room to begin your nightly escapades. Usually starting setup around sunset and continuing later in the night. He has never seen you go to work or even do something remote so he assumed you made a good amount from streaming.

“Hey guys, did you miss me? I surely missed you!” you greeted saying hello to the early birds. It was usually the same people, after a while he recognised some names but he didn't bother remembering them. “Digimonmaster66, thank you for the 5,000 coins!” Toji didn't know how much that was in real currency but the prick always started with that amount for every stream. Considering how happy you sounded when that notification came through, it had to be a substantial amount.

You usually spent the first 30 minutes or so talking to them about your day, sometimes mentioning that you had a frog. Today however you went into immense detail about Toji or “Jinshi” and how he just made you so happy. “He is so big for a frog-yes, I did name him after that!”

That was news to him, he didn't even know there was someone who inspired his new name. He remembers when you first saw him, completely and utterly terrified but then after a few glances that turned into long stares you opened your window. He only hopped in to see your reaction but instead of the fear he was sort of looking for, your eyes brightened up and closed the window behind him, effectively trapping the frog in your home.

He doesn't know what was going through your mind to keep a frog as a pet when you were scared of everything. Your trust in him was officially set when he ate a spider that found its way into your home, something in his mind was telling him to eat it. So he did not expect it to taste as good as it did. In that moment as he swallowed it you named him on the spot. “Jinshi, you saved me! I thought I would need to call my neighbor again,” you claimed, putting on your keys and coat, and placing him in a wet container, taking him to a pet store to get him things to get started with in his new home.

“Mmh you guys are so smart, just for that I think I'll get you guys a reward.” Your pitch was slower, a little more sexy as you thought of rewards for them. The real one who needed a reward was Toji, who would do you so much better than those twerps jacking off at the sight of your cleavage. They only got to see it when you turned the cameras on but him, but he got to see it every day. Just for him as you sat next to him by the window twirling a bit of your hair.

He has memorized almost every single pair of undergarments you owned, there were probably a few you weren't wearing out in your rotation but got to see them nonetheless.

“I have just the idea, brb.” you giggled, he could hear the rustling of clothing and zippers. By the time you were done, he could hear the vague sound of latex, maybe rubber? Whatever it was, it was squeaky. Hopping onto the bed you turned back on the cameras. “I saw this being requested in my inbox so much that I had to put it on to show you. I wasn't going to stream today but I got too excited.” he wants to see, shouldn't he get a reward too? Toji’s jealousy towards the audience only grew at each sweet moan he wished he could capture with his own lips, gasping as you described wanting to fondle their chests and show them ‘how good they were’ to you.

“Aww CursedCK thank you for the 6,000 coins, you see how happy you're making us.” You moaned, the nasty wet squelching he could only guess was you fingering yourself. The pace was slow, agonizingly slow, Toji would go faster. Piston his fingers so deep inside preparing you for his cock, watching you come undone beneath him. Make you scream louder than anyone else could, show you he is the only one to make you feel that way.

“You see how ready I am for you, I'm aching,” you whined, the bed rocking against the wall for a moment. There was silence for a bit until you let out a loud moan. “Mmhm, I couldn't wait any longer. You deserve it.” you giggled, the notifications went crazy one after another, barely milliseconds apart. That seemed to turn you on even more, whatever you were fucking yourself on was moving at a rapid speed, chasing your orgasm along with your audience.

“Fuck- so good, I'm so close.” Your voice was airy and light almost like you were asking. “Yes, yes! I want you inside, filling me till I can't go on anymore.” With a scream, you came. For most, the stream would end but today you were in a good mood, riding out the rest of your release, he could hear the sound of you pulling out what was inside. Catching your breath you thanked your viewers for helping you.

“40,000 coins, that's a lot. Thank you so much. I think I might cum again if I keep looking at it.” Considering you're the same person who almost cried when you saw Toji climbing the tank to escape, he thinks you just might. When he leaves he will need to look up the conversions, if it's good enough to make you nut then he might need to switch professions.

“Don't worry, I have something else for you.” Shutting off the cameras you walked into the living room, you dragged a large machine into your bedroom struggling just a bit to get off the ground. Muttering that you didn't want to scratch the floors. Toji could have sworn his brain short-circuited a little, you were wearing a leather set, similar to a dominatrix. Long black thigh-high boots and gloves even had the bunny mask sitting on top of your head. When you bent over for the machine he could see the slightest sliver of a jeweled plug in your ass.

Could it really get worse than this? Hearing you get off on a fucking machine, or what he assumes based on the sound and your comments about finally getting fucked from behind after so long. It was insufferable to listen to. Even worse that he couldn't see and everyone else could.

“I-I think we broke a record today, I feel a bit numb.” You were still catching your breath, the comments were getting spammed so those who wanted to get noticed would opt for sending coins instead. “Thank you DigimonMaster66 for being my top gifter today, I can't wait to show you how you've made me.” saying your final goodbyes closing the stream accepting the last few coins.

When you walked out of the room your legs were slick with fluids, Toji wanted to stick his tongue out and clean up the mess you made. If it weren't for this dreaded form.

As always you wore an old shirt with some panties, different from the leather lingerie set. They were still nice, more put on for comfort than to show off. “Jinshi? I thought you were asleep, baby?” Noticing he was still awake you made your way over to a bottle of water and vitamins in your hands. “I'm starting to think you have insomnia…Maybe I should get you checked out again?” Your voice was laced with concern rubbing on the tank like you were caressing his face. He would play nice for now, the veterinarian was a whole new hell unto itself.

“I'm not very tired myself, let's watch a movie, ‘kay.” You smiled plopping down on the couch as you scrolled through some of the movies. You gasped at one of the selections clicking on it immediately, “This used to be my favorite!” hurriedly clicking play the introduction scene started.

Toji didn't watch movies so as the animation played he wasn't familiar. If anything he was more interested in the plot, kissing a frog to break the curse. He didn't even think of that as an option to break out of this body. As ridiculous as it sounded he was tempted to test the theory.

All he needed to do was wait for his plan to be set in motion.

“Look Jinshi, isn't that so romantic? I was Tiana for 3 years straight for Halloween, maybe I can do it again this year. You can be my Naveen!” you giggled watching the marriage scene unfold.

“Ribbet.”

“I can even get you an outfit if they have that for frogs, would you like that?”

“Ribbet.”

“Okay, I'll stop talking.” The excitement was already boiling as you continued to watch the end of the movie, and by the last 10 minutes, you were out like a light. Snoring lightly on the cushions, the television playing similar movies.

The following days went by as usual but instead of streaming every other night like you would before now you were going out. Coming back hungover or not coming back at all. It was a stark difference from how you were previously, it's not like you were neglecting him, his food came on the regular, and his habitat was cleaned routinely. However, he couldn't help but feel like something was going on.

His suspicions were confirmed when you left earlier in the day dressing up all pretty even curling your hair and leaving out. You mentioned something about “this one might work out,” before leaving but he didn't quite know the context. The lock turned, but there wasn't one voice like usual, rather there were two. Yours he recognised but the other was unfamiliar, a man's voice for sure, his face however, was a little, but he couldn't remember where.

“Mmh- at least wait till we get inside,” you laughed, pulling him down to kiss you further. The man gripped you closer, feeling on your ass molding the fat within his fingers. You yelped as he lifted you from the ground, laying your body on the empty dining room table. He was sure to take his shoes off but they were scattered and not neatly put like the rest. How impatient.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't take his eyes off the sight. It was unbearable but when else would he get to see you like this, it only became too much when you started moaning the other man's name. “Jeremiah,” you whined so sweetly.

No way you fucking a guy named Jeremiah. Was this your type, medium men who can't even hold you up for more than a minute? He couldn't watch this anymore, actually, he never wanted to see it again unless it was him enjoying the way your lips moved to say his name.

“Ribbet!” It was a lot louder than any of the other ones he had ever given you. It grabbed your attention immediately, your head snapping in his direction.

“Jinshi I'm sorry, I'll be quiet, okay?” you smiled, it was a little lopsided but with Toji’s presence now aware by the couple. You led Jeremiah to your bedroom. When he thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. Insanely so. Jeremiah lasted a total of 2 minutes and 2 seconds, before tapping out. No foreplay, rubbed your clit a little bit, before shoving his dick in. When he finally pulled out, he offered to cum on your stomach but you immediately declined.

If your streams were anything to go off of you were loud, you like to talk. But now you were quiet giving him a few noises, adjacent to sighs. It was a sad listen, you seemed so excited to. Toji could do you so much better. Watching the guy leave high and proud irked the fuck out of Toji— he remembered his face just in case he needed to add him to his shit list when he got out. It was the most pathetic fuck he's ever seen (heard).

Once you shut the door behind the guy making sure it was loud enough to send a message you hurried back to your room and gave yourself what you needed. Fucking yourself on a vibrator, it seemed to do the job. Orgasming within a few minutes, not loud but a lot louder than you were with Jeremiah.

Your mood for the morning after was shitty at best. A scowl was left on your face and you had a straight attitude. Feeding him a few bugs not even flinching when one tried to crawl out, even though they knew not to fuck with you right now. “We are never going to that PetSmart again.” Then it clicked, that's where Toji recognised him. The cashier there, his face was so plain no wonder it didn't ring a bell.

It was pitiable watching you mope around the apartment even wearing shorts, they must have really pissed you off. One thing he also noticed is that when you were done feeding him you didn't close the lip all the way leaving a small gap that he could escape out of.

Making your way back into your room playing a show on your surround sounds probably just letting it become background noise he could hear the slightest sound of you snoring. As much as it sucks to make his grand escape while you were grieving your crush, he had things he needed to do. Yours would be temporary, his condition however may become permanent if he doesn't do something about it.

It was easy getting out, his feet and hands easily gripped onto the glass as he climbed out. It felt weird being out of the cage for so long, it was freeing. This would be his first time coming this far into the home, sneaking under the door into your room where you slept. Approaching your body you had drool spilling out in the corner of your mouth, even ditched the shorts. He had to make this quick if it failed then he was fucked.

Landing on your chin, he brought his mouth to your sleeping one, not much he could really expect to touch lips. He stood there for a minute or so, but nothing happened. He didn't feel any different, no magical sparkles transforming him. Nothing.

He fell on your lower face, and he would be stuck like this. It was hopeless, he would need to get used to listening to you talking about getting fucked or getting fucked for the rest of his life. At least it was free, not a dime coming out of his account- his account. He still didn't get paid, that asshat is running amok thinking Toji let him off scotch free with a free hit.

He was so fucked.

He laughed to himself thinking about how he got himself here. At least it felt nice being skin to skin with you finally, he hates being so slimy all the time, now he got some air to dry up. He was just going to lie there until you realised and would take him back to the tank, maybe you would bring him into your room at some point. Until you started groaning, and struggling underneath him.

“Get off, you're heavy,” you grumbled, still half asleep. Toji obeyed, moving over onto the other side, his body weight making the bed bounce a bit on his side. Wait, body weight! Snapping up, Toji looked at his hands, flesh, veins, and actual fingers. It worked! Quickly grabbing clothing from your drawers, everything being way too small but he couldn't walk out bare naked, he would find himself in a different kind of jail. He really didn't feel like dealing with cops right now either.

The moonlight graced his skin in its glow, and he felt renewed. He was a man on a mission, first, he needed to pay a visit to that geezer who hired him in the first place.

___

10 days

Jinshi has been gone for 10 days now. You've tried searching everywhere for him, but nothing. You were heartbroken, you thought you were finally getting somewhere with him. He was hostile the first few weeks but he eventually started letting you touch him. Now he is gone, maybe forever.

You still kept his food, in hopes he would come back eventually but then you hated having to look at it. All it reminded you of was Jinshi. You could only hope he was doing good, finding happiness elsewhere if it wasn't with you. You hadn't streamed since he left, the vibe just wasn't right and to be honest, you were getting quite bored with your current content. Scrolling through your emails you saw brand offers and product testing but a certain email caught your eye. Another creator was offering to partner with you on each other's streams.

You hadn't thought about having someone else on stream with you, perhaps that's what you needed. The streamer wasn't exactly your type, he reminded you of Jeremiah, fucking bitch. Just thinking about him made you mad, he hyped himself up only to do that shit to you. You thought it was cute how he watched your streams, but it became too much when that was all he talked about. Couldn't even fuck you right. A tried and true, two-pump chump.

It had been even quieter without Jinshi, although he was very quiet, his presence filled the empty space of your large penthouse. It got lonely sometimes, with no one else to talk to you decided perhaps it was time to say hello to your awaiting viewers.

Setting up you only wore a simple tank top and some shorts, nothing dressed up. They want you to take it off anyway, not that you were mad. Going naked in your apartment was normal, you only wore a shirt sometimes because you felt bad for Jinshi having to watch you naked. The stream started up, your regulars coming in fast. Streaming fed your ego graciously making you feel less lonely than you were.

“Hey, did you miss me? Oh, thank you DigimonMaster66 for the 5,000 coins." Some comments were asking how you were doing other more graphic things about wanting you to take your clothes off. “You always know how to make my day!” The guy was a whale spending almost 8 thousand dollars per stream and that doesn't even include private tips and chats. The most was 15 thousand and that was a few months ago when you cosplayed as his favorite digimon on stream. He was truly your favorite, others tried topping him but no one could.

“Oh, welcome SSKiller0T, oh…oh my gosh. Thank you!” Your mood was instantly improved when you received the 20,000 coins, someone knows how to enter a stream. Today you didn't plan on doing anything, just talking, viewers who have seen you before understood, others maybe not.

“Actually I am pretty sad. Jinshi, my frog, ran away. I am just so upset. We were doing so well, and even worse this guy I was talking to couldn't satisfy me.” You were leaning way into this bit, being dramatic enough for your viewers to feel bad. If they were still going to jerk off, you might as well give them a voice to do it with. “You ruined me for everyone else, now I can only get off with you.” That rubbed your viewers the right way because the gifts were coming in, even getting a notification that someone brought an item off your wishlist. If you were going to grieve the loss of your pet then at least you could profit off of it, maybe use it to hire a team to find him.

“SSKiller0T, you're really going in it today. Who knows, if you do good I might add you to my sweethearts list." He was constantly donating, making his presence known. Even your top-gifter was noticing and was trying to “up” him in tips. Who were you to stop friendly competition, all it was doing was filling your pockets.

You let them battle it out while you spoke to your other viewers, asking about them and what they would like to see. Knowing it would most likely be the next stream. All of it was clique stuff, they usually said this stuff. “Actually I was thinking of starting an OnlyFans, so then you guys could see me and not miss a stream. I will still stream but it's good for people who are in a different time zone or working hard for me.” It was just a suggestion but the comments seemed to enjoy the idea immensely. Flooding your comments with yeses.

“Okay then sounds like a deal then, I'll let you go now. I have work to do!” Waving goodbye you need the stream quickly. As expected DigimonMaster66 was your top-gifted but only by 1 coin. How petty. However, the newcomer came a close second. They were 10,000 coins away from breaking your 70,000 coin record. Not too shabby for someone who has joined your stream for the first time. Hopefully, he would be back in the next stream.

Getting to work you spent the next few days filming content for your new OnlyFans. Most of it would be uploaded so you wanted at least a week's worth of content for the page. It felt different not filming in front of an audience, hopefully, they would like the change.

____

You really missed Jinshi, out of habit you would let your presence be known when coming home but there was no one else with you anymore. “Jinshi I'm home!” you said in vain. Sometimes you hoped to see him where you found him on your windowsill. Unfortunately for you, there was a weirdo following you outside the shop, you noticed him in the store following you out. You picked up your pace debating calling an Uber but you didn't want this freak following you. Staying in the busier streets hoping that would deter him but he came up to tap your shoulder.

You yelped in fear, your hand instinctively reaching for the pepper spray. “It's you, I knew you looked familiar but it really is you!” The man looked at you with a relieved look on his face as he grabbed you by the shoulders. Pulling the spray out of your bag you had it almost out till a man came up behind him pulling him away from you.

“Watch the fuck out, loser.” The man was much bigger than the guy who approached you. Pushing him out of the way, he looked between you and the staring passersby he ran away in the opposite direction. “You alright?” your mysterious savior asked, bringing his attention to you.

You nodded, thanking him profusely for helping you. Although you planned on peppering the fuck out of the asshole either method worked. At least one saves you a trip to the police station. He was hot, like really hot. Offering to walk you back home you accepted letting the handsome stranger walk with you home.

Other than his pretty face he wasn't a half bad talker either, listening to you rant about anything. It was nice, and reminded you of your sweet Jinshi. The scar on the corner of his lip garnered your attention making you wonder what could have happened. It was a little sexy, made you wonder what it would feel like on your lips.

His presence was comforting and familiar even though you had never met him before. You're sure you would remember him if you'd met before. When he laughed at your jokes your face would heat up, the arm he had on the small of your back didn't help much either.

At your apartment you expected him to leave at the entrance but he followed you upstairs, maybe you should have stopped him but at your door, you shyly kissed him on the corner of his mouth where his scar was at. You didn't want your interaction to end here. Something about him made you want to invite him in, even if he was a stranger you'd never met before.

No risk, no reward, right?

“You're so tight, baby, no one's treating you like you should, are they?” he cooed fingers curled up inside your walls. Leading him into your apartment you expected him to get straight to business for a quick fuck but after spending so much time running his mouth up and down your body he was being patient.

You shook your head, your back arching off of the bed as the pads of his fingers pressed into the g-spot. Once finding it he didn't leave it alone, pistoning his fingers inside of you at a delicious speed. His palm is flat against your clit making you closer and closer. Bringing his mouth to your nipple, twirling his tongue around the bud. “Doing so good, don't cum just yet,” he ordered taking as much of your tit into his mouth. You nodded a little out of it, all you needed was to cum.

Rolling your hips to meet his fingers, he smelled good. If he is this good at fingering you couldn't wait to get him inside of you, put Jeremiah to shame with his sorry ass. Changing your position he brought you to his lap, your body facing the already set up camera. You don't remember leaving it there, hopefully your guest didn't mind.

“Password?”

“What?” You focused your eyes on his hands opening your laptop, opening it right to your streaming page. “How-” you yelped as his fingers hit that sweet spot again. He repeated himself again, sucking hickies on your neck. Naturally, you rocked your ass against his hard cock, the imprint was big. You wanted it inside.

“I thought you missed me? Don't want to show your viewers your sweet frog anymore?” Like ice dumped on your head, you froze up, snapping your head behind you towards him. He had a smug grin on his face, the scar following his lips.

“What a-are you talking about?” trying to form coherent sentences but it just felt so good. He went on to describe things you only told to the frog going into graphic detail about your daily life, how you talked to him, and how terrible your last hookup went. It was ridiculous, the man with his fingers 6 inches deep inside of you was your pet, your frog that ran away. “That makes no sense.”

“Don't worry about it, we have all the time in the world for that baby,” he said, kissing your cheek, like you were under a trance you shakily typed in your password. The page opened to your dashboard. Navigating to set up for streaming, your camera was connected making it easier to click play. “You read my mind, good job.” he rewarded you by letting you ride up that high you were chasing. Walls clutching around his digits as you came.

“Say hi,” still intoxicated from your orgasm you wave lazily to the camera. The comments were flooded especially with the abrupt stream. Spreading his fingers toward the camera gooey clear fluids coating them, he sucked them dry groaning at the taste.

You exceeded his expectations greatly, all the times he imagined what you would taste like didn't compare to this. It was addictive. It was almost worth being stuck as a frog for a month and a half. Almost worth watching sorry losers jerk off to what they wish they could have. He simply wanted to show them what they would never have. You cried when his hand came down to lightly slap your pussy bringing your attention back to him, the gifts were already coming in. The loud chimes are adding to your arousal.

“You see how wet she got, soaking my pants.” There was a large dark spot where your cunt leaked, the comments were crazy asking for a close-up or begging to edge you. “No, no, she needs to be filled up.” He shook his head, lifting your body so that he could take off his sweatpants. Nodding you pressed a finger to your hole a string of clear fluid followed. Holding you up the tip kissed your clit as he rubbed it across. He was soaking his cock with your lips, you whined each time he missed the entrance dragging out each action.

“Fill me up, please.”

“Toji,” he whispered in your ear, the head of his cock slamming into you. You gasped for air holding onto whatever to keep you grounded. It did take long for him to bottom out. His arms were still holding you up, keeping you from getting all of him. Giving just enough time to adjust he lifted you up thrusting back inside. His calloused finger rubbed your clit making the filthy squelching in the room even louder.

It was too much, drool was starting to fall from your mouth. Unable to close your mouth to be quiet, if your neighbors didn't hear you before they were definitely hearing you now. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, each thrust he would go deep till you could see the faint bulge of his cock poking through your stomach.

“You see that, all me right there,” you screamed when his palm pressed down on it as he continued fucking you dumb. Whatever he did to turn back you wished he had done it earlier, all this time with him and you were missing out on dick like this.

Feeling that familiar coil grow in your core, you kissed Toji's chin, which was soft. Hickies started to bloom in the places you sucked at, leaving your own mark on him. Who knows if he runs away again?

Shattering your body leaned forward your toes curling inwards. “S-slow down.” You bit your lip, his pace didn't slow chasing his own orgasm. You tried to push back but his stronghold on you prevented you from doing so.

“Where ya’ want it?” he gripped your thighs, drawing sweet moans from your throat. His voice was low and raspy, pulling you further into him.

“You did say you needed to fill me up,” you tried holding on feeling another orgasm coming on. “Don't go back on your word.” he let out a low grunt one arm taking both of your legs to hold you up. Grabbing you by the cheeks squishing them roughly, forcing you to look into your laptop and the scene.

You almost forgot about your audience, drowning out the notifications too distracted by Toji.

Slamming you down on his cock he moaned loudly into your neck his seed painting your walls white. Twitching you hadn't even realized you came, the sheets below you thoroughly soaked in your release. Even the laptop screen was wet.

Lifting your head up making you look straight into the camera. Seed leaking onto the sheets, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head. “Sorry ass Jeremiah and Digi- whatever the fuck his corny ass name is, wish they had you like this,” he growled stuffing his cock impossibly deeper.

“You do, you do Toji,” you yelped, looking toward the laptop at him, that alone was making him get hard again.

“That's right.” he grinned, biting your neck, there was a red mark, any harder it would've drawn blood. It hurt like a bitch but somehow you didn't mind it. Even after insulting your top gifter, a tip came in from DigimonMaster66. “You don't remember your manners now?”

“Thank you, D-DigimonMaster66!”

“That's my girl, now bend over, gotta make up for all those times you teased me.”

Roughly pushing your head into the mattress with an oof, not one did his cock leave your insides. Sucking him back in each time his hips even threatened to leave you. In your bliss, you didn't hear him say something to you earning a hard slap on the ass.

His hand left a red handprint on your left ass cheek, burning substantially. “You like that?”

Slap!

“Don't just nod, let me hear you.”

“Yes,” you choked out your hands reaching for the edge of the bed for balance. The sheet was starting to come off, not giving you much grip on it. “I love it!”

Rubbing his hand up your spine, feeling each ridge. Toji pulled out, cock wet in your mixed fluids, he rubbed it against your ass smearing the liquids. Your hole clenched around nothing, the loss of his dick making you whine. Arching your back deeper, looking back at him, he was admiring his work. Marveling at your wrecked hole.

“Take a picture, it'll last longer-” pulling you by the hair, so your face was in frame. He was too tall so it only showed his traps and below. Thrusting back into you, not giving you a chance to breathe. His thrusts were hard, the skin to skin echoing throughout the room. The force rocked your body forward.

“Fuckin- attitude.” Letting your hair go you tried pulling back from his hips but he grabbed your neck. Similar to a warning his hand only sat that daring you, ‘run from it and watch what happens.’ Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, it was all so much. You would have never thought Toji would be so rough in bed, maybe it was your punishment for bringing another man over. To be fair you thought he was just a really cute frog, not a really hot guy who happened to be turned into a frog.

“Smart ass mouth of yours, suck.” Opening your mouth wide he stuck two on his fingers in your mouth. Mimicking how you would around his cock you took them as deep as he would allow. He groaned, throwing his head slightly back as you moaned around his digits. “Eyes up, princess.”

Looking back at the camera, you were sure you looked a mess, much different than how you started earlier. Tear-stained cheeks, running mascara, hair messy from his rough handling, and lip-bitten lips. Your audience was loving it though, probably the most wrecked they have ever seen you. “Oh- don't stop, yes there, oh my god.” You cried his fingers releasing from your mouth to let you breathe. His balls slapping at your clit, was the perfect combination to your euphoria.

His grip on your throat tightened, restricting some of your airway, and your eyes were starting to roll back no matter how much you tried to keep your eyes on the camera. It was too good, you felt like you were losing your mind.

Your body jerked instinctively pulling away from cock when you came, it earned you a slap on the ass making you cum even harder. “T-toji, too much,” you begged in choked sobs. Your pussy was becoming numb and the constant stimulation was overwhelming.

“I'm almost there, hold on just a bit longer,” he said sweetly, removing his hand from your throat to your hips. His controlled thrusts turned erratic as he chased his orgasm, you were definitely going to have bruises by the morning but they would be so worth it.

With a loud groan, he came inside you. He stayed inside for a moment before pulling out, cum dripping out of your hole. You shivered at the sensation, your knees were starting to give out so you lay flat on your stomach.

Rubbing on the globes of your ass, you could feel Toji getting hard, again?! What the hell is with his stamina? Still catching your breath you turned over a bit to look at him, ugh he was so sexy.

“Give me a minute,” your refractory period wasn't that long but you still needed a moment to get feeling back in your lower half.

“Take your time, like I said we have all the time in the world.”

“Her favorite color was blue,” Gojo blurted out, and Choso felt his eye twitch. Mouth barely able to hold onto thin neutrality as he resisted reacting. 

“When I was with her, it was purple,” he evenly replied, pushing off the ground to stand up straight. You wouldn’t even let him paint the kids bathroom blue. Skipped every shade of it to pluck out a soft lavender, smiling as you offered it to him. 

“Well, I guess you just know her so much better than I do,” Gojo scoffed, white brows pinching together tightly as he walked over to place his flowers by Choso’s.

It was hard not to cringe. 

Jealousy used to burn him up inside, gnaw at him endlessly at night no matter what you whispered or how tightly he held you in his arms. But now, seeing the man who was responsible for it teetering on a knife’s edge, miserably mourning your memory the same way he was, just sorta made all those harsh edges of his own hurt soften with unexpected sympathy. 

“She wouldn’t want you to waste the rest of your life waiting by-” 

“You don’t know that,” Gojo snapped at him, before immediately wincing, probably realizing how he sounded. “That was childish, I’m-” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Choso waved it off. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’d do if he was in his shoes. 

Except for maybe not leaving to start with. 

“I used to be terrified I’d wake up one day and you’d be waiting at the front door,” he added, not sure if being candid would help him any, or if it just felt good to get it off his chest. 

“I wish I was,” Gojo openly admitted, defined jaw clenched tight. 

Up close, Choso could make out the curve of his cheekbones, a little too hollow to be healthy. A haunted quality etched into every line, every feature of his face. Not getting enough to eat. Probably not getting enough sleep either. 

Struggling to cope with his new circumstances.

Displaced in time and space.

And still there was one thing they both had in common. 

“I miss her,” Choso softly spoke, throat constricting as a lump started to take shape, blocking his breathing as he steeled himself. He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him. 

“Yeah,” Gojo awkwardly agreed. “Me too.” 

“Do you want to go out for lunch later? Talk about her?” He offered, shoving down his own discomfort to extend an olive branch. 

Hope blooming when Gojo hesitantly accepted it, nodding with just a short bob of his head. 

“Can you bring some photos of her?” 

And a couple hours later, they were sitting across from each other in a corner booth of a restaurant he used to take the twins and Yuji to with you, plates pushed to the side as they poured over photo albums, fingers tracing over the glossy plastic protecting your pictures. 

Choso paused over an old one, back when the two of you first started dating, where you were sandwiched between Apollo and Artemis, smiling at him from behind a snowcone in a roller skating rink. It was supposed to be a playdate for the kids, but it kinda felt like one for him too. Holding your hand skating, making conversation over the loud bass of the obnoxious music blaring, and blushing when you nearly fell and sent him tumbling down on top of you. He could still remember that flutter in his chest when he helped you up, your fingers gripping onto his forearm and his own splayed across your side, lovestruck at the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes, a temporary tattoo of a butterfly stuck to the bottom half of your cheek courtesy of Artemis and crinkled when you laughed. 

He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so gorgeous. 

Snapping photos of your side profile and the kids racing around the arcade section, glued to your side and feeling like a dumb dog lapping up every little sliver of affection you tossed down to him. 

Devouring every ounce of it, feeling like he’d been stuck in a drought, wandering in a desert without you as he watched you help Yuji calculate how many tickets he’d need to get a ridiculous stuffed animal from behind the prize counter, Apollo tugging at your pants and pleading for you to play air hockey with him after Artemis went back to skating. 

It had been a good day. 

A great one. 

The five of you together had felt like a family far before you actually became one. 

“They look like they’re having fun,” Gojo muttered, tapping the picture of the little boy who looked so much like him. 

It was strange, honestly, a little uncomfortable how much Apollo had grown up to resemble him.

And now Apollo was older than him, his dad damn near the spitting image as him at that age. 

Not that he’d admit it. 

No, his stepson had done everything he could to diminish the similarities, running as far from his dad’s shadow as he could while his sister found the light in it. 

“We had just started dating back then,” Choso wistfully exhaled, reminiscing about how naive he’d been back then. 

How easy things had been. 

Artemis had filled your former fiancé on the basics. A rough history lesson on the years he’d spent in space. A vague outline of your life since he left. 

But he didn’t know how much Gojo really knew.

“You seem pretty close,” Gojo commented, his mouth pressed in a thin line as he flipped the page to a photo Mrs. Geto had snapped of the five of you at a soccer game, Apollo still in his uniform and beaming at the camera while you leaned into his side for the shot. 

“It, uh, was a little rocky,” he admitted. “Mostly because she was still in love with you.” 

And you had been terrified of falling out of it. 

“I think she was scared of falling for me too,” Choso added, leaning back against the leather seat, still able to shut his eyes and bring himself back to the first night he confronted you about it. 

Standing in your kitchen, putting plates in the dishwasher as you wiped the crumbs off the table, all three kids watching a movie in the living room, throwing popcorn at each other and giggling while you cleaned up after dinner. 

Another night where everything had revolved entirely around the kids, picking up after them and playing, breaking up their bickering or dragging them around from place to place. 

He had felt like a fucking asshole for having any kind of complaints, but when the most the two of you managed was a handful of makeout sessions you had to sneak in, a brief foray to second base that ended in less than a minute when Artemis burst into the bedroom crying about a skinned knee, frustration had begun to build. 

Choso didn’t mind waiting, if that was what you wanted. 

Taking however much time you needed if the idea of being intimate was still too much. 

But you weren’t saying anything. Avoiding the conversation every time he tried to bring it up, switching subjects or shifting back to the kids like you were searching for an excuse not to be close with him. 

To not move to the next step together. 

He wanted to take you on real dates. To spend time with you one-on-one. Be a couple instead of just coparents. 

“Can we talk?” Choso cleared his throat, shutting the dishwasher and fixing the settings without looking over at you. 

“Yeah?” He could tell you were nervous already, voice cracking on just a single word. 

“I, uh, just was thinking that we haven’t gone on a real date, y’know?” He started, peeking back at you just to see how stiff you were suddenly standing, shoulders squared as your mouth parted in surprise. 

“I mean, I guess,” you awkwardly replied, biting your bottom lip as you avoided his stare, turning your attention away, and he could already anticipate how many seconds he had left before you’d offer to check on the children or change the topic.

“Are you avoiding being alone with me?” He bluntly asked, a tiny bit stunned himself at the way the words just fell out of him. 

“No, no,” you stammered it out, repeating yourself as you shook your head. “It’s just, it’s hard to find time with the kids, it’s not you-”

It was the fact he wasn’t actually their father. 

But he didn’t say that. Didn’t bring him up. 

“I don’t want to rush you,” he tried to clarify, stepping closer and reaching out. Desperate to feel some kind of connection even when he suspected he might only end up freaking you out. “If you’re not-”

“What if I, um, ask Suguru’s mom to watch all of them next weekend?” You offered before he could explain his concerns, cutting him off with the words he wanted to hear.

“You’d do that?” Choso asked, heart thumping against his rib cage as he contained the hope he’d been clinging onto since the first day he met you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling at him softly as he ran his hand over your arm, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

He hadn’t looked then. 

But part of him wondered now, what he would’ve seen if he had. Would the smile reach your eyes? 

Still, you kept your word. 

Dropped all three of them off to be babysat for the night a week later, got all dressed up in a little purple dress that left him swallowing his drool throughout the entire dinner, clumsily opening doors for you and paying the check despite his dismal teaching salary. 

You laughed at his jokes, leaned across the table and let him trace circles over your knuckles with his thumb over white wine. 

Choso didn’t go on dates often. 

But he hadn’t met anyone who made him feel like you did. Warm and fuzzy and frustrated and so entirely wrapped up in every word that left your lips that it was driving him mad.

Practically vibrating just from your touch, the way your fingers delicately intertwined with his when you led him back up to your front door, electricity he might just be imagining buzzing between your body as his as you leaned back against the the frame, giggling when you accidentally bumped into the bell. 

He could see that nervous glimmer in your eyes. 

Shared his own sea of anxiety over how tonight would end when everything inside him was aching for it not to. 

“So,” you started, sucking in your bottom lip for a second as your unsure stare met his.“Are you gonna come in?” 

Choso felt like he was going to black out.

Sure that he was going to blink and wake back up in his bed. Alone. Exhausted. Craving you so goddamn much he could hardly contain it. 

And before he could hold himself back, he was cupping your pretty face and kissing those lips that constantly lingered in the back of his brain. 

The rest was a blur. You kissing him back and looping your wrists around his neck. Shutting the door behind both of you and stumbling back to your bedroom, clothes hitting the floor while his chest strained to catch his breath. 

And when your back hit the bed, he was sure this had to be heaven. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, god, I can’t fucking believe you’re mine-” He didn’t even realize he was rambling until your mouth collided with his again, your soft thighs wrapping around his waist as his cock pressed up against your entrance.

You were already wet, which felt like far more of an accomplishment than it should. 

Pride sparking in his chest as his pre-cum unhelpfully leaked out onto your skin. 

“Condoms are, um, in my drawer,” you blinked when you broke the kiss, swallowing hard as you tilted your head towards your nightstand. 

“Okay,” he nodded, a little too eagerly as he climbed off to grab it, yanking open the drawer to find a sealed box. 

Brand new. 

Did you actually buy it for him? 

Or was he being delusional? 

He ripped open the top flap, but before he put one on, he looked back at you, feeling a little bit like an idiot for thinking with his dick instead of his brain. 

How could he forget about foreplay? 

Choso tossed a condom on the bed, walking back around to the edge of it before getting on his knees and yanking you down by your thighs until that pretty pussy of yours was right there in front of him. 

Ready to be prepared. 

“Can I taste you first?” He asked, not entirely selfless in his request. 

He wanted to bury his tongue inside you. Get the whole experience rather than rush into it and risk cumming in just a couple clumsy minutes. 

You nodded, maybe a little unsure yourself. 

As rusty at this as he was. 

You had confided in him before you hadn’t dated anyone since him. But Choso had no clue whether or not you’d actually been with someone else – even if it was just a hookup. 

His fingers trembled as they slid over your pliable thighs, pulling them closer as he shyly leaned in to tentatively take his first lick. 

But all it took was a taste. 

And a handful of minutes later, he was nuzzling his nose as he sucked and lapped like a man starved, cock throbbing and twitching as he resisted the urge to cum every time you moaned and whined for him. 

Pausing to ask if you were okay a couple times before he got too tangled up in balancing your pleasure and his. 

Your fingers laced through his hair, tugging at his roots to keep him going, thighs clamping down on his head as he swirled his tongue around hungrily. 

It honestly felt like a crime you’d kept it from him for so long. 

He could spend the entire night like this. 

Solely devoted to you. 

Trying out every little thing, pushing and pressing and prodding at every spot inside you until he made a map of your likes and dislikes. 

But you were prying him off, ignoring his deep whine as his glossy lips froze in a panicked pant, ready to plead his case to convince you to let him have a teesny more time. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, swallowing hard as his own saliva and your slick dripping down his throat. Pretending he didn’t notice the rings gleaming around your neck, the diamond one you’d switched from your fourth finger to a dainty chain. Daring him to remember that you weren’t supposed to be his. 

“I-I’m fine,” you murmured, chest heaving with every breath, making the necklace bounce with it. “Good.” 

“Please,” he began to beg, brows knitted together tight. Desperate to make you his. For tonight, at least. “I just want-” 

“I want all of you,” you half-whispered, like you could hardly believe it. 

He couldn’t either. 

Brain still lagging by the time he was sheathing his cock inside the condom, squirting lube on his hand and stroking his shaft before slowly starting to slip his way in you. 

No resistance. No more holding back. No more hoping for something he didn’t know would ever happen. 

Just you and him here together. 

It was perfect. 

You were perfect. 

Your warmth, your touch, your scent, god, every last detail was far better than he ever dreamed it.

His thrusts were precise, dragging in and out all slow and deliberate so he could study the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, watch your lips part and purr his name like a prayer. 

“C-Cho,” you groaned, raking your nails down his shoulder blades, not enough to sink into his skin, but more like a soft graze. 

“Y-you like that?” He stuttered over his own words, not coming off nearly as confident as he liked. 

You were nodding, your head on a bobble as your mascara-laden lashes fluttered. 

He was shuddering, whimpering right as his cock pressed all the way in, bumping into the back as your walls squeezed down on him. 

Nothing had ever felt so good. 

He wasn’t sure anything ever would again. 

Fucking you all soft, hips sliding smoothly against you, grabbing your hands and pinning them over your head so he could kiss you as much as he liked. Tongue slipping into your mouth, tracing your teeth, exchanging whines just for the other to swallow. 

Pressure building and twisting in his core, terrible tension he couldn’t resist, trying to break him before he could make you finish. 

Rushing to rub your clit, murmuring into your mouth and practically begging you to cum for him. 

You were hurting. 

He still thought he could heal you. 

Intoxicated by your face when you unravelled for him, cumming into the condom twice as hard as usual hearing your breathy moan, half-collapsing on you as his knees went weak. 

Choso might’ve been more embarrassed if he wasn’t so enticed by every little shiver and shake of your body, absolutely enveloped while he left kiss after kiss across your soft skin.

Talking to you in a soft voice, pulling your body back up the bed and flipping over so you could be on his chest. 

It didn’t take long for you to drift off like that. 

He didn’t blame you. 

Between work and the twins, you barely had time to take care of yourself. You rarely got restful sleep. 

He was feeling it call to him too. 

Peace. Contentment. 

Heat lingering underneath his cheek as he held you close, brushing your hair back from your face as you dreamed. Your mouth curled up, a pretty smile reflexively forming as your fingers tightened around his side. 

Some sliver of him sort of wanted to wake you, to ask what occupied your mind when you slept so soundly. But he just craned his neck down to nuzzle his nose in your hair, pulling you up another inch or two closer to cradle your body against his. 

And then you said it and shattered the illusion completely. 

“Satoru.” 

One sleepy word. Three soft syllables. 

And you broke him in a way he wasn’t sure he could repair. 

He stilled beneath you, heart lodged in his throat as he resisted the urge to throw it up. Flush it down the fucking toilet as he tried to lie to himself. 

Swear that you didn’t mean it – even if your subconscious did. 

That he wasn’t even here. 

But fuck, that look on your face, so relaxed, so raw, it made something inside him snap. 

What the hell was he thinking? 

He couldn’t do this. 

Slowly, he slipped out from underneath you, making sure to tuck the pillow under your head and cover your bare body back up with the blanket before he padded silently over to his discarded clothes. 

Choso couldn’t take just being your consolation prize. 

But the idea of going home and never coming back to you felt pretty fucking unbearable too. 

He didn’t want you to know he felt like this either.  

Hated the idea of you seeing him spiral into doubt. 

His feelings were his responsibility. He couldn’t put anything else on you – be another burden on your shoulders. He just needed time. 

Yeah, that was it. To think this through. 

Figure out if you were really ready for this. If he was ready to be what you needed while knowing he wasn’t who you needed. 

Choso had only managed to get his socks and boxers back on when he heard rustling behind him. 

You were sitting up and staring, eyes wide and worried as you watched him wordlessly. 

“I need to get Yuji,” he lied, sweat sticking to his forehead and plastering his bangs down as you blinked at him. 

“Why?” 

One word, and he nearly cracked. Changed his mind and caved in. “I forgot that we’re supposed to go see Sukuna in the morning,” he excused, shrugging his shoulders. “I should probably pick him up and head home.” 

“You’re going home?” Your voice was wound tight, but you didn’t call his bluff. 

“I should, yeah,” he muttered. 

You didn’t fight him on it. 

Just covered yourself with the blanket as you got up to grab some clean clothes from the closet. Not looking directly at him when you got dressed, mumbling under your breath that you’d let Suguru’s mother know you were picking the kids up as you sent her a text message. 

She answered the door with a soft smile for both of you, murmuring that the kids were still asleep as she let both of you in. 

“I’ll go get them,” you yawned, walking past her – and all the framed photos of men who weren’t around anymore. 

“Would you like some tea while she wakes them up?” 

Choso always had trouble saying no. 

Ending up in the kitchen, a deep line imprinting on his palms from the bite of the sharp counter’s edge as she poured him some fresh tea. 

She glanced up at him with tired eyes, holding out a steaming cup he timidly took. She wasn’t a fool. Probably figured it out from your text alone that something was up. 

“Can I ask you something?” He started, readjusting to lean against the kitchen cabinets as he looked at the ticking clock on the wall. 

“Of course,” she nodded, a fondness in her gaze that he knew wasn’t reserved for him either. 

You had told him about her son. Your fiancé’s friend. 

Commenting quietly a month after he had met her that you thought he reminded her of him.

“Do you think I’m wasting my time?” He asked, keeping his voice down as he felt all the muscles in his face involuntarily clench. Mouth twitching in a tight line as he voiced the thought haunting his mind. 

Was he just a moron for standing here wishing for someone who didn’t want him back? 

He didn’t want to be a placeholder. 

“Wasting your time doing what? Waiting for her to stop loving Satoru? Or for her to start loving you?” She asked, tilting her head to the side knowingly. 

His mouth opened, but no sounds came out. 

Unsure what question he really was trying to ask once she said the silent parts out loud. 

“She’s never going to stop loving Satoru,” Mrs. Geto calmly said, no malice or condescension, just stating a fact Choso already knew. “But you’d have to be blind to not see how far she’s fallen for you.” 

He hoped she was right. 

Would rip his heart out of his chest and hand it to you if it made it true. 

Artemis stumbled in first, sleepily rubbing her eyes and clutching a stuffed animal to her chest as the boys trailed in after her. You were behind them, but you weren’t looking at him. 

“What’s happening?” Apollo grumbled, leaning all his weight against your leg as Yuji scampered over to his big brother. 

“We’re going home,” you answered, your voice coming out all breathy, familiar heat still curling hot in his stomach just at your pitch . “And Yuji’s going home with Choso.” 

“But I thought we were-” 

“No buts,” you huffed, wrangling your kids towards the door without looking at him once. 

He knew that he might’ve screwed things up. 

Still, he didn’t think it would still be so tense a full week later. 

That when he didn’t text you good morning, you wouldn’t either. No more dinners for five. Or carpooling to school. No more cozying up on your couch while the kids fell asleep halfway through a bad movie. 

The distance didn’t make him feel any better. 

It only made him miss you more. 

Staring at the stars outside his window and wishing that he was home with you. Even if there would always be a ghost haunting its halls. Looming over the two of you no matter how much love he had to offer you. 

Was the man you loved before him still out there somewhere? 

Craving you the way he was now? 

Sympathy he hadn’t anticipated surged inside him, daring him to fully empathize with someone he wanted to hate. 

But he couldn’t hate him. 

And he couldn’t stop himself from loving you. 

So he sent you a text Saturday morning, typing and deleting a variation of the same ten words before finally hitting send.

He wasn’t lying when he said that Yuji missed the twins. Choso just didn’t know how to tell you how much he missed you too. 

But you replied back that he could bring him over if he wanted, and he refused to miss the chance to reconcile. To fix things before they ended up broken. 

Choso thought you might be a little upset. Confused by the sudden space between you. 

But you barely even glance at him when you opened the door, speaking only to Yuji as you directed him to the backyard, nodding along to his endless chirping about what he learned in school yesterday before he ran out to join the twins. 

The morning sun wasn’t too harsh yet, your side profile illuminated in the soft rays as you stepped out with them, wearing one of your favorite faded shirts he suspected belonged to him, the chain of your necklace peeking out underneath the color. 

“Are you going to say it?” You broke the silence, your stare focused solely on Yuji and Apollo chasing each other and laughing. 

“Say what?” He repeated, running his fingers through his hair, attempting to not sound as nervous as he felt. 

You scoffed, low and soft, your mouth curling down as you looked down at the grass around your bare feet. 

“I guess this is it then?” You asked, refusing to so much as glance his way. Leaning against the wall with your arms tightly folded across your chest like you were trying to protect your heart. “We’re over?”

His own practically fell through the fucking floor as he processed what you just said. 

“What?” The question came out wounded. His throat drying out as he forced himself to exhale, “Why-”

“I don’t want to waste your time,” you coldly replied, but he could hear how much you were struggling too. 

Oh god. 

You must have overheard the first part of his conversation with Mrs. Geto. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he defensively started, panic pulsing through him as he reached out to touch your arm. But you recoiled, flinching fast like his fingers would burn you. 

“I thought things were okay,” you murmured, shaking your head like the very notion was stupid now. “Was it the sex? Was I not good enough for you?”

“No, no, I swear-”

“Then what?” You snapped, finally looking back at him, your beautiful face scrunched together in pain. Big tears welling up in your pretty eyes that you were trying to blink away. 

For a second, Choso froze, stunned that he could be the reason for that. That you cared enough about this, about him to cry. 

His mouth stuck open in a moronic ‘o’ as he stumbled for the right thing to say to stop your relationship from unraveling. 

“You had your fun and fucked me. I’m just not what you wanted, right?” You were half-whispering, keeping your voice down to not alert the kids. Bottom lip quivering as you continued, “I don’t know why I thought you’d stay.” 

Fuck. 

This was not how this was supposed to go. 

He was supposed to be smoothing things over, not losing you over nothing. 

“No, baby, no,” he insisted, grabbing your hand before you could retreat even further away. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You tried to pull your hand out of his, but he wasn’t the kind of fool who would let you walk away. 

“The sex was amazing, god, you’re amazing,” Choso rambled, rushing through his words as he felt a frightening surge of anxiety at the idea of you thinking he was just using you like some scumbag. “I just, I thought everything was perfect, and after you dozed off, you said his name and I-” 

“What?” You faltered. 

“You were in my arms, and you called out for him,” he murmured, attempting to suck air in his lungs as he inhaled sharply. 

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could burst into sobs, he was pulling you back against his chest. Enveloping you in his embrace, arms wrapped around you as your body wracked with the weight of your sorrow. 

“M’sorry,” you cried, your voice muffled as your tears left damp spots in his shirt. “I-I-” 

He was stroking your hair, swallowing the lump in his throat at the sound of your broken voice. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, pressing your head against him to make sure the kids wouldn’t have to see you crying. 

Not when you tried so hard to be strong for them. Built a life around being there when their father hadn’t been. 

“I didn’t mean-” You started again, and he only pulled back to wipe the tears away beneath your eyes, thumb slowly dragging over your cheekbones. “I just haven’t had sex with anyone since-”

“You don’t have to apologize when you didn’t do it on purpose,” he reassured you, feeling that hole in his own heart chisel just a tad wider at your acknowledgement he’d been the first man to fuck you since him. “I just needed some time to sort out my own feelings.” 

“You’re still going to leave,” you mumbled, wiping your nose on your forearm as you tried to step back and recoil back. 

“I’m not,” he promised, cupping your cheek. “I’m just scared of being his stand-in. A shitty replacement for the real thing.” 

You stared back at him, taken a little aback before you shook your head, leaning into his palm. “You know you’re not.” 

He didn’t though. 

How was he supposed to believe he wasn’t second place when you wore the proof of who was first around your neck every day? 

But he couldn’t point that out. 

Not when he knew that he wasn’t being fair. 

Your former fiancé had been gone for years. It wasn’t a bad breakup, or like you lost him in some tangible way. 

You had no closure. No answers. 

Just an empty hole in your heart that Choso was doing his damndest to fill. 

He glanced back at the children, clueless as they played in the sandbox, Artemis threatening to dump a bucket on her brother while Yuji dared her to do it. 

And his chest fucking spasmed at the idea that there might be another life where they weren’t his family. 

Where you weren’t his. 

“I’ll always love Satoru. I wouldn’t have the twins without him,” you admitted, sniffling a little as you pulled yourself back together. “I wouldn’t have you either.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Aware that you were right, but having a hard time finding it in himself to be grateful. 

You were a gift.

Choso just couldn’t decide how to feel about the sender. 

“I love you,” you spoke so softly to him though, so tenderly despite how scared he could sense you were just saying the words out loud. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“I love you too,” he promised, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. 

To seal it. 

“I think we just have to work on talking to each other,” Choso added after you started to pull away, slipping a hand around your back to keep you close. “Communicate better before it turns into this.” 

He didn’t want to be the reason you cried. Be the one who broke you. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled an agreement, relaxing into him before looking back over to the twins and Yuji. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And then what?” Gojo interrupted his story, shoving a fry in his mouth with an annoyed frown. “You guys lived happily ever after?” 

Wouldn’t that be sweet? If it had been so simple? If you’d both stuck to what you swore? 

“Uh, not exactly,” he muttered. “I mean, most of it was great. But we did have a pretty bad patch.” 

Gojo freely glared at him, like he was offended at the concept of him having anything to complain about. 

“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault?” Gojo huffed. 

Some childish part of him wanted to retort that it was. 

That he spent his life fixing the damage he’d done to you by getting on the damn spaceship. 

But Choso had made his peace with that long before you were his wife. 

“You’re the one she married,” he bitterly added, jaw locked with barely concealed contempt he wasn’t bothering to hide without Artemis around. 

Apollo didn’t even want to entertain him at all, only tolerated seeing him when his sister dragged him around to family gatherings and brunches, excited to have someone to chatter about science stuff the rest of them couldn’t comprehend.  

Choso didn’t blame either of them. 

“You know, she didn’t say yes the first time I asked her to marry me,” Choso confessed, twisting his own wedding band around a wrinkled finger. 

You broke up with him, actually. 

He had tried to dull the memory over the years. Make the edges of it less sharp, enough that it didn’t taint you in his mind. 

But it still stung. 

No matter how much time had passed. No matter what he knew now that he hadn’t then. 

Choso had spent weeks planning it. 

Debating on all the different ways to do it before finally deciding that he should do something as a family. Show you how much he loved you and the twins. 

He didn’t want to just be your live-in boyfriend. 

He wanted to be the step-dad to your kids. Your husband. To slip a ring on your finger and swear to love you for the rest of his life. 

To never leave. 

He settled on making the kind of meals usually reserved for holidays, buying candles and balloons, buying a pack of rose petals to scatter on the bed. Picking out a ring he hoped you’d like and saving enough money to afford a second if you didn’t. 

Waiting for the perfect opportunity to get you out of the house long enough to set everything up only for you to hand it to him on a silver platter. 

You were distracted when he got home from work, chewing on your lip as you dropped your phone in your purse and murmured that you needed to go run a couple errands while he tried to hide his excitement. 

Maybe, if the kids hadn’t rushed over and started tugging on his jeans, distracting him with what they’d done at school, he might’ve seen your face before you walked out the door. 

Maybe it would have all played out differently. 

But he didn’t, and he’d never get to know what could’ve happened instead. 

Roping the kids into the plan was perhaps a mistake. 

But he wanted the twins' permission before he proposed. 

“I need to ask you two something,” he hummed, ruffling Apollo’s hair as Artemis squinted suspiciously at him. 

“What?” She murmured, glancing between him and Yuji, who was practically bouncing up-and-down with excitement he couldn’t contain. 

“I would like to ask your mom to marry me,” he admitted, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he measured their reactions. 

Apollo threw his arms around his leg, looking up at him with those bright blue eyes, absolutely elated. “So you’re gonna be our dad?” 

“It would make me your step-dad,” he replied as calmly as he could, still trying to respect the man who made them – even if he’d never gotten to watch them grow. “And that’s up to your mom.” 

You lived together. You told him you loved him. 

He never thought no was really an option. 

“If it makes mom happy,” Artemis murmured, a little more reluctant as she nodded. 

“That’s all I want,” Choso softly replied, smiling at her. 

She looked like a little version of you. Acted like one too sometimes. Slower to trust. Sweet underneath it all. She wanted to seem strong, but she was still soft underneath it all.

Choso had overheard her on the playground telling her one of the other kids swinging that her daddy was up in space, swearing that he’d come back after the child called her a liar. 

He felt pretty fucking shitty for his silent hopes that her father would stay up there. 

Did it make him an awful person? To want a place in your life that badly? Unsure if you would really pick him if your first choice became an option once more? 

He did what he did best though. 

Push down his anxieties and pray he never had to find out. 

“Who wants to help set everything up for her?” He asked, forcing his brightest smile as his ring sat impossibly heavy in his pocket. Weighing his heart down like a lead balloon, threatening to bury it as he tried to swallow the fear that he might fuck this up. 

But the chorus of ‘me’s and the bright faces of the kids that had all started to feel like his own was enough for him to forget about it and focus on you instead. 

Getting all the details right as he devoted himself to the dinner, letting the kids lay out the tablecloth and set the plates up – although he had to stop Yuji from accidentally setting his hair on fire when he snuck the lighter out of the drawer to light the candles Choso had set out. 

But eventually, everything was in its place, the lights adjusted and the food set out, the children all changed into nicer clothes as the twins talked about how they’d all be siblings soon. 

“What do you guys think?” Choso grinned, wiping his palms off on the apron before taking it off. 

“She’ll love it,” Apollo optimistically smiled, one of his front teeth missing from where it’d fallen out the week before and traded in for five dollars from the tooth fairy. 

Choso really hoped you would. 

It was too late to change anything, because they all heard the familiar sound of your key turning in the lock, the creak of it swinging open. The front door thudded shut, and he was pretty sure his heart was going to explode if it started pounding any harder. 

“Are you guys hungry?” You called out, your voice wavering, bordering on exhausted, pride flaring in Choso’s chest at how happy you’d be to see the spread on the table, to see the way the kids were all eagerly holding their breath, glancing between each other and nearly bouncing out of their seats. “We could order pizza or-” 

You stopped speaking the second you saw it. 

Froze in the open doorframe, your eyes going wide as you scanned over the scene. All the food and the fancy tablespread and the flickering candles, the way the kids were holding in giggles as he stepped forward to bridge the distance between you. 

“What is-” 

Choso got down on his knees mid-question slipping a hand in his jeans to clumsily grab the crushed velvet box, blinking a little too fast, mouth opening too soon as he struggled to remember the speech he rehearsed a thousand times in the mirror over the last month. 

“Um, I, uh,” he paused, spit thick in his throat that he had to swallow before continuing, “I love you, and I love our family, and I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you or the twins in it. Will you make me the happiest-” 

“I cannot believe you,” you interrupted him, shaking your head as you stepped back, your face blank, mouth hanging open as you sucked in a shallow breath. 

“What?” He blanched, barely even processing the words that had just left your lips as your expression shifted to anger, of all things.  

Brows scrunching together as you scoffed, fingers trembling as you pointed down the hall. “My room. Now.” 

The kids looked at each other, awkwardly slipping into dining chairs as if they were the ones in trouble, but Choso didn’t know what to say to soothe them when it felt like his heart was shattering too. 

Humiliation burning his cheeks as he put the ring box back, getting up off the ground and following you like some dejected puppy, hoping for his owner’s love. But the moment you were alone, the second you shut the door behind him, the way you were staring at him was closer to a stranger. 

“What the hell did you think doing that in front of my kids?” You asked, and he couldn’t comprehend what the fuck he’d done that was so bad in your book. 

“We’ve been talking about marriage for like, a year,” he argued, indignation he didn’t know how to handle boiling up inside his chest at your attitude. Glaring like he had done something so absurd to deserve it, your rejection leaving a sour taste in his mouth he didn’t think would be going away any time soon. 

“We?” You hissed, hurt written all over your face before you wiped it and replaced it with thinly-veiled resentment. “You were the one who kept bringing it up.”

His jaw dropped. 

“Are you kidding me?” Choso deadpanned, disbelief wracking through his body as he felt a shot of adrenaline begin to course through his veins, fingers flexing into a fist before he forced them to relax. 

“I was just trying to keep you happy, I didn’t think that you were serious about it,” you said, turning away from him as you buried your face in your hands for a second, breathing hard like you might be on the verge of a panic attack. 

Instinctively, he wanted to reach out. Hold you close and let you crumble while he whispered soft words to coax you through it. But he stayed still, nails digging into his palm as he found himself fuming at you for the first time ever. 

“What the fuck?” He spat, his voice starting to raise as you recoiled back even further. “Why wouldn’t you say something? Why the hell would you just let me think you wanted it too?” 

That you wanted him? 

“Don’t shout at me,” you huffed, mouth still quivering as you folded your arms tight across your chest. 

“What happened to communication?” He demanded, thinking about the fight the two of you had. How you’d sworn that you loved him and didn’t want to lose him. 

And now here you were, refusing to meet his eyes, mouth pressed in a thin line as you held your tongue. 

Something he didn’t know he’d been holding back snapped when he realized you weren’t going to reply. 

“Oh, I get it,” he grimaced, brows knitting together in frustration as his disappointment bubbled into disgust with himself for not seeing it sooner. “You don’t want to marry me because I’m not him.”

He knew the second he said it that he couldn’t take it back. 

“That’s not fucking fair and you know it,” you snapped at him, and a bitter voice in the back of his head pointed out that you were only speaking up now that he brought up your real fiancé.

“You’ll wear his ring every day and not mine,” he retorted, doubling down rather than backing out of his accusation. 

He thought you’d yell back.

That you would fight him on it. He wanted you to fight him on it. To finally let every thought you kept from out so the two of you could get out of this frustrating limbo. He didn’t care if it dropped him in hell. 

He just wanted to get somewhere with you. 

But you shut down. 

Silently staring at the floor, chest heaving as you dug your own fingers into your side.

“I really am just a fill in for you,” Choso continued, trying to get any kind of reply out of you. 

And still, you somehow found the only one he didn’t want. 

“Get out,” you whispered. 

“What?” 

“Get out.”

Everything that had been boiling seconds before abruptly stopped, the pot ripped off the burner and left him stranded in hot water as his senses finally snapped back into place. 

You had never kicked him out before. 

What the hell had he done? 

“I’m not trying to hurt you, I just, I want to understand,” he tried to backpedal, holding his hands out and stepping forward just for you to not even glance up at him. 

“I need a break,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, sounding like you were a world away.

“From this conversation? Or us?” He blanched. You were supposed to be throwing your arms around him right now. Telling him you loved him and discussing what season your wedding should be in. Not fucking dumping him. 

“This is just too much,” you muttered. 

What the fuck was that meant to mean? 

He felt helpless as he stared at you, the way your head was hanging down, shoulders slumped as you shut him out. 

“I’ll take the twins somewhere and you can get your stuff,” you added, getting up and walking around him, making up your mind without even giving him a chance to talk this out.

Watching you walk away, dumbfounded as you slipped out the door, the conversation over before it had even properly begun. 

“Are we going to be a family now?” Apollo’s hopeful voice carried through the door down the hall, and Choso rested his head against the door, wishing the conversation had gone another way and still too upset to think of a reasonable way to reach you. 

To break through the barriers you were haphazardly throwing back up. 

“Yuji and Choso aren’t going to live with us anymore, baby,” you softly said back. 

Fuck. 

You were supposed to be his wife. 

Not his ex-girlfriend. 

“You’re a fucking moron.” 

Said the jerk that left a pregnant you to go to fucking space. 

“You’re one to talk,” Choso commented, mouth curling down as he grabbed his glass to take a sip, the sight of his own aged hand reminding him that he was definitely too old for starting fights like this. 

“So she really dumped you?” Gojo grinned, irritatingly white teeth on display as he leaned forward, looking directly at him instead of the photo albums. 

“Not for that long.” 

“You should’ve fought for her more,” Gojo pointed out, before almost immediately stopping himself, brows scrunching together like he realized what he was saying and who he was saying it to. 

“I thought she didn’t want a future with me,” he shrugged. “Not when she was still thinking about what one would’ve looked like with you.” 

Always stuck in the same position. 

Torn between wanting your heart and wishing that he wasn’t second-place in it. 

“If I could’ve been there,” Gojo started, genuine remorse bleeding through, and Choso remembered once again why he’d never been able to bring himself to loathe the man you loved. 

Because they both loved you. 

“I know,” Choso murmured. “I sorta wished sometimes that you would just show up if it meant she would be happy.” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

You weren’t sure you had ever been so fucking miserable. 

Breaking up with Choso had nearly broken you. 

You hadn’t seen him since you came back home to find every trace of him and Yuji gone. Hadn’t said his name since you had to explain to Apollo that you were going to switch him over to a new soccer team for the summer. Artemis had asked if you were happy, giving you that look like she could see through the stories you tried to keep up for them. All you could do was twist the necklace and tell her that her and her brother were all you ever needed. 

But she had wanted to go to a sleepaway space camp for the summer, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no when everything you would have planned with Choso had fallen through. So she was hours away, gone for weeks while Apollo was busy with his own soccer camp and sleepovers with friends from school. 

When he was home, he was just complaining about how much he hated the older kids in the 9-12 group he’d gotten stuck in, muttering under his breath that his old team was better. 

You sort of thought if you stayed busy with him, you could forget about all the other stuff. 

Shut out the awful spiralling that started in your head every time you laid down in your cold, empty bed and rolled onto your side to see the unwrinkled spot next to you. 

Picturing your pretty dark-haired man there, his eyes lazily opening and noticing you staring before pulling you into a warm embrace. Waking up in a daze from a dream where your blue-eyed boy was still holding onto you, murmuring that it was all just a nightmare and to go back to sleep. 

Now you didn’t have either of them. 

God, you couldn’t even pull yourself together enough to send a video message to Satoru like you used to, staring at the unused webcam when you got ready every day and lacking the strength to even sit in front of it and say something. Couldn’t bring yourself to call your therapist either, cancelling appointments over text and shrugging your shoulders to swear that you were fine. 

You wanted to believe that you could heal from this. That there was still real happiness to be found somewhere between the lines of hurt and heartache. 

But it didn’t feel like it when you pulled into the parking lot for one of Apollo’s exhibition tournaments and he started bouncing around in the backseat swearing he was sure you passed by Yuji. 

Shit. 

God, you were sure that he wouldn’t be here. 

Yuji was in so many sports, and Choso usually coached younger kids anyway, so what the hell-

“Can I please go say hi, mom?” Apollo begged as you stopped the car. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” you nodded, going ahead and practicing your smile when the muscles to make it were a little rusty. 

The second you had slung your chair over your shoulder and opened the door for Apollo, he was sprinting over to the grassy area, Yuji’s voice calling out his name as a boy you didn’t recognize protectively puffing up his chest as he stepped between the two of them. 

“Who’s this, brother?” The boy asked, looking back to Yuji as he stepped out from around him. 

“Apollo, are you playing?” He chirped, his loose soccer jersey swaying as he rushed over.

“Yeah,” he nodded, deflating the moment he noticed how close Yuji was with his new friend. “My team kinda sucks though.” 

There really weren’t many feelings worse than watching your kid go through something you didn’t know how to help them with. 

Seeing the shock scrawled all over their face the second they thought they were replaceable. 

“You think we’ll play against each other then?” Yuji asked, grinning with a gap in his teeth, one that must have fallen out this month. 

“We’ll definitely beat you,” the other boy boasted, and you knew you shouldn’t hate a kid, but you sorta did. 

And then you looked up, glancing around just to see Choso approaching – but he was too busy talking to a blonde to notice you with his brother. Her hand on his forearm, leaning forward as he spoke all seriously about something, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she listened intently to every word. 

You hated her. 

Almost as much as you missed him. 

But you couldn’t deal with either emotion. Had no way to defend or deflect it, just putting your hand on Apollo’s shoulder and nudging him away, “Sorry, but, uh, I should get him to start his drills. It was good to see you, Yuji.” 

You didn’t stay long enough to see what kind of accusatory stare he’d give you for breaking his brother’s heart. Or run the risk of Choso coming over and catching you clinging to the remnants of your relationship by letting Apollo hang around Yuji. Rushing off to find the right field, a sick feeling spreading across your stomach, filling your lungs and choking up your throat as you set up your chair and tried to tell yourself that the chance of Yuji playing against Apollo was slim considering how many teams there were here today. 

But luck hadn’t decided to grace you today.

Because standing across the field twenty minutes later, in his stupidly attractive jersey and shorts, Choso was tying half his hair up off his face, bending over to listen to Yuji before looking over to see where Apollo was sitting on a bench, a cap hiding the steaks of white from the sun as he kicked his feet and waited for the game to start. 

You saw the way his mouth pulled tight. How his jaw clenched before he looked over to the sidelines, starting to scan it before you looked back down in your lap, pretending to be interested in something on your phone instead of staring at him. 

Just one game. 

That was all, you told yourself. 

You could make it through that. 

But fuck, it would have been so much more bearable if she wasn’t a few seats away once it started. 

Loathing didn’t quite cover the jealousy simmering inside you at the way her pretty blonde hair cascaded down her back and gleamed in the sun, how freely she bounced and cheered, clapping her hands together and calling out Yuji’s name in a chipper voice along with her own kid. 

The one who called Yuji brother. 

That was how it was now. 

Choso wanted a happy family. So he started one with some other soccer mom, huh? 

It had only been two fucking months. 

How the hell could he just move on like that? 

Maybe you broke it off, but he could have at least pretended to be bent out of shape about it when he had said he wanted to marry you. 

Were you just not that serious? Had the past few years really meant that little to him? 

Every time she cheered for Yuji felt like a fresh stab. 

It was hard to hold back your annoyance when Apollo was struggling on the field too, all his older teammates refusing to pass the ball to him on the rare chance that he got to play. 

And then came the moment that her kid knocked Apollo down, big tears welling up in his blue eyes as the ref called it and his coach had to pull him off the field for good. He tried not to cry. To hold it in and not seem like a baby in front of the big kids. 

But rage was boiling inside you, injustice at how fucking unfair everything always for you. 

You were trying to fight for your kids. 

It wasn’t like you had someone other than Suguru’s mother to rely on. Not really. 

No one else understood. 

Knew what it was like to lose your whole world and then have to hold it together anyway. To never get closure and still be expected to just move on like nothing happened. Like you weren’t reminded of what you were missing every moment of every day. 

Apollo’s team lost. And you were still trying to be the mature adult you knew he needed you to be as you folded your chair back up and slung it over your shoulder, hurrying over as he nursed his scraped knee, still trying not to sob as he bottled it all in. 

But Choso beat you there. 

Kneeling down on the ground and putting a bandaid over it as he smiled at your son softly. You used to love the way he cared for your children like they were his own. But now you were second-guessing if maybe that was just who he was, that it never had anything to do with you.  

“-did great out there, okay? You should be proud of yourself,” he spoke gently, using all the right words as you tried not to wince. But Apollo smiled, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, ignoring the dirt and grass sticking to it before throwing himself at Choso in a big hug. 

Arms wrapped around his neck before you could move forward fast enough to pry him off. Choso patted his back, but you were already trying to pick him off yourself, swallowing the pain threatening to close your throat. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Couldn’t think straight.

Clouded with so much distress it felt like someone had embedded sharp shards of glass in every fiber and muscle of your body, limbs robotically moving as you mentally replayed what your last conversation had been.

“Can we go out for ice cream? Please? Like we used to?” Apollo blurted out, and you hated that you knew he would hold the refusal that was about to leave your lips against you. 

Choso opened his mouth to reply, hesitating as your eyes actually met his for the first time, and you wondered if he could see the hurt in yours as the lump in his throat bobbed. 

“Choso!” The blonde called out, her tits bouncing in her shirt as she waved to him. “Time to pass out snacks!” 

“Choso’s busy, sweetheart,” you said, picking Apollo up, his long legs dangling as he kicked, trying to get put back down. Trying to save yourself from the scene of him begging for attention from a guy who wasn’t his father. 

Even if you both wanted him to be. 

He watched you leave. 

Didn’t try to make you stay. 

That wasn’t who he was, you guessed. 

No, he just wanted to throw a ring at you on the second worst day of your life and toss the fact that you’d lost the father of your children back in your face when you were on the verge of a breakdown. 

Apollo pouted the entire way back to the car, his little nose scrunched up as you pulled out of the parking lot, muttering that he didn’t want to play soccer anymore. 

You tried to talk him out of it, saying that the next game would be better. 

But you didn’t know if he believed you. 

Not with the way he was dramatically staring out the window the rest of the ride home, switching between having  arms folded across his chest and fidgeting with the seatbelt. 

“I know you’re upset, but-” 

“I’m fine,” he stubbornly insisted, shaking his head. He had his cap back on, unable to make out any of his white hair underneath it as his blue eyes looked up at you through the mirror. “Are you?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, even though you knew he wasn’t stupid. 

He wasn’t as scientifically minded as Satoru, or Artemis, but he read you like a book. Saw in between the lines without you having to say anything. 

“I want to sleepover at grandma’s house,” Apollo murmured, diverting his stare  as you swallowed your pride and shrugged. 

“Okay,” you muttered. “I’m sure she’d like that.” 

Suguru’s mom had never said no to either of the twins. 

And when you brought him over in the evening, watching him run straight back to the spare room she made for them, hearing faint rummaging and rustling noises as he pulled out toys to play on his own. 

“I take it the game didn’t go so well?” She asked, fine lines and wrinkles really starting to show on her soft, tanned skin. Wisdom you wished you had even a small sliver of in her kind smile as you flopped down on her couch. 

“Choso was there,” you muttered, your stupid heart stuttering just saying his name. 

“Oh?” That piqued her interest. 

She always liked him. Told him that he was good for you. Good for the kids. 

But you could see how much he reminded her of Suguru. Always chalked it up to her seeing some of her son in him. 

“He already moved on,” you bitterly huffed.. “Some other soccer mom was practically all over him. God, her kid even called Yuji brother.” 

“Honey, are you sure? Did you speak to him?” She started, trying to be careful with her words as you scoffed louder.

“No, but-” 

“Have you spoken to him at all since you broke up?” She pressed, and you could only shake your head. 

What the hell were you supposed to say? You were broken up. 

It wasn’t like you had his number blocked.

But he hadn’t reached out either. 

“That boy loves you,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t just-” 

“He left me,” you muttered. 

Well, you left him. 

But if he loved you, he wouldn’t have let you leave. Just stood there when you walked away. 

You had made that mistake before. You let Satoru go. Trusted him to come back. 

He didn’t. 

And you were the one who had been stitching yourself back up every time his memory tore your heart back open. 

But how were you supposed to marry a man who couldn’t tell when you had come undone? That you were falling apart in front of him? 

“Did you want him to stay?” She asked, and you knew the answer instantly, no matter how hard it was to actually say it. 

Of course you wanted him to stay anyway. 

Even though knowing that felt like betraying Satoru. 

“I should go home,” you murmured, picking yourself back up off the couch and snagging your purse from the floor as you threw a long look down the hall to where Apollo was, debating on peeking in to tell him good night before deciding against interrupting him. “Just, uh, call me when I should come get him.” 

Or just walk next door. 

The house was horribly quiet. 

Your footsteps echoing as you returned to your room, the silence following wherever you went as you stripped and showered, scrubbing your skin raw with soap and sighing at your blurred reflection in the fogged-up mirror after you got out feeling no fucking cleaner than you had when you stepped in.

Truthfully, you didn’t really want to look at yourself anyway. 

Clinging to the towel you wrapped yourself in, staring at the clothes in your closet as you searched for something to hide yourself in, settling on an oversized hoodie you’d bought before either man you were wrecked over. 

Throwing on pajama shorts too, wondering whether or not it was worth wasting an hour scrolling through shows and movies searching for stuff to watch or giving up and crawling into bed when you heard a knock on your front door. 

A flicker of relief slipped in, thinking that Suguru’s mom must be bringing Apollo back, that maybe he changed his mind and you could offer to let him stay up late watching whatever movie he wanted together as you scurried back towards it. 

You didn’t even ask before pulling it open, but you stopped in your tracks the second you saw who was on the other side. 

“Hey,” Choso greeted, the single word shoved out unceremoniously as you just stood there and stared.

“What are you-” 

“She, uh, called me,” he muttered, jutting his thumb over to the house next door. He had changed into an outfit you missed seeing him in. A sweater you used to steal of his, thick and cozy, in your favorite shade of purple. Jeans that were well worn. His hair was a little damp too, bangs framing his handsome face as the dim lighting made his dark eyes hard to read. “If you want me to go-” 

“You didn’t speak to me today,” you pointed out, not that you made the effort to talk to him either. Picking a fight in the first five seconds. 

“I didn’t think it was a good idea,” Choso sheepishly answered, and before you realized it, you were stepping aside, letting him back in. Although, you guessed it was better than letting half the neighborhood hear you bicker. 

“Yeah, I’m sure your new girlfriend wouldn't be happy with you talking to your ex,” you defensively said, gritting your teeth as he shut the door behind him. Throwing you a confused glance before he fully turned to you with his thick brows all pinched together. 

“What are you talking about?” He shook his head dismissively. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t see the new soccer mom all over you?” You snapped at him. Your jealousy was plain to see, painfully obvious as the words came out all wounded and weak. 

“Are you talking about Yuki?” He asked, his lips parting as you imagined her mouth meeting them.

“Oh, is that her name?” You spat it out, backing away as you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “She’s pretty, huh?” 

Did he think she was prettier than you? That he upgraded? 

The worst part was you could barely recognize yourself right now. 

You didn’t want this to be you. Petty and pathetic and pining over something you were trying to damndest not to want. 

Since when were you so insecure? So jealous that you were starting an argument with Choso because you couldn’t get a fucking grip on yourself? 

“She is,” Choso agreed, and you wanted to throw up. 

Ruin his sweater like he ruined your day. 

You didn’t know what face you made, but whatever it was, however wrecked you must have seen before you could recover, he softened. Unlocking his jaw as his eyes crinkled, exhaling slowly. 

“I’m not into her like that,” he added. Treacherous respite rippled through your body, but you held onto your anger, resisting everything you instinctually wanted to do around him. “But, we’re not together anymore. We can see other people without-” 

“You proposed to me two months ago,” you pointed out, but the accusatory tone didn’t really do much when it came out half an octave too high. A horribly familiar lump was growing in your throat, heat crawling up your cheeks dangerously close to your eyes. “If you actually loved me, you wouldn’t just move on like we were nothing.” 

“I’m not just moving on, it’s just,” he paused, budding frustration threatening to boil over as he took a small step closer. Standing in front of you as if he was the victim, like everything was all your fault for being the fucked up one in your relationship. “I should be allowed to heal however I need to heal.” 

For a second, you couldn’t stand him. His maturity. His rationality. The way he was still collected when it felt like someone had plucked out all your seams and left you to crumble. 

Tears you couldn’t stop welling up, a choked sound coming out before your broken words, “I’m sorry I was such a horrible girlfriend you have to do so much healing.” 

“I’m healing from your rejection,” he clarified, but you couldn’t stop yourself from crying, rubbing underneath your eyes as you tried to stop yourself, scoffing a little as you tried to reel yourself back in. 

“You had an out from the beginning,” you sniffled, although it sounded more like a huff. “I told you I didn’t want to waste your time.” 

He recoiled at the reminder, and panic sprung back up, hot and bright, burning your throat. You wanted to take what you said back. 

But you were too stubborn to say that. “Our relationship wasn’t wasted time,” he muttered, and there was a hint of remorse in his tone. Disappointment that things didn’t work out the way either of you wanted. “But this argument is.” 

You were about to throw out a retort, ask him what that was supposed to mean, but then he was walking away, sweater stretched across his broad back as he started towards the door, and you were bridging the gap between you, snagging his sleeve to stop him. 

“You’re just going to leave again? Like that?” You asked, voice quivering as you forced your stare to harden. He looked down at you like it was taking everything inside him not to give in too. 

“You wanted to break up,” he murmured, and you bit down on the raw spot you chewed in your cheek, ignoring the taste of blood on your tongue as the temptation to take it all back grew harder and harder to resist. “I was stupid to think that maybe we could talk things through tonight.” 

He began to slip away again, and impulsively, you were pulling him down by his sweater, your mouth crashing into his to reclaim him in a manic kiss. 

You sort of thought he would push you away. 

Tell you that he was really done this time. Through with you and all the baggage he’d have to bear being yours. 

But then his calloused palm was cupping your cheek and he was kissing you back twice as hard, returning the fever with his own heat. It seared through you, fried your nerves as his tongue slipped past your lips, his nose nudging against yours while his body pressed up against yours. Clumsily forced back a few steps until you were both falling on the couch, sandwiched between his heavy chest and the stained cushions. 

Having sex with your ex was almost always a mistake. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to let Choso go. 

“I hate how much I love you,” he muttered when the kiss broke, and your pulse picked up, self-loathing sinking into you as it struck you how much your fuck-ups were fucking him up too. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, weak and almost whimpering as your apology came out sincere this time. 

You weren’t even sure which crime of yours you were apologizing for. 

Breaking up with him to begin with. Forcing him to bear the weight of your burdens. Being too emotionally constipated to communicate what was haunting you without turning it into a fight. 

“Show me then,” Choso dared, his usually low voice dropping down to damn near dangerous while his intense stare narrowed, studying your face for some sign that you meant it. 

And then you were tethering your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another rushed kiss, shutting out all the thoughts of how many sins you were trying to atone for. 

You spent so long trying to be strong for the twins. For Choso. For yourself. 

But you were so tired. So exhausted from expending all your energy putting on a show pretending to be fine when you just kept failing. 

Couldn’t you just let it go for a little bit? Let yourself love Choso without holding back? 

His hands were slipping underneath the soft fabric of your hoodie, phantom shivers racing down your spine as he nudged your thighs further apart with his knee. You could feel each finger, how they tentatively ghosted across your side up to your chest, greedily grabbing a handful of one of your breasts, nothing shy or reserved about it. 

No soft questions of if it was okay, or if you wanted more, just taking what he wanted. 

And you were willing to give it. 

To let him have all of your body when you struggled to hand over your heart. 

Kissing him came easy. His palms pressed so firmly against your skin, pulling at the soft muscle and tender flesh, his lips fitting so nicely between your own as his nose nuzzled against you. The connection you had been fighting was too intense for you to resist his pull, the intimacy that used to terrify you slipping its tendrils around you and wrapping around you so tight you didn’t think you’d ever be able to escape the hold he had on you. 

He pulled away, and you were left chasing the kiss, craning your neck up, whining and missing him the moment his mouth wasn’t on yours. 

That was the truth, wasn’t it? 

You had missed him the moment he stopped being yours. You were used to loneliness. To being lost in your head and longing for someone. 

So why the hell did it feel so different with him? So visceral and raw to accept that he might move on if you couldn’t give him what he wanted? What he deserved? 

“You don’t want me but you don’t want me to go,” he accused, and you were shaking your head, pulling him back down by his hair as you locked your thighs around his waist. 

“I do want you,” you admitted, brows knitting together tightly as you practically begged him to believe you. 

Your heart and your head might both be a mess. 

But you could pick out that brutal fact between the wreckage any day. If you didn’t want him, it wouldn’t hurt half as bad as it did right now to see him hurt. 

Like he was concerned you could change your mind (or maybe before he changed his), his grip slid back down to your hips, pulling you up some so he could get your clothes off. Adjusting down so he could shimmy your shorts and panties down your thighs in one go, 

You awkwardly lifted your arms, and he was half-ripping the hoodie off of you, but the moment it was off, he was flipping you over in one rough move, one hand on the back of your neck to press your face into your throw pillow. 

He left his clothes on. 

All his shields still up when it came to you. 

Your body trembled, cool air hitting your ass as you heard the rustle of him pulling down his pants behind you. 

Usually the sex was slow with him. An hour long affair of foreplay and making out, rolling around the sheets before taking turns giving each other head, drawing out an orgasm or two before he actually fucked you, or you even rode him. 

You were in uncharted territory. 

On the outskirts of his heart instead of taking up space inside of it. 

He ran his other palm over your ass, slowly trekking over your spine and letting out a low exhale you couldn’t decipher. You tried to look back at him, but the fingers on the back of your neck kept you firmly in place, sinking in a little deeper to get you to stay. 

You shouldn’t be soaked. But you could feel the dampness leaking down your thighs, your hips aching to wiggle a little and entice him into just fucking you into feeling something other than sorry for yourself. 

There was no prep. 

Just him tentatively testing how wet you were with his swollen tip before smoothly sliding in, a drawn-out hiss leaving his throat at the way your warmth wrapped around him the same way it had a thousand times before. 

You wanted him to kiss you again. Would even settle for a handful of pecks pressed to your shoulder blade or a few tracing up your throat. 

But you didn’t feel like you had the right to make any kind of requests from him right now. 

“C-Choso,” you whispered, your voice muffled into the pillow as your walls clamped down around him mid-thrust, squeezing as he shoved his way past the first ring of resistance. 

“Don’t,” he murmured, and if he didn’t already feel so good inside you, you might’ve broken down from that single word. 

Don’t what? 

Call out for him? 

“Not unless you’re mine.” 

You knew what he was asking of you. To give him the pieces of you that you were still desperately clinging onto. To let go of the ones that were someone else’s. 

His mouth hovered over your shoulder, so close to touching and still so far away, a little squeak escaping as his cock rubbed right into a spot he knew was sensitive. 

“When you close your eyes, are you picturing me? Or him?” 

The raw sound of his voice ripped through you, painfully piercing your heart as his hips pinned you to the cushions. Bottomed out and buried inside like he was aching to claim you completely and utterly as his own, his teeth finally skimming over your throat as a moan involuntarily slipped out. 

“You,” you half-whispered, and you could see his face in your head now, dark and dreamy and dragging you over the coals of a fading fire. The fight you used to have in you, the one that kept you dreaming for the life you lost, dying out.

Choso had fire of his own. It was tamed, controlled, where the flames wouldn’t hurt if they licked your skin. A warm hearth you could curl up by without fear of being burned. 

“Promise me,” he grunted, the springs beneath you creaking as he thrusted right where he knew you’d crumble and crack, your pleasure memorized like it was his favorite book. 

“It’s you,” you echoed, a whimper echoing in your living room as his back pressed flat against your own, his hand moving your hair off the nape of your neck so he could kiss you again. Mouth leaving a messy trail of kisses, each consecutive one making the invisible thread in your stomach tense and tighten, pulled taut as he pounded you into the couch with no mercy. 

“I said promise,” he groaned just before biting down, your wrecked whine just making his cock twitch as his free hand slipped around your side, roughly beginning to rub your clit like you weren’t already on the brink of breaking. 

“I p-promise,” you stammered, clawing at the cheap pillow for grip, each of his thrusts threatening to make you jolt. But he didn’t stop fucking into you faster, no matter how hard you were clamping down around him, thighs trembling and toes curling at the force of his rough strokes. 

So stuffed you thought you were going to snap, strangled noises buried into the pillow as his thick fingers worked your sensitive bud, his mouth littering your neck with what you hoped were love bites. 

Even if he wasn’t fucking you the way he usually did, Choso was still Choso. 

Still made sure you came first, waiting until your breathy gasps turned into a broken moan, shuddering as he painted white splotches across your vision, cumming and crying his name, ruined and half-limp underneath his body. 

Hiding your face in the pillow as hot tears welled up in your eyes, knowing it would probably leave damp spots after this was over. 

Were the two of you still over? 

Now probably wasn’t the time to ask. 

He pulled out at the last second, hand furiously pumping his cock, cum spurting out to spill all across your bare back as you started to come back down to earth from your climax. 

Waiting for him to say something first, shutting your eyes as you struggled to catch your breath, the metal of your necklace pressing hard into your chest as his weight shifted. Carefully moving off of you instead of collapsing like he used to. Sometimes you could spend half an hour afterwards just with his body melting onto yours, playing with each other’s hair or listening to him murmur about whatever was on his mind. Letting him trace pretty shapes over your skin while he swore he adored you. 

“I got some in your hair,” he mumbled instead.

Oh. 

Right. 

“We can shower,” you offered quietly, turning your head to the side, but still barely able to make out any of him in your peripheral vision. 

You thought he’d turn you down. 

Leave anyway now that he fucked you. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

There was no big conversation. No emotional breakthrough under the hot water. 

Choso cleaned you with the same attention he always had. Scrubbing your skin with the loofah, massaging your scalp when he washed your hair. 

Taking care of you like a lover. 

Even if you didn’t deserve it. 

You knew you should have a proper conversation. Address what had landed you here, adjusting the water and pretending not to notice the ghost in the room. 

But then the shower was over, and he was stepping out first, tying a towel loosely around his defined hips, water droplets still clinging to his happy trail as he handed you your own towel wordlessly. Was this just how things were going to be from now on? 

You watched him in the steamy mirror as you dried yourself off, searched him for remorse before he bent over to pick up his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans.  

“Yuji wants me to pick him up from Todo’s,” he muttered, looking back at you with an uncertain expression. 

“Oh,” you muttered, stomach twisting with discomfort you once again didn’t want to vocalize. Todo. Wasn’t he the one that belonged to the blonde? “So Yuki’s place?” 

And despite what he said earlier, a poisonous part of you whispered that he might be going over to just repeat what he’d done with her instead. 

That perhaps he had just picked up those moves from being in her bed. 

“Yeah,” he casually confirmed with a small nod. 

You didn’t know what to say. 

How to bring up your insecurity when you couldn’t even commit to him how he wanted in the first place. 

So instead you deflected, biting down on your bottom lip before tilting your head to the side, “Do, um, you wanna come back over tomorrow?” 

Surprise registered on his face, and he slowly nodded. 

“What time?” 

He was at your door the next afternoon while the kids were off at camp. 

And the one after that. 

Keeping your bed warm for an entire week, fucking you into your mattress like he was hoping to leave an imprint by the time he finished. To permanently press the shape of your bodies into the sheets, mold it around both of you while he molded you around him in everything from mating presses to reverse cowgirl. Any position where he could make a point in seeing how hard you would cum for him. Even in the shower afterwards when he was supposed to be cleaning you up. 

Kissing you from the moment he crossed the threshold to the time he left. Desperate ones that gave away the craving you both shared, the hunger that seemed to spread and sink you further into starvation. 

You didn’t know what this was. 

What your relationship with him would be once the summer camps were over and you wouldn’t have the time to spare for having steamy sex with your sorta-ex. 

“Shit,” he groaned, throwing his head back, the outline of his Adam's apple bobbing hard in his throat as you stole a glance over your shoulder at him. On your hands and knees, cum sticking to your ass and connecting your skin to his cock as he came a few seconds after you. His muscled abs glistened in the fading daylight, toned ridges and divots on display as he finished fucking his frustrations out on you doggy-style. 

Pulling out instead of using condoms, the risk of it making your stomach flutter all funny even if you had a hard time imagining yourself ever having another kid. 

You knew he wanted one though. 

Another conversation you’d been avoiding. 

But before you could even consider broaching it, your phone started to buzz beside the bed, and he was leaning over to pick it up for you, face softening as he held it out. 

“It’s Artemis,” he muttered. 

“Shit, okay,” you blinked, climbing off the bed in a hurry to grab your robe off the back of your desk chair, hastily throwing it on and tying it around your waist before rushing back to take it. 

You barely got to speak to her since she’d been so busy with her space camp. 

Answering before it could end, biting your lip as the facetime automatically connected, the image of her all fuzzy and blurred for a few seconds before becoming clear. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” you greeted, heart rapidly thumping in your chest as you made sure she wouldn’t be able to see the rest of your room.

“I missed you, mom,” she grinned. 

Artemis had a light in her eyes that you missed. That spark, that gleam of excitement that was infectious, smiling easily back at her as she pushed a planetary model in front of the camera to show off. 

“Check it out. Do you like it?” She beamed, proud of her work as you instinctively thought of what Satoru would make of it. How he’d probably grin and goad her into going over every detail. How happy he’d be that she was into the same stuff as him. 

“I love it,” you promised, nodding along as she started rambling about how they were learning about worm holes earlier, bouncing up and down as you tried to not let the sinking pit in your stomach swallow you up with how much she reminded you of her father. 

But if he was really still here, would he be here to see this? Or would he still be choosing work over the three of you? 

You were so distracted, you didn’t hear Choso creeping back up until you felt the weight of him against your back, bending over to rest his chin on your collarbone as he saw Artemis’ project on your phone. 

“You made that all by yourself?” He asked, and you could see his soft smile on your screen, admiring her work like she was his. The pretty picture of a perfect father. “Choso?” Artemis blinked, mouth falling open and nose scrunching up in surprise as she looked back at you with sheer confusion. 

You stammered something out, a weak excuse about her brother calling, ending the call before you had to actually answer her reasonable questions about what you were doing with him. Turning back the second you were sure she wouldn’t overhear, scoffing as you shook your head at him. 

“Why did you do that?” You asked, blowing a short puff of air out of your nose as his palms settled on your hips. 

“Do what? Talk to Artemis? We’re back together,” He said it as if it was obvious, and you reflexively wanted to refuse. To sabotage the slice of heaven you were living in for the past week. 

“I never said that.”

The moment those four words left your lips, you wanted to put them back. 

Freezing as his hands fell away from you, loathing yourself for letting this happen, seeing how hard and fast he recoiled from you.

“I’m such a fucking moron,” he muttered, turning around and grabbing his sweater from the bed, pulling it over his head as your body seized with dread. “You’re just using me. You never wanted a life with me.” 

“No,” you breathed the word, but you were already sure it was too late. You screwed it up again. “I didn’t-” 

“Stop with the stupid lies,” he shook his head, not believing you. 

“Stay, please,” you half-whispered, the slowly-growing guilt gripping your heart encasing it completely. “I wasn’t trying to-” 

“To what?” He interrupted. 

“I panicked,” you weakly explained, an excuse forming on your tongue about not wanting to confuse the kids anymore, but he wasn’t about to let it go this time. 

“Why don’t you want to marry me?” He bluntly asked. 

No room for wiggling out of the conversation or wishing it away when it meant watching him walk out your door again. 

You had to be honest. 

No matter how much your brain was trying to convince you that you were just jinxing it. Cursing him to follow the same fate as your former fiancé by saying the words out loud. Condemning yourself by tying yourself down to someone you were scared would slip away too.   

“The day you proposed,” you hesitated, holding your breath as you swallowed hard. “While you weren’t here, someone from NASA stopped by that afternoon to tell me Satoru had officially been declared dead.” 

You didn’t know why it had even surprised you. 

All the years he’d been gone, the excuses his old coworkers had offered started to dry up, the same old stories they sold you not holding the same hope. 

And now they were admitting there wasn’t any. 

Satoru was dead to them. 

And you didn’t even really get to be a widow. 

“I went to his grave after you got home, but I just, I don’t know how to say goodbye to him,” you muttered, thinking about how it felt to sit there knowing his body would never be buried by his headstone. About the life he deserved and never got. Where he got to be a father and a husband and be a family. “And then you came home and pulled out the ring, and it was like everything was happening all over again.” 

The memory of it was a blur, your head a complete mess as an awful as intrusive thoughts threw everything you were terrified of straight in your face. 

Telling you that you were just replacing Satoru. That he would hate you if he knew you had moved on. Insisted that if you said yes, Choso wouldn’t stick around either. 

So scared that he’d leave you too, that you nearly lost him anyway. 

“Baby, if you had told me-” 

“I know,” your voice broke, body trembling as he wrapped a warm arm around your shoulders to tug you into a tender embrace. “I should’ve said something. But I didn’t know how to bring it up and I just shut down, and-” 

“If I had waited, would you have said yes?” He asked, and you couldn’t answer straight away. 

Was it a betrayal to Satoru to say yes? 

Or were you losing the best thing in your life by clinging onto the ghost of a man who hadn’t loved you enough to listen and stay in the first place? 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t want another proposal if it ends in losing the person I love.” 

Looking up at him anxiously, waiting for the foundation you were standing on to crack and crumble – for him to prove you right. For the world to rip him away now that you admitted that you loved him enough to fear living without him too. 

“The only way you’ll lose me is if you keep pushing me away,” he comforted you, and you wanted to cry. 

“I don’t want to push you away,” you mumbled. 

“Then let me in,” he whispered, pulling you onto the bed and placing you on his lap. Letting you curl up on him, holding you tight like he was trying to make it clear he wasn’t going to let you go. 

Your sniffles turned into soft sobs, all the tears you’d been holding in, all the mourning you’d been rejecting released the moment you had someone to lean on. 

“Are you still seeing your therapist?” He pressed, and you hung your head lower.  

“No,” you confessed through the tears. “I haven’t been since we broke up.” 

“You need to go back,” he softly goaded, and you knew he was right. That you were only hurting yourself the more you held it all in. 

“Could, um, you go with me?” You muttered, unsure and anxious as you searched his face for some sign that you weren’t making a mistake, rubbing the damp streaks off of your cheeks as he nodded. 

“If you want me there,” he muttered. 

And you could finally admit to yourself that you did. 

That you wanted there when you went to sleep, and when you woke up, and for everything in between. 

“I want you here for everything,” you whispered. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t see what you were going through-” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

“So what? The second she thinks I’m dead she decides to marry you?” Gojo interrupted his retelling of it, Choso’s mouth finding it hard not to frown at how much he sort of reminded him of you. Seeing the bits of his personality that had melted into yours, picturing how the two of you might have worked together if the positions were reversed. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Choso muttered. 

“That’s what it sounds like,” he retorted. 

His phone vibrated on the table, Artemis' name flashing on the screen before Gojo snatched it off and shoved it in his pocket. 

“You can answer that,” Choso muttered, shrugging his shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable sharing a daughter, but she was too grown for him to say anything about it. And between the twins, she was the one who always had a soft spot for the father she lost to the very thing she was studying. 

Of course she was going to be excited that he was home. 

Even if some things were better left in her imagination than in real life. 

Choso had never planned on meeting him. Never considered what he might actually be like.

Although he did find it a little annoying that he was somehow even more obsessed and in love with you than he ever conceived. 

“I’ll call her back later,” Gojo answered, but there was a nervous glint to his eyes as he cleared his throat before picking up his fork to shove some food in his mouth, still talking mid-chew. “How long, exactly, did it take for you to marry my-” 

He nearly said fiancée. 

But Gojo corrected himself, clearing his throat, “Her.” 

“Your friend’s mother, she, uh, got cancer a year later,” Choso muttered, still a little haunted by the look on your face when she announced it. At the hard memories always attached to the good ones. “The doctors thought she only had six months to live.”

“Oh,” Gojo muttered, a crease forming between his brows on his pretty, wrinkle-free face. 

“It changed things.” 

If it hadn’t been for her, he wasn’t sure if the two of you would’ve found your way back together at all. 

It had been her birthday. All of you over at her house, the kids playing in the living room while you helped her clean up. Choso was supposed to be keeping an eye on the twins and Yuji, but he was within earshot of your conversation, beating a level that was too hard for them on the game console she’d bought them last Christmas.

He nearly died the second he heard the words terminally ill leave her mouth, using every ounce of his self-composure not to snap his head around and ask all the questions he was itching to know. But then the kids would notice, and the idea of the twins realizing that they were about to lose the closest thing they had to a grandparent was enough to make him hold onto his cool. Force his face into a neutral expression as he clicked buttons haphazardly. 

“You can get a second opinion, or, or-” You were stumbling over your words, in denial as Mrs. Geto tutted at you. 

“Sometimes, it’s just a person’s time,” she softly said. “I’ve lived a long life. A happy one.” 

Choso glanced back right as your entire face fell, devastation obvious in every line etched into your skin, shaking your head hard as you rejected it. 

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. 

“I want to be with my husband and son,” she said, and you were trying so hard not to cry. Eyes watering with tears you were quick to blink away. “I’ve made my peace with it.” 

Choso knew you. Could see how hard you were resisting the urge to say that you wanted her here too. 

“Don’t give me that look, dear,” she lightly said, reading you like an open book too. “All I want now is to know that you’ll be okay when I’m gone. All three of you.” 

You might not be her daughter. But you were damn near close to it after nearly a decade of leaning on each other for support. 

“You know Choso takes good care of us,” you softly replied, your voice barely audible as you sniffled. Rubbing your face from the spot you’d frozen in, lip still quivering. 

“He does, doesn’t he?” She knowingly said, and you were nodding. 

“He’s great,” you reiterated, and even when the timing was terrible, he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude at hearing you speak about him like that. On you counting on him. 

“Not great enough to marry?” 

He almost flinched. 

A game over screen flashing across the TV as the kids groaned in unison, little fingers poking and pushing and telling him to try again. 

“I don’t need his last name to know I love him,” you muttered. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t marry him,” she argued, and Choso felt his chest constrict, wondering whether or not he should even be listening when she started talking about Suguru, so fondly, recounting a memory of his father, her husband, the weight of her missing them present in every syllable. “Even if it hurts sometimes, I wouldn’t take any of it back.” 

You knew what that felt like. 

Choso could see the contemplation scrawled across your face, struggling to keep his focus on the game as Mrs. Geto continued. 

“You’ve known him longer than Satoru, sweetheart,” she guided, touching your shoulder tenderly as he caught a glimpse of you chewing on your lip. “He loves you just as much.”

It wasn’t a competition. 

Even if sometimes did feel like he was fighting a phantom for your love. 

“He would understand if you went all in with him,” she spoke gently. “All any of us have ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

You were about to start bawling, but you held it in, nodding along like you knew she was right. And Choso was already planning on sending her a gift basket the next day with all her favorite foods and snacks, including a note promising to make time to take her to any appointments she needed. 

“I loved Satoru like he was my own too, but even if they came back tomorrow, I don’t know if he’d be the one that’s right for you now, dear,” she gently goaded, guiding you as you sucked in a sharp breath. 

Choso waited for you to shake your head, to tell her that she was wrong. 

But you didn’t. 

And he was still thinking about what you were thinking that night. You told him about her illness after the kids had fallen asleep in their beds, sitting up with a pillow pressed against your chest as you gave him that look you always did when you were deep in thought. 

He pretended not to know, just wrapping his arms around you to offer whatever comfort you needed. He wasn’t going to push. Press about marriage just because you had spoken with Mrs. Geto about it. 

Truthfully, he didn’t expect anything to actually come of it. 

He understood your reservations. Those fears you were still working through with your therapist. 

So you caught him off guard when you looked up at him with wide eyes and nervously asked, “Do you still think about marrying me?” 

“Of course I do,” he answered a little too fast. “But I understand why you don’t want to.” 

He would take a forever of being your boyfriend than a future where you weren’t anything to him. 

“Why do you want to?” You asked, the question coming out slightly stilted, a hint of something he had a hard time placing. It wasn’t dismissive. Not completely curious, more like, searching for confirmation from him. 

“You already know I’m in love with you,” he murmured, reaching over to brush his fingers across your cheek. “And how much I love our family.” 

You and the twins. The way you readily accepted Yuji as their sibling. Loved his little brother without hesitation. 

“I want to grow old with you. Spend as many moments of our lives together as we can. Watch the kids graduate and get families of their own,” he mumbled, finding more confidence with each sentence as you leaned into his hand. “I want to write cheesy vows and say them in front of all our friends. I want Yuji to be my best man and Apollo to carry the rings while Artemis tosses flower petals down the aisle.” And fuck, when you were looking at him like that, like you wanted all of it and more too, he nearly melted on the spot. 

“I want to see you in a white dress, walking towards me while I cry at how beautiful you are,” Choso whispered, his gravelly voice standing out in the soft silence, the sound of crickets chirping through the cracked window as a breeze filtered in. “But really, I just want you to choose me. Forever.”

He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life waiting and wondering if he was the one you wanted. 

You swallowed hard, your hand reaching over to graze against his fingers affectionately. 

“Ask me again,” you breathed.

He stared for a moment, barely believing what had just left your lips. But the moment it sunk in, he was rushing off the bed, nearly stumbling towards his nightstand, pulling it open and rummaging through everything to find the ring box he tucked in the back when he moved in with you again. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, a ghost of a smile curling up on your lips as you watched him hurry to get down on one knee and pop open the box, revealing the ring you didn’t get to see last time. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Gojo looked like he was about to puke over the photo album in front of him. 

There you were, standing in your wedding dress, Choso’s hand slung on your waist as you leaned into him. Mrs. Geto was by your side, using a walker as her illness left her struggling to get around the way she used to. Yuji clinging onto the leg of his tux, grinning and sticking his tongue out at the photographer by his new step-siblings. Artemis and Apollo were in front of you, your bouquet in her hands while Apollo beamed at the camera, proud of himself for doing a good job not tripping or falling with the rings. 

“She’s glowing,” Gojo murmured, tracing over your face down to the wedding dress, face twisting up in pained tension. Maybe thinking of what his photos might have looked like with you. 

All his plans wrecked by his own confidence that the world would bend to what he wanted. 

And before Choso could really react, tears welled up in his blue eyes, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to hide the fact he was crying at the photo. 

“She was pregnant,” Choso explained, feeling himself getting choked up too thinking about that year. “It wasn’t planned.” 

Honestly, when you told him, stepping out of the bathroom with a positive test, that nervous glint of pure fear in your eyes as you held it out, he was sure you were going to tell him you didn’t want it. 

That you could marry him, but you would draw the line at having his kid. Sure that you wouldn’t want to put your body through it again, especially ten years after having twins. 

But you just anxiously asked if he wanted it, if he thought the two of you could really handle it. 

“How was it?” Gojo asked, a surprising sincerity to the question. Genuinely wanting to know, maybe because he missed his chance to go through it with you. Only got a handful of videos you sent when you were pregnant. Didn’t get to be there for the sonograms, or the appointments, or the birth. 

Missed buying baby clothes and painting a nursery. Picking out names together. 

Although, it had been you who suggested naming her Keso, after one of his brothers who passed when he was younger. “It was hard, sometimes,” he admitted. The later months especially. Your anxiety picking up the closer your due date came, convinced that something would go wrong, going to see your therapist every other week until your delivery date.  “But our daughter was healthy, and I was there to help her recover.” 

Choso never left you once. 

Was there for every diaper change and late night feed. Comforted every time he picked up his little girl relief he hadn’t expected blooming in his chest at having one that looked like him. He had told himself it wouldn’t matter. That he would’ve loved a little girl that looked like you too. Especially since he already adored Artemis. 

But it was nice to know that strangers would see his girl and know she was absolutely his. 

Gojo had only met her once since she came back at a big family dinner, and she was too preoccupied with her own husband and kids now to care about the man her mother once loved, just offering him an awkward smile before going back to talking to Artemis. 

He was wiping his face, pretending like he hadn’t been crying as he flipped the pages back in the photo album, finding one where you were sprawled out in the backyard on a towel and smiling at the camera, shielding your face from the sun. Artemis was laying next to you, her head buried in a book. 

“Can I have this one?” He asked, and Choso wanted to say no. 

Not let him have any more pieces of you than he’d already stolen. 

But it was hard to actually say no when he knew there was a second copy of the photo underneath, reluctantly nodding. “I suppose.” 

“I’m glad she got to move on,” he mumbled, not that it sounded even remotely truthful. The only thing there was regret. “That she could forget about me.” 

“I meant what I said,” Choso sighed, turning more serious as he looked into those frustratingly familiar eyes. He loved you too much to hate him. Loved Apollo and Artemis too much to loathe the man he had to thank for them. “She never forgot you.”

Gojo was the one who was struggling to swallow the fact he had to share your heart with someone else now. 

“Yeah,” he dismissively muttered, lips pressing together. 

“When she got sick a few years ago, her memory started to go too,” Choso reluctantly broached his least favorite subject, recalling the long months of watching you waste away. “Eventually, she forgot almost everything. Except you.” 

Gojo didn’t know what to say. 

Sitting there stunned as he stared at Choso, finding it too hard to meet his eyes and turning his attention to the wedding band still on his fourth finger. 

“She couldn’t remember the twins or our grandkids. But she still talked about you. Called me your name a couple times when I helped her get out of bed. Looked up at the sky and told everyone who visited that you were up there,” Choso admitted, his voice wavering as he tried his damndest not to hold it against you. To remember all the decades that had come before that when you were more than happy to be his. “Swore that her husband was just with the stars for a little bit before he’d come back for her.” 

He wasn’t quite as emotional as he had once been. But it was hard to not break down at the fact that he’d lost you long before you passed away. 

That in the end, he hadn’t carved himself deep enough into you to be the one you recalled. 

Sure, you still had moments of clarity. Rare days where you were almost like your old self, where you’d kiss him and hold him and swear you loved him more than anything. 

And those were enough. You were enough. Even when there was barely anything left. 

“We both loved her,” Choso murmured, although love didn’t seem like a big enough word for it. He had a feeling that Gojo would understand anyway. Know what he was trying to get at here. That they’d both felt the full spectrum of emotions, the highest highs and the lowest lows that came with worshipping you. “And lost her too.” 

“Yeah,” Gojo whispered. “I guess we did.”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Choso exhaled, taking one last sip of his drink. “Losing her all at once like you or seeing her disappear piece by piece.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and Choso looked up to see the way his face had scrunched up, his brows furrowed as he twisted around the wedding band he started wearing too. The one you bought for him once upon a time. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Choso shook his head. 

If anyone understood what it was like to miss you, it was him. Even if he spent most of his adult life despising him to some degree.

But Gojo was still staring at him with guilt he hadn’t anticipated. Like he knew everything was his fault and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

Choso contemplated telling him that there wasn’t anything left to fix. 

It wasn’t like he could go back in time to change anything. And even if he could, Choso wouldn’t change a single moment. Not when he’d gotten you. Gotten his daughter – and two bonus kids. 

His life had been filled with your warmth and laughter and a million smiles he wouldn’t trade for anything. 

Even if the ending had been a bit lackluster. Even if he had to spend the next ten years on his own wishing you were still around. 

“I’m going to Apollo’s place,” he announced. “His daughter brought her baby over.” 

Awkwardly extending an invitation even if his son wouldn’t exactly be thrilled at having the father that was now younger than him around. 

“Oh,” Gojo said, his mouth curling down like he knew it too. 

Recognized where he wasn’t wanted. 

It might be too late for Apollo. But he still had time to get to know the rest of his family if he stopped focusing on the past and learned to live in the present. 

“Don’t you want to come spend some time with your great grandson?” Choso asked, his voice coming out gravelly as his knee ached with the effort of standing. Gojo’s stare flicked down at his lap, towards the pocket he shoved his phone in. 

And even though Artemis didn’t share his physical features, he recognized that distracted look of hers in Gojo now, like he was working out a problem too complex for anyone else to solve. 

“I’ll, uh, catch you guys there later,” he excused, running his thumb over the edge of the photo. 

He didn’t have the energy left in him to convince him to come. 

Gojo would just have to learn for himself how little time there was left with the people he loved in this life. 

Choso supposed he should consider himself lucky. At least he got to spend most of his by your side. 

It wasn’t jealousy that plagued him as he collected his photo albums, the proof of every year you’d given him while Gojo was gone, but pure pity. 

If only he had the foresight to realize how misplaced his empathy was. 

But even if he had, he wasn’t the one who could turn back time. 

The white-haired one.

You hadn’t caught his name; somehow it never came up, but you clocked him the moment you stepped off the shuttle and into the airy lobby. He was tall, toned, and unfairly attractive in that model kind of way, with a lopsided smile that could probably bankrupt you if he wanted. He worked the beachside part of the resort—bartending, towel service, checking on guests. There was something playful and aloof in the way he lingered when he spoke to you, something that made your stomach dip…and not just from the endless margaritas.

You’d tried to keep it subtle—your wandering glances, your slightly suggestive thank-you’s. But the truth was, the moment your hormones got wind of the proximity of that man and this heat? Your body went rogue. Nothing wrong with a vacay fling, even if it was probably one-sided. 

Now here you were, two days into your stay, half-sprawled across a cushioned lounge chair, letting the sun toast your skin while lazily pretending to read the same page of your romance novel over and over.

You reapplied sunscreen to your arms, the bottle sticky in your hand. You could feel the heat radiating off your back, reminding you how long you’d been lying here. Just as you were debating whether to brave the awkward gymnastics of doing your own back, movement from the corner of your eye caught your attention.

There he was. Perfect timing!

“Hey!” you called out, lifting your sunglasses with one hand to get a better look at him. The sight was even more rewarding than usual. His white hair looked almost silver under the sun, and the short-sleeved white uniform he wore did absolutely nothing to hide the strength in his arms.

He turned his head and gave you a soft grin, walking over.

“Everything alright?” he asked, eyes sliding briefly to the book in your lap and then back to your face.

“I was wondering,” you said, shaking the bottle of sunscreen, “if you could help me rub the rest of this in? I can never get my back properly.”

He took the bottle from your hand without hesitation, fingers brushing yours. “Of course,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

Turning over on the chaise, you shifted your head to the side so you could peek at him, not so discreetly. The side cushion was more comfortable anyway, two birds with one stone. 

The first touch sent a small jolt up your spine. His hands were cool, slick with lotion, but they warmed quickly against your sun-drenched skin. He started with your shoulders, working the lotion in slow, broad strokes—palms gliding, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. You didn’t expect his touch to be so intimate. Not inappropriate, just lingering. Familiar, almost.

“Oh wait,” you murmured, reaching behind to fumble with the knot at your back. “I should untie this.” Your nails scraped together as you struggled with the slick strings. He was already moving closer.

“Let me,” he offered, voice low and steady. And with one simple tug, the knot fell loose. The straps dropped harmlessly to your sides.

“Thanks,” you said softly. 

He didn’t respond with words, just continued his careful work, hands now gliding lower. Down your shoulder blades. Across the curve of your spine. The silence between you buzzed with something more than just shared air. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into the sensation. His hands were strong but considerate, slightly calloused, probably from working with his hands all day. They lingered on the small of your back, thumbs grazing the top of your hips in teasing, circular motions. “Lower,” you mumbled, surprised at how hoarse your voice sounded. He hummed a little, maybe satisfied with the praise or maybe just enjoying himself. Either way, you weren’t mad.

“Right here?” he asked, as his hands moved lower, massaging the top of your glutes. His thumbs flirted with the edges of your bikini bottoms, and your legs instinctively pressed together.

Your breath hitched. “Yeah…there.”

He stayed there a beat longer than necessary. Maybe two.

You bit your lip, half-turning your head. “You always give this kind of service?” he chuckled, still focused on your glowing skin. 

“Only to my favorites.” 

“Mmm, keep going,” you smiled. “So thoughtful.” He did. Down your back, over your sides. His palms were warm now, smoothing over you like he was trying to memorize something. You arched a little, involuntarily, and you knew he caught it.

The pads of his thumbs grazed your lower back, flirting with the curve of your hips, inching close to the bottom of your swimsuit.

Your voice came out softer this time. “A little lower.”

He didn’t speak. Just adjusted his position, the heat of him is closer now. His hands slipped just low enough to make you hold your breath, sliding over the round of your ass in one slow, full stroke.

You felt the corner of his mouth tilt. “You like that?”

Your breath caught. “Don’t play.”

“Who’s playing?” His hands didn’t stop. He massaged like he meant, like he wanted to see how far you’d let him go without pulling away.

You stayed still. Mostly.

“Is this allowed?” you whispered, more to yourself.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he smirked, fingers trailing slowly up your side, grazing just under your ribs. You could feel your pulse between your thighs, your body aching in that low, hormonal way you hadn’t felt in ages. You hadn’t expected to want someone so bad on this trip—and definitely not someone who was supposed to be off-limits.

His hands found the strings of your bikini bottoms and untied the strings, his eyes never leaving yours. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop him. He kissed down your spine, the curve of your waist, your hip. Every motion unhurried, each one stretching seconds longer than the last.

Pulling you by your hips up onto your knees on the lounge, one of your legs dangling off. He peeled the bikini bottom off, dipping in between your thighs. The moment his mouth met your heated skin, a shudder ripped through you, your fingers twisting into the cushioned lounger beneath you. His tongue was relentless, lapping at your slick with a hunger that made your thighs tremble. The sound of him, wet, obscene, greedy— sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you, your back arching instinctively, seeking more.

"Fuck" you gasped, your voice breaking as his lips sealed around your clit, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur. His hands, those damn hands, slid under your hips, gripping hard, yanking you closer until his nose brushed against your sensitive skin, his breath hot and uneven against you.

He didn't just taste you, he devoured you. His fingers twitched with restraint. Now, nothing was holding him back. His tongue dragged slow, torturous circles around your clit before flattening against it, pressing down just enough to make you see stars.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he murmured against you, the vibrations sending a jolt straight to your core. The fact that he thought about it made you impossibly wetter. His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading you wider, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there, leaving little marks you'd feel later. “I could tell you wanted this since day one.” 

You couldn't deny it, not when your body was reacting like this, not when every flick of his tongue had your legs shaking, your breath coming in ragged pants. The sun beat down on your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat pooling low in your stomach, tightening with every sinful stroke of his tongue. 

Then his fingers joined, two slipping inside you without warning, curling just right, and you whined, your hands gripping the pillow. He groaned against you, the sound muffled but unmistakable; he liked that. Liked how responsive you were, how easily you came apart for him.

"That's it," he coaxed, his voice rough, his lips brushing against your clit as he spoke. "Let me hear you. Let me feel how much you love this." 

And you did. You couldn't stop the noises spilling from your lips, the broken "yes, yes, fuck" as his fingers pumped into you, his thumb circling your clit in tight, relentless motions.

The pleasure built so fast it was dizzying, your body coiling tighter and tighter until you came with a cry. Your thighs shaking, your toes curling as the orgasm tore through you. He didn't let up, didn't give you a second to recover— just kept licking, kept fucking you with his fingers. Drawing out every last shuddering wave until you were gasping, oversensitive, your hands pushing weakly at his head.

"Too much!" you whimpered, but he only chuckled, pressing one last, filthy kiss to your inner thigh before pulling back, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Can't get enough baby," he murmured, dragging his thumb through your slick one last time before bringing it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a smirk. "Not when you taste this good."

Your chest heaved, your skin flushed and sticky with sweat and sunscreen and him. You should've been embarrassed, should've been scrambling to cover yourself, to regain some semblance of dignity. But all you could do was stare at him. 

The moment his fingers slipped out of you, you felt the loss like a physical ache, your body clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled again. His smirk was downright sinful as he licked his lips, dragging the flat of his tongue over his bottom lip like he was savoring the last drop of you. The sight sent a fresh pulse of heat between your thighs, your skin prickling with the need to have him closer, to feel more.

"Turn over," he directed, voice rough, his hands already guiding your hips before you could process the command. Your body obeyed before your mind caught up, rolling onto your back, the lounger creaking beneath you. The sun blazed overhead, but all you could focus on was the way his gaze raked over you. Your chest rising and falling rapidly, your nipples pebbled under the fabric of your bikini top, holding it in so it wouldn't fall. The mess he'd made between your thighs glistened under the sunlight.

He tugged your bikini top down slowly, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he bared you completely. The breeze ghosted over your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth when he leaned down, sealing his lips around one peaked bud. You gasped, back arching off the lounger, your fingers tangling in his hair, soft, surprisingly silken. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in torturous little circles.

"You're such a tease," you groaned, your hips lifting off the cushion, seeking friction, seeking him.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibrations making you squirm. "Impatient," he teased, his free hand sliding down your stomach, fingers dipping between your folds without hesitation. You were so wet, so swollen. His fingers slid through your slick with obscene ease, gathering it before dragging his fingertips in slow, maddening circles around your clit.

"You're dripping," he groaned, his voice thick with want. "All for me, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, your breath hitching as his fingers pressed harder. His touch is just shy of rough, just enough to make your thighs tremble. His mouth moved to your other nipple, teeth grazing the peak before sucking it deep, his fingers never stopping. 

"Please," you finally choked out, your voice wrecked. Not really one to beg, but it seems he brought out many new things about you. 

"Please what?" he grinned, pulling back just enough to watch your face as his fingers slid lower, dipping inside you just barely—just the tips, curling enough to make your hips jerk.

"I want you, don't wanna wait.” 

His grin was wolfish. "Since you asked so nicely," you hadn't noticed his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing how ripped he was under the button-up shirt. You heard the sound of his zipper, the rustle of fabric. “It's Satoru, by the way.” 

Oh god.

The blunt head of his cock nudged against your entrance, and you whimpered, pushing back against him instinctively. "Eager," he teased, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed forward, his cock stretching you open in one slow, relentless thrust.

You choked on a moan, your fingers clawing at the cushion beneath you as he bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass. He was huge, thick, pulsing inside you, filling you completely.

"Fuck," he hissed, his voice strained. "You're so tight." He didn't give you time to adjust, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the force of it driving you forward, your hands pressed against the chest and the back of the chair for leverage. You cried out, the pleasure so intense, your walls fluttering around him as he set a brutal pace. His hips snapping against yours with every thrust, hitting your sweet spot deliciously as you cried his name.

"Look at you," he growled, one hand fisting in your ass, gripping just enough to make your back arch. "Taking me so fucking good. Bet you'll remember my name now."

You could only moan, your words lost in the haze of pleasure, your body moving with his, meeting every thrust with a roll of your hips. His hand gripped your thigh, his other hand sliding around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, fast circles.

The double stimulation was too much; your orgasm built again, faster this time, your body coiling tighter and tighter. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough, his thrusts growing erratic.

You shattered.

Your climax hit you like a freight train, your body clamping down on him as pleasure exploded through you, your cries muffled against the lounger. He fucked you through it, wiping the tears off your cheeks. “Where do you want it, baby?” 

“I-inside!”

He let out a low moan, his own release hitting him hard. His hips stuttering, cock pulsing inside you as he came with a groan, his fingers digging into your skin as he filled you, hot and deep. 

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the distant crash of waves. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, "Still think I'm just here for towels and massages?"

You laughed, breathless and spent, your body still thrumming with pleasure. "Best. Massage. Ever."

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling out, the loss of him making you whimper. "Good," he said, his voice smug. "Because we're far from done."

━━

Being back at work after your vacation was a change. Looking out the large window, you reminisced about the villa, and especially your little fling. The entire trio, he would come and eat you out till you cried whenever he found you, be it on the window reader or by the door if he was particularly impatient. And fuck you into whatever surface was nearest. 

God, you missed him. 

It's been 8 months since your short but sweet vacation. You debated giving him your number, but by the time you were packing up and checking out, he was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully the next time you visited he would be there as well, until then you would continue life like you hadn't lost the best dick and head you've had. 

Although you spent most of your time working, you did try to make time with your friends and go out on the weekends you were free. Downtown was your hotspot, especially the clubs, the best you've ever been to; lucky you were cool enough with the bouncers to get in free.

The music was good and the drinks were better. Tending your sweet cocktail, you enjoyed the buzz you were getting. Thankfully, you weren't the one driving tonight; however, next week, you were back on duty. 

Realizing you finished your drink, you started to find your friends dancing up against the other groups of people on the floor. Over all the heads of people, your eyes caught one single head of white hair. Your heart stuttered as you walked towards them, pushing past tipsy dancers. 

It couldn't be him, but you couldn't help but check. Fixing your hair, making sure there weren't any strange pieces around your face that shouldn't be. The height alone was a dead giveaway; not many guys were over 6 feet with white hair, even with dim lighting, you had a gut feeling that it was him. 

Tapping his shoulder, ready to see a stranger's face and not the face that's been appearing in your late-night fantasies. Bracing for disappointment, you started preparing an apology. 

Your name fell from familiar lips, the way he said it sent a shiver up your spine. You stared in shock, and he gave you a tight hug, kissing you on the cheek. 

“It really is you.” you hugged back, breathing in the scent you'd dreamt of. He laughed, pulling you by the waist to his side. He started introducing you to his friends, explaining he was on vacation, even taking you to their booth. Both of you clicked like you hadn't seen each other in almost a year. 

Your leg kicker up over his, letting his hands twirl your hair in his fingers. Leaning down toward your ear, moving the hair away from it, kissing the sides. You decided to ask the question sitting in the back of your mind. “How long are you here for?”

“A week,” he smirked, looking at your face, cerulean eyes peeking from those gorgeous white lashes. You were familiar with that glint in his eye, the way they twinkled put you under a trance. 

“Are you going to leave without a goodbye this time?” 

“I’m sorry about that, baby. Can you forgive me?” he smiled against your hand, kissing it. “Might not want to leave.” 

He's lucky you're forgiving.

—

The lab was quiet. Another experiment gone wrong— his sixth attempt— and Satoru Gojo did not fail six times. Period. The word alone was foreign to him. Chemicals he shouldn't have gotten ahold of. A lab he had full access to. He was like a kid in a candy shop, and if anyone could pull this off, it was him.

Failed. Again.

Sleep pulled at him harder than it should have. Just an hour. His body could handle three days without sleep—one hour would be fine. When he woke, drool had smeared weeks of data into illegibility. He groaned, dabbing at the page. And then he froze. Beakers that had been meticulously cleaned now had fingerprints. Ones he didn't place.

Someone else had been here.

Listening, Satoru whipped his head around the room, eyes trying to catch anything in sight. Slightly panicked, no one else was meant to be here; if there was, he would be royally fucked. Facing the intruder, seeing a mirror reflection of himself, wherever his shirt had gone, along with his pants, and everything else.

Stopping in his tracks, he patted his body, making sure he was indeed wearing clothes and not raw dogging it in a lab.

Staring like a deer in headlights, Satoru watched as he(?) clenched his finger, moving his appendages like they were new and getting accustomed to them. Except it wasn't Satoru moving, but someone else who looked exactly like him.

Identical.

"Yo, what the fuck?!" the voice called out, the same to his, but had a little bit of an edge to it, not noticeable to the average listener. "Who are you?"

"I should be saying the same to you..." His eyes narrowed approaching the figure cautiously, like a stray cat on the streets that was particularly aggressive.

It was almost impossible for him to have a doppelganger who looked this similar to him, and it's not like he had a secret twin hiding somewhere; he hoped not, at least.

Satoru tried coming up with some sort of explanation, anything to explain the man before him. "A clone...perhaps?" he mumbled.

"So that's your what, hypothesis?" Satoru, the clone, asked, catching onto Satoru's drift. "What the hell is with this red and blue goo anyway?" he scoffed, wiping the remaining off of his skin.

"How did you get in that?"

"I woke up with it," he said as though the answer was obvious. "You seriously think I would roll around in mystery shit for fun?" he rolled his eyes.

Satoru finally came to the realization that perhaps it was not something out of this world coincidence, but rather his own calculated mistake in his own.

A wicked grin spread across his face. Either he has finally lost his mind from inhaling copious amounts of chemicals, or he has done something even more wonderful!

Life, not only a new life but an existing life of himself!

He couldn't possibly let this scientific breakthrough slip through his fingers. Life with his replica was uneventful, to say the least. It was hell trying to get his new experiment back home with him. Satoru told himself it would be worth it in the end, so he persevered.

For science!

He let Satoru 2.0 do what he wanted, being like himself in most aspects. Habits, diet, and build were similar. Intelligence surely differed in more ways than one. Satoru 2.0 seemed to lack the knowledge he had. He wasn't disappointed, not in the slightest; this only aided his research.

A few days in, and he had 8 pages of notes on the clone. He didn't know if or when this experiment would end. Satoru was going to make the most of this.

Personality was different; the man before him was crude and lacked the reserve Satoru had. It was like he came from a different universe. Satoru groaned in his seat, getting a headache from all the hypotheses filling his head. He'd resorted to calling him Satoru 2.0—referring to someone who wasn't technically someone else by his own name only confused his thoughts.

All Satoru 2.0 did was complain.

Satoru suspects he only does it to provoke him. It was working. He heard his own voice in his head enough, hearing it externally while his thoughts were running amok, too fast for him to grasp; his eye twitched.

"Is this what you do all day?" Satoru says, head dangling off the bed. Satoru had spent most of the day studying and documenting whatever Satoru 2.0 did. It was obvious he was itching to get outside.

Satoru didn't want to risk being out the same time and people catching on that there were more than two Satorus. They were completely different; he would be appalled if others thought they were the same person.

"Pretty much... I mean, sometimes I play D&D or a quick battle of Digimon." Satoru shrugged.

"Dude, you're seriously lame as hell," the other grimaced. "I thought your closet was the only depressing thing in here," he acts as though he isn't wearing his clothes. Sure, it was styled differently, lacking one of Satoru's flannel shirts, which he threatened to burn if it came close enough to touch his skin. "I am starting to doubt we are the same person."

"Based on our DNA results and the corroborating information, I can assure you that we are the same person." He said matter-of-factly, his clone groaned loudly, stopping whatever scientific rambling that Satoru was about to proudly go on.

"C'mon, bro, let's go out, what's the Greek life out here?" he sat up, a mischievous grin on his face."Ya' know-"

"Don't need it." Satoru quickly responded. He has never been much of a partier, much less into fraternities. There was no substantial appeal to him. Dirty, crowded houses of inebriated peers did not seem attractive in the slightest.

Alcohol dulled the senses anyway; he preferred to stay aware. The taste alone was revolting.

"Fine, stay here cooped up in here like some city rat. I don't care, but I am losing my fucking mind in here." Satoru 2.0 whined, staring outside the window.

He knew there was a party today, reading one of the texts on Satoru's phone, prompting his continuous whining. Satoru was skeptical about what his clone would do; they shared the same appearance, and he would prefer keeping his clean slate reputation on top of his stellar grades. "Imagine what kind of research you could get out of this."

"Research? What kind?" Intrigued, Satoru whirled his chair around, giving his full attention.

"You're the genius here, think about it." He wasn't wrong; there was substantial research to be found when his replica interacted with others besides himself. A change of environment was an essential scientific process.

"It's a win-win. I get to get the fuck out of here, and you get to analyze or whatever you do," he bargained, hand pushing his hair out of the way, a habit Satoru quickly wrote down. Perhaps Satoru 2.0 wasn't completely asinine.

"Fine, but you must report back everything. Interactions, behaviors, everything."

"Whatever, whatever." Satoru 2.0 lost no time readying himself, taking Satoru's spare phone. He seemed to work the technology just fine.

—

When he arrived, he didn't expect his nerd ass counterpart to know more than 4 people, himself included. To his surprise, a man with brown hair met him at the door, thoroughly shocked to see his face.

"S-Satoru?! No way— I didn't think you'd show up!" Haibara said, a name Satoru soon learned as he led him into the house. A smell Satoru had savored after he's been stuck in that lame apartment. It was just as good hearing his own name rather than 'Satoru 2.0'.

"You look so different, man, what's with the switch up?" he asked, pouring him a concoction from a jug into a red solo cup. "Almost didn't recognise you," he laughed.

Satoru shrugged, taking the cup and throwing back half of it in one go. The burn was welcome. "Needed a change of pace. Been cooped up too long."

Haibara's eyes went wide. "Dude, you never drink. Last time someone tried to get you to take a shot, you gave them a twenty-minute lecture on ethyl alcohol's effect on synaptic transmission."

"People change," he smirked.

The party was everything Satoru had been craving. Bodies pressed together, bass vibrating through the floorboards, the sticky-sweet smell of cheap alcohol.

This was living. This was what that lab rat was missing out on while he categorized his fucking beakers by size and color. He genuinely did not see the allure; while he nerded out over aspects of life, he would be living it out in this strange place.

He'd been working the room for about an hour, charming his way through clusters of people who apparently knew "Satoru" but couldn't quite place this version of him. The glasses were gone, for one.

Rolling the sleeves of the plain black t-shirt he'd found in the original's disappointing wardrobe. The shirt was too big on him—well, on them technically—but he'd made it work, the fabric draping in a way that suggested he'd just thrown it on without caring, which he had.

"Yo, 'Toru!" A voice cut through the noise, and he turned to find a guy with black frosted tips waving him over to a corner where a group had gathered around someone sitting on a couch. "Get over here, man. We're doing shots."

Now that caught his attention.

He sauntered over, pushing through the crowd with the easy confidence that apparently didn't come standard with his model. The weirdo probably would've stammered something about germ theory and backed away slowly. Fucking nerd.

And then he saw you.

You were sprawled across the couch, tiny skirt riding up just enough, legs stretched out with a red solo cup balanced on your thigh. Your eyes met his, and something sparked recognition, sure, but something else too. Interest.

"You're in my spot," he said, grinning down at you. Your long nails tapped the cup nervously, eyes glancing around as if you didn't know he was talking to you.

Your eyebrow furrowed. "Pretty sure I was here first."

"Yeah, but I'm prettier."

The laugh you gave him was worth the corny line. "You wish, Gojo."

So you knew his name, that's even more Interesting. Dweeb hadn't mentioned anyone worth mentioning, or anyone at all other than a scientist, but here you were, looking at him.

He was pretty sure you were not one of the figures Satoru spent hunched over his desk reading about. He dropped onto the couch beside you, closer than necessary, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours. "You gonna save me a shot, or what?"

You held up the cup between your legs. "Come get it."

—

Satoru left his seat, kneeling, spreading your legs as he placed the shot in between your thighs, your skirt hiking up to reveal more of your thighs. You almost didn't recognise him in his new get-up or attitude.

"Don't be shy, baby." He smirked. You didn't even know the dorky little shit could ever be like this. So charming, sexy.

His hands covered the tops of your thighs, head dipping lower to the plastic red solo cup rested in-between the the flesh.

He buried his head in your thighs, slurping the liquid from inside the cup. It was too much. He was really putting on a show. He was hot, and he knew it, just as much as he knew the answers to all the professor's questions.

Taking up all the class time he could, taking up as much space in between your ever-so shaky legs. It made you wonder if this was even the same guy, thought interrupted by his finger groping your thighs.

Your mind started to glitch, wondering what he would look like if there weren't as many people here, if your panties and skirt were off, and him licking up the wetness in your panties and not the cheap alcohol.

Fuck, you didn't even care if the others watched. You wouldn't usually get down in front of so many people, so suddenly, even. Did it really count as a record if you already knew him, spending most of the semester staring at his hair?

He was good eye candy, especially in a class you barely understood. Satoru wasn't your typical pick, well, not previously. The nerd thing was cute and all, but seeing him like this was making your pussy flutter.

His cerulean eyes look up at you, not behind a pair of thick glasses, watching you watch him. As if he were seeing your reaction.

The tips of his ears were tinged pink, even brighter in contrast with his bright white hair. You wanted to touch him so bad, take him away so that you could get the real thing.

Holding back, you lean your head back, holding your hand over your mouth to stop from saying something stupid or worse. The display was bordering on pornographic, which didn't bother you; you've done worse in worse places.

Satoru picked up the rim of the cup, tongue going up the sides, placing it flat to the rim.

Fuck...

The rest of the party blurred after that. He stayed glued to your side, hand finding your waist, then your thigh, then your waist again, like he couldn't decide where he wanted to touch but knew he needed to be touching you somewhere.

You learned things about him—about this side of him—that didn't match the guy from class at all. He reminded you of the frat guys you used to mess with, a lot smoother and a hell of a lot cuter.

You never met one who wasn't a dick for brains, at least.

But when you asked about class, about Professor Yaga's lecture on cellular biology, he went quiet for a beat too long before deflecting. "Don't wanna talk about school at a party, babe. That's against the rules."

That was suspicious to say the least, you would've thought, given the chance to 'nerd off', he'd take it happily. You brushed it off even as the thought lingered in your head.

You should've noticed then. Should've caught the discrepancy. But his hand had slipped lower, thumb tracing circles on the inside of your thigh, and rational thought had packed its bags and left the building.

He grinned, sharp and wolfish. "Made me wanna find out if you taste better than cheap vodka." You fell back onto the seat, pulling him with you.

When you mentioned you wanted a change of scenery, eyelashes falling low as you played with the thin chain around his neck. A move you have performed more times than you can count. Realisation dawned on his face as he led you to a car outside.

"Only one way to find out."

He didn't need more encouragement than that.

His mouth found your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin there while his hands worked your top. Impatient. Desperate. Like he couldn't get you naked fast enough. You felt the same way, fingers fumbling with his belt, his jeans, needing to feel him, all of him, right now. Your patience was shorter than the skirt you were wearing.

"Fuck, you're so soft," he groaned against your collarbone, pushing your top aside to reveal the lace underneath. His thumb traced the edge of your bra, teasing, watching your face for every reaction. "Been thinking about these tits since I saw you on that couch. Wanna put my mouth all over 'em."

"Then do it."

He did.

His mouth was hot and wet and perfect, sucking marks into the swell of your breasts before finally, finally pulling down the lace and taking your nipple between his lips. You gasped, back arching off the bed, and he hummed in appreciation, the vibration making you squirm.

"That's it," he murmured against your skin. "Love how responsive you are. Gonna make you feel so good, baby."

His hand slid down your stomach, past the waistband of your skirt, fingers dipping between your thighs. You were already wet. "Fuck. You're soaked."

"Do something about it, Toru," you managed, breath hitching as his fingers found your clit through your panties.

He laughed, low and dirty. "I like the way you think."

He pulled back then, settling himself between your legs with a purpose that made your stomach flip.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your thong, dragging them down your legs slowly, agonizingly slowly, watching the reveal like it was the best thing he'd seen all night.

"Pretty," he observed, running a thumb through your folds, spreading your wetness. "So fuckin' pretty."

He ate pussy like he was getting a grade for it. His tongue worked you with a rhythm that bordered on cruel, soft and teasing one moment, firm and demanding the next.

His fingers joined in, two of them sliding inside you with an ease that made you moan, made your hips buck against his face.

"You like that?" he asked, words muffled against your cunt. "Yeah, I can feel how much you like it. Squeezing my fingers so tight, baby." You couldn't form words, could only moan and grip his white hair—so soft, you'd wondered about that.

It was methodical in its intensity, thorough in a way that reminded you, absurdly, of how he answered questions in class. It made you wonder where he learned this from.

But there was nothing academic about the way he moaned against you, the way his tongue delved deeper, the way he looked up at you with those impossible blue eyes while he worked you toward the edge; you couldn't help but gush around him.

You never would have thought Satoru to be a messy eater; you didn't think him to be an eater at all, to be honest.

"Close," you gasped. "Fuck, 'toru, l'm close-"

He doubled down, fingers curling to hit that spot inside you while his mouth sucked your clit, and you shattered, crying out his name as you came on his tongue.

He didn't stop, didn't let up, worked you through every wave of it until you were shaking, oversensitive, pushing at his head. Both of you were interrupted by the ringing of his phone, tempted to ignore it till he saw the name displayed at the top. Picking up the phone, much to your dismay, he started typing viciously, irritation visibly growing on his face.

"Hate to say this, babe, but we gotta cut this short, 'kay." He grumbled, shutting the phone off and stuffing it in his back pocket. He licked up the rest of your release and pulled up your panties and skirt skillfully. You exited his car satisfied but thoroughly confused as he drove off with a wink and a wave.

What the hell?!

—

When he got back to the apartment, Satoru was waiting up like an excited puppy, notebook in hand. "Well?" he asked, practically vibrating. He wouldn't be surprised if he got off on research results."What did you observe? Any notable behavioral differences in the subjects? Did anyone suspect—"

"You really pick the worst time to call. I was in the middle of something super scientific." He pouted, "I got laid," Satoru announced, just to watch his counterpart's face crumple.

"You WHAT? The experiment was for observational purposes only, not for—"

"Relax, nerd. I didn't actually sleep with anyone." He tossed himself onto the sofa, grinning at the ceiling. It was not a total lie; he didn't sleep with anyone, as close as he was to doing so, until Satoru called. "But I did meet someone." he technically met a lot of people.

Satoru's pen stopped moving. "Who?"

The replica started describing you, leaving out some details like the body shot and eating you out; the dork didn't need to know everything. "I talked to her tonight. Got her number."

"She's in my Bioethics class…you're kidding?"

"Relax, I'm not gonna steal your girl. She seemed pretty into us, bro." he leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

Satoru blinked behind his glasses, as if that thought never crossed his mind. "She did?"

"Oh yeah, super into you, can't believe you didn't hit that yet." he paused, "You know if you like her, I got you a hell of a start. If not, this may help your experiment."

"I never said that." Satoru shook his head, thinking for a moment. "I guess it wouldn't hurt..."

"I am great, I know." He pulled out the phone, scrolling to your contact. "Here. Text her tomorrow. Ask her to study or some shit. Don't know how far your nerd-ass will make it though."

"My nerd-ass has worked perfectly fine for twenty-two years."

"Yeah, and look where it's gotten you." Satoru gestured vaguely at the apartment, the stacks of books, the half-finished experiments, the single bed in the corner. "Alone with your Digimon cards."

"They're not cards, they're- you know what, never mind." Satoru took the phone, staring at your name. "And you're sure she... she seemed interested? Unwilling participants are never fun."

"Bro." He laughed, just slightly. "Take my word, she's interested as hell."

ー

It took a week for Satoru to say anything to you. Guys like him, you assumed he would be texting by the time you were pulling your panties back up.

Hey, it's Satoru. From class. I know this is random, but I was wondering if you wanted to study together sometime? There's a coffee shop near campus that's pretty quiet.

You stared at the message for a solid thirty seconds. After the party last week, you'd half convinced yourself it was a dream. But here he was. Texting you.

Sure, it pissed you off that he was now texting you, but you typed back, fingers moving with speed. He never bothered saying anything to you all semester; you were suspicious, to say the least.

If this was his way of getting into your pants, you'd give it a chance. Less blatant than many other attempts to get with you. It's better than a dick pic, you were curious about what was under those khakis though…

When were you thinking?

His response was immediate. Tomorrow? Around 2? I'll send you the address.

Tomorrow. He wanted to see you tomorrow.

Although you were planning on going shopping, checking out the new clothing store that opened at the mall. You'd been waiting for them to open, but you could postpone your shopping trip.

You spent the next twenty-four hours in a state of barely contained anticipation. It's not like this was your first dick appointment, but you knew what to expect. Satoru was different than your usual types.

A café wasn't your typical spot, but you could work with it. Changing your outfit four times before settling on something casual but cute and easy to take off.

The coffee shop was exactly the kind of place you'd expect him to like: quiet, filled with the smell of old books and fresh espresso, cozy corners with overstuffed chairs. You spotted him immediately, tucked away at a table near the window, laptop open, glasses perched on his nose, looking so fucking adorable.

"Hey," you breathed, sliding into the chair across from him.

He looked up, and for a moment, his expression was polite. "Hey. You came."

"Of course I came. I said I would."

"Right. Yeah. Of course." He pushed his glasses up, a nervous habit you were starting to find endearing. "I, uh- I got you a drink. I didn't know what you liked, so I got you a vanilla latte. That's what most people seem to— but if you don't like vanilla I can get you something else, I just didn't want you to have to wait in line and-"

"Satoru." You couldn't help but smile. "Vanilla latte is perfect. Thank you."

"Oh. Good. Good." He nodded a smile, stretching his lips slightly. "So, um. Bioethics. Chapter six?"

You studied together for two hours, and somewhere between discussing utilitarian approaches to medical resource allocation and him explaining the difference between deontological and consequentialist ethics with hand gestures that somehow helped you understand the concept further.

Your leg bounced under the table. His change from the other day was confusing. It was like whiplash trying to deal with the thoughts racing through your mind. The most repetitive one being, what the hell?

He looked so cute in his flannel and glasses, much different from the other day, but still hot. You wanted to pounce on him till you forgot his name.

You didn't do that, obviously. But you thought about it.

"Same time next week?" he asked as you packed up.

"Yeah," you said, a little confused. No offer to head to the back or to his place. "Same time next week." You couldn't believe you spent two hours getting ready to study.

The texts started slowly at first. Him sending you articles he thought you'd find interesting. He sends memes that make you laugh. Gradually, they became more frequent.

Good morning texts. Goodnight texts that made your heart clench. No unsolicited nudes or any flirtatious messages, it was puzzling.

When the coffee shop that both of you frequented was closed, and he offered that you come over instead, you took the opportunity immediately.

His apartment was huge, much more than an average college student would be able to pay for. You didn't question it, slipping your heels off. He led you inside to the couch, where he had an area set up for both of you to study.

Today, he had ditched the flannel and wore a crewneck sweater. You scooted a little closer to him on the couch. He looked through the textbook trying to find a particular page. Humming when he finally found it.

Throughout the study session, you took the first step and gradually touched him. You thought it was the alcohol that made him so bold; you can work with shy guys.

At first, his hands, your nails tracing over his veins, and then his hair, playing with the short hair of his undercut. He didn't seem to mind in the slightest, letting your hands wander where they wanted.

You did as little as graze his collar, and he was nose deep in your panties, now his little playboy exterior missing, and he was acting like you weren't even there.

"And this…" He paused, laughing slightly. "You're not even listening."

"I am." You lied, making eye contact with him. You haven't been listening for about an hour now, responding with hums. You liked the sound of his voice as he explained topics. You'll have him go over them later anyway, not like you'll be listening then either.

"Then what did I say?" He asked, putting a page through the textbook before closing it shut. He waited for a moment for your response, "See, I knew you weren't listening, starting to think you didn't come over just to study," he stated simply.

Duh, you don't usually put this much effort in, not like you ever had to anyway, men are easy.

"If I didn't?" you leaned in closer, tilting your head just slightly. Your eyes glancing down towards his plump lips, you didn't even get to kiss him last time. Lifting from your knees, you kissed him on the side of his mouth.

He froze, mind visibly thinking about what to do next. It was simply a test, but he pulled you closer onto him, practically on top of his lap. His lips were soft, tongue exploring the inside of your mouth.

You moaned into his touch, hips grinding against him. You broke away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. You traveled down your neck, leaving hickies in your wake.

It's immediate, the way his hips buck up into you, his bulge pressing right against your core through both your clothes, and he groans in the air, the fresh mark you're sucking into his throat.

One hand squeezing your ass while the other is splaying across your lower back, pressing you harder against him. His touch was awkward, like he didn't know where to touch.

You roll your hips experimentally, whimpering when the friction hits just right, and his whole body tenses beneath you. His head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long column of his throat, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly.

Those bright blue eyes behind his glasses crack open just to stare up at you, pupils blown so wide the blue is barely visible.

"That's it," he breathes, and his hands are pushing up the hem of your shirt, leading his hands as you shove the thin fabric off over your head.

Bringing his hands to your breast— just barely shaking against your lace-covered tits. You don't even bother with the clasp— yanking your bra down, spilling your tits out into the open air, and his mouth is on them before you can process the loss of fabric.

Wet and hot and desperate, tongue dragging over your nipple while his fingers work the other, pinching and rolling. He lacked the same technique you seen before, instead slobbering over your tits.

His sweater is in the way. Too much fabric, too soft, too there when you need to feel his skin, see what has been hiding under his baggy clothes. You tug at it, and he pulls back just long enough to rip it over his head, white hair staticky and wild, and god—he's huge. Broad shoulders, thick chest, arms that make you feel tiny even straddling his lap like this.

You run your hands down his pecs, over the faint trail of hair disappearing below his waistband, and he shudders.

That phone call better have been worth it for him to take this from you.

"Yeah, touch me," he huffs, grabbing your wrists and pressing your palms flat against his stomach.

You grind down again, and his hips stutter up, his thick length pressing against your clothed cunt in a way that makes stars pop behind your eyes.

The friction is everything—denim rubbing against denim, the seam of his jeans catching right on your clit as you rock against him. His hands fly to your hips, guiding, controlling, forcing you down harder and faster until you're both panting.

"Shit-" He chokes, head dropping forward to watch the place where your bodies meet. You follow his gaze and see the way his cock strains against his jeans, the dark spot of pre-cum already soaking through, your hips move in frantic little circles trying to get more pressure exactly where you need it.

"'Toru-"

"I know, I know." He leans up to catch your mouth again, all spit and tongue and messy, open-mouthed kisses that leave both of you gasping. His hands slip down, grabbing your ass and spreading you open over his lap, and the new angle makes you see white.

You're grinding right against his length, the ridge of it catching your clit with every roll of your hips, and you can feel the coil tightening low in your belly.

He must feel it too—how close you are—because his grip turns bruising, forcing you to keep the pace even when you're shaking. "Don't stop," he stutters against your lips.

You nod frantically, unable to form words, too focused on the pressure building and building and building.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip, and that's it—the coil snaps and you're coming undone on top of him, grinding through it while he groans against your mouth and his hips jerk up helplessly beneath you.

Your vision goes spotty, coming down from your high gradually. Slumped against his chest and trembling, you feel him shake beneath you. Look down and see his jaw clenched, veins prominent in his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Your turn," you whisper, and you meant to sound sexy, but it comes out wrecked. Neither of you had heard the door open, and the figure standing there watching the scene unfold.

"Damn you actually did it…" Satoru stood by the door with a shocked grin on his face. You froze, your cloudy haze clearing up at the sight of two Satorus. "Y'know, I was about to complain about how dumb your classes are, but…" he whistled.

Were you losing your mind?! Sure, your orgasm was pretty damn good, but nowhere near hallucinating.

Panicked, you climbed off of Satoru, whose hands you had to swipe off of you. Satoru's nonchalance wasn't helping, as you tried covering yourself from the man at the door.

"You have the worst timing…" Satoru groaned beside you.

"You're one to talk. I was in the middle of working my magic when you decided to call over some bullshit, payback bitch."

While the two of them went at it, you were left completely dumbfounded. "Satoru?" Both of them answered, "What the hell is going on? You have a twin?" Two Gojos, standing in the same room, looking at you with expressions that ranged from inconvenienced to proud.

You stared in shock at the two men. Well, not one but two Satorus, according to both of them. That would explain why the weird behavior and why he looked so different when you saw him outside of classes and studying. "So... you're the same person?" you examined, looking between them.

"Pretty much, Alstein over here mixed the wrong shit up," he affirmed. "I wouldn't say 'same', I am nothing like him," Satoru replied, denying any accusation that he was anything like his replica.

"Einstein," Satoru flatly corrected, "but pretty much."

You nodded cautiously. You may not be the smartest person in the world, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this was insane.

"And you're just…... okay with this?" you asked, gesturing between them. "With him running around pretending to be you?"

Satoru shrugged. "It's been useful for research, when he's not trying to burn my flannels, at least. I wouldn't say he was pretending to be me, when he technically is me." He looked back at the other man, "on a biological level at least." He added scornfully. The other didn't fail flipping him off, picking up on his more than arrogant tone.

"They're an abomination against fashion." Satoru 2.0 shuddered dramatically. "Seriously, wear something else, your taste is ass."

"I like flannels."

"Again, zero fucking taste."

You couldn't help the exasperated laugh that escaped. It was absurd, standing here with two identical men arguing about fashion choices like one of them hadn't created an entire clone of himself. If he wasn't lying at least.

"So all those times at the parties, and the car," you said slowly, looking at the clone. "That was you."

"Guilty." He didn't look regretful at all, pretty proud himself. "There's no way this virgin has these skills, babe," he gestured, poking his tongue out playfully.

"The car?" Satoru looked between you, "What happened in the car?"

"The first time I got out, ate her out in the car, before you woefully interrupted." Satoru sighed, reminiscing on the moment as his eyes looked toward your breast, his gaze was anything but polite.

"You couldn't have said something two weeks ago; now I have to go back and add that to the data log." Satoru glared, rubbing his temples.

"Don't get distracted, assholes. I would have preferred not getting involved in this 'experiment'." You used your fingers to add quotations around experiment. "And all the study sessions?" You turned to the real Satoru.

"Correct." That would explain why he wasn't as eager to get in your pants compared to his counterpart.

"And the texts?"

They exchanged a look. "Uh," Satoru mumbled. "That was... both of us. Sometimes."

"Bro- babe," the other started, "think about it, you're like a research assistant, y'know." He tried to make the situation seem better than it was. You couldn't deny it; it was pretty fucking cool that he made a clone of himself, but that didn't negate the fact that you were just an unknowing subject in their schemes.

"Is that what this is? Research?" Both of them nodded cautiously. You should storm out, block them, and pretend this never happened. Go to the mall as you would have, instead of messing with these two. But then the cruel thought of missing out on two Satoru's crossed your mind.

You had worked hard fake studying to get in Satoru's pants, and his little clone wasn't half bad at giving head. Groaning, you prayed you would not regret this. "Fuck it, you better credit me in your paper."

You've already made it this far.

"You'll be in the acknowledgements, I promise," Satoru—the real one—grins, surprised by your response, and it's that same infuriatingly charming smile that made you get onto his couch and car in the first place. "But uh, we might need to collect a little more data first."

His clone's already moving before you can process the words, sliding onto the couch behind you while the original stays in front. You're trapped between two identical bodies, two sets of impossible blue eyes watching you with matching intensity.

"Wait—" The protest dies in your throat when four hands find your skin simultaneously.

The one behind you—Satoru, you need to start calling them something—drags his nose up the curve of your spine, breathes hot against your vertebrae. "Smell so good," he murmurs against your shoulder blade.

The real Satoru cups your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. His thumb traces your swollen bottom lip, and you hate how your body responds, how your nipples peak under the clone's wandering hands. "I—" You gasp when his mouth closes over the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. "Fuck."

"That's not a no." The real one's eyes crinkle with amusement. He leans in, kisses you slow and deep while his twin—clone—whatever—works his way down your back. Teeth scrape against your shoulder blade, your spine, the dip just above the swell of your ass.

You break the kiss with Toru— you decided to call him that. He didn't seem to mind— his hands spread your cheeks apart, when you feel his breath against your sensitive rim.

"Look at that," one murmurs, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "She's already dripping. You think she wants my mouth here, too?"

"Only one way to find out." Satoru's watching over your shoulder, eyes darkening as his replica drags his tongue through your folds from behind, a long, slow stripe that makes your knees buckle. You missed his tongue.

"Fuck-" The word punches out of you as Toru's tongue circles your clit, then dips lower, presses against your entrance, then lower still—"Oh god, what are you—"

He answers by licking into you from behind, tongue flat and hot against that tight ring of muscle, and your brain short-circuits completely.

"That's it." Satoru's got his forehead pressed to yours, watching your eyes go wide and glassy. "Lay back." You don't have a choice—Satoru's hands guide you down until you're flat on the couch, and then they're positioning you however they want, rolling you onto your stomach and pulling your hips up until you're on your knees with your face pressed into the cushions.

"Perfect," someone breathes. Could be either of them. "Look at this view."

Something slick and cool drips down your crack—lube, you realize, lots of it—and then fingers are spreading you open, exposing you completely.

"Who wants first?" Satoru's voice, from somewhere to your left.

"She squirted on my face already. You owe me." Toru's right behind you, and you feel the thick head of his cock nudging against your wet folds.

"That was your choice. You could've fucked her anytime."

"And miss watching her come apart on my tongue? Never." He pushes in just an inch, just the tip, and you whimper into the pillow, your hole clenched around nothing, anticipating him. "But now I want to feel that tight little pussy squeezing me while I fill her up."

"Greedy," he scoffs. "Fine. But I get her mouth." Satoru's on his back now, cock standing wet and ready. Your mouth waters, tongue flicking at the slit before taking him into your mouth. He moaned, your tongue swirling around his cock expertly.

Toru, behind you, groans against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight up your spine and making you moan around the real Satoru's cock. Your thighs tremble on either side of that beautiful face, and you feel his tongue curl inside you.

"Shit—" Satoru's head falls back, hips twitching, and you feel him hit the back of your throat. "Y-you're amazing." You hum around him, sending vibrations to his cock, only making him gasp louder.

Toru pulls his mouth away just long enough to gasp, "Don't make him cum too fast, babe." Then he's diving back in, tongue stiff and pointed, fucking into your dripping hole while his nose bumps against your hole with every movement.

You're caught between them, suspended in pleasure. Every time you try to focus on sucking Satoru's cock, the clone does something devastating with his tongue that makes your throat clench and your vision blur.

Every time you try to rock back against that perfect mouth, the other pushes your head further down, cock hitting the back of your throat.

"Look at me." Satoru tugs your hair, just enough to drag your eyes up to his. They're almost completely black, pupils blown wide behind his thick glasses, cheeks flushed. "That's it. That's so fucking good."

Behind you, his replica's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He pulls you down onto his face like you're nothing but a toy for his mouth, tongue plunging deep, then retreating to lap at your clit in quick, cruel circles.

You come with a broken scream around Satoru's length, your entire body convulsing, and you feel Toru behind you groan against your pulsing cunt, feel him drink everything you give him like it's the finest thing he's ever tasted.

Close, Satoru tried to pull your head off of him, you stay planted, he cums down your throat in warm spurts.

His thighs twitching under your grip, it didn't taste bad, slightly sweet even. "Jesus Christ." He falls back against the couch cushions, chest heaving. "That was-"

"Not done." Satoru's voice was determined. He's sitting up now, pulling you into his lap, and you feel his cock—still hard, still leaking— press against your soaked folds. " I'ma show you how it's done, virgin."

Satoru's eyes light up despite his recent orgasm. "How many times- I'm not a virgin." He leans forward, cups your face, kisses you slow and deep— the taste of his cum still lingering.

You nod frantically. "Fuck me, Toru." Hands finding his condom-covered cock, making slow strokes. At least he knew better.

"God- love your voice, baby." Toru's hands guide your hips, and you sink down onto him in one long, wet slide. "Ohhhh fuck- yes so tight, so fucking tight-"

You can't help the sounds you make, can't help the way your head falls back and your mouth drops open. The stretch was dizzying but so delicious. You hadn't been fucked good in weeks, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. He's so thick, so deep, and the angle lets him hit somewhere inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

"Look at that." Satoru's voice is awed. He's stroking himself again, already hardening at the sight of his twin fucking you slow and deep. "How perfect she looks stretched around our cock."

Our cock. The word shouldn't make you wetter, shouldn't make you gush on his length until he groans and grips your hips hard enough to bruise. But it does.

God, it does.

"Don't cum in two pumps, virgin."

"N-not a virgin, dickhead." Satoru groaned. "Ride her." Watching with hungry eyes. "Want to see you fuck her properly, or I'll do it myself."

The other obeys instantly—because of course he does, they're the same person, they share the same brain, the same desires. Even if they deny it, they are two sides of the same shiny coin. "You wish," He lifts you easily, almost casually, and starts bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing. "Like this?" Each word punches out of him with every thrust. "Like- fuck watching her tits bounce?"

"Yeah." Satoru's hand moves faster on his cock. "Just like that. Harder."

"We'll give him something actually useful to report, baby."

You're nothing but a toy between them, a perfect little hole for them to share, and the realization should horrify you, but instead it sends electricity crackling through every nerve. Toru fucks up into you brutally, no gentleness now, just pure need, and you can feel every inch of him dragging against your walls.

"Oh god—oh god, I'm gonna-"

"Not yet." Toru's hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just present. You hear Satoru move. Feel the couch shift. Then his mouth is on your shoulder, teeth sinking in, and his hand joins his twin's on your hip, fingers intertwining.

"Please-" It comes out broken, desperate. "Please, I need-"

"I know what you need." Toru's thrusts are losing rhythm, getting sloppier. "Feel that? Feel how close I am? Want to come?"

"Yes—yes, please-"

"Come with me, babe." He releases your throat, hand sliding down to press against your clit, circling roughly. "Come on my cock."

The command snaps something loose inside you. You come, clenching down so hard, Toru roars, and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and deep and endless. In front of you, Satoru comes, his release splashes across your stomach, warm and wet and marking you.

"So you can ejaculate…interesting," Satoru commented, noting it in his head to write down later.

You can't speak. Can't move. Can't do anything but slump between them, trembling, completely and utterly ruined. But they're not done with you yet. "Bedroom." Satoru's voice has an edge to it now, dark and hungry, that makes your pussy stir despite itself. "We're not done. Not even close."

The other lifts you easily, still half-hard inside you, and carries you toward the hallway. "Agreed. Need to try some things. Not the only one with hypotheses, dork."

"For science, of course," they say in perfect unison.

And despite everything—despite the ache in your knees and your juices dripping down your thighs and the absolute madness of this situation—you laugh. Then moan as the movement shifts his cock inside you. "For 'science', right…" you agree weakly.

They laid you out on Satoru's bed. The sheets are cool beneath your overheated skin, a brief respite before they're on you again—one on each side, bracketing your body with their heat.

Toru's already mouthing at your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin while his hand trails down your stomach. "Want to try something," he murmurs against your pulse. "Want to see if we can make you squirt together."

Your breath catches. "Together?"

Satoru grins, that familiar, charming smile, made infinitely more dangerous by the context. "He fucks you from behind. I'll be in front."

"It's basic physics," Toru adds, nipping at your collarbone. "Double the stimulation, double the pleasure. Or whatever."

"Quadruple, technically." Satoru's hands on your stomach, fingers intertwining. "Since there are two of us."

"Sure-" You swallow, try again. "Just get inside of me."

They move with the kind of synchronization that only comes from being literally the same person. The clone one positions himself at your back, cock brushing against your ass, while the real one lifts your hips and settles in front of you, his length sliding through your soaked folds teasingly.

"Ready?" Satoru says behind you, his voice is strained, barely holding onto control.

You answer by taking him deep into your pussy, moaning around him, and that's all the invitation the other needs. He pushes in in one smooth motion, seating himself completely against the other, and the world narrows to the feeling of being utterly, impossibly full.

His cock stretches you perfectly, reaches places you forgot existed, and every thrust presses him against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

Above you, Toru groans and thrusts deeper into your cunt. "Oh fuck-"

"Can feel her clenching around me." his thrusts are measured at first, controlled, like he's savoring every inch. "Every time you move, her pussy squeezes me l-like a fist."

They find a rhythm eventually— two bodies moving as one, using you between them. "Look at that." Satoru's voice is reverent. He's pulled back just enough to watch, to see both cock disappearing into you over and over. "Look at how well she takes us. Like she was made for this."

Toru's thrusts are getting harder, faster, and less controlled. "Fuck—she's getting tighter—she's close."

"And I'm the 'virgin', sure." But Satoru's eyes are half-lidded, his hips stuttering. "Want to feel her come on both of us at the same time."

The words alone might be enough to push you over. But then Satoru reaches down, fingers finding your clit and circling brutally, and Toru tangles his hand in your hair and holds you deep. You cum gasping.

You feel Toru moan above you, feel him pulse hot and deep inside your clenching walls. Satoru follows a second later, glasses crooked on his face, hips jerking as he paints your walls, and you realize neither wore a condom. Had it been any other moment, you would've cussed both of them out and broken their dicks off, clone or not.

When you finally come down, you're shaking. Actually shaking, muscles trembling uncontrollably as they ease you onto your back and arrange themselves on either side of you.

The day blurs into night in a haze of pleasure. They take turns— sometimes literally, swapping positions so seamlessly you can't tell who's inside you anymore.

Sometimes they're both inside you, one in your cunt and one in your mouth, or one fucking you while the other watches and whispers filthy things in your ear.

—

You're in the shower— finally, blessedly cleaning up— when the curtain slides open and two identical bodies crowd in behind you. The water's hot, the steam thick, and their hands are everywhere at once.

"Thought we'd help." His voice is innocent, but his cock pressing against your ass is anything but.

"Make sure you get really clean." One in front of you, hands soaping up your breasts, your stomach, sliding lower between your legs.

You lean back against the other's chest, let the water cascade over you while the clone's hands grip your hips, steadying you as you lift one leg over the real one's shoulder, then the other. He supports your weight easily, holding you suspended while the others cock aligns with your entrance.

"Look at that," the one holding you breathes. "She's gaping a little from earlier."

"Let me see." Behind you, peers over your shoulder. "Oh. Oh, fuck. She really is."

The one holding you—you think it's the real one, but honestly, they keep switching, and you're too fucked out to tell—tilts his head. "I bet we could both fit."

"What?" Your voice comes out strangled.

The other behind you hums thoughtfully, his thumb tracing down your spine, over your tailbone, pressing gently at your tightest ring of muscle. "He's right. You're so warm and stretched already from 'Toru fucking you."

"Oh, I'm not 2.0 anymore? You got real influence, baby." Toru is holding you nuzzles against your inner thigh, tongue darting out to taste where the others' cum is still dripping from you despite the shower washing it away. "You can take more. You're a greedy girl, aren't you? Wanting both of us?"

Toru's cock slides between your cheeks, not entering, just... resting there, hot and heavy against your tightest hole while Satoru's tip nudges at your weeping cunt.

"Whatcha think, sweetheart?" They ask in unison, and the effect is devastating.

"Please put them inside me. Both of you."

"See? Told you she'd say yes."

Toru, behind you, laughs, and the sound vibrates through his chest pressed against your back. "You owe me twenty bucks."

"You bet on whether I'd beg for you at the same time?" You're indignant for approximately half a second before his cock notches against your ass, and Satoru lines up with your cunt, and all higher brain function evaporates. They don't push in together. That would be too easy, too merciful. Instead, they take turns.

Satoru slides in first—just the tip, just enough to make your eyes roll back as your abused cunt clenches around him greedily. Then he stops, holds perfectly still while the other behind you presses forward, stretching your pussy inch by agonizing inch.

You cry out. The water swallows the sound, but they feel it, feel every vibration of your body as you're stretched wider than you've ever been.

"Shh, shh, you're okay." The one in front kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips, all tender and sweet, while his twin works his cock deeper into your ass. "You're doing so well, sweet girl. Taking us both. So fucking p-perfect."

Toru's hips meet your ass with a wet slap. "I'm in. Fuck, she's tight. She's so fucking tight around me."

"I know." he starts to move, shallow thrusts that have his cock sliding against the other's cock. One thrusts while the other holds still, then they switch, then they figure out how to move together, opposite directions, so one is pushing in while the other pulls out. "I'll be sure to write that down."

You're nothing but a moaning, drooling mess between them, held upright by two sets of strong arms, fucked from both ends by identical cocks in identical bodies with identical grunts falling from identical lips.

"Want to move to the bed," you manage to gasp out. "Want to see it. Want to watch."

They exchange a look over your head that communication thing that's so unsettling when you're not being split open on their dicks, and then you're being lifted, carried, still connected, still filled, water dripping everywhere as they maneuver you out of the shower and down the hall to the bedroom.

Satoru lies back on the bed, pulling you with him so you're straddling his hips, his cock still buried deep. The clone kneels behind you, positions himself, and pushes back in with a groan.

"Look down," Satoru whispers. "Watch us fuck you."

You look.

Between your legs, two identical cocks disappear into your body, your own flesh stretched thin around them. When they move—and they do, immediately, finding that rhythm again—you can see the bulge in your lower stomach, can see the way their cocks press against each other through you.

"That's me," Toru breathes, reaching around to press on that bulge. "That's my cock right there, fucking into your pussy. Can you feel it?"

You nod frantically, tears streaming down your face, drool dripping onto his chest. "I can feel both of you. I can feel—oh god, I can feel every-"

"Good." Satoru's hands grip your hips, start bouncing you on his cock while the other fucks into you from behind. "Want you to feel us for days. Want you to sit on his cock tomorrow and still feel me stretching you open."

The other laughs, breathless and wrecked. "Possessive much?"

"Shut up and fuck her."

He does. They both do. They take turns being gentle and rough, one whispering sweet praises while the other fucks into you like he's trying to split you in half.

They switch positions—you on your stomach, you on your side, you on top of one while the other takes you from behind—and through it all, they never stop talking.

"You're taking us so well, sweet girl."

"Look at that pretty pussy gripping my cock."

"Can you feel him twitch inside you? He's close, I can tell."

"Shut up, you're closer dickhead."

"Y-you're both-"

You come first, finally, spectacularly, squirting around their cocks while they fuck you through it, both of them groaning at the added wetness, at the way you clench and flutter around them. Satoru follows seconds later, filling your cunt with hot ropes of cum that leak out around his cock immediately.

Toru pistons into your pussy twice, three times, before he stills and you feel him emptying himself deep inside you.

Between their bodies, with their cum leaking out of both your holes onto the ruined sheets, you think maybe sharing isn't the worst idea in the world.

"Round whatever in an hour?" you ask hopefully. Both groan, but they're grinning. You settle back against the pillows, feeling thoroughly used and utterly satisfied. "I'm serious about that credit in your paper." At first, you didn't care that much; it wouldn't hurt having your name down in the history books.

Satoru slides his glasses on after cleaning the lenses. "You'll be the co-author, baby."

"I'm here too, ya know."

"Why would I credit you?" You close your eyes, letting their bickering wash over you like white noise. But looking at the two of them, still arguing while their hands never stop touching, you, one drawing circles on your hip, the other playing with your hair.

"You think you could clone me, too?"

You waited for a moment, relaxing your body, offering it up to the sensation. Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. The tension didn't break; it just... dissolved, seeping away like smoke. The frantic buzz against your now-overstimulated nerves just felt irritating.

"Fuck!" You groaned to the empty room.

Frustrated, you hurled the still-buzzing vibrator across the room. It thudded against the wall, then hit the floor with a pathetic clatter-bzzzt. Every time. Every. Single. Time. Just when you were on the precipice of reaching an orgasm, it ghosted you. It was like a curse had been put upon you, condemning you to forever hike the base of the great mountain but never plant your flag at the summit.

It was getting so bad that your irritability was through the roof. Yesterday, you dropped your phone and cried yourself to sleep over the cracked screen protector. Last week, during ovulation, you'd craved the very feeling you couldn't have so intensely, you'd thrown a full-blown, foot-stomping fit in your kitchen over an empty box of cereal. It was embarrassing. Humiliating, even. Your own body was a troll.

You've tried everything. Toys, sex, fingers, even medication. Nothing worked; you were at a complete loss. Another failed hookup was your final straw. The guy claimed he could do it, and for one shining, delusional moment, you'd believed him. But like every other time, the smoke disappeared, and you were left overstimulated and some random lapping desperately at your clit.

"The doctor will see you now."

The nurse led you to an office that smelled of antiseptic and vanilla. Behind the desk sat a woman with long, messy brown hair and dark circles under her eyes that looked like they hadn't seen a full night's sleep since the first iPhone came out.

She glanced up, offering a faint, professional smile that didn't quite reach her exhausted eyes. "Have a seat. I'm Dr. Ieiri." She seemed to be reading your file, or possibly the takeout menu buried beneath it. "So, tell me a little about what's going on."

You'd heard of Dr. Ieiri. Online forums, friends of friends spoke her name in hopeful tones. She was apparently a "magic" doctor who could fix the unfixable. It had taken months of spiraling to finally book this consultation. Maybe it was stubborn hope, or maybe it was the last pathetic shred of your pride finally waving a white flag.

You explained your "issue," giving a clinical and slightly tragic summary of your sexual history. You sounded like a malfunctioning appliance. Unit fails to complete cycle. Error code: Bliss Not Found.

Dr. Ieiri listened, nodding slowly, her pen tapping against the desk. When you finished, she leaned back. "Based on what you've described, persistent difficulty achieving orgasm despite adequate stimulation. It sounds pretty textbook, possibly a severe case of Anorgasmia. Situational, likely psychogenic in origin, given your history of near success."

You felt your shoulders slump. Another label. Great…

"It is treatable, though," she continued, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. "We can start a conventional treatment plan. Cognitive behavioral therapy, sensate focus exercises, and possibly adjusting any medications you're on. It's effective, but it takes time and consistent effort."

A long road. You'd been on a long road. It was paved with disappointment and dead-end vibrators.

She paused, her eyes drifting past you to a brightly colored flyer pinned to a corkboard on the wall. It was at odds with the sterile environment. She looked... hesitant. "Or... we could pursue a different treatment modality. It's rather... extreme. Not my first recommendation. But the efficacy rates are...remarkable. Some patients report success in a matter of hours. Even minutes."

Your spine straightened so fast you almost heard a crack. Minutes? After years? Your internal skeptic screamed that this was where they sold you magic beans, but the desperate, orgasm-starved part of you perked up. "Is it like... surgery?" You weren't opposed. At this point, you'd let them wire you up to a car battery if it promised results.

"No, no surgery," Dr. Ieiri said. She let out a small, dry chuckle. It wasn't a funny-haha sound; it was the sound of professional embarrassment. With a sigh, she reached over, unpinned the flyer, and slid it across the desk to you. It was glossy. Too glossy for a medical office.

'Orgasm Inc.’

‘Ignite your match today!'

Beneath the headline was a stock photo of a ridiculously attractive, diverse group of people laughing while holding sparklers. The design was sleek, modern, and infuriatingly vague.

"What... is this?" you asked, turning the flyer over as if the back would have a disclaimer like ‘This is a joke, please seek real help!'

"It's an adjunct program I run through the clinic," Dr. Ieiri explained, her tone carefully neutral. "For patients with treatment-resistant anorgasmia or erectile dysfunction. The philosophy is... direct intervention." She ran a finger down to the bottom, to the microscopic fine print you needed a magnifying glass to read. "We facilitate highly curated matches based on bio-compatibility and psychosexual profiling. Essentially, we find your ideal... catalyst."

So that was the 'but.' Not as scary as you'd imagined, but it just sounds like a very fancy, medicalized hook-up service. As if reading your mind— a terrifying skill for a doctor to have— she continued.

"It's not Tinder," she said bluntly. "We screen up to twenty candidates who fit your stated preferences. Then we run a full panel: genetic compatibility screenings to assess pheromonal response, comprehensive bloodwork to rule out physiological barriers, and a battery of psychometric tests to gauge temperament and... stylistic alignment." She sorted through some papers on her desk, finding a flowchart that looked like it was for launching a satellite, not getting someone off. "We consider everything from vaginal pH compatibility to neurotransmitter profiles. The goal is to guarantee a match on a biological and psychological level before you're ever in the same room."

She finally met your gaze, her tired eyes serious. "It is, for lack of a better term, a targeted, therapeutic intervention with a very high success rate for breaking the cycle."

You stared at the smiling sparkler-holders on the flyer. 'Ignite Your Match.’ It was ridiculous. It was humiliating. It was the most clinical proposition for sex you'd ever heard. And after a lifetime of failure, it was also the most hopeful thing you'd seen. A slow, slightly unhinged smile spread across your face. "So," you said, tapping the glossy paper. "What's the copay?"

—

This was your absolute last resort; if this didn't work, you would be an orgasmless woman for the rest of your sad, frustrating life. The paperwork alone was insane—a small novel of disclaimers, psychological evaluations, and physical consents. They took full-body scans, vials of blood, swabs from places you'd rather forget. You signed your name until your hand cramped. Then, the waiting. A full month, they said, to track your cycle with precision and to gather suitable participants.

A month of lying awake, aching, wondering if your body was even capable of the release everyone else seemed to take for granted.

The day arrived with clinical sterility. You were instructed to shower with their specially formulated, scentless soap, then smooth their hypoallergenic lotion over every inch of your skin. A nurse administered a sharp, cold shot to your hip. "It suppresses ovulation and neutralizes any known STDs for forty-eight hours," she explained briskly. Not FDA-approved, but revolutionary. Consider it a technological condom.

The thought was dizzying. That such a thing existed and wasn't public knowledge... but then, Orgasm Inc. wasn't a typical service. It was a medical-grade glory hole service. A last-chance salon for the pleasureless like you. The price was staggering, but your insurance, convinced it was a "therapeutic treatment for anorgasmia," covered most. The remainder was a sobering chunk of your savings.

Another nurse, her smile kind but detached, led you down a softly lit hallway to a room that felt like a cross between a spa and a laboratory.

The centerpiece was a plush, queen-sized bed, but it was pushed flush against the wall, which held a generous, padded opening-a hole just large enough for the lower half of a body to slip through. It was cozy, nice sheets, thankfully, the gown they gave you wasn't like the thin hospital ones, but similar to a cotton gown you had at home, aside from the open back side.

She placed a small, smooth remote in your palm. "Your control. This silver button," she said, guiding your thumb to a cool, metallic circle, "is your emergency stop. Hold it for three seconds, and the session terminates immediately. All participants are removed, and incoming ones are halted. You are in charge." Her finger moved to a bright orange button. "This requests additional lubrication. Use it freely."

Finally, she tapped a pink button. "This one extends a participant's time. Each session is five minutes. If you feel you are close to climax and need more time with that specific partner, press the pink button. It grants one five-minute extension, per participant, per session." A few more nurses walked into the room with a blindfold and water in hand, along with a few snacks. You were instructed to lie on the bed, sliding your lower half through the hole. It cut off right below your waist as nurses adjusted the bed to fit your height to be comfortable, as your feet dangled on the bed on the outside.

"Initial lubrication," a nurse announced. You flinched as a cool, slick gel cascaded over your folds and your rear hole. Expert, gloved fingers spread it, massaging it into your inner lips, circling your clit, pushing a generous amount inside your entrance. The clinical touch was jarring, but the lube was warming quickly.

"Remember, orange for more," she reminded you.

As they finished, you asked, "The pink button... what if I want to extend more than once?"

"The system allows for one extension per participant. It encourages... decisiveness." With that, they retreated. The last nurse fitted the plush blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into a velvety, absolute black. "This enhances tactile sensitivity and removes visual distraction. Focus on the feeling." The door clicked shut, leaving you in silence, your heartbeat loud in your ears, the remote a lifeline in your clenched fist.

The first sound was the subtle swoosh of a door opening on the other side of the wall. A presence. Guy #1.

His touch was hesitant. A soft, dry thumb stroked once, twice over your clit. His fingers were smooth, manicured. He traced your outer lips, dipping just inside to gather wetness before circling your entrance. He seemed to be studying you. For a better angle, he hitched your thigh up, his grip polite. One finger, then two, slid inside you, curling gently. They were... adequate. A medium length, a timid exploration. It felt nice in a distant way, like a polite massage, but it lit no fire.

Hearing a soft, stuttered breath, you felt the blunt, semi-soft head of his cock nudge against you. He squeezed your thigh—a warning?—and pushed in with a shallow thrust. He was fully hard now, but only just. A comfortable, unremarkable size.

He stayed still, letting you adjust, though the clock was ticking. The faint crinkle of pubic hair against your skin. The blindfold made every sensation hyper-real. The slight throb of his pulse inside you, the minute tremble in his thighs. He began to move, a shallow, polite rocking, his thumb returning to your clit in timid circles. His pace quickened, becoming earnest but clumsy. There was no rhythm, no building tension, just the frantic, instinctual pistoning of a man chasing his own finish.

Was he a virgin?

The thought was depressingly clinical. His breathing hitched, his movements turned jagged, and with a choked-off grunt, he slammed deep, his sweaty palms slipping on your thigh. You felt the hot, internal pulse of his release, the quick, diminishing twitches of his oversensitive cock before he slid out, leaving you empty and vaguely wet. A soft chime signaled his time was up. Thank god.

You were given a 10-minute break in between each participant for your body to readjust and for the nurses to reapply more lube. You definitely needed it after Guy #1.

The next man walked in, and you were already prepped from last time, so he would have more time actually inside of you. You knew immediately he was different. No tentative touch. Large, rough hands grabbed your ass, kneading the flesh, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

He lifted both your legs as if you weighed nothing, hooking your knees over his forearms, jerking your hips forward to meet him. You scrambled for purchase on the sheets. You felt him, the heavy, thick drag of his cock along your drenched slit. He was huge. A broad, mushroomed head pressed insistently against your entrance, and then he sheathed himself in one brutal, unforgiving thrust.

You cried out, your body bowing, unprepared for the sudden, burning stretch. He held still for a shuddering second, letting your walls flutter wildly around the invasion, before pulling out almost completely. Your hole clenched around nothing, aching. He muttered something, a low, blurred rumble lost to the soundproofing.

SMACK. A sharp, stinging pain bloomed on your ass cheek. You'd listed "impact play" as a mild interest on your form, but you didn't expect any of the participants to actually do it.

He drove back into you, setting a ruthless, pounding pace. The blindfold grew damp with involuntary tears. Your moans were raw, echoing in your private room. You wrapped your legs around his waist, seeking an anchor, but his grip on your hips was iron, controlling every jolt and drive. It hurt, a deep, radiating ache, but beneath it, a coil of pure, shocking pleasure tightened. He was hammering against a spot inside you that made stars burst behind the blindfold. Your pussy grew obscenely wet, each thrust producing a filthy, squelching sound.

That precious, unfamiliar precipice began to build again, higher and sharper than before.

When his thick fingers found your clit, rubbing rough, tight circles, you instinctively tried to buck away. He only hauled you back, impaling you deeper, your hips meeting his with punishing force. Tears soaked the mask. You were babbling, begging into the void.

The alarm chimed. He didn't stop. He didn't even slow. He held you on his cock, a silent, demanding question. With a trembling hand, you found the remote and mashed the pink button.

A gratifying squeeze on your ass. He used the bonus time mercilessly, flipping you onto your stomach with a grunt. Your legs gave out, but he held your hips up, his thrusts now a wild, animalistic pounding. The slap of his balls against your oversensitive clit was relentless, pushing you to a mindless brink. You stuffed a fist in your mouth to muffle your screams, drool slicking your chin. He was destroying you, rearranging you, hitting that glorious spot with brutal precision.

Your body began to lock up, a tidal wave gathering in your core—so close, so close-and with a final, brutal slam, his rhythm fractured.

You felt him swell, pulse, and then he was pulling out, his hot release striping your back and thighs in thick ropes. The final chime sounded. He gave your throbbing pussy two patronizing, sticky taps before the door swooshed shut. He was gone. You were left shattered, trembling, and so agonizingly unfinished. #2 really knew how to show up and show out.

The break was a blur of gentle cleaning, a new blindfold, and cool water sipped through a straw.

The next several participants blurred into a montage of mediocrity. #3 was efficient but detached. #4 had a terrible rhythm. #5 was forgettably average. Guy #6 was a nightmare, fumbling, half-soft, actually prodding at your urethra before correcting himself.

You missed #1's nervousness and knowing what the right hole was. You craved #2's brutal competence. None of them brought you back to that cliff's edge.

Participant #10 was anatomically shocking. The stretch was beyond full; it was a burning, pressure-filled intrusion. He spent four of his five minutes just trying to seat himself fully inside you, and the sensation was less of pleasure and more of being split open. You saw white behind your eyes, but from pain, not passion. You were so close to pressing the metallic button until time ended. The chime was a rescue.

Participant #14 was a surprise. No immediate penetration. Instead, you felt hot breath, then the flat, wet stroke of a tongue from your ass to your clit. He ate you with slow, languorous devotion, lapping up the mixed juices, circling your entrance, sucking your clit into his mouth until your thighs shook. He made you writhe, made you sob with need, and just as the coil threatened to snap, he slid inside a smooth, thick length.

He fucked you with deep, grinding rolls of his hips, but the shift from oral to penetration disrupted the fragile build-up. The chime sounded with you hovering frustratingly near, but not over. He kissed your inner thigh and was gone.

Hope was a dying ember. You were sore, overstimulated, and despairing. Only three left. You shifted onto your back, tired of the faceless anonymity, your body feeling used and no closer to its goal.

The door opened. Guy #17.

He didn't try to get inside of you immediately. His hands, warm and sure, smoothed up your inner thighs. His touch was gentle, like #11, but there was an authority to it, a knowing pressure that made your spine arch off the bed.

You spread your legs wider. You felt him lean close, the heat of his body, the scent of clean skin and warm musk. The thick, silken head of his cock tapped your clit, then dragged slowly down through your slick folds, coating himself.

He took his time, exploring. A hand patted your calf, guiding it up over his shoulder. His grip was firm, possessive. The blunt tip pressed against your swollen entrance and just... stayed. Teasing. Circling. Your breath hitched; impatience warred with a sudden, thrilling anticipation.

As if sensing your frustration, he finally pushed forward—not with a thrust, but with an inexorable, slow invasion. An inch, then a retreat. Another inch, deeper this time. He was stretching you with a perfect, delicious pressure, filling you with a thick, curved length that seemed designed for you. It was overwhelming in the best way, the stretch walking the perfect line between pleasure and pain, the curve rubbing against walls that had been ignored all day. A broken moan fell from your lips.

He established a rhythm-deep, rolling strokes that grew steadily in power. His hand slid under your hips, angling you, and every thrust now rubbed that glorious inner spot with unerring accuracy. This wasn't just fucking; it was a conversation. Your body spoke in hitches and clenches, and he answered with deeper pressure, a faster pace. Fluids leaked from you, making a wet patch beneath your ass. You were babbling again, nails scrabbling at the sheets.

And then, as his thumb found your clit, applying just the right amount of friction, the universe detonated. It started as a tight, fluttering deep in your core, a spark that became a wildfire. Your vision whited out behind the blindfold. Your back arched violently, a raw, guttural scream tearing from your throat as your pussy clenched around him in rapid, agonizingly sweet spasms.

It was endless, wracking you with waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain. You were cumming. Finally, finally, finally. You sobbed through it, your body convulsing, milking his cock as the ecstasy slowly, slowly ebbed. He paused, buried to the hilt, letting you ride the seismic aftershocks. But as you trembled, spent, you felt him begin to move again, chasing his own end. The chime sounded. You didn't hesitate. Your thumb, slick with sweat, found and held the pink button.

A low groan from the other side of the wall. His movements became more urgent, more possessive. You were overstimulated, raw, but the sensitivity was a new kind of torture. With a few more deep, grinding thrusts, another orgasm was ripped from you—a surprising, gushing release that soaked his pelvis and the sheets beneath you. You squirted, body seizing, a weak scream catching in your throat.

Before you could even go limp, he flipped you onto your back. His mouth was on you, hot and demanding, licking up your own release from your stomach, sucking marks onto your hips.

You were a quivering, oversensitive mess, and he was everywhere. You felt him swell, throb, and with a final, deep plunge, he came inside you, his pulsing heat triggering a third, smaller, shockwave of clenching pleasure that left you seeing stars. He collapsed over you for a second, his weight a delicious anchor, before carefully pulling out. A gentle, almost reverent kiss was placed on your pubic bone. Then silence. He was gone.

He had broken the dam. The last three participants were a blur of delirious, easy climax. #17 had you shuddering with two deep thrusts. #19 merely pressed the head inside, and you came with a shattered cry, your body now a hair-trigger. By the time #20 entered, you were floating in a hypersensitive haze, cumming almost continuously, barely aware of his departure. Sleep overcame you as you drifted into a long-awaited slumber.

You awoke in a soft, private recovery room, your body clean, swaddled in a fresh gown. A gentle ache hummed between your legs, a satisfied, full feeling. A nurse checked your vitals, beaming. "Congratulations. A remarkably successful outcome." almost made it sound like you were pregnant.

Dr. Ieiri entered, clipboard in hand, a genuine smile on her face. "Hello. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty great," you murmured, voice hoarse.

"Still a little tired."

"That's the shot. Its effects include mild lethargy. It will pass." She reviewed your chart. "I must say, your physiological responses were our most pronounced to date. You've effectively recalibrated your system."

She went over aftercare, hydration, rest, and a follow-up in two weeks. Then, she leaned forward. "As per your contract, the reconnection offer stands. If you wish to meet with any of the participants again, through our secured channels, you may."

Your mind, still foggy, flashed with immediate, vivid sense-memory. You met her gaze. "Is there a limit to how many I can revisit?"

Her eyebrow arched, a flicker of amusement in her professional demeanor. "Most select one. But no, there is no technical limit."

A slow, tired, but deeply satisfied smile spread across your lips. "Then yes, I would." Why pick one when you could pick two!

—

"Aren't you eager..." he mused, the voice a low, raspy vibration against the humid air of the room. The scar at the corner of his lips—a pale, ragged slash-stretched with his smirk as his thumb and forefinger pinched your damp cheek, forcing your lips into a tighter, more desperate 'O' around his girth. You answered with a hum, a deliberate, throaty sound that traveled directly down the shaft buried in your mouth, making the thick vein along its underside pulse against your tongue.

Your eyes, blurry and wet, weren't just watering from the strain. They were swimming, tears tracking through the sweat at your temples from the overwhelming, glorious stretch of your jaw and the relentless, wet heat between your thighs where another mouth worked you over. It was hard to focus, hard to even remember your own name, not that you were allowed to use it here anyway. The rules were clear: masks on, no names.

Anonymity was the price for the kind of soul-shattering pleasure they'd dangled before you. You resorted to using their numbers from last time, assuming who was who. The black-haired man above you #2, you mentally labeled him, tightened his grip in your hair. He guided your head down, sinking himself deeper until your nose pressed into the coarse, dark curls at his base.

Your throat bulged obscenely around him, a visible lump working as you fought your gag reflex, surrendering to the sheer size of him. In the flickering of candlelight, his body was a landscape of muscle, the shadow of old scars crisscrossing his ribs and shoulders.

Beneath you, the white-haired man #17 was a study in contrasts. Just as tall, those plump, sinfully soft lips were sealed around your clit, sucking with rhythmic, devastating precision, while his fingers, long, curled inside you, finding that spongy spot with accuracy. His chuckle against your most sensitive flesh was a low tremor that made your entire body convulse, a silent scream trapped around the cock in your mouth.

You sucked in earnest then, your cheeks hollowing sharply, drawing a ragged groan from #2. You felt it rumble through his pelvis. You braced your palms on his rock-hard thighs, nails biting into skin, lowering your head further in silent, begging submission.

He obliged. With a grunt that was half curse, half prayer, his hand fisted in your hair, holding you immobile as his hips gave a short, sharp jerk. Hot, salty spurts hit the back of your throat. #2, sensing the climax above, doubled his efforts, his tongue a frantic, circling brand as his fingers pistoned. Your own orgasm ripped through you, which made your knees buckle, and your walls clamp viscously around his thrusting fingers.

You moaned around the pulsing cock, the vibrations milking him for more as you tried desperately to swallow, cum and saliva escaping the corners of your stretched lips to drip onto his still-hard shaft, gleaming in the low light. "Good girl," #2 breathed, his voice wrecked, as he finally pulled you off with a soft, wet pop.

He swiped his thumb through the mess on your chin, pushing the collected release back past your lips. "I couldn't wait to get another taste of this," #17 said, his face glistening with your arousal as he licked a broad stripe up your inner thigh, not wasting a drop. "Can't believe they only give us ten minutes in the rounds. That was a fucking tease," he pouted.

You gasped for air, your body humming, nerve endings screaming. "That's why we're here, isn't it?" you managed to rasp, voice starting to go raw, turning your head to press a soft, filthy kiss to the head of #2's cock where it lay, heavy and semi-soft, against his thigh. He hissed in pleasure.

"You're right," #17 agreed, but he parted from your cunt with obvious reluctance, his breath hot on your flesh.

Before you could orient yourself, #17 was there, his hand capturing your chin, his mouth crashing onto yours. His tongue plunged in, tasting of you and salt, a distracting invasion. You moaned into the kiss just as you felt the broad, blunt head of #2's cock, already iron-hard again, nudge against your dripping, well-used entrance.

You missed that stretch, that glorious, burning fullness. Your body recognized it, welcomed it, sucking him in greedily as he sheathed himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust.

The air left your lungs in a punched-out sob against #17's mouth. He pulled back, a silver string of saliva connecting your swollen lips. His smirk was pure wickedness. He leaned back on his elbows, spreading his legs in a vulgar, inviting display, his own cock lying thick and eager against his stomach. Following an instinct you didn't know you possessed, you slid from #2's lap, pulling #17's thighs toward you. You left a trail of darkening bruises along his inner muscles, your jaw protesting, but the desperate need to taste him. You took one of his heavy balls into your mouth, rolling the weight on your tongue, while your hand massaged the other.

A soft, approving whistle came from above. #17 watched, his blue eyes dark behind his mask, as you licked a long, slow stripe up #17's shaft before swallowing just the plush head. It was the opportunity he needed. His hands landed on your hips, and he drove back into your cunt, the force making you sink deeper onto #2's cock, taking him fully into your throat.

#2 set a punishing, piston-like pace, his balls slapping against your ass with wet, sharp cracks. "Nuh uh, don't lose focus, baby," #17 growled, his own hand tangling in your hair, fucking upward into your mouth in a perfect, synchronized counter-rhythm to the man pounding into you from behind. He pushed a hand into the small of your back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch.

You tried to keep up, to suck and clench and take, but it was a losing battle. A coil was winding tight in your belly again, a pressure building under the dual assault. #2's relentless slaps on your ass, the skin burning, flowering into a hot, red map of his possession. It was him, you were very sure now.

You snaked a trembling hand down between your own legs, your fingers finding your swollen, slippery clit. You circled it once. "Fuck- you should see the way she's sucking me in," #2 groaned above you, his head thrown back. He used his free hand to spread your ass cheeks wide, using your own flesh to bury himself deeper. "Wanna get to see what she looks like cumming around my cock."

"B-best thing ever," #17 stuttered, his rhythm faltering for a second, lost in the memory. Holding your head up, watching your face contort. He pushed your head down now, until his cock was a solid in your throat, and held you there until stars burst behind your eyelids before pulling back just enough for you to gasp.

#2's slap on your cheek was the final spark. It landed with a crack that echoed in the room, a bright, shocking pain that detonated the pleasure coiled inside you. Your cunt clamped down on #17 in a series of brutal, milking spasms, sucking him deeper as you shook. "Just like that!" he groaned, and his own control shattered.

He held you down, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself in hot, pulsing ropes down your throat. You swallowed desperately, around him.

But #2 didn't stop. His thrusts into your mouth remained brutal, even as you came down from your high. He dug his thumbs into the dimples of your lower back, a silent warning not to retreat. You would be bruised tomorrow, inside and out, a walking testament to this night.

Blinking through the haze, you fondled #17's balls with your free hand; he was still miraculously hard in your mouth. With a final, guttural moan, #2 climaxed, his release painted your already-ravaged cunt with a fresh, searing heat. He leaned back to watch it leak out of you. Your nails, which had been clutching #17's thighs, left deep, red crescents in their wake, companions to the hickies blooming there. As #2 finally pulled out, you lifted your head, showing #17 your tongue, clean of his spend.

"Swallowed it all," you slurred.

A wide, breathtaking grin split his face behind the mask. "That's my girl."

Your body was a boneless, trembling. #2, still buried inside you, wrapped a strong arm around your stomach and lifted you from the bed. #17 wasted not a second. The moment #2's cock slipped free with a wet, obscene sound, #17 was there, sheathing himself in your soaking, cum-slicked cunt.

The stretch was still breathtaking, still a delicious, burning fullness. You slumped against #17's chest, only to feel the blunt pressure of a tip once more at your entrance, now slick and loose. There was no way. They couldn't both...

Before you could even form the thought, #2 pushed. Low, broken sound tore from your throat as he breached you, his cock sliding in alongside #17's, stretching you to an impossible, mind-bending degree. You felt them both, every inch, rubbing against each other inside you.

"Oh my god—" It was a sob. They moved. Not in sync at first, a disorienting, overwhelming push-pull that made you see white. Then they found a rhythm—#17 pulling out as #2 pushed in, a continuous, rolling wave of penetration that hit that perfect, spongy spot with every single stroke. Your hands flew to #17's chest, finding it surprisingly full and soft under the hard muscle, holding on for dear life.

"I knew you could do it, baby," #17 breathed against your ear, his voice thick with awe. "Just like that." He captured your mouth again, swallowing your ragged, continuous moans.

Your pussy was stretched beyond anything you'd ever imagined, a sweet, dizzying ache that tipped into ecstasy. You began to move your own hips, fucking back onto them, chasing that feeling again.

You'd pay triple.

Your climax, when it came, wasn't a sharp peak but a flood. Your cunt gushed, a hot rush of fluids that soaked their cocks and thighs, your body convulsing in an endless wave of pleasure. "To think you could get any tighter-" #2 gasped, his hand snapping to the back of your neck.

His release followed instantly, triggered by your spasms, filling you with a fresh, scalding rush. #17 wasn't far behind; your clenching walls were too much. With a loud cry, he joined him, his cock twitching violently against its counterpart as he painted your already-overflowing pussy.

You were utterly spent, a ragdoll panting between them, your senses drowned in the smell of sex, sweat, and lust.

#2 pushed his hips flush against your ass, sealing his cum inside with a filthy, wet squelch. "Can't let any fall out, ya know," he chuckled, his voice a low rumble against your spine. His thumb hooked at your stretched entrance, feeling the mix of their releases seep out despite his efforts.

"How do you think they'll let us stay in here?" you mumbled, consciousness fading at the edges.

"No idea," #2 murmured. "Probably 'til we drop."

#17's eyebrow rose above his mask. You felt his smirk. "Loser is a rotten egg," he taunted, his voice regaining its playful edge.

Not one to back down, #2 laughed, the sound vibrating through you. "You're on."

—

This time, you didn't awake in a sterile recovery room. You awoke to warmth, and weight, and the slow, steady rhythm of two sets of breathing. Were squished in a tangle of limbs in the center of the ruined bed. One man, #17, his shock of black hair tickling your cheek, had an arm thrown possessively across your waist, his face buried in your neck. The other, #2, was spooned behind you, one heavy thigh hooked over yours, pinning you in place. The masks were gone, discarded somewhere on the floor, a clear violation of the contract.

You tried to shift, to lift your head, but the iron-bar arms around you only tightened, pulling you deeper into their sweaty embrace. And you felt the insistent, hardening press against your thigh. It was disgustingly icky.

A slow, sated smile spread across your face as you closed your eyes again. This was truly your best decision ever!