hey, it's mirae

99.96%.

‘Oh’ was right.

Just his name sends a thrill down your spine.

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

.

.

.

Name: Fushiguro Toji

Age: ?*

Occupation: ??

Category: DILF

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

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

One date that lasts about an hour.

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

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

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

Those intense eyes of his flickered to you once more.

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

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

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

And perhaps it was—

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

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

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

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

“Mine fuckin’ too, girlie.” 

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

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

“Why would I need to- ohhhh, mpf-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-ohhhhhh, harder-”

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

“Hey!”

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

But you can’t quite answer.

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

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

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

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

A shockwave runs down your spine.

“Th-that means…”

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

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 100.1% (?) MATCH!

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

Dr. Ieiri Shoko never wavers.

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

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

“Huh?”

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

But no such luck for Dr. Ieiri Shoko today.

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

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

A stronger…chemistry with someone else.

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

Name: Nanami Kento

Age: 27

Occupation: Office worker

Category: Gentleman with a big D.

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

“But I want to, Kento.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-every part of us matches.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep going.”

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

“Shiiiiit-”

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

“No no- oh, more-”

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

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

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

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

“Anything for you.”

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

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

Well, more like you found him.

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

Your second meeting had been in this cramped love hotel. 

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

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

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

And he does, but it feels like whiplash.

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

He finally fits.

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

“I wonder what the 0.1% is, my love?”

You’re not getting out of here alive.

♡ GETO SUGURU - 98% (UN)MATCH!

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

“Absolutely no chemistry.”

“Seriously no chemistry.” 

“Not even an ounce of chemistry.”

“Then why’re you inside me?”

“Why’d you ask me to be inside you?”

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

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

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

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

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

Let alone actually have sex with him again.

Let alone this be your fourth round.

Name: Geto Suguru

Age: 28

Occupation: Prefers not to say

Category: Morally grey.

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

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

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

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

You shrunk in the clinic seat in shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Join the club, I’m already dry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-ohhhhh—” Your voice cracks.

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

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

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

“Not all- hngh, of them-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—”

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

“You- wait, what?”

“Heh.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 92% MATCH!

Name: Kamo (Itadori) Choso

Age: ?*

Occupation: Student

Category: Hey, hey, hey EMO BOY!

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

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

“Him?”

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

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

“No—no, no, no, no, no-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything else matched up.

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

Oh-so-deeply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tapping at your chin in an exaggerated display of thinking.

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

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

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

He perks up.

“How about my mouth again?”

Choso shakes his sweaty head.

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips quiver. “Oh, Cho.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Choso.”

“You. It’s you.”

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

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

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - HE MATCHED?!

“Wait- who…?”

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

Name: ITADORI (RYOMEN) SUKUNA

Age: 32

Occupation: ‘It’s complicated’.

Category: Rough n’ tough

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

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

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

“He loiters.” You ask.

“Hopefully a forgivable crime.” She nods.

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that-”

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

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

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

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

“Nah. No need to pass, Dr. Shoko.”

.

.

.

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

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

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

It barely covered…well, anything.

And that seemed to be just how he liked it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hairs on your body raise. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it’s both. At the same time.

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

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

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

Fucking you twice over. 

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

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

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

And he’s bottoming out. Twice. 

“Fuck, how I’m glad you found me.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - INFINITY% MATCH?!

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

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

So…what?

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

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

You gasp. “Seriously? A perfect match?”

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

“Then, what seems to be…”

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

“Eccentric?”

“No.”

“Odd?”

“No.”

“Crazy.”

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

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

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

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

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

He was cute- you had to give him that.

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

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

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

You gape. “What?”

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

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

“Like a true romantic~” Gojo trills.

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a beat.

Two.

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

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

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

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

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

“Create the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT-”

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

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

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

Gojo cums from pure excitement.

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

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

“That next I must make a pregnancy program!”

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

A text from Shoko.

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

But perhaps that was too much for an introduction to your next-door neighbor, no? That was probably more of a second meeting thing- hah. And so you’d hastened to explain that you were actually the new tenant, handing over the bundle of cookies that you’d baked for the residents you were close to.

And Toji had looked at the cookies, and at you….and at the cookies…and at you- before ultimately sticking his head outside and glancing down the hallway - as if to make sure that this really wasn’t some superior marketing tactic. 

And yes, he really had just gotten free cookies.

Finally, he raised a dark brow at you and smiled - or at least what you imagined was a semblance of a smile. Just the slightest quirk of his scarred lips. “Heh…we’ll get along. Nice to meetcha, I’m Fushiguro Toji.”

And just then, Fushiguro Megumi had made an entrance at the wafting smell of freshly-baked treats. Immediately tugging the bag out of the man’s hands and taking it for himself-

You promised Toji that you’d make another batch for him.

And so you did. And so you baked, you accompanied Toji shopping, you helped him move away from giving poor Megs instant ramen for dinner all the time—you even got to bake in their kitchen when your oven once broke down. 

Thus. After a few months, Saturday nights often looked like an amalgamation of both your previous routines; with you ignoring your manager’s overtime phone calls to put on your favorite show and indulge in some selfcare. Toji with his pen out and his eyes squinting at the latest jockey racing results- dammit, Haru Urara lost again. 

Down the hall, Megumi was fast asleep.

All in his apartment.

You can’t remember the last time you’d wound down in your own- but before you can consider what that meant…Toji’s throwing his pen down. He heaves himself up from the brightly-lit dining table to sit down beside you—gaze narrowing at the half-shitty soap opera you’d put on to pass the time. “What…the hell is that?”

“A show.” You retort.

“I get that- hah, you think m’stupid?” Toji rolls his sage green eyes. And before you can reply with something smart, he’s gesturing half-heartedly at the screen before him. “I mean- why the hell is there so much…crying and moaning.”

Your gaze snaps to the quickly-shifting scenes on-screen, “That is, uh…” In the few seconds you’d looked away to scour Toji’s library for a book that wasn’t a sports magazine or a Haru Urara fanbook, it seems the plotline on the TV had taken…a far more different route. “Sex.”

“You think I fucking don’t know what’s-” As you’re laughing your head off, Toji cuts himself off and pinches the top of his nosebridge. Surely to ward off his oncoming headache.

You always did do that to him. In the best way.

And after a deep breath, he gestures idly at the screen once more. Or more specifically: the way the love interest’s eyes widen in shock, mouth dropping as he looks between where they were connected. He’s saying something that makes you still, “Why is he talking about…cumming dry? There’s no way that’s fuckin’ real.”

“It is?” You’re peering at him in confusion. “It literally is?”

Toji crosses his beefy arms, “No way.”

“You’re going to argue with science, Toji?”

“M’just saying- it’s never happened to me.” He retorts.

And the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them- “…Is that a challenge?” You regret them as soon as they’re entering the tense air, making the older man stiffen beside you—

And you’re just about to apologize and bow yourself out of the awkwardness when-

“Oh you can fucking try.”

It’s how you find yourself being guided to Toji’s single bedroom - no matter how many times you’ve been in his apartment, you’ve strayed far from here - and sprawled out on his vast mattress. Legs straddling his hips. Hands braced on his pecs.

You’re grabbing a nice feeling of them and it makes the beefy man groan. He’s peering up at you through his jet-black bangs, only half-covering his smoldering gaze. “So…? I’m fucking hot, yeah, but you’re just gonna stand there ogling me or…”

“So humble, too.” You scoff.

And then you’re fiddling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants to take his thiiiiick, reddened tip in a single swoop - or at least try to. He grins, “Yeah. And don’t forget big.”

.

.

.

Toji Fushiguro fucks you - or it’s more like you’re on top n’ bouncing your hips down onto him - so that you won’t forget it.

So that you’re feeling the lil’ twinge of pressure between your legs once you’re walking out of this damn room, so that you’re feeling the remnants of his cum glued creamily to your pussy. It better feel empty without him in there - and Toji has one palm of his pressed up against your gaping mouth, so that you won’t wake Megumi.

And the other one of his was latched your left hip.

Gripping lovingly onto the flesh there and lurching your hips up and down—faster and faster. Moving. Manhandling. Because with just a few strokes of his sheer girth, you’re seemingly dickmatized.

And leaving it aaaaaall up to Toji to guide n’ prod.

To angle your hips in figure-eights so that he can feel his cum swirling inside. Stirring it with his glistening cock. “Atta girl.” Toji gruffs out at the feeling of being utterly slathered by your walls. “And what was that about cumming dry? Hah- because m’still rock-hard and the only one having trouble here is you—”

“You’re trouble.” You huff.

“Not what I said.” He snickers. Before his handsome face leans upwards and licks off a stray tear dangling from your cheek, “But you’re lucky you’re- hck! cute. And how many rounds was that, huh, doll?”

“Six.”

“Good. And how many rounds have I cum dry?”

“Zero…” Huffing at the smug look on his face- oh, how you wanted to wipe that off. Oh, how you wanted to make him eat his words—and perhaps without even realizing it, you’re jerking your hips stubbornly back and forth.

It wasn’t matching up to the controlled place that he was slammin’ away at the back of your cervix- but it sure was something.

Your velvety walls were utterly drenched in Toji’s hot cum by now - and that just made it so much easier for you to ground your feet into the mattress n’ take him. All of him. All of those crude, curved inches of him that opened you up perfectly—“B-but don’t think that you’re gonna get off that easily.”

“Oh yeah?” A moan hatches at the back of his throat- botched exhales. “And what’s different about this time, huh?”

“This time-” Fuck, Toji’s grin spreads in a feline way across his face. He was looking at you through half-lidded eyes, vision just a little blurred from pleasure, and there was an almost…wolfish hunger in them that makes you answer- “This time I don’t have enough space.”

And that makes one of his brows raise, “Hah?”

“I said it.” To emphasize your point, you’re parting your thighs just a little—almost difficult with the way his sap had them glued together. The milky-white ribbons of Toji’s cum leakin’ out of your poor pussy, so much of it that it’s dripping down and making his black curls there glisten. “Look…”

Toji’s pants slightly quicken at the sinful sight.

“Next time, you better not cum so much again- or else s’not gonna fit.”

Scoffing, he runs a thumb freely between your pussylips- and pushes in a few of the escaping wads. “And what if I just…make it fit.” Along with the fat edge of his thumb. “Juuuust like this.”

You’re wracking with shivers at the sudden intrusion, “What- cock so sensitive you can’t stop cumming?” Though you really liked it - with how much he was flooding your cunt every time - and he knew it, too.

“Pussy so whiny she can’t handle one more?”

“You wish.” 

And that’s earning you a good spankin’ on top of your pussylips.

One. Two. Three.

Without pause. Soon, your cunt’s feeling utterly raw in the aftermath—and you’re clinging onto Toji’s firm deltoids for dear life. 

But that didn’t mean you were going to back down anytime soon.

No…instead, you’re using the sudden grip to steady your weakened hips. With your two knees squeezing either side of his obliques, and your back arched into a curvature that makes his mouth water - you’re meeting Toji’s sloppy pace. Pushing him back down by the shoulders and taking over the sloppy pace—

Toji’s tipping over onto the pillows now. You’re smack-smack-smacking your hips down onto his at a jackhammerin’ cadence - faster than even he was, perhaps…

And it’s that fact that makes him breathe, “O-oh, okay.” Toji’s unsure where to put his hands- so you’re swiftly taking them into yours and making him puuuuush down on your bloated stomach. The wads of his cum glisten down your thighs, catching the dim lighting of the bedroom. “This is new.” Never has anyone ever tried to take charge of him.

And there was something so hot about it.

Something so irresistible about that determined set of your brow. The way you’re ruined on his cock and attempting to desperately make him even more so. The way you’re squeezing your cunt so tightly around his length—dragging your walls down it. And up. And down.

Your hamstrings ache as you ride. Your pussy’s grabbin’ him all over from the veeeeery crowned top- and then down to his thickened hilt.

Milking him is the only expression he can use to describe the motion.

“New as in…” You’re feeling the smile stretch across your face, milking Toji’s cock was all he was worth. Your hips accelerate. “-going-to-make-you-cum-dry sort of new? Or?”

Another spank- this time, right on your clit. “D-don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Pushing him down from attempting to take control of the pace once more. You’re throwing your head back and riiiding out his erection the way you like it - “M’just saying…you just stuttered.” His breath hitches at your response- “So victory might be closer than I thought.”

“I…”

“Awww. Is the big, bad Toji Fushiguro speechless for once?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

But, truly, he could feel the pressurized build-up at the base of his cock. Starting off small. Starting right above where his balls were twitchin’ and aching - and then moving up, up, uuup every single inch to angrily throb at his tip.

Furious, furious.

It had barely even started yet, and somehow Toji already knew that it was something different from all those orgasms that came before it. And so he’s clenching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth as he feels it overcoming him—

“Fuh-fuck.” He’s out-of-breath just from the first wave. And desperately - pathetically - Toji’s hoping to anything that’d listen that it wasn’t a dry orgasm. He’s pleading. He’s mentally on his knees and begging-

And then…with a sudden buck of his hips Toji’s round, blushin’ cockhead strikes the bottom of your pussy. It’s then that he’s realizing that perhaps manifesting really doesn’t work for some old bastard like him- because he doesn’t even have to feel the contrasting wetness of your cervix to already know. 

To realize that though his bliss was searing through his body in waves-

His cock was dribbling out absolutely nothing.

Six rounds and he’d finally lost it.

The rush of his orgasm coursing through him, accompanied by the inexplicable emergence of nothing more. His achingly hot tip can do nothing more than stick deep into your pussy n’ swerve around the bundled-up wads of cum there. Not adding. Not taking.

Horny embarrassment mingles with his broken pride; and Toji clenches his jaw as he peers up at you—you and that damn accomplished smile.

You’re fluttering your lashes innocently down at him- “Yes, Toji? Got anything else to say about cumming dry?”

“No…” He reluctantly admits. Before spitting out -“What else does that TV show have?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 10 rounds.

You didn’t expect your husband to be anything but a gentleman.

Who would?

Nanami Kento was the epitome of everything one would want their partner to be; he was sweet, he was patient, he was intelligent in many ways—but most of all, emotionally. He loved you at your best and he loved you when you didn’t feel so - and thus, he was the man that stood before you at the altar. 

Donned in a dark hakama. Blond hair slicked back. 

Rose-gold ring glistening on one hand. 

Stating vows to love one another from here onwards and forevermore; and he’s never meant anything more. Nothing has been truer in his entire life.

The celebrations were uproarious- not from Nanami’s end, but rather from your elated friends. Your new husband sat beside you silently during the reception, making sure you were eating well and that the air conditioning at the venue wasn’t too cold—though when he did get a few beers in him, he kept whispering from a scandalously close proximity how beautiful those robes looked on you…how much better it might look off—

You remember during this time that Shoko had tottered by - held up by weary Utahime - and blessed the two of you ten times over. Ultimately clapping Nanami on the shoulders and telling him to take good care of you.

And to not disappoint you on your wedding night-

But that was around the time that Utahime had decided that your brown-haired friend had taken one too many vodka shots. No chasers. 

And she’d dragged her away whilst you and Nanami sat hot-under-the-collar in your seats. Avoiding much eye contact - because surely most could guess what was bound to happen at the end of the reception, the farewell. 

And so had come the wedding night.

.

.

.

The two of you had barely made two steps into your five-star wedding suite before the expensive wedding clothes were falling to the floor.

And Nanami’s gotten you pressed into the most delicious full nelson on top of the rose petal-covered mattress. Cock heavy and hard. Those crimson flowers forming a heart underneath your two tangled bodies, and Nanami’s cock echoing the most lewd slurps n’ squelches.

It’d only gotten louder throughout the night- as Nanami swabbed the droplets of his creamy white cum inside you. Just married and he was already stuffing you full—

Four hours and hours. Making you cum through each one. 

As a gentleman should, of course.

You think it’s around the tenth or so round when your head’s tipping stupidly backwards - resting against his firm collarbone - as Nanami’s burnished red cocktip rams into your g-spot again. Glued using a few webs of his seed, it’s a carnal sensation that sets your teeth on edge, and the blond-haired man crushes you close—

“Sh-shit…” You’re keening out, voice taking on a shrill pitch. “Kento- oh, ngh—” Barely able to speak through the loooong, thorough thrusts that he was planting inside you. “I n-never knew you could be so…”

Another hard slam! that leaves your ears ringing. And Nanami’s tone husked to almost nothingness as he asks, “Yes, my love—?”

“Rough.” Crying out.

Though they were cries of utter pleasure- of wanting him to continue. Because in the years that you’ve known him, Nanami Kento has never fucked you like this—has never fucked you the way he was hammerin’ mean strokes into you on your wedding night. Harsh plap! after plap! of skin-on-skin.

Of his stinging pink pelvis pushing into yours.

And your husband moves at a carnal pace - muddled brain unable to process anything more - once he feels your limp hips slippin’ out from above him. Covered in a thin layer of sweat and slick leaking like a waterfall between your glossy pussylips. “Sh-shit, Kento, m’gonna…”

“I’ve got you, my love.” Nanami wraps his bulky arms underneath both legs and hauls you upwards. 

“Oh…” Your jaw drops, “You’re just moving me so easily.”

He merely chuckles at your cuteness- were you cockdrunk already?

And once you’re in proper position, laid out on top of the toned line of Nanami’s abdomen, he gently removes his arms. You’re almost disappointed at the massage of his flexing muscles- but before you can miss him too much, your newly-wed husband has them latched onto you again.

This time, in a headlock. 

Left arm looped around your pretty throat.

Right arm slithered between your legs and squeezing your clit immediately.

You buck up at the sudden burst of pleasure- stars behind your eyes. Moans ready at the tip of your tongue—

“Shhhh shh shh, I wouldn’t want whoever’s next door to hear my- haaaah, beautiful wife’s sounds. I’m a protective man, darling.” He murmurs throatily behind you, “Unless it’s that new last name of yours.”

So gone by the way his round, throbbing tip was bulldozing into you until your toes curled- “N-new last name…?” It’s taking you a little while to register it.

But Nanami Kento always was a patient man, wasn’t he? And so he’s simply nodding, leaning down and spittin’ straight between your pretty lips to claim that mouth as his own- and his as yours. Of course. “Your last name.” He responds. “Mrs. Nanami.”

The mere sound of it is enough to make you shudder—“Oh.”

“Or…your last name is mine, too.” Nanami hums to himself- now so utterly gone on the idea of it all. Of marriage. Of the fact that you’re his wife - his wife. He tightens his headlock and kisses your temple gently, “It’s actually why m’a little more…rough, today, my love. You’ll have to forgive me.”

“I l-like it.” You’re replying, “And this is all because of- hngh, our wedding night, Kento?”

“Not quite.”

And you’re feeling cum glue to your cervix as you’re bucking downwards- but of course, your husband would never keep you waiting long. With a simple kiss to that wedding ring you were wearing, he raises your left hand up, up, upwards—to grip at his golden tresses. You’re going to need it.

Because in the next few seconds, Nanami then plants his feet further flatly on the mattress and drills his cock up into you. Tunneling. Mazing. Bashing his ruddied tip against every sweet spot.

He was fucking you like he hated you - and the creaking bedsprings would agree - but oh, how he loved you so.

The sheer amount of pleasure that courses through you was almost numbing.

And without further ado, you’re babbling out the sweetest whimpers n’ whines of his name. Nanami’s breath fanning your face hotly as he leans in and whispers—“It’s because you’re my wife.” 

Lightning strikes you to your very core.

You could feel your high imposing. 

Nanami’s honed canines nip at your earlobes, “It’s the same but not-” He continues, throat growing more n’ more ragged with grunts, the more the thrusted inside. “It’s what I’ve been dreaming for this entire time- fuck, but it’s…so…so much better.” Voice shattering at this very moment. “Darling, it’s like I can’t stop.”

And he fully meant it.

You’re clawing at the beefy expanse of his forearms as he accelerates, your high starting to shoot and crackle with no end-

“I’ve tried.” Nanami’s voice sounds hollow, echoing with something far more primal than you’ve ever heard of him. And hit thrusts- oh, his strikes were so toe-curling. “I’ve tried—but I just can’t seem to. I’ve told myself, I’ve made myself…” The most sinful squelch! wrenches from your pussy as he rolls over your clit and makes you cum once more, “But no matter how hard I try…I just can’t seem to stop wanting to cum inside my wife’s pussy.”

“K-Kento—” Your back arches- lights flashing behind your eyes. “Inside- please.”

“That’s exactly the problem.” He sounds like a man maddened. “I need to see this pussy drippin’ wet with my cum.” You’re shivering as he runs the flatness of his thumb between your cunt’s folds, just so sensitive that the barest graze leaves electricity zapping through your body. “Nine time- nine fucking times-” He rarely swore. “-and I still feel the urge to watch her try to gulp me up. To watch her overspill. To feel her soppin’ wet right down to the womb—”

Breathless with need. “Then do it, husband…”

“I can’t help myself.”

And then Nanami’s cumming.

Like he’d always planned to, of course. But the only problem was that this time - the tenth - he’s feeling nothing but the smallest trickle of cum. Just the faintest few ounces.

And then nothing more- although it feels like he’s still pouring out as much as it takes to flood you. 

It hits him instantly that he’s cumming dry.

And Nanami’s mouth drops, blond lashes fluttering just a bit as he takes in the situation. No matter how many times he was draaagging his vein-covered cock in and out of your channel, it only left him as dry and overstimulated as ever. 

Tears pricking behind his eyes, Nanami gasps. “This feels like a-a premonition…”

“Of?” You blink.

“The fact that this night’s not over yet.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 8 rounds.

“Please- ngh—” The sound that leaves you is far too pitiful for your reputation. How could you have ever thought…“P-please, I beg of you-”

“Oh? You beg of me, hm?” Geto’s words were just dripping with amusement, and his smile presses up against your throat. Clammy. Pulse thundering. That beautiful long hair of his was completely untied and falling over the sides of your body, strands tickling down your arched back- it was like a cloak of night. And so was the firebending master.

You’re throwing your head back and keening—“More.”

“You beg more of your enemy?”

What treason. What treachery.

How did you even get here?

You could blame all the training; all the long nights and the countless days spent by the water, the feeling of power rippling through your body as you mastered it. It was no secret that the Fire Nation and the Water Nation were at war.

These were the days that would end up as history, after all.

But you just wondered whether this battle would…between one of the best of the Water Nation - you - and the Fire Prince himself. Geto Suguru. 

Announced as next-in-line to the throne. The man your age with a fear-striking reputation that ran far and deep. And treacherous. 

It was a siege planned by the group of rebels you were a part of, and it was simple: attack the Fire Nation’s Royal Palace and end their bloodline once and for all. And for that, you’d have to take care of the prince himself.

Little did you know that what had begun as a one-on-one fight between the two of you at highly close quarters would turn into something….else entirely. As you’d straddled him during combat and prepared to call upon your powers - chest heaving, eyes locked - you had no idea who leaned in first. You had no idea which one of you was the first traitor.

And so here you were…

Knees digging into the hard floor of the Fire Nation’s Imperial Dojo, mouth slobberin’ out lungfuls of moans. Your head throwing backwards and hitting the prominent collarbones of none other than your sworn enemy—Geto Suguru.

Who was fucking his hard, red-hot cock into you like he hated you.

And he probably did.

And yet…and yet- he can’t stop himself from lunging his needy hips forwards and slamming French kisses into the back of your cervix. Those nice, gooey depths that welcomed him with such fervour it almost made him laugh. But despite how bemusing it might be, Geto knows he should stop. He knows he needs to adhere to his duties…but here he was again.

And again and again.

Runnin’ on his seventh round, where he’s ruggedly pulling his vein-covered cock in and out of you. He fucked mean. And he was only getting meaner as he cranes his neck forwards, digging his pearly white canines into the crook of your neck.

Harder and harder.

“N-ngh…” It’s just barely-there. Sneakily, Geto muffles that broken noise emanating from the back of his throat - meanwhile, you’re left moaning once his hot sap starts to fill your cunt up once more.

Just the cutest few drops - drooling - before he immediately pulls out and sprays those satiny ribbons down your outer pussy. Coating a few milky-white layers on top, he then rubs his swollen n’ sap-glossed tip uuuuup and down your pussylips; a few times before plunging back in again. “M-more…”

It’s so quiet and pitchy that he barely hears it. But Geto Suguru wasn’t the nation’s fiercest warrior for nothing- “Pardon?” Those amethyst eyes of his widen at your request. It took a lot to surprise the Fire Prince, but now…he’s leisurely blowing the jet-black bangs out of his face to peer at you. “Repeat that.”

“Is that a command?” You bite.

And what you’re getting in response is a quick swat on your left ass cheek. Geto’s trained fingers were purposefully increasing their body temperature, leaving his imprint sizzling on your skin—“It is.” That chiselled body of his leans his weight even further down on you, massaging you with smooth, perspired abs. His long tendrils tickle your neck, “And what do you have to say to that, smallfry?”

“I say…” You’re whispering.

Leaning down even closer- practically pinning you beneath him. “Mhmmmm?”

“Fuh-fuck you.” 

You weren’t repeating a single thing.

Turning your head ‘round to spit at him. Right across his face.

Except; Geto Suguru anticipates this very moment to leave his unfairly pretty lips ajar and let you spit in his mouth. Straight into his mouth. You’re watching in slow-motion as the glittery wad enters past his maw, getting smeared as the firebender then crashes his lips onto yours.

Such a filthy, filthy kiss. 

You’re moaning deep into his mouth Geto roves his hips back n’ starts prodding even harder. Even harder. With the red, spherical tip of his cock—he enters your womb and lingers for a bit. “Now…” Another slap. “That isn’t a very nice thing to say, princess.”

You gasp. He knew. 

That lineage you’d fought to keep hidden, for years upon years as you trained and grew stronger, noticed so easily by the prince himself…

Two royals tangled in something you couldn’t discern from passion and a fight.

Geto’s smile spreads against your mouth, and his hands come pummeling down in a rapidfire smack-smack-smack on your ass cheek. Temperature raising at the tips of his fingers. It’s practically sizzling- “What? Cock got your tongue?”

Another smack on your cunt. “Shut up.”

“Tha’s alright- you don’t have to answer me.” He croons. Dragging out with the tip of his tongue- and his cock, the sheer sensitivity of your pussy means that now even the slightest hit at your g-spot makes you jump—

Only for Geto to drag you backwards with a single arm wrapped around your throat. His bulky forearm bulges as he traps you in a headlock; and you’re just starting to ogle his muscles as he rams and rams his trained hips into you. Accelerating. Dragging it down your walls even faster- “But there is just one question I need to find out the answer to.” And that hand of his comes spankin’ down even harder. Smoothing along your ass cheek, “Can the Water Princess squirt—?”

“Fuh-fuck.” He was ruthless. If you thought that Geto was fucking you mean earlier, then you weren’t ready for right now. Your hands claw at the flooring before you, “No sooner than the Fire Prince can cum dry.”

It was the eighth round now and the both of you were gone.

With his hips pinning you down to the dojo ground. His headlock tighter than ever- veiny and muscular. The plump head of his cock drills into you so rapidly that it was nearly nothing but a blur of pink—in and out. In and out. 

Geto’s making it a few more sharp thrusts before he feels pleasure coiling at the pit of his stomach. And he can’t have that - of course he can’t cum before who’s supposed to be his mortal enemy - so he squeezes his hand between your legs n’ rolls over that oversensitive nub with two fingers. Powerful fingers—his heat was sizzling, a carnal sensation that you couldn’t even begin to describe.

You yelp.

And though you couldn’t exactly call on your waterbending at the moment, you’re still able to jerk your hips back n’ meet Geto’s thrusts. 

Fucking him just as angrily as he was fucking you.

Again and again.

The dojo grounds around you two rumble as though the most passionate fight, before your head throws back and you’re feeling your orgasm hurtling into you. And without thinking twice, you’re reaching underneath your body and grazing Geto’s aching, pistoning cock- just the slightest wisp of your waterbending power…being used to make your fingertips cold.

Cold to the touch.

Cold to contrast against his furiously hot cock.

With a flinch- you’re both tumbling into your highs.

“Fuck- oh…fuck.” You—with your cunt soakin’ itself in the excess of your orgasm. Dopamine coursing through your veins and your eyes fluttering shut- your peripherals sprint to the back of your head. And your toes curl…“I can feel you cumming dry, Suguru.”

“Sh-shut up.”

And so he was—his cockhead was flinching like he’d been spurting out ribbony wires of cum, his balls were clenching…and yet there was nothing. It wasn’t like the previous rounds when you had your deepest depths splashed in a sudden warmth- Geto, this time, was simply emptying out nothing.

Still fucking you ravenously through it-

“Cumming dry.” Elongating his wave of bliss. Rammin’ into your g-spot like a button, just so you could feel the slightest bit of the overstimulation he was. Almost laughing to himself, “You really fucking made me cum dry-”

“Problem, Fire Prince?”

“Not at all, Water Princess.”

And once he’s finally feeling it bate - his shaft having pumped out nothing throughout its entire duration - Geto presses his face into the crook of your neck and moans.

“Best of three then?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 3 rounds.

“Baby, I just…” Choso’s tone quivers, something deep and dark seeping into his words. They seemingly erupt from the back of his throat, against his own will, and hang in the air like a sudden spritz of perfume—

Wait…you swear you’re smelling actual perfume.

Brows furrowing. Turning your nose upwards, you take in the fleeting flowery scent; before looking over your shoulder at where your boyfriend was standing.

It was a slow, sleazy weekend: time for just the two of you. The honks of cars were winding down, and sunset dripped from Tokyo city’s roofs and foliage. The only time when Choso was allowed to refuse the missions that the higher-ups foisted upon him, and when you could decline your manager’s calls without feeling even the slightest bit of guilt.

Instead. He was supposed to help you bake cookies today, he was supposed to be padding into your shared kitchen n’ press a sweet, sweet kiss to your cheek - then insist he take over as he always does. He was supposed to be…not this. Whatever this was. 

Leaned against the dooframe. Head dropped. Hair loose. Breaths coming out in gusts. Choso had his Brother Bear t-shirt off and his bare chest flushed—damp with perspiration. It’s as though he’d been taken over by a sudden fever, ravaging through him, radiating heat through every single pore. Making his rosy cheeks flush even rosier as he jerks his dark, glazed eyes up to look at you.

And a sudden jolt goes through the both of you-

“Choso…?” You’re cautiously taking a step towards him- to which he’s surprising you by taking a step back. “Baby, what happened?”

“I-I just—” His voice hatches and cracks. Urgently clawing at himself. “Remember how I wasn’t feeling too well in the morning?”

You nod, taking another step closer.

He scratches behind his neck - movements torrid and heavy. Lethargic. “So I took a nap, and when I woke up it was just feeling…” Almost subconsciously, Choso’s hands snake down to the drawstrings of his sweatpants- fuck. And it’s just then that you’re registering the throbbing, aching bulge between his long legs. “-hot.”

Wordlessly, you’re looking at the calendar propped up on one end of the kitchen counter. Ah—the realization makes your lips part. Today’s date sticks out like a jagged nail, or - more accurately - like a…

Your gaze flickers back down to where Choso mindlessly paws at his erection. Breathless. Heating up.

“Cho, baby.” You’re catching his attention once more. Chocolate brown eyes glisten with tears- “I think you’re in heat.”

A shiver crawls through his body.

And his jaw drops, “Oh.”

Soon enough, you’re crossing the sizzling distance between you both and taking your agonized boyfriend by the hand. He flinches - just a little - as his skin touches yours- before you’re pulling him into a kiss and he simply melts—moans your name.

The two of you aren’t making two steps towards the bedroom before Choso hugs you from behind n’ crushes his red-hot, sensitive erection into your back. Breathing out a barely-audible plea. And then you’re both crashing onto the floor - the half-curse’s hands tugging on your panties, your hands flying to his cock.

He’s gotten you kneeled and arched into his scorching body temperature- before he reels backwards and funnels his cock in.

Just the very curve of it. Just the very tip—blushed red like a strawberry and twice as thick, he’s letting his eyes flutter shut as Choso cums instantly - instantly - at the feeling of your soaked pussy. The half-curse glues his hips to yours and starts spraying out satiny ropes of cum, “F-f-fuck…” His bottom lip quivers so cutely.

“Already, Cho?” Your purr.

It was just so cute. Because in the next few seconds he’s almost sobbing- “I…I can’t help myself.” Pretty face coming down to press in the junction of your throat, plastered with hot sweat and tears.

“Awwww.” You’re turning around to place a kiss on his cheek, “That heat’s made my poor boyfriend so sensitive, huh?”

And Choso simply nods and nods- “But m’not done yet.” Then you’re feeling the buzz of cursed energy- Choso’s cursed energy. You’re feeling your breath hitch as the technique of blood manipulation courses through his veins and renders his cock as hard as ever, flushed so hot you could feel him scorching between your swollen pussylips.

He just whimpers at the sensation. Blood manipulation always did leave him a little dizzy…

Then his hips are hammerin’ away into yours as though he was hungry to reach every pulsing spot and nerve inside. Every ounce of space. That spongy layer of your cervix felt like fucking heaven to him, and he didn’t know why but…but something was calling at him to keep on pushin’ his bundles of cum even deeper down there. To keep hitting it over and over.

To give you looooong, textured drags from his tip to his foamed hilt.

To let the most sensual grunts emanate from his throat every time he’s feeling your soaked walls attempt to clench around him. Chasing after the sensation of him stuffing you full.

In more or less of a doggy position, you’re steadying your hands on the lust-red carpet beneath you- and bucking your hips up. He was sizzling hot. 

Once.

It makes Choso’s doey eyes widen—and he’s staring at you with bated breath. “What are you…”

Twice.

The globes of your ass cheeks reach backwards and smack! his toned pelvis. That sugary scent in the air only seems to grow even stronger- “Fuh-fuck, baby, that’s dangerous. If you do that, m’gonna…”

Eyes glazing over twofold. A slick line of drool on the corner of his mouth. 

Your own twitches in amusement- you had him absolutely wrecked in nothing but a few bounces. In nothing but a few figure-eights making his pupils run to the back of his head. You’re bucking your hips back n’ forth to milk him even more—

“B-baby…”

And that seems to be the last straw for the heat-struck Choso Kamo: who’s lurching his needy body forwards. Pressing one large hand on the upper area of your spine, it doesn’t take much for him to lean his hefty weight down and make you collapse onto the floor- 

As you’re toppling - your boyfriend following closely behind as though stuck to you by superglue - he’s placing a forearm underneath your face. A soft cushion.

Making sure you don’t knock yourself on anything- it’s the last act of kindness you’re getting before Choso drills his hips down and pumps out hot, glutinous cum into you again. Head throwing back. Adam’s apple bobbing at the sharp electricity shooting through him—so much of it. And so soon, too.

It must be an effect of the heat, he’s thinking…or at least he would have had it not been for the state he was in.

Utterly ruined. Utterly pussydrunk.

Choso Kamo has his maw pressed in an open-mouthed kiss against the column of your throat, deep shivers wracking through his body as he whines n’ bucks. “B-baby, it just doesn’t seem to stop-” His slippery shaft sticks into your g-spot and you gasp- “I don’t know if it even can stop—”

Both in cumming- and in fucking you.

Without him even calling upon it, his blood manipulation rushes through his body n’ straight to his now-upright cock. Your poor, powerful boyfriend isn’t given a single split-second to let himself go flaccid before his cursed energy takes over again. 

He’s rutting and rutting his body forwards. Mouth gaped open at the sensation, and his wet pants synchronizing with the even wetter plaps! of skin-on-skin. They were getting even louder, even sloppier, by the second as Choso’s cum seeps out of your pussy n’ kept getting smeared between your legs. 

Hamstrings aching. His abs massaging your back-

Your eyes kept fluttering shut at the sheer pleasure- it was just about past the second round and you still haven’t gotten used to Choso’s sheer size. Only growing and plumpening himself out even bigger as he kept tunneling between your legs—and you swear that damn heat of his left you even more dickmatized than usual, too.

Letting out the prettiest music to his ears as his curved cock slams into your g-spot once more. “Maybe I don’t- hngh, want it to.” You babble out. “Maybe I need you to cum inside- oh, again.”

“Ohhhh, don’t say that.” Pelvis pressed up so harshly against your body that his happy trail scratches you in a way that was so carnal. And any time you’re shifting - Choso has his right hand wrapped around your throat and haaaaauling your weakened body backwards, “P-please don’t say that.” It all comes out in a rush. “If you do then…”

You’re shivering as his nose runs down your throat- drunk on your pheromones. “Then?”

“Then m’gonna cum again.” He whimpers, “And this time I don’t know if I can stop.”

And, truly, Choso could feel his next orgasm building and building at the pit of his stomach - and at the tip of his shaft. It was different than the two before—just a bit stronger, just a bit more electric- he was feeling zaps of electricity shooting to every point in his body; every blood vessel and axiom inside him. 

His mind was feeling foggier. His eyes were having a hard time keeping open just from the sheer pleasure of your velvety, wet pussy. Engulfing every inch of him. His hips were rammin’ sloppy strokes into you again and again and again until he-

“I-I—fuck.” 

Until he finally explodes into his high.

Tears streaming down his flushed face. Mouth glued to yours. 

One hand at your waist n’ swervin’ your hips around so that you can gobble up every ounce of seed he was streaming. Except…

Choso’s eyes shoot open once he realizes-

Except he wasn’t cumming at all.

“Baby, wait.” Because the half-curse surely felt like he was cumming, he surely knew that he’d reached the peak of his pleasure n’ was stretching out that dopamine every time he plunged into you. 

And he also knew that your wettened walls were squeezing out every drop like you knew, too, yet he just couldn’t feel a single thing dripping out. Not a single thing.

Choso grips the base of his cock with furrowed brows, “I think I’m…”

“Noooo, don’t pull out.” Needily, you’re reaching behind and clawing at his wrists as he attempts to. Only for Choso to shake his head and replace his engorged cock with a few fingers - it wasn’t as good as his entire length, but it was something.

And then he pumps and pumps his cock- if he couldn’t fuck deep into you then maybe he could coat your pretty pussylips with his glittering sap. But the only thing he’s able to let out is nothing. Cumming dry.

“Dry?” You’re looking behind in interest, and it’s just then that he’s realizing he must’ve said that out loud. Fuck, he’s so gone. “Three times was too many, huh-”

“No.” Choso interrupts, “No- no, baby. Don’t even think of that.” And he’s so tearful—he’s so apologetic at the fact that he couldn’t…

Cooing, “There’s nothing wrong with that, Cho-”

“I know, but…” And he hesitates, but the words disrupt from his throat anyways. “-something in me says I need to stuff you full of my cum until I can…hck- see your tummy bloat with it. Now.”

Your jaw drops at the sight of your innocent boyfriend uttering such words. Such dirty, dirty words.

And before you know it, you’re laid flatly on your back with Choso’s handsome face looming over you. The air between you two charges with cursed energy once more, and his red-hot cockhead sliiiides between your pussylips.

Blood manipulation leaving him harder than ever.

He hisses, “Th-this time, I promise to you m’gonna cum…”

“Whatever you say, baby.” Arms flinging around his broad shoulders.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 21 rounds…?

You most definitely weren’t going to survive, you think.

The Sukuna Estate has been in an uproar; though this time it wasn’t by reason of an attack, a duel, or the King’s torrid temper. Surprisingly. This time, it was because Ryomen Sukuna had returned from a far-off journey - he’d heard some relative of the Kamo Clan was spouting nonsense about being able to match the four-armed sorcerer in terms of cursed energy, and had gone to put that to the test - and he was victorious.

Of course, he was victorious.

There was no time that he wasn’t. In the few years that you’d volunteered yourself as one of Sukuna’s concubines, you’ve never known the King to lose to an argument let alone a duel. 

And of course, it must be said that Sukuna had numerous - if not hundreds - of women and men housed in his Estate. None coerced; the accepted concubines were more residents for his reputation, than anything. Stories had spread far and wide that he accepted those searching for pay, food, or simply a place to stay—and no intimate relations were a prerequisite for anything that they wanted. You could come at any time, you could leave at any time.

He’d long since tired of mortal desires.

Except for the ones you stirred up, of course.

The stories of the Kamo sorcerer’s pitiful defeat had also spread far and wide- and it’d been the subject of much laughter in the concubine quarters lately. In addition to the fact that - in his woeful attempt at snagging a win and a name for himself - the opponent had called on the help of several different clans (the Abe, the Zenin, the Fujiwara traitors) to ambush and attack Sukuna. 

Though of course they were fallen. As were their men.

And according to the whispers, the death toll had reached the hundreds before Sukuna made his path back home. Back to you…if you were to be so presumptuous.

It wasn’t a secret that you were his favorite- and the ministers of the Estate are coming straight to you to personally announce that the King was nearing. You’re nodding sagely.

You knew what that meant - as it always did after a battle - that Ryomen Sukuna was hungry. The more struck-down opponents, the hungrier. Not for anything to consume or to refresh, but rather a starvation much more carnal and deeper within—the primal taste for flesh against flesh.

You were sitting in perfect poise and your smile hidden as the door to the master bedroom slams! open. The sliding door splinters on one end- and you shiver as you realize that this was going to be one of those nights…he was famished. The King removes his sokutai robes and lets them drop to the tatami floor with a heave, and then his deep footsteps pad over to you.

“Master.” You start to bow-

“You are aware I have a distaste for when you do that.”

Before you’re peeking up at him with a sly grin. “I’m aware. I just like how it riles you up so much, Kuna.”

His second mouth opens in guffaw.

And Sukuna raises one pink brow, “And I expect you are well-hydrated? For this night shall be long and merciless.”

You smile even wider.

.

.

.

One round.

Two.

Three.

Four—

It was just one round after the other. So many and so often; so many vicious slashes of Sukuna’s hips that already made you lose count- again and again. Your hands cascade down his thoroughly-built front to hold on for dear life. The windows were pulled shut, though you could feel the glowing of daylight behind it. The King was laid back against his oak headboard and helping you straddle his hips - your thighs crushed against the muscular, ridged area of his obliques as his cocks drilled into you twofold.

They were one after the other.

Thrust after thrust.

Stacked on top of one another—the upper length was slightly longer than the bottom one. Numerous inches long. Tufts of dark-pink hair. Getting your inner thighs wet with globs of sweet, sweet cum that dribble out every time he’s pulling out-

And then ramming deeply back in again. Ravenous.

He’s been cumming so many times this night—but he still wasn’t done. He was still throbbing at his heavy balls, no matter how many puddles of sap swashed inside of you. He was still rock-hard and running on his monstrous stamina. 

So many times that you’re swearing you feel your eyes sprinting to the back of your skull-

“Ah ah-” One of his four hands lifts up to cup your gorgeous face…or so you think. Instead, Sukuna’s straightening his hand out and swatting the side of your face- jolting you back to your senses.

You’re whining as you’re pulled back. Nose crinkling in irritation, you’re looking at him: and oh—was it a sight to behold. Sukuna’s incredible muscles were pumped up to be even bigger n’ bulkier as he manhandled you on top of him, sweat dripped from in-between his pink brows, and his second mouth stuck his tongue out and laps at his cursed lips with them. Before moving to yours…

Fervent moans crack at the back of your throat as Sukuna’s tastebuds glide-glide-gliiiiide along the sensitive inner parts of your thighs. Before spreading apart your pussylips and rolling over your clit.

As you’re shattering on top of him - your nth high coursing through you like a tidal wave - he chuckles. Both greedy mouths. “Not givin’ up so soon, are you, brat? Do not be like all those other humans-” He spits it out like acid, “-I’ve had to defeat today.”

“B-but…” Babbling out stupidly. Your tears stream down your cheeks, your bottom lip quivers as his hips accelerate. “But I am, human—”

“With a distinct difference.” He answers.

A few more merciless strokes and you’ve given up all hope of attempting to meet his pace. His plap-plapping cadence. His hips against yours, causing such a searing sting that makes your spine arch into his sweaty body.

Into his cursed mouth that wraps its unbelievable length around one of your thighs and uses it like a lasso- tugs you closer to him. Like a ragdoll.

The very tip of his tastebuds start ticklin’ at your clit once more, and you’re feeling your body droop limply into Sukuna’s toned front. Your chin rests between his plush pectorals; and he reaches two beefy arms behind you to guide your hips. To perk you up n’ down, up n’ down, up n’ down—

And with a third palm, the King shuts your drivelling maw- “Besides your…slobber, you are above the title of just any human.” Those mean lips of his dip down to whisper into your ear, “You’re my human. And I expect you to be my future Queen- the future mother of my children.”

A fourth and final one of his hands comes down to press on your cumflated tummy. Just the slightest pressure enough to make hot, white seed foam out of your pussy- 

“This royal pussy shall have to drink my cum up until we have an heir, yes?”

And you nod- you nod. You’ve spoken on the matter with the King of Curses before - a somewhat surprising occurrence - and both of you knew you wanted this.

Both of you were weakly pushin’ your hips firmly against his to milk out whatever ropey ounces of cum he was giving. He was flooding your insides. More and more; orgasms crashing into one another—Sukuna cums deeply inside you again with both cocks and it still wasn’t enough for him. “B-but how will we ever…oh, how will we know it’s even taken, Kuna?” Sobbing.

You’re looking down and it’s just an utter mess of creamy cum n’ the glossed-over tufts of his pink hair. Both bulbous tips twitching as they rammed inside you-

Sukuna smiles as he answers, “Oh…good question. Heh.” The inches of his tongue probe between your legs once again, though this time you’re feeling the ridges of his tastebuds enter your stuffed hole instead of merely grazing over your cunt. That prickly sensation glues to the back of your throat. “If my counting is correct, this is about the 21st- ah, round.” Looking down at his muscular stomach for confirmation, his cursed mouth squelches! outward and hums in confirmation. “How about…”

“N-ngh—” And you think if you’re about to cum, your body prevents you from it. Too pushed to its limits, you can only whimper and writhe on top of him-

And as you’re cumming with a mere few twitches, Sukuna’s cum seeps something hot and sticky in the back of your cunt. “Human, milk your King until he can’t cum anymore.”

Until he’s cumming dry?!

Your heart races as you wonder just how many more rounds that would take out of you-

Just how much more stamina does the strongest sorcerer of all time have? How much could he possibly—

It’s as though he was expecting a far stronger fight from his sorcerer counterparts, so any and all pressure was being placed on your cunt now. With Sukuna’s driveling tips so hot n’ ruby-red—plummeting and plummeting between your swollen pussylips in search of drenching your pretty cervix white. He empties out a few more beads of pearlescent white before snickering, “Don’t worry too much for your mortality, brat…”

Your eyes flutter open- and he’s pulling you into a deep kiss. Through that, his reverse cursed energy courses through your own faltering body. 

“I’ll be done in one more round…two…five…” He murmurs, “Perhaps another twenty-one.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - 3.5 rounds.

“N-no, I promise…” Ino’s hiccuping hitches were just so cute- they interrupted him mid-sentence and made him sound as though he was pleading. “I promise- this time- now-”

“Baby, you don’t have to force it.” You’re cooing gently.

And he all but sobs- “No- no, no no…I promise I’m not too- hck! overstimulated to cum.”

Though…you’re getting the sense that he really was.

Your proud, stubborn boyfriend was on his knees and begging—his chocolate-brown eyes wide, his brows furrowed, his bottom lip quivering in just the slightest way that was just the cherry on top. Ino gasps as he fists his cock even harder, dragging his palm down its left-leaning curve; again and again.

And you’re peering down at the man as he grows more and more frustrated with himself- at the fact that no matter how many times he’s jerkin’ his cock off…he still refused to cum.

Or, at least, he did cum - just without the creamy white mess that’d usually accompany it.

Three (and a half) rounds and Ino was cumming dry. Cumming nothing. With his body kneeled before you, with his mouth hoverin’ over your glistening wet pussy—he’d been making out sloppily with your pussy- all slathered in wads of his seed from rounds prior. Clenching and warm. And it was just the hottest thing he’s ever tasted.

So you really couldn’t blame the guy for pulling on his reddened cock as he did so…but that was precisely when disaster had struck.

When Ino had quirked the edge of his thumb underneath his sopping wet slit - just how you do it - and out came…absolutely nothing. Absolutely nothing and he was devastated—

“I-I don’t understand.” He’s babbling to himself. His gaze flickers between his angry cock and his even angrier hand- not smeared with cum. “I don’t understand, I always…”

Softly placing a hand on his slim shoulder, “Baby, I told you s’okay.”

“But it’s not okay…” Ino mutters, tone practically a pout. He averts his face from your gaze, “I never last the rounds and rounds they do in books. And lately I’ve been going to the gym n’ everything more to increase my stamina, too.”

“Is that why you’ve been buying dumbbells for the house, too?” You laugh, “And here I thought you were on some strange decorating spree.”

He juts his lower lip out, “Don’t make fun of me, sweetness…”

“I’m not, I’m not.” You’re insisting. And without further ado, you’re holding either side of Ino’s sunkissed shoulders and helping him get up, standing his lanky body before you. He’s dragged to your every whim and want; as you’re taking him by the hand and guiding him to the bed- before long you’re laying back in it with Ino hoverin’ above you.

Wrapping your feet around his small waist, you let his blushin’ cockhead kiss your pussylips. He shivers. “Oh, fuck.”

“That’s what I’m doing.” Slyly, you’re letting him ease inside you- your poor boyfriend’s seeing stars at the sudden stimulation. His hips coming down to hammer his cock into you—

But you’re stopping him with a leisurely hand at his hips, shaking your head with a smile as he stares down at you with teary eyes. A plea on his lips- “Now now…” You’re cutting that sweet noise of his off with a tut, spreading your thighs apart even further n’ letting his rotund cock maze its way inside - sloooowly. “Take it easy, Taku. Easy—don’t worry, we’re gonna make you cum this round, m’kay?”

He’s nodding jerkily- uncertainly. “Y-you can really do that, pretty?”

“Of course.” Raising one brow, “Don’t trust me?”

And he’s hastening to shake his head. Urgent and alarmed. “What- no.” And as though to prove this point, Ino leaves his hips at a complete standstill. Painfully so - for him. “No, no—I would n-never not trust you, sweetness. I was just-”

“Shhhh, I know, Taku.” Soothing him. You push away a tuft of chestnut-brown hair from his sweaty forehead, “I know…”

Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, you’re both staring down at the place where you were connected. His throbbing cock. Your glistening wet pussy.

And then you’re breathing out in a tone that’s low and slow—practically hypnotizing him the more of his inches he’s sweepin’ inside. “Just need you to fuck me, baby.”

He’s shuddering as he bottoms out.

Deeeeeep; those inches are red-hot and vein-covered, massaging your walls as he’s sliding in. The crown of his cock is a circumference you could feel at your very throat- and Ino’s head throws back prettily as he’s hittin’ your cervix a few times. “Sh-shit—”

You’re holding back your giggle, “Everything alright, Taku?”

“No- yes.” And after a few more sloppy strokes, he whines. “No…”

Because how could he be? Less than a few minutes ago, he’d been ruttin’ against your calves and cumming dry into his fist. Right now, he was feeling as though the pearly gates of heaven had opened up wiiiiiide between your legs n’ was sucking his soul with every passing second- even the tiniest slurps of your pussy meant his brow was furrowing. 

The tips of his ears growing red, “I-it’s just…I feel like m’gonna cum again.” Ino babbles into your mouth- capturing it in a sinful kiss. “And I think m’gonna cum dry-”

“How’d you know if you haven’t done it yet, hm?” You ask, bouncing your hips up to meet his own. The smack-smack-smacking sounds between you two was all but deafening, “C’mon, baby. Cum inside- hah, fill me up again.”

“Shit- now m’really gonna cum soon…” He’s echoing out desperately. Pelvis rammin’ into yours- and it was already torturous enough for his aching shaft - pistoning deeper and deeper - without your body greedily pushing up into his.

And he feels his heart race as the grin stretches across your face, “Good.” Kissing the soft nape of his neck, it makes his tip ooze out just a little more milky drops of precum. They glue to the pulsating area of your g-spot. “Because I really, really—mmpf.”

And before you know it, your sorcerer boyfriend has reached behind you and clasped- at the discarded ski mask that he was usually known to make.

The soft, fluffy cotton of it glues your mouth shut. 

Muffling your lewd words to the back of your throat - you don’t have a chance to get out whatever it is you wanted to say. Whatever it is you knew would drive him over the edge. 

And yet, Ino Takuma was still completely and utterly ruined as he punctures his ravenous cock between your legs-

Over and over and over.

“Oh- ngh.” The cutest little whimper leaves his throat, and Ino turns his big, tearful eyes towards you. “O-ohhh, please…sweetness, m’really not joking. M’really gonna cum this time.”

“Mmmm—” Nodding fervently.

“I swear m’gonna do it.” Kissing your forehead in apology for the gag- though he could feel just how wet you were getting between your legs. The sheen of your slick soaks his pelvis, his v-line, and the upper parts of his own thighs. Burned slightly red with constant. “I s-swear m’gonna cum.”

“Do it-” You just barely manage out. Before getting cut off- with both the ski mask being pushed deeper into your mouth, and the squeeze of Ino’s slender fingers on your clit. 

Making you see stars-

Toes curling. Back arching. As though a feverish sensation is taking over your body, making your skin perspire and your head throw into the pillows.

And just as your orgasm rages through you, Ino’s does, too.

This time…he’s pumping and pumping his ruddied cock—dragging the luscious curve of it across every single sensitive spot and dip. Those bundles of nerves that he was mapping out. And it’s as if Ino was trying to milk himself - to drag out the wetness of his orgasm if it kills him.

And luckily for him, he doesn’t cum dry. 

Somewhat.

He’s beading out a single drop of seed that gets pushed right to the back of your womb- smeared by the rotund curve of his tip.

And then Ino looks at you with watery, content eyes. “I-I did it, sweetness.”

“That you did, Taku.”

“D’you think I can cum again?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - INFINITY.

“Honey, I’m home~”

Which would have been a completely ordinary greeting from your husband, of course. Which would never have made you think twice before you opened the door for him, of course.

Except…there was one little issue. 

The Gojo Satoru you’re married to was wide-eyed and crazed on your television screen; Mei Mei’s livestream of the Shinjuku Showdown was playing in 4K on your 115-inch TV. And from your standstill in front of the locked door, you could still see your husband’s black t-shirt starting to tear through once he increases his Hollow Purple to 200% and bursts it right in the direction of Ryomen Sukuna—or more like…the Ryomen Sukuna that was inhabiting the body of your honorary son.

But that was semantics. Or so you liked to think to keep yourself sane in here.

It had been Professor Yaga’s idea to keep you home whilst the battle raged on - there was no telling where the King of Curses would go or attack to gain an upper hand on his opponents. Evil never fought fair. And it was here - in the humble…but not-so-humble abode of your’s and Gojo’s penthouse apartment - that he’d cast the strongest veils.

Talismans and protective omens from far and wide. Around the world.

Over the years, Gojo had taken it upon himself to make your house the safest place in the world - a home for his home—you. He knew the burden that came with being loved by The Strongest, and this was the one thing he could do to alleviate it. 

And it was perfect.

But there’d be no home here without your husband. And your stomach twists as you watch the white-haired sorcerer break out in a grin when his compression shirt gets completely torn and his throat nearly slashed.

Sweat glimmers across his defined muscles, and you’re finding it so hard to look away. The battle was reaching a climax- you could tell by the wild look in Gojo’s eyes.

A blur of movements and another explosion of candescent purple- 

And then the door clicks! open.

This can’t be.

Surely, this can’t be.

Gojo was still on-screen.

Gojo was crouching over the King’s chosen vessel and watching as the marked tattoos disappear from what is now - and hopefully forevermore - just…Megumi’s face. He seems to be sleeping peacefully, and the victorious sorcerer on-screen presses two fingers to the poor boy’s pulse.

Brows furrowed in concentration- or concern?

Before a brilliant smile breaks out across Gojo’s face- and he nods to some of the others off-screen. Then you’re seeing the livestream falter on a sudden rush of white coats and stretches, a few of the paramedics reaching for your wounded husband as well—

Before you blink and he disappears. The only evidence of ever existing at the Shinjuku site being the bewildered faces of the doctors- and you.

And the fact that that very same Gojo Satoru was before you know.

Chest heaving. Those cloud-white tufts of his hair were messy - a far cry from his usual updo. 

And his eyes…oh, his eyes were harrowed.

Empty. Unfocused. As though his mind was still in the midst of battle- though his body’s natural instinct was to come to you. And though power still radiated off of him in waves, it’s nothing of the calm river of coldness that normally layered his body. This was a torrential rain—drenching your living room, drenching the entire apartment. 

Pure uninhabited cursed energy; the dam had broken now. The very space he enters drops a few degrees in temperature. 

The very same man you’d kissed goodbye before his battle- now with a simple layer of debris and dust covering him. It left him almost ghost-pale, and you wanted to brush it off as though discarding such an omen - he’d won.

With nothing but a few cuts on his brows and his lip, some already healing across his arms, he’d won. And he was standing right before you.

Unsteady on his feet. 

He slowly raises his eyes to the livestream behind you and comments, “Ah- that’s a little delayed.” And then his gaze drops down to you - finally, finally drops down to you - and he breaks out into a smile.

Brighter than any sun.

Gojo had escaped the arms of death and run straight to you. 

.

.

.

“Mmmm-mmpfg—” The blindfold muffles your mouth perfectly - which should be ironic, considering that all Gojo was thinking about during that damn battle was hearing your voice. At least one last time.

One last time.

And perhaps then, he could pass…peacefully. 

But he hadn’t; for who could be stupid enough to underestimate Gojo Satoru? Especially not Gojo Satoru himself. And so here he was: with his hot blindfold gift-wrapping your mouth, and his cock drivelling into you like he was a machine—

In the lewdest doggy position possible; and you only wanted more.

Unable to vocalize, you’re fisting at the sheets- then behind at Gojo’s toned body. Clawing at those rippling obliques of his to try and draw him even further forwards. “M-more…mmmpfore.”

Forwards and forwards.

Even deeper in. 

The sudden change in angle makes Gojo’s puckered tip kiss up at your g-spot - even harder than before. And by now you’ve memorized the exact length n’ circumference of him—the exact measurements that were swabbin’ aside your wettened walls and tumbling into every spot you loved so much.

He knew every single one. Every single one.

And he was welcoming himself back- he was making sure you’d never forget him again and again and again—

Gojo’s long since lost track of time- and he doesn’t care. Hours could have passed, days could have passed - but the only thing that really mattered to him was finally having his hands on you—and his cock glued to the back of your pussy. 

It was almost concerning how many times he’d stuffed your greedy orifice full - and yet, still kept on cumming. Cumming so long and hot inside you. 

“Oh…mmm.” Moans muffled. Lashes flickering shut. And your hamstrings ache with fatigue he couldn’t feel because of his training - the man had just fought history’s strongest sorcerer, for heaven’s sake. 

And yet, Gojo wasn’t feeling the slightest bit of lethargy as he loops one forearm underneath your hips and scoops your droopin’ hips back up. Plastering them against his own. Sweat and slick sizzles between your clashing bodies—and Gojo’s voice cracks just a little as he asks. “More…?” Breathless. Higher than usual. Your husband’s eyes were wide and piercing- begging you for an answer.

His red-hot tip was just so ready to explode, and that syrupy white cum was already beginning to drivel out. To smear. To stuff inside. “T-tell me what you want, sweetheart.” He gusts his breath down your spine; absolutely scorching. “Is it more—?”

“It’s more- it’s more-” Sometimes, you wonder if he could read minds. And at the state that Gojo was in right now - you wouldn’t be surprised. Just barely, you’re managing to utter coherent words through those merciless restraints, and oh, how he loved watching you gagging on his blindfold.

Filthy.

Tears flooding your gorgeous eyes. Your spittle cascading down in two streams- either side of your mouth.

Hot cum spills between your legs, and you’re still begging for more.

Hah…Gojo can’t help but plant a loving peck on the side of your messy face. Humming, “Then m’gonna give you more.”

“Yes—” Nodding, you plant your hands on the patch of mattress before you. Attempting to haul yourself up just a lil’ so that you could at least try and match his ramming pace-

“Nuh uh, sweetheart.” Had this been anyone but Gojo, then you would’ve found that smug tone of his oh-so-irritating. Just then, Gojo’s leaning his hefty weight over and pinning you down even further onto the mattress—rubbin’ his blossomed cockhead across every inch of your cunt.

You’re getting cut off mid-gasp.

You’re fucking collapsing. And Gojo’s just colliding into you from behind.

Tangled up into such a mess; he’s drunkenly buckling on top of you and crashin’ and crashin’ his hips into you from above. Nose-deep into the crook of your neck. Mouth parted with constant sensual grooooans—“Wh-whatever my wife wants…” He’s easily massaging your g-spot back and forth a few times, and then pulling all the way out with a resounding pop! “-your husband- The Strongest is gonna get it for you.”

“Yes- yes, Toru…”

“M’serious.” He says in a jagged tone. “You wanted more?” The sudden confrontation of his words make you startle- and you’re giving him a quick nod. To which Gojo runs his buzzing fingertips between the sopping crevice of your folds, “Then m’gonna give you more. Hah, careful not to squeeze too tight.”

At that exact moment, you feel the air…stiffen around the two of you.

It was the same sort of tension you’d felt when Gojo had first entered the apartment: the presence of the world’s most powerful cursed energy. It coiled around your bodies and set your skin alight- before focusing on one particular spot—

Shockwaves run up your spine. And your husband reaches down to pat your stuffed pussy- “Unlimited void.”

You freeze. “M-mmpmf…?” You’ve already talked about such uses of Gojo’s powers with him before - you just didn’t expect it now—but you sure as hell weren’t complaining. 

It seems as though Gojo’s cursed energy was coursing through every axiom of him and supercharging it - he didn’t control it. You didn’t know if he could. It was seeping from his body into yours, and turning your slick channel into…that. Whatever it was. Something he could reel his hips back from and rut n’ rut and rut - without it ever getting stuffed too full.

Instantly - and because of the overuse of his powers - Gojo’s feeling his warm tip dribbles out a few more ropes of cum.

And it’s almost like a…challenge at this point: just to see whether he could properly fill that gaping hole of yours. Gojo’s catching his pretty rose-pink lip between his teeth when he gazes down between those tremblin’ legs, “Fuck- see?” Voice growing more ragged by the second, “See—?”

Nodding and nodding. 

“Th-this pussy wanted more, and n-now she’ll never get full. Now she’s flooded with me right down to the womb-” Pressing his second palm on top of your stomach. “-and she still wants more. Hungry girl. Now she can take so much more that- hngh.” Getting cut off with a ruinous moan himself - he’s pumping out pearlescent webs once more. Another orgasm. 

“That?” You’re choking out.

Breathed between clenched teeth, “That you’re gonna milk The Strongest dry, sweetheart.”

“O-oh…” A jolt of pleasure runs through your body at the notion- or maybe it was just Gojo’s slender fingers tightly grasping your clit. Those digits of his were coated in so much thrumming cursed energy that it drove you mad—“Is that even possible?” That expensive blindfold finally loosens its restraint ‘round your mouth, the constant jostling to and fro causing it to unravel. 

“Hmmmm?” Jackhammering hips. Interest piqued. Bolts of lightning shooting from the edges of his eyes as he smiles.

Again and again and again, his shaft scours your insides and stirs every sweet spot up. “I just mean-” Making you feel lightheaded. “How many rounds has it- oh, already been? Are we even sure you can cum dry, Toru?”

“Dunno.” He answers, and your jaw drops. 

Just then, you’re sure that he’s hit with another orgasm—and you are, too. 

Yours starts out in-between your legs with a sudden twitch- before suddenly the pleasure’s setting your body alight. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears, and Gojo’s humming softly to himself as he fucks you through it.

As he’s letting a few sloppy draaaags out before gritting his pearly-whites and dropping his head forwards. Deeper into the crook of your neck; Gojo lets out moan after moan as he dribbles out squelchin’ cum for the nth time tonight.

One after the other.

Loooong and luxurious. Those satiny ropes are emptied out into the deepest depths of your channel, and he was so thoroughly overstimulated by the charged euphoria that he sobs-

And a lightbulb bursts in the distance.

“M’not cumming dry yet.” Gojo’s heavy balls twitch once he’s plasterin’ them to the forefront of your pussylips. And you can feel them swelling and throbbing after every trickle- “But we have the whole night for that, don’t we?”

“Night? I think s’been days.” You retort, sneaking a glance at the daylight-shimmered curtains. 

“Ah, semantics~”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 5 rounds.

“I just don’t understand, angel.” Higuruma leans back in his faux leather-bound chair and sighs, his gold-tipped pen coming to tap between his eyebrows as though searching for some button hidden in there - one that would preferably jumpstart the rest of him into normalcy. He continues, “This Fujiwara case has just made me lose all my stamina.”

Because it’s always a long, hard day in the courtroom.

And Higuruma Hiromi knows that - he’s the best defense lawyer Tokyo ever did see. There’s a reason he graduated at the top of his batch, there’s a reason he started his own law firm at around half the age that most of his colleagues do. 

There’s a reason that Higuruma Hiromi, criminal defense attorney, makes the tension in courtrooms thicken until they’re almost stifling the second he walks through those polished pews.

But this case…

It was the usual- some poor sap blamed for a white-collar crime that he clearly didn’t do. And though Higuruma had half the brain to eye his bosses strangely, the nature of this case also meant that the prosecuting team was the best of the best—being that they knew how to twist their words.

And Higuruma was left haggard after a single session. Not that he didn’t think he stood a chance - he knows he does, he knows that guy’s getting out scot-free after this - but it’s just that…he had to do this for months.

He had to walk into the courtroom and feel his mind becoming more n’ more fossilized by the second- that damn prosecuting team was abhorrent. 

And so here he was.

11:41PM. Cooped up in his office room at home; Higuruma was slumped down at his desk, whilst you stood concerned beside him. As he lets out another prolonged sigh, you’re stepping behind the chair and starting to massaging his firm shoulders - surely knotted to hell and back. 

Higuruma shoots you a grateful smile, “It’s awful. I had to sit there and try not to throw my chair at those prosectors for-”

“Five hours.” You’re finishing his sentence.

He’s gazing up at you lovingly, “And even for lawyers they’re insufferable- and that’s coming from me.”

You’re furrowing your brows in humor, “Hey—you’re only half-insufferable.”

That makes him let out a laugh, “But I’m telling you, angel-” And almost as quickly as it came, it disappears. Higuruma’s pinching the bridge of his handsome nose for the nth time this night, “I’m not at that age just yet, but it seems I must work on my stamina. Today was absolute hell.”

“Five hours, huh?” Even saying it out loud made you feel weary, “Y’know how long that’s about?”

“Hm?” He looks at you, “How long?”

Leaning down to whisper in his ear, “That’s about as long as a…” And even before you’re saying the words, you’re sensing the goosebumps that skitter down Higuruma’s neck and even further down his collar. Just how far…you wonder. “-marathon that we have, hm, Hiromi?”

“Yes…” He breathes out. Long, dark lashes nearly shuttering.

He’s been so caught up with that damn case lately- so caught up, he hasn’t had enough time to spend with you. And just the mere mention of it…of being between those pretty legs n’ fucking you for hours and hours is enough to leave him a little heated.

And Higuruma’s meeting your eyes like two magnets that have finally met- first, his lips are on your neck. Then he’s tugging you onto his lap.

.

.

.

“Yes—” Higuruma hisses out- voice pitched into a tone so utterly unlike him. Something so botched in his words, something so ruined—

He’s been fucking your perfect cunt for hours now, and was showing no signs of stopping.

Your attorney husband has a steadfast hold on your hips; from the luxurious chair you’ve moved onto the edge of his desk. Pressed on your front over the mahogany table, hands clawing out haplessly in front of you, ass archin’ up into his vicious thrusts.

The skin ‘round Higuruma’s pelvis has turned red by this point, and he was hissing between his teeth every time his hips came in contact with yours—smack! 

So hard that you’re flinching just a little bit.

And that makes a few streams of cum dribble out from between your clenched pussylips- the pure-white sheen of it coating your thighs. Higuruma doesn’t let a single sweet ounce of it go to waste before he’s snaking a hand down and thumbin’ off just a few drops.

And then you’re finding it stuffed between your lips- “M-mmmm…” Your tears form a lacquer down your cheeks, “Hiromi, you’re so filthy.”

“You married me for it, didn’t you?” He grins. Head tipping back just a little once you’re clenching your sopping wet walls in confirmation, “F-fuck, ngh—keep doing that. Just a little tighter, sugar.” And if you were in any clearer of a state of mind, then you’d have noticed that his husky tone was cracking—voice breaking at the tail end of his sentence.

Higuruma was feeling his sanity drip away every time he entered your pussy- but so were you.

You moan, “Need more-” 

He pats at your pussy adoringly, feeling the wetness of your slick mixed with his clingy white cum. “More, huh? Sure you can handle it, angel?” Darting a look at the clock, “We’re already on…a few hours. Round five.”

Nodding and nodding. 

And you’re all but keening for more as you feel him edge his ravenous cock away - just a few inches. It honestly wasn’t even a movement that should impact the sheer carnal streeeeetch he was bestowing upon you.

But with your needy senses, you’re turning your head over your shoulder. About to mouth off to your husband about pulling away when you were hungry for him the most when-

When you’re seeing that he’d been reaching for that scrap of fabric thrown over his chair.

A stray discardment in the heat of the moment earlier.

His tie.

Your restraints now.

Because in a split-second, Higuruma loops the jet-black fabric around your dangling wrists. It doesn’t take him long to fasten it and tighten it—testing it just by giving it a little pull- he finds himself grinning as your body’s able to be lifted and moved ‘round just by this.

Perfect.

The semi-coarse cloth was strangely sensual against your skin- almost biting. 

Higuruma himself leans down to give a small nip at your right shoulder, before he’s leaning back and hauling you—inches off the table. Two hands clasped around your wrists, the cold hiss of his wedding ring matching yours, the red, rotund head of his cock swipin’ inwards and making your walls bulge with the size of him. “O-oh, fuuuuuck-”

His dribbling divot navigates straight to the bottom of your pussy. “Yeah- yeahhhhh, you’ve got this.” Higuruma whispers as your orgasm wracks through you - and his own fifth one was nearing ever-closer. “You can take it. You can take me-”

“Should I be concerned about the- ngh, amount of space I have left?” In unison, you’re snapping your head down at the area between your legs. Limp.

“Concerned?” 

Cum was seeping out of you in what looked like bucketloads- in all the physical stamina that Higuruma was determined to prove that he still has. And he sure does - or at least your thoroughly-stuffed pussy seemed to think so - but your husband was still pumping away even harder. 

Rougher.

Splatterin’ patterns of syrupy sap on your skin- where contact was being made constantly. Higuruma laps at the gentle leaking with his thumb once more, “Sugar, this pussy was made to take my cum.”

Manhandling you backwards using the restraint of his tie, and slammin’ a final French kiss into the back of your cervix. You feel him start to twitch—in the way that Higuruma always does before he’s about to coat your walls with a layer of cum. “I-inside…” You whine. “All of it- inside.”

“Mhmmm, your husband has you, angel.” And then he’s holding you close- 

Tip thickening at the very flared edge, the crown of it, he’s pouring out a few glittery ropes of…nothing. Absolutely nothing. Higuruma’s dark eyes shoot open as it sinks in: he was cumming in every way, shape, sensation, and form—except for the absence of cum. The absence of gooey white cum seeping out his shaft- and he’s feeling it. 

But he isn’t drenching your pussy in the way he’s expected to.

And Higuruma seethes- “Angel, I…” Lower lip trembling as he takes in the cum that’d frothed out of you and was now being pushed back, “I-I believe I didn’t-”

“Hiromi, did you cum dry—?” Wonderment seeps into your tone. “I didn’t even know you could do that-”

“I didn’t, either.” There was something akin to…disappointment in his tone. Something akin to sadness, something akin to determination- “I can’t believe I…angel, my stamina is fucked-”

“Baby, you just went five rounds without stopping-”

“And if I don’t cum on the sixth…” That ruby-red tip rubs up against your g-spot, ready to splurge out cum at least this time. 

“Mhmmm?”

“Then I’m not Tokyo’s best lawyer.”

A/N. Something something something milkshakes-

there's always a certain level of professionalism that you maintain when you are within your work environment, always keeping order in your classrooms or during your lessons to prevent any room for distraction. this very discipline does not allow room for distraction, and you are sure to lead your teachings with this very motto. your students understand. they respect it. they learn.

consequently, you don't allow much to sway you during work hours - things like off kilter jokes or a pencil accidentally flying across the room, a shameful result of toge's frequent pencil tapping against his desk to occupy his body whilst retaining the information you share, don't receive much reaction. the most you'll give is an exasperated glance, or a weary eye roll that leads the corners of your lips to twitch with the slightest bit of amusement, but that's all you've got before you're redirecting focus back to the chalk board.

satoru, of course, took notice, as he finds himself picking on any of his coworkers or students who dare not to flash even the subtlest of grins within such a dreary atmosphere. he gives you grief frequently about it, telling you that you would look a hell of a lot prettier if you'd flash those pearly whites of yours. you know that he is, of course, purposefully being gross and annoying about it just to get a rise out of you, just as he does nanami or utahime or, hell, even poor megumi or nobara on occasion.

you brush him off time and time again, reminding him that you aren't some unfeeling monster who does not show joy. in fact, you're quite down to earth as a professor, much more down to earth than other mentors who have taught you, sparking memories you look back on with a resentful chill.

"i'm just doing my job," you would say as satoru walks beside you, hands tucked in his pockets as he leans over to meet your eye level. his head tilts and pink lips curl into that teasing, self-satisfied smile he always wears.

"yeah, a real boring job," he'd sigh wistfully, dramatics and airiness twisted up in his tone. you'd shoot him a glare, he'd chuckle. "come on, just one smile."

"what are you talking about, gojo? i smile all the time," you slightly chuckle at his sheer ridiculousness, a mild display of what you insist to be the personality that you very much so do have that satoru is always griping that you don't.

"you know what i mean. let loose. live a little."

"i let loose while i'm teaching, i put those kids' lives at risk. i'm not doing that."

"are you insinuating that because i have a more laid back teaching style than you, my students are more prone to danger?" the ivory haired sorcerer gasps, mimicking offense.

you think back to yuta's first day under satoru's watch. "yes," you deadpan.

"blasphemy," he'd deny. "my kids are smart and powerful because of me. and funny."

he'd go on about something else regarding the way you carry yourself at work, mentioning something about the way your nose always crinkles a certain way when you're too focused, how you'll give yourself worry lines instead of smile lines.

you'd ask him how he even notices something so minuscule like that, and he'd stand upright again with a shrug and his tongue peaking past his smiling lips playfully. he tries not to give your question much thought when you've arrived to the field where your students are sparring, approaching side by side like sun and gloom.

and you'd leave it be. no matter how much he continues to try and pester you into entertaining his mockery. no matter how many stupid jokes and stories he throws your way as you work your way through the winding halls of the school, just to get you to crack the kind of smile or laugh that shakes your entire body instead of lingering small in the front of your face.

you don't think anything of satoru's constant nagging, and neither does he. at first.

you see the way he treats the others who perform more rigidly than you do within their fields, who always - always groan and toss their eyes to the ceiling in disdain when satoru's jolly frame saunters into a room or barges through the door. you see how strategically he stretches out his pestering tactics, how he'll say just the right thing at the right time to bait nanami into forcefully shutting his newspaper and muttering something about taking a bathroom break to just get away from the sound of satoru's neverending words.

despite having not spent your youth with your coworkers the way they have with each other, as your addition to the school transpired within the recent year, you think you've got a good idea of who satoru is behind that big, shiny, glittering title of the honored one.

lighthearted, a little arrogant in a way that charms those less familiar with his antics, pride acceptable enough for it to be overlooked by his warm energy and indulgence in everyday simplicities: sweets and laughter and childlike wonder. he's a big kid. and though he's an irritating little shit, what the world does not see is the generosity, the care, the intelligence. he's a good guy. stupidly aggravating and too flirty at the best of times, but far more human than how he is perceived, how he is treated.

you don't think anything of the way he tends to follow you around, as you assume this is his routine treatment of fresh meat, of the less boisterous among you. shoko told you that's just how he is. too friendly. too invasive. too loud. too talkative.

too clingy.

satoru, on the other hand, doesn't quite know what's wrong with him yet, but he knows something is wrong.

he likes you. a bit too much, probably. it's been so long since he's met someone new who is like you, someone who fit so well into the dynamic him and his former classmates have cultivated for their students. your arrival was greatly anticipated, if not slightly disorienting. you came in with a regal air and a face so pretty that it almost paralyzed him where he stood, but he thought nothing of it. he's met beautiful women before. he’s flirted with them before. he knew it meant nothing. yet he’s flirted with you, and it always feels like something.

so he's not so sure why he often finds himself stopping dead in his tracks when he hears your voice echoing from the sparring field, instructing your students with a stern yet almost motherly cadence. he'll turn and locate you down there from where he stands by winding pillars, watching the way your hands find your hips and your (e/c) eyes monitor your students' movements with that pinch of concern. like you didn't just get here. like you raised them yourself, and their survival is your responsibility.

satoru will swallow the saliva that has built in his mouth, suddenly becoming aware of the way his cheeks ache from having smiled at the sight and sound of you for so long from afar.

he's not sure why he is so curious about you and your adjustment to your job. he perks up at the very mention of your name in any setting, tuning out whatever yuji is rambling on about to listen to what yaga is detailing about your next mission in the room over. he wonders if you're even up for the job, and decides to catch yaga long after his conversation about you to offer himself up to go in your place. yaga would lower his sunglasses and quirk his thick brows, pursing his lips in inquisition as he stares up at the white haired man he's known since he was a young boy.

"why are you so worried about (l/n)'s business?"

why is he?

satoru shrugs. "just looking out for the newbie."

"(l/n) has been a grade one sorcerer for years. she can handle herself just fine," yaga gives gojo one last skeptical work. "get back to worrying about your job, satoru. not hers."

he brushes off the bitter taste yaga's words leave in his mouth, as though peers and colleagues and friends and former classmates have not come and gone at the hand of the unknown, having been thrust into what they had believed to be familiar territory only to find themselves sorely mistaken, outnumbered, and overpowered.

you're new. you're nice, and humble, responsible, and you actually listen to what gojo has to say, despite how everyone around him feigns or feels palpable disdain or aggravation toward him. you don't treat him like he's a joke. you go to him for advice, looking to him as an inspiration rather than a pest to belittle, his title neither pushing you away or sparking excessive glorification. you simply respect him, beneath all that goofiness and bickering. you're sweet in that way. unbiased. unjudging.

and you treat every one of your students like family, bracing them for the cruel world, remembering that they are still children. not weapons. people like you, people who are kind and generous and stable, are a rarity within the jujutsu world. satoru would prefer not to lose the refreshing air that you bring to the campus just because you were sent on an muddy mission too soon.

he would prefer not to lose you at all.

when shoko starts to look at him sideways whenever you walk by or finish up a conversation with him, satoru knows for sure that his suspicions about his own behavior are not just in his head. that the strange way he is acting, the strange way he is feeling whenever you are around, is actually noticeable. she observes how your presence slowly begins to dictate how satoru is feeling, or how he will behave for the remainder of the day.

you'll tell him and the brunette that you'll be sent away for a few days, and satoru is pouting, glossy lips pulled downward as his brow furrows with disappointment beneath his blindfold. he'll bombard you with a hundred questions, asking how far away you'll be, what kind of curse you'll be encountering, if you will be going alone. and with each patient answer you give, his sulking grows tenfold.

because why do you have to leave? it's so boring without you here, though he always claims that you contribute to the drab atmosphere with your refusal to entertain his antics throughout the school day just to get a reaction out of you.

still, that would be days without your soft smile. days without your eager questions that satoru always drops everything to answer happily, his heart thundering at the calm, attentive way you look past his blindfold as if to hold his gaze, to let him know that you have all of his undivided attention.

days without your heavy lectures that ring out in the halls and weigh down the air, your delivery so urgent and resolute that it makes the snowy haired man himself want to stand at attention.

days without those reserved chuckles and thoughtful eyes. without your maternal agency toward your students. without those breezy compliments that must hold no true substance, as they flutter past your lips like daily greetings.

your hair looks really fluffy today, gojo.

did you get a new uniform jacket tailored? it looks nice.

you have really broad shoulders, you know that?

and you're never flirting. never seeking anything in return. you're just... like that. endearing and observant and eager to share the good that you see in others with them. you're fully aware of gojo's arrogance, yet unbothered by the possibility of making his head ten times bigger than it already is. you compliment him the same way you'd compliment utahime, or kusakabe. it's effortless, thoughtless kindness.

and the higher ups expect satoru to go days without that?

he's all but begging you to stay, though there isn't much of anything you can do to get out of direct orders from higher command. shoko will watch lazily with a cigarette hanging from her glossed lips, her cheek in her palm as the gears turn in her head, and she decides that maybe gojo isn't like this with everyone. that with you, he's a bit more clingy than too clingy.

she can tell for certain that something is up when an air of silent, tormented pensiveness captures satoru when you leave to meet with one of your students, unaware of the fact that your absence truly wounds satoru. you think he's overexaggerating his desire for you to stay.

he's not.

"what was that about?' shoko asks from where she sits just behind satoru, the sorcerer standing before her desk as he stares at the empty doorway.

"i don't know," he sighs. "some new mission. they've been throwing her out in the field a lot lately."

"it's her job," shoko says flatly. "but that's not what i mean. i'm talking about you."

he turns to look at her, a bubble of anxiety brewing in his chest as he tries to appear normal. "what about me?"

shoko's brow raises, her index and middle finger pinching the cigarette between them. a cloud of smoke wafts from her lips as she lowers it away from her mouth. "you were really persistent just now. why don't you want her to leave so bad? it's just a few days. do you always get like that when she leaves?"

yes. he does. and it's only been a few months.

"what do you mean? i worry about all of my friends and colleagues."

"you so do not. and definitely not like that."

heat pinches satoru's cheeks. "like what, exactly, shoko?"

"like a lovesick puppydog."

she's being dramatic. he claims everyone but himself is being dramatic when they toss him those questioning looks, the looks that scream out how different he has been acting since you came along.

he just cares about you. he cares about everyone at jujutsu high. he wants you to stay safe, vigilent, like the rest of them, so that you can stay in one piece and he can spend more time with you. so that he can learn more about you, and sit with you as you talk with that hypnotic, smooth authority that makes his brain mushy and his knees weak. what's so bad about wanting to be around you?

satoru is still trying to figure out exactly what is going on when a few of you go out for a couple of drinks. satoru, as usual, does not indulge, but encourages you to nonetheless, eager to see how you'd behave when alcohol has made you limber and slow.

it's been a long month, you're a bit battered and overworked, and normally you wouldn't, but you finally have a day ahead of you where you don't teach or get sent out to damn battle, so you think that just one drink won't hurt.

you're four drinks in when the others leave, leaving you and satoru at the bar talking for hours. your inibitions have lowered significantly, and in contrast to the tight composure you keep at school, you’re slumped casually in your bar stool, elbow propped on the counter and eyes big and glittery as satoru tells you a story from his days back in high school, where the sun seemed to shine all the time and his best friends' laughter constantly filled the air.

he's telling you this one story about when a group of them - him, nanami, geto, haibara, and shoko, all snuck out of the dorms one night to try to make it to a concert that was happening a few blocks away, only to be caught by yaga the second they stepped off school grounds. satoru, ever the rebellious teen, was dragged back to his dorm kicking and screaming by the principal after having attemped to combat him.

something about the liquor warming your stomach and lightening the atmosphere makes satoru's story and the animated hand movements and voices he incorporates to revive the memory for you all the more hilarious. and instead of brushing him off or telling him to quit playing around, you bend over at your waist and release the loudest, most obnoxious laugh satoru has ever heard in his entire life.

the sound startles him at first, his sapphire eyes going slightly wide behind his dark shades, his lips twitching in shock as he freezes just to watch you and listen.

your skin is slightly flushed, your eyes a little glassy. but your lips, your lips are stretched wide across your pretty face, all teeth on display, your jaw open to free the symphony of cackles that spill from you. your hand raises to hover over your mouth as if to conceal your laughter, but it doesn't work. you're still laughing, your eyes little crescents, the skin beside and underneath wrinkled, your nose crunched, your brows curled just slightly with humor as if it pains you.

satoru's mouth runs dry, and the chaotic white noise of the buzzing bar goes mute. his surroundings blur out to slowly focus on you. your laughter seems to echo through satoru's mind like a distant memory playing on repeat, ringing out through the hollow space of his head. the dim bar lights appear to glow about you, twinkling around your hair and against your (s/c) skin slightly moist from the atmosphere thick with heat from confined bodies.

satoru always jokes about your dismal air. he's seen you smile. he's heard you laugh.

but never like this.

it's like music to his ears. like the prettiest song he's ever had the privilege to hear. your entire body shakes with your laughter, like it has completely taken over you and you don't care that it has. it shines in your gaze, flutters out so bright and loud that gojo thinks it brightened your entire aura.

satoru's smile is gone, having faded away with each passing second your laughter soaked through his ears. he watches you like that for a while, awed, and then, his smile returns as if compelled. his skin warms, dimples poke into his cheeks, and he beams along with you, his own laughter slipping into yours. it's just so contageous.

his heart is hammering in his throat, his gaze suddenly soft and tender on you, the vision of you before him so angelic that it makes his entire mass quiver with the electricity of your beauty.

you laugh. the very thing satoru has been trying to get out of you finally happened. all because of him.

then you say it. clipped words between breathless giggles, your true soul finally bearing itself raw in the comfortability of the public. away from your concerns. away from the safety you must ensure your kids practice. away from the burden of sorcery. you exist.

"you kill me, gojo."

he feels something resolute strike him in the chest right there, his lips twitching in his smile and his body running hotter than the sun.

you think he's funny. you think he's funny. you're laughing all breathless and beautiful and shamelessly because of him, and he's choking over charm, fumbling in his mind for a smooth quip, an i told you so, a finally.

but all he can think of is how fucking pretty you look laughing like that, letting joy take you, letting your cares slip away in his company.

that strike to his chest cements firm and hot, and he chuckles rather awkwardly, chin thumping against his palm as he gazes at you with an impending realization. his mind conjures up glittery flowers and floating hearts that surround your laughing figure, and he abruptly knows what's been wrong with him.

it's not just that you make every room brighter when you step into it. it's not just that your beauty renders him speechless any time he's within your vicinity. it's not just that he has a little work crush on you and likes to tug your pigtails over it.

it's not any of that. he knows by the way he's looking at you now, by the way his body feels warm and fuzzy like he's stuck inside a sweet, insulated dream that he doesn't want to wake up from, that what is plaguing him is far stronger than the aforementioned simplicities.

he knows by the way your laughter makes him want to drop to his knees before you and plead you to never stop, to never deprive him of such a sound again.

he sighs. he's in love with you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

suguru geto: the future!

suguru has always known that he likes you.

he has no reason to deny it. nothing is standing in the way of how he feels, even if he finds out one day that you don't feel the same. suguru has accepted his crush, his puppy dog attraction to you and his simultaneous desire for your affection.

he shields it thinly but smoothly, always greeting you with warm smiles that make you feel toasty inside and eyes that always lock directly onto yours, as if he is reminding you every day that he sees you and wants to continue seeing you for the rest of his life. you're a dear friend to him, very dear, and you should know it each time you see him - how much he appreciates you. how much he cares.

his fingers always find some way to touch you, whether curving a piece of hair from your face or grazing your arm to eventually slip his hand into yours, and hold it as you walk side by side as if it is nothing. as if friends do this all the time. and whether he's saying hello or goodbye, he always opens his arms wide to invite you into a soothing embrace, his arms circling around you and holding you snug to his chest. you always hum in content, smiling sweetly and hugging tight around his middle, sinking into his comfort.

and when he's departing for an extended period of time, when your face just looks too sweet as you look up at him and wish him safety, he ducks to hold your head and press his lips to your forehead chastely, pulling away to smile sweetly down at you.

like friends do.

suguru has nothing to be ashamed of.

especially when you make him feel the way he does. flooding him with joy and fuzziness that he once believed himself undeserving of. helping to lift the weight of the world from his shoulders at the end of long, testing days with the time vessel association, without even trying. further fueling his ambitions for a non-sorcerer free world for you, because someone as sweet, loyal, selfless, and beautiful as you deserves a peace that only the world he has envisioned promises.

a world where the two of you can live freely, where you can be perfectly, permanently, blissfully happy by his side. void of any unwarranted responsibility, void of any pain.

why should suguru feel embarrassed of his affections toward you? why should he shield how dearly you mean to him? how deeply he cherishes you, alongside the rest of his family?

especially when you stayed, when everyone else he loved turned away from him. he doesn't blame them, and never has, but you. you didn't leave him behind. you didn't hesitate. you stayed.

and that's all that mattered in the end.

despite suguru's overt self awareness regarding his feelings for you, he does not attempt to pursue you until he has realized that these said feelings have grown past what he initially believed them to. and this intensity dawns on him much later than he would have expected for himself.

it hits him one sunny day on the roof of the time vessel association, a spot he frequents with his girls when the three of them need a bit of quiet time away from all the noise just below their feet.

geto has a newspaper cracked open over his lap as mimiko weaves a fishtail braid into his long, black locks. the breeze whistles through pinned linen on wires, a slight chill nipping at the wind, an indicator of the cooler months creeping in.

the cult leader and his girls ordinarily talk of whatever comes to mind, catching up on little things happening around the facility, dreaming up all the wonders that geto intends to provide when his goals reach fruition.

he expects further talk of the new phone that is coming out within the next few months, or the rom coms that the girls desperately want him to watch with them, but what he doesn't expect is the bold question that leaves nanako's mouth that inevitably draws his mind right back to you, as it always does.

"geto, do you think you'll ever wanna get married in the new world?" the blonde questions curiously from her spot crouched next to geto's chair, her nose still pressed into her telepohone screen.

the hazel eyed man blinks, turning slightly to look down at the young girl's head. "married?" he echoes, taken aback. "what could have possibly made your mind go to that, nanako?"

she shrugs, tilting her head back to look up at her father figure from upside down. "i dunno. i feel like you should get to settle down after all your hard work has paid off."

he smiles softly, half amused, half affectionate. "you think so?"

"sure. mimiko and i were talking about it the other day."

"were you now?"

the brunette teenager behind him hums flatly. "mhm."

he chuckles. "well, i'll be honest with you girls, marriage hasn't crossed my mind just yet. other priorities come first, and will continue to until i see fit."

"but," nanako twists her body around to look up at him properly. "wouldn't it be nice for you to have someone by your side? to care for?"

"i already have that. i have you all."

"that's different," mimiko says monotonously.

"it is!" nanako agrees, puffing her cheeks. "what we mean is, like, someone to love. someone to hold and to tell you how great you are," she fantasizes, painting a pretty idea of a domestic life.

suguru's brow quirks slightly down at the teenager, as he detects from her tone that she is imagining such things for herself as well.

"like i said girls, i already have people to love. i love you and the rest of our family very dearly," he says calmly. he feels mimiko hesitate amidst his strands, and catches the pout that begins to cross nanako's face. he smiles, closing his eyes. "though i understand what you're saying, and it's sweet of you to care about things like that, but i don't plan marry. i never have."

"...are you sure?" mimiko asks gently, carefully crossed one section of silky hair over another.

"i'm positive," he affirms.

"but why not? we thought you liked (y/n)."

suguru's eyes snap open wide, the brunette's hands completely freeze in his hair, and nanako's face swarms with a bashful pink as she puckers her lips, testing the waters.

he doesn't miss the way his body reacts to your name. the way his heart swells the slightest bit more as if pumped with obsessive air. the way his entire nervous system seems to halt its functions, his brain swarming with your phantom touch and scent. the way a smile subconsciously comes to his face with ease, like your name is a trigger for his happiness, even when mentioned in this setting.

"nanako," the blonde's sister hisses after a few beats of silence, and the said girl throws her hands up in defense.

"what?! we did! you do, don't you master geto?"

"even if he does, why would he admit it to us, let alone entertain talking about marrying her?"

"don't be such a hypocrite! you know you were thinking the same exact thing as me, sis! we just talked about it!" nanako reiterates.

"so? it's not the same as confronting him with our speculations, dummy."

"don't call me a dummy! you're the dummy, dummy!"

"girls," the cult leader's voice rings out sternly, and the teens know to instantly stop fussing. they clamp their lips shut and look to the man who saved their lives, and he eyes them with a fatherly assertiveness. "what did i say about fighting? we only have each other, alright? no one's a dummy. enough of that."

"sorry," they murmur in unison. suguru sighs and turns his head forward again, allowing mimiko to resume her task.

"that being said," he starts lowly. "i'm a little anxious about these 'speculations' of yours. you thought i would marry (y/n) when it's all said and done. is that it?"

the girls exchange glances. "well," mimiko starts slowly.

"we'd be surprised if you didn't."

"and why is that?"

"...don't you like her, geto?"

the sentiment comes again, and suguru's head rings. not because his girls, and likely everyone with the time vessel association have caught wind of his very obvious emotons regarding you, but because he can't seem to shake this strange feeling hat sits in the pit of his stomach now that the idea of settling down with you has been abruptly brought to his attention.

suguru always assumed that you would just be by his side forever, as you've already promised to remain loyal to him and only him for the rest of your life. being a part of his family, that was a given. that you all would never part.

but... marriage? settling down?

in truth, despite being a planner down to his very core, he hasn't thought that far ahead yet, not of anything beyond making his new world become a reality. for so long, that's all that has consumed his head. erradicating the weak. preserving the safety and dignity of the strong. taking care of those who have always taken care of him. his family. his girls. you.

but suddenly, he envisions you in white. a veil long enough to drag past your ankles, a soft white dress that hugs your body as if it was made just for you - and it would be. suguru would have it tailored by the best in the country, so long as you'd let him take some part in the dress planning. he imagines you'd be quite anal about such things, not letting him see the dress or you during your wedding day. he'd respect it, entertain it for a bit, but have his girls sneak to see you and report how gorgeous you appear as you prepare to stroll down the aisle as his bride.

he's clasping your warm, small hands in his like he always does, smoothing his fingers over the ring he's just slipped onto your digit. the rock twinkles over your skin, a grand symbol, but not quite grand enough to account for all that you mean to him. still, the 8 carot gold will do for now.

his vision is blurry, and his cheeks ache from how hard he knows he would be smiling. and you look like an angel in front of him, eyes glossing over with something gracious and sweet, your lips pinched together to prevent from bursting with the sheer emount of emotion overcoming you. you'd be happy there. he'd make you so happy.

your lips would unite with a passion, the weight of waiting finally released. he'd tug you close by the small of your waist with one hand holding your cheek delicately, and you'd melt into each other, knowing that you could finally rest in each other's arms and enjoy the life he once dreamed to give you.

if you'd want kids, he'd maybe ponder giving you one more, but you have the children you need in the teenagers who he swears make his strands go grey, who are responsible for even making him conjure up this fantasy. though, to see you waddling through the house, glowing with oncoming maternity and content would be a treat he could never deny himself.

he'd give you everything. he'd make you the happiest wife to grace this earth. he'd work hard every day to keep you, to remind you of his love the way he does now.

his heart aches with yearning.

it doesn't bother him that the girls gossiped about the possibilities between the two of you in private, or that they know how he feels. everyone knows except you.

what bothers him is that he was wrong. the ever prideful, ever diligent suguru geto was wrong about what he had thought he had all figured out.

he doesn't like you at all. he loves you. and he does in fact want to be with you until the day he dies, united in holy matrimony under his name. (y/n) geto. a beautiful, hypnotic ring he must make come to fruition in addition to a curse-less world.

he turns to look down at nanako with a gentle grin, one that makes the breeze feel warmer and the golden rays above shine the slighest bit brighter.

"maybe i do like her," he says playfully.

nanako stares up at him for a moment before a big grin spreads over her face in understanding.

"but you two are skipping a few steps. i'd have to ask the lovely woman out before jumping into marriage, now wouldn't i?"

suguru decides to forgive the way mimiko accidentally yanks at his roots due to jumping up with her sister in excitement.

he lets the girls yammer on about various ways for suguru to ask you out, a perfect fishtail woven into his hair and long forgotten. he humors them, enjoying the sheer excitement they bestow regarding his affections for you, further solidifying your place in their lives as a wife and mother, but he does not have the heart to tell them just yet that he already knows what he'll do to attempt to woo you into being his.

suguru is a dramatic man, one of great gestures and movements. he is passionate, at times almost scarily so, and he handles everything with empassioned precision. he certainly handles his pursuit of you the very same.

he stretches the act out over the course of a few days.

he starts, first, by greeting you with his familiar hugs accompanied by a fresh bouqet of flowers that the girls take the privilege of making with him every night.

he watches your face flush with red, your pretty eyes blinking almost confused before you allow yourself to swoon, your fingers gingerly reaching for the bunch of stems that suguru presents serenely to you, a relaxed captivation gracing his gorgeous features.

the first bunch are an arrangement of chysanthemums, a bright explosion of fierce reds and fushias that pops against your eyes and skin when you bring them to your nose to smell. suguru watches you calmly, heart twisting, cheeks burning, and he thinks that he could do this for the rest of his life when you bat those pretty eyes up at him and beam with a sheepish thank you fluttering from your lips and into the petals that you use to hide your face.

you don't know that there are more coming. that this first bouqet is meant to represent a sanction of what he promises you, a symbol of devotion and his unyielding legacy, the legacy you have helped him build. the legacy he intends to share with you.

the next day, he gifts you a bunch of cream colored anemonaes when he first sees you in the morning. you're shocked expression makes him chuckle lowly as he presents the flowers to you, the stems laced with a white ribbon, the petals fluttering eagerly around their black pistils. you stare up at suguru in awe, as he has caught you off guard once again, stolen the breath from your lungs and made your jaw drop in a stupor. two bouqets of flowers, two days in a row, in tandem with his soft hugs and soft looks and soft hands brushing yours.

"suguru, wha...?" you trail off as he places the bouqet in your hands, helping to secure your fingers around them. you stare at him, stunned, bashful, flattered, and he simply flashes you that serene, warm smile that soaks up the sun. "more flowers? but you already - "

"i know," is all he says, his hands holding yours around the bouqet. he glances at the flowers, a symbol of his patience, of how long he would be willing to wait for you if you decide to have him. the sincerity of his emotions, and how far he'd go for you and only you. his eagerness to obtain you, despite his willingness to hold off so long as it would make you comfortable. "they're all for you, angel," he eventually says.

you melt, your shoulders sagging with the curl of your brow. "i don't know what to say... why are you doing this?"

"because you deserve it."

the third and final day, suguru tells you to meet him in his drawing room. you're buzzing with the adrenaline of his very recent affections, the way he has been looking at you as of late in addition to his gifts of flowers.

you don't think you can find the words when you slide the door open to reveal the inky haired cult leader standing before you, at the very center of the room. sweet perfumes of incense intoxicate the candle lit space, and a generous bunch of your favorite flowers settles in his arms amidst his buddhist robes. a symbol of all that you are in his life, radiant. bright. loyal. a symbol of his immense adoration, and the fruitfulness of his love for you.

sunflowers.

your throat clamps up and you attempt to swallow the automatic lump that ails you. your heart pounds in your ears, your skin hot to the touch, and you ask yourself if you are inside of some kind of dream. if the man you've fallen for is truly right here in front of you with his heart in his hands and your world in his hazel eyes.

you freeze up, shaking your head. this can't be real. suguru is all dreams of the new world, ambitions to wipe out existence, eagerness to make the unloyal and the greedy pay with their lives. he is a passionate man, yes, but never one for romantics. never one for love, as you had previously believed.

he's generous, therefore you thought nothing of the way he would hold you close to him, his breathe murmuring that he's missed you throughout the day against your ear, though you've only been parted for a few hours within the cult. you thought nothing over those lingering, sultry looks past miguel's figure during family meetings, or the way his warm lips would meet your skin with fatigue. you thought nothing of it because suguru is a man of his people who hardly shies away from bestowing such affections on those he cares for.

still, you've never seen him hug miguel the same way. or look at manami with such intensity, let alone kiss any of the others on the head, save for his girls.

nevertheless, you never allowed yourself to believe that you were special. not when suguru has always made his priorities in this life painfully clear.

so you struggle to understand what this means. why he is showering you with affections and doting on you like you could possibly mean anything more to him than family.

"no, this is too much," you shake your head, your voice ringing out wobblier than you intended. "this is too much, suguru, what are you doing?"

the hazel eyed sorcerer does not panic when he hears your voice crack, for any time you are in his presence, a pink filter washes over his senses, and all he can register is your unfathomable beauty shining through the way you speak and the way you look at him.

he smiles, body warm. "do you not like them?"

"do i - no, i - i love them. that's not what i... those are for me, too?" you ask incredulously, though deep down you know the answer.

"of course they are."

"...suguru, why?" your breath hitches. "this is way too much."

"it's not nearly enough."

"but why would you - "

"you should let me talk, beautiful. then everything will make more sense. i promise."

you frown, eyes glazing over. suguru only smiles and shifts the bouqet, holding a hand out to you.

"come here."

you do, carefully sliding the door closed behind you in a stupor and moving to approach him. he takes your hand, holds your gaze, and brings it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your fingers. you inhale sharply, lips twitch, eyes glossy.

"i was talking with the girls the other day," he starts slowly, lowering your hand as he caressing it gently. "and they made me realize something."

you're scared to speak, but your voice croaks out anyway. "what?"

"that i don't want to waste any more time with you," suguru's voice dips just slightly, his tone taking a raw vulnerability that you have not heard in quite sometime. it takes you back to high school, before he snapped, when the two of you were just kids seeking one another's comfort within a strange and unforgiving education.

"suguru, what are you talking about?" you breathe a whisper.

"ever since we were kids, i've known. that i never want to live without you," he confesses. "but it's taken me too long to truly understand what that means and to actually do something about it."

you shake your head with a disoriented breath, a tear you can't fight catching your lashes. suguru releases your hand to swipe the tear away with his thumb.

his hand curves to your chin and he lifts your head slightly, encouraging your teary eyes to meet his again. his pupils expand, his eyes lidded.

"so now i'm doing something about it," he mumbles. "i want you to be with me, (y/n). i want you to be mine. there's no one else in this godforsaken world for me but you. it's always been you."

you feel another tear trail down your cheek, your heart soaring, your mind still not quite comprehending that this is real. that this is happening.

suguru is patient. he doesn't need an immediate response, nor does he demand your immediate reciprocation. instead, he is merely happy to tell you, to watch the awe float over your pretty face as his chest becomes lighter, having freed the weight of his truth to you.

"these flowers are a promise. i'll be good to you. i'll put you before everything. i'll love you as you should be loved. because i do. i love you. and i always will, whether you'll have me or not."

your heart skips a beat. or two. or ten. "...you love me?"

"i love you," he confirms.

the past nine years whip through your head, all the doubts, the hopes, the longing, the fear, that have brought you to this very moment. your cloudy gaze finds the flowers brushing your chests between you, then his warm hazel eyes. you see into his soul, you see the cracks exposed, the hint of anxiety that swirls in the back of his mind as he bears himself raw to you behind a front of serenity.

you cave with the breathless call of his name, and he takes the chance, his name on your tongue dispelling any fear and uncertainty. he ducks down and pulls you in, petals brushing your chins as his lips press to yours fervently. you whimper and he groans, both symphonies of long awaited relief, and in the brief disconnect of your hungry lips, you whisper into his mouth.

"i love you too."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

choso kamo: your patience!

“it’s okay, cho. here, let me help you.”

sharp violet eyes blink down at you in a stupor as you ease your palm onto his shoulder blade, stepping close to take initiative as he submissively backs away. you look up and give him a soft smile before turning your attention to the electronic fast food kiosk to help him navigate the options.

the brunette lets you take the lead, as you always do when it comes to human things like this, and he watches you from your side with a blank expression, something far more intense shining in his wide eyes.

choso knows he can be a handful. basic things do not always come to him very easily, like small talk or technology or anything within the realm of human functionality that he has yet to completely accomodate to. while the brunette has been around long enough to assimilate into his brother's livelihood and the people directly surrounding him, he still significantly struggles to comprehend certain mortal concepts.

it took him a whole day to figure out how to program the phone that yuji helped him purchase, and that was with the help of the salmon haired teenager. each day, he still battles with comprehending some of the slang his kid brother uses when talking to him, often opting to pretend to know what yuji is talking about when he sends little acronyms like lmao or wyd. he doesn't quite grasp the goal of certain sports when he sees yuji and his classmates playing them, and he has absolutly no idea how to decipher or navigate the internet.

in the human world, choso often feels like a fish out of water, much to his chagrin. the persistent internal dilemma of existing as something between a human and a curse often leaves choso confused as he attempts to navigate how he is supposed to behave, what he is supposed to know, how he can be accepted by either jujutsu or human society.

and people are less than forgiving, less than patient with those who appear to be outsiders, choso has come to find. the world is a cruel place, and as he continues to manage how to move about it, strangers expect him to figure it out.

it tells in the way he gets shoulder checked in crowded markets when he does not know where to go, or what the number on his ticket means as he stands in the middle of a bustling grocery store right in front of the deli, having promised yuki that he'd pick up her order during lunch. it tells in the dirty glares that are tossed his way when he scratches the back of his scalp, nose twisted with frustration and brows angled as he tries to figure out which direction this particular train he was told to board is going to take him in. it tells in the way the kids jokingly gasp when they hear that he has yet to try the newest fad sweeping through the social media feeds, some kind of food vendor that everyone is suddenly obsessed with and expects others to share that same obsession in order to be viewed as an equal.

choso sighs. the world is not very understanding toward people like him, who need time to grasp what is happening around him and how to adjust to its functions. to people who move slowly, cautiously, carefully to ensure that he is doing the right thing, to reduce the chances of making excessive mistakes. to people who can not just click into society's expectations with the snap of a finger, who need patience and understanding.

so when you come around and begin to show him such things, begin to teach him those societal functions with a calm, peaceful countenance and an eagerness to help, choso finds his heart fluttering in his chest.

his feelings for you come abruptly, quick and stunning like the shock of an ice bath.

the first time you helped choso with something, he didn't even know what to say. you're one of the institution's frequently traveling sorcerers, about twenty or so years old, often popping in to serve as a mentor for the first years. you are ordinarly paired up with yuki for missions, which is how you were introduced to choso, who was pinned with her as well.

choso already thinks you're pretty and nice when you first introduce yourself to him. you smell like sugary, sunny summer days, and you have (e/c) eyes that pierce the veil to his soul. but what makes him weak and renders him a fool at your beck and call is when you catch him one day in the break room fiddling with the rather expensive coffee machine.

you saunter in the room behind him and notice his hunched figure over the device, and when you approach his side, you see that the dark circles that live under his eyes are more prominent, and an irritated grimace is crossed over his lips. your eyes follow his gaze to the stubborn machine and you realize that he is having a hard time getting the water to filter through.

choso sees you out of the corner of his eye and straightens up, locking eyes with you, attempting to blink away his clear vexation. "(y/n)," he says your name surprised, as if he would have never expected to see you here despite this being your place of work as well. "hi," he fumbles.

you grin. "hi choso! whatcha doin?"

"j-just trying to make coffee. sorry, are you waiting to use this?" he asks, immediately thinking that he has been standing in your way, taking up the time you could have used to fix yourself a cup of coffee. he thinks himself a useless burden once more and is prepared to abandon the task for your sake, despite how lethargic he feels.

but instead of rolling your eyes or expressing any kind of impatience with him, you smile up at him sweetly. "no, it's okay. just saw you and wanted to check in. do you need any help?" you ask softly, unbothered.

choso's face falls as your question leaves him taken aback. not even just your question, but the way you ask as though you wish to assist him, as if it is really no problem. he goes silent for a second, and you wait for him to answer, still looking up at him with a gentle smile.

his cheeks burst red and he clears his throat. "um - yeah. kinda. if you don't... don't mind. sorry," he scratches the back of his neck.

"you don't have to apologize," you chirp with a soft chuckle. "i know how these things can be. super stubborn sometimes, y'know?"

you don't even blame his incompetence. you blame the coffee maker in order to make him feel less out of place. choso blinks, baffled, and swallows hard. you step closer to him, and he takes an involuntary shuffle away, averting his gaze from your pretty eyes and kind smile. your scent suddenly invades him, and he shivers, a lump forming in his throat.

"what's wrong with it?" you ask.

"...it's - uh - just not pouring. it keeps making a click sound, but nothing's coming out."

you hum thoughtfully. "i hate when it does this," you murmur, looking over the device. "here, let me try something."

you step closer to him, and choso takes the hint to move back, standing behind you as you work your magic. you reach back behind the machine and unplug it, wait a few more seconds, then plug it back in. you then lift the top of the machine open once it powers back on, and close that one more time. you press a few buttons, it clicks, then in seconds, brown liquid dribbles down from the spout and into choso's navy mug.

you grin and turn over your shoulder to look up at the half-curse. "there you go! sometimes it just needs to be restarted to get working again. if it gives you any more trouble, just unplug it and plug it back in, okay? that's what i always do anyway."

choso stares at the coffee filtering into the mug, then at your bright expression. he nods stiffly, eyes shimmering, face beet red. "thank you," he says earnestly.

"don't mention it. let me know if you ever need help with anything else!"

you hum a soft tune as you walk out of the break room, and violet eyes follow your retreating figure. choso feels his heart spasm, for he thinks this is the very first time someone has appeared truly happy to assist him - the first time anyone has ever treated him unlike a chore. and you walk off like it's nothing.

choso starts to like you immediately after that, but he doesn't quite know that those feelings he is experiencing means something more than platonic admiration. he doesn't know what it means when his face flushes in your presence, and your phantom scent smacks him in the face whenever you're not around, and his heart thumps a mile per minute whenever you so much as look at him.

ever new to the human experience, he is much newer to intense human emotions like these.

and the feelings grow more intense each time you assist him with something so nicely, a stark contrast to the way others are so impatient with him. he’s holding a camera the wrong way? no worries, you’re there to pat his shoulder and help him flip it around, demonstrating an easier way to point it at his beloved brother. he can’t figure out directions to that spot his coworkers want to eat at? not a problem! you’ll take over directions with him and set him up for how to find things on his own next time around. trying to follow a tutorial for how to fix the squeaky hinge on his brother’s door? he doesn’t have to do it alone! you’re happy to assist him and make the whole ordeal quicker.

and today, yuji insisted on going out to the nearest fast food place with his friends, both you and choso having accompanied. yet no matter how many things you continue to show him, he still can’t quite grasp how to save his order on this damn screen.

the kamo hears your voice narrating your actions as you tap through the options, inquiring what he wants, and while he responds to you flatly, he’s not really paying attention. not to what you’re showing him.

all he can hear is the sweet, understanding cadence of your gorgeous voice as you swipe through selections, the way your lashes blink when you turn over your shoulder to meet his eyes and double check with him before adding something to the cart. he doesn’t even know what the hell you’re putting in there or what he’s telling you to get, but he knows that your lips are a tint of cherry red today instead of your go-to peachy gloss.

"do you want anything?" he suddenly speaks up, accidentally interrupting you in the middle of your little spiel. he comes closer behind you involuntarily, his chest brushing the tip of your shoulder as you look up at him softly.

you blink a few times, aware of his close proximinity, and you press your lips together, heat flaring in your cheeks, your cool countenance disrupted. "it's okay, i'm not really that hungry."

"are you sure? we've had a busy day. i can get you something. whatever you want."

you're suddenly bashful, biting back a warm smile. "...i mean, sure, if you're offering. i kinda want an icecream cone..."

an ice cream cone. suddenly it's the most important thing on this planet.

choso nods firmly. "okay."

and you watch as he reaches past you to hesitantly take control of the screen under a mask of confidence, utilizing your tips and brief tutorial to scroll through the options, locate your desired item, and land it in the cart.

you beam, your hand flying to his bicep. "look, cho, you did it all by yourself! i'm so proud of you!" you praise. "thank you so much!"

a huff of air dispels from choso's nose as he looks down at your sweet expression, tenses under the soft touch of your palm, and processes what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your gratitude. to step up and do something for you in return for all the patience and kindness that you've shown him.

pink bursts over his pale cheeks, and a wobbly hint of a smile rises. his heart hammers louder and louder in his ears, and his entire body feels as though its catching a sweat. is he sick? is it you?

is he sick off of you?

he doesn't know, nor does he care. all that he knows is, as your fingers slip away from his arm, and your warmth is dragged along with you as you rejoin the teens at the table they snagged, that he wants to feel this way with you for as long as he possibly can. he wants to make you feel just as seen, just as happy, just as heard, just as warm.

the brunette eventually rejoins you all, flustering in silence when you pat the seat that you've saved for him across from the booth nobara, yuji, and megumi cramp themselves in.

choso sits with his broad shoulders tense and his hands in his lap as you talk excitedly with nobara about this new top that you found online, and choso's eyes eventually fall to the two teenage boys across from him who quirk their brows at his posture and exchange knowing glances.

you and nobara somehow convince the guys to trail behind you as you seek out the tops you found. as the boys trail behind, and as choso's eyes glue to the back of your head while you walk beside the brunette fifteen year old, he feels yuji nudge him in the side.

choso looks down at his little brother, blatantly dazed, pupils wide. "hm?" he inquires softly.

"dude. you've been staring at her the entire time we've been out," the salmon haired boy deadpans. on his right, megumi walks while staring boredly ahead, hands in his pockets as he agrees.

"pretty painful to watch," the navy haired boy murmurs.

"oh," choso blinks, turning back to look at you when a giggle spills past your lips. his heart flips. "yeah. sorry," he swallows, distracted.

"aw man, you've got it so bad," yuji shakes his head. "why don't you just tell her already? it's so obvious."

choso turns to him again, suddenly invested. "tell her what? what's it? what do i have?"

"y'know? lovesickness. you're down bad."

choso tilts his head. "i'm sick? down where? it's bad?"

yuji exhales defeatedly. and drops his shoulders. "no man, you're not actually sick. i mean, like, you're in love."

the half curse's eyes grow wide. "in love?"

megumi sighs. "i don't think he knows, yuji."

the said boy's eyes snap wide with realization. "oh shit! choso! do you not know?!"

"know what?"

yuji throws his arm up and around his brother's shoulders, bringing his face down in secrecy as they walk. choso furrows his brows in confusion at the salmon haired boy's abrupt intensity. "answer me this - does your face get all hot whenever (y/n) is around?" he whispers aggressively, megumi rolling his eyes.

"um... yes...?"

"does she make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?"

"...yeah."

"when you look at her, do you just wanna scream and cry and do everything you possibly can to make her happy all at the same time?"

choso swoons. "i do."

yuji grins mischievously. "you think she's pretty ~ ?"

"yuji," megumi groans.

"yes. i think she's the prettiest girl in the world," choso affirms, eyes still stuck to you. his younger brother huffs conclusively, fighting off a gag and releasing choso so that he can stand up straight again. he closes his eyes, nodding as if making an internal diagnosis.

"you're in love big bro. you like (y/n) as way more than a friend. so much it's making you crazy."

choso thinks it over, the strange urges that overcome him when you're near, his desire to always be around you and make you proud. "...you're right. i do feel crazy."

"everyone literally already knew that but you, kamo," megumi adds.

"what do i do?!" choso panics.

yuji shrugs. "you should tell her."

"tell her that i - " the image of confronting you in such a way, standing before you as his feelings get caught in his throat, watching as you bat those pretty lashes up at him and await what he has to say with a patient smile makes his heart sieze up in his throat and his stomach churn with something discomforting. choso grits his teeth, shaking his head furiously. "no, i can't do that. she'll hate me. i don't want her to hate me."

"what? who says she'll hate you?" yuji waves him off.

choso's mind flies to the way strangers regard him, to how clueless he is about most things that someone his age should know about. he imagines all the men out there who are more experienced, who know more than he ever could, including how to treat you the way you should be treated.

he's not that guy. he isn't normal. he doesn't know things. he's only himself, caught between darkness and light, and you are kind enough to stand by his side and help him through some of his confusion, but you deserve more than his empty head. hell, he didn't even know that he had feelings for you until his fifteen year old brother pieced it together for him.

"i don't want to make her uncomfortable," he mumbles.

megumi's eye twitches. "but she literally - "

"shh, shhh, shhh!" yuji blindly smacks his hand over megumi's mouth, earning him a rather merciless smack upside the back of his head. the two glare at each other before yuji turns his attention back to his brother, rubbing the tender spot of his head. "listen choso, the thing about love is that you never know what to expect. you shouldn't assume that (y/n) doesn't like you just because you don't know or haven't tried to tell her. she's super nice and she loves spending time with you. she'd be lucky to have you."

"no, i'd be the lucky one. i'd just slow her down."

"that's your head talking. don't listen to your head, listen to me! your brother!" yuji fumes, gripping choso's shoulder tight. choso sighs, looking down. "look at her, man. look how happy she's been ever since you got her that ice cream. does that look like someone who'd hate you if you confessed?"

choso looks up at you again, noting how the golden sun seems to illuminate you, that smile that could send him into shock spread wide across your face as you talk. god, you're pretty.

"you think that's... because of me?"

"trust me, bro. i know women - "

"do you?" megumi intercepts sharply, ready to go home.

"shut up," yuji bites back. "i know women, and i know for a fact that no girl gets as happy as i see her get whenever you're involved. trust me on this. any time we buy nobara anything, she snatches it from our hands and tells us it's the least we could do for being pains in her ass."

"oh. (y/n) has never said anything like that to me."

"that's because she probably sees you as more than a friend too. but you'll never know unless you tell her." choso hums, taking in his brother's advice. "don't be scared. go for it! besides, you'd end up regretting it if you wait too long."

in a trance, choso moves to march up to you, but yuji's grip tightens on his shoulder as he pulls him back. "what the - not now, i don't wanna see that! just wait 'til you two are alone. it'll be more special that way."

so he does, but every single time the two of you wind up alone, choso chickens out. despite having won difficult battles and overcome extinction itself, the violet eyed half curse can't seem to muster up the courage to face you like a man and tell you that he's obsessed with you, that he thinks about you every single day, that he wants to be able to hold your hand and kiss you and be yours.

every single time he thinks he will, his eyes find yours, and he fumbles. like a coward. he can't get out of his own mind. he can't fight the thoughts that are telling him that he's just not good enough, that you deserve better, that he can't be what you need.

he'd rather have you in his life as a friend than screw things up by confessing to you and inevitably losing you completely.

instead of telling you how he feels, choso finds himself clinging to the memory of your praise, the day he first did something for you and not vice versa, and stepping in to perform random, small tasks for you, tasks that don't even require his help.

he brings extra ponytails to work on his wrist for you just in case you need them in the midst of sparring or mentoring. he keeps an extra jacket close by in case he sees you shiver and rub your arms from the cold of the air conditioned conference room. he asks you every day if you want him to run out and get the coffee he sees you drink so frequently, eager to serve you in any form, eager to make you smile, eager to prove himself worthy of your love.

you notice the change, how he frantically jumps to assist you more and more each day. how he tries to impress you by picking up your hobbies, or telling you about a book that he's reading that's written by an author he heard through the grapevine that you enjoy. you notice him trying to fit into your world more, trying to talk to you about shows and music and ideas that you've never heard him talk about before learning that you've shown interest in them. you observe how much more inherently human he tries to be around you, how desperately he tries to stray from himself with his eyes glued to your every move, and you start to think you know what's going on.

your last straw is when he approaches you one day at the field when you're packing up your weaponry and gloves. the sun sets behind the nearby mountains, the entirety of the sparring field melted in a rich orange glow. you perk up when you hear footsteps against the grass, and you turn around to see choso holding something out for you to take, cheeks rosy and eyes soft.

"hey... for you," is all his says, and when you look down at his palms, you see a cute little cream puff keychain - a gift associated with your passing mention of loving baked goods.

you melt with a sigh. "choso," you coo, abandoning your duffel bag to approach him slowly. "you didn't have to get me this."

"i know. i just thought you'd like it. unless you don't. you don't have to take it. i'll get you something else."

"no," you cup under his outstretched hands and he shivers under your touch, looking up at you shyly. "you don't have to get me anything else. this is - this is so sweet, but, i don't need this. you didn't have to do this."

"oh. okay. i see," he nods, taking your words as rejection.

you notice the dip in his tone and the way he goes to turn and walk off, but you stop him gently. "no, that's not what i - i like it choso i do! i didn't mean to say i don't. i love it... but are you okay?"

"yes," he answers quickly.

"are you sure? you've been so... anxious lately."

you noticed. you notice things about him. he tries not to let that fact alone further push him into a delusional state. when he meets your eyes again, he gets lost in your gentle concern as your palms brush his knuckles. his breath hitches when he speaks again. "i'm fine."

"...okay..." you say slowly, unconvinced. you look over his flushed face, then around at the area, ensuring that you are alone. "hey... listen, i kinda wanted to... to actually talk to you."

choso freezes, keychain still presented to you. "oh. okay," he gulps. is this it? is this the cold sting of rejection that he's been working so hard to avoid? is it time for him to give up on the foolish dream of making you happy? "what's wrong?" he asks.

"i've noticed... lately, on top of being so anxious... it seems like you've been trying to - like - impress me? is that it?" you say softly.

choso's heart begins to pound again, and dread overcomes him. "w-what do you mean?"

"you know what i mean, cho. all the little gestures. the gifts, the acts of service, the pretending to like what i like - "

"i do like what you like."

you give him a look. "cho, i know you've only gotten interested in all of that stuff because of me."

"...is that a bad thing? do you not like that i did?"

"i'm not saying it's bad. i just want to understand why you feel like you have to do that all of a sudden. you never did before, then suddenly you started acting like i would only be interested in you if you do those things. did i make you feel like you have to do all those things for me to... enjoy your friendship?"

friendship. you still think of him as a friend.

choso frowns. "i don't know," he murmurs, nervous. he glances down at his hands over yours, then back into the sun glittering in your perfect eyes. could he ever appear that perfect to you, the way you do to him?

"choso, it's okay. you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

his jaw clenches hard. can he really?

"...and i never meant to make you feel like you have to be someone you're not. it's okay if you have different interests from me. you don't have to like everything i like to get my attention. i like you just the way you are. i always have."

his eyes glisten. "you do?"

you smile something warm and comforting. "of course i do."

"but... i do like liking the same things as you," he says lowly, face fiery. "i like learning about you... and making you happy... and being someone for you to lean on. you always are to me. i want to repay that."

you giggle lightly. "aw, cho. you're so sweet. but i don't do any of that stuff for you out of obligation."

"i know," he says. "that's why i want to do the same for you. you're always so nice to me and it means a lot. i just wanted to show you that i... care."

you soften, heat crawling over your skin. "i care about you too."

he swallows hard again, eyes unblinking. "like... as a friend?"

you hesitate, averting your gaze briefly. "y-yeah. as a friend," you affirm, peaking back up at him hopefully. the corners of your lips twitch as you sway awkwardly, puckering your lips in thought. "...unless you... care about me some other way...?"

choso's body goes rigid. do you know? have you read him so easily? more importantly, are you hoping that he does like you as something more? do you reciprocate the intensity he feels?

he's never felt more scared of anything in his life. "um..." he looks down at the keychain in his large palms and shudders. "well, i don't know... i guess-"

choso's words are caught in his throat when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist and tug him forward. you press onto your tip toes and lean up, pulling him down to press your sweet lips to his cheekbone. the brunette's eyes snap wide, pupils small, the sensation of your pillowy lips on his skin completely disrupting the function of his brain. he stares ahead, shocked as you pull away and you laugh at his expression.

"choso," you chuckle, holding onto his wrist as you toy with the hem of your shirt girlishly. "i like you as more than a friend too. a lot, actually."

he can hardly think or speak. "...what?"

"come on, i'm dying here," you whine. "i like you, choso. okay? and i'd never want you to think that you should change anything about yourself for me to see you that way. i already do. i like you, unfiltered, as you are. you're perfect," you emphasize. "...you like me too, right?"

"...you like me?"

"yes," you laugh.

"as... more than... a friend?"

"obviously, cho."

choso thinks he's seen heaven as your words land gracefully on his ears. your keychain drops to the ground in his stupor, and before you can ask if he's alright or decide that you've completely broken him, he clobbers you in a tight embrace, finally allowed permission, finally assured. his strong arms wrap tightly around your waist and you yelp as he lifts you into the air effortlessly, his face buried into your shoulder as he holds you tight.

his eyes scrunch closed and he breathes you in, overjoyed, relieved, happy enough to bawl his eyes out right there. he sniffs, pressing his lips tight together, savoring your body against his. he hears you laugh out before feeling your arms wrap around him for stability, and he can finally breathe. for somehow, choso lucked out. the most beautiful, kind, deserving woman on this planet chooses him, and now that he knows, he's not going to let a second of you go to waste any more than he already has.

for how can you even begin to ask if he likes you when you are all that he has ever wanted?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

hiromi higuruma: your new boyfriend!

hiromi has heard all of the accusations, every single last one, and has denied each one with an adamance.

the dark haired attorney has known you for years, and throughout those years, you have remained a gracious constant in his rather chaotic, exhausting, ever so stressful life. having a best friend like you certainly had never been in the cards for hiromi, who always prides himself on his independence and insists that intimate relationships of any kind would hinder his concentration.

that, however, did not stop him from growing close to you after meeting you in law school. before the world got too big. before he became the very center of right and wrong, justice and injustice, guilt and innocence.

it was at an annual law convention that law students were encouraged to attend. he found you at a neighboring booth, tabling as an intern for another firm he had heard of in passing, and in the midst of the day's hectic buzz, the two of you ended up sneaking away to grab a drink after sharing a few rather striking conversations.

your mind is intriguing. that is what first pulled hiromi to you, but what he found beyond that was your ability to shed your professional air to expose your more human side in his privacy. you're quite social, personable, and full of smiles, and with the week hiromi had been having, your company had proven quite refreshing. you weren't stuffy. you didn't seem to be hiding any tricks or secrets up your sleeves. you merely existed in your own space, and the attention came to you, whether you had asked for it or not.

and when you smiled, hiromi smiled. thus beginning your rather close friendship.

you and higuruma do most things together. in your early days, you were often found cooped up together in the library, studying senselessly for the bar. you'd quiz each other, spitballing debates, bouncing ideas and theories and arguments off of one another to the point where it felt like a game, where the most stressful time in your lives was momentarily treated like a challenging, engaging activity.

you made everything feel easier, lighter. caught in a whirlwind of dedication to justice, you often found higuruma in a dissociative state with his pen flicking restlessly between his fingers as he stared out of a nearby window with distance eyes and a blank face. you'd sigh, for you knew this burden all too well. you saw it sag in his shoulders, watched as the weight over his posture built and built with the coming days, as he climbed higher and higher, and filtered his mind with more knowledge.

with the expansion of hiromi's natural intelligence, his light threatened to dwindle. he's a prodigy after all, far beyond anything that you could have dreamed to become, but he was still your best friend at the end of the day. when he withdrew, you were there to pull him back. until study sessions became cooking dates at your apartment, where flashcards were eventually discared after hours of memorization and muttering terms under one another's breaths. you'd say something like: "you can't retain a single thing if you don't give your body nutrients, no matter how smart you are!" and you'd force him out of the cocoon he'd built on your faded leather couch and push him into the kitchen.

stubborn with conviction, hiromi would give you an earfull at first, griping about how the bar isn't a game. about how law is the future, his future, your future, and you can't afford any moments to slack as long as injustice continues to run rampant just outside your window. and you'd hum mindlessly as you move about your cramped kitchen, for you'd heard this lecture countless times, before shoving a red onion into his palm outstretched - mid sermon, and ordering him to dice it into cubes.

"(y/n)," he'd call your name, weary, aggravated. "i was talking."

"shush," you'd hush him, unaffected by his feigned anger with you. hiromi would stand and glare at you in defiance for a minute longer each time, before eventually giving in and dicing the onion as you'd ordered, murmuring under his breath.

he certainly found no reason to complain when the two of you were eating out of chipped china over your dining room table in silence, hunger having finally been satiated after hours of unintentional starvation. thick books lay forgotten just for a moment on your coffee table as the two of you enjoy the silence and satisfaction of a home cooked meal.

you were often the reason he saw the light of day, as you'd drag him to study outside in a nearby park, picnic blanket layed out under a great oak as sun poured through the cracks left in the leaves, a gentle breeze tossing your pages back and forth. you'd lay on your stomach as hiromi sat upright with his back pressed against the bark. against hiromi's better judgment, he'd let his eyes leave the page of his textbook upon registering the sound of a nearby dog barking. he'd find that your attention had already strayed, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you watch life flourish around you, the little dog off in the distance yapping excitedly at a flock of geese gliding across the pond.

and then his chocolate eyes would fall to you, the way you lounge with your elbows caging around your thick book, eyes full of the sky's light and your dream of capturing this peace for those wronged by the justice system, for those abused by the unpunished.

your eyes would eventually snap away, finding hiromi's, and he'd look back down at his book casually, muttering that you need to stay more focused. you'd roll your eyes, nudging his knee playfully.

"lighten up a bit, romi. you can't try to protect the world if you don't look around at it once and a while. see what's actually going on."

and you, of course, are the only reason hiromi ever stepped outside of his apartment past the hours of 09:00. you'd call him up, telling him that a few of your classmates invited you out to trivia night at a nearby bar. he'd click his teeth and tell you that he'd pass, only to find that you're already standing outside of his door, dressed in knee high boots and a leather coat, scarf wrapped around your neck and lips painted dark.

the brunette would open the door to reveal your image and frown at your expecting grin and open arms. he'd give you a flat look before turning to find a coat, for he always knew that you weren't leaving without him. after all, he could never say no to you. not when you refuse to leave him stewing in the intellectual misery that this profession has already imprinted upon him. not when you're constantly reminding him to bring his head up from the water. he'd certainly drown without you.

and without fail, at every outing you'd drag him to, in every space you found yourselves with other people in, some guy you're both acquainted with would tap him on the shoulder and lean in to inquire about you.

"yo, are you two dating?"

and every single time, hiromi would raise his drink to his lips and answer plainly. "no."

you're hiromi's best friend. you have been since the moment you met. you spend every waking moment together, and you hound him like an overbearing mother, but you are not romantically involved. you never have been. and he does not understand why that's so difficult for people to understand. so what, you're the only person he goes to about anything? so what, you can singlehandedly clear the grey skies of his cloudy mind? so what, you're his favorite person to be around, to talk to, to spend time with? you're friends. friendship isn't a crime.

"so you've hooked up?"

"no."

"you haven't even kissed?"

"no."

"but you're attracted to each other, right?"

"no," a vein would bulge over hiromi's temple as he'd growl into his glass. "we're close friends. that's all."

and every time he'd repeat so with such finality, inquirers would lean back with a whistle and the shake of his head, as if being platonic with you was some sort of unfathomable notion.

and then, like clockwork, the question will come. "then... she's single?"

hiromi's eye would twitch, and he'd grumble some kind of affirmation. for it's true, you are single. you don't belong to one another, and you can certainly do as you please. while hiromi has no interest in such affairs, that doesn't mean that you should close yourself off to them as well.

nevertheless, every guy that's come your way after hiromi has confirmed that you are not his girlfriend has always met your rejection. it surprises the dark haired man every time, for you aren't like him. you're brighter. you enjoy people more. you should have fun, but when he asks you about it, you just shrug him off.

"i'm not gonna start fooling around with anyone while studying for the bar, romi. that's just asking for failure."

"that's a little unhealthy. someone could make you happy."

"says you," you'd nudge him. "why don't you listen to your own advice?"

"it's different."

"it's not at all actually."

you've been evasive in regard to relationships for as long as hiromi has known you, and he doesn't know why. your excuses continue to shift as well depending on the time, for after the two of you pass the bar, you say that you're too focused on building your career. after your career has been build, you say that you're too busy with work. hiromi has not even heard of you engaging in one night stands or little flings, much to his relief if he were being honest. he thinks you're far better than something as casual and shallow as that.

still, you've shied away from topics of romance, catching a strange look in your eye every single time he asks. he doesn't understand why, nor what that look has meant as it developed over the years, but he swears he knows you well. he had been confident that, no matter the time or place, you would continue to stubbornly refuse romantic advances.

therefore, the attorney is a bit floored now that you are in your thirties, and after years of watching you turn down advances, you suddenly turn up with a new boyfriend.

higuruma's chopsticks freeze midair, sushi squished between the wooden sticks, and his eyes widen just a smidgen as you stand before him after hours in his office, an excited glint in your eyes.

the sushi drops back down to its container as silence floods the empty space, and you await a reaction. "what did you just say?" he asks slowly.

"i said i met someone!"

"...as in..."

"as in, i have a boyfriend, romi. and i want you to meet him soon!"

the words echo through his mind like some kind of curse that he struggles to digest. slowly, he lowers his chopsticks to his desk and folds his hands before him, adjusting himself in his seat as he processes this odd revalation. he eyes you carefully, brain working overtime to decipher whether you're messing with him or not. your smile dwindles and your hand finds your hip, your brow raising.

"what the hell? what kind of reaction is that? aren't you happy for me?"

"i'm... why... is this the first time i'm hearing about this? a boyfriend?" he echoes, despising the way the word tastes on his tongue. "that's a big step. how quickly are you moving?"

"not that quickly, hiromi, we started talking like two months ago."

"and you never told me?"

"i didn't wanna bother you while you were in the middle of dealing with that one case. you were so stressed!"

"what case?" his brow twitches.

"the saito one."

"that case was forever ago, (y/n). you could've told me when it was over."

"yeah, but - i don't know, it felt stupid - and anyway, i still just didn't wanna disrupt you. you know how you are, you constantly jump from one thing to another like a lunatic."

the brown eyed man exhales, turning to face you fully in his office chair. his left elbow remains propped on the table while his other hand rubs at his forehead. "we tell each other everything," he eventually says.

"i know. i'm sorry. that's why i'm telling you now," you shrug. "what if things went badly? i wasn't gonna tell you about the guy if he ended up being an asshole."

"two months is still hardly enough time to know if he's an asshole or not."

you scrunch your face. "what is with you? i thought you'd be excited for me. you're always telling me that i need to put myself out there."

"yes, i know, but - " hiromi stops himself, his grim attitude on the subject suddenly dawning on him. you have a point. he is always telling you to put yourself first, to find someone to make you happy, but this? this is so abrupt. he had at least expected you to give him a heads up whenever you began seeing someone. he would have liked to learn the journey of how the two of you even got to this point, to be a part of that with you, but instead you spring this on him like he shouldn't feel excluded from that area of your life, the area you've always left so grey. what changed? why, all of a sudden, are you happy to be with someone else - with someone, now?

still, you're his best friend. you're right. he should be happy for you, and put his cynicism aside.

"i apologize. i'm just surprised, is all," his voice softens. you fold your arms across your chest, shifting your weight with a pout. he catches your attitude and rolls his eyes, chuckling tiredly. "i said i'm sorry. i am happy for you. you deserve to be happy."

"jeez, was that so hard?" you grumble. "and... it's fine. i guess i do owe you an apology for not saying anything. i really, honestly just didn't think you'd - wanna hear about it. with everything you've got going on."

"if it's about you, (y/n), i would like to hear about it. you know this. i'm never too busy for you."

you purse your lips, softening. "...yeah. neither am i."

he raises a brow. "are you sure?"

you click your teeth, whacking his knee with your handbag. "yes, i'm sure," you groan. you reach back and pull up another nearby office chair, and plop down in front of him. "at least let me make it up to you by catching you up now," you grin cheekily.

hiromi exhales once more, turning his attention back to his dropped sushi. "i'm listening."

the defense attorney viciously fights the sinking feeling in his stomach when you pull out your phone and show him pictures of the tall, strapping, chestnut haired man who has finally managed to tie you down. you chatter with a giddy tone about where you met, the dates he's taken you on, the flowers he's purchased you, and how he asked you to be his the night before.

a light smile graces hiromi's features as he listens to you talk, for he's never seen you so openly lovestruck over someone, and a lump molds itself in his throat with the realization that this is the first time he's seen you with another man.

and while he tries to be happy for you, while he tells you that he's lucky to have you, while he lets you flaunt pictures of your hand in his and his lips on your cheek as you beam at the camera...

he doesn't fucking like it.

in fact, he hates it, seeing his best friend so happy in such a way. and he doesn't understand why, for he doesn't know the man. he has no personal vendeta against him. from what you've told him, the guy has only passed every test you've thrown his way and treated you nicely. he has a solid job, makes a good living, and he's not bad looking. not at all. in fact, he fits beside you aesthetically, pairs well with your beauty.

but the image makes him sick. the thought of him kissing you, holding you, keeping you in the intimate spaces, late at night, early in the morning, has hiromi souring with something foreign and detestable. he does not like it.

and it feels even worse when he finally meets the guy. when you arrive at the cafe you told hiromi to meet at with your arm linked in his and a smile so bright it blinds him, your hand waving enthusiastically above your head as you approach.

hiromi's eyes flicker to your boyriend. he's tall. muscular beneath the frame of his cashmiere sweater. an easy smile is plastered on his face, one hiromi could never wear in the whirlwind of his cluttered mind.

his arm is locked in yours like you belong right beside him. like you're his.

and you are.

hiromi's stomach drops, and his mood is dampening before the two of you even reach the umbrella shaded table he's reserved. the table he'd reserved for you, because you asked him to. you asked him to book this. you wanted to introduce your new boyfriend to him, praying that he'd like him, and hiromi organized the entire thing solely because you you begged him with that lilt in your voice, the one you use any time you want to guilt hiromi into doing something. the one you used every day in law school, when he wanted to stew in his future and you encouraged him to live in the present.

because he's never seen his best friend so vulnerable and sweet before, and it kills him, but he'd rather kill himself before taking away that light in your eyes.

he'd never say no to you, to your happiness.

still, he doesn't understand his problem. he doesn't understand why he allows himself to speak with a poisonous, dull sting in his voice every time your boyfriend asked him a question. he doesn't understand why his nose curls just the slightest as he turns away to look anywhere else but at the way he drops a kiss to your forehead while you're talking. he doesn't understand why his chest is tight enough to restrict air, why it feels like a thousand tons are weighing down when he sees your knees brush under the table the way yours would against his six years ago back in that library, crowded by the sun-caught lint filtering in the window, dusty books that cursed hiromi's life, and the shoulder of the girl who saved it brushing against his as you read.

he doesn't understand why, when your boyfriend leaves to go to the bathroom and your face falls the moment you're alone, and you ask what the hell is wrong with him, his frown deepens. and he is suddenly... annoyed.

"there's nothing wrong with me," hiromi responds robotically, brows at a slight angle.

you scoff with disbelieving smile. "what are you talking about? you've been glaring at him and hardly speaking the entire morning! he probably thinks you hate him!"

"you're exaggerating."

"i'm ex - okay," you throw your hands up. "you've been acting weird ever since i told you about him. you can't keep denying it."

"i don't know what you want from me. i hardly speak to people outside of work anyway, why is it suddenly different now?"

"because i asked you to make an effort, and you're not. you haven't asked him a single question. you're brooding."

"i'm tired."

"you're always tired."

"i can't think of anything to ask."

you give him a deadpan expression. "you, the nosy ass defense attorney of the century, can't think of any questions to ask your best friend's new boyfriend?"

"why does it matter to you if i like him or not, (y/n)?" hiromi settles is chin over his knuckles, elbows propped on the table. his haunting eyes are sharp on yours as you frown, sadness swirling in your gaze and that hint of something strange he's caught so many times. he just can't name it. "you asked me to have coffee with you two, so i am. i did this for you."

"hiromi, what?" you breathlessly whisper. "why does it matter? you're my best friend, that's why it matters. because you asked to be involved, because... because you always said - you wanted me to explore. so i did, a-and i'm happy, and you're... not. and this is the only time i ever - "

you stop yourself, ducking your head, and hiromi immediately snaps out of it. his eyes catch the curl of your brow, the way your voice falters, and his vexation is suddenly melting away to make room for his concern.

he's supposed to see you happy, after all. not do this. not make you upset.

he's never made you upset before. not like this.

what is wrong with him?

"i'm sorry," he says suddenly, softness and steadiness returning. you shake your head, and hiromi reaches over the table for your hand. your head whips over to him, his warm palm resting over yours. you meet his eye, and see the remorse. "i'm sorry. you're right. i didn't mean to upset you. i'm sorry, sweetness."

your eyes flutter at that old, rare nickname. you look down at his hand, then back up at him. "what is with you, hiromi?"

"nothing."

"yes there is. i know you. what's wrong? why won't you be honest with me."

"it's nothing."

"it is something. do you have have something... to say? something that's bothering you?"

hiromi blinks, and when he stares in your eyes long enough, he sees the years you stayed by his side. the years you remained his, and only his. his best friend.

his shoulders raise ever so slightly, then deflate. you see something retreat back within itself, then watch as a thin wall washes over him. "no."

his hand slips away, and your fingers twitch. your hold one another's gaze longer, lost, until you see your boyfriend walk back outside. you purse your lips in a half attempt to smile as he sits back down beside you, his arm winding around you and pulling you into his side.

hiromi pretends to have a business call, and leavees within the following ten minutes.

that night, in hiromi's sleep, warm figments of you sweep across his subconscious. it's him sitting in your boyfriend's place, holding you close, feeling your body press to his, letting his lips dot to the corner of your nose.

you walk hand in hand back to that library, and before you sit down, he hovers over you, pressing you against the side of the table, his hand on your jaw, the other caging your hip, pressed to the wood surface of the table. your hands melt over his cheeks, and he melts, lips curving into a tender smile as he looks into your eyes.

he brings you closer, your sweet breath wafting against his lips, and the gasp you take before his lips touch yours is what wakes him up in a cold sweat with a snap.

his eyes pierce his bedroom ceiling, his heart hammering in his chest, and breaths heavy. hiromi takes a moment, adjusting to his surroundings, turning to read the alarm clock on his desk that reads 3:05 am, and he realizes that he was dreaming.

the ache of loss comes quick, your warmth tugged away by the mercilessness of his consciousness, and suddenly he feels his chest tightening, his browl furrowing, his mouth running dry.

it all pieces together in the darkness of hiromi's bedroom after years of friendship, years of watching you turn guys away, years of telling you that someone was out there to love you before he realized it was himself.

he's in love with you. he has been this whole time. like an idiot.

and he let you slip away to someone else, like the version of you he just woke up from.

Gojo froze mid-step, head turning slow like a predator catching a scent. The rest of the boys exchanged quick glances and started setting the controllers down real careful, as if any sudden movement might set him off.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" Gojo’s voice dropped into a dangerous growl, blue eyes narrowing until they looked like shards of ice.

The guy put his hands up fast. "Easy, I didn’t mean—"

He didn’t get to finish. Gojo’s glare pinned him in place. "Out. All of you. Get the fuck out of my house."

He jerked his thumb toward the door. No one argued. They scrambled up, grabbing phones, hoodies, and whatever else they’d scattered across the floor, muttering curses under their breath just quiet enough that Gojo wouldn’t hear. Nobody wanted to test whether the prick would actually swing tonight.

In under a minute the room was empty except for the low hum of the AC and the faint smell of snacks.

Gojo rolled his shoulders, already over it. He yanked open his wardrobe, pulled on a black jacket that probably cost more than most people’s rent, snatched his cap off the table, and grabbed his keys.

The anger was already cooling into something else. He thumbed open his phone, typed fast, and hit send without a second thought.

I’m coming over.

The message, of course, went unread. The supposed receiver was dead asleep, curled up in bed with that stupid teddy plushie clutched to the chest, completely unaware of the headache pulling into her apartment complex.

***

Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.

Satoru Gojo's patience lasted exactly three rings before it snapped in half. He leaned on the doorbell again, then switched to pounding his fist against the wood hard enough to rattle the frame.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“Fuckin' bitch, the hell she doing in there?” he muttered, stalking over to the side window and trying to peer through the blinds like some pissed off burglar.

“OPEN THE FUCKIN’ DOOR, Y/N!”

That, apparently was the magic phrase.

You snapped awake in bed, teddy plushie falling over to the floor. The knocking kept coming, angry and impatient. You scrambled up, bare feet slapping against the cool floor as you rushed to the door. Heart in your throat, you pressed your eye to the peephole.

And there he was. Satoru Gojo in all his furious glory, face flushed red, jaw locked tight like he was two seconds from kicking the door down and burning the whole damn building.

"Shit. He’s gonna kill me."

You quickly smoothed down your messy hair and tugged at your pajamas, trying to look at least halfway presentable before cracking the door open. Gojo's eyes dropped to you immediately, the kind of look reserved for people caught red-handed committing a crime.

“Where the fuck were you, bitch?” he barked, voice loud in the quiet hallway.

You flinched, lips trembling with shock. “M’sorry, Toru… I was asleep—”

“The hell are you still wearing those for?” He gestured at your baggy pajamas with clear disgust. “I told you I was coming over. Show some skin for fuck’s sake.”

Your brain was racing through every possible way you could’ve messed up. That poor little head of yours working overtime while your eyes started watering, the whites of them turning pink.

“I didn’t see it, Toru… don’t be mad. I'm sorry…” your voice cracked, tears spilling over before you could stop them.

Gojo rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “For god’s sake, stop crying, y/n. Such a damn crybaby.”

“But you’re being so mean,” you whimpered, wiping at your damp cheeks. “I told you I was sleeping…”

He let out a long groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Ughhh, fine. Just go get changed already.”

He didn’t wait for an invitation. Gojo pushed past you like he owned the place—which, technically, he did. He gave you the apartment just so you’d have somewhere nice to live. No bills, no worries, just you waiting for him whenever he felt like blowing some load.

Win-win, he'd say. You got to live for free and spoiled, and he got a pretty dumb thing all to himself waiting for him.

He dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide, scrolling through his phone while you disappeared into the bedroom. A few minutes later the door clicked open again.

Gojo looked up slowly… and good heavens.

There you were, standing in the doorway in that white kitten fur bikini set he’d picked out himself. Tiny top barely holding your tits, bottoms sitting low on your hips, soft white kitty ears perched on your head and a matching tail swishing behind you with every nervous step. The tiny pink accents here and there made the whole thing look so cute and slutty at the same time.

Exactly what he wanted. A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips, the earlier anger melting into something hotter and darker.

In his defense, when he said he was coming over, that should've been enough. It always meant the same thing: drop whatever the fuck you’re doing and get ready for him. Pick the most scandalous set you own from all those slutty lingeries, barely-there scraps of fabric he’s filled your closet with. Each one worse (or better, depending how you look at it) than the last.

At this point you’ve got more of this shit than normal clothes, but isn’t that exactly how it’s supposed to be anyway?

He’s the man here. He protects you, provides for you, takes care of everything. All you gotta do is listen, do what he says, wear what he wants.

Your primary fucking job is to welcome him home like this. Dolled up in the little slutty set that makes his blood rush straight to his dick the second he walks through the door. So that he doesn’t just “want” to fuck you… he needs to.

He leaned back further into the couch, watching you walk over with a hungry stare, eyes dragging slow from your ears down to the soft sway of your hips and that ridiculous little tail.

Couldn't even blame himself for the way his cock jumped hard in his pants on the sight. Your tits looked so fucking soft and heavy in that tiny top, thin straps fighting for dear life just to keep them squeezed together. They bounced just right with every shy little step you took, enough to make any man with a dick bust a huge load of nut in his pants like a loser.

Yeah… he’d molded you into a perfect little slut.

You weren’t always like this, though. You swear you weren’t.

Just a clueless first-year wandering around campus, still trying to figure out where the hell the library was. That’s how you ended up pushing open the wrong classroom door at the exact wrong moment.

Satoru Gojo, the biggest asshole the campus had ever seen—pants half-down, sweet-talking some poor girl he’d spent days manipulating.

The girl’s eyes went wide when she saw you. She squeaked, yanked her skirt down, and bolted straight past you like her life depended on it.

You’d just stood there, blinking and mumbling, “Oh sorry—sorry, my bad,” before trying to close the door again.

Too fuckin' late.

Gojo had been furious. Anyone would be, right?

All that effort wasted because some dumb girl wandered in and decided to cockblock him. He’d cornered you in the empty hallway before you could even run, towering over you while you pouted and sniffled like a scared kitten.

The more you cried and stammered apologies, the harder he got. Something in that pretty, teary face flipped a switch in him. He made the decision right then and there: new prey acquired.

He eyed you up and down like fresh meat, that sharp instinct of his kicking in immediately. Because Satoru Gojo could smell virgins from a mile away. Something about the way their eyes went all wide and clueless. He saw it in you the second you walked in on him. Not a single fuckin' thought behind those pretty eyes.

He couldn’t believe his luck, honestly. Just when he thought one had slipped away from him, another one showed up. Even better, even dumber, practically offering herself up on a silver platter right in front of him. And the cherry on top? this one looked like she’d be so much easier.

“Ever been fucked?”

You blinked fast. Yup, you heard that right. First guy you ever meet on this campus and that’s his opener. No hi, no what’s your name, no you’re pretty. Straight to business.

“W—what??”

“I said…” his hand shot out, grabbing your waist hard enough to bruise as the other slid down under your skirt without any hesitation. Long fingers crawled up your thighs, rubbing slow rough circles right over your crotch through your panties. He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Has a cock been in this hole?”

You shook your head, slow and shaky.

“Words.”

“N-nooo…”

“Mhmm. Jackpot.”

Before you could even process it, he had your wrist in a vice grip, dragging you straight to his car like you were already his. One thing led to another and yeah, he kinda took your virginity the same night.

But hey, he was supposed to get laid and you ruined it for him. Isn't it your responsibility to fix it now?

Well, it's not like you were exactly complaining, even if you were scared shitless at first. The man had a tongue like a demon. He ate your little cunt for over an hour. Sucking, licking, kissing every inch until you were leaking wet and loose enough for his monster cock to finally push in. He stretched you open so good you saw stars, crying and shaking the whole time while he laughed low in your ear and told you to take it like a good girl.

And that was just the beginning.

He fucked you the next day. And the day after. And on most days, if not every damn day after that. Turned you into his personal cocksleeve who waited in the apartment he got you just so he could have easy access whenever he got bored or pissed off.

That’s how you met Satoru Gojo.

And that’s exactly how you ended up on his lap right now, dressed like a kitty whore while he squeezed your tits and smirked up at you with the same hungry look he had back then.

“Come on, baby… what’s with the face, hmm?” he asked, rocking his hips slow under you so your pretty body moved with every lazy thrust.

You kept pouting, sniffling like a spoiled brat. “Why did you shout at me…”

“Hmm, sorry baby, my bad… I was pissed, yeah?” his fingers tugged the fur cups of your bikini top down hard, letting your fat tits spill out and bounce free. He squeezed them immediately, thumbs flicking over your nipples.

“But what did I dooo…” you whined again, curling your fingers tight into his sleeves.

This fucking bitch. All he wanted was to blow off some steam after that shitty game by pumping you full of cum, and now he had to babysit a crybaby.

Whatever. Pussy was pussy.

He faked a sweet smile and leaned in, kissing your lips soft. “Not at you, silly. How could I be mad at you?”

“You’re such a liar… you were definitely mad at me…”

The tears started pouring again in broken little sobs, even while you kept grinding your soaked cunt carefully over his bulge.

Satoru’s left eye twitched. His big hands groped your tits harder, squeezing the soft heavy flesh. He likes to call them cow titties because they were so fucking big and he says it's useless and not pretty enough to look at, only good for using like cocksleeves. He’d never admit they looked goddamn perfect on you. He gave them another rough squeeze, face turning mean enough to shut you up.

“Anything to say?” he growled, grabbing two handfuls of your ass and spreading you wide. Your clit smashed right against his rock-hard cock through the fabric.

“Toruuu—nghhh, right there…” you moaned loud, starting to bounce on him with a vision now, tits flopping left and right with every desperate jump.

“How many fuckin' times do I gotta tell you to quit acting like a damn slut, huh?” he slapped your ass hard, the sharp crack making you squeak.

“I'm sorry Toru… please… wan’ it…”

“Oh yeah?” his hands locked on your hips and started bouncing you faster, helping you rub your pussy up and down his bulge. “Want what, baby?”

“Mmm… want you… to put it in… in me… please…”

Satoru threw his head back and laughed, loud and mean. Truth be told, he wasn’t even into girls like this. He liked them scared and shy, the kind who never asked for shit so he could take his sweet time breaking them. You used to be exactly like that too… until he trained you to be a house slut. His fault, really.

“Toruuu…” you called out again, still bouncing on him so eagerly, tits jiggling everywhere. “Please…”

“That so?” he suddenly stopped you, gripping your hips hard and grinding you down tight against his cock. “Do it yourself then.”

Your eyes lit up like he’d just handed you the moon. You quickly slid your bikini bottoms to the side, yanked his boxers down, and his thick cock sprang up, slapping heavy and hot right against your bare pussy.

“Owww…”

“Aww, he’s mean, huh?” he mocked, grinning at you.

You pouted but wrapped your shaky hand around that burning meat, thick veins pulsing under your fingers. You positioned the fat head right between your soaked folds and started rubbing him against your clit. The groan he let out was so loud you almost thought he came already.

“C’mere, fuckin’ god…” he pulled you flush against his chest, arms wrapping you up tight, your legs locking around his waist. His cock trapped between your leaking pussy lips, sliding messy through all that slick.

“Toruu…”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He started snapping his hips fast, humping your wet folds, fat head catching on your hole every thrust. Your lewd moans right in his ear made him leak precum like a faucet.

“Mmm Toru… ahhh please… too much… nghh…”

You were clinging to him for dear life, nails digging in while he humped your sloppy pussy like an animal. With one loud cry you came hard all over him, gushing wet and nasty. He followed right after, painting your pussy and inner thighs in thick white streaks of cum.

“Fuckin’ nasty…” he grinned down at your fucked-out face, surprised you looked this gone just from humping. He hadn’t even put it in. He had other plans, though.

“Get off,” he said, eyes turning cold in a heartbeat.

“Hmm? but whyy??” you blinked at the sudden switch.

“I said get off me.”

You obeyed, sliding off slow and shaky. He wiped his cock clean and buckled up, grabbing his jacket like he was done with you.

“But Toruu… we…”

“Didn’t fuck? yeah. Ain’t gonna do it. Gonna go find some other bitches.” He shrugged, pulling his jacket on.

“Toru nooo— what, please I’m sorry—”

At this point you didn’t even know what you were sorry for.

“Please Toru…” Tears started streaming down your face. “Don’t leave… please, I beg you...”

He ignored you completely, walking out and slamming the door behind him leaving you as you dropped on the floor half naked, sobbing loud, wondering what the fuck you did wrong and how hard you’d have to try just so he wouldn’t go fuck other girls.

Outside, Gojo walked to his car with a big shit eating grin.

There weren’t any other bitches. Hadn’t been since the day he met you. But you didn’t need to know that. Did you?

He wanted you right there. Desperate, messy, crying on the floor, his pretty little crybaby. Trying so hard to please him, head full of him. Because, as far as Gojo was concerned, that was exactly where you belonged.

What a mean prick he was.