neptune’s domain

“n-no. it looks good.” the throb building in your core undermines your brain’s processing power. “you look good. there’s nothing to change.”

humming, he continues his lazy strokes, his bulbous tip reddening by the second. “you like it, then? i’m so glad. it’s all for you, you know. no one else.”

your mouth is so dry, it feels like swallowing sand. 

“what do you think it'll feel like?”

the question makes you freeze, sending a million little glitches sparking through your nerves. “um…good?” 

“‘good’ again, huh? is that all you can say? you know you can be more descriptive than that.” he twists his hand around his shaft and groans. “come on, try again. don’t go dumb on me. when i’m inside you, so deep you can't tell where you end and i begin…what do you think it’ll feel like?”

time stands still. does he really want you to answer? what should you even say? 

though your phone is perched in your lap, he still finds a way to look down at you. his top lip curls in the beginnings of a mean sneer, and his stormy eyes narrow expectantly. 

“big,” you whisper. it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “heavy. like i’ll have nowhere to go as long as you’re there.”

he moans his approval, and forewarnings of his release trail out in thin, translucent streams. “yeah? keep going. what else?”

you go to speak again, but a sudden pang shoots straight through your core, making you gasp. in the background, you hear his quiet chuckle. 

after a moment's recovery, you try again: “hot. really, really hot.” swallowing thickly, you squeeze your thighs together. “so hot inside me, i’ll try to pull back—to cool off—but you won’t let me. you’ll keep me there, and you’ll kiss me, and it’ll just get worse.”

he throws his head back with a breathy moan, colonel cap falling down the back of his pilot’s seat. gradually, his hand comes to a halt, but he hasn't truly finished yet. with the way his length stands proudly on the screen, straining and swollen from all of his teasing, that much is clear. 

as his eyes nail you in place through the camera, you get the foreboding feeling that he's saving his release for your reunion. 

His head pops up like a child getting in trouble, nervously shuffling around the room that suddenly feels far too small for the situation unraveling in front of him. He clumsily kicks the door closed from behind him with a muddled thud of the oak, the sun bleached carpeting hiding the aggressive slam from echoing down the empty hallways.

The empty hallways with no one around—except the three of you.

Now, Higuruma Hiromi intended on having an uneventful day at work today, but unfortunately for him—that’s not how the world works. His strong back was uncomfortably throbbing from the hours sat at his desk staring holes into the ten-years-too-old computer, fingers shamelessly shooting email after email to his already irritated clientele—he was ready to fucking end it; right after he stayed late of course, mind spent from the endless squinting at rewritten files he’d been fixing all day long, his coworkers far too lazy to fix themselves.

He should have expected the almost guaranteed overtime, Nanami somehow always forcing more and more stacks of manila shaded folders onto his stuffy cubicle desk. Hiromi would gladly take them off his hands though, hiding his irritated expression with a stoically flat face, some days even going out of his way to cover his scoff with a cough.

By the time he was finished with his work, it was an inky shade of deep blues out in the distance, the glass windows blurring his sense of direction. He was barely able to recall the time or even where he was at anymore. Hiromi’s brain was pure mush, a twisted squabble of private conversations, closed cases and uncomfortable cover stories.

He was ready to finally go home.

But his misery was permanent, knowing he was planning to end his day with an even more disappointing night in his apartment, sinking himself into a lukewarm bath, washing away whatever corruption that remains on his fingertips and on his mind, just to repeat the mentally draining cycle again tomorrow.

What he didn’t expect was to open his bosses office and see you—the pretty lil’ secretary he’s been silently crushing on for months and months getting christened on top of the rickety desk by the last man he expected.

His boss.

“Are you just going to stand there and continue staring at her Higuruma or are you going to come over here?” Nanami directs the shocked man, pulling his cock out from your abused cunt.

Gulping, he finally tears his eyes off of you, staring at the mess of clothes and now papers on the ground, he gawks at your skirt messily ripped in two pieces. He assumes it was from Nanami’s eagerness, torn fabric laying situated on either side of the room. Theres a singular black kitten heel turned over itself directly next to Nanami’s belt sat inches away from his own feet where he stands, the pure depravity making him shiver.

You let out a shaky breath that brings his attention onto you again, this time watching nervously as Nanami’s large frame takes a large step back from your ass, a dribbly line of sticky cum connecting the two of you until it makes a ‘pop!’ the residue flinging onto the floor.

“Kento! ‘s leaking.” You groan, breathing in a sharp breath. The loss of contact inside of you quickly deflates your gushing pussy, walls once perfectly molded around your boss's cock suddenly clench down in agony with a squeaky ‘squelch’.

You can feel the rampant drip, drip, drip! of your cunt, his honeysuckle seed seeping out from your tight hole, burning hot liquid running down your thighs, pooling at the rolled up length of your stockings.

“Ahh… Can’t have any of this leaking any further than it already has darling. Let me fix this.” Large fingertips collide with your skin, suddenly rolling your pantyhose right back up your bare mound, the tight clingy fabric sticking to your swishy abandoned cunt.

Nanami's brown loafers swiftly step over to the now dumbfounded man, his saddened irises suddenly appearing rapid as Nanami grabs Higuruma with a stern grip on his black lapels, slim legs practically dangling off the floor with a draggg of his body to stand behind you.

“Sorry we were unable to accommodate a lunch hour today.” Nanami speaks flatly, urging the shocked man’s face close to your covered cunt. “But maybe this will make up for it. A little thank you from me to you…your overtime is off the charts anyways, you need to make time for yourself more.”

Hiromi’s wide eyes peer at your leaking slit, then back at his boss, waiting for him to call his bluff—but he doesn’t budge.

His adam's apple bobs in his throat when he finally situates his nose centimeters away from your cunt, staring greedily at the sweet spot he’s been imagining for ages—now completely ruined by his supervisor, your pantyhose barely able to contain your creamy slit. “I…is this…”

“Go ahead Romi.” Voice hazed in what one could only describe as pure seduction, the words go straight to his cock, feeling it bloat in the combines of his slacks. He shouldn’t have worn the evil pair today, fabric already a size too tight to begin with starts to uncomfortably squeeze at his thick shaft as he kneels lower to the ground, knees cracking at the position of his body weight.

His movements halt when he smells it. The sweet almost sugary scent of your cunt swirling ‘round and ‘round in his nostrils, the smell compared to the stale stench of the window cleaner that hangs around the air is one that makes his eyes roll back into his skull, a growl erupting from his throat.

“What are you waiting on Higuruma, an invitation?” Kento echoes behind him, glasses all fogged up with condensation from his sweaty forehead. “Come on and give my love what she asked so kindly for.”

Taking a deep breath, he presses his nose right between your chubby folds, the thin gusset doing little to mask the pressure of his aquiline nose poking its way through flimsy material to press deeply into your drenched hole. “Shit!” His curses vibrate through the fabric, baritone rumbling through your stretched cunt.

He feels as if he died and gone to heaven, the syrupy seed from Nanami's cock erupting inside of you only making the scent even sweeter. “Smells so good angel,” he breathes in, rubbing his nose up the slit to find your tight hole, hands gripping the fat of your asscheeks. “You’re right Nanami, I’m fuckin’ starvinggg.”

A roar soars from your choked vocal cords as his tongue flatly lays against your asshole, his muscle digging down, down, down until the tip of his deep pink tastebuds land on your clit, pressing the fabric even further up your folds.

“Mmmfh, Hiromi!” You squeal, nails digging into the chipped wood at the edge of Nanami’s desk, the paint lacquer flaking off in chunks. “S-Slow down! ‘m, I’m—”

“—No. Keep going.” Nanami suddenly cuts off, raising your clammy cheeks to look at him, hazelnut irises staring into your eyes. “Behave.”

The order makes your cunt tighten around nothing, Higuruma's probing tongue doing little to help the urges to disobey Nanami’s orders, shivers booming through your body.

“So wet pretty, I knew you’d taste so damn good.” Higuruma moans through your muzzled cunt, mouth growing irritated with the barrier protecting you from his feverish licking. “Been dreaming about this for farrr too long.”

He’s talking more to himself than you at this point, mind hyper focused on the slick leaking through the soaked fabric, rubbing his nose up and down your pleasant pussy, slit allowing his face to sit all nice and snug.

His teeth nibble on your clit, the motion making you jerk with a yelp. “Hiromiiii!” Wild goosebumps travel up your chest and down your spine, ass rapidly shaking in Higuruma’s face to angle him right where you need him. “I can’t Kento! ‘s too much!”

Too much…Kento?

Kento.

Funny.

“Telling him it’s too much? Who’s the one eatin’ your cunt angel?” He questions, giggles erupting into your covered cunt. “It surely isn’t Kento sweetheart.” His tongue rapidly swirls over your swollen bead with each green word spitting from his deep berry rips, tongue tracing sharp figure eights in the gummy flesh, flicking and pushing the squishy button.

“No! N-No! Higuruma! ‘s too much! Kento d-do somethinggg,” you purr, words drowsy and slurring, thighs closing in his head at the pulsating touch.

“Ha-That’sa right. Me. Hiromi’s pussy just loooves my mouth sweetheart.” Steadily, your clit throbs against his muscle, clit kissing his flippery tongue right back, your pussy speaking French to him in a messy makeout session. “My pussy’s kissing me righttt back. N-Nanami ‘m jealous of your dick.”

The fabric is so drenched it’s hard to figure out who he’s tasting, you, Nanami or his self, spit globbing filmy bubbles into the sheer black stockings, the bubbles popping against his ear canals.

“Hiromi! Need more-need more!” You wail, Nanami’s thick forearms thankfully holding your fucked out body up so it doesn’t fall over, a heated feeling rumbling deep in your core.

“More? Jus’ said it was too much love.” Nanami coos, fingerprints sticking to your temple, wiping down to the corners of your squinted eyes ridding them of tears. “Good girl with a naughty pussy—”

“—Filfthy.” Hiromi adds, his hands sliding down the globes of your fat ass to your core, fingertips twisting and pulling the fabric until a hole appears. “How’s this for more?” He questions, pointer finger poking inside the new opening, pulling it wide.

RIPPPP.

The air conditioning suddenly hits your folds with a gasp from your wobbly mouth, the wetness between your legs freezing at the breeze brushing through your freshly uncovered skin, but Hiromi's tongue quickly soothes it, greedy tongue licking and lapping the newly exposed skin with a grunt. “God ‘m so fuckin’ lucky.” He reels, his cock leaking a constant drizzle of precum in his slacks. “Lucky to eat this delicious lil’ cunt til’ it’s allll clean.”

“Those were expensive!” You wail, the forgone barrier was hiding a monster of a tongue, the slurping behind you so loud it’s almost embarrassing, but Kento’s expression doesn’t falter, hands grounding you in the feeling.

“Can always buy more. Let him have you.” He nods, cock still hard and poking out of his khakis, a deep dark patch of wetness leaking from his tip, cock jumping every time you moan.

Hiromi’s tongue dives into your stretched hole, cock throbbing when he tastes the salty release that covers your insides, tongue scooping it down his throat with a swallow. “Clean up this big mess Nanami made of ya baby, jus’ lemme taste ya.”

His mouth utterly ravishes you, curling upwards towards your bumpy g-spot; he rolls his tongue like a shovel pummeling its way through your dirty tunnel, hips jerking beneath him. “So tight and full,” He groans uncontrollably jumping the air.

Higuruma Hiromi would do absolutely anything to feel his cock deep inside of you, greedy cock dripping and crying at the urgent idea, his calloused fingers dragging down the indent of your inner thigh, fingerprints drifting up your crack ‘til they stop just beneath the tight rim of your ass. “Makes me wonder what she'd even feel like.”

Suddenly you jolt forward, a buzzing burning sensation brushing against your ass.

Hiromi’s finger.

“Fuckkk!” Your withering frame shakes Nanami’s muscles at the protrusion in your ass, white-hot pain bubbling into searing pleasure, your body rapidly convulsing, orgasm inching closer to your heat. “Too much!” You garble, spit bubbles forming at the corners of your gushy cheeks, warmth spread deeply over your fucked-out-face.

“Ahhh-relax, you’ve got it honey.” He murmurs, finger gently pressing into your hole painstakingly slowly, your cunt so wet it smeared its way into the ring, gently guiding him inside of you. “S’ too damn tight.”

“Maybe…Maybe my cock could stretch ya out, get this hole nice ‘n wide for me.” He whispers into your skin, placing small kisses down your flesh.

“It’s hurtin’!” You whine, teary eyes looking up to Nanami’s heart eyes, his thumbs ridding you of your drizzling drops.

“No honey, you got it—I got ya.” His mouth quickly makes it up to you, tongue wide and rapid licking every ridge and fold of your soaked cunt, gently massaging the tissue ‘til your pressing your legs together around his ears, fuzzy hair ticking your thighs.

“H-Hiromi!” You hiccup, dragging your clit up and down his messy tongue, chasing your high.

The sight is one you’d only see on cheap black and white porno films, the kind hidden in the run down rental chains spread thin around town, your pornographic moans ringing in Kento’s ears. He can’t hide but hide his chuckle under a stifled breath, a huff of cool air hitting your wet temples. “Might have to figure out a way to pay you under the table Higuruma, all this overtime you’ve been doing.”

Nanami speaks to Higuruma as if he’s not nose deep in your cunt, the ridges bumping your flesh as he responds, words gargling through your sopping pussy. “Mmm I’ll take this as payment on a technicality… you’re already paying me under the table—in this case…on the floor.”

“Heh, you know you’re my favorite employee Hiromi." He chides, a teasing hint in his tense voice before he adds under his breath. “Second favorite.”

You can’t process the conversation the men are having, body feeling pulled from each direction of your hips with Higuruma's greedy fingers and hectic mouth, your line of thought dissipates, replacing common sense with your hips. “Keep going, r-right there! Right there!”

“Mmhm right there,” he nods aimlessly into your cunt, lapping back and forth like a rabid dog, his finger pressing down forcing pressure to build on your wild bundle of nerves, “right there? Or right hereee.”

“There! There! There!” You scream, words repeating like a mantra from a crazed maniac. Your orgasm forces your body forward and back again, trying to rock yourself through it, soupy moans and whines of pure nonsensical desperation pouring from your soul, throat dry from the dehydration of your gooey body.

Your body falls flat to the cold desk, Nanami’s hands gently laying you down as your eyes clamp shut, white stars prickling around your eyes, the muscles of your calves uncontrollably twisting your legs from the grueling position.

You’re barely getting a moment to breathe when suddenly you're being brought up by a large spayed palm, veiny hands adjusting you to lean flush against a suit and tie, Hiromi’s carved chest pressing into you.

“I need you honey-I… Almost came jus’ from all that eating pretty, gotta let me in.” He murmurs in a voice you’ve never heard him speak in, vocal chords gritty and hoarse and savory at the same time, your rapid cunt twisting around nothing.

You’re still woozy, body coming down from your high, the blood aggressively pumping into your head and out through your ears, you don’t hear the man behind you slip his cock out of the confines of his slacks, ten thick inches slapping your ass with a wet ‘plap’ inching it down to the thick little nook between your thighs, mushroom tip kissing the tight lil’ gap.

“Gonna stretch’ya out so good, keep you comin’ back for more and more and more ‘til your ass is sick of me.” He grumbles, mouth yapping as if his cock just hit the truth serum between your thighs, the slick coating his shaft so quickly he shivers.

“Romi!”

You don’t get to see it, but you fucking feel it.

“No! Oh my God I’m not ready! Fuckkk!” You plea, Higuruma's cock slowly entering your unprepped ass, thick wide tip instantly disappearing into your canal, the stretch so tight even Nanami can feel it.

“Breathe for me angel—oh God! Breathe-help-help me out here Nanami!” The pitiful man begs, the feeling so intense he can’t think even bare to think straight, your painfully tight ass clenching down on him with a firm tug of your tissues, ass sucking him in deep.

“Far too soon Hirguruma.” Blond hair quickly crosses your line of blurred vision, body firmly colliding with the front of Nanami’s chest as he forces your body up right, the two men straightening out your cowering body. “Far too eager.”

“C-Can’t help it, she’s begging for it! Hole jus’ sucking me innn,” he slurs, sulking umber eyes quickly growing obsessed with how your ass swallows his cock, the dry stretch even more addictive than any cups of black coffee he takes. “She’s so tight Nanami! Y-You sure you’ve been fucking her right?”

Nanami leers up at the man standing behind you, looking at him as if he has three heads and is on fire. “You truly believe I’d fuck my wife like that? This perfect womb is reserved for me.”

Wife? That’s new.

But Nanami can’t stop the hidden rage suddenly erupting into the stuffy office cubicle. “Can’t believe you think I’d waste my cum like that. Silly.”

You can feel Nanami’s cock press a kiss to your sticky lips, letting them expand around the head with a squishy sound, dampness easily engulfing him. “For someone so smart sometimes you don’t think. Ha-maybe… maybe that holes got ya acting frivolous.”

Frivolous is an understatement. His thick cock ballooning its restless cock deep in your ass, spit and slick doing little to help the burn of his shaft inching and inching itself deep in your stretched ring, each winding vein pressing against your sensitive flesh.

You can feel the size of his length fill you snuggly, cock slightly longer than Kento’s—you of course would never tell him that, hitched its way up deep inside your guts, compressing your canal so tight it was choking you, you’re thankful the girth is ever so slightly skinnier than Kento’s thick shaft, a favorable outcome for your eager cunt.

“Or m-maybe you’re frustrated you can’t fuck ‘er all dirty like ya secretly want to.” Hiromi grunts, cutting off your line of thought, shakily shifting his thighs so far back his cock snaps out of your ass, instantly colliding with Nanami’s cock.

“Fuck!” The men curse in unison, soaked cock heads bullying one another, slits spitting golden precum between the two of them.

It felt good. Although they would never admit it, the added touch gives each of them a new layer of amusement, adrenaline rapidly dripping down their thick inches into their angry tips, cocks ready to take it out on your holes.

“G-Get it together,” Kento grunts, throwing his head down to hide from the wide eye expression Hiromi is currently sporting, pressing his cock snug to your vaginal canal to avoid the other man’s cock.

Your cunt easily sucks him into your body, coincidentally at the same time Higuruama finds his pace once again, this time keeping his moments precise, slow n’ steadily fucking your hole to a gape.

“It-Nanami! You’re not gonna fit—”

“—Nonsense darling, you were made to fit me.”

Nanami’s dripping tip enters you slowly, the stretch feeling even tighter than earlier, Higuruma's thick shaft giving him little room to work within the short canal of your widened holes.

“Ahh you got it jus’ relax now honey, can feel ya clenching my cock.” Kento chokes out, your warm ribbed walls of silky pleasure feeling too good to stand straight, biceps flexing and jaw clenching at the pure pleasure your pussy is swallowing him in. “Want it just as bad as you do love, let me—him in.”

Let him in.

Let him innn.

“In. Please. Come innn.” You close your eyes, head falling against the corner of Higuruma's shoulder, his collarbone kissing the back of your head.

“Good girl, jus’ like that.” Hiromi pulls you into a kiss, fingertips padding on the pressure point of your neck to guide your mouth to his, pink tongue quickly swirling into your mouth.

You can feel a loogie of sticky spit being pressed through your open mouth, a feverish groan rumbling through Hiromi's tongue, his cock pulsating in your ass.

You hum, tasting yourself on his mouth and whining when you taste the hint of the salt that belongs to Kento’s signature seed, the same taste you’ve grown addicted to now swirling around your excited tastebuds.

You’ve never felt fuller in your life, each end filled to the possible limit, it becomes increasingly difficult to breathe, body dizzy on cock and pure depravity—soul hopelessly dependent on the men.

“Feel so perfect around me love, so beautiful all fucked and filled up.” Even when your being split open by two thick cocks Nanami remains ever so gentle, hand grazing up your messy front, buttons ripped off and messily scattered around the ground, one neatly ironed shirt frayed and ripped, the seams ticking his fingers with a fruitful grip of your breast. “So pretty. My pretty lady.”

It was a bra and no panties kinda workday, one where you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into when the harsh office lighting bit down on your areolas through the cheap white fabric—you just didn’t know it would end like this, the two men you’ve always wanted equally stuffed inside of you.

Nanami’s cock skillfully kisses your g-spot with every thrust of his hips, gushing core feeling closer and closer to his cock as your ass is pressed in against itself, Higuruma giving Nanami the tightest possible canal to pummel through.

“See darling. I told you I’d fit.” Nanami moans, his hand dipping down your chest and to your belly, pressing down on the bulge of his thick shaft that rapidly fills your guts. “I’ll always fit, right in here-forever.”

Forever.

“Forever? A-And you thought I was eager.” Hiromi jabs, words poking fun at the love sick blond, his own fingertips gripping you on each side of your ass, adjusting you to take him fully, balls slapping your skin. “Pussy’s g-got ya dumb Kento.”

But you feel even sillier. Greedy figures dwarfing on either side of your body, cocks feverishly rubbing each other through the thin veil of flesh between your ass and cunt in a way you’ve ever felt before, the experience foreign yet domestic—as if you’ve always been meant to take the two of them, the three of you fitting together like a puzzle.

Little did you know how good it feels for the two men destroying you, cocks caressing one another from the inside of your translucent flesh, shafts sliding and rubbing tighter so deliciously it ribs their pleasure, moans ricocheting off the men currently facing one another, your head doing little to shield the staring.

“S-Sooo fulll,” you purr, mouth almost tasting they gummy tips alll the way up to your kiss bitten lips, chewing on your bottom lip so hard it almost draws blood, a sign Kento quickly notices.

“Feel good love? Can tell—shit! Can t-tell you’re hiding from me.” He aids, lips finding the bare skin of your neck beside Higuruma, tongue swirling around the soft spot behind your ear, action causing you to shake.

“Feels amazing! N-Never felt so full in my life Kento—I love it!”

“Oh love I can tell by the look on your face, t-thank you for—”

“—Th-Thank you for sharing this body baby,” Hiromi praises, his movements sloppy and lazy in your ass, balls tightening as he feels the pressure erupting in his stomach. “So lucky. Luckiest man aliveee,” pulling all the way out and spitting on his dick, he sticks it back in, rinse and repeat ‘til your ass is squelching loudly with each thrust, the slick adding to his pleasure.

A wiry golden patch of hair scrapes the surface of your sensitive clit, hips gyrating with each full thrust Nanami gives you, “still so tight love.” He swoons, cock throbbing and already feeling like it’s going to burst again inside of you, big balls tensing.

“Good girl…” He angles his hips just right as they snap into your front, washboard abs hard against your soft flesh with every ‘thump’. You can feel his thick tip come into contact with your cervix, thick ring of muscle protecting you from him going even deeper; his cock kisses the flesh so hard it makes you squirm. “Givin’ me justtt what I want, so perfect love.”

The men move in unison, members seesawing back and forth, back and forth, dicks just bullying your holes like a sex doll. But the pleasure is so, so worth it—your g-spot being pressed and massaged with every thrust the exhausted men give you on each side of the spongy zone, it feels like a planned out attack, little ‘pips’ falling from your woozy face each time they rub that sensitive spot.

“F-Feels—Ahh!” You grip onto each of their loosened ties, the respective yellow and forest green threads twirling ‘round and ‘round your jittery fingertips, you pull them as close as possible, feeling their heavy panting against your skin, you bring their mouths to yours, pulling them into a confusing kiss.

Like a rock in a hard place you remain rigid, body sticky and dizzy as you messily collide with the men, five o’clock shadows and all, they messily rub your cheeks, tongues swirling throughout your mouth. Your plush lips taste sickeningly sweet, reminiscent of the candy you were sucking on earlier in the day, the men practically rid you of it; tongues colliding with a suckkkk.

“More,” you babble through their lips, mind so far gone you can barely even register the situation, greedy lips pursing into Nanami’s while Higuruma’s tongue chases the contact, kiss so wet and slippery the two men can’t help occasionally caressing one another.

“Gonna make me cum-Fuck!” Higuruma curses, his hands gripping even harder on your ass, little deep indents searing what will end up as bruises into the flesh as his pace increases, messily fucking into you like he always imagined he would when he’d find himself fisting his cock at the idea. It was dirty. A sick perverted fantasy, yet now he gets to live it out, and his cock can’t wait to claim your hole. “Still so tight and wet a-angel—love this ass so fuckin’ much.”

Your eyes flutter over to Nanami’s hazel ones, his once stoic presence now utterly shattered and falling apart, his control over the situation now muddled into a puddle of his crazed sex drive, his fat thumb pressing tight against your clit, quickly massing the bundle of nerves.

“Mpfhhh!—I-I! Mmm…”

Nanami Kento is a smart man, one who is especially capable at knowing just how to make your body come undone. He can sense how close you are by the way your cunt gushes against him, mind instantly knowing what your about to ask for; he places his thumb righttt in the center of your pelvis, the pad of his thumb pressing perfectly into the sticky flesh.

It’s just what you needed. Legs shaking like a leaf you roar, mouth attempting to form coherent words, you fail; body instantly turning ridged at the start of your release taking over you.

“N-nnn—“

“What is it love? Too fucked out to speak?” Nanami mutters, cock pistoning into your cervix with a fat smooch, body jolting with every pound into the tight bump.

“I-Oh! I’m—”

“She’s fucking cumming, I can feel it.” Hiromi growls. And he sure can feel it, body clenching up in a tight pull of his cock, ass sucking him in so deep his balls slap your skin. “Suckin’ me in-fuck!”

You’re cumming like a stupid slut, back arching and mouth running, a blurry wave of pleasure erupts through your body, cumming harder than you ever have in your life.

“Yes!” It’s a crescendo of volatile waves in the symphonies of your soaked thighs, clit buzzing and cunt throbbing, your holes fully clench down, body forcing the men deep inside of your caverns, pussy obsessed with the feeling of your high. “Jus’ like that—mfphm! F-Feels a-amazing!”

Your newly found slick gushes and gushes around Nanami’s thick shaft, wetness dipping its way down your slit and finding the edge of Higuruma’s shaft, the lower vein practically soaking from the bottom up, the only sounds in the office are sounds of grunting, moaning, and the nastiest ‘plaps’ and sickest squelches of your squishy core.

Nanami’s hand grabs your face, eyes fluttering open to peer dumbfounded at the blond man, pupils blown out and fucked wide, he places his lips on yours. “You want it again? Want me to fill up your womb?” He asks, tongue licking at the sides of your mouth, his hand now lazily falling to your neck with a light squeeze—just enough to make you keen.

“W-Would look so pretty walkin’ ‘round the office s-stuffed full of me, round with my child.” His nasty thoughts only amplify Higuruma’s pleasure, mind so hazy he starts to genuinely believe he’s speaking to him, imagining his own seed fucking and filling your ass.

“Everyone would be sooo jealous, quiet lil’ secretary hiding a big secret.” He murmurs with a giggle, this time more quietly like someone could hear his words, brain turning into a mushy paste in milliseconds. “A beautiful secret from her boss—fuck! No one would ever know I'm the one who knocked yer p-pretty ass up.”

Now that he’s started he can’t stop, the idea of fucking you full and getting a permanent claim on your sinful cunt, cause his thoughts run rampid, the bravoto of his deep voice slurring at the thought. “God! Y-You’d look so pretty wobblin’ around, e-even make Hiromi jealous.”

Higuruma furrows his brows at the name drop. “Wha—Shit! Won’t be jealous, cus…” He drunkenly trials off, his hand pressing into your belly. “Soon enough I’ll be right in here, be a better daddy—”

“—Nonsense! That t-tight ass has got you delusional Higuruma, my pussy knows exactlyyy who she belongs to, don’t you?”

“N—Hhhmmm!” You can hardly respond, your body so tired and worn out, the pleasure builds right back up inside of you like electricity, the static brushing and bustling into your zappy clit makes it perk each time Nanami thrusts and ruts into the swollen bud.

Yet your cunt responds vividly, gushing and squishing around Nanami’s big cock, you cum again, body fully weightless against Higuruma.

“She—Nanami! She’s-fuckkk!” Beads of sweat drip down his temples and onto your heated cheek, a salty mess sizzling and steaming against your clammy body. And you take it. Too many cocks and too many orgasms rushing through you turns your bones into putty, body at complete mercy to fill and destroy. “Can’t stop cummin’—shit! Gonna make me cum-gonna cum—”

You feel it once; twice. Syrupy seed filling both holes at the same time.

The men react to their highs with a stark contrast, Nanami—lips crashing into yours with a grunt, minty breath twisting your tastebuds with each moan you swallow, his cock pounding in and out, in and out, riding himself through his high. But Higuruma’s movements still—cock just pumping and pulsating it’s dribbling seed deep into your ass, creamy nectar filling your body full ‘til it’s allll nice and warm, words of praise and utter nonsense falling from his pursed lips, the cracked surface finding solace in the soft skin of your neck.

“Thank you honey, thank you hon-fuck! So tight ‘n perfect” Nanami praises through open mouth kisses, his tongue digging around the crater of your mouth, licking the ridges of your cheeks.

You can feel the thick sensation of the men’s cum pouring deep into your holes, the warm gooey feeling almost soothing your aching muscles; you clench down on it—the pure urge to keep them here forever taking over you.

Hiromi’s the first to pull out, dick slowly inching down, down, down until it falls from your gaping hole, body suddenly feeling far too empty—like a part of you is missing.

You’re quickly being flung back onto Nanami, skin sticking to him like glue as he holds you firmly in place; gentle strides of his thick legs bring you to sit front and center of his brown office chair, the cushions puffing around your body.

The atmosphere feels different, a tense yet calm feeling of relaxation hangs heavy in the air, yet no one comments on it, minds far too busy recouping the last few hours in their minds.

“So…if you don’t mind me asking—how long has this arrangement been happening?” Higuruma isn’t quite too sure why he’s pressing his nose into your business, mind completely forgone the rules of respect in the office.

Maybe he’s hopeful things aren’t too serious between the two of you, but maybe if they are…he’s praying he can do whatever ‘this’ is again.

Nanami scoffs. “Sleeping with me won’t get you out of working overtime if that’s why you’re asking.”

Damn…

You’re turning around to look at him- and the utterly crestfallen look on Toji’s face makes you giggle. 

All of this might just be punishment for his forgetfulness, but you can’t deny that it sent a special zap of thrill down your spine to be the one making the Toji Fushiguro desperate like this.

Sauve. Cool. Collected.

Not even in the middle of his most impossible targets did he ever break a sweat- and yet, just your contemplative hum makes his breath hitch. Finger on your chin, wondering whether he deserved to have the sex ban taken off…or whether you wanted to make him grovel a little more.

His dark brows furrow, the tips of Toji’s ears burning. “The hell are ya laughing at?”

“Oh, nothing.” You’re humming, making your way over to the usual treadmills. “I’ll see you after the workout~”

“Huh? Wait-” He watches you leave. “What do you mean we’re working out separately now- wait—”

But alas, it was too late. 

And you’re left with a fuming Toji Fushiguro. The gym floor quakes a little as he immediately storms over to the weight-lifting section, bench pressing just about double his personal max in less than ten minutes.

And it was a challenge. Arms straining on the metal pole, veins popping out in his neck. They cascaded down the expanse of his chiselled chest, dipping even lower down where his tank top drenches in sweat, even lower…His sweat seeped through his skin-tight top- leaving a glistening sheen across those biceps. You swear they looked about the size of your head when pumped like this.

Toji’s expression was almost erotic - dark brows furrowed, skin slightly flushed. His features seemed locked between something of a scowl and a sweet pleasure.

Sweet, sweet pleasure.

You’re watching him through the mirrors covering the walls- and it seemed that you weren’t the only one. People couldn’t tear their eyes off of Toji.

Some of the older women. Some of the personal trainers.

Even a few couples- yes, both of them.

And it makes something in you…bubbles. Something at the pit of your stomach that you don’t quite know how to name- but sour, sour realization floods you just as soon as you’re taking in the gaggle of college students. They were ogling Toji - as most were - yet the only difference remained in the fact that they were pushing one of the girls towards him. Phone in hand.

No doubt to ask for his phone number.

And that’s when you’re stopping your machine.

Heading over to your boyfriend in an instant—you reach him just as soon as he’s setting his loaded barbell on the rack. Breath ragged. Chest heaving. Without thinking much of it, he’s tugging on the hemline of his tank top n’ wiping the sweat off of his face - revealing such defined abs that it makes your own mouth water.

He sure was a sight to see- but that didn’t mean that just anyone could gawk at him. 

And just because you imposed a sex ban, doesn’t mean that anyone could try and swoop in…

Toji’s green eyes flicker over to you instantly- “Eh? Come to tease me again-”

“I need to talk to you—” And without a second wasted, you’re holding onto one of Toji’s large wrists. Tugging him to his feet, you can’t help the pointed inflection in your voice as you continue- “-babe.”

The giggling group silences. 

In just a few minutes- you have your feet headed towards the empty locker rooms, your hands pushing Toji into the nearest stall you find. He’s letting such a sleazy smirk cover his face as he lets himself be fucking pushed inside—

Before the shower turns on and suddenly you’re being fucked against the blue-and-white tile. 

Your back against the wall. His roverin’ cockhead pounding into you at such a frenzied pace. Feverish. Furious.

Almost angry with your pussy for not lettin’ him feel you sooner.

He was just so biiiig and blushing that Toji manages to hit every spot- without even trying, he has you crying and mewling into his arms. Pushing in just long thrusts—“Fuck.” Toji whispers, hoarse tone barely audible over the rushing of the water. “Fuuuuuck, how I missed my pretty girl.”

You throw your arms around his shoulders. “M-missed you, too.” He was ruttin’ into you so hard that the heels of your feet were being cleanly lifted off of the tiled floors - and Toji himself was holding you up. With just a single hand on your waist.

One more between your legs n’ flicking your clit fervently—

Such a sinful grin spreads across Toji’s face. “Oh? Really?” Before the digits upon your clit start thumbing between your pussylips n’ spreading them all wiiiiiide open. Further and further open. He takes a gooood, long look at your drivelling hole—“Because I was talking about this pretty pussy right here.”

Your jaw drops.

“I-I—” Head dizzying with how fast he’s pinpointing every tiny spot with his tip. Hittin’ even the most hidden of crannies with his accurate, split-ended crown - over and over. Upturning those walls of yours and finding even more that you knew only he could reach—“I meant-” Fucking you from the flared tip of his shaft and down, down, dooooown to the girth of his base—decorated with so many curls of black that scraaatch at your core. “I mean…ngh, fuck.”

“My pussy-” He echoes out. “M-my pussy…” And Toji Fushiguro had the audacity to cock his head, his shaggy black bangs swaying. “What were you talking about, mama?”

Enough to leave you speechless- and to leave him grinning at his success. “That’s not the answer to that question, girl.”

“I know, but-”

“There are no buts.” Toji scoffs, rolling his verdant eyes. 

And before you know it, he’s scooping you up into his arms- feet off the floor, ankles knotting around his waist. Toji pulls away from the tile then - who the hell said he needed the support of some damn wall to hold his pretty girl up? He’s merely tuggin’ you to him like a koala, stuck against his chiselled front—pounding up even harder n’ haaaaarder. Dragging his thick, vein-covered cock even loooonger down your channel.

“Sh-shit—” Throwing your head back. Gravity is making you slip n’ slide down Toji’s incredible body, your front pressing up against his abs. All you can really do is hold onto dear life.

You claw your fingers down his buff shoulders - hard enough to draw blood - and Toji merely fucking chuckles. “Toji, it feels so good—”

“I know.” He answers cockily- before craning his head down and aiming a dollop of spittle between your legs. Strikin’ your pussy dead-on. Even though he didn’t really need it - the water n’ your slickness was enough to let Toji pummel in at such a raaaapid pace. He just liked to see how you’re squirming at the sensation, “And who wanted a fucking- sex ban, again?”

The water rushed down his hair and obscured his sight- and whatever you could see from between his long black bangs was just…fuck. The sheer feral need in his eyes made you shiver. “It was m-”

“Oh, wait.” Toji hums in wonderment. Eyes settling down on you, as if just seeing you for the first time. “Do you know who it was? It was you—wasn’t it, mama?”

“Y-yes-”

“Oh yeah? Thought you could go without my cock for that long, did ya?” Toji snickers, pinching your clit. It’s hard enough to make you bounce n’ buck your treacly cunt back down his shaft— “Heh—look at ya. Didn’t even last three weeks- hah, honestly. Have some more discipline, girl.”

“You’re telling me to have more discipline.” You gasp. “And who forgot Valentine’s Day-”

“Eeeeeasy there, mama.” He trundles out. Voice low. Almost dangerous. Another pinch on your clit- “Don’t make me put you under a sex ban.”

Your lips part, “You wouldn’t…”

“I would.”

His globular tip swipes down your cervix, leaving what feels to be a permanent mark. Slides of his gooey precum—“And now…” Toji leans in to whisper his next few words in your ear, scorching hot pants against the cool water. “-you’re gonna cum.”

Shivers run down your spine.

Toji continues in his guttural tone. “You’re gonna cum around my cock, and when you do you’re gonna scream so loud that it’ll alert the gym.” Already hearing the grin in his words- “And then m’gonna cum inside you. You won’t wash it out until we get home - you’re gonna walk out there with my cum dripping down your legs.” Toji leaves a final piiiinch on your clit. “And after this, you’re never puttin’ me under one of those damn bans ever again. Understood?”

“U-understood.”

“Good girl.”

.

.

.

By the time he’s finished with you - way, waaaaay past your allotted time - you’re adjusting your uncomfortable leggings before going out. Feeling the sploshin’ of Toji’s gooey white cum inside of you, it’s a damn quest to try and walk properly.

And Toji doesn’t even try to leave the locker room at different times in order to avoid suspicion. He’s sauntering out proudly and throwing an arm over your shoulders, tugging you to his side.

Giving the most shit-eating grin at those other bastards that stare at him in envy.

You wonder out loud how you’re not banned from that gym yet.

Toji takes that as a challenge.

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 18th FEB. at 7:46PM

“Papa, you forgot something!” Itadori Yuji squeaks out as he’s walking up the daycare steps. Spider-Man back-pack tightened with four different straps around his chubby body, his light-up shoes illuminating every step of the way.

Everyone knew when Yuji arrived at his classroom—the students because of his totally awesome shoes, the parents because of…his father.

Nanami Kento stood tall, stoic and composed as the sea of parents dropping off their kids parted for him. Blond hair slicked back immaculately. Glasses sharp and polished.

His silhouette drew eyes - whether one was conscious of it or not - though his own merely settled down upon his son. Crinkling slightly in concern, “Forget? Did you forget your lunchbox again, Yuji?”

The pink-haired boy shakes his head.

The older man hums, “Then did you forget your extra clothes?”

He shakes his head.

“Your football?”

He shakes his head.

“My goodbye hug?”

“No, papa—” And honestly, Nanami had no idea that a four-year-old could sound so exasperated with someone else. Yuji sighs and shakes his head in a way the man knew he picked up from him- “You forgot it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Oh.

Nanami’s lips part, and he sweeps a glance around the classroom corridors - looking as if love threw up inside it. Pink fairy lights and streamers. Heart-shaped designs. So there was a reason everything seemed a little…brighter than usual today, and- wait.

Wait, that explained the special heart-shaped pancakes you’d made for him. The twinkle in your eye. The rather lengthy pawing n’ kissing in the privacy of your bedroom.

Oh.

He intakes a sharp breath, “I didn’t wish my love—” Nanami looks at his pink-haired little traitor. “Why didn’t you tell me, sunshine? I should’ve wished your momma as soon as the sun rose- oh, and I need to buy roses. Then the gifts—wait, didn’t she say she wanted-”

“Papa…”

Nanami snaps out of it immediately- then straight into something new. “Did your momma seem mad, Yuji?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, “Momma told me not to tell you.”

Oh, you were definitely mad…

“She also said she was gonna teach you a lesson when you get home- it was funny.”

Oh.

The boy shuffles. “Papa, can I go now?”

.

.

.

Lo and behold, that was how Nanami Kento found himself suffering under…a sex ban. Ever since the 14th of February, you’d forbidden your handsome husband from touching you, fucking you, making you cum—even kisses were chaste.

And though you had to admit that your stoic husband kept it together quite well, you say the way his tie got just a little looser n’ looser every day. 

The way he’d linger his eyes on you too long. The way he’d take a longer time during showers.

No doubt fucking his fist to the thought of you.

And…you’re almost embarrassed to admit it, but it takes just four days for you to get impatient. 

Yes, you.

Ogling how his toned body would fill out those button-ups of his, how he only seemed to be getting more handsome by the day. 

Nanami had taken up a tradition of buying you a bouquet every single day to make up for Valentine’s Day - and it’s the night of the 18th when you finally just snap-

“F-fuck—ngh.” Just dragging him to your shared bedroom and sitting him down on the bed- you just barely tug off his tight work pants. Just enough to take his thick tip out. Bracing yourself before bouncin’ your hips down and taking his girthy tip in whole- 

Your back arches, toes curling.

The most lecherous whine leaves you—almost as lecherous as the sloppy sluuurp! of his honed cockhead pressing between your pussylips. Such an incredible carnal stretch that you’ve missed so much, “Fuck, it feels so good.” You gasp. “I’ve missed you s’much.”

“Shiiiit—” His bouquet drops from his hands. Red rose petals on the carpeted floor now- Nanami’s deep voice had taken on a breathy lilt, “Shit, momma-”

“I’m s-still mad at you.” You’re huffing down at him. “But my- ngh, pussy’s missed you soooo much—”

“I know, darling. I know.” His forehead lines with a trickle of sweat. Nanami’s eyes fall half-lidded as he feels himself get swallowed up deeper n’ deeeeper inside you. 

With the most damp sluuuuurping noises. Just so cute - it’s like you were gobbling him up.

Two of his hands clasp at your unsteady ankles, bending them to his will ‘round his toned waist. Before you can say anything in response, he uses the leverage to fuck a good strike at your core. All the way from tip to hilt. And as you’re shrilling out, he murmurs. “This fat fuckin’ cock missed your pussy, too.”

“R-really?” Though you don’t even need to ask - you could feel the way his bulbous tip throb-throb-throbbed all the way deeply inside you.

Nanami’s blond hair shuffles as he nods. “Missed you sooooo fucking much-” Almost too dirty to fall from the gentleman’s mouth. “Feel how much harder I am—?” Dragging his vein-decorated shaft aaaaaall down your sopping wet walls, pushing them apart. “Feel how much- fuck, bigger m’getting?” The way each pulsation only seemed to make him swell, his round flared tip growing even wider. It’s the perfect structure to scrape every sweet spot- and Nanami knew just where his wife’s favorite areas were. “Feel how hungry I am for you?”

You gape, “Hungry?”

And when he responds, there’s something utterly shattered in his tone. “Yes—” Breath gusting out in a scorching breeze- pants damp, canines pricking at your neck. Your husband sinks his teeth into that tender skin at your throat, “Fucking famished for this pussy.”

And he’s fucking you just like it, too.

Pourin’ out wads of pre into every nook n’ crevice. Twitching his bulbous cockhead against even the tiniest of nerves inside- he jerks his hips up a mile a minute. Utterly pounding into the back of your pussy— 

Until it was nothing but a gooey, battered mess. Slick with all the translucent sap he was emptying out- 

“Missed you so much.” He husks out against your clammy skin. Holding you tighter n’ tighter to his sculptured pecs, the more he’s honing out direct thwacks! inside you. Just four days without this perfect pussy and he’s a man gone. “Missed you- fuck, missed you so much—”

“B-but you always seemed unbothered.” Huffin’ down at him, your lips twist into a pretty pout- one that he’s reaching up and biting. “I thought it was just me that- ngh, missed you like this.”

“Oh, my love.” The sheer force of his thrusts was enough that you find yourself clawing onto his broad shoulders. To help you balance, Nanami loops his strong forearms around the small of your back- tugging you to him. “I thought about this pussy every single day that I didn’t have her.”

And that’s not all…as if to prove his point, the blond-haired man reaches down one hand and tugs on your perked clit—

It was just swollen and throbbing for attention- and he gives it all that you wanted. Rolling the calloused pad of his thumb right over it, up and down. Long swipes. Slight circles. Edging the tip of it between your wet crevice- in just a few seconds, you swear you’re starting to feel Nanami write out things on top of your overstimulated nub.

What you swear were swirls and loops.

And you recognized Nanami Kento’s handwriting- hell, you’d been married to the guy for years now! That neat, slanted script. So it doesn’t take you long - not until he punctuates a slight puuuuush that you assumed to be a dot - that it hits you like four semi-trucks at once.

Nanami was writing out ‘missed you’ on top of your cunt. 

Over and over again.

So many times that you’re starting to feel a bit raw with pleasure.

You cling onto him for dear life, “And what did you think about?"

“What?” He breathes, brain too muddled.

Your delayed response. “And what did you think about- ngh, Kento?”

Nanami throws his head back and lets out a faint, grumbling whimper as you’re clenching around him - just as gone as you. These few days had rendered him extra, eeextra sensitive to even the slightest twitches and sensations of your cunt. He whispers out an answer that you can’t hear.

“What was that, baby?” Fluttering your lashes at him, leaning in close. 

A slight channel of slick n’ precum escapes from your wettened hole- and makes his breath hitch. He repeats.

“What was—”

He repeats it.

And this time, he’s pummelin’ straight into the veeeeery bottom of your gummy pussy with it. Swiping out his spot there-

“I thought about getting you pregnant.”

And Nanami’s fucking you like he’d rather die than not have you all round n’ glowing - plump with his child - by next Valentine’s Day. If he could get you pregnant tonight itself and make you a family of four by then—then that’s even better.

A stripe of his gooey white cum- “Let me make up for these four days, my love?”

.

.

.

Next Valentine’s Day, it’s the three of you that are dropping off Yuji at school- you, your husband, and your baby. Just a few months old but already matching the energy of her older brother.

Yuji skips up to the steps - just a year more and he’ll be in first grade already. How time passes. 

He announces in that bright voice of his, “You didn’t forget Valentine’s Day this year, papa.”

Nanami slightly blushes at the attention of the other parents around you two - at him, at you, at Yuji’s voice, and at the presence of your cute lil’ daughter. They looked torn between coming up to congratulate the two of you, and keeping their distance from a baby so young—Nanami was known to be a private man, after all. If it hadn’t been for Yuji’s excited announcements, the daycare might not have ever known of the newest addition to your family. 

His hair. Your eyes.

“That’s right, sunshine.” Nanami pats Yuji’s head of pink hair, “I won’t be forgetting any time soon.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 3rd MARCH at 11:03PM

You weren’t going to last.

That’s right—you weren’t going to last.

That sex ban had been set on the 14th of February, once Geto Suguru - your ever-handsome leader of the Time Vessel Association - had deemed that his favorite little association member hadn’t…celebrated Valentine’s Day quite to his standards.

Though you had no idea what he was talking about- you’d planned everything out perfectly.

You’d spoiled him with a jasmine bouquet, he’d spoiled you with even more red roses.

You’d spoiled him with his favorite traditional Japanese breakfast, he’d spoiled you with your favorite (courtesy of the chefs in the Association, of course).

You’d wanted to ride him silly- he’d wanted to fuck you pregnant. See, that’s where the little miscommunication seemed to have happened - if you can even call it that. Because in the end you’d been pummeled with his thick, veiny cock—for but a total of two rounds before you’d exhausted yourself to sleep in his arms (it’d been a long day of planning, alright?)

But the thing is, Geto Suguru hadn’t wanted to go two rounds.

Geto Suguru had wanted to go…all night.

And you never fall asleep before the revered leader. Never. Was his cock really that boring to you? Did this even count as celebrating Valentine’s Day at all, then?

Geto Suguru was a ruthless ruler.

It was considered that you missed Valentine’s Day- yes, you missed it.

Thus, you were henceforth and until further notice- banned from having sex with the esteemed leader until you improved your stamina. Which was quite the unfair match-up - Geto had training in martial arts, in cursed energy, in reverse cursed energy. How were you supposed to compare?

He was fucking mean.

And to be quite honest, a part of you had the nagging feeling that Geto was simply riling you up for the fun of it…and you wouldn’t be surprised.

Which is why when you’d sucked up your pride n’ finally asked him to fuck you by March—he’d merely raised a dark brow. Sharp. Scouring. “And have you finally fixed that pitiful stamina of yours?” He’s spitting, “I do not wish to be insulted once more…”

“I h-have.” You’d claimed- alright so maybe you hadn’t worked on your stamina just like he’d said. But who was Geto Suguru to know?

His brow raises even higher.

He knew. He definitely, definitely knew. 

But to your utter surprise- Geto is tugging on the dark fabric of his robes. Beckoning you with a single look over to his futon, “Alright.” Clipped and chilling. “But I hope you know that I am not a merciful man, gorgeous.”

You’d never scrambled over to him faster.

Because when Geto Suguru fucked you- he fucked you.

Just like he hated you. In no time, he had your jittery legs on his shoulders n’ his rounded cockhead pushing between your pussylips. Just stretch-stretch-streeeetching out the first rim of your entrance before draggin’ away down that tight channel. 

The long-haired man tugs open all those cute lil’ crannies that you’ve missed being stimulated. Your back arching off of the ancient tatami as he folded you sooooo deep in half—ass cheeks barely touching the floor in this ruthless mating press he had you in.

Cock hitting the back of your pussy for hours. And hours.

And hours and hours.

“P-please—” You warble out in your shattered tone, head throwing backwards. It’s hitting the surface behind you with a dull thud- and Geto merely huffs out a chuckle.

He raises his left hand - and for a second, you think he might just use it to cushion the back of your head. But instead…Geto uses it to clasp onto your poor, perspired neck and shoves you deeper against the floor-

“Don’t make me put ya into a headlock before you hurt yourself.” He snickers out, something animalistically breathy in his tone. Those thick fingertips of his squeeze either side of your neck- swervin’ his luscious tip inside even faster. “Because just know—”

And the hairs on the back of your neck raise once Geto Suguru leans into whisper.

“-that when I say all night long…” And for the nth time tonight, his slick n’ mazing tip drives you straight into your high. “-I mean all night long.”

“A-all night…” Your mouth hopelessly babbles.

Spit drivels down either side of your mouth—and Geto wastes no time before leaning down and lickin’ them away. “Keep it clean, gorgeous.” He murmurs against your lips, “M’gonna make a mess of you- hah, anyway the next time I cum inside. Again.”

His sweetened sap was already sploshin’ away inside of you- and even the tiniest jolts of his tip made him stir you from the inside. You drag a hand down your bloated-feeling front and whine, “Again?”

“Yes?” Geto asks, “Something the…matter—?”

And whatever your answer had been, it’s getting fucked back down your throat with his bludgeoning cock. Frenzied. Fast. Ferocious in the way he was claiming every single inch of space inside you. Nothing but a pinkish blur between those poor legs of yours- and you might not realize it in this state, but Geto himself had missed you.

How he’d missed the feeling of this velvety pussy. The way you’d open up just for him n’ seemed to mold your channel to his girth- and he was rather girthy, if he did say so himself. The way you’d clench ‘round him at even the tiniest sparks of pleasure-

And right now it’s as if you were holding him hostage.

Making him rut his hips wetly into yours - slick n’ cum spraaaying out of your hole and creating a mess in-between - again and again and again—

He tightens his restraint on your neck until you’re seeing stars- veins popping out from his hand. “Something-” Each word was punctuated by the most thorough gash of his swollen shaft, thudding against your gooey cervix. “-the- matter- gorgeous?”

“N-nothing—!” You babble out. “Nothing at all-”

“Then why’s this pretty pussy trying to- mmm, run away from me, hm?” He’s humming. 

And you snap your head down- it’s just then that you’re registering the ministrations of your hips. The way you lurch back just a bit when he’s hitting a spot just right, feet planted flatly on the mattress.

You bounced and swerved - almost as if you weren’t sure whether you wanted to run away or fuck back down for more, more, more. For the feeling of his smooth slippery tip reaching into your deepest depths- fuck, you’d almost forgotten how much he stretched you out.

And Geto doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s running you straight into another orgasm. And another.

“What? Can’t handle it?” Fingernails digging into your soft skin by now. “Can’t handle it?” His balls were still big n’ heavy with so many wads of cum yearning to be inside you- “Can’t handle it? Can’t handle it—? Speak up.”

“I can.” Gasping out in your botched tone. “I can- I can—”

“Then what?”

“It’s just-”

“I knew it.”

But that was a test, you see.

He didn’t want to know the answer - for now. He just wanted to know if you could match all the claims you uttered- if you could take him all night long like he’d promised.

Dawn wasn’t even close to breaking.

Your drenched cunt quivers. His own cock dribblin’ out a clingy line of slick—“I already toooooold you.” He replaces the hand on your stomach with his own, right palm cascading down the front. Geto pushes down on that cute lil’ bump he was fucking into you, “First, you miss Valentine’s Day-”

“But I didn’t-”

“Then you lie to me about improving your stamina-”

“Well…”

“If you can’t handle it, then don’t fuck me—”

“B-but-”

Shutting you up with a looong swab right near your throat. “Because how else m’I going to get you pregnant, gorgeous?”

And as you’re struggling to get out a single coherent sentence, Geto sighs. Dramatic.

“And here I thought you’d finally match my freak-” Something he’d learned from an audio Larue had been listening to, something he found quite amusing himself. “Here I thought you’d match my stamina-” He was probin’ his long shaft into the door to your womb. “Here I thought we’d finally get you pregnant for next year—”

“Y-you still can-” You whisper.

He leans in. “What was that?”

“You still- hck! can.” Increasing the volume of your tone, and it makes Geto’s pretty amethyst eyes widen. “Promise you still can. It’s still March.”

Geto hums in interest, “And about that concern you had before then…?”

“I was just worried…” Splaying out your hand on top of his- on top of your stomach. Slightly bloated with the sheer amount of gooey, glittering was struck to your walls—the slightest push is enough to make you trickle out between your legs. “-that it might not fit, Suguru.”

And something in him seems to twitch.

His cock seems to jolt—

You’re being fucked even deeper into your mating press before you know it. With Geto’s roverin’ cockhead flooding your bruised, battered insides in his syrupy sap - it leaves a carnal part of you feeling so satisfied.

The way he rests his weight on your lower half to stop you from moving around too much. 

“Oh, gorgeous…” Breathless. “I’ll just make it fit.”

.

.

.

It’s the very next day - even without formal confirmation - that Geto Suguru announces to his association the imminent birth of his heir. 

You find that announcement to come true soon enough.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 14th FEB. at 9:12PM

To be quite honest, Choso Kamo didn’t know that there was a human…culture surrounding this date. He’d never heard of it before.

Imagine the half-curse’s surprise when he wakes up one day and the world seemed to be drenched in pink and red. Why were there hearts plastered upon every shop window he saw? Why did the population of couples somehow seem to double? Why did strangers insist upon trying to hand him chocolates as he walked down the street?

Wondering whether his last blood manipulation technique had left him feeling light-headed, Choso knew to seek the smartest person he knew for answers - you.

His beloved human girlfriend.

And when you’d given him a brief run-down of the semi-holiday—well, Choso Kamo was in tears. Why? Well, because no one told him that he’d just missed a perfectly fine opportunity to spoil you, of course!

All those candy shops he passed, all those plushie stores he ignored…

You’re telling him that he should’ve just dropped everything he was doing and bought out the whole store?! (No, you were not telling him that—but Choso was certainly thinking it). And he believed it, too. 

Which is why - as the self-dubbed Worst Boyfriend in The World - Choso demanded that you punish him with a sex ban. And when you’d refused, he’d punished himself with a sex ban.

“I-I don’t deserve it, baby.” He’d wrapped his arms around himself and turned away, as if the mere sight of you in your pajamas was enough to tempt him into breaking his ban. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror after not knowing such a thing-”

“Choso, baby.” You’d interrupted him. “Shut up.”

He’d grown hard in his pants at that.

The first hour, it had been…do-able. Choso was still alive, he felt like he was still alive.

And his cock had remained behaved in his pants.

Three hours in and he was…shattering slightly at the edges. He’d disappeared into your underwear drawer when you weren’t looking- stealing one of your prettiest scraps of lace and fucking his first raw using it.

That had bated him.

At least until the fifth hour, when you’d asked to cuddle in bed. 

And Choso felt his cock jolt just a little in his pants- eagerly agreeing. Tightening. Though you should’ve known that something was off when he’d asked to be the big spoon this time (Choso Kamo was never the big spoon), but you didn’t think much of it…

Then had come the seventh hour—two hours into cuddling you. Two hours into having his raging hard erection pressed up against your ass- and he thought he was going a little insane.

He needed to distract himself- he needed to think of something else.

Anything.

And it’s then that those unfortunate pretty eyes of his had fallen upon the small wrapper upon your bedside cabinet. The small slab of sweetness.

The small piece of chocolate.

Without thinking much of it, Choso had reached out and torn it open - fingers jittery to do something. He’s popping both halves into his mouth.

“Wait-” You’re catching his action—only too late. “Cho, baby, that’s-”

But it was too late. He’d started feeling hot all over. Feverish. “Baby—what is this-”

“Aphrodisiac chocolate.” Sighing. “I’d bought it for us today - yes, one half for each - but since you put on that sex ban…”

It’s all the explanation that he fucking needs before he’s tearin’ at your poor pajama shorts. Furious. Feral. Before he’s leaving them in shatters- and leaving you with your voice lost in your throat, Choso’s angry red tip swivelling inside.

Just so wet with pre and rock-hard.

His sex ban had lasted seven hours.

The ridge of his cockhead was flared so widely, scrapin’ against all those tender spots inside you. It’s a lecherous sensation - enough to make you clench, enough to make you hold Choso’s fat cock hostage. Drool wettens Choso’s lips as you clench—“S-sex ban?”

Did that sound like a question? 

Because your poor boyfriend’s tone was wavering almost comically upwards towards the end- ruined. He punctuates it not with a question mark, but with a solid sopping thrust inwards. Shovelling just a few more of his inches in-

“Yes?” You pant out. It already feels as though he was pumping against the corner of your lungs. “Baby, wasn’t that what you said- oh.”

Yet another smooooch of his lengthy cock- it drives inside and presses on a tender spot you particularly like. “Sex ban?” Choso repeats. There’s an almost urgent look in his eyes, glazed and glittering with dark need. “No—”

And then he’s shaking his head fervently- for a mere few seconds before he glues his split-ended tip to the roof of your cunt. Bottoming-out. 

He collapses his muscular body onto you and pants-

“No, no.” Hips stuttering, though that doesn’t stop him from drilling into you like a maddened man. Lecherous, long strikes of his cock. “No, that can’t be—I’d never ban myself from something as h-heavenly as this pussy…”

“But you-” You’re starting to refute him.

Only for Choso to pump out a few direct hits to your cervix—groaning. “Because l-look how pretty she is takin’ my big cock.” He whispers, marveling at the way you clung onto him. Your sopping wet walls were lacquered in a good gleam of his precum, so tight that he almost thinks he wouldn’t fit- but you always do manage to surprise him. “Look how goooood she feels wrapped ‘round me- my pretty pussy.”

And then he’s fucking and fucking into you-

At an irregular pace - sloppy and staccato. It’s almost as if he couldn’t control just when and how his hips were moving, merely chasing that carnal instinct within him. That little voice that told him to bruise his achin’ hot cockhead at the base of your cunt, and then push n’ push n’ puuuuush as deep as it could go.

If he wasn’t knockin’ at your womb, then each thrust wasn’t worth it.

“Look how—” Head dipping into the crook of your neck, those clammy brown strands of his hair stick to your skin. He was blushin’ and shaking all over- “Look how good she ngh- feels when she’s being fucked by me? She’s been waiting for my cock all this time, riiiight?”

You’re unable to answer, merely twitching as Choso runs a finger down your slit. Pressing perfectly on the button of your clit.

“Of course, she is. Look how wet she is f’me—h-how could I ever deny her?” Baritone taking a shaky degree, wetness pouring out of him in waves and splatters. “Look how much she wants to- ngh.” 

And it’s then that Choso’s ruddied tip twitches daaaangerously.

You knew that your beloved boyfriend was the sensitive type- but to this extent? It’s almost as if being away from your pussy (for a few hours, yes, but even that was torture for Choso Kamo) had rendered him more sensitive than ever.

More susceptible to getting pussydrunk.

More susceptible to getting addicted to the slippery clench of your cunt. Those pretty walls that opened up for him—straight down to your even prettier womb.

He rubs the sides of his shaft rawly against your walls and whimpers- “L-look how much she wants to be filled up with my cum.”

And it’s then and there that Choso is talking himself into an orgasm. The textured sensations of your cunt. The wetness of your constant sap. The way you were looking up at him with teary eyes- his sheer length almost too much for you to handle.

And this was too much for him to handle. 

Choso merely reels his hips back a bit- before pummeling deepest into your depths and pourin’ out his cum with such a squeeeelch! A lecherous sound. The sound of his dewy wads of seed emptying out at the bottom of your pussy, filling you up from the inside out-

He’s throwing his body forwards and crushing you to him. “Baby, m’never gonna think of a sex ban ever again—” Murmuring wetly into your skin. You swear he was almost in tears- “Never. M’sorry, but I just don’t think I can handle it.”

“You really didn’t have to, Cho—” You reassure him.

And at that, he slips out just a few more beads of ivory cum. “N-ngh, don’t say that unless you want me to cum again.”

“Maybe I do.” Cocking your head up at the pretty boy- “That aphrodisiac is said to last five hours, after all.”

He shivers.

You throw your arms around his sweaty neck and pull him closer. “And it is still Valentine’s Day. Why don’t you make it up to me like this, Cho?”

He does end up cumming again.

.

.

.

The next day, Choso Kamo ends up buying out all the nearest candy shops and plushie stores. Some of them being delivered later on in the day, some of them being carried in dozens upon dozens of bags upon his two hands - not that he minds. He’d carry anything for you. To you.

After all, it’s not like you’ll be walking for about the next week…

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 1st MARCH at 1:23PM

“Cheh—and it’s not like I’m upset about it, or anything!” The King’s fervent denials make the walls of the throne room trundle - almost as loud as Ryomen Sukuna’s voice, were his blatant lies. 

And yet, Uraume has long since learned to keep their mouth shut during times like this.

They sit poised before Sukuna, head bowed and expression of something contemplative. He might have four eyes, but he’ll never be able to tell how his right-hand follower was on the verge of laughter. Of tears from the sheer amount of laughter.

They might have to take a leave of absence after this.

And Sukuna - never the less oblivious - slams all four fists down on the armrest of his throne. Echoing in a hollow voice, “I just fail to understand why my…most tolerable human has refused to copulate with me these days. Although, even that should be understandable- if she wishes not to, then she wishes not to. I can understand that. But my question is why as of the 14th of the last moon cycle-” He sits upright in his seat, seething. “-she pretends that I do not even exist! Me—the King—!”

Uraume manages to disguise a laugh as a cough. “The 14th of the previous moon cycle, you say, Your Majesty?”

“Hm?” He grunts. “And what of it?”

“Well, then perhaps you should know that you missed a day that is quite important, Your Majesty.” They lightly sip their tea as the King’s interest piques- “In certain cultures, the 14th of the year’s second month is celebrated as the day of love. To express one’s affection for their lover, their family, and their friends.”

The King stays quiet. 

Uraume finishes their tea. “Tell me, Your Majesty—had you gifted your lover anything on the 14th?”

He sputters, “I-I—well, not quite but-”

“Did you wish prosperity upon her on the 14th?”

“No, but-”

“Did you act in a manner deemed nicer than your…usual demeanour?”

“No-”

“Nothing at all?”

“No.” Sukuna runs two hands down his rugged face, “Heavens…”

.

.

.

And it doesn’t take long for Ryomen Sukuna - over three weeks late - to finally shower you with gifts. Lavish, as a King should provide for his Queen.

In the most expensive silks in this land and the next few, too. In the most intricate little trinkets that he knew you’d love. In the most gorgeous jade twinkling in the moonlight. In the most sweet-smelling perfumes. The most sweet-tasting candies.

Everything and anything.

Though he personally believes that nothing could taste as sweet as you.

And he shall have a word or two later with you- something about telling him directly whenever you wanted something of him. But right now, he was faaar too busy sprawling you out flatly on your bed. Pressing two hands into the smooth mattress beside your head, as two of his swervin’ cockheads fucked you dizzy—

He was fucking that pout right off your lips.

“S’this pussy still furious?” Sukuna coos down mockingly at you- both sets of his lips twisting into the meanest grin. 

As you struggled to get out the words - past those thick, bludgeoning shafts - he merely leans down. Fluttering those pinkish lashes at you, Sukuna’s second mouth opens up wiiiiiiide—licking up the crevice of your pussy. “S’this pussy still angry at me for forgetting ah- Valentine’s Day? I don’t think sooo—”

And almost on cue, you’re sputterin’ out in a gooey mess of slick. It travels down your legs and gets lapped up by Sukuna’s monstrous tastebuds- “M-maybe I still am.”

He hums from the primal depths of his chest. “I know you are, woman.” Those crimson irises of his roll, a scoff scorching down your features. “But what about this pussy—”

You tighten your legs around his waist, “Sh-she is, too-”

“I beg to differ.” And just then, Sukuna spanks—! one hand down upon your throbbing clit. His other two hands clutch your ankles to throw you off balance- to stop you from bucking. His sleazy grin only seems to grow as he watches the thiiiiick sheen of slick at your inner thighs. “See? She loves me.”

“She’s mad at you-”

A hit at your gummy cervix—two. “She loves me-”

“She-”

And then snaking right down to your g-spot—you’re feeling both of his rugged, rounded tips massage your sweetest spot. He doesn’t even properly thrust for a few moments- the King ruts his hips back n’ forth. “See—?” Aiming to bruise his rock-hard lengths against the sides of your walls - your nerves - making you feel him from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. “She fuckin’ loves me~”

You don’t get to contradict what he’s saying.

You don’t even get to try- because at that very second, you’re throwing your head back and cumming. Unable to control the lightning bolts of white-hot pleasure that run down your spine—sensations of his rounded tips driving you wild.

Pummeling.

Shovelling in and out. In and out.

Probin’ against the areas you were most sensitive, emptying out wads of precum in sinful splats. “Th-that’s just not fair…” Voice hatching into the prettiest whines in your throat- it’s just what makes him arch his powerful hips and buck, buck, buck. 

More. More. More.

Sukuna rests two hands underneath your spine n’ aaaarches you even more for him. Like this, it’s easy enough to see where the rounded bumps of his monstrous cocks were hitting your cervix. Thud-thud-thud. “Fuh-fuuuuuck, Kuna.” And at the very same time, his lecherous tongue sticks out and drags up and down your dripping wet slit. “Not fair- really not fair-”

“Not fair that this pussy likes me more than you?” He titters, “Now, that’s not fair t’me—”

“Oh, you-”

“Poor, poor Ryomen Sukuna.” He pretends to weep, to shake his head. “With no clue as to why his favorite human is ignoring him.”

“Shit-” He pumps a direct hit to your womb. Twitching there in warning.

“If it was gifts you’d wanted, then I could buy you this whole damn world-”

Your eyes widen, “The world?”

“Yes, the world.” Sukuna sounded dead serious. “Don’t be frugal, woman.” And you didn’t doubt that he didn’t have enough gold to do so- or at least give a damn valiant try. Sukuna digs his honed, blackened fingernails upon either side of your hips—cocks fucking you through your first high and straight into another. Another. Another. “Do you know how many nights we’ve lost together?”

It just feels so fucking gooood to have his furious, feverish tips pressing into every spot. You can only whine—

“Do you know how many times I could’ve cum inside this pussy until then?” Almost reminiscing as he fucks you, all those times he’s done so before. Will do so again. “Do you know how many times I’ve lost having that pretty pussy squeeze ‘round me when she cums- yes, you do that.”

Your breath hitches, “S-squeeze…?”

“Mhmm—” Ravenous red eyes narrowing down at you. There’s an almost feral grin upon his face- “Didn’t you know that? She squeezes around both cocks- like she wants to hold me back whilst she cums. Like she can’t- fuck, bear to leave.”

“Oh my god-” You gasp. Arching into his plush pecs.

And Sukuna is more than happy to let you do so - in fact, one of his hands lifts off of the bed to crush your face into his chest. Your mouth slobberin’ stupidly all over his pinkish nipples—his second mouth swabbin’ his tongue between your pussylips n’ fucking straight into your hole.

While he fucks you with two cocks. The stretch was just incredible. 

The next time you reach your highs, you’re squirting.

“And you say this pussy doesn’t love me…”

.

.

.

The next morning, Uraume wakes up at the crack of dawn- as per their duties.

And they have to admit that last night…they didn’t obtain a satisfying rest. Forget eight hours of sleep, they’d have been lucky to get eight winks—no thanks to their King of Curses, of course. The constant pounding and rattling and rutting had echoed all throughout this wing of the Royal Estate. 

And whenever Uraume had thought it had finally paused and perhaps their King had retired for the night- it would start right up again.

It must’ve been right before daybreak that they finally heard the last creeeeeak–! and groan of those ancient bedsprings. 

And just like that…peace.

They’d closed their eyes for all but 1 minute and 34 seconds, of course. Uraume would know, they counted.

And they’re stomping right out of bed- genuinely reconsidering that leave of absence when—

A knock at their door.

Possibly one of the other attendants. Possibly some problem or the other that they had to address right away- honestly, give a person time to brush their teeth first!

But, no.

Not at all.

Instead, Uraume is met with no one at the door.

No person.

Nothing but a large wrapped-up gift box, the type that one can tell is expensive at first glance. Looking around the corridor provides no other person there with them - and they’re dropping down to their knees in an instant. Opening up the large lid-

Inside, are the most beautiful crisp white kimonos. And a note attached—

‘Thank you. - R.’

Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.

They still don’t get paid, though.

♡ INO TAKUMA - 15th FEB. at 2:48AM

Ino Takuma has fucked up.

Majorly.

First, he ended up spending waaaay longer than he should’ve on his latest mission report—who even needs to impress the higher-ups, anyway? Ino has this ongoing theory that they don’t even read those damn things…And yet again, that didn’t stop him from scrutinizing each and every word that slid across the page like slugs on salt.

And by the time he’d finally dotted his last full stop (a momentous occasion) and looked outside- tell him why the world looked dark?

The black-out curtain of night. He’d gasped then—

Brown eyes flickering immediately to the clock on the wall, one that had been tutting at him for the past few hours. Watching. Waiting. 

It shifted its sharp, spindly hand to the next hour that struck.

12:00AM

Midnight.

Exactly four hours past when he was supposed to meet you for your Valentine’s date.

Shit.

Shit. 

Ino checked his phone, and had never run faster in his entire life. Not even when he was being chased by a Special Grade curse.

And that wasn’t all- of course, that wasn’t all. 

To make matters worse, he’d wanted you to have the most beautiful bouquet possible today - the brightest, the reddest, the freshest. And fearing that the air conditioning in Jujutsu High’s offices might make the flowers wilt, Ino had put off the gift for after he’d finished up his work. Who’d have thought that one might just prefer slightly-wilted flowers to banging on the door of a florist’s shop at 12AM? No chance.

Shiiiiiit. 

From then on had been a sequence of banging on store doors to no avail, or scanning the emptied aisles of any Valentine-themed shop he set his eyes on.

His plundering and pillaging wasn’t fruitful - and it was 2:33AM by the time that Ino slipped quietly into your shared apartment. With the wholly bountiful loot of: a box of orange candy, a card, a set of matching journals, a turtle plushie that sang ‘Sorry’ by Justin Bieber, and a pathetic plastic rose he managed to fight some old lady over.

To be quite honest, he would have broken up with himself.

But alas—that is not quite yet possible. You’d been awake and understanding, however, worried that he’d been working himself to the bone over that new report.

You’d been so sweet - ushering him to get ready for bed, and telling him that it was just some commercial holiday. He knows that, but still…

Ino thinks he could cry a little (he does).

And as he gets into bed beside you, he’s promising himself that he won’t fuck you stupid like he’d wanted to on Valentine’s Day. “Ban me from your pussy.” Ino whispers.

You turn to him in confusion, “Excuse me?”

“Ban me from your pussy- I’m so serious.” He’s promising himself that he’s going to make it up to you first before even having such thoughts. “I can’t believe I missed fucking Valentine’s Day- ban me from your pussy. I don’t deserve her.” He’s promising himself that—that—

You hum, “Hmmm, you sure about that?”

And whatever promises he’s trying to fool himself into—they’re flying out the window as soon as you’re pressin’ your behind to his front. Your pretty ass against his cock. Teasing. 

In what should be an innocent spooning position…but Ino traces a few fingers down your inner thighs. That’s when his brain short-circuits- as he registers that you were wearing his favorite pair of silky panties. Strappy. Crotchless. 

You’re fucking evil.

Your boyfriend doesn’t even need to spread them aside- merely setting a hand underneath your right leg and perking it up. Just the barest few inches he needs to tug down his sweatpants n’ glue his ruddied tip to your core. 

He’s hitting your pussy with a wet thwack! Meeting your pussylips in the sweetest kiss. Letting his slick precum slide-slide-sliiiiide vertical lines down your crevice. It dribbles down to your thighs, all wet and gooey. 

And Ino isn’t lasting too long before he throws his head back and ruts—harsh and animalistic. The raw sensation of your hole was almost too much. He doesn’t even know where his lengthy shaft is going, honed cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and getting sandwiched by them. The cutest hot embrace that he’s held hostage by- he humps his way between your legs like a damn beast. Again. And again.

“Please-” He echoes a guttural whisper into your neck. Scorching hot breath wafting all over your features, crushing your limbs so tightly to him that it almost hurts. “Please, please, please—”

You’re amused at the slight crack in his tone. “Please what, baby?”

“Please…” Ino’s large chocolate eyes peer down at you. He’s craning his neck down and gnawing on your pretty lips. “Please, ma’am?”

“Not that, baby.” You hum. Pushing your hips further back into his- in no time, he was fucking you with the swollen reddened tip of his cock. He was thiiiick and honed at the very top, slipping inside easily and swabbin’ into the tiny geysering orifices of your cunt. “I j-just meant that you didn’t have to-”

“But I do have to beg.” Ino insists, lips wobbling as though he was on the verge of tears. “Ban me from your pussy. I didn’t manage to make it before Valentine’s Day and spoil you- oh.”

Just then, your velvety walls were clenchin’ around him. And it’s enough to make Ino’s hips stutter sideways, hitting the globes of your ass cheeks with a sudden spank. “Shit…” You swear at the stinging contact. Ino was now gripping either side of your hips n’ digging his rovering cockhead between your pussylips - in rapid, ruinous half-thrusts just to ease inside. “B-but it just—ngh, couldn’t be helped. Don’t beat yourself up, baby-”

“But you should beat me up.”

Lifting your head off the pillow and looking over your shoulder. In slight worry- “Taku—”

“Wait, sweetness-”

“Taku, do you want me to be mean to you?” And when he isn’t answering immediately, you rut up your hips into his prominent v-line. Just so toned, massaging your back- it marks whichever direction his globular cockhead was heading. Leeeeft and right. Baaaack and forth.

Shoving even deeper into your tight channel. And you can feel his blushing face pushing into your neck, fever-hot. “You’re such a naughty boy, aren’t you?”

He groans—loooong and drawn-out. “Sh-shush, pretty. I didn’t mean it like…” But his train of thought trails off - just as much as yours does - because Ino’s rotund tip only seems to swell even bigger. The flares ridge of it scrapin’ ever tender spot inside you, bucking back and forth.

Your glistening hole to the back of your cervix. Deeper and deeper.

You gasp, “So you did like me calling you that.” Spit-slick lips of his parting as you arch your spine even further. “Such a naughty boy- fuck, you don’t even deserve to be fucked like this- y’know?”

And to your surprise, he’s fervently nodding. Rutting. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Least of all, you don’t deserve this pussy-”

“I don’t deserve it—” Uttering in such a whiny tone. Biting back his gasps. 

“Maybe I really should ban you.”

“Please.” Trembling digits clasp onto either side of your hips, digging his rounded fingertips into the flesh there. He’s leaving marks there, he’s tightening his hold- as if afraid you’d actually run away and he’s have to chase after your pretty cunt—“T-tell me more, pretty. Make me feel sorry…”

Ino’s hot breath makes shivers run down your spine. “Y-you probably thought about fucking me all day, huh?”

He hisses as if caught, “Fisted my cock about- mmm, five times in the office bathroom thinking of you, sweetness.” Hands gliding all over your body - n’ down your front where he presses on your stomach. That faint cylindrical bulge he was fucking into you, “With this very hand, pretty- fuck, I imagined this so many times.”

“Filthy.” You tut. “And yet, you still missed Valentine’s?”

“I thought about coming home early s-sooooo many times.” Ino whines against your ear. Just the notion of you insulting him is enough to tighten his heavy balls, slappin’ away between your legs with fervour. “So many times- fuck the report, fuck those elders.”

“Language.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” A few lines of perspiration glide from his chestnut hair. And his tone is all clogged up with lecherous husks, “B-but I’d rather have been fucking you—”

“Oh.” Because then he’s slamming into your g-spot that you see stars.

The split-ended shape of his cockhead, pushing straight into where you were softest. It’s almost as if Ino was fucking his very shape into your cunt, molding your pretty walls to him- not that he deserved that, either. 

But the fact that he didn’t deserve your treacly wet pussy and was still managing to fuck into you like a madman…oh, that was nearly enough to make him cum.

“Would’ve fucked you right on that table.” Ino rasps out, panting. Breathy. “Would’ve fuh-fucked you all day long- would’ve fucked you even if someone heard. If someone came in.”

Your eyes grow wide, “Would you have?”

He nods. Dead serious. “I would’ve fucked you right in front of them.” So much of a carnal sensation that he almost couldn’t handle it - he gnaws the pointed tips of his canines against the shell of your ear. “Showed them how niiiicely I fuck this pretty pussy—showed them…ngh, just how greedy she is to swallow me.”

“Pervert—” You whine.

And he grows even bigger inside you. “That, I am.” Before a sudden look of sheepishness crosses his face once more, “And th-this pervert is sorry that I couldn’t make it-”

“But at least you did now.” You answer. “And as a little reward for my- oh, naughty boy…”

Edging in closer, “Yes?”

You’re smiling that very smile that ruins him—“How about for Valentine’s Day you cum inside, Taku?”

And that’s all it takes for him to cum inside.

Thick. Hot ropes. 

Flooding your insides with all his ribbons of sap, they’re reaching every deep spot inside you n’ leaving your walls scalding hot. As if he was trying to leave you feeling him in there for daaaaays on end - just sizzling inside and splashin’ with his seed. So much.

The volume was so much that it leaves you leaking out between your legs, gluing your thighs together in all his slick white sheen. And very drag of his long cock leaves your poor innards practically drowning—

“Can I make it up to you again, pretty?”

“You lecher.”

He almost cums again right then n’ there.

.

.

.

The next day, Professor Yaga is receiving a report straight to his desk. Thick. Taking up presence on top of the ancient wooden furniture.

It was covered in a manila folder way, which was unusual for a report - if you followed the protocol of most sorcerers, one was lucky if they slap-dashed a mere page and called it a day. Thrown right over the desk a week after the deadline. And by the size and heft of this thing, it was at least fifty full pages.

As Yaga gets closer, he’s reading the stamp on the envelope—Ino Takuma. One of the best Grade 2 sorcerers that jujutsu society possessed.

It was no surprise that he was the one who put together such a detailed report. Yaga had been told by Panda that he’d worked right through Valentine’s on this thing, leaving around midnight. Which was…quite a lot of effort for a report. Yaga wasn’t sure if he himself would’ve put in this much work, but he also knew that Ino had been aiming for that Grade 1 rank.

He also knew that the boy had a girlfriend - you - and wondered just how you let him get away with such a thing. But then again, maybe that wasn’t his business…

Yaga sits down and opens up the folder, finding the first page to be—nothing to do with the report at all. Instead, it was a notice of taking leave - for a week citing ‘personal situations’.

Next was a receipt for a bouquet of 143 red, red roses. Seemingly filed in here by accident.

Well, Yaga holds back a smile, he guesses he could permit it this time…

♡ GOJO SATORU - You think he lasts?

You: Toru, where the hell are you??

You: We’re late for our reservation!!

You: Pick up your phone.

You: TOOOOOOOOOORU.

You: TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORU

You: Ugh, you’re probably on some mission or something </33 

You: But on Valentine’s Day of all days?? C’moooooooooon.

You: At least pick up your phone, Toru.

You: Gojo Satoru, you are hereby and forevermore under a sex ban. 

Just a few minutes after sending that last text, you hear a sudden crash outside your penthouse apartment—loud and reverberating. It had the sort of electric charge that made the hair on your body stand on end.

Like thunder.

It leaves you wondering whether a storm could be nearby- there weren’t many neighborhood noises that carried up to your floor. Gojo had picked this place specifically because of that. So perhaps an oncoming thunderstorm? Perhaps some sort of electrical shortage?

Your bedroom light was certainly flickering- and you almost considered turning it off altogether. 

What a day. First you get all dolled up for your boyfriend to not arrive at your shared home on time, then he doesn’t answer your texts, then this…whatever this is.

But you can placate yourself by thinking that you won’t get caught in the impending storm, then. No romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day anyways. On the bright side, your make-up shall remain flawless!

At least, that’s what you think.

Because then that crash emanates through the apartment once more—though, this time, it sounds far too close to be a distant storm. Far too…inside the apartment?

You’re just able to sit up on your king-sized bed. Before there’s yet another crash, and soon enough your damn bedroom door is being ripped off its hinges. Absolutely obliterated. Absolutely shattering into a zillion pieces of the most expensive mahogany that Japan can offer. 

And you almost don’t have to look up to know that none other than your boyfriend can do such a thing.

Sure enough, once you’re blinking your eyes back open - and the haze of wooden dust dissipates - you see Gojo Satoru standing there. Ivory head bowed. Feet apart. Chest heaving as though he’d just run a marathon—or worse yet, teleported one.

He must have teleported one.

Times like this, you’re really registering just how tall Gojo is. He covers most of the cut-out frame of the bedroom door, blocking any light. And also blocking his expression…

You’re calling out to him cautiously, “Satoru?”

To which he snaps his head up at you and blanches—“Were you serious about the sex ban?” Face slack. Voice high. 

Now you’re just taken aback. “The one I set like two minutes ago? I-I don’t know, Toru, I just wanted you to get home-” 

“But I am home.” He responds. And as he takes a single step closer, a wave of charged atoms hit you like a faint forcefield - right now, you’re not even sure if Gojo knows his powers are leaking out like this. “But, I am—I am.” Your boyfriend insists, and there was a wide desperation in his blue eyes as though you wouldn’t believe him. “Were you serious about the sex ban?”

“Toru-”

“Were you serious about the sex ban?”

Like a mantra. 

He takes another step closer, and the pressure of his cursed energy was almost unbearable. “Were you serious about the sex ban?”

“Toru, no—it was just- oh.”

And you don’t know how it happens - one minute you’re attempting to placate your slightly-frenzied boyfriend about the joke you’d made minutes earlier. And the next, you’re being laid flat against the mattress—Gojo’s hands pushing down on your hips, his right knee pressing between your legs.

Feeling just how soaked you were through those sodden panties of yours- you had no idea how he even had the faintest inkling that seeing him so ruined made…something in you stir. Almost as if he had a sixth sense.

And his hypersensitive ears pick up the lecherous squeeeelch! that you’re letting off once he presses his knee down. 

“Fuck, you’re so…” Gojo’s coral pink lips part, glossed over with a sheen of slick that made it seem as though his mouth had been watering the entire way here. His head droops forward. His other hand starts to crackle with cursed energy—“Fuck, you’re so ready f’me.”

“Sa—toru…” You’re letting your heart race. You need him. And that’s all it takes for him to flinch- as though your mere tone saying his name awoke something in him. And the man is dragging his free left hand down your front - in a split-second, your clothes vaporize into thin air.

The dress you’d picked out especially for tonight. Your bra. Your garter.

All but your sodden panties.

He’s keeping that on. 

Reaching out one buzzing index, he juuuuuust pulls it to the side. Gojo doesn’t waste a single second before tugging his damn designer pants down and freeing himself. 

Showing you just the briefest flash of his rudded, ravaging hot tip—before you’re feeling it stuffin’ between your unsteady legs. Right between without waiting for you to get ready. Right between without waiting for you to accommodate him.

It’s so tight that he hisses.

And it seems that Gojo Satoru has just enough sense to wait until you’re catching your breath- before he reels his hips back and bucks. And bucks. And buuuuucks—teasing your entrance with the sheer stretch. Pummeling himself past that first clench of resistance to try n’ fit inside. He arches his spine to angle his cockhead against the roof of your pussy, “S-see?”

There’s a crack on the tail end of Gojo’s sentence. And you’re looking up at him in slight concern, “Yes?”

But he doesn’t even seem to hear - merely pulling his thickened erection back and stuttering out yet another strike. Sloppy. Into the deepest depths that he could reach at the moment, “See that?” And then back out- and then back in. The sequence continues. “See—”

And you’re not quite sure what you’re supposed to see- “What do you-”

“M’fucking you.” Cold chills sprint down your spine at the realization that this was that the ever-intelligent Gojo Satoru wanted to tell you. Was he really that gone on your pussy already? “And i-if I’m fucking you…I’m having sex with you.”

Your mind’s getting all muddled- whatever response you had locked-away in your throat getting mixed up with Gojo’s own groan. “Can’t have a sex ban if m’having s-sex with you.” He’s echoing out such a harrowed noise at the feeling of himself sliding even deeper.

Getting cushioned by your velvety walls.

Getting suctioned across every ridge n’ vein upon him.

All ten or so inches - yes, The Strongest also seemed to be the The Biggest - squeezing in through the tight channel. You were being thoroughly stretched-out, with his hand pinning one side of your hips so that you don’t squirm. And perhaps subconsciously breezing out the warm air of reversed cursed energy—all so that he doesn’t hurt you once he’s emptying out his solid shaft towards the bottom of your spongy cervix. 

Ending out with a reverberating thwack! right on your womb.

Bottomed-out.

Something you never thought possible so soon- with Gojo’s size.

And the man himself twitches just a bit as he takes in the vision between your swollen pussylips. Your folds spread wide open n’ your entrance attempting to clench around his swollen length- “See?” Gojo whispers out once more. “S-see—now m’never gonna leave from…”

“From?” But your question gets answered soon enough. Because your boyfriend runs a finger down your core, ending up at your mid-section- the circle of bright blue around his pupils starts to glow. 

And with Gojo’s Six Eyes, he can see exactly where his throbbing tip ended inside you. Smushed against your cervix in the most loving kiss - he presses down on that exact spot with a single finger. “-from here.” So muddled in the mind with his cock- you’ve almost forgotten what he was talking about. “I’m n-never gonna leave from here now, sweetheart.”

“Is that—oh, ngh.” His globular cockhead presses against the softened end of your pussy- but really it feels like he’s fucking right up to your very throat. Again and again. Thrust after thrust.

“It’s true.” And you genuinely wonder whether he can read your mind at this very moment. Because right now, Gojo had one hand latched onto your body n’ never letting go - all so that he can seep out reverse cursed energy into you.

So that he can drill into you like a damn animal—fucking his swollen, red cock in and out. In and out. In and out. Without fearing breaking a bone or two or you- “I swear.” Gojo lovingly nuzzles your throat, the complete opposite of how filthily he was fucking you. “I swear to not pull out-”

Your eyes widen, “You’re gonna c-cum inside, Toru?” And you can’t deny that you’re growing wetter at the fact…

“I swear to always kiss your cervix- ngh, that pretty womb every single time.” His mouth parts with a few dribbles of saliva. He was gone. “I swear to always fill you up over n’ over n’ over—until you overspill.”

And you couldn’t help but feel that these sounded oddly like wedding vows. “And- and—?”

“I swear to give you the best orgasms of your entire—” 

See, Gojo Satoru never had to try quite as much to get you to cum - he just knew your body that well. He was acquainted well enough with the cute sweet spots inside of you, he was well-versed in just how to make your pits of pleasure tick. He knew from experience where to hit your g-spot just right and in the same thrust bang against that one spot on your womb.

But now…now he isn’t using anything he knew. He wasn’t using anything he could think up.

Gojo was fucking you on pure, carnal instinct.

And it’s with such ferality that he angles his hips juuuust to the side- bludgeoning cockhead reaching the target of your bundle of nerves. You’re seeing white in an instant.

And as though that hadn’t been enough, Gojo reaches his hand down and spanks! his energy-covered fingertips down on your clit. The little sparks of jujutsu coursing through your veins and mingling with the constant thrashes he was pounding out at your g-spot. It’s with one-two-three more hits on top of your ravaged clit that you’re toppling over the edge of your high-

The vision of you cumming on his cock so, soooo fucking pretty…

“F-fuuuuck—” You’re hearing Gojo echo out in what seems like a distance. It was too hard to register with the dizzying sensations in your mind- his tip probin’ inside your cunt again and again and again.

Fucking you through each blissful bout of your high. He lets his lashes flutter just a bit—“S-squeezing me so tight.” Gojo’s voice cracks once he’s letting it out, visceral shivers wracking through his body. “So tight like you don’t wanna- ngh, let go.” His scalding lips fall on top of yours. “But you don’t have to…”

And then he’s veering into his own euphoria.

Pretty pinkish balls emptying out in looooong waves of dribblin’ slick- gooey and hot. Sticking to your walls like a layer of glaze, it gets sploshed about every time Gojo’s pinpointing your insides with his split-ended tip. The circular divot at the very end swervin’ about his white cum—filling you up.

You feel filled to the brim even before he’s done- and Gojo hums at the mess he’s made.

Still cumming. Still so much volume that it leaks out of you anyway - with more n’ more glittery wads of cum being added onto the pile, you couldn’t imagine just how much was going to end up inside you in the end.

How much of it was going to reach your very womb—

“I t-told you.” Gojo breathes out, deep blue eyes staring into yours. It’s just so mesmerizing to stare up into his enchanted look - so much so that you nearly don’t notice once he picks up your left hand. Placing a peck upon its back, “I kept all my oaths, didn’t I? I came home in time for Valentine’s- all your gifts are outside, by the way, my girl.”

You’re nodding dazedly. “You kept your promises, Toru.”

“My oaths.” He corrects - there was a difference, see? But before you can compute that difference, Gojo reaches a hand out towards the destroyed bedroom door- “And there’s another oath I want to make.”

And then it flies into his hand.

You think it might be a tight bundle of his blindfolds, at first. But it ends up being something more solid, something more cubic—something like…a ring box.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my wife.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 27th FEB. at 2:37PM

Overtime.

Throughout the course of your relationship until now, that dreaded ‘o’ word had remained your husband’s metaphorical mistress—and your worst enemy. Of course, Higuruma absolutely hated whenever you mentioned this - first of all, because he’d never, ever take a mistress.

Why would he, when he had you? His beautiful wife.

May lightning strike him down otherwise.

And secondly, because…well alright. Higuruma has to admit that that was the only qualm he had with your little comparison- because he was a self-admitted workaholic.

Whenever divorce season (you always thought this expression to be somewhat morbid, and he just claimed it was fact), or suing season, or some other multi-billion yen case came along—Higuruma and his firm would be thrown into a frenzy. Working long, sleepless nights.

Your husband slept more at his desk than in bed, those days.

Although it has calmed down somewhat since you two had moved in. Since you two had gotten married. 

The law firm had grown - and with it - the number of capable lawyers who could take on a share of cases. Higuruma didn’t have to do anything quite by himself anymore.

Higuruma was more in-check, remember?

Also, the fact that you were around him more—urging him to take care of himself more - likely helped. If he didn’t have you knocking at his home-office door and telling him that you were going to sleep now, then honestly he might just never sleep again. During those seasons, at least.

Except…well, except for this February.

February 14th.

Holed up in his office- he’d been half-way through the nth meeting that day. 

Some massive fraud case that they had in the bag - but the other team wasn’t too bad themselves. One could never be too confident in court. And so here they were, poring through the documents well into the evening when—Higuruma had glanced at his phone for a text from you. By chance.

And it was only then that he’d realized he’d missed Valentine’s Day.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He’d handed that meeting over to a junior and ran out immediately.

Nonetheless, Higuruma has missed his chance- no matter how many bouquets or chocolates he bought you. And so here he was, suffering from a sex ban.

Tortured by it.

Because of his own fault, most certainly. But that didn’t make his poor, neglected cock throb any less.

Still showing up to work with impeccable attendance (even earlier, actually) because the longer he stayed in your proximity, the more desperately he wanted to stuff your hole full. The more he’d think about it at work. The more he’d fantasize about just how wet you’d be when you finally lift this ban. The more he’d run to the bathroom whenever you called—fisting his cock furiously in there to the sound of your voice.

The more those around him grew slightly…concerned.

“S-sir?” His most-trusted junior was bounding up to him after nearly two weeks of this.

As Higuruma lifts his head up, he’s realizing that she’s followed by a froth of other juniors and staff. All seemingly coming to speak with him? Something must be amiss…“How may I help you?”

“Sir, actually—” She looks behind her and nods at the other attorneys. “Sir, we would like to tell you that you’ve been working so hard lately-”

“Well, yes-”

“And the case is so near to a close-”

“Certainly-”

“And we can handle it from here.”

“Oh.”

Kicked out of his own office (not quite, but close enough…). Higuruma Hiromi had been dismissed at the plea of his juniors, who’d clearly thought he’d been working himself to the bone—he’d gone home early for the first time in…his entire life.

And once he got home, Higuruma knew what he needed to do first.

First, he’d go up to you - his beautiful wife - and go a bit of grovelling. As all husbands should. Then he’d get on his knees, eat your pretty pussy—and then…

“P-please—” You’re throwing your head back. Cumming for about the third time in the past hour- Higuruma always had such an effort on you.

No matter how many years you two were together- that first taste of your pussy was always like heaven for him. He could see the pearly gates themselves openin’ up—and to him, it looked quite a lot like those swollen pussylips of yours.

Sensitive n’ splattered in a sheen of slick.

He rubs his thumb between your crevice and licks off those honeyed juices - greedy. Just before he’s swirlin’ his thickened tip around your gummy entrance and shoving inside—the first thrust.

All the way from his fat, mushroomy tip- to the tufts of curly brown at his base. 

Higuruma doesn’t even wait for you to accommodate his size. He doesn’t care if you’re struggling, he doesn’t care if your cunt quivers like you can’t take it all- because a single slide-slide-sliiiIiide down the channel of your pussy and he’s done for.

After not feeling you for soooo fucking long - and he’s immediately pussydrunk.

That stoic, stern attorney is pussydrunk.

“My- my angel—” An immediate scorching pant escapes him. It gusts against your face and leaves your heart racing- everything about Higuruma now just seemed feverish. 

Without a second sentence, he’s reeling his hips back. All the way from base to tip- one of his hands pins down against the side of your hips, the other guides his cock. 

Using it as leverage to lavish your insides with his drivelling pre. Honed, burrowing tip. And the rest of him was just so thiiiiick and covered in angry veins, harder than you ever think he’s been. He massages your cunt even with the tiniest of sultry movements, fucking you in tiny, rapid thrusts. Thrust after thrust.

Every inch of him stretchin’ out your walls just felt incredible-

“Shit—” You keen, arching your spine up into his. Higuruma still had his shirt only partly unbuttoned, and that formal tie of his still dangling from his neck. 

And he doesn’t say a thing.

Too focused on your cunt.

Too focused on perking his hips up just a bit- his ruddied tip swipes the roof of your cunt. Leaving you shocked at the pressure of him inside you, right before he’s funneling you with eeeeven more inches—fighting against the slight resistance at your first ring of muscle to fuck himself even deeper. Deeper. 

And he still doesn’t make a sound. 

He seems to be reaching for your very throat, and you whine. “Sh-shit, Hiromi.” As your legs start to ache n’ strain around his slender waist, your husband dips a hand down between your legs. Making you gasp as his expert fingers start toyin’ with your pretty clit - teasing and draaaagging that sensitive nub out till you start to sob. “Shit—fuck, Hiromi. Hold on-”

“Hold on?”

A chill runs down your spine.

Immediately, you’re snapping your head up to meet Higuruma’s dark, dilated eyes. His expression that seemed something feral—he’s rutting his hips once more. 

This time…this time, you’re realizing that he’d actually been holding back with his strikes earlier. Now, he was plummeting all those nine inches from tip to hilt without stopping. Without slowing down. Without sensually hittin’ at your sweet spots to help you take him better- he was drilling into you like he was crazed. “Hold on?”

Higuruma repeats.

And you can only peer up at him- “Y-yes?” Sobs and saliva clogging up your throat - you sounded pathetic to your own ears. “It was just a saying, Hiromi, I-”

“You want me to…fucking hold on?” Voice slightly breathy. Slightly gone. “I’ve waited-” And between those vicious thrusts that he was pounding upon your pussy, Higuruma spits out lewd whispers. “-waited for too fucking long to have her- and you want me to- fucking—hold—on—”

Three exact slams upon your spongy cervix, it makes you thoroughly squeal. “I-I was just saying-”

“I thought about this pussy every goddamn day and night and-” He was on a roll now. As if the more he rutted himself inside, the less he could control what he said—“-and during every fucking meeting—”

Serious black eyes staring down at you. You could see your own gaping expression reflected in them.

“I ran to the bathroom every morning when you’d call me-” He utters. Admits. “-just to fuck my hand to the sound of your voice—” And you don’t know what’s making your stomach churn more - the registering of his words, or the way that Higuruma thrusts in deep. So deep that he knocks against your womb. “-and you want me to fucking hold on?”

So deep that he’s cumming.

Loooooong, miry stripes of seed that stick to your walls. 

They dribble down your insides. That glaze every inch of you in a creamy white- splashin’ around your insides and coating every nook n’ cranny. It just feels so sizzling hot inside of you, and you’re shivering at the feeling of him warming you up from the inside - saturated sap leaving you whimpering at the noise. The warmth.

He fucks his webs of seed deeper inside. And you raise your head up ever-so-slightly and watch as it dribbles out of you.

And Higuruma can’t help but do the same-

“Fuck…” He breathes. “S-so are we about to hold off on that pregnancy, too?”

.

.

.

“Boss-” Higuruma turns his head at the address of his title - none other than the very same junior from yesterday. She shuffled slightly before him, almost nervous to voice out such thoughts—“You seem well today, sir.”

Higuruma hums, “Is that so?”

She nods eagerly. “Your dark circles have cleared up- and you seem to be glowing. Alert. A bit more sharp than you were yesterday…” Assessing all of him- “You just seem happier than you’ve been in days, sir. Is the fraud case really going that well?”

And he has to hide a smile with the paper he was holding. “You could say that…”

A/N. No idea why this turned into them also trying to get us pregnant- maybe I’m ovulating??

"Zayne-fuck" Your nails were digging into his thigh to steady yourself, other hand wrapped around his hand that was steadying you against the dresser that shifted and groaned with every punishing thrust of Zayne's hips against yours "Plea-please slow down"

Your request fell on deaf ears, Zayne's fingers moving lower as he pulled on your clit, making you gasp before he lifted one of your legs onto the dresser and pushed your face even closer to the mirror "I'm waiting, sweetheart"

His words were a far cry from his condescending tone; one he would never have been using on you if not for the fact that your behavior had upset him so. The result of which had been him stripping you of all your clothes and pinning you in front of the first mirror he saw.

"Zayne!" You cried, steadying yourself with a hand on the flat surface as you went on your tiptoe, trying to give your other knee some relief from having to support both you and your stubborn fiancé's weight "You've made your point-!"

"Hardly" His face was right beside yours, staring at you in the mirror with a twisted sort of satisfaction as he saw the tears springing in your eyes "If you don't want to be stuck here all night, you better start talking, darling"

With Zayne's curved tip hitting your sweet spot so deliciously and perfect, you could hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears, let alone form a single, coherent thought to piece together what he was asking of you "I-" You gulped, eyes closing off their own accord as your head rested against his shoulder "I-I can't!"

For a long moment, nothing changed before his hand lowered from your jaw to your bare breasts, palming the entire globe in his hand roughly, his thrusts slowing down till he stopped completely, your eyes snapping open when he pulled at your nipple while his vicious voice whispered in your ear "Yes, you fucking can. Because I will never stand for hearing such nonsense from you again"

To hear your ever calm and ever composed fiancé curse like this was a true testament to how badly you'd angered him "Zayne-" You tried to turn to look at him, but he wasn't having it, preventing any movements.

"Repeat after me" His long fingers abandoned your clit and found your jaw again, turning you towards the mirror "I am beautiful-" When you hesitated, his other hand reared back and slapped your tit, the sting lingering as your mouth fell open "Say it" He gritted out.

"I'm beautiful" Your voice was small and barely audible, neither of which Zayne would accept as he moved along, heat rising to your cheeks in mortification, making you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

"So beautiful that my fiancé doesn't know what he did to deserve me"

Your body was burning in embarrassment but as Zayne's hand came down on your breast again, you scramble to get the words out "So beautiful that my fiancé doesn't know what he did to deserve me!"

"Keep your eyes open" Zayne murmurs, other hand also finding your neglected breast as he starts roughly massaging them between his palms "I am a capable, accomplished woman"

Your eyes find Zayne's in the mirror but he's already looking at you, determined and single-minded in what he set out to accomplish. Gulping, you repeat his words back to him.

"And my soon-to-be husband's feats fall short of mine"

You try to turn to protest but Zayne tsks, not letting you look away for a single moment as your agitation flares at the surface "And my soon-to-be-husband's feats fall short of mine"

"I am wholly deserving-" Zayne pulls out completely and finally thrusts back into you, making you moan loud and wanton as he goes on "-of every good thing in this universe"

"Iamwhollydeservingofeverygoodthinginthisuniverse" You're pushing your hips back against him to urge him to move, catching Zayne's smirk in the mirror, his lips descending against the jaw that still has his fingerprints marked deep into them.

"Including- no, especially my husband"

The initial embarrassment of having to repeat these words back to yourself has washed away and amusement replaces it as you raise your eyebrows at his usage of the word husband.

"Especially my boyfrien-" Zayne doesn't let you finish, squeezing your ass and pushing you further over the surface of the vanity "Zayne!"

"I am a Goddess" He goes on, murmuring into your skin, his breath hot against your nape as you watch his midnight mop of hair trailing kisses down your neck "who my husband worships"

Watching your flushed skin, your fiancé husband wrapped around you on all sides, with your faces so close to the mirror that you were about to collide with it, you feel yourself warm from the inside out. You don't notice any of the insecurities that had plagued you all night, that had made you feel small next to Zayne at your own engagement party, that had made you feel like you were suffocating, had made you question whether Zayne had made the correct decision for himself or not.

"I am a Goddess" You're repeating to yourself in the mirror, no longer ashamed to hold eye contact with yourself, not with this man worshipping you like it came to him as easily as breathing "who my husband worships"

Zayne's smile is prominent in the way he kisses your shoulder, his thrusts resuming with a newfound vengeance as you go on without his prompting, turning your face over your shoulder to look at the man you loved "I am cherished" You tell him and you can see the light in his eyes, the happiness circling his irises "I am loved" His lips find yours, kissing you so hard, the sides of your faces do end up colliding with the mirror but you're undeterred, your fingers finding a home in his dark tresses and pulling him impossibly closer.

"And I'm strong enough to be able to love you"

Zayne groans, his grip on your hip punishing as he thrusts against you at an animalistic pace, holding you upright, whispering praise against your skin- so beautiful, unreal, can't believe you're mine, you're so perfect, made for me, mine, all mine, my wife, my wife, my wife.

When you finally fall apart for him, he's watching you. The way your skin is glowing, the bruised skin, how you're milking him from everything he's worth with the way your pussy is convulsing around him, making him shoot his load into you with a defeated groan. Zayne could not even begin to comprehend that you believed you were meant for anyone but him.

As if reading his thoughts, with your head resting against his chest where he was holding you steady against him, you look at him in the mirror again. You had one final affirmation to say. One that you'd believe your entire life "There will never be anyone else for me"

“what’s his name again?” you asked your husband earlier, feigning disinterest as you sipped casually from your cup like your thighs weren’t already pressing together under the table.

he barely looked up from his phone. “fushiguro. toji, i think. owns the company.”

toji.

you murmured it under your breath. tasted it like sugar on your tongue. let it linger, slow-melting at the back of your throat. it stayed there, simmering, while your husband went back to checking emails like the man outside wasn’t sculpted to ruin marriages. the kind of built that made you question your own vows. the kind of built that made you wonder if the devil did, in fact, wear carhartt.

and now he’s in your house. not even fifteen minutes ago, he knocked on the backdoor, asking to use the bathroom real quick. smiled at you when you opened it, flashing that cocky little smirk. called you “ma’am” and dragged his eyes down your body so slow you swore your knees wobbled. and you— fucking traitor— you let him in.

he didn’t go to the bathroom. not really.

he’s in your kitchen now. behind you. one hand shoved between your thighs, the other curled tight around your throat, pressing your back to his chest while his mouth drags hot filth across the shell of your ear.

“look at you,” he growls, breath thick and cocky as his fingers glide over the soaked cotton between your legs, “drippin’ through your fuckin’ shorts. is this what you do when your husband’s gone? act like a tease? bend over for strange men who knock on your door?”

your breath stutters. hips twitch. the counter edge bites into your stomach as you grab it for support. “he’s- he’s right outside,” you pant, voice trembling, shame curdling with heat. “he could walk in any second—”

“then i’d go faster,” he laughs, mean and low, already dragging your waistband down. “bend you over the sink, fuck you right here in front of him. let him see what his little housewife sounds like when she’s actually full.”

you gasp— sharp, scandalized, aching— and he grins against your skin like he’s won. you try to look back, to protest, to say anything, but he’s already got your shorts and panties around your thighs in one rough tug, his belt clinking open behind you with a slow metallic slide that makes your breath catch. practiced hands. greedy hands.

“wait—” you whisper, panicked, already pulsing between your legs from the thrill.

smack!

his palm lands hard on your ass, echoing loud off the tile.

“don’t start now,” he grunts, grabbing your hips and manhandling you into place. “you knew what this was the second you opened the door in those tiny fuckin’ shorts. you wanted this. wanted to be used, didn’t you?”

you don’t answer. can’t. not before he’s inside.

deep.

the first thrust punches the air from your lungs. your whole body seizes around him— choked gasp, lips parted, no sound. he’s so thick it feels like he’s rearranging everything inside you, like he’s been waiting for this moment since he saw you through the glass that morning— pretty little housewife in a too-tight tank, sipping iced coffee like a whore in disguise.

“fuck,” he huffs, already grinding in slow and brutal, the stretch unbearable. “this pussy’s tight. ain’t no way your husband’s filling you like this. probably finishes before he even gets halfway in.”

you whimper, face hot, shame sticky and loud in your chest. “stop- don’t talk about him—” slap. his hand finds your ass again, harder this time. your knees buckle on impact.

“why not?” he sneers. “gonna act shy now? you weren’t shy when you bent over the counter. weren’t shy when you looked me up and down like you knew i’d fuck the attitude outta you.”

he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks your head back until your spine arches and your cunt tightens around him from the new angle. then he fucks you— hard. relentless. thick hips slamming against your ass like a man on a mission. it’s vulgar. fast. wet. your slick drips down your thighs and his cock hits that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

“quiet,” he spits, biting at your jaw. “you wanna get caught? wanna let your sweet little husband hear what this married cunt sounds like when she’s actually used?”

you whine, broken, drooling against the counter.

“yeah,” he grunts, slapping your ass again as your body jerks under him. “that’s what i thought. fuckin’ housewife act, and you’re clenching around me like a goddamn slut.”

he leans down, presses his mouth to your ear, and you swear you feel his smirk as he growls, “go ahead, baby. cum for me. let that cunt squeeze me like it needs it.”

and you do.

you cum so violently your knees give out and he has to hold you up, one arm banded tight around your waist while the other fists your hair, hips still rolling deep through every pulse of your orgasm. your walls flutter around him like you’re trying to milk him for everything he’s worth.

“fuck,” he groans, rutting into you harder. “you feel that? feel how deep i am, huh? bet you like it. bet you want me to stuff you full right here while your husband’s out there talkin’ about fertilizer.”

you’re not even pretending anymore. there’s no point in resisting, no point in feeling guilty. you want it. the filth. the risk. him.

“please,” you choke out, voice raw, face slick with tears and sweat and spit. “please, cum in me. want it, toji- want you to fill me up—”

that’s all it takes.

he slams in deep and stays there, cock twitching, groaning low in your ear as thick ropes of cum flood your cunt. his fingers dig into your hips, bruising, holding you still as you tremble and shake and take every single drop. you feel the wet heat leaking down your thighs, your pussy clenching around him like it needs the mess.

he doesn’t pull out straight away. just stays there, breathing hard, his cock still nestled deep inside as if he can’t bear to leave your body. then, with a low groan, he finally withdraws— slowly— watching his cum spill out of you, dripping onto your thighs, down your legs, onto the floor.

you flinch when he reaches for the paper towels, but all he does is wipe the mess between your legs with an offhanded casualness that makes your face burn. he moves with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times, treating your body with the same careless efficiency he’d use on a countertop.

“thanks for the hospitality,” he mutters, licking his thumb to swipe a streak of mascara from your cheek. “tell your husband the lawn’s comin’ along nice.”

then he tucks himself back in, buckles his belt, and walks out the door as if nothing happened, back into the sun, back to his crew, back to pointing at grass while your body’s wrecked from the inside out.

you barely have time to breathe before the back door swings open yet again.

“hey babe!” your doting husband chirps, wiping sweat from his brow as he leans in to kiss your cheek. “that toji guy’s great, huh?”

you smile. sweet. polite. like you’re not full of someone else’s cum.

“yeah,” you say, smoothing your shirt. “he’s got a really good… technique.”

Your penmanship, loops and swirls of diplomatic correspondence, had done this. Had summoned him from his throne, from the matters of curses and domains and territories he claimed to prioritize over you.

His lower hands gripped the meat of your hips, fingers dimpling the flesh hard enough to bruise. The upper set bracketed your shoulders, one palm flattening against the back of your skull, the other splayed across your spine, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"You think I cannot read between the lines, woman?" His voice rumbled through his chest, through the floor, through you. "The way you dot your i's. The curve of your p's. Practically begging."

What the fuck is he talking about? You thought momentarily.

You tried to shake your head, to protest, but he pressed down harder, your cheek grinding against the ruined letter. The ink smeared, your words becoming illegible. ‘Your Excellency, the eastern territories require-’

His cocks pressed against you, both of them. The weight of them settled against the cleft of your ass, the slick heat of your cunt, and you could feel every throbbing inch, every ridged vein. He hadn't even entered you yet, and already your thighs were trembling.

"The last time you wrote to me," he continued, his voice dropping into something darker, something that made your stomach clench, "you signed it with such care. Such precision."

His hips rolled, the heavy shafts dragging against your wetness, coating themselves in the arousal that had started the moment you heard his footsteps. "I kept it. Did you know that? Between the pages of texts even I shouldn't possess."

The thought of him sitting in his private chambers, reviewing your neat, proper handwriting with those crimson eyes, touching the paper the way he touched you. "You are strange," you breathed, and the words came out wrong. Came out worshipful.

His laugh was low, mean, the sound vibrating through the stomach-mouth that pressed against your lower back. That mouth's tongue-forked, hungry-licked a wet stripe up your spine, tasting your salt, your fear, your desperate want.

"My ‘strangeness’ you seem to enjoy," he agreed, and there was no shame in his voice.

The first cock nudged against your entrance, the blunt head spreading you open, and you gasped, your fingers scrabbling at the sheets. He didn't push in.

He waited, letting you feel the threat of it. His pink hair had fallen across his brow, sweat already beginning to darken the strands. His eyes were half-lidded, blown wide with lust, the red irises nearly swallowed by black.

"You want to know what I did with your letter, little scribe?"

"I-" Your voice cracked when he shifted, the head of his cock catching against your clit, sliding through your folds with deliberate cruelty. "What did you do?" His grin split wider, and his hips snapped forward. The first cock buried itself to the hilt in one brutal stroke, and your scream was swallowed by the pillows, by his hand, by the sheer size of him stretching you open.

Your vision whited out, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your body fought to accommodate him. He was too big. He was always too big, and you would never get used to it, would never stop feeling like a vessel being filled beyond capacity.

"Touched myself with it," he growled against your ear, his breath hot, his chest pressing against your back. The second cock nestled against the first, pressing against your stretched rim, threatening to join it.

"Wrapped that pretty letter around my cock and imagined it was your throat. Your cunt. Your hand." You moaned, long and broken, and he laughed again, cruel and delighted.

"Got it all wet. Ruined your neat little words. Couldn't even read the damn thing after, just a mess of ink.” He thrust, shallow and sharp, making you jolt.

His lower hands slid up your sides, claws dragging against your ribs, not breaking skin but promising they could. The upper hands returned to their positions, one on your head, one on your spine.

He pulled out until only the tip remained, letting your body clutch at him, desperate to keep him inside, then slammed back in with enough force to shove you up the bed. Your knees slid against the silk, your nails tore at the fabric.

"Count," he ordered, and the word was ragged, his composure beginning to crack.

"What?" His hand tightened in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine arched, until you could see the ceiling, the shadows, the madness in his eyes.

"Every letter. Every word you used to tempt me." His hips snapped harder, faster, the second cock now pressing against your entrance, the pressure building, building, building. "I want to hear you apologize for each one."

"I wasn't-"

"One," he commanded, and his second cock pushed in. Your body seized. Your mind went blank. The stretch was unimaginable, two of him filling you, splitting you, rearranging your insides until you weren't sure where he ended, and you began. The burn was fire, was pleasure, was pain, was everything all at once, and you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, all you could do was feel. "Say it."

"One," you sobbed, and he rewarded you with a thrust that made your toes curl.

"Good girl. Next word. The first one that made me hard."

"T-Territories," you gasped, because that was the first word you could recall, the one that started it all.

His laugh was dark, approving. "Territories. Yes. You wanted to discuss territories with me." He punctuated the word with a thrust that made your eyes roll back. “As if,” he scoffed. The hand in your hair released you, and you slumped forward, gasping, only to feel his palm come down on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap.

The sound echoed through the chambers, mixing with your cry, with the wet slap of his hips against your skin. "Keep going."

"E-Eastern," you managed, your voice breaking.

"Eastern territories." Another slap, harder this time, and you could feel the heat blooming across your skin, the imprint of his hand spreading like a brand onto your flesh.

His pace grew brutal, insane, the bed shaking beneath you, the headboard cracking against the wall. He was lost in it now, in you, all pretense of control dissolving into pure, animal need. His claws dug into your hips, his teeth grazed your shoulder, and the mouth on his stomach pressed open-mouthed kisses against your back, tasting every inch of skin it could reach.

"R-Respectfully-" you tried, and he laughed so hard his rhythm stuttered.

"That's it. That's the sound I kept your letter for." His voice was ragged now, his hips pistoning, his skin slapping against yours with a rhythm that bordered on violence.

Your climax was building, a wave so high you couldn't see the top, couldn't breathe for the pressure of it. He felt it too. The way your cunt was squeezing him, milking him, trying to pull him deeper, trying to keep him forever.

"Cum," he ordered, and his voice was absolute, was law. "Cum on my cocks and show me what you wrote that letter for."

The orgasm ripped through you like a blade, like fire, like every nerve in your body igniting at once. Your back arched, your mouth opened in a silent scream, and your cunt clamped down on him so hard he groaned, long and deep, his rhythm faltering as you pulsed around him, as your slick gushed down his shafts, as you painted him with the proof of your pleasure.

Your body was still spasming when he pushed through it, still shaking when he fucked you through the aftershocks, still gasping when he finally, finally let himself go.

His hips slammed into you one last time, burying both cocks to the hilt, and you felt him pulse inside you, felt the hot flood of his release fill you, spill out of you, drip down your thighs in thick, white ropes.

He came for what felt like minutes, his body shuddering against yours, his arms tightening until you couldn't move. You let your body slump against the sheets; you know you will be here for a while.

CHOSO ♡ KAMO

"Hello everyone! Welcome back to the stream." You greeted your camera, adjusted to an unfamiliar angle in an unfamiliar room. Choso's fingers hovered over his keyboard to ask where you were, even if he knew. He couldn't let his top commenter spot go.

The chat exploded with greetings and comments about the unexpected stream. You're usually strict on your schedule, and multiple streams in one week were rare.

T3_Sahur: ur better than El Cinco Yuki Supremacy: Haii!! Can you please play the new update of the last stream's game???? SixSevenEyes: {@T3_Sahur} ur taking it too far, el cinco tops

"Okay, okay! No game today, just wanted to talk." You interacted with chat for a bit. Usually, Choso was the first to comment and get noticed by you, but his hands were busy stroking his cock to your voice. He had missed it since he last saw you. Begging for you to take him to New York with you, it was only for a day, but the thought of you being so far away for so long was too much on his heart, and the dwindling supply of lotion.

He double-clicked his mouse, zooming in on your face. The comments were distracting, and instead of saying their usernames and repeating comments, he wished you'd say his name. Call out to him, touch him, tell him what to do next.

His hands were nothing like yours, so soft and pretty. He imagined yours instead of his, stroking his cock, bringing him closer to the edge. Grabbing his phone from off the ledge, he took a picture of cock. The notification sounded through the screen. Picking up your phone, your eyes widened suddenly. Quickly looking up at your monitor, making sure the audience could not see the obscene picture Choso had sent.

Under the photo, he typed impatiently, 'Say my name plzz.'

Your hand darts out, phone face down on the desk before anyone can see. The motion is too quick.

KenjakuFanAccount: oop what was that lovesick_angel: did ur phone scare u LOL RamenKing55: sus

You laugh it off, the sound tight in your throat. "Sorry, sorry. Just the notification scared me. You know how it is."

Your fingers itch to pick the phone back up, to look at the picture again, his thick cock, pink at the tip, wetness beading at the slit, his hand wrapped around the base with those silver rings glinting.

Three dots. He's typing.

Choso: i miss u so much it hurts Choso: ur so pretty on camera Choso: please say it

"Um—" Your voice cracks. You grab your water bottle, take a long sip, and let the cool liquid ground you. "No, I haven't been there," you hummed. Picking up your phone, pretending to look up the restaurant. Instead of a Google search, it was different angles of your boyfriend's cock begging for you.

"Choso would love it there."

He moaned into your panties, taking them from the laundry. He needed you on him, and this was the closest he was going to get to smelling your sweet pussy. His tongue lapped up the gusset, tasting the leftover fluids on his tongue.

His hips buck into his fist at the sound of his name falling from your lips. Choso. The way you said his name could make him cum in his pants, no matter how many times you've said it.

He wished you weren't currently sitting in a hotel room thousands of miles away while he was suffocating himself in your worn panties, cock leaking all over his stomach.

The screen blurs for a moment as his eyes roll back. He blinks rapidly, forcing himself to focus on your face.

His phone buzzes again, but he doesn't pick it up. Can't. Both hands are occupied now—one fisting his cock, the other pressing your panties to his face so hard the elastic digs into his cheeks. He inhales deep, greedy, like a man drowning. The scent of you floods his lungs, settles in his chest, makes his head spin.

On screen, you're talking about something. The restaurant. Some place he's never heard of, some place you went without him. The thought makes something dark curl in his gut. His grip tightens, thumb swiping over the head of his cock, spreading pre-cum down the shaft. He should be there. He should be in you, not jerking off to your voice.

"I think he'd order the spiciest thing on the menu," you're saying, and your voice has gone softer now, more distracted. Your eyes flick down to your phone, then away. "He's like that. Can't help himself. Always to the extreme."

Choso whines, the sound muffled by the cotton pressed against his mouth.

The chat scrolls faster.

AppleBottomJeans: who's choeso??? RamenKing55: {@AppleBottomJeans} her bf bro catch up SixSevenEyes: El cinco better

He wants to comment. Wants to type something, anything, just to see his name in the chat, to have you read it aloud in your voice that makes his balls draw up tight.

"Anyway," you say suddenly, sitting up straighter. The movement makes your shirt— his shirt, he realizes with a jolt that has pre-cum dripping down his knuckles, rides up, showing a strip of skin he wants to sink his teeth into.

His free hand leaves his cock, grabbing his phone with shaking fingers. The screen is slick with pre-cum, but he doesn't care. He opens the camera, angles it down, takes a picture of his flushed cock, the veins standing out, the way his balls are drawn up tight and aching.

He doesn't type anything this time. Just sends it. Watches your face as your phone buzzes again.

You don't pick it up immediately this time. You keep talking, something about the trip, about the project, about the schedule. But your eyes keep darting to the phone. Your leg is bouncing under the desk. Your chest is rising and falling a little faster than it should be.

Please, he thinks, gripping his cock again, stroking slowly and deliberately. He begs you to pick it up. Look at it. Think about him inside you, filling you up.

The phone buzzes again. And again. He's sent three more photos now, each one filthier than the last. Finally, you pick it up.

Your eyes widen. Your throat works as you swallow. And Choso watches, hypnotized, as your thighs press together under the desk. "Sorry," you say, and your voice is rough now, strained. "Just someone keeps texting me. It's distracting."

You laugh, but it's hollow. "It's not important."

Choso's hand stills. He's typing before he can stop himself, thumbs flying across the screen.

Choso: no one important??? Choso: i made u cum three times before i left Choso: remember? u were crying so pretty on my cock

Your phone buzzes five times in quick succession. You don't pick it up. You keep talking, keep pretending, but your hand is trembling where it rests on the desk.

His cock aches. Fist fucking his cock vigorously. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he comes. Bringing the fabric from his face, he presses it to the tip of his cock, soaking the fabric in his cum. He sends another picture. This one is your panties stretched over his cock, the fabric dark and wet.

"I have to go," you say suddenly, and your voice cracks on the last word. "Stream's over. I'll schedule something for next week. Bye."

The screen goes black. A few moments later, a message pops up. Pink panties, the gusset soaked in your juices. 'Just wait till I get home.'

He knows you intended it as a warning, but it only made his cock grow harder.

TOJI ♡ FUSHIGURO

Toji rarely checked his phone during a job; however, boredom was taking over. His hands fiddling with the earpiece readily in his ear. The vibration of his phone in his deep pockets was an escape from the stakeout.

Three full days of torture, not only had he not left the truck, but he didnt even get to see his sweet wife. If it weren't for the payout, he would never take jobs like these. Green eyes narrow against the glare, expecting another useless update from the client.

Instead, his thumb hovers. A message from you. A picture. He clicks it before he can think. It's a mirror shot.

Your phone is angled just so, a big black shirt hanging off your skin. A loose hand pulling at the collar, a bit of cleavage peaking through the material. The bathroom light catches the sheen of what looks like oil on your skin, highlighting the plush swell of your thigh. Your lips are visible in the reflection, parted slightly.

Toji's jaw tightens. His cock, already half-hard from days of nothing but monotony, was pulsing against his thigh. He can almost feel the warmth of your skin under his palms, the way you'd arch into him if he pressed you against the cool bathroom mirror.

A low, guttural sound rumbles in his chest. His grip on the phone tightens until the plastic creaks. He can practically hear the wet, slick sounds his fingers could make, can picture the way your lips would part, the little breathy gasps you'd let out accompanied by his name.

He doesn't think. He hits the call button. It rings once. Twice. His patience, already a frayed wire, snaps.

"Pick up," he growls to the empty truck, his voice a gravelly rasp.

On the third ring, there's a click, and then your voice.

“Toji?"

"Nah," he cuts off, his voice low. "Don't just send me shut like that and play it cool." His own hand drops from the phone, palming the heavy, aching length of his cock through his cargo pants. The coarse material rubs against the sensitive head, and he has to bite back a groan.

"My day was great, thank you," you scoffed, "I can't miss you?" he could hear the faint sound of water running and turning off.

"I missed you too," he grunts, finally giving in and unzipping his pants. He's thick, heavy in his own hand, the skin hot. He wraps his fingers around the base, giving a slow, tight stroke. "Talk to me, baby. What are you doing?"

“Just got out of the shower, might watch a movie,” you hummed, voice soft against the microphone. The sound of a drawer sliding open, the soft jostle of fabric.

"Don't," he says, "Don't put anything on yet."

"What?"

"The movie. Keep talking to me," he rasps, working his fist up his shaft, pre-cum beading at the tip. "Haven't heard your voice in ages."

There's a pause, the soft pad of bare feet against tile. Then the whisper of fabric, the rustle of cotton sliding over skin. He can picture the shirt falling against your thighs, the way the worn material would cling to the curve of your breasts. “It's been three days, Toji,” you chuckled softly.

“That's a long time,” he groaned. The sound of your soft laugh crackles through the speaker, and he swears he can feel it against his neck. He fists himself tighter, slower, the way you like it when he's being mean.

"A long time," you echo, voice low. "You sound busy."

"Just sittin' in a truck," he grits out, thumb swiping over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. The movement makes his hips jerk, a barely restrained snap of muscle. "B-bored out my fuckin' mind."

"Bored?" The word lilts up at the end, and he hears the soft creak of the bed. The one he should be in right now should be pressed against you, not sitting in some stale truck. "Or lonely?"

"Both," he growls, and he can hear the edge in his own voice. The one that usually makes you shiver, makes you press your thighs together. "Miss you. Miss watchin' you fall apart on my cock."

A sharp exhale from your end. The rustle of sheets.

He closes his eyes and sees it: you sprawled across their bed, that black shirt riding up your thighs, your hand drifting down. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he breathes, working his length in firm, practiced strokes. His forearm flexes, veins standing out against scarred skin. "You touchin' yourself right now, baby? Got that hand between your legs?"

"Maybe," you whisper, and he can hear the smile in your voice.

His grip tightens. "Don't play with me."

"I'm not playing," you purred, and the hitch in your breath tells him everything. Your fingers are doing exactly what he'd be doing if he were there. Circling slowly. Teasing. "Just...thinking about you."

"Sure." His strokes get rougher, the wet sounds of his fist working his cock filling the truck. “What're you thinkin' about, sweetheart? How I'd have you bent over that sink? How would I pull that wet hair back and make you watch yourself in the mirror while I fuck you slowly?"

Your breath stutters. "Toji.”

"That's right," he grunts, voice dropping lower, meaner. "Want you spread open on my cock, just how you like it.”

"Yes," you gasp, and he knows you're not just playing along. He knows that breathy little sound, the way it cracks in the middle. Your fingers are buried inside yourself right now, curling just right. "Wish you were here.”

"Missed you," you whimper, and he hears the wet sounds of your fingers moving faster, faster. "Missed your cock. Missed how full you make me."

"I'll be back soon," he promises, voice ragged. He's pumping his fist in rhythm with the sounds coming through the phone, the slick slide of your fingers, your desperate little gasps. "Gonna fill this pussy up so good. Gonna fuck you 'til you can't walk straight."

"You better," you gasp. "Please, Toji, I'm-"

"I know," he cuts you off, his own release coiling hot and tight at the base of his spine. "Let me hear it. Wanna hear you come for me."

Your soft moans echo through the speaker, and it sends him over. He comes with a guttural sound, thick ropes of it spilling over his knuckles, hitting the steering wheel, his thigh.

His hips jerk through it, muscles locked tight, eyes screwed shut as he pictures your face, your slick fingers, the way your thighs would shake against his hips.

"Who taught you to talk like that?” you questioned, a yawn escaping your lips.

"Don't worry about it." He glances down at the mess on his hand, the streak of white across his cargo pants. You snicked through the phone. "Clean yourself up, sweetheart. Don't want you fallin' asleep all sticky."

A soft laugh. "Sure."

The line clicks, and he's left in the dark again, the truck's stale air pressing in. But his skin is still humming, your voice still ringing in his ears. He looks at the picture one more time before he swipes it closed, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

A voice comes through his ear, “Fushiguro. Heres a small reminder. I can hear you in the fucking truck. With the earpiece in your ear,” Shiu’s voice laced with anger. It took everything in Toji not to laugh.

“Next time, take it off!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hope you enjoyed the show.”

SUGURU ♡ GETO

The phone buzzes against the polished wood of the altar.

Suguru doesn’t look at it immediately. His fingers are steepled beneath his chin, dark eyes half-lidded as he listens to the droning supplication of a new follower, some desperate woman with trembling hands and a story about curses that he’s already forgotten.

The phone buzzes again.

He exhales slowly through his nose, patience thinning. His long fingers slide across the altar’s surface, retrieving the device with a languid grace that makes the woman’s voice falter mid-sentence. She watches him, wide-eyed.

The screen glows.

His thumb stills over the image, veins in his hand tightening as he registers what exactly he’s looking at. The new robes. The ones he had tailored for you personally, silk that cost more than these monkeys' monthly offerings. But you’ve adjusted them. The obi sits too low on your hips, loosened. The collar hangs open, exposing the slope of your shoulder, the pale column of your throat, the shadowed valley between your breasts where the fabric pools like spilled wine.

Miss you.

Suguru’s jaw ticks. His tongue runs along the inside of his teeth.

He looks up at the woman kneeling before him, her mouth still moving around words he no longer hears.

“We’ll continue this another time,” he says, and there’s no room for argument in his voice. The woman scrambles to her feet, bowing so low her forehead nearly touches the tatami.

He doesn’t watch her go. His attention has already returned to the phone, thumb dragging across the screen to pull the image up again.

He waits until the shoji screen slides shut, until the footsteps fade down the corridor. It rings once before you pick up. He hears the breath you let out, the way it shudders at the edges.

“Suguru.”

He leans back in his seat, the carved wood digging into his spine, and lets his voice drop to that register he knows makes your thighs press together. “Texting me in the middle of my work.”

“You said you liked the robes.” Your voice is light, “I wanted to show you how they fit.”

“Is that what you were doing?” His fingers trace the screen again, tracing the shape of your hip through the silk. “Looked to me like you were doing something else.”

He hears the soft exhale of your laugh, the rustle of fabric. He imagines you shifting where you’re sitting— probably his bed, he thinks.

“I was thinking about you,” you say.

“Yeah?” His thumb presses the speaker icon, sets the phone down on the altar beside him. The image stays up, bathing the dark wood in soft light. “Tell me exactly what you were thinking.”

“I was thinking,” you start, and your voice has dropped, gone husky in that way that makes his cock twitch against his thigh, “about the last time you had me in these. How you said the purple made my skin look…”

He remembers dragging the silk up your thighs, bunching it around your waist. You’d gasped when he pressed his mouth to the inside of your knee, your hip, the soft swell of your belly. He’d worked his way up slowly until you were trembling apart beneath him.

“I remember,” he says quietly.

“Suguru.”

“Did you get the robes wet, sweetheart? After you took that picture?” His hand moves without thinking, palm pressing against the front of his trousers. “Tell me.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then the unmistakable sound of fabric shifting. You’re moving, he realizes. Settling back against something. He can picture you perfectly, hair spread across his pillows, one hand still holding the phone, the other drifting down your stomach.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Continue,”

“I thought…” Another rustle. Your voice goes tighter. “I thought you might tell me to touch myself. Since you’re not here to do it.”

Suguru’s eyes close. His thumb circles the head of his cock through the fabric, pressure just shy of enough. He can feel himself hardening fully now, pressing against the confines of his robes.

“Put the phone down,” he ordered. “Prop it up. I want to see you.”

He hears the clatter of the device being set against something. He picks his phone back up, switches to video.

You’re sprawled across his bed like an offering, the robes still half-on, half-off, the silk bunched around your hips in dark purple waves. One of your hands is pressed flat against your stomach, fingers just grazing the waistband of the robes. The other is beside your head, fingers curled into the sheets.

“There you are,” he purrs, watching you shiver at the sound of his voice. “Look at you. Gorgeous.”

“Come home,” you whisper, voice begging for him and his attention.

“Soon.” He traces your shape on the screen, wishing it were skin. “You know I would if I could. But I’ve got business to finish here.”

“More important than me?”

The question is teasing, but there’s an edge to it. He knows this game. “We have a mission.” He undoes the ties of his robes, letting them fall open. Watches your eyes go wide and dark on the screen. “But you’re the one who sent me that picture in the middle of my meeting. So you can wait a little longer, can’t you?”

You swallow. “How long?” There's a hint of disappointment underneath your tone.

“Patience, love, patience.” His hand wraps around his cock, gives it a slow, deliberate stroke. “Now. Show me what you were doing before I called.” Your thighs press together, but your hand slides lower, fingers hooking into the silk. You push the fabric aside, bare and wet, the folds of your cunt glistening in the dim light.

“That’s it.” His voice has gone rough, thumb swiping over his tip, collecting leaking pre-cum. Your fingers slide through your slick, spreading it, and a sound escapes your throat that he feels in his own. His hand moves faster, matching the rhythm you’re starting to build.

The room is silent except for the wet sounds of you touching yourself, the soft hitch of your breath, the occasional groan he lets slip.

“Wish that was me,” he says, watching your fingers circle your clit. “Wish I were there. I’d spread you open on this cock so slow you’d feel every inch. Make you beg for it.”

“Sugu-” Your voice breaks, hips lifting off the bed. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please talk to me. Tell me what you’d do.”

He leans forward, eyes fixed on the screen. His hand hasn’t stopped moving, the rhythm steady and punishing.

“I’d start with that pretty mouth,” he says, voice low. “Been too long since I felt those lips around me. Let me fuck your throat until you’re crying.”

Your moan is desperate, fingers pressing harder against yourself. He sees your hips start to rock, chasing the pressure. “Then I’d put you on the bed. Just like that.” He gestures at the screen, at your sprawled, open body. “Spread these thighs wide and bury my face between them. Wouldn’t stop until you came on my tongue.”

You hummed, nodding your head to his words.

“Then, I’d press my cock up against your pussy.” He strokes himself faster, watching your face contort, watching your body arch off the sheets. “Fill you up so good. Make you take all of it. Every fucking inch. You’d be so tight around me, wouldn’t you?"

Your hand is a blur between your legs now, your other hand gripping your breast, pinching the nipple. Your mouth is open, sounds spilling out.

“You’d come for me,” he continues, his own breathing harsh, his hips starting to thrust into his fist.

“I’m so close-”

“Let go.” His voice cracks on the words, authority fracturing into something rawer. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Wanna watch you fall apart. Wanna see it.”

Your body seizes, mouth falling open in a soundless cry, and he watches your thighs clamp shut around your hand as you come, shaking, shuddering, your whole frame drawn tight as a bowstring before releasing.

The sounds you make are broken, beautiful, and he lets himself tip over the edge after you with a groan he doesn’t bother to stifle, spilling across his stomach, his hand, the edge of his robes.

“Mhm.” He’s cleaning himself with a cloth from the altar— he’ll have to have it sent to you later, but that’s for future Suguru. “I'll be back soon.”

You roll onto your side, face appearing in the camera, flushed and satisfied, and so beautiful it makes his chest ache. “I'll be here.”

“Good.” He picks the phone up and brings it close to his face. “Once our mission is complete, we will have all the time in the world."

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

KENTO ♡ NANAMI

Before he dies from exhaustion, he will curse his boss for eternity. Like any work trip, promises of a relaxed environment were thinly veiled lies of overtime.

Occasionally, you would send pictures of things you did throughout the day; those were the things keeping him going and preventing him from tossing his laptop out the window and quitting.

Nanami's tie hung loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

His laptop glows dimly on the desk, spreadsheets bleeding into one another until they're nothing but a blur of numbers behind his tired eyes.

He should be reviewing the projections for tomorrow's meeting. Should be answering the emails that have piled up in the last three hours. Instead, his phone is in his hand, thumb hovering over the last image you sent.

It came through forty-seven minutes ago, a brief respite from the drudgery of quarterly reports. The notification had been innocuous enough-just your name, the little camera icon.

He'd opened it expecting another photo of the things to do that day, or the view of a cafe, or perhaps a plate of food you were enjoying without him.

You're angled in front of you, similar to a selfie you sent yesterday, except then you had more clothes on. You were wearing the set he picked out two weeks ago, the one he'd handed to the sales associate without a hint of embarrassment because he already knew exactly how it would look on you.

The lace is the color of dark wine, delicate straps cutting across the swell of your breasts, the matching panties sitting low on your hips. You've posed with one hand, making a small heart with two fingers.

His hand moves before his mind catches up, palm pressing against the front of his trousers where his cock has already begun to stiffen. He exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and doesn't bother to stop himself.

He leans back in the chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and drags his zipper down with deliberate care.

His cock springs free, half-hard but thickening by the second as his gaze returns to the screen. He wraps his fingers around the base, a low sound catching in his throat at the familiar weight of his own hand.

The photo stares back at him, your eyes through the mirror meeting his, and he swipes his thumb across the head, spreading the bead of moisture already forming there.

He remembers unwrapping you from a similar set. How the lace had bitten into your skin, how you'd shivered when he'd traced the edges with his fingers before his mouth.

His grip tightens, fist moving in a slow, punishing rhythm. His hips twitch upward, chasing the friction, and his head falls back against the chair. The ceiling tiles blur above him, but he doesn't need to see the picture anymore. It's burned behind his eyelids, the curve of your breast, the delicate jut of your hipbone.

His breathing turns ragged, each exhale punched out of his chest. His thighs spread wider, heels digging into the carpet as he fucks up into his fist with increasing desperation. The slick sound of it fills the quiet room, obscene and urgent, and he doesn't care. Doesn't care about the meeting tomorrow, about the emails, about any of it.

His thumb swipes over the tip again, and he groans. He's close, the pressure coiling hot and tight in his gut, and he imagines it's your pussy wrapped around him, your body riding his cock. He imagines the way you'd look down at him through your lashes, how you'd let him guide your pace.

His cock pulses, a thick string of precome dripping down his knuckles, and he uses it to slick the way, his strokes turning sloppy, relentless.

His orgasm hits him like a freight train, his hips jerking off the chair as he spills over his own fist in hot, pulsing stripes.

His jaw is clenched so tight it aches, a broken sound rattling in his chest as he works himself through it, every muscle in his body locked taut until the last wave finally, mercifully passes. Even then, it wasn't enough.

When his torment ended, and he finally made it back home. Arriving through the door, you body pressed up against him, hugging him tightly.

You lips pressed against his cheek, littering his face with your soft lips. He'd never admit he came to your picture till nothing came out.

“I missed you so much, Ken!”

“Missed you too,” he smiled, breathing on your neck. Lifting you from your feet, letting your legs wrap around his hips. You giggled into the air, fingers combing through his hair.

He loved your laugh, but he needed to feel you, be inside you, and hear your moans in his ear. He imagined it enough; he needed the real thing.

SATORU ♡ GOJO

The house was quiet, a thing you once thought impossible in the Gojo household. However, with the absence of its head, the silence was unbearable.

You missed your husband dearly, out saving the world, yet you couldn't help but be jealous of the curses who got to see him more than you did.

You carried around one of his blindfolds that he thought went missing when really you stole it, hoping it would make him stay home, even just for a minute longer. You brought the black fabric to your nose, breathing in the remnants of him.

You needed him so bad. Your fingers slipped under your panties. Pretty lace ones that you hoped to show off to Satoru when he got back, that was supposed to be 4 hours ago, and you were growing impatient.

The black fabric pressed against your face, and you inhaled. Your fingers found the wet heat between your thighs before your brain could catch up. The lace of your panties was already damp. You dipped beneath the waistband, middle finger sliding through slick folds, and your eyes fluttered shut.

The memory of him was a bruise you kept pressing. The way his huge hands would bracket your hips, fingers denting the soft flesh there. The cocky slant of his smile right before he did something stupid. His weight, always too much and never enough.

You circled your clit, slow at first. Your hips rolled up to meet your own hand, and it wasn't right— his fingers were longer, thicker, knew exactly how to curl to make you scream, but you worked with what you had. A soft whine escaped your throat. You were so wet, just from the thought of him.

You pushed two fingers inside, gasping. Not enough. Your palm ground against your clit as you fucked yourself on your own hand, imagining it was him. The way he'd hold you down, one palm flat against your lower back, the other wrapped in your hair. The way he'd laugh, his cock twitching inside of you before he unloads himself inside you.

"C'mon," you breathed, not even sure who you were talking to. Yourself. Him. The empty room. "C'mon, 'Toru, please-"

Your fingers worked faster, sloppier. You were close, that familiar heat coiling tight in your belly, your thighs beginning to tremble. You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, riding your own hand like it was him, like he was finally fucking home, filling you the way you needed.

Had you been paying attention, you would've noticed the increase of cursed energy, objects falling from the walls, and space crackling around the space, stilling the particles in the air.

You froze, eyes snapping open.

Satoru loomed over you, his blindfold missing from his face and his pale hair falling into his eyes. He tilted his head, slow and deliberate, watching your fingers still buried inside your soaked cunt. A mocking grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"My poor baby."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You tried to pull your hand away, embarrassment flooding through you, but he caught your wrist. "No, no," he murmured, pushing your fingers back down. "Don't stop on my account. You were so close, weren't you, baby?"

Your mouth went dry. "You- you teleported?!"

"Mmh." He leaned down, and the warmth of his breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. "Just got finished. Was checking on you through the cameras, thought you were sleeping." His teeth grazed your earlobe, and you shuddered. "Imagine my surprise when I see my pretty wife saying my name. So lonely without me, I know, I know." He holds your head against his, caressing your hair.

"Don't-"

"Shh." His finger pressed against your lips, trailing down your chest, down to your lace waistband. "I was wondering where that blindfold went."

Your cheeks burned. "I missed you."

"I can see that." His eyes dropped to where your fingers were still buried in your cunt, your slick coating your knuckles. He let out a low whistle. "It's on me, should've come home on time, I'm sorry."

"You were supposed to be home four hours ago, Satoru."

He wrapped his hand around your waist. "Four hours," he repeated, bringing your fingers to his mouth. His tongue darted out, tasting you. "Apologies won't do."

He sucked your fingers clean. You watched, transfixed, as his eyes stayed locked on yours. When he pulled them out, a string of saliva and your own slick connected his lips to your knuckles.

"Up."

You didn't move fast enough. He grabbed your hips, pulling your body on top of his. The blindfold slipped from your neck, and he caught it, tucking it into your bra with a soft laugh. His cock pressed against his pants, a heavy, insistent line of heat that made your mouth water.

"Four hours," you repeated. "Do you know what four hours feels like when you're not here?"

He opened his mouth to answer, something that would make you want to hit him, but you were already moving. Your hands fumbled with his belt, impatient. The metal clinked, and you yanked it free, tossing it somewhere across the room where it hit the floor with a sharp clatter.

"Eager much?" he breathed, but the amusement in his voice was strained. His hips lifted into your hands as you worked his pants open, and the sight of him springing free made your cunt clench around nothing.

He was already leaking, a pearlescent bead of precome glistening at the tip, and you wanted to taste him so badly it hurt.

But you needed him inside you more.

You didn't bother with your panties; you just pushed them aside, the fabric pulling against your slick folds, and positioned yourself over him. His hands found your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there.

"Look at you," he murmured, and his voice had gone low, rough. "So fucking wet for me. Were you thinking about me the whole time?"

You sank down onto him in one motion.

The stretch was everything. Your body opened for him like it had been waiting, like it had been starving, and the sound you made was embarrassingly loud— a punched-out whimper that turned into a moan as he filled you.

His tip pressed against your cervix, exactly what you craved, and your hands braced against his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

Satoru's head fell back against the headboard. His grip on your hips tightened, and you watched his jaw clench, the muscles in his neck corded with restraint.

"Fuck," he gritted out. "Fuck, baby, you're-"

You didn't let him finish. You lifted yourself, slow, savoring the drag of his cock against your walls, and slammed back down.

His eyes snapped to yours, "Oh, we're doing it like that?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your voice had fled, replaced by guttural need, so feral that it clawed up your throat and came out as a broken moan. Setting a brutal rhythm that made his thighs tense beneath you. Each time you took him to the hilt, his hips would twitch up to meet you, and the impact sent shockwaves through your spine.

"I missed you, too, honey." His voice was strained. His hand guided your movements, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, the other gripped the headboard. The wood was cracking under his fingers, but neither of you was worried about it.

"Y-you're always fucking l-late," you groaned, your hand cupping his chin, fingers pressing into his jaw harshly.

"I-I know, I know. I'll be better for you, baby." He promises, hips rutting against your ass. You leaned forward, palms flat against his chest, and rode him harder. The angle changed, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes, and you cried out. The sound echoed off the walls of the too quiet house, and you didn't care.

"You said-" Your voice broke as you slammed down again, tears welling up in your eyes. "You said four hours, Satoru. Four hours of nothing. No texts, no calls, just-" His thumb found your clit, and whatever you were going to say dissolved into a sharp gasp.

"You're right," He circled the swollen nub, and your hips stuttered in their rhythm. "Tell me how wrong I am." The wood behind him snapped in half, splintering above him. Instinctively, he holds up the board, pushing it against the wall.

"You're a-always lying, just to get what you want. I was worried about you, Satoru. I can never know if you're okay. " Your thighs were burning, slick with sweat and your own arousal, and every nerve in your body had condensed to the place where he was splitting you open.

He nodded in agreement, accepting the words falling from your lips. "And you broke the fucking headboard!" You rode him faster, harder, your nails raking down his chest. The muscles there tensed beneath your fingers, and he let out a sound half laugh, half groan.

"It's my fault," he breathed. "I'm sorry, baby."

"Yes," you sobbed. "'Toru!" His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back. The sting made your cunt clench around him, and he felt it, his hips bucking up into you with renewed force.

"That's my girl," he growled, and the praise was a drug, flooding your system with heat. "Gonna take what you need, yeah? Ride me, wifey."

You nodded, or tried to— his grip on your hair made it difficult. Your hips were moving on their own now, a frantic, punishing rhythm that had his cock punching into you again and again. The headboard started to knock against the wall, a steady thump-thump that matched the beating of your heart.

You fell forward with a startled cry, your chest hitting his, and Satoru's arms wrapped around you immediately. You walls constrict around his cock as you came. He followed soon after, cum painting your insides white.

The headboard hung at a sick angle, one side completely detached from the frame, and you stared at it with wide eyes.

"Baby," he breathed, and when you lifted your head to look at him, his expression was wild. "Baby, that was the hottest thing you've ever done."

Before you could respond, he flipped you. His weight pressed you into the mattress, one huge hand bracing beside your head, the other finding your thigh and hitching it up around his waist. The new angle drove him even deeper, and your back arched off the bed.

"'Toru- "

"Shh." He pulled back, his gaze fixed on where your bodies were joined. "My turn. You've got to play. Now I'm gonna take what's mine." His fingers dipped into your bra, pulling the black blindfold from between your tits. "Wear this too." He wrapped the fabric around your eyes.

"Oh," His cock twitches alive inside of you. "That's really hot, wifey."

Sure, it’s only been a year since he left for college. But somehow, Caleb comes home taller, broader, with a sharp jaw and deep voice that makes your stomach twist.

“Whatcha starin’ at, pipsqueak?” he teases. “Forget what your big brother looks like?”

He reaches for your head—an old reflex, the kind he used to do without thinking. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the usual palm to your scalp, the rough tousle that always left your hair a mess.

But it never comes.

His hand stills mid-air, lingering by your temple. His fingers brush down the side of your face, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. But they don’t leave. Instead, they hover there—just for a second too long—knuckles grazing your cheek like he forgot what he was doing halfway through.

“You’ve… grown up,” he says, low. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Your breath catches. You force a small laugh, trying to shake it off. “Yeah, well. Happens when you abandon me for a whole year.”

He huffs out a smile, but his eyes don’t leave yours. He’s still standing too close, still looking at you like he’s trying to solve something he doesn’t want to admit is a problem.

“You look different,” he says. You can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

You swallow. “So do you.”

He doesn’t answer that. Just lets the silence stretch between you until he eventually steps back and clears his throat.

“I should go unpack.”

And you nod like your heart isn’t racing, like you don’t still feel the ghost of his fingers on your skin.

Later that night, you’re curled beneath your sheets, phone light dimmed, still scrolling through nothing when a soft knock sounds at your door.

“Hey,” Caleb’s voice comes through quietly. “You still up?”

“Yeah,” your heart jumps as you toss your phone aside. “Come in.”

He opens the door, hair damp from a late shower, shirt clinging just slightly at his collarbone. You try not to notice how strong he looks in your doorway, how the deep V of his lower abs is exposed each time he runs a hand through his hair.

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” he says, leaning against the frame. “Didn’t want you thinking I forgot.”

You smile, suddenly shy. “Thanks.”

He steps closer, bracing a hand against your wooden headboard, leaning over you just slightly. He was so close could smell his shampoo, feel the heat of him near your skin.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, eyes flickering over your face. “You used to throw a fit if I forgot to kiss you goodnight.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, I’m not little anymore.”

“No,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You’re not.”

Something changes in the air, but you don’t say anything. Neither does he.

Not when he kneels beside your bed. Not when his thumb sweeps the corner of your mouth. Not when he leans in close—closer than he should—and lets his lips press to your forehead, slow and warm.

It should’ve been harmless. It used to be. But he presses another kiss, lower, this time against your cheek. You feel the breath hitch in his chest, and you wonder if he feels yours. And when his lips hover over your mouth, you forget how to breathe entirely.

But he stops. Pulls back.

“You should get to sleep,” he says, like it’s nothing. But his voice is frayed, like he’s holding something back.

You nod, curled under your blanket, the heat of his goodnight kiss still tingling on your cheek.

He lingers in your doorway, but he doesn’t quite leave.

“You’re not gonna walk me out?” he asks after a beat, half-teasing. “You used to always lock the door behind me.”

It’s true. You used to be afraid of a lot of things, and locking your door at night made you feel more at ease. But that was years ago.

“I know,” you say, shrugging into your blanket. “Guess I’m not scared anymore.”

“You sure?” he asks, voice low.

You nod. “I trust you to keep me safe now.”

His gaze drags over you—your bare legs, the way your comforter is pulled up only halfway. He swallows.

"I always have,” he says before stepping out. But this time, it sounds like a promise. Or a warning.

And when he closes your door, he doesn’t shut it all the way.

—

You didn’t lock the door.

Caleb knows because he waited. After that kiss, after your voice, so quiet and sweet— I trust you. He stood in the hallway for a long time. Listening. Wondering if you’d get up. If you’d change your mind.

But you didn’t.

You don’t hear the door creak open a few hours later. Don’t see the way he stands in the doorway for too long, just watching you. You’re turned away, breathing slowly, body slack with sleep.

At least, that’s what he thinks.

Your heartbeat isn’t slow. Not anymore. You know he’s there. You don’t know why he’s there, but you don’t dare to move.

He sits beside you on the mattress, careful and quiet. Too quiet, you think. You feel his fingertips brush against your outer thigh, where your shorts had started to ride up your legs.

“You shouldn’t sleep like this,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. Like he’s angry with you for letting him see.

His voice is hoarse, rough in a way you hadn’t heard from him before. You think maybe he’ll pull away.

He doesn’t.

His hand slides under the covers, palm finding your knee. He grazes the inside of your thigh with the back of his fingers, your skin so soft there. So warm.

“You’re not scared anymore, hm?” he says. “Maybe you should be.”

He knows he shouldn’t want this. His hand moves higher anyway, up under your sleep shorts, until his fingers meet the cotton hem of your panties. Damp already. He exhales like it knocks the breath out of him.

“Shit,” he whispers. “You’re already soaked.”

He presses down, just a little. Just to feel. Just to see how you’d respond. You shift under his touch, a tiny whimper escaping your lips. Not pain, not fear, just…need.

He thinks you’re still asleep.

That makes it worse. Better. He doesn’t know anymore.

“You trust me, don’t you? You trust me to keep you safe, and…and this is what I do?”

The pad of one finger drags up the center of your panties. Once. Twice. You try not to move, but you can’t help but arch into his touch. He drags his finger again, slower this time, and watches you twitch.

“Look at you,” he breathes, almost in awe. “So sensitive.”

He hooks a finger under the thin fabric of your underwear and drags it to the side, for a moment just staring at you in awe. Like he’s not sure if he should keep going. Like this is something he dreamed about and now it’s real and he might die from it.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re unreal.”

His hand starts to tremble. He moves his finger again, slow and tentative, like he’s testing the edge of a fantasy.

“This,” he mutters, dragging two fingers through your slit, “—fuck. This is why you lock your fucking door.”

He keeps moving up and down, gliding through the mess he’s made of you. His breath stutters with every touch.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he whispers between strokes. “How many times I’ve had to stop myself.”

He tests your entrance, his free hand palming his cock over his sweatpants.

“How many times I had to sit across from you on the couch, pretending I didn’t want this. That I wasn’t imagining how you’d feel…” He finally presses inside, brushing against a spot that makes you clench around his finger. “…ah…right here.”

His jaw tenses. You feel the tension in his whole body, the way he’s shaking from how hard he’s holding himself back.

“Pretending I didn’t notice how you’d squirm when I stood too close. How you’d look away when I caught you staring.”

He strokes you again, this time with more pressure. His thumb brushes just beneath your clit—an accident or a test, you can’t tell. He curses under his breath when your hips jump.

“You don’t even know what you’ve been doing to me,” he mutters. “And if you did…you wouldn’t have left the door unlocked.”

He gently pulls out of you, and the withdrawal is enough to make you gasp. Just the softest sound. Barely even a breath.

But it undoes him.

His body goes rigid, like he’s been punched. His hand pulls back so fast, you’d think you burned him. He stares at you—like he’s looking at something he wants more than anything, and knows he’s not allowed to keep.

“God,” he says, low and broken. “What the hell am I doing?”

His fingers curl into fists, like he’s trying to erase the feeling of you. Like he knows he never will.

“I shouldn’t have…” He trails off, shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Then he turns, walking out without another word.

And this time, you hear the lock click behind him.

—

You didn’t move when you heard the door open the next night, holding your breath when you feel the mattress dip under Caleb’s weight.

You’d left the blanket low on your hips when you tucked yourself in. Wore your smallest tank top, your softest underwear. An invitation in all but words.

You weren’t sure if he’d come to see you again that night. But, God, you’d hoped he would.

“I told myself it was just a mistake,” he murmurs. “That I’d touched you by accident. That I stopped before it went too far.”

His hand finds your calf beneath the sheets, thumb brushing circles into your skin like he’s afraid to wake you.

“But then I tasted you.”

Your stomach flips.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers. “It was still on my fingers. I just… I couldn’t help it.”

His hand trails higher, settling on the curve of your waist. He kisses the inside of your knee, and your chest hurts from holding back a sound.

“I’ve never done that before. Not with anyone. I never wanted to,” he murmurs. His fingers slide to your hips, finding the band of your underwear. “I told myself it would only ever be you.”

He kisses higher.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he whispers. “How you started wearing less around the house. How you left your door unlocked?”

He starts to tug your panties down gently, like he’s giving you time to stop him. But you don’t.

“You didn’t say it. But you knew what it would do to me, didn’t you?”

You didn’t know, not really. You’d hoped he’d look at you if your skirts were shorter, hoped he’d notice your new perfume. But you never imagined it would break him. That pretending to sleep would make him finally tell the truth.

You didn’t know what it would do to you, either. Because now you’re soaked, shaking, desperately waiting for what comes next. And you don’t think you can go back.

“I told myself I’d wait until you were older. Until you were ready. Until I could look you in the eye and ask.”

Your panties reach your knees. Then your ankles. Then the floor. You feel his breath hot on your thigh, his mouth brushing higher up your legs.

“But you’re already giving it to me, aren’t you? Mmm… just like this.”

He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, your stomach.

“I jerked off with you still on my hand, you know,” he says softly. “Didn’t even wash it off, just fucked my fist thinking about how warm you were. How wet. For me.”

You squeezed your thighs together at his confession, already wet at the thought of your brother tasting you, touching himself because of what you did to him.

“…Still asleep?” he murmurs, almost like he’s asking himself.

He waits.

You don’t answer. You don’t move. You let him believe it. Because you want this. Want him. Want him so far gone he needs an excuse to fall apart.

He groans roughly as he leans in, breath hot and ragged against your core.

“Then don’t wake up,” he whispers.

You let him part your thighs farther and finally, finally taste you. Slow licks at first, then longer. Deeper. He parts you open, groaning into you like he’s the one being undone.

He makes a sound, deep and guttural, like it physically hurts to feel you this way.

Then he pulls back, just enough to look at you. To see you.

“This,” he pants, eyes wild, “this is what you’ve been keeping from me?”

His voice breaks like he’s spiraling.

“You don’t know what this does to me,” he says, dragging his tongue through you again. “You don’t know what I’d do to keep it.”

He doesn't stop. Doesn’t pause , doesn’t breathe , just stays buried between your thighs like you’re oxygen.

“I used to imagine what you’d sound like,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over your slit with each word. “What you’d feel like. How soft you’d be here. For me.”

He pushes in. Just one finger, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he goes too fast. But you don’t. You clamp down around him so hard he shudders, and his breath hitches against your skin.

“God,” he breathes. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

His lips press back to you with long licks, like he’s trying to taste everything he’s ever missed. He spreads you open with his tongue, hands gripping your thighs so hard you think you’ll bruise.

“I’d give you anything,” he whispers. “Everything. Just… just let me stay here. Just let me taste you.”

Your breath falters, but he doesn’t even notice—he’s too far gone, bucking his hips into the mattress, moaning softly into your cunt like he’s starving.

“Can’t believe you’d let me,” he murmurs between strokes. “I’d die for this. You don’t even know—fuck, I’d die.”

And when your body starts to tremble, when your thighs tighten around his head, when he feels your slick pulse against his fingers—

“You’re coming,” he breathes like it’s a sin. “You’re actually—fuck, I can feel it.”

He keeps licking you through it, past it, like he doesn’t care if you beg or speak or even wake up.

Because he’s already ruined.

Because there’s no version of his life after this where he gets to pretend it didn’t happen. No version where he stops wanting. Needing.

“God,” he breathes. “I think I’m in love with you.”

You curl your fingers into fists beneath the covers, digging your nails into your palms—anything to keep still. Anything to keep yourself from reaching for him. To keep from sobbing. To keep from whispering it back.

He presses one last kiss to your thigh, breathes you in like he’s trying to memorize your scent. Then he finally pulls away, chest heaving, eyes glazed over with something between worship and shame.

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” he swears as he leaves.

But not before grabbing your pink panties from the floor, folding them neatly, and slipping them into his pocket.

—

Tonight, you’re curled on your side. You don’t even bother with a blanket. It’s not like you were cold, anyway.

Caleb didn’t wish you goodnight.

You’d spent the past few hours staring at the ceiling, listening carefully for the click of the front door, for the hum of a car engine in your driveway. Just something, anything, to tell you that Caleb had come home.

He had said he was meeting up with some friends tonight. Said they wouldn’t be out too late. But you knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth—not when he pulled on that jacket. The worn leather one he only wore on nights that mattered. Nights he didn’t want you to see.

And when he looked you in the eye and said you weren’t allowed to come along, you didn’t argue. But you watched the way he lingered at the door, like he wanted you to stop him.

You didn’t, even when seeing him leave made your heart ache.

You must have drifted off at some point. Because when you hear footsteps outside of your room, you jolt awake. The door doesn’t open, but you know he’s there. You can feel him watching. Waiting. Wanting.

And on the other side of your door, Caleb stands in the hallway with his jacket still on, hand braced against your doorframe.

He told himself he wouldn’t come here again, not after last time. Not after what he said. What he did. But he can’t stop thinking about you. The way you looked when he left, wearing that tiny fucking tank top he hates.

No—not hates. He hates what it does to him. He hates how you crawl into bed like that with no blanket and expect him to stay away. He wonders if you’re asleep now, if you left the door unlocked again.

His hand finds the knob.

He tells himself he’s just checking on you. That it’s fine. That you like when he checks. That it doesn’t mean anything if you never wake up.

The knob turns easily. You left it open. Again.

His eyes find you immediately, face half-buried in the pillow, bare legs tangled in the sheets like you wanted to make it easier for him. Like you were inviting him.

He can see the curve of your ass under the hem of your shirt—his shirt, he realizes. The thin black one, worn soft from too many washes, now sliding off your shoulder.

His throat goes tight, hand flexing at his side.

He should leave. Just check on you and leave.

But instead, he breathes your name—quiet and raw and unsure. And when you don’t answer, he steps closer.

He kneels beside you, fingers resting at the hem of your shirt. Just resting. But he’s breathing hard now, like it’s taking everything in him not to slip them higher.

“I tried to forget you tonight,” he says, words soft and laced with whiskey. “Tried to stop thinking about you for five fucking minutes.”

He huffs out a low, bitter laugh.

“Didn’t work.”

He sways, his hand tightening in the sheets.

“They smiled at me. Other girls,” he adds. “One of them touched my arm.”

He laughs again, but your stomach twists at the thought of it.

“And all I could think was—you wouldn’t like that.”

You almost smiled at the thought of it. He was right.

He shifts closer, his fingers brushing your bare thigh.

“You’d give me that look. The one that says don’t touch what’s mine.”

He exhales hard.

“I didn’t want any of them. I was hard the whole night with your fucking panties in my pocket.”

Your heart lurches. You didn’t realize he had taken them last night.

“They were still damp. I kept reaching for them like a goddamn addict.”

His hand slips under the shirt you stole from him, fingers grazing your stomach.

“You don’t even have to ask me not to look at anyone else,” he breathes shakily. “You already have everything. All of me.”

His hand leaves your skin, leaving you cold at the sudden absence. You listen to the rustle of denim. The sound of his belt unbuckling. The low sigh he lets out when he peels his jacket off, then his shirt.

He’s stripping down slowly, like he’s trying not to wake you—but also like he needs this. Like he’s been holding it in for too long and can’t take it anymore.

When he’s down to just his underwear, he hesitates. But it’s only a second before he lifts the blanket and crawls into bed behind you.

His bare chest presses warm and strong against your spine, his boxers doing little to hide the heat of him against your backside.

“You always smell like me when you wear this,” he murmurs against your shoulder, bare from where his oversized shirt slipped down your arm.

He breathes you in again, slow and deep, like he can’t get enough of it. Like he’s been starving for this and didn’t even realize how bad.

“I wish I could take you out,” he admits, breath hot on your ear. “So I could pull you into my lap. Press up against you. Make you grind on me while everyone watches.”

He shifts behind you, his hips pressing closer. You can feel the way he’s aching, the full weight of him throbbing against you now.

“But I can’t do that, can I?” he says through gritted teeth. “Because I’m not supposed to want you. Can’t even touch you like this unless you’re asleep.”

His mouth finds your shoulder again and kisses it. Bites it—just barely.

“You make me wanna fuck up everything.”

You feel him adjust himself behind you, the soft fabric of his boxers being pushed down just enough.

His cock presses up between your thighs from behind, hot and heavy against your bare thighs.

He groans like it hurts.

“Let me,” he breathes. “Just let me pretend.”

He grinds once, slow and shallow, just the head of his cock sliding against your entrance. Not in , not yet. But God, he’s close. You don’t stop him.

You’re soaked. He feels it, and chokes on a moan.

“You’re wet,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

His hand clenches on your waist.

“Are you dreaming about me too, baby?”

His cock slides against you again, this time slower.

“Fuck, you’d let me do this?” he whispers. “You’d let me use your body like this? Just—just for a second—”

He grinds once more, more pressure this time. His tip catches on your clit and he gasps. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, fighting everything in you to keep still.

“Sometimes I think about taking you away,” he confesses, barely above a whisper. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one knows us. I’d lock the doors and keep you all to myself.”

He presses against you harder. Just the tip. Just enough to make both of you shake.

“You wouldn’t need anything but me. I’d take care of you. Feed you, fuck you, make you forget anyone else ever existed.”

His cock twitches, and everything in you tightens, begging to be filled by him.

“Isn’t that what you want?” he breathes. “To be mine?”

You want to scream yes. You want to beg him to keep going. You want him to stop pretending. But you don’t move. You let him grind against you. You let him pretend a little longer.

“I tried to be good. I tried to just be what you needed.” His mouth presses against your throat, tongue licking your pulse. “But I never stopped hoping you’d need me like this.”

He thrusts between your thighs again, a little faster. He’s not aiming for anything. Just relief. Just friction. Just you. And he’s right there—so close to slipping in, to crossing that final line he swore he wouldn’t.

“I wasn’t supposed to love you like this,” he groans, grinding against you like he’ll die if he stops. “But now I don’t think I could ever love anyone any other way.”

You don’t move. Not when his hips slow, not when his breath hitches against the back of your neck. Not even when he tears himself away from your body with a curse, like it hurts him to do it.

You feel the mattress shift as he pulls back, one hand lingering on your waist like he’s not ready to lose that contact. He places a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers, like a promise. “Tomorrow I’ll be good.”

—

Caleb was good the next day.

His eyes didn’t linger on your legs for too long at breakfast. He didn’t rub your shoulders when you looked tired at the dinner table. And he certainly didn’t kiss you goodnight.

And that was the problem.

Because you didn’t want him to be good. You wanted the version of him that slipped into your bed like a secret and touched you like he’d die without it.

So when midnight came and your door stayed closed, you got up.

The house was quiet. His light was off. He didn’t keep his door locked. Of course he didn’t.

You found him lying there in his bed, face so peaceful in his sleep, the blanket slipped low on his waist. He’s in his boxers and nothing else. And he’s hard.

So hard.

You shouldn’t look. Shouldn’t let your eyes linger on the shape of him under the thin fabric, the way the outline strains just enough to show you everything. The way the tip is already damp with precome, staining through.

But you do. And your thighs press together involuntarily.

You tell yourself it’s just curiosity as you climb onto the bed beside him. Just a little closer.

He doesn’t stir.

So you sit on your knees, hover over his hips. And when he still doesn’t move, you reach.

Just two fingers. Just to touch. To trace the edge of that wet spot and—

He groans.

His hips buck up into your hand, slow and sleepy like he’s still dreaming. Like he wants it, even in sleep.

“Mmm—fuck…” he murmurs, not quite conscious. “Don’t stop…”

Your hand stills.

You shouldn’t.

You absolutely shouldn’t.

But—

“So warm,” he breathes. “So soft… always wanted… you…”

Your core throbs.

You want to hear what else he says in dreams. You want to see how far he’ll go.

And God help you, you want to take him there.

“Just wanna feel you. Just once. Just a little—please—” he mumbles.

One hand slides between you, wraps gently around the base of him. He twitches in your grasp, lets out a low, broken moan—your name barely audible on his lips.

“You’re supposed to be good,” he slurs, voice heavy with sleep. “I’m supposed to protect you from this. From me.”

Your hand trembles as you push your panties to the side, hesitating for only a breath before you sink down—just enough to feel the heat of him, the stretch that makes your breath catch. Just enough to lose your mind.

“God, yes, that’s it,” he whispers. “Let me have this. Let me have you…”

You sink a little deeper. Then deeper. Until you’re fully seated on him, trembling from how good it feels. How wrong it feels. How much you don’t want to stop, either.

“You’re letting me—” He gasps. “You’re letting me .”

You bite your lip, hard. Because it’s too much. It’s not enough. And the worst part?

He was still holding back.

Even now. Even inside you, he’s shaking with restraint. Like he’s terrified that if he moves, you’ll disappear.

So you do the only thing you can.

You rock your hips.

“Oh my fucking—”

And that’s it.

His hand grips your hips, mouth pressing against your neck as he thrusts just once, impossibly deep.

“—Fuck. You feel so real.”

You ride him slow, deep, your walls fluttering around him.

“I dream about this every night. You never stay,” he pants. “You leave right before I get there.”

You kiss his neck. His jaw. His chest.

He shakes.

“Always leave me aching. So fucking close. Never—never get to finish,” his voice breaks. “Never get to stay inside.”

Your body clenches at that.

He notices. He stills, just for a second.

Before you can react, his hands are on your waist, flipping you effortlessly onto your back.

“I’m not letting you leave this time,” he growls. “But you want me to lose it, don’t you?”

He thrusts back in, deeper this time, rougher. You gasp, and he smiles.

“That’s it,” he pants, fucking into you with a force that makes the headboard knock. “That’s what I’ve been wanting to hear.”

His hand wraps around your throat—barely there, just enough to own you.

“Wanna keep you like this forever, tied to my bed. My pretty little girl.”

He presses his forehead against yours, losing rhythm.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d take it? Let me fuck you full?”

His hips start to stutter up into you, shallow and desperate. His hands roam, frantic—over your waist, your thighs, your ass, like he’s trying to feel everything before he loses it.

“Mine,” he murmurs. “You’d be mine.”

He fucks you like it’s instinct, like he wants to stay inside so long you forget anyone else ever existed.

“You always were,” he whispers, mouth against your neck. “In every dream. In every fucking life. You were mine.”

You shouldn’t say it. You know you shouldn’t.

But your body’s trembling and he’s buried so deep inside you and he sounds so sincere, like he needs this more than air—and God help you, you need it too.

So you whisper it.

“Caleb,” you breathe. “I’m yours.”

Just once. Just for tonight.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “You never say that. Never let me hear it. Not even in my dreams.”

He thrusts deeper. Holds you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t.

“Say it again,” he begs, desperate. “Please, please—just one more time.”

You bite your lip, shake your head. But your hips lift, chasing him.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“I’m yours.”

He comes with a cry, mouth on your throat, arms locked around you so tightly it almost hurts.

“Mine,” he repeats, softer now. “Mine, mine, mine…”

Like he’s still half-dreaming. Like he doesn’t realize you’re real beneath him, trembling and aching and filled with him.

His thrusts slow to nothing. Just the faint tremble of him buried deep inside you, the quiet warmth of his breath on your skin.

“I always wake up,” he whispers. “Right before this part. Right before you say it back.”

You freeze.

“I say what?” you whisper.

But he doesn’t answer. He’s already drifting. Already pressing a kiss to your cheek like he’s done it a hundred times in dreams you never knew about.

You slip out before sunrise, slow and careful, peeling his heavy arm from your waist, untangling your legs from his. You’re still sore where he held you down, where he gasped your name like a prayer and begged to stay inside.

He’ll wake up thinking it was a dream, and you’ll let him. Because if Caleb knew it was real, you don’t think he’d ever forgive himself.