he lacks even the basic decency to look up from his own groin, refusing to acknowledge your presence at the foot of your bed. his chest heaves under an oversized anime t-shirt, hips giving a needy little twitch as the rattle of the motor continues to pleasure his nerve endings. he rolls his head back into your pillows, letting out a shaky, wet moan that sounds nearly pornographic.

“shh… wait a sec,” he pants, his voice thick and raspy; a world apart from his typically fast-talking cadence that usually annoys the shit out of you. “i'm almost there. don’t be mad, it just… it feels so much better than my hands…”

you’ve had the boundary talks. you’ve threatened to lock your door (which he can bypass anyway). you’re tired, your feet hurt, and the audacity of him sitting in your room, treating your personal drawer like his own candy shop without an ounce of shame, makes your blood boil.

you stride over to the bed, and before his overstimulated brain can register the sudden movement, you reach down and wrench his hand away from his grip, sending the toy clattering onto the floorboards.

“hey!” he whines, a petulant, spoiled-brat pout instantly forming on his lips as his eyes finally dart up to yours. “i was literally right there! c’mon, that’s just cruel—”

unable to tolerate his dumb whining a second longer, you drop to your knees beside the mattress and clamp your hand around the bottom of his cock with intentional force. before he can even puff at the sudden restriction of his blood flow, you raise your other hand to land a stinging slap directly across the pink flesh of his tip with a loud smack!

satoru gasps, his spine arching off beautifully as his body spasms from the impact. his vivid blue eyes are now blown wide, blinking rapidly behind his spectacles while a miserable whimper spills from his plush lips. "do you think you can just use my things because you are too lazy to buy your own?"

​to penalize his arrogance further, ensuring the lesson sinks into his imbecile brain, you squeeze your thumb and forefinger around the tender skin beneath the swollen mushroom head and pinch, using enough force to guarantee a lasting red mark.

the reaction is instantaneous. the agony of the nip, combined with another slap across his aching dick, pushes his nervous system into overload. satoru releases a startled shriek, his hips thrashing desperately as he tries to wrench his hips away from your horrific grip, thighs jerking against the sheets in a futile attempt to escape the blinding pain.

​but your hands are unrelenting, and the torment only accelerates the climax. his cock throbs spastically as if its trying to communicate something using morse code before he erupts.

thick, pearly ropes of cum shoot straight up, splattering across his own flat stomach and the hem of his shirt, dripping down the pale skin of his abs.

“oh god—” he groans, voice cracking as his upper body collapses back into the pillows, the sudden impact knocking his glasses off his nose to land sideways on the mattress. he looks like a total wreck; his mouth hanging open, a thin strand of saliva bridging his lips as he stares up at you with dazed, dilated pupils that consume his baby blue irises.

even as the intense peak subsides, his hips give one final, weak roll against your hand, and he possesses the sheer nerve to smile—a lazy, unrepentant smirk forming on his stupidly handsome face.

bf!toji becomes totally obsessed with this—knowing he can make you lose control just by touching you makes his ego go through the roof. the sweet boyfriend who hates to see you cry in public completely disappears behind closed doors. in bed, your tears mean he's doing a good job.

bf!toji gets really smug and loves to tease you about it. he’ll purposely slow down, touching the exact spot that makes you crazy, watching your eyes fill with tears while he smirks.

"look at you," he’ll whisper, wiping a tear away with his thumb. "crying already? you're so sweet for me. keep going, let me see how good it feels."

bf!toji loves to push you over the edge by building the friction until you can't take it. he’ll pin your wrists above your head, spreading your legs wide so he can look right at you while he slides all the way inside. every time he thrusts deep and hits your sweet spot, a fresh wave of tears leaks from your eyes, and he just stares down at you with a dark, heavy grin, loving how loud you gasp and sob under him.

bf!toji who will change positions just to make you cry harder. he'll flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up high so he can slide in from behind. the angle is deep and intense, and as he grips your waist hard enough to leave marks, you're burying your face in the pillows to muffle your crying. he'll lean down, his chest pressing against your back, and talk right into your ear.

"baby, let me hear it—turn your head and look at me—god, look at how wet your face is just because i'm stretching you out like this."

bf!toji decides that if you aren't crying by the end of the night, he didn't try hard enough. it becomes a game to him. he will deliberately push you over the edge, using his dick and his dirty mouth to keep you completely overwhelmed until you're shaking and crying in his arms.

Toji Fushiguro, in apartment 08, right next door, he stepped out the side door with a black garbage bag in one scarred hand, in the same tight black t-shirt you’d seen him in a dozen times before, sleeves stretched tight around thick biceps, fabric clinging to the hard planes of his chest and stomach like it was painted on. Dark sweatpants slung low on narrow hips, the waistband showing a thin strip of tanned skin when he moved. 

That scar sliced the corner of his mouth, pulling slightly when his lips twitched like he was always half a second from smirking at something only he found funny and black hair messy, damp at the temples from the heat or maybe from whatever he’d been doing inside his own place all day. 

He didn’t look your way at first, he just hefts the bag into the big metal bin with one easy toss, muscles rolling under tanned skin, then wipes his forearm across his brow.

You should’ve looked away, should’ve pretended to stare at the sky or your chipped nail polish or literally anything else, but your eyes stayed glued, tracing the way his shoulders flexed when he turned, the slow roll of his neck as he cracked it side to side and maybe he felt it, because those sharp green eyes finally flicked over.

Eyes locking on yours.

Your stomach does a nasty, liquid flip. Not fear, exactly. Something hotter. Hungrier. You feel suddenly very aware of how your shorts are bunched high on your ass, how the hoodie’s ridden up to show the dip of your spine, how your thighs are parted just enough that if he looked lower he’d see the soft inner curve where skin meets cotton.

He didn’t smile, didn’t wave. Just stood there with one big hand still resting on the bin lid, staring like he had all night to decide what he wanted to do about the pretty little thing next door finally looking back.

Then he starts walking.

Not toward his apartment, towards you.

Each step, heavy. Bare feet on gravel and the closer he gets the more details you take in, faint sheen of sweat on his throat, the way veins stand out along his forearms and he stops at the edge of your porch slab, one foot planted on the rickety porch so he’s towering without even trying.

For a second the world narrows to just that look; heavy and unreadable, dragging down the length of your sprawled body like he was cataloging every inch. The hoodie half-open so the thin tank underneath showed the soft dip between your breasts, nipples pebbled from the sudden shift in temperature and maybe something else, your shorts bunched high enough that the plump curve where thigh met hip was on full display, cotton stretched tight across your mound. 

You felt the fabric pull snug there, outlining the soft curve of your pussy in a way that made heat crawl up your neck, shifting your thighs together instinctively — only making it worse. A tiny damp spot had already started blooming at the crotch from hours of lazy daydreams and the sticky summer air.

You swallow. Throat dry. “Hi,” it comes out smaller than you meant.

Toji’s scarred mouth twitches barely. “Hey.”

Voice low and rough around the edges like gravel dragged over velvet. One word and it already felt like he’d put his palm flat on your sternum and pressed.

You sat up a little straighter, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “You’re… Toji, right? My dad said you’re the quiet one.”

He huffed through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard from him. “Yeah. That’s me.” He took one slow step closer. “And you’re the kid who’s been runnin’ around in those little shorts all summer.”

Your breath hitched, you're not a kid. Not really, but the way he said it with that lazy drawl, his eyes dropping to where your thighs are pressed together, made your clit throb under the cotton like he’d reached out and thumbed it.

“I’m not a kid,” you mumbled, cheeks burning. “I’m nineteen, almost twenty.”

Toji’s brows lifted just a fraction. “Almost twenty,” he echoed, like he was tasting the words. Another step forward, now he was close enough you could smell him; clean sweat, faint soap, something darker underneath like motor oil and cedar. “Old enough to know better than to sit out here lookin’ like that when it’s just you and me.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You tried to play it cool, tugging the hem of your hoodie down like it would hide anything. “It’s hot. I just wanted air.”

“Mm.” His gaze slid lower again, shamelessly, lingering on the visible outline of your pussy lips printed through the thin shorts, plump, puffy, already so swollen from nothing but his proximity. “Looks like you’re feelin’ more than just the heat, sweetheart.”

The pet name landed like a spark on dry grass, and you squeezed your thighs tighter, but that only made the damp cotton drag against your slick folds. A tiny, involuntary whimper slipped out before you could catch it.

Toji’s eyes darkened. He crouched slowly, his big body folding with surprising grace, until he was eye-level with you on the step. Forearms resting on spread thighs, scarred hands dangling loose between his knees. So close you can see the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the way his happy trail disappears under the waistband, dark and tempting.

He tilts his head, just enough that the dying sunlight cuts across the sharp line of his jaw. Moss-green eyes drag from your bare legs up up up- slowly and unapologetic. Lingers on the bare strip of stomach where your hoodie’s rucked up. On the way your shorts cling to the plump curve of your ass, aaaaall the way up to your face like he’s cataloguing every inch he’s already seen a hundred times through cracked blinds.

“Been seein’ you around,” he says. Voice quieter now and allmost intimate. “You live next door, right? Your old man’s girl.”

Not a question again.

You nod anyway. Tongue feeling too big in your mouth.

“Yeah. I’m… back for summer break.”

He hums, deep in his chest. The sound vibrates through the humid air straight into your bones.

“Didn’t figure you’d be out here lookin’ like that,” his eyes glance to your lips then back up to your eyes, “always out this late too huh, doll?”

You blink. “...You noticed?”

Another almost-laugh. “Hard not to.”

Heat floods your cheeks. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of exposed skin. The way your nipples have pebbled against the thin hoodie fabric from the slight breeze or maybe just from him looking at you like that.

“You been watchin’ me too, huh?” he murmurs. Voice softer than you expect. Almost gentle. “Every time you come out here. Corner store. Back porch. Thought I didn’t notice?”

Your lips parted, no sound comes out at first. Then, barely a whisper, “I… I thought you didn’t.”

“Wrong.” One big hand lifts slow, carefully and the rough pad of his thumb brushes the edge of your hoodie sleeve where it had slipped down your shoulder. Goosebumps erupts across everywhere he almost touches. “Been noticin’ you since the first day you walked by in those jeans. Ass hugged so tight I could see the outline of your panties. Thought about bendin’ you over the railing right then.”

Heat floods between your thighs so fast your vision blurs and you can feel yourself leaking now, slow, syrupy slick soaking through your cotton panties, darkening the crotch of your shorts in an obvious little patch. His eyes drops to it immediately.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost laboured. “Look at that. Sweet little pussy already cryin’ for me and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You whimper again, louder this time, hips shifting forward on instinct, chasing nothing.

“You alone tonight?” he asks. Casually, like he’s asking about the weather.

You nod, throat dry. “Dad’s working late again, always is.”

Toji hums, low in his chest. The sound vibrates through the air into your palms.

He reaches out, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted.

You don’t.

Thick fingers catch the hem of your hoodie where it’s ridden up over your hip and he doesn’t pull it down. Just tugs it a little higher, exposing another inch of soft skin. His thumb brushes the edge of your shorts, barely a graze, but it feels like he’s touching you somewhere much more intimate.

“These are reaaaaal short,” he drawls. Voice gone darker. “You always walk around in shit like this?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Sometimes.”

He exhales through his nose, almost a growl.

“Careful, sweetheart.” His thumb presses just barely into the crease where thigh meets ass. “Lots of eyes around here.”

You’re trembling now and its not from fear, its from the sudden, vicious ache blooming low in your belly. Your thighs press together on instinct and he notices. Of course he does.

Toji’s eyes flick down to where your legs squeeze, then back up to your face, that smirk of his deepens.

“You scared of me?” he asks softly, almost sweet — if sweet could be laced with this much danger.

You shake your head, barely.

“Liar,” he says but he sounds pleased.

His hand slides higher, his fingers splaying wide across the small of your back, his palm is hot and rough as calluses drag against your skin like a promise. He doesn’t push you down. Doesn’t need to, you’re already melting into the floor boards, arching just enough that your ass lifts a fraction — offering.

He groans quietly and guttural, the first real crack in that cool exterior.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re trouble.”

You lick your lips, voice barely there. “You gonna do something about it?”

His eyes snap to yours. Dark, predatory.

For one endless second neither of you moves.

Your breath hitches when his gaze drops again — straight to the damp patch you know is starting to show. The cotton’s darker there now, clinging, outlining the plump shape of your pussy lips so clearly it’s obscene. You’re soaked, have been since you noticed him watching. And he can fucking see it.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something dangerous-soft, “sittin’ out here all needy. Drippin’ through your shorts for the old man next door.”

Your mouth falls open on a shaky gasp. No denial. No lie. Just liquid heat, shameful heat — flooding between your legs at his words.

Toji’s eyes darken and hooks one thick finger under the hem of your shorts. Doesn’t pull them down. Just lifts the fabric the tiniest bit, letting it snap back against the crease of your thigh with a soft thwack.

“Bet these panties are fuckin’ ruined,” he says, almost conversationally. “All wet and clingy, pushin’ up against the seam, yeah?”

You whimper high and helpless, hips shifting forward before you can stop them.

He chuckles, low and mean. “Knew it.”

Toji’s hand moves again, this time cupping the side of your face, thumb stroking slow along your jaw. Calluses rough against your soft skin. “Pretty thing,” he murmured. “So shy. So needy. Bet you’ve been touchin’ yourself thinkin’ about the mean neighbour next door, huh? Imaginin’ what these hands would feel like spreadin’ you open.”

Your head tipped into his palm. Eyes fluttering. “Y-yes…”

“Good girl.” Praise hits like honey dripping down your spine. He leaned in closer — close enough his breath fanned your glossed lips. “Gonna kiss you now. Wanna taste how sweet that pouty mouth is before I ruin the rest of you.”

You nodded with frantic little jerks of your head.

Then his mouth is on yours.

Soft at first, just the brush of scarred lips over your glossy ones, tasting artificial cherry and nervous salt. He groaned low in his throat the second your mouths connect, like he’d been starving for it, his big hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants so he could lick slow into the seam of your lips.

You opened for him instantly. Tongue shy and tentative, his is thicker, hotter, curling against yours with lazy confidence. He kisses like he had nowhere else to be, like he could spend hours just licking into your mouth, swallowing every tiny whimper you give him.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against your lips between slow, wet kisses. “Taste like summer, like you’ve been waitin’ for this.”

His other hand finds your thigh, palming the plush inner meat, squeezing gently, thumb stroking higher and higher until it grazes the damp edge of your shorts, not pushing inside. Just petting. Soothing. Praising.

“Doin’ so good for me already,” he whispers, nipping your bottom lip. “Letting me kiss you like this. Letting me feel how wet you are just from my mouth. Such a good girl f'me already.”

You moan  into his kiss loud and  needy — hips canting up so his thumb presses firmer against the soaked outline of your pussy. He growls softly, rewarding you with another deep, filthy lick into your mouth.

The kiss turns hungrier. Wetter. His tongue fucks slow and deliberately into yours while his hand kneads your thigh, inching closer to where you ache most — never quite touching your clit, just circling, teasing, making you drip more and more until the cotton’s clinging transparently to every swollen fold.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath ragged, green eyes blown black with want.

“Tell me you want more,” he raspes. Voice wrecked. “Tell me you want my hands on you. My mouth. Everything.”

Your lips trembles, gloss smeared and eyes glassy.

“I want it,” you breathe. “Want you…please, Toji…”

He smiled then slowly, gaze darkening but still so gentle when his thumb brushes your cheek again.

“Good girl,” he purred.

And then he kissed you deeper — claiming, devouring, promising every filthy thing he's about to do to you next.

His mouth is still on yours hot, slow and filthy in the best way. Tongue sliding deep, curling lazy against yours like he's mapping every soft inch of your mouth, tasting the cherry gloss you’d slicked on earlier just because you felt pretty. 

Toji kisses like a man who’s waited too long to taste something sweet and now couldn’t get enough. A big hand cradles the back of your neck, thumb stroking the sensitive spot just under your ear while the other squeezes the plush meat of your inner thigh — fingers digging in just enough to make your hips twitch forward, chasing more pressure against the soaked cotton clinging to your pussy.

You were drowning in it. Brain turning to warm syrup, every thought melting into the wet drag of his tongue, the faint scrape of his scar against your lower lip when he sucks it between his teeth. Soft little whimpers bubbling out of you every time he pulls back just to nip, just to breathe a rough “good girl” against your mouth before diving back in deeper.

Your hands found his shoulders somewhere in the haze, your fingertips digging into hard muscles under that tight black shirt, feeling the heat rolling off him like a furnace. He smells so good up close; clean sweat, faint cologne that clung to his neck, something darker and masculine underneath that made your clit throb harder every time you inhaled.

When he finally eases back — barely an inch, forehead pressing to yours, your lips swollen, gloss smeared across both your mouths, strings of spit connecting when yours part. You were panting, chest heaving under the half-zipped hoodie, nipples tight and aching against the thin tank.

Toji’s green eyes were blown black, pupils eating up the color as he stares down at you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. His thumb brushing slowly over your bottom lip, spreading the mess even more.

“Fuck, look at this mouth,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough and wrecked. “All glossy and puffy from just my kisses. Bet it’d look even prettier wrapped around my cock.”

The words hit you like a slap of heat. Your thighs clenching hard — slick gushing fresh against your already drenched panties, the cotton so wet now it was sticking transparently to every plump fold. You could feel the outline of your pussy lips print shamelessly through the shorts, fat and swollen… begging.

You tried to speak — tried to be smart, to play it cool, but your brain was mush, words tumbling out careless and needy.

“W-wanna… come inside?” you breathed, barely coherent. “For… for a drink. Or… something. Please.”

Toji’s scarred lips curves slow and predatory, but still so fucking gentle when his thumb strokes your cheek again.

“Yeah?” he rasps. “You invitin’ the old man next door inside while your daddy’s gone? Careful, sweetheart. I might'n wanna leave once I get my hands on you proper.”

Your head bobs, frantical little nods. “I… I don’t want you to leave.”

He groans low in his throat, like the confession physically hurt him in the best way. Then he was standing, a slow roll of his muscles as he rose to his full height, now towering over you on the step. One big hand extended down.

“C’mon then pretty girl. Show me where you live.”

You take his hand, your small fingers swallowed up in his scarred palm and you let him pull you up. Legs shaky, thighs slick where they're rubbing together. The second you're standing he tugs you closer, arm banding around your waist so your soft body presses flush to his hard one. You could feel him, thick and heavy…his cock already half-hard and straining against his sweatpants, nudging insistently against your lower belly.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your hair, inhaling deep like he was trying to memorize your scent. “Smell's so sweet. Bet you taste even better between those thighs.”

He walks you the few steps to your door like that, an arm possessive around you, free hand palming slow over the curve of your ass through your shorts, squeezing the plush flesh like he was testing how soft you really are. You fumble the key with trembling fingers and he just chuckles low against your ear.

“Easy, baby. We got all night.”

The door finally opens. You stumble inside, the dim living room lit up only by the lamp you’d left on, the cheap couch, scattered textbooks from last semester you hadn’t bothered to put away. Toji kicks the door shut behind him without looking, then spun you gently until your back hits the wall beside it.

He didn’t crowd you right away. Just stood there, close enough you could feel his heat, but giving you that one last second to back out if you wanted.

You didn’t.

Instead you tipped your head back, lips parting eyes glassy and pleading.

Toji’s hand came up and cupsyour jaw so gently it made your chest ache, his thumb stroking over your swollen bottom lip again.

“Look at you,” he whispers, voice thick with something almost reverent. “So fuckin’ pretty. So young and soft and already drippin’ for a man old enough to know better. You know how filthy that is, sweetheart? How wrong?”

You whimpered, nodding your hips canting forward so the damp crotch of your shorts brushes the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

“Feels right to me,” you breathe out needy.

His eyes flutters shut for a second — like your words punched the air out of him. Then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, hungrier. Tongue fucking slow into your mouth while both hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you easy like you weighed nothing. Your legs wraps around his waist on instinct; he pins you to the wall with his hips, his thick cock grinding slow against your soaked pussy through layers of fabric.

You moaned loud into his mouth, a desperate, broken sound.

“That’s it,” he praises against your lips, rocking slow and deliberately. “Grind on it, baby, let me feel how wet you are for me. Soaked right through these little shorts… fuck, I can smell you. Sweet little cunt cryin’ for cock.”

His hands kneads your ass rough, spreading you open even through your clothes, his fingertips dipping under the hem of your shorts to brush the edge of your drenched panties. You jolt at the contact and he just shushes you softly by kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Doin’ so good,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl lettin’ me touch. Gonna take care of you, yeah? Gonna make this pretty pussy feel so full… but imma take my time. Wanna savor every second of ruinin’ you.”

You were shaking, your whole body trembling with need, clit throbbing against the drag of his cock every time he rolls his hips. Slick had soaked through everything now and you could feel it smearing against him, making the fabric cling obscenely.

“Toji…” His name comes out wrecked, pleading. “Please… need you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, tender and filthy all at once.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, pressing one last soft kiss to your forehead. “I know. Gonna give you everything. But first…”

His hand slid between your bodies and cups your pussy over the shorts, his palm grinds slow against your swollen clit while two thick fingers traces the soaked outline of your lips through the cotton.

“Gonna make you come like this first,” he promises, voice low and wrecked with want. “Just from my hand, m'gonna watch this sweet little thing soak my fingers before I even get inside you. You gonna be good and come for me, baby?”

Your head falls back against the wall, eyes rolling, your hips already chasing his palm in frantic little circles.

“Y-yes… yes, please… Toji…”

He smiles slowly, dangerous and adoring.

“That’s my girl.”

And then he kisses you again deeper and filthy, while his hand works unhurried, perfect little circles over your dripping cunt, building you up slow and sweet until you’re trembling on the edge, ready to fall apart for the quiet neighbour who’d finally let you into his world.

Toji didn’t set you down.

Not even for a second.

The second your shaky “yes” left your lips he scoops you up like you weigh nothing, his big scarred hands sliding under the plush meat of your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor so your legs had no choice but to wrap tight around his narrow waist.

Your soaked shorts presses right against the thick, heavy ridge of his cock straining through his sweatpants, and the friction made you whimper into his mouth — high, the needy sound swallowed by another slow, filthy kiss.

Toji doesn’t even glance at the couch, he heads straight for your bedroom door instead. “Wanna take this where I can spread you out proper. Where I can watch every little thing that pretty face does when I make you come apart.”

Your arms loops around his neck — fingers digging into the short black hair at his nape, clinging like he's the only solid thing left in your world. He carries you down the short hallway like that, feet heavy on the cheap laminate, every step grinding his cock against your dripping pussy through the thin layers. You could feel how hard he is — thick, hot and pulsing, already leaking enough that a damp spot had started blooming on his sweats where your slick had soaked through everything.

Your bedroom door was half-open already. Small room — nothing fancy. Twin bed pushed against one wall with rumpled pastel sheets you hadn’t bothered making, fairy lights strung lazy across the headboard from last semester, a cluttered desk with half-finished college notes and empty energy drink cans. Window cracked, letting in the thick summer night air. It smells faintly like your vanilla body spray and the faint laundry detergent on your sheets.

Toji kicks the door shut behind him, a soft click of the latch sealing you both in and crosses the small space in three strides, he didn’t bother with the light. The glow from a dim lamp on your table and those soft fairy lights was enough — warm, hazy, turning his sharp features golden and making the scar on his mouth look even more wicked when he smirked down at you.

He lowered you slow onto the edge of the mattress carefully, almost worshipful, until your ass hit the comforter and your legs dangles off. But he didn’t step back. Just stayed between your spread thighs, towering, broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with something soft and hungry all at once. Big hands sliding up your sides, under the hem of your hoodie this time, his palms rough and warm dragging slow over the soft curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits through the thin tank. “So fuckin’ soft everywhere. Plush little body just beggin’ to be touched.”

You shiver, your whole body trembling as his hands keep roaming. Up your ribs, over the swell of your breasts, squeezing gently through fabric until your nipples peaks hard against his palms.

Then back down, his fingertips tracing the gentle pooch of your tummy, dipping into the soft dip of your navel, spreading wide to span the width of your lower belly like he was measuring how perfectly you’d fit under him.

His eyes drop lower, locking on the obscene wet spot darkening your shorts. The cotton plastered to your pussy now, every plump, fattened lip outlined clear as day, swollen clit peeking through like a needy little button begging for attention.

Slick soaked all the way through your cotton panties underneath, making the fabric sheer and clinging, showing the glossy sheen of your arousal coating every fold.

“Jesus,” he breathes, almost dazed. “Can’t even hide it, can you? Fat little cunt just printin’ out for me, drippin’ right through everything. Been leakin’ like this since I kissed you on the porch, huh?”

You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, your hips shifting forward on instinct so the soaked crotch of your shorts brushes his thigh.

Toji groans low, a deep rumble in his chest, then leans down, caging you with his arms braced on either side of your hips. His mouth finds your neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing slow from under your ear down the column of your throat. He sucks gently at first, his lips sealing over soft skin, tongue flicking — then harder.

Teeth grazing just enough to sting before he soothes it with slow laps, blooming dark purple bruises one after another like he was marking territory.

“Good girl,” he whispers between sucks, voice muffled against your skin. “Lettin’ me mark you up like this. Gonna look so pretty tomorrow, little love bites all over this sweet neck so everyone knows who’s been takin’ care of you.”

His hands never stops moving, he slides them under your hoodie again, pushing the fabric up slowly until it bunches under your tits. Callused palms dragging over bare skin now, the rough texture making you arch, you let out a faint gasp, as his fingers splays wide over your soft tummy, kneading gently like he couldn’t get enough of how plush you were there.

“Love this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “This soft little belly. Gonna watch it bounce when I’m fuckin’ you deep later. Gonna feel it quiver when you come all over my cock.”

You were whimpering nonstop now, your brain goopy, thoughts reduced to nothing but the heat of his mouth, the weight of his hands, the slow grind of his hips every time he shifts closer. He was still fully clothed, his tight black shirt stretching over thick pecs and sharp-cut abs, sweatpants slung low but you could feel every ridge of muscle flexing against you when he moved. Solid. Unyielding. Cutting through the thin layers like he was already inside you.

Toji pulls back just enough to look at your face, eyes dark, tender and filthy with want. Thumb brushing over one of the fresh bruises on your throat, a gentle stroke that made you shiver.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” he praises, voice low and steady. “Look how pretty you are.” Your eyes were all glassy, lips swollen, pussy so wet he could hear it every time you shift. “Gonna take my time with you, m'gonna touch every inch, talk you through it nice and slow till you’re shakin’ and beggin’.”

One hand slides down, cupping your soaked mound over the shorts, his palm grinding slow against your clit while thick fingers traces the plump outline of your lips through the fabric. Not pushing inside yet. Just petting. Soothing. Building.

“Feel that?” he whispers, pressing firmer so you could feel how your slick squelches against his palm. “That’s all for me. Sweet little thing gettin’ this messy just from my kisses and my hands. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You moan, loud and broken, your head tipping back as your hips rolls up into his touch.

He kisses you again, his tongue sliding against yours while his hand keeps that lazy rhythm between your thighs. The other stays on your tummy, rubbing slow circles over the soft pudge, possessive and adoring all at once.

“Gonna watch you fall apart, sweetheart,” he promised against your mouth. “Gonna make this pretty pussy cum so hard you see stars. And then I’m gonna do it again. And again. Till you’re too fucked-out to think about anything but me.”

His fingers hooks under the waistband of your shorts slowly tugging it downward, just enough to bare the top of your drenched panties.

“Ready for more?” he murmurs, nipping your bottom lip. “Gonna strip you and kiss every bruise I leave, spread these plush thighs and taste how sweet you are.”

Your answer was a shaky nod, eyes locked on his and pleading.

Toji smiles slow, dangerous and so fucking gentle.

“That’s my girl.”

And then he starts peeling your hoodie off slowly, his hands worshipping every new inch of bare skin he uncovers, mouth following right behind with more soft kisses and praise, ready to unravel you piece by trembling piece on your little twin bed while the summer night presses warm against the window.

Toji pulls back from your neck, his lips shiny with spit, a fresh bruise blooming dark and pretty under your jaw and his eyes drops to your face. You were a wreck already, cheeks flushing hot, eyes glassy and half-lidded, mouth hanging open in soft little pants.

A thin string of drool had slipped from the corner of your lips, trailing slow down your chin like you’d forgotten how to swallow. Fuck. The sight punches straight through him, making his cock twitch hard against the damp front of his sweats, thickening even more until the fat head was outlined clear as day through the gray cotton.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice thick and wrecked. “Look at you droolin’ for me already. Can’t even keep that pretty mouth closed.”

He leans in slow, his big hand cupping the side of your face, thumb sweeping under your lower lip to catch the mess. But instead of wiping it away he just smears it wider and then dips down and licks it up himself, tongue flat and hot dragging slowly from your chin to the corner of your mouth, tasting the sweet-salty mix of your spit and his earlier kisses. You whimper the sound coming out high and broken as he seals his scarred lips over yours again in one sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

Tongues sliding messy and wet, no rhythm left. Just hunger. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth with a gentle tug and then plunges back in, licking deep into your mouth like he was trying to drink every drop of you.

Drool spilling between your lips, stringing down your chin again, soaking into the collar of your tank. You're making the filthiest little noises, soft, wet glucks every time his tongue licks into you and he groans low against your mouth, swallowing them all down.

“Such a messy girl,” he murmurs between kisses, nipping your tongue. “Doin’ so good though. Lettin’ me lick it all up. My sweet, sloppy baby.”

He breaks the kiss with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting your mouths for a second before it snaps and he sits back on his heels between your spread thighs. His eyes raking down your body slowly, like he was memorizing every inch. Hoodie shoved up to your tits, tank rucked under them so the soft undersides spilled out.

Shorts still on but soaked dark at the crotch, clinging transparently to the plump mound of your pussy. The fat lips were printed perfect through the cotton — swollen, puffy, glossy with thick gluey slick that had leaked through your panties and was now starting to drip down the crease of your thighs, making shiny wet trails on your sheets.

Toji’s mouth waters so hard he has to swallow. His cock was rock-hard now — veined, fattened, throbbing painfully against his sweats. He palmed it once, roughly squeezed it through the fabric, just to take the edge off. The head leaking more, darkening the gray in a fat wet spot right at the tip. But he didn’t care about himself yet. Not when your pretty soaked pussy was right there, begging for his mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice strained. “Look at this messy little thing.” So sticky. So sappy. “Drippin’ all over your bed like you can’t help it.”

He hooks two thick fingers under the waistband of your shorts, slowly tugging it down your hips. You lifted for him on instinct, — a shaky little arch and he peels them off along with your drenched panties in one go. The fabric stuck for a second — clinging to your slick folds before coming free with a wet schlick. Strings of thick, glossy arousal stretching between the cotton and your pussy, snapping slow as he tosses them aside.

Your legs fell open wider, your knees bent, feet planted on the mattress and there it was; your pussymound all shiny and swollen, lips puffy and parted just enough to show the sticky pretty inside. Slick coating everything — thick, gluey strands webbing between your folds, dripping slow down to your tight little hole that clenched on nothing.

Your clit was begging — fattened, flushed dark, peeking out from its hood like it was throbbing for attention. The whole thing glistened under the fairy lights — sappy, cummy, so fucking wet it looked obscene.

Toji groaned deeply, a guttural sound coming from his chest. His hands slid up your plush thighs, spreading you wider, thumbs hooking under the meat where thigh met hip so he could hold you open. Your pussy lips parted more, the sticky strings stretching, then breaking, revealing the creamy mess inside.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, almost to himself. “Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen. All swollen and leaking for me. Gonna taste every drop, baby. Gonna lick this sweet cunt clean till you’re shakin’.”

You whimper high and desperate, your hips twitching up toward his face.

He leaned in slow, his hot breath fanning over your clit first, making it jump. Then his tongue, flat and wide dragged up the entire length of your slit in one long, slow lick. From your dripping hole to the tip of your clit. Thick gluey slick coated his tongue instantly, sweet, tangy, so fucking much of it he had to swallow hard. He groaned against you, the vibration rumbling straight through your core.

“So sweet,” he praised, voice muffled as he licked again — slower this time, savoring it. “Taste like fuckin’ heaven. My good girl’s pussy all creamy and ready. Doin’ so perfect for me.”

His tongue circled your clit, with gentle flicks at first, then slower, broad laps that made your hips buck. One big hand slid up to your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the plush curve, holding you down gentle while his mouth worked. The other kept your thigh spread, thumb stroking soothing circles on the inner meat while he sucked your clit between his lips, a soft pull, then releasing, then pulling again.

You were moaning nonstop loud and  wrecked, the sounds filling the small room. Slick gushing  fresh with every lick — thick ropes of it coating his chin, dripping down his neck. He didn’t stop, just kept on lapping messy and hungry, his tongue dipping into your tight hole to scoop out more of that gluey cream, then dragging back up to suckle your clit like it was candy.

“Look at her clenchin’,” he murmured between licks, eyes flicking up to watch your face. “So tight and needy. Gonna come for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me drink all this pretty mess while you fall apart?”

His tongue plunged deeper, fucking slow into your hole, then he pulled out to circle your clit again, the hand on your tummy pressed firmer, feeling the way your muscles quivered under his palm.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, voice thick with praise. “Doin’ so good. Such a sweet girl lettin’ me eat this pussy. Gonna make you come so hard you soak my face. Then I’m gonna do it again. Gonna keep goin’ till you’re cryin’ my name.”

He sucked harder, his lips sealing around your clit, tongue flicking faster now and your whole body arched, your thighs shaking, hands fisting the sheets, drool slipping from your open mouth again as the pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly.

Toji didn’t let up, he just kept licking slow and filthy, worshipfully talking you through every tremor, every gush of slick, every broken whimper.

“My perfect girl,” he rasped against your dripping cunt. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste how good I make you feel.”

And with one more long, slow drag of his tongue — circling your begging clit just right — you shattered.

You came hard, harder than you ever had alone in this little bed with your fingers or with that cheap little vibe tucked in your drawer. Your whole body seized up like lightning hit your spine, thighs clamping around Toji’s head on instinct, plush hips bucking wild against his mouth while thick ropes of slick gushed straight onto his tongue.

Your clit throbbing against his lips — fat, swollen, pulsing like a second heartbeat — and he didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. Just groaned deep into your cunt like the taste of your orgasm was the only thing he’d been starving for all summer.

“Thaaat’s it,” he rasped, voice muffled and wrecked against your dripping folds. “Come all over my face, sweetheart. Fuck, look at her spillin’ for me. So sweet. So fuckin’ messy.”

He kept licking slow, greedy — greedy laps through the aftermath — cleaning up every fresh gush like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop. Your pussy lips were puffy and flushed dark now, glossy with spit and cum, parting easy every time his tongue nudged between them. Slick coated his chin, dripping down his scarred neck in shiny trails, soaked into the collar of his black shirt. The fairy lights caught it all — turning the mess iridescent, obscene, beautiful.

You were shaking, overstimulated already, clit so sensitive it hurt in the best way, but Toji wasn’t done. Not even close. Man-starved didn’t even cover it, he ate like he’d been denied pussy his whole life and yours was the first real meal he’d ever had. Toji after a moment hooked his fingers into the underside of his shirt and pulled it off in one fluid motion.

Then his big hands shoved your thighs wider, thumbs hooking under the crease where thigh met hip, spreading you so open your tight little hole winked at him with every clench.

He pulled back just enough to look, eyes black with hunger, pupils blown wide watching the way your fattened lips trembled, the way thick gluey strings of your arousal stretched between them like spider silk every time you fluttered.

“Goddamn,” he breathed softly. “This pretty cunt’s still cryin’ for more. Look how she’s clenchin’… all tight and needy even after comin’ that hard. Fuck, baby… you’re killin’ me.”

He dove back in — lips sealing over your clit again, sucking soft at first, then harder. Wet, filthy pulls that made your hips jerk, made your back arch off the mattress until your tits spilled free from under the rucked-up tank. His tongue flicked fast over the swollen bud — quick little lashes — then slowed to broad, dragging circles that had you sobbing.

“Toj i— f-fuck — too much — s’too much — ”

“Shhh,” he soothed without stopping, voice vibrating straight through your core. “You can take it. Doin’ so good for me. My perfect girl. Just lemme taste a little more. Gotta drink every drop this sweet pussy’s givin’ me.”

He licked lower, his tongue plunging slow into your tight hole, fucking in and out with lazy thrusts that made obscene wet squelches fill the room. Your walls fluttered around him greedily, sucking at his tongue like they wanted to keep him inside forever. He groaned — deep, guttural — then pulled out just to spit right onto your clit. A thick glob of his saliva landed hot and heavy, mixing with your slick, running down your folds in slow rivulets.

You whimpered, high and broken when he blew a soft puff of air over the mess, his cool breath hitting your overheated, spit-slick clit like ice on fire. Your whole pussy jolted — clit jumping, hole clenching hard enough to push out another bead of thick cream that dripped slow down your ass.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled, watching it with dark, fascinated eyes. “Look at her twitch. Sensitive little thing. Love how she jumps when I blow on her. Gonna make her come again just like this.” You were overstimulated and shaking.

He sucked your clit back into his mouth, gently this time, lips soft around the swollen bud while his tongue lapped slow, soothing circles. One hand slid up your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the soft give of skin, fingers splaying to feel every quiver of your muscles.

The other kept your thigh pinned, thumb stroking slow, reassuring circles on the inner skin like he was petting you through the overstimulation.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured between sucks, pulling off just long enough to speak before diving back in. “Lettin’ me eat this messy cunt even when it’s too much. Takin’ everything I give you. So pretty when you cry for me like this.”

He licked into you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling to scoop out the thickest parts of your cream, feeding it back to your pussy with slow, filthy thrusts. Then he pulled out, lips shiny, chin dripping and spat again. Right onto your hole this time, watching it slide in, mixing with your slick until everything was glossy and obscene.

“Breathe, baby,” he cooed, blowing another soft puff over your clit, watching it throb, watching your hips buck helplessly. “Just breathe. M'gonna make you come again. Gonna suck this pretty clit till you’re soakin’ the sheets even more. Wanna see how many times I can make her gush before you’re beggin’ me to fuck you.”

Your hands flew to his hair — fingers tangling in the black strands, pulling hard enough to make him growl against you. But he loved it, loved the way you were falling apart and drooling again, spit slipping from the corner of your mouth, eyes rolling back as another wave built fast and brutal in your belly.

He sucked harder — lips sealing tight, cheeks hollowing — tongue flicking relentless over your clit while he hummed low, vibrations rumbling straight through you. His free hand pressed firmer on your tummy, feeling the way your muscles clenched, the way your whole body trembled on the edge.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he praised, voice thick and wrecked. “Give it to me. Come all over my tongue again. Let me taste how overstimulated this sweet pussy gets for me. My good girl, my perfect, messy, drippin’ girl.”

One more long, slow drag of his tongue, circling your clit just right, then plunging back into your clenching hole and you shattered again. Harder. Louder, your whole body convulsing, thighs shaking around his head, slick gushing in thick spurts that coated his mouth, his chin and the sheets beneath you.

Toji drank it all — groaning like a man possessed — licking slow through the aftershocks, soothing your twitching clit with soft kitten licks while you sobbed his name, overstimulated and wrecked and still so fucking needy for more.

He finally pulled back — lips swollen, face a mess of spit and cum, his eyes locking on yours with that dark, adoring hunger.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, crawling up your body slow, caging you under his broad frame. “You taste like sin. Like every filthy thing I’ve ever wanted.”

His mouth found yours, in a slow, deep kiss letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Thick fingers sliding between your thighs again and petting your soaked, puffy pussy gentle now, soothing the oversensitive folds.

“Still shakin’,” he murmured against your lips, smiling soft and filthy. “Still drippin’. Think you can take my cock now, sweetheart? Or you need me to eat this pretty cunt one more time first?”

Your answer was a broken whimper — hips canting up toward his hand, begging without words.

He chuckled low, dark and tenderly.

“That’s my girl.”

Toji had finally pulled his mouth off your wrecked pussy — lips swollen dark red, his chin still glistening with thick ropes of your slick and his spit that stretched and snapped every time he moved. 

He gave you one more slow, sweet savouring kiss to your sweet little lips before crouching back down between your trembling thighs for a second longer, just staring at the mess he’d made; your fat pussy mound all shiny and puffy, lips parted and drooling slow streams of cream down your ass, onto the already soaked sheets.

Your clit was a throbbing little pearl now — fattened up dark and glossy, peeking out like it was begging for one more touch even after two brutal orgasms. Your tight hole kept clenching on nothing — suckling air, pushing out fresh beads of gluey slick that made obscene wet sounds in the quiet room.

He groaned low, the sound ripping out from deep in his chest and he palmed his cock through his sweats again. Harder this time, giving it a rough squeeze that made the thick vein along the underside jump under his hand.

The front of the gray fabric was wrecked — a dark wet patch spreading from the fat, leaking tip, glossy pre soaking through in thick globs that clinged to the cotton like honey.

You saw the outline perfectly now; his fat fuckin’ cock all hardened up for you, swollen and heavy, curving slightly to the left, the round mushroom head so chubbed and probably flushed it looked angry.

“Fuck, look what you did to me, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick with want. “Got me so hard it hurts. Leakin’ like a faucet just from tastin’ this pretty cunt. You see how much pre I’m givin’ you? All for this messy little pussy.”

He shoved his sweats down slow enough to free himself, then kicked it off completely. His cock sprang out heavy the thick base dusted with dark curls of hair, shaft veined and ridged, fattened tip glossy with a fat pearl of pre that beaded at the pink slit and dripping slow down the underside.

It bobbed once, smacking wet against his abs, before he wrapped one scarred hand around the middle and gave himself one lazy stroke. More pre welled up — thick and clear — dribbling over his knuckles.

Your mouth watered. Your pussy clenched hard — sappy walls fluttering, clit jumping at the sight. You were so wet still — thicker now, gluey strands webbing between your lips every time your hips twitched.

Toji crawled back up your body, slow and carefully caging you in, under his broad frame. One thick forearm braced beside your head, the other hand guiding his cock down between your thighs. He didn’t push in…not yet. Just rubbing slow, filthy drags of that fattened round tip through your glossed folds.

The head was scorching hot — swelled up so big it parted your puffy lips easy, spreading them wide around the blunt crown. Your clammy, glued pussylips sucked at him, clinging wetly every time he dragged back, strings of your slick stretching from your hole to his tip like they didn’t want to let go. He nudged your clit with the slit, smearing thick pre over the aching bud — making it throb harder, making you whimper high and broken.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, voice low and mean-teasing as he rocked slow. “Fat fuckin’ cock all hardened up just for you.” Rubbin’ right through your glossy folds. “Y’er sweet little pussy’s kissin’ me back, suckin’ on the tip like she’s tryin’ to pull me in.”

You nodded — desperately, drool slipping from your open mouth again, hips canting up to chase more friction. Your clit was so achy, fattened and sensitive, every glide of his swollen head over it sent sparks shooting up your spine.

Toji chuckled, the sound breathless and dark — then pressed firmer. The round tip notched right at your entrance, stretching the tight ring just enough to make your hole flutter and suckle greedy around him. Not inside. Just teasing…just enough to feel how hot and wet and ready you were.

“Look how she’s grippin’,” he praised, eyes locked on where your pussy lips hugged the head of his cock — clinging, glossy, dripping. “Tight little hole sucklin’ like she’s starvin’. Fuck, baby, you’re so so wet. Drippin’ all over my dick before I even get in. Such a needy girl.”

He rocked against you slowly again, dragging that fattened tip up your slit to bump your clit, then back down to nudge your hole. Pre mixed with your slick, making everything slippery, obscene, the wet schlick, schlick, schlick filling the room every time he teased. Your clit throbbed harder, achy and begging, every time the ridge of his crown caught it just right.

“Toji…please—” Your voice cracked — high, pleading. “Need it… need you inside…”

He groaned, the deep rumble vibrating through both of you, then leaned down to kiss you lovingly, slow and sweet, his tongue sliding against yours while he kept that mean, teasing rhythm; fat tip rubbing through your folds, bumping your clit, nudging your hole, spreading you open without giving you what you craved.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips, voice wrecked with restraint. “Gonna tease this sweet pussy a little longer. Wanna feel how much wetter you get. Wanna watch this fat little cunt cry for my cock till you’re shakin’ and sobbin’.”

One big hand slid under your ass, lifting your hips just enough to change the angle. Now every slow drag had his swollen tip catching right on your entrance — stretching the rim, making your walls flutter desperate around nothing. Your clit dragged along the thick underside of his shaft, veins bumping the sensitive bud, sending fresh gushes of slick coating him.

“Feel how hard I am for you?” he rasped, rocking firmer. All his thick pre leakin’ “Just thinkin’ about sinkin’ into this tight, pretty cunt. You’re so fuckin’ wet, baby. So ready. But I wanna hear you beg a little more. Wanna hear how bad my good girl needs this fat cock stretchin’ her open.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders — nails digging into hard muscle, your hips rolling up frantically to chase his teasing. Slick squelching loud between you, gluey strands clinging to his shaft, dripping down his heavy balls that brushed your ass with every rock.

“Toji… please… fuck m’need you so bad —” You were babbling now, voice wrecked, drool slipping down your chin. “Want your cock… want it deep… please —”

He smiled slow, adoringly and mean, then kissed you again, deep and claiming — while his hips kept that torturous rhythm: fat fuckin’ cock rubbing slow through your glossed folds, teasing your achy clit, nudging your suckling hole, making you drip and clench and beg for the stretch you were dying for.

“Soon, baby,” he promised, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna give you every thick inch. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy so good you’ll feel me for days. But first… keep beggin’. Keep drippin’. Show me how desperate my sweet girl is for it.”

And he kept teasing, relentless — until your whole body was trembling, pussy clenching empty and greedy, clit throbbing achy and swollen, slick pooling under your ass in a sticky puddle while he watched you fall apart under his mean, loving touch.

Toji’s hips stilled for a second, his fat, glossy cockhead still notched right at your entrance, stretching the tight ring of your hole just enough that it fluttered desperately around him. Your clammy, slick walls were sucking greedily at the swollen tip, like your pussy was trying to pull him deeper even while fighting the stretch. He was so fuckin’ thick, the round mushroom head bloated and veined, ridged crown — catching on every soft fold as he pushed forward slowly, agonizingly slow.

You gasped high and sharp the sound cracking into a whimper — back arching off the mattress, plush thighs trembling where they were hooked over his hips. Your hole clenched hard on instinct — clammy, hot and so so tight it made his breath hitch rough in his throat.

“Fuck.. easy, sweetheart,” voice low and wrecked, one big scarred hand sliding under your ass to lift your hips just a fraction higher. “You’re grippin’ me like a vice already and I’ve barely got the tip in. So fuckin’ tight… this pretty little cunt’s never taken anything this big, huh?”

You shook your head — frantic little jerks — drool slipping from the corner of your mouth again as you stared up at him with glassy, pleading eyes.

Your clit still achy and swollen from his teasing, throbbing every time the base of his shaft dragged against it on accident. Slick poured out around his tip — thick, gluey strands coating the fat crown, dripping down his heavy balls in slow, shiny rivulets.

Toji groaned gutterally, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for a second while he fought not to just slam home. His cock throbbing hard inside that tiny stretch — veins pulsing against your clenching walls, pre leaking in fat drops that mixed with your cream and made everything even messier.

“Look at you tryin’ so hard for me,” he praised, voice soft and thick with adoration even as his hips rocked in tiny, teasing nudges. “Takin’ just the tip like such a good girl. Feel how she’s suckin’ on me? Fuck…your hole’s so tight and wet, baby. Grippin’ like she don’t ever wanna let go.”

He pushed forward another fraction — barely an inch more and your pussy resisted, walls fluttering wild around the fattened ridge of his crown. The stretch burned sweet — hot, the aching fullness made your toes curl and your nails rake down his broad back. A fresh gush of slick squirted out around him, coating his shaft, dripping onto the sheets in a sticky puddle.

“Haaah —Toji ” Your voice broke, high and wrecked, hips twitching up like you couldn’t decide if you wanted more or needed a second to breathe.

“Shhh, I got you,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth gently-sweet — tongue flicking out to catch the drool on your chin. “Doin’ so perfect. So so tight for me… gonna make it fit, yeah? Gonna stretch this sweet little pussy slow till she’s huggin’ every thick inch. You’re my good girl, my perfect, drippin’ girl. Just breathe for me.”

His free hand slid up your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the plushness there, fingers splaying to feel the way your muscles quiver under him. He rocked again — tiny, shallow thrusts that barely moved the tip in and out, just enough to let your walls flutter and adjust around the blunt head.

Every nudge made obscene wet sounds, — schlick- schlick-schlick — your slick squelching loudly around him, strings of it clinging to his veined shaft like they were trying to keep him buried.

“Feel that burn, baby?” he cooed, voice low and praising as he watched your face — eyes locking on every flutter of your lashes, every tremble of your lips. “That’s me openin’ you up. So tight it’s squeezin’ the cum right outta me… fuck, you’re leakin’ all over my cock. Such a messy, needy cunt. Love how she’s fightin’ me and still beggin’ for more.”

He pushed again — slower this time — watching with dark, hungry eyes as another inch sank in. Your hole stretched wider, your puffy lips hugging the thickest part of his crown, clinging glossy and white-knuckled around him. The stretch was obscene — your clit jumping every time the ridge dragged over it on the way in, fresh cream bubbling out to coat him.

“Haaah — fuck — there we go,” he breathed, thumb stroking slow circles over your lower belly where he could feel the faint bulge starting to form just from the tip and a little more. “Look at that… already makin’ a pretty little bump and I’m not even halfway. So fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. Takin’ me like you were made for it.”

You were sobbing softly now, broken little sounds as your hips canted up helplessly, trying to take more even as your walls spasmed around the invasion. Slick pouring steadily, thick and gluey — drenching his balls, soaking the sheets under your ass in a warm, sticky mess.

Toji leaned down and kissed you deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours while he kept those tiny, rocking thrusts. Just the tip popping in and out, stretching you open, teasing your clenching hole, making your clit throb against the veined underside every time he pulled back.

“Doin’ so good,” he whispers  into your mouth between kisses. “My sweet girl takin’ just the tip so perfectly. Gonna keep goin’ slow, gonna make it fit inch by inch till this fat cock’s buried deep where you need it. You feel how hard I am for you? How much I’m leakin’? All ‘cause this tight little pussy’s grippin’ me like she never wants me to leave.”

One more gentle push and another thick inch goes sliding in and your back bows, a moan ripping out loud and raw as your walls flutter wild around him. He stills again, letting you adjust, his forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged.

“Almost there, baby,” he praises, voice thick with restraint and adoration. “So so tight… but you’re takin’ me so good. My perfect girl. Gonna fill you up soon, m’gonna stretch this sticky hole till it’s huggin’ every veiny inch. Ahh — Just a little more… just breathe and let me make it fit.”

His thumb finds your clit, and circles over the swollen bud slow and gently while he rocks another inch in shallow, keeping you on that razor edge of stretch and pleasure. Slick gushing fresh with every tiny thrust — coating him, dripping down, making the slide just a little easier even as your pussy fights to keep him right where he is.

“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing your tear-streaked cheek. “Tell me how full you are already… how much you need the rest.”

Your answer is a broken whimper, your hips rolling up desperately, pussy clenching hard around just the tip and a little more now.

“Need… need all of you… please, Toji —”

He smiles slow, filthy but so fucking tender, then kisses you again, deep and claiming while his hips started that slow, relentless push forward again.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps against your lips. “Gonna give you everything. Gonna make this tight little cunt take every thick inch till you’re cryin’ and comin’ all over me.”

And inch by torturous inch he keeps making it fit. Slow. Sweet. Praising you through every clench, every gush, every trembling stretch until your pussy finally starts to yield — walls fluttering open, sucking him deeper, greedily and wrecked and so so ready for the rest.

Then Toji’s patience snapped like a thin wire, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as his big scarred hands clamped around your soft waist. No warning. No gentle coaxing. Just raw, starving need. He grabs your little body like it was his to manhandle, his rough palms digging into your plush hips, flipping you onto your side in one swift yank that made the mattress springs squeak protest.

“Fuck ah I-I can’t take it anymore,” he rasps, voice thick and wrecked. “Need to go deeper. Need this tight cunt stuffed full, m’gonna make her take every fuckin’ inch now.”

He drags you down the bed, the sheets tangling around your ankles, until your ass hangs off the edge just enough, cheeks jiggling from the rough pull. Your face mashed into the rumpled comforter — cheek smushing against the soft fabric, drool already pooling under your agape mouth.

One hand flew out on instinct, your fingers clutching the fluffy stuffed bear you keep on the pillow (the one with the little bow tie you’d had since middle school), knuckles white as you gripped it like a lifeline while your body arches helplessly.

Toji presses your legs together, his thick thighs pressing your plush ones tight, forcing your chubby little cunt to pucker even more obscenely. Your fat pussy lips squished together now, glossy and swollen, the plump folds mashed into one slick, puffy seam that barely parts for the fat pink tip still teasing your entrance.

The position makes everything tighter — your gummy walls clenching harder, clit trapped between those squeezed-together lips, throbbing achy and trapped against the pressure.

He lines up, his veined, thick cock — throbbing heavy in his fist — and pushes in.

No slow tease this time.

The fat crown spears past your puckered entrance with a wet, filthy pop — stretching those mashed-together lips wide around his girth. Your hole sucking greedily and clenching so tight it made his eyes roll back,  but he doesn’t stop.

Just keeps feeding inch after thick, veined inch into your poor stuffed cunt, the squeeze so intense it forces thick ropes of your gooey cream to bubble out around him, coating his shaft in shiny white strands that drip slow down your inner thighs.

“Haah… fuck — listen to her,” he groans, hips snapping forward harder now that the angle let him sink deeper. “This chubby little cunt’s cryin’ so loud for me. Squeezin’ like she’s scared I’ll pull out… but she’s suckin’ me right back in. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You wail high, lewd and broken, your cries muffled into the mattress — voice cracking every time his cock punches deeper. Never been fucked like this, with legs squeezed shut making your pussy feel impossibly smaller, every ridge and vein dragging slow and mean along your gummy walls.

Your fat lips puckering tight around his base — stretching thin and glossy, clinging desperately like they were made to mold to his shape. The pressure mashes your clit right against the thick underside of his shaft — rubbing it raw with every brutal thrust, sending sparks shooting up your spine until your toes curl hard.

Toji loses it completely.

Big hands gripping your hips — fingers sinking into soft flesh hard enough to bruise, and he starts pounding. Deep, mean strokes that bottoming out with a wet slap every time his heavy balls smacks your clit.

Precum and your thick cream mixing into a frothy mess squirting out around his cock with every pull-back, dripping in sticky webs down your thighs, soaking the edge of the bed where your ass hangs off.

“Goddamn, look at this mess you’re makin’,” he pants, voice rough and praising all at once. “Gooey little pussy just spillin’ everywhere f’me. So fuckin’ cute how she’s creamin’ all over my dick… takin’ it so deep even when she’s squeezes this tight. My good girl…my filthy, drippin’ girl.”

Your cries turn desperate — muffled sobs into the stuffed bear you are clutching, tears streaking hot down your cheeks. Every thrust punches the air out of your lungs, his cockhead kissing your cervix mean and relentless, stretching your gummy walls wide around his veined thickness.

Your clit rubs mercilessly against him — trapped between those puckered lips, swollen and throbbing, building that coil tighter and tighter until your whole body shakes.

“Feel that?” he growles, leaning over you, his broad chest pressing to your back, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours. One hand slides up to cup your soft tummy — palm pressing down so he can feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. “Feel how deep I am, baby? Stuffin’ this chubby cunt so full she’s leakin’ like a faucet. Gonna make you come like this.” legs squeezed tight, clit rubbed raw and pussy stretched mean around every thick inch of his.

He snaps his hips harder, the angle perfect now, his cock dragging right over that spongy spot inside while his shaft grinds against your trapped clit. Slick squelches loud and obscene, wet slaps filling the room, your gooey cream frothing white at the base of his cock, dripping in thick strands every time he pulls back.

You shatter hard.

Whole body convulsing, walls clamping down like a vice around his pounding cock, milking him greedily as you scream into the mattress. Fresh gushes of slick squirting out around him, hot and messy, soaking his balls, drenching the sheets, making every thrust even sloppier. Your clit throbs wild against him — overstimulated and raw, sending aftershocks after aftershock rippling through you until your legs shake uncontrollably.

Toji groans deep and feral, his hips stuttering as your pussy sucks him in tight.

“Fuck… Aaah yeah, come on my cock, sweetheart,” he praises, voice breaking with how close he was. “Squeezin’ so fuckin’ tight… makin’ such a cute mess f’er me. Good girl, my perfect, pretty girl. Gonna fill this stuffed cunt up soon… gonna pump you so full you’ll be leakin’ me for days.”

He didn’t stop, Toji kept fucking you through it, with mean, deep thrusts that made your ass jiggle, made your cries turn hoarse and wrecked. His veined cock dragged slow and filthy through your fluttering walls — still so tight from your legs squeezed together and clit still rubbing helpless against him with every slam.

“Haah mhnm fuck…m’not done yet,” he rasps, hand sliding down to spread one cheek, exposing where you were stretched obscene around him. “Gonna keep, ah goin’. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy till she’s cryin’ for more… till you’re so full of cum you can’t move.”

And he did — pounding harder, deeper, meaner all while you clutched your stuffed bear tighter, face buried in the mattress, drooling and sobbing and coming undone again and again around his thick cock that finally fit all the way inside your chubby, gooey, perfect little cunt.

Toji’s hips roll in one long, deliberate drag — pulling back just enough that his thick, veined cock starts to slip free from your stuffed little hole. Your sloppy pussy doesn't want to let go. Gummy walls clenching down hard — squeezin’ greedy around every ridge and bump like they’re scared he’d leave you empty.

His foreskin bunches up soft and slick around the fattened base of his crown as he withdraws — pink tip glistening obscene with a thick coat of your cream and his own sappy pre, strings of it stretching taut between your puffy lips and his shaft before snapping wetly against your inner thighs.

You whine high and utterly broken, face mashed deeper into the mattress, your cheek smushed against the soft fur of your stuffed bear, fingers clutching the little plush thing so tight the seams strained. Drool still pooling under your slacked maw, soaking the fabric while your hips twitch back helplessly, chasing the stretch even as he teases you with the slow retreat.

“Fuck haah… listen to that,” he rasps, voice low and filthy-thick with awe. “This nasty lil’ pussy’s makin’ the sloppiest sounds just ‘cause I’m pullin’ out. Squelchin’ like she’s beggin’ me to stay buried. So fuckin’ greedy, baby.”

He didn’t let you go empty for long.

Right when the fat pink tip was almost out — your hole fluttering desperately around the ridge, he leaned over you again, his broad chest pressing hot to your back — and spat. A thick, heavy glob of spit landing right on your stretched entrance — hot and messy — sliding down the puffy seam of your mashed-together pussylips before dripping slow into the clenching ring still hugging his crown, the added slick made everything even nastier, your syrup-thick cream mixing with his spit, bubbling white and frothy where your walls gripped him.

Toji groans deep, a rumble that vibrates straight through you as he pushes forward again. Slow and mean, feeding every thick inch back into your pussy until his hips slapped flush against your ass, his balls heavy and wet smacking your clit trapped between those squeezed thighs. Your pussy sucking him in greedy — gummy walls fluttering wild, clinging so tight it made his eyes roll back.

“Haah…there we go,” he praises, hands clamping harder on your soft waist — fingers sinking into plush flesh like you really are his personal fleshlight, something soft and warm and perfect to use. “Takin’ me all the way again. Feel how deep I am, sweetheart?” His cockhead now kissin’ your cervix… — mngh "Stretchin’ this sloppy hole wide. God your pussy’s so fuckin’ good. So tight even after all that cream you just gushed.”

He drew back again slowly and torturous, watching the way your fat pussylips dragged along his veined shaft, clinging glossy and swollen, trying to keep him inside. Nasty lil’ squelches filling the room — wet, obscene pops every time he pulls out halfway — your syrup-thick pussy noisily protesting, cream bubbling out in thick white rings around his base, dripping slow down your inner thighs in sticky trails that soaked the edge of the mattress.

Your sobbing is muffled into the stuffed bear, your whole body trembling as he manhandles you deeper into the bed. One big hand slides up your spine — pushing your face firmer into the comforter, while the other grips your waist harder, yanking your hips back to meet every slow, punishing thrust.

He spreads your fat pussylips wider with his thumbs — peeling them apart even as your legs stay squeezed tight together — exposing the glossy pink inside where his thick cock splits you open.

“Look at her stretch,” he growls, voice wrecked with how good it feels. Your plump lil’ lips puckering so tight around him… huggin’ every veiny inch like she was made for his cock. “Fuck mhng baby, you’re ruinin’ me. This pussy’s too perfect… too sloppy… too fuckin’ tight.”

He bottoms out again, harder this time, his cockhead bullying deep until you feel that familiar bulge in your lower tummy, the faint swell under his palm when he presses down. Your clit rubbed raw against the underside of his shaft — trapped and throbbing — every drag sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves until your thighs shake uncontrollably.

Toji didn’t speed up. Didn’t rush. Just kept that slow, deep pace — drawing back until only the fat tip stretched your entrance, then sinking all the way in with one long, filthy glide. Each pull-out made your pussy squelch louder — cream frothing white at his base, dripping in thick ropes — each push-in forcing more of your gooey slick to bubble out around him, coating his balls, soaking your ass cheeks, turning everything into a warm, sticky mess.

“God mhm feel that?” he rasps, leaning down to nip the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “How your pussy’s clenchin’ every time I try to pull out? Squeezin’ like she doesn't ever wanna be empty. My good girl… my perfect, drippin’ girl. Takin’ this thick cock so deep… makin’ such cute, nasty noises for me.”

His hands tighten on your waist — using you like he owns you — pulling your hips back to meet every slow, punishing thrust while he grounds deeper, letting the fat crown drag over that spongy spot inside until your cries turn hoarse and wrecked.

Your stuffed bear was crushed against your chest now, your fingers white-knuckled and face buried so deep in the mattress you could barely breathe around the drool and tears.

He spat again, a thick glob landing right where you were stretched widest around him — watching it slide in, mixing with the mess until everything was even slicker and messier.

“Not stoppin’,” he promises, voice low and filthy-sweet. “Gonna keep fuckin’ this little pussy… till she’s cryin’ and cumin’ again. Till you’re so full of my cum you can’t move, doll Till every time I pull out you’re squirtin’ that syrup-thick cream all over me.”

One more long, slow drag out and your pussy noisily protests with wet, lewd squelches, then he sinks back in deep, bottoming out with a wet slap that made your ass jiggle, clit grind hard against him, walls fluttering wild around every thick, veined inch of his.

“Haah…fuck t-there’s my girl,” he groans, kissing the back of your neck soft and filthy. “Takin’ it so good… makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind. Gonna keep usin’ you just like this… slow… aah… till you’re nothin’ but a creamy, shakin’ mess for me.”

And he did, he kept that torturous rhythm, his hands bruising your waist, cock stretching your sloppy hole wide, foreskin bunched… slick, spit and cream mixing into the nastiest mess while you clutch your stuffed toy for dear life, sobbing his name into the mattress, pussy clenching greedily and wrecked around his thick cock that owned you completely.

Toji’s hips stayed buried deep, his thick cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your stuffed pussy, every veiny inch hugged so tight by your gummy walls that pulling out even an inch felt like fighting gravity. But he didn’t need to thrust right now.

Not when he had you exactly where he wanted; face-down, ass-up on the edge of your bed, legs squeezed shut, chubby pussy lips puckered and swollen around the base of his shaft like a glossy, creamy ring.

Your pretty little hole was still fluttering around him — suckling greedily on every ridge, even after the last brutal orgasm ripped through you, leaving your thighs trembling and slick dripping in slow, syrupy ropes down the insides of your legs.

He leaned over you, his broad chest pressing hot to your back, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours, until his scarred lips brushed the shell of your ear.

One big hand stayed clamped on your soft waist, fingers digging possessive bruises into plush flesh, while the other slid down between your squeezed-together thighs.

Rough callused fingertips found your puffed-out clit immediately — swollen, fat and glossy from all the rubbing, peeking out from between those mushed puffy lips like a needy little button begging for more.

“Fuck haah… look at this messy thing,” voice low and wrecked with hunger. “So puffed up… so gooey and sappy from comin’ all over my cock. Can’t even hide how bad she wants it.”

His fingers started moving in filthy, lazy circles right over your swollen bud. Not fast. Not rough. Just slow, perfect rubs that made your clit jump and throb under the pad of his middle finger.

He smeared your own thick cream around it — mixing it with the frothy white ring still clinging to his base — making every glide slicker, hotter, nastier. Your pussy clenched hard around his buried cock in response — walls fluttering wild, milking him greedy even though he wasn’t moving yet.

You whimper high, the broken sound muffled into the stuffed bear you were still clutching like it could save you from how good it felt. Drool soaked the plush's fur, tears streaking hot down your cheeks, whole body shaking as those filthy circles kept coming — round n’ round, a slow pressure that built the ache back up fast.

“Haah… m’can’t stop touchin’ you, baby,” he groaned against your neck, nipping the soft skin where he’d already left dark bruises. “Even if I tried… fuck, this little clit’s too perfect. So fat and slippery… jumpin’ every time I rub right here.”

He pressed firmer, his middle finger circling tighter now, thumb hooking under to spread your puffy lips just enough to expose more of that sensitive pearl.

The motion dragging his cock the tiniest bit inside you — barely a rock, just enough to let the fat crown nudge your spongy spot while his fingers worked your clit relentlessly. Fresh slick gushed out around him, thick and syrupy — coating his hand, dripping down his wrist in warm rivulets that soaked into the sheets.

Your hips bucked back helplessly, your ass jiggling against his pelvis, trying to grind into his touch even as your pussy clenched tighter around the thick intrusion splitting you open.

Every filthy circle sent sparks shooting straight up your spine, your clit throbbed so hard it hurt in the sweetest way, walls spasming around his cock like they were trying to pull him even deeper.

“Goddamn…ya feel that?” he murmured, voice thick with praise and filth. “How your cunt ’s grippin’ me every time I rub this pretty clit? Squeezin’ like she’s beggin’ for more even though she’s already stuffed full. My good girl… my perfect, drippin’ mess. Look how she’s leakin’ just from my fingers. So fuckin’ sensitive.”

He sped up just a fraction, circles turning tighter, faster. The pad of his finger flicking quick over the swollen tip of your clit before smoothing back into those slow, filthy loops.

Your cries turned desperate, hoarse and wrecked, sobs muffled into the bear as your thighs shook harder, pussy fluttering wild around his cock. Thick cream bubbled out with every clench — frothing white at his base, dripping in sticky strands that clung to his heavy balls.

Toji groaned deep and feral, his hips finally rocking once, a slow, deep grind that dragged every veined inch along your gummy walls while his fingers never stopped. The dual sensation punched the air out of your lungs, clit rubbed raw and throbbing, cunt stretched wide and filled to the brim.

“Can’t get enough of touchin’ you,” he confessed, voice breaking with how wrecked he was. “This puffed-out little clit… so gooey and sappy… jumpin’ under my fingers like it’s alive. Fuck…baby, you’re gonna come again just like this. Gonna make this fat pussy squirt all over my hand while I’m still buried balls-deep.”

He pinched your clit gently, rolling it between thumb and finger, then went right back to those filthy circles, smearing more of your cream around the swollen bud until it glistened obscene under the fairy lights. Your whole body seized, your back arching hard, ass pressing back desperately against him, your narrow walls clamping down like a vice around his thick cock.

“That’s it ahh…come for me again,” he praised, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and ragged. “Let me feel this pussy milk me while I rub this pretty clit raw. My sweet girl… my filthy, pretty girl… gush for me, baby. Show me how much you love it when I can’t stop touchin’ you.”

One more tight, filthy circle pressed hard right over the tip and you shatter.

Whole body convulsing, pussy clamping down brutally around his cock, walls fluttering wild as thick spurts of slick squirted out around him, hot and messy — soaking his hand, drenching his thighs, pooling warm under your ass on the already wrecked sheets.

Your clit throbbed helplessly under his fingers, overstimulated and raw, sending aftershock after aftershock ripping through you until your legs gave out completely.

Toji didn’t pull his hand away. Just kept those slow, soothing circles, gentler now — petting your puffed-out clit through the tremors while his cock stays buried deep, throbbing hard inside your fluttering, creamy cunt.

“Haah…fuck…there’s my girl,” he sighs, kissing the back of your neck soft and filthy. “Comin’ so hard just from my fingers… makin’ such a cute, sloppy mess. Can’t stop touchin’ you, baby. Not when this little clit’s still jumpin’ for me… not when your pussy’s still grippin’ me like she never wants me to stop.”

He rocked once, letting you feel every thick inch while his fingers kept circling lazy, keeping you right on that overstimulated edge.

“Gonna keep goin’,” he promises, voice low and wrecked with adoration. “Gonna keep rubbin’ this pretty clit… keep fuckin’ you slow… till you’re cryin’ and squirting again. Till you’re nothin’ but a shakin’, creamy mess for me. My perfect girl… my filthy little thing… all mine.”

And he did, his fingers never stopping those filthy circles, cock grinding deep and slow, turning you into a drooling, trembling puddle while your stuffed bear stayed clutched tight in your shaking hands, soaked with tears and drool and the endless proof of how good he made you feel.

Toji’s cock was buried to the hilt, his thick-veined base flush against your swollen puffy lips, heavy balls pressed hot to your clit like they belonged there. Your little fat pussy was stretched obscene around him, your gummy walls parted wide, clinging desperate to every ridged inch like they’d forgotten how to close.

You were gaped already, your poor hole fluttering open every time he stayed still too long, the rim puffy and flushed dark pink, glistening with thick layers of your syrupy cream and his endless pre. Slick dripping steady from where you were joined, slow, sticky ropes that clung to his shaft, webbing down to his balls, pooling warm under your ass on the wrecked sheets.

Shaking, your whole body trembling, face still mashed into the mattress, drool soaking the stuffed bear you clutched like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your cries had turned hoarse, soft and wrecked whimpering every time his cock throbbed deep inside, nudging that spongy spot that made your toes curl and your tummy quiver.

He groans low, the sound ripping from his chest like it hurt to feel how tight you still were even after all the pounding, big scarred hands gripped your soft waist harder, his fingers sinking into plush flesh, holding you exactly where he wanted while he started to pull out.

Slow.

Agonizingly slow.

The drag was filthy, every veined inch sliding free with wet, obscene schlicks that filled the room. Your pussy lips dragged along his shaft, puffy and glossy, clinging greedily like they didn’t want to let go. The fat pink crown caught on your rim, stretching it wider one last time before popping free with a lewd, sucking pop.

Your hole gaped open immediately, pink and wrecked, fluttering helplessly around nothing, thick strings of cream stretching from your entrance to his dripping tip like obscene bridges before snapping wet against your inner thighs.

“Haah…fuck…look at that,” he said disbelieving,“This little hole’s gaped so pretty for me… still clenchin’ like she’s missin’ me already. So fuckin’ sloppy, baby. Drippin’ everywhere just ‘cause I pulled out.”

You whimpered, hips twitching back instinctively, chasing the emptiness even as your walls fluttered wild. But Toji wasn’t done teasing.

He lined up again, the fat tip nudging your gaping entrance, smearing thick pre over the stretched rim, then he pushed.

Deeper.

Harder.

One long, brutal glide that sank every thick inch back inside until his hips slapped flush against your ass, cockhead bullying past your cervix, stirring your guts up in that dizzying, overwhelming way that made your eyes roll back.

You felt him everywhere. Hot, heavy fullness stretching from your stuffed hole all the way up like he was rearranging you from the inside. Your tummy bulged faintly under his palm when he pressed down, feeling the outline of his cock moving deep, claiming every inch of your soft insides.

“Fuuuck…there it is,” he growled, hips grinding slow circles now, letting you feel him throb against your deepest walls. “Feel me in your throat, sweetheart? Stirrin’ up your guts… makin’ this pretty pussy taking me so deep she’s cryin’. My good girl… my perfect, stretched-out girl.”

Your cries turning guttural and raw, sounds muffled into the bear as he starts thrusting again, long punishing strokes that pull almost all the way out every time, only to slam back in deeper, harder, stirring your insides into a gooey, creamy mess. Slick squirting out with every pull-back, thick and white-frothed, coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs in warm rivers that soaked everything beneath you.

Then his thick thumb found your tight puckered asshole.

He didn’t ask…Didn’t tease.

Just pressed the blunt pad right against your clenched ring — hot, callused pressure that made your whole body jolt. Your hole fluttering instinctive, tight and untouched, trying to push him out even as your pussy clenched harder around his pounding cock.

“Shhh…relax for me, baby,” he murmured, voice low and filthy-sweet against your ear. ‘m'gonna plug this pretty little hole too. Keep you so full… till you’re shakin’ and sobbin’ for me.”

He pushes in so…so carefully, his thick thumb breaching the tight ring with a soft pop. The stretch burning sweet… the foreign fullness made your back arch hard, ass pushing back desperately onto both intrusions. Your asshole clamping down greedily around his thumb, sucking him into the first knuckle, while your pussy flutters wildly around his thick cock, walls spasming so hard it milks another thick spurt of pre deep inside you.

“Haah…fuck y-yeah,” he groans, thumb sinking deeper, and a slow twist of his thumb... has your hole clenching and fluttering around him. “Takin’ my thumb so good… tight little ass huggin’ me just like your pussy. Feel that? Both holes ngh stuffed f-full”… his cock stirrin’ your guts, thumb pluggin’ up your pretty asshole. “You’re mine, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”

He starts moving — thumb rocking shallow in time with his deep thrusts, cock slamming home every time his thumb pushes in, pulling out together in a filthy rhythm that makes your whole body rock forward into the mattress. Your clit rubbed raw against the sheets now — trapped and throbbing — every grind sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves until tears streamed hot down your cheeks.

Your cries were nonstop, hoarse, wrecked sobs into your stuffed bear, your body trembling violently as he fucked you deeper, thumb plugging your ass, cock stretching your gaped pussy wide. Slick gushing with every thrust, thick, creamy ropes squirting out around his base, soaking his hand where it worked your plugged hole, drenching the bed in a warm, sticky puddle.

“God…look at you,” he praised, voice breaking with how close he was. “Takin’ everything… Such a good girl… my girl. Gonna make you come like this… gonna feel you milk me till I’m pumpin’ you full.”

He ground deeper, thumb twisting slow inside your tight ass, bulbous cockhead bullying your cervix, stirring everything up until the pressure coiled unbearable in your belly.

“Come for me, baby.” he says softly, lips brushing your tear-streaked cheek gently.

One more deep, brutal thrust, thumb sinking to the base, cock slamming home fully and you shattered.

Whole body convulsing, pussy clamping like a vice around his thick shaft, asshole fluttering wild around his thumb, clit throbbing helpless against the friction. Thick spurts of slick squirts out around him — hot and messy — soaking everything as you scream his name into the bear, tears and drool mixing on the sheets.

Toji goes all breathless, hips stuttering as your walls milked him ruthlessly.

“Fuck...yeah…take it, baby,” he pants, grinding deep through your orgasm. “Gonna come… gonna fill this pretty little cunt… gonna plug you so full you’ll feel me for days.”

And with one last deep thrust, thumb buried in your ass, cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your stuffed, creamy hole he starts to spill. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your gummed walls — pulse after pulse — stirring your insides even more as he keeps grinding slow, keeping you plugged front and back while you shook and sobbed and came undone completely around him.

And Toji Zenin still wasn’t done touching you.

Not by a long shot.

Toji finally eased his thumb out of your twitching little asshole, slow and careful, letting the tight ring flutter shut with a soft, wet sound that made your whole body shiver one last time. His cock slipped free next, his thick length dragging along your ruined walls until the fat crown popped out with a lewd, sucking pop.

A hot gush of cum followed immediately, thick, creamy ropes spilling from your gaping pussy in slow, obscene waves, dripping down your inner thighs, pooling sticky and warm beneath your ass on the already-soaked sheets.

You were trembling, completely spent, limbs heavy and breath coming in shaky little pants, face still buried halfway into the rumpled comforter with drool stringing from the corner of your swollen lips. Your stuffed bear was crushed, forgotten against your chest, fur matted and damp from tears and spit and everything else.

Toji didn’t move away.

He rolled you gently, almost tenderly — onto your back, big scarred hands sliding under your soft thighs and waist to lift you like you weighed nothing. He settled between your spread legs again, kneeling tall over you, sweat-glistening chest heaving while he looked down at the absolute mess he’d made of his pretty girl.

Your pussy was wrecked, lips puffy and dark, gaping open just enough to show the creamy white mess inside, clit still swollen and flushed, twitching with aftershocks. Cum leaked out in lazy pulses, mixing with your own slick, running in glossy trails down your perineum.

But his eyes softened when they reached your face.

All tear-streaked cheeks, glassy eyes, puffy lips still shining with spit.

“My pretty girl,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked but so fucking gentle now it made your chest ache.

He leaned down slow, his big heated body blanketing yours without crushing you and cups your face in both rough palms. Thumbs brushed away the fresh tears clinging to your lashes, smearing them gently across your flushed skin.

Toji didn’t pull out.

Not even a little.

He stayed buried to the root, his thick, heavy cock throbbing slow and deep inside your stuffed cunt, every veiny inch hugged so tight by your gummy walls it felt like your pussy had forgotten how to exist without him filling it. The fat pink crown was pressed right up against your cervix — hot, insistent pressure that made your tummy flutter every time his heartbeat pulsed through the shaft.

Cum was already leaking — thick, sticky ropes of it flooding your insides from the last brutal spill, so much that you could feel the warm, syrupy weight of it pooling deep in your guts, pressing against your walls like liquid heat.

Your poor hole was gaped just enough around his base, puffy lips stretched thin and glossy, clinging desperate to the thickest part of him like they were scared he’d slip free. But he wasn’t going anywhere, he just held you there, his hips flush to your ass, one big scarred hand splayed wide over your soft tummy so he could feel the faint swell where his cock and all that cum was making you bulge ever so slightly from the inside.

“Shhh… just like this, sweetheart,” he murmured low against the back of your neck, lips brushing damp skin in soft, lazy kisses. “Just cock warming. No more fuckin’ right now. Gonna let this pretty pussy soak in every drop I gave her… keep her nice and full, yeah?”

You whimpered — soft, a wrecked little sound muffled into the stuffed bear still clutched tight to your chest. Your whole body was trembling, overstimulated, oversensitive, thighs quivering where they were still squeezed shut and held down beneath his weight.

Slick and cum mixed into a warm, sticky mess between you, dripping slowly out around his base in thick, pearly strands that clung to your inner thighs, soaking the sheets in a warm puddle that smelled like sex and him and you all tangled together.

He shifted then, just a tiny rock of his hips, not thrusting, just enough to let his cock stir the cum inside you. The movement made a wet, filthy squelch, your walls fluttering greedy around him, milking another thick bead of leftover seed that oozed deeper into your guts.

You felt it, hot and slippery coating every inch of your gummy insides, threatening to drool out if he moved too much, but he didn’t. He just held you closer — arm banding around your waist, palm pressing firmer over that soft little bulge in your tummy like he was proud of how full he’d made you.

“Look how cute you are,” he whispered, voice rough and tender all at once. “Face all flushed… droolin’ on your lil’ bear… pussy so full of my cum she’s practically purring. My pretty girl… my perfect girl.”

He turned your face gently with scarred fingers under your chin, tilting you just enough so he could lean over your shoulder and kiss you slow. Soft at first — scarred lips brushing yours, tasting the salt of your tears and the cherry gloss long smeared away. Then deeper, tongue sliding lazy against yours, swallowing every tiny whimper you gave him while his cock stayed perfectly still inside you, just throbbing, just warming, just owning.

You moaned into his mouth, a soft and needy sound as another warm trickle of cum leaked out around his base, sliding slow down your puffy lips. Your clit still swollen and achy, brushed the underside of his shaft with every tiny shift, sending little aftershocks through your core that made your walls flutter and clench around him again.

“Haah…fuck — there she goes,” he groaned against your lips, kissing you deeper, filthier. “Clenchin’ so sweet even when she’s just holdin’ me. Feel all that cum sloshin’ around inside you? So warm… so sticky… gonna keep it all plugged up in there till it’s leakin’ out slow outta you.”

His free hand slid up and cupped the side of your face, thumb stroking slow over your tear-streaked cheek while he kissed you again and again. Forehead pressed to yours now, breath mingling hot and ragged, his green eyes dark and soft as he stared down at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute like this,” he murmured, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead — lingering, reverent. “All hugged up on my cock… pussy threatenin’ to drool my cum everywhere but still grippin’ me so tight. My good girl… my sweet, stuffed girl. Just stay like this for me, yeah? Let me keep you warm… let me feel how full I made you.”

He rocked once, barely a movement, just a slow grind that stirred the thick load inside you without pulling out. More cum bubbled out hot and slippery coating your puffy lips, dripping slow down to where your clit throbbed against him. You whimpered high and broken — hips twitching instinctively even though you were too spent to chase anything.

Toji shushed you gently, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, your mouth again in soft, endless kisses.

“Just this. Just me inside you… keepin’ all that cum nice and warm where it belongs. My pretty girl… my perfect little thing… all hugged up and full for me.”

He wrapped both arms around you then, pulling your soft body back flush to his chest, cock still buried deep, still throbbing slow, still leaking the last drops into your stuffed, creamy pussy. Forehead kisses rained down, soft, sweet and lazy in the best way, while he held you close, letting you feel every heartbeat through his shaft, every warm pulse of cum settling deeper inside you.

“Stay just like this,” he whispered one last time, lips lingering on your forehead. “My cute, sweet girl… mine.”

And he didn’t move.

Just held you there — thick cock warming your poor, gaped, cum-stuffed pussy while you trembled and whimpered and clung to your bear, face buried in his neck, soaking in the sticky, overwhelming heat of being so perfectly, completely full of him.

Toji’s arms locked around your waist like steel bands, scarred hands splaying wide over the soft curve of your lower belly, fingers digging in just enough to bruise the plush skin as he yanked you down hard, with no warning. No slow descent. Just raw, possessive force that slammed your dripping pussy all the way onto his thick, throbbing cock in one brutal, claiming drop.

The stretch hit like lightning — your poor gaped hole, forced to swallow every last veiny inch at once, walls parting wide around the fattened girth until his heavy balls slapped wet against your clit and the fat pink crown punched right up against the deepest part of your cervix again.

You felt it everywhere — hot, overwhelming fullness stretching from your stuffed entrance all the way up into your guts, making your tummy bulge visibly under his palm where he pressed down firmly to feel himself buried inside you.

“Haah…f-fuck — there it is,” he growled low against the shell of your ear, voice wrecked and deep, breath scorching your neck. “Takin’ every thick fuckin’ inch, sweetheart. All of it. No more teasin’. Just my cock stuffed deep where it belongs.”

Your cry ripped out raw and broken — high, desperate wails muffled into the crook of his shoulder as your body jolted from the sudden depth. Your gummy walls fluttered wild around him, clenching helpless. Spasming like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to push him out or suck him deeper.

Slick and leftover cum from before gushed out around his base in thick, creamy ropes,frothing white at the stretch, dripping slow down his heavy sack in warm, sticky trails that soaked into the sheets beneath you both.

He didn’t let you adjust. Just held you there, impaled, trembling, your  pussy clenching greedily around the full length of him — while one hand slid up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back gently but firm so he could see your face.

Tears streaked hot down your cheeks, lips swollen and parted in endless soft whimpers, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth again like you’d forgotten how to swallow.

“Look at you,” he says proudly, green eyes dark and blown with hunger as he stared down at where your puffy lips were stretched thin and glossy around his base — clinging so tight the rim looked almost white-knuckled. “My pretty girl takin’ everything… pussy so full she’s shakin’. Feel that? Feel how deep I am?” His cockhead kissin’ your womb and stirrin’ up all that cum he already pumped in you.

He rocked his hips once, a slow grinding roll that dragged every ridge along your fluttering walls without pulling out. The motion made a wet, filthy squelch, your stuffed pussy protesting the fullness even as it clenched harder, milking him greedy. More thick cream bubbled out — syrupy and white — coating his shaft, dripping down to where your clit throbbed helpless against the veined underside.

“Nngh…Toji —” Your voice cracked,hoarse and wrecked, nails raking down his broad back again, leaving red trails over hard muscle. “S’too much… s’too deep —”

“Shhh, I know, baby,” he murmured, scarred lips brushing your tear-streaked cheek in soft, filthy kisses. “Doin’ so good though. Takin’ this fat cock like you were made for it. Feel how your pussy’s grippin’ me? Squeezin’ like she don’t ever wanna let go. My perfect girl… my sweet girl.”

He pulled you down harder, another sharp yank that seated him impossibly deeper, crown bullying against that spongy spot inside until your back bowed, thighs trembling violently around his hips. Your clit grinding raw against his pelvis — swollen and achy — every tiny shift sending sparks shooting through your core that made your walls flutter and clench harder around him.

Toji groaned deep, the guttural sound vibrating straight through you, then wrapped both arms around your waist, crushing your soft body to his chest. One hand slid down to cup your ass, fingers spreading the plush cheeks wide so he could feel where you were stretched obscene around him, while the other pressed firm over that faint bulge in your tummy, thumb stroking slow circles over the spot where he could feel himself moving inside.

“Fuck…look at this,” he breathed, voice thick with praise and filth. “My cock makin’ a pretty little bump right here… fillin’ you up so good you can see it. Gonna keep you right here… just like this”… Cock-warmin’ you deep while he kisses your sweet mouth.

He tilted your chin up, scarred thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip, then claimed your mouth in a slow, filthy kiss. Tongue sliding deep, tasting the salt of your tears and the cherry gloss long gone, swallowing every broken whimper you gave him while his cock throbbed hot and heavy inside your stuffed pussy.

No thrusting. Just deep, possessive grinding — tiny rolls of his hips that stirred the thick load of cum already flooding your cunt, making it slosh warm and sticky against your walls.

You moaned into his mouth, soft needy sounds, as another warm trickle leaked out around his base, sliding slow down your puffy lips to where your clit pulsed against him. Your pussy clenching helpless and fluttering wild — threatening to drool more of that creamy mess if he moved even a little, but he didn’t. Just held you impaled, full, trembling, while he kissed you deeper, tongue fucking slow into your mouth in the same lazy rhythm his cock was grinding inside you.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he whispers against your lips between kisses, forehead pressing to yours, breath mingling hot and ragged. “All hugged up on my dick… pussy so full she’s shakin’. My pretty girl… my perfect little thing… takin’ everything I give her. Gonna stay just like this… keep you warm and stuffed… let you feel everything while I kiss you stupid.”

Wanting to feel you constantly, he kept pressing soft kisses to your forehead, then your temple, to your cheek and your mouth again — endless, filthy affection while his arms stayed locked around you, cock buried to the hilt, cum sloshing warm and sticky deep inside your gaped, creamy pussy.

“Mine,” he murmured one last time, lips brushing your forehead in a final, claiming kiss. “All fuckin’ mine.”

And he didn’t move.

Just held you there, thick cock warming your stuffed, trembling pussy, while you whimpered and clung and soaked in the overwhelming heat of being so completely, perfectly taken.

The room had gone quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan stirring the thick summer air, fairy lights flickering lazy gold across the rumpled sheets like dying embers. You were out cold — completely fucked-out and boneless, face half-buried in the crook of Toji’s neck, one arm slung loose over his chest, legs still tangled with his like you couldn’t bear to let go even in sleep.

Your breathing had evened out into those slow, deep little puffs that made your lips part every exhale, drool already pooling at the corner of your mouth onto his collarbone. Cute. Wrecked. His.

Toji hadn’t moved much since he’d pulled you down onto every thick inch and held you there, his cock still buried deep, warming your cum-stuffed pussy while the last pulses of his cum settled heavy and hot inside you.

Your walls kept fluttering around him in tiny, sleepy spasms — soft little squeezes that milked another lazy bead of seed from his tip even though he wasn’t thrusting anymore.

The mess between you was obscene; thick ropes of cum and your syrupy cream leaking slow out around his base, coating his heavy balls, dripping in warm, sticky trails down your inner thighs and soaking the sheets beneath your ass in a cooling puddle that smelled like sex and salt and him.

He stayed like that for a long while, his arm banded around your waist, scarred palm resting possessive over the faint swell in your lower tummy where his cock and all that cum made you bulge just enough to feel under his hand.

Every time you shifted in your sleep, tiny and little unconscious rolls of your hips, your pussy clenched tighter around him, gummy walls sucking greedy like even unconscious you didn’t want him to leave. It made his cock twitch — still half-hard, still leaking the last sluggish drops into your overflowing heat.

Eventually the ache in his thighs and the way your breathing had gone soft and even, told him you were really gone, deep in that post-orgasm haze where nothing existed but warmth and fullness and him.

Toji exhaled slowly through his nose, a low satisfied rumble in his chest, then started to move.

Careful. So fucking careful.

He slid one big hand under your thigh, lifting it just enough to ease the angle, while the other stayed splayed over your tummy, thumb stroking slow circles over that soft pudge like he was soothing you even in your sleep. Then he pulled.

Slow…

Inch by torturous inch.

The drag was filthy, your poor gaped hole clinging desperate to every veiny ridge as he withdrew, gummy walls fluttering weak protests around the retreating thickness. Slick and cum made obscene wet sounds, soft schlicks and squelches that filled the quiet room, thick white cream bubbling out around his shaft the second he started to slip free.

Strings of it stretched taut between your puffy lips and his glistening cockhead — snapping slow and wet against your inner thighs as he kept pulling.

When the fat pink crown finally popped free with a lewd, sucking pop, your hole gaped open, pink and wrecked, fluttering helpless around nothing. A thick gush of cum followed immediately — hot, sticky ropes drooling slow out of your stretched entrance, sliding down your ass crack in pearly trails, pooling warm under you on the already soaked sheets. Your clit, still swollen and flushed, twitched once at the sudden emptiness, a tiny bead of cream clinging to the tip like a pearl.

Toji stared, breath catching rough in his throat at the sight of his cum leaking from your used little pussy. So much of it. Thick and white and endless, proof of how deep he’d fucked you, how full he’d kept you. Your pussy looked ruined in the prettiest way — lips puffy and parted, hole still trying to clench shut but too stretched to close completely, just drooling his load in slow, obscene pulses.

“Fuck,” he breathed voice low, wrecked, almost reverent. Toji finally took a long inhale, eyes locked on the sight. His pretty girl’s pussy all sloppy and leaking his cum like she couldn’t help it even asleep. Fuck… it made his cock twitch soft against his thigh, already half-interested again for just looking.

He leaned down slow and carefully…not to jostle you too much, breath fanning hot over your sensitive skin and pressed the softest, filthiest kiss right to your swollen clit. Gentle. Worshipful.

Lips barely brushing the swollen bud…a warm, lingering press that made your hips twitch tiny in sleep, a soft whimper slipping from your throat. He kissed it again…slower, tongue flicking out just once to taste the mix of your cream and his cum still clinging there. Salty-sweet messy and perfect.

“My pretty girl,” he whispered against your pussy, voice so low it was more breath than sound. “Took me so deep… kept me warm all night. Look at you leakin’ my cum even when you’re sleepin’. So fuckin’ cute.”

Scarred lips brushing the sensitive bud, gentle and lingering, his tongue flicking out once to taste the mix of your cream and his cum clinging there. You whimpered in your sleep, a soft, needy little sound. Your hips twitched forward instinctively even when unconscious, thighs trembling once before settling again.

One more kiss, open-mouthed this time…lips sealing soft around your clit for a heartbeat, sucking the tiniest pull that made your thighs tremble before he let go. 

Toji smiled against your pussy…slow, dangerous and so fucking tender, then kissed higher; one soft press to your puffy mound, another to the soft dip of your lower belly where the bulge was slowly fading. 

“Fuck… gotta move, baby,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick with leftover lust and something softer underneath. “Your dad’s gonna be home soon. Can’t leave you lookin’ like this… all fucked-out and leakin’ me everywhere.”

He didn’t let you wallow in it.

He moved careful, almost gentle, sliding off you and scooping your limp, trembling body into his arms like you weighed nothing. Your legs dangled uselessly; your head lolled against his shoulder; your ruined pussy leaked a slow, sticky trail down his abs as he carried you to the tiny attached bathroom.

He set you on the edge of the tub softly with utter care, then ran warm water over a clean washcloth. No rough scrubbing. Just slow, careful wipes, dabbing away the cum and slick smeared across your inner thighs, between your ass cheeks, over your swollen mound. He was thorough, gentle thumbs parting your puffy lips just enough to clean the creamy mess still oozing from your gaping hole, wiping slow circles around your clit until you whimpered and twitched.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing your forehead while he worked. “Gotta get you all clean… can’t have you drippin’ all over the place when your dad walks in.”

When you were as clean as he could get you, skin still flushed and sensitive, pussy still puffy and tender, he carried you back to the bed. He stripped the worst of the soaked sheets (bundling them into a ball to deal with later), flipped the comforter over the damp spot, and tucked you in slowly, pulling the soft blanket up to your chin, smoothing it over your trembling body like you were something precious.

He knelt beside the bed for a long minute, just watching you, then leaned down and pressed a final, lingering kiss to your swollen lips. Slow. Drooly. Tongue brushing yours one last time like he was memorizing the taste.

He pulled the rumpled sheet up over your body, tucking it around your shoulders gentle and careful, like you were something precious he didn’t want to break even though he’d just spent hours fucking you… making sure your shoulders were covered, your bare feet hidden under the blanket.

He smoothed a hand over your soft tummy, feeling the faint bloat still there from how full he’d left you and then leaned down to kiss your forehead too. Long, tender press of scarred lips.

“My good girl,” he whispered against your mouth, forehead resting against yours. “Took me so fuckin’ well… let me ruin you so pretty… now sleep, yeah? I’ll handle the rest. You just stay tucked in and dream about how full I made you.”

He kissed your forehead again, soft and possessive, then stood.

You watched through heavy lids as he pulled on his sweatpants (still stained, still smelling like sex), grabbed the bundled sheets, and slipped out the door quiet as a shadow.

The room smelled like him.

Like cum and sweat and summer heat.

Your pussy still ached, emptier… now but throbbing with the memory of how thick he’d been, how deep, how much he’d filled you.

You curled tighter under the blanket, legs pressing  together to keep the lingering warmth inside and drifted.

ಇ.author's note: reupload from @/torusbabe

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vampire!maki, the younger brother. who’s the one you first meet at a nightclub, pulls you into his lap and offers a sip from his own glass while promising he won’t bite when you’re a bit reluctant… he is cute though, so you stay the the whole night until you can’t handle the liquor he ends up pouring into your mouth.

vampire!maki, who was close to ripping out his undead heart from nerves when he told you what he really was after a couple of hang outs together, almost shedding tears of blood when you shrugged it off saying you already knew. he was too cold, too pale to even pass as human, and he wasn’t slick with the way he’d sniff so intently at your neck.

vampire!maki, who lives a wild, more glamorously loud life compared to his brother who is still always in the same function but sitting silently at the other end of the couch, eyeing people over the dark colored glass stuck to his purplish lips.

vampire!maki, who’s more loud with his infatuation; showing you off and constantly yapping to his friends about you, getting you the most random gifts at horrible times of the dead night, making out with you whenever and whenever the carnal hunger overtakes his other senses.

vampire!maki, who takes you out in the most unconventional places for just a fun night, but still makes it so thrilling by showing how he basically lives his lifestyle as a vampire (a butcher shop, or in an abandoned church, or in a snowy cemetery).

vampire!maki, who makes feeding more of a playful mess full of eroticism, he can’t help it. your blood smells so good, taste even better on his pierced tongue, has to share it with you in a fit of giggles while he pushes your own thick crimson blood into your own mouth in a messy, heated kisses.

vampire!james, the older brother. who keeps his eye on you since the moment in the nightclub.. until the time is right, meeting you in the kitchen of his one late night when you both grab a drink. catches your eye with his sunken, tired gaze and sharp pierced eyebrows, that one bandaid always placed on the sharp edge of his cheekbone, he ruffles his blond hair that reminds you so much of your other lover… his brother.

vampire!james, who stalks how you move in the dance floor with maki with another person already attached to his own hip, accidentally piercing his bottom lip when he sees you take maki’s large glasses off his face and slide them on as maki’s hands pull your hips closer towards his own.

vampire!james, who’s infatuation is more alluring with his mysterious yet flirty approach, quietly looming and smiling only when you’re both enclosed in an intimate space. he doesn’t care to show his retracted canines, or the blood staining his teeth and lips when he pulls away from his favorite drink.

vampire!james, who’s says he wants to show you something, grabs you by the hand and takes you to the most breathtaking places just to watch your enthusiasm with a glint of endearment in his darkened eyes (the rooftop of a cathedral, libraries after closing or opera theatres).

vampire!james, who always makes sure he’s leading his meal out the nightclub before the night ends.. but hasn’t feed every since he met you because he’s the type to starve himself just so he can have the full natural taste of your blood ever since he smelled it up close.

vampire!james, who makes feeding more of a sacred ritual, planting gentle slow kisses and littering them with light grazes of his canines as he gently but firmly grips your hair to crane your neck for his sharp teeth. licks over the wound with such reverent and kisses you deeply, uttering soft phrases of his gratitude.

— nsfw below!! ꜜ ꜜ

vampire!maki, who because has ventured long enough in the world to not give a fuck about unwritten human society rules, would take you anywhere and everywhere and let people join in (only if you want to) but god forbid somebody asks for a tiny taste of your neck. “oh? i heard your heart beat faster.. what? you getting excited about him joining, human?”

vampire!james, who dislikes just even the idea of sharing you, very possessive and always devoured you whole until you’re left only remembered the feeling of him deep inside you or the gentle whispers he left in your burned red ears as he nips gently. “can’t believe he would share this delicacy. you’re mine when you’re with me, you got that?”

vampire!maki, who loves when you flinch at the initial touch of his cold fingertips against your warm sex, giggling between words: “oh you poor doll. already trembling for me? all i did was touch her..” unlike his brother..

vampire!james, who instead sucks the shocked gasp from your parted lips and murmurs gently in your mouth, “shhh, my love. i promise i’ll warm up to you soon, share your warmth with me.”

vampire!maki, who’s favorite position is between your thighs. best place to feed right on your femoral vein, watching your panties get soaked right in front of his hazy reddened eyes the more he sucks and the more you pull straight on the roots of his bright blond hair. caught in the dilemma of what do to first: eating you out or actually feed. “god, please let me eat you a bit more.”

vampire!james, who’s favorite position is folding you in his arms, mating press. sharp nose pressed against your scm muscle, sinking underneath skin right when your soft walls grow tight enough and hands grip hard enough on his blond spiky hair to bring him over the edge. almost tears through his burgundy silk sheets with how bad his grip gets and his restraint loosens. “you’re perfect, my darling. take all of me.”

vampire!maki, who loves when you bite him back and giggles and moans loudly as you bite around his pecs and by his hips. absolute freak that loves to smother your blood all over his face because those burgundy stained glasses are for james, he drinks unconventionally.

vampire!james, who essentially growls and smiles when you nip down on his finger knuckles after he pressed them into your mouth. psychological play.. pricks his fingertip with his own fang and lets you suck out your own blood that’s running in his body through his fingertip.

vampire brothers!maki and james, who love you and your body like that exact moment would be the last night ever in your life and utters through your mind in such a deep, lovely tone, “my brother could never love you like this. exactly how i’m loving you right now.”

There are very few things out there that Jake can't figure out. The universe runs on rules, after all, and he'd spent his whole life studying them. From theoretical mathematics to quantum physics, there was never a problem he couldn't solve, never an equation that failed to make sense.

So, it kind of throws him off completely when you—all pretty, soft-looking, and sweet-smelling—plant yourself right next to him on the first day of his thermodynamics lecture. One, because how has he never seen you before? Two, because girls like you don't talk to him. Or smile at him. Or ask for his name while leaning in that close like you actually care to know it.

He tries to look straight ahead, holding his breath, hanging onto every word that leaves the professor's mouth as if he doesn't have the entire textbook memorized already. All that, just to distract himself from you. It doesn't work, though, the messy chalk writing blurring in his vision as his mind drifts.

Sure, it's a bit strange that you sat next to him when other seats were clearly open... but you probably only sat there because it's the spot with the clearest view of the board, right? That's why he chose it, anyway.

Then, you're tapping his shoulder, two fingers pressing into the fabric of his hoodie ever so lightly. He nearly jumps out of his skin as his eyes snap to you, seeing you lean in close enough to make his heart skip a beat.

"Hey," your voice is just above a whisper, and with the quirk of your brow, you ask him, "Do you understand, like, anything he's saying right now?"

Of course, he understands. He knows this subject like the back of his hand. He could probably explain it in his sleep. And yet when he tries to speak... nothing.

His mouth hangs open for half a second, eyes fleeting from you, back to the board, back to you again, then down—eyes up, Jake—then up. He blinks, and finally he manages something.

"Yeah, uh—it's just the second law stuff. Entropy increasing over time," he drags a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down the mop of messy brown strands that refused to stay put.

Now he wishes he'd spent more than thirty seconds getting ready this morning instead of rolling out of bed in his old high school mathletes hoodie.

"It's basically like... systems move toward disorder unless you put energy into keeping them organized, so—"

You laugh, a small teasing smile on your lips.

"You sure know your stuff, huh?"

"I just looked over the textbook during the winter break," he replies, a little less distressed this time. "Tried to get a head start. Don't wanna fall behind or anything."

Slowly, he feels less guarded, seeing how you don't scoff at him or roll your eyes or do any of the things he'd expect you to. Instead, you watch him—and not the passive kind that some people do when they're bored and have nothing else to do, but like, you're really watching like you're kind of, maybe, possibly... impressed? That's new. The thought alone has a warmth blooming in his chest.

"You studied before the class even started?" Your smile grows wider, amused, but not mean.

She's not being mean.

He lets out a laugh, half-relieved, though still half-embarrassed at how you're realizing that he's checking every stereotype in the box.

"Yeah, I get it, I'm a nerd," he waves it off, looking away self-consciously, "or a loser, or whatever you wanna call—"

"You're adorable, actually," you cut him off. Your knee brushes his under the desk, lingering just a moment before you're tucking your legs back in. Still, he feels the ghost of your touch, his ears turning red. "Guess I'm pretty lucky that I sat down next to you, aren't I?"

The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall usually make everyone look cold and stale. But to him, you're something else entirely—a star collapsing inward, and he's already slipping into orbit. Even if he knew how to calculate the escape velocity, he isn’t sure that he wants to.

You don't make sense. Though he thinks even if he tried to pull you apart and figure you out, his logic would slip somewhere along the way. How could anyone be expected to form a cohesive thought when lost between the sound of your voice and your pretty eyes which follow him like he's the most interesting thing in the room?

You: heyy :) You: did you finish the thermo assignment yet?

It's late on a Sunday evening when you first message him, phone buzzing on his nightstand just when he's about to turn off his lamp and cozy up in the sheets of his twin-sized bed.

He stares at the notification for a good second, heart skipping a beat as he reaches for his glasses. He reads it a second time and pauses. He waits five minutes—long enough to seem like he's not desperate (but he is) yet short enough to show he's not ignoring you. At least, that's what Heeseung does when he texts girls, and he's at least moderately successful.

Jake: finished last week

I-T... W-A-S... E-A-S-Y...

He starts typing, deletes. Then retypes.

Jake: wasn't too bad Jake: you? You: wow ok smarty pants

He smiles, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

You: [sent an image] You: im struggling so bad You: worried i wont finish on time :(

He swallows hard when he opens the image.

A selfie, your zip-up hoodie slipping down one shoulder, your tank top strap exposed, your textbook open in front of you. Your pouty face is highlighted by the blue light of your laptop, the rest of your room dimly lit.

Respectfully, as if you were in the room watching over him, he feels the urge to avert his gaze away from your face, and the skin you're revealing, instead looking to the background.

In the dim light, he spots an array of polaroid pictures on your wall—you with other girls at what looks like a party, you laughing with people he doesn't recognize. You're cool. Socially competent, clearly. You have a life. Yet you're here, texting him on a weekend night, sending him pictures.

He then returns to you, the subject of the image, and whatever respect he had been mentally trying to maintain only seconds ago is suddenly lost on him. His eyes drag over every sliver of exposed skin, however slight, practically drooling as he follows where the shadow dips just above the neckline of your top.

You look pretty. Tired, a little frustrated, and very, very, painfully pretty. Like, his head is going to explode kind of pretty. And from scribbles in your notebook, you don't appear to be anywhere close to finished. His heart thumps in his chest, followed by an ache.

That assignment is due tonight. There's no way you could finish it all now, even if you rushed for it. Unless...

Jake: [sent Assignment_1.pdf] Jake: here Jake: just change the answers a bit :) You: omg youre actually the best!! You: idk what id do without you You: tysm jake <3

He literally has to resist the urge to kick his feet and giggle, grinning like the biggest idiot as your messages come through.

Jake: it’s nothing haha Jake: happy to help You: youre actually so smart it's kind of unfair You: wish i had you in all my classes lol You: literally my hero <3

He's blushing to himself, biting his lip, and he rolls over onto his back, head against the pillow. His fingers tremble over the screen for a second before scrolling up. He rereads the exchange. Reflects. Analyzes.

Those emojis mean something, right? You didn't have to add a heart, but you did. Then there's the way you smile at him and touch him in class—that has to mean something. Girls don't go around just touching anyone, especially not him, but you do. You sat next to him. You're nice to him. And you asked him for help. You chose him.

With a newfound confidence, he's typing out his next message and clicking 'send' before he can give himself the chance to second-guess it.

The worst she can say is "no," right?

Jake: i could help you study for your other classes? Jake: if you want sent 3 weeks ago Jake: or not haha Jake: no pressure sent 2 weeks ago Jake: sorry if that was weird... sent 1 week ago Jake: hey! Jake: noticed you haven't been to class for a while Jake: you ok?

Three weeks go by like that. Every time his phone buzzes, his hand is on it before he even realizes he's moved, only to find what he already knows: that it isn't you. It never is. He starts keeping it face up on his desk when he studies. Sleeps with it on his pillow some nights, just in case.

It's stupid. It's embarrassing. He knows it is.

Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. You probably get messages like that all the time—from guys like him who think a smile means more than what it is. You're probably used to it. Of course, you'd think he's a weirdo. Or a creep. Or both. Probably both.

"Seriously, Jake, just move on already," Sunghoon says, not even looking at him, thumbs mashing into the buttons of his controller. He then slumps back in defeat when Jay is crowned winner for the third Smash Bros game in a row, "Fuck!"

Jake shifts on the couch, controller untouched at his side, phone in his hand instead.

He lounges in the living room along with his other three roommates, two empty boxes of pizza on the floor because they insist they'll eventually buy a coffee table for their "living room". Though it's been almost a year since they signed the lease and the room was still empty save for the couch and TV.

"When did you get so dogshit at this game?" Heeseung snorts at Sunghoon as he aims to throw his pizza crust in the empty box. It narrowly misses, rolling onto the floor instead. He dusts the crumbs off his hands, then turns to Jake, "But yeah, man. He's right. Rejection hurts, but it happens."

"You would know all about rejection, wouldn't you?" Jay mutters, about to take a sip of his drink, before he ducks his head, dodging the empty can Heeseung tries to throw at his face.

"She didn't even reject me though," Jake tries, quieter this time, "She just disappeared—"

"Which means she doesn't want you," Sunghoon says all too quickly, almost impatient. He nudges Jay, lowering his voice, "Can you believe this guy has a 4.0 GPA and still can't understand women?"

Jay laughs under his breath, and the two start to snicker.

Jake swallows, scrolling up to stare at the selfie you shared with him all those weeks ago. He thinks back on your laugh. Your smile. The way you used to sit with him in class. He misses your face, your voice.... He misses you.

"Listen, man. You put yourself out there, and I'm proud of you. We all are, right?" Heeseung starts, and Sunghoon and Jay nod their heads along mindlessly, only half listening as they argue over what map to choose next. He then brings a hand to his back, patting it a couple of times, and Jake winces from the impact, "But she's definitely not texting you back. Like. Ever."

Jake takes one final look at his screen before sighing.

"Guess not."

He closes the phone, eyes turning back to the game on the TV, not quite ready to accept what he thinks is the truth: that you were just being friendly and he misinterpreted the whole thing and ruined something good, but he knows there's no point in dwelling on it any longer.

"Aw, come on. Look on the bright side," Heeseung continues, "At least you got a cute picture out of it. Can never go wrong with good fap material, right?"

Before Jake can scoff it off and pretend like he definitely hasn't thought about that, his phone pings. And just like that, all eyes stop to turn to him, and where his phone lies face up in his lap.

Jay and Heeseung scoot closer on the couch, and Sunghoon nearly trips over one of the pizza boxes, stumbling over himself just to glance over Jake's shoulder.

You: heyy You: sorry i didnt reply i was super busy :( You: have you started assignment 2 yet? read at 9:13pm

"Oh."

"Oh, my god."

"Oh, hell no," Sunghoon gapes, "This bitch is evil."

"She's using you for schoolwork," Jay scoffs, "That's even worse than the friendzone, holy shit."

"You've been calculator-zoned," Heeseung shakes his head, "Absolutely brutal."

Jake's thumb hovers over the keyboard. The room feels too small, the weight of his three roommates' judgmental gaze almost suffocating as they lean over him—the smell of someone who definitely forgot to wear deodorant also suffocating, but he's not about to play detective to figure out which one of them it is.

"What are you gonna say?" Sunghoon demands, jabbing a finger toward the screen. "Tell her to fuck off."

"No, don't do that," Jay interjects, "Just ignore her. Leave her on read for, like, a month. Make her feel what you felt."

"Jakey, my man. Don't give in," Heeseung shakes his head, "To her, you’re just a warm body with a brain and enough desperation to do her work for free."

But Jake isn't listening. He's looking at the three little dots that appear, then vanish, then appear again at the bottom of the chat window. You're typing, and the thought alone sends a jolt through him, a stupid, pathetic little flutter that overrides his rationality. He wants to know what you're going to say. He needs to know.

You: helloooo? :( You: [sent an image] read at 9:22pm

Jake opens the image, another selfie. Seems like you're really trying to impress him more this time, seeing how the angle reveals just a little bit more, your pen pressed to your lower lip, looking so kissable and soft and everything he yearns for. But he knows better. It's not enough to entice him.

It is enough to make him screenshot it, though.

"Bro, seriously?" Sunghoon deadpans, as if he isn't also staring.

"Just safekeeping," Jake mutters, avoiding his glare, "She's hot, okay?"

"Shit. I take back what I said. Become her human study guide, and lemme see more of that," Heeseung whistles, trying to take the phone, but Jake yanks it away from his grabby hands, "Come on, I'll do your dishes next week if you share."

"You don't even do your own dishes, dumbass," Jay shoots back, noticing how Jake's thumb hovers over the keyboard.

In an instant, he snatches the device from him, and the three boys groan, outstretched arms trying to reach for it back. He doesn't spare a single glance as he types back.

Jake: yeah i finished it. You: really? You: uhg i wish I had your brain You: i'm so lost :( Jake: oh. Jake: thats too bad. Jake: good luck.

He throws it back into Jake's lap.

"There," Jay declares, crossing his arms. "Dignity. Intact."

"Jay, you fucking idiot," Heeseung groans, "We could've secured way more pics."

"You can find tits online if you're so desperate to jerk off," Jay retorts, slumping back down into the couch, "We're not letting our friend get taken advantage of by some campus slut."

Jake looks at the phone. He knows, deep down, Jay is right. The tiny, rational part of his brain that isn't currently short-circuited by the ghost of your knee against his agrees.

Then, the three dots appear again. And vanish. Then appear again, staying for a long, long time. All of them watch at the edge of their seat.

You: wanna come over and help me? ;)

Jake's breath catches in his throat.

"Oh, she's good," Sunghoon whispers, a grudging respect in his tone. "She's really good."

"Yeah, but she can't get our Jakey," Jay adds, a smugness in his tone, "Sure, he looks a little desperate and pathetic, and like he’s never felt the touch of a woman, but little does she know that he's way too smart for—"

Jake's thumb moves quick.

Jake: sure

The room is dead silent for a moment.

"Dude," Heeseung stares at him, mouth slightly open. "I mean, like—not that I'm one to judge but what the fuck?"

"Don't look at me like that," Jake gulps, already grabbing his hoodie from the arm of the couch, "What do you expect me to do! Say no?"

"Man," Jay laughs dryly, shaking his head. "You have to be shitting me."

Sunghoon falls back against the couch cushions, hands over his face.

"She just wants help this time. Not answers," Jake continues to explain, slipping his arms through the hoodie sleeves. "It'll be different."

"Jake..." Heeseung stands, eyeing his friend. His hands move to his shoulders, staring him dead in the eyes, "You're gonna come back here at two in the morning, heartbroken and blue-balled, and eat the leftover pizza crusts off the floor."

"You don't know that—"

"Bro." Sunghoon glares. "Yes, we do. We all know it. Even the pizza boxes know it."

He should stop. He knows it. You've given him zero reasons to defend you like this, but maybe he's tired of being logical. Maybe, for once, he just wants to feel something.

"You don't know her," he says firmly, "We don't know her. I mean. What if she really was busy, you know?"

Heeseung sighs, long and winded. And though he's shaking his head, he helps zip up his hoodie, like a mother sending off her kid to school. He spares a glance back at Sunghoon and Jay, who seem to share the same look in their eyes: pitying, a little disappointed, but resigned to the inevitable.

He returns his gaze to Jake, a hand coming up to pat his head, ruffling his already messy hair.

"Just… try not to get eaten alive, okay?"

He finds your place easily enough—another student housing unit, like his, with a porch that creaks under his weight, and a railing that's falling apart. Somewhere down the block, someone's partying, the bass a little too loud, and yet it's still not enough to drown out the sound of his heart thumping against his chest as he knocks on your door. He wipes a sweaty palm on his jeans, mentally rehearsing what he'll say. Though his mind goes completely blank when the door swings open.

So yeah. That's how he finds himself in your room, the assignment questions open on his laptop, sitting at the very edge of the bed. Meanwhile, you move about, apologizing for the mess and explaining something about your roommates being gone while picking up piles of clothes from the floor and shoving them into the laundry hamper at the corner of your room.

He swallows hard when the bed dips next to him under your weight, and he finds himself sitting upright, stiffly, like the hammock of plushies in the corner is judging him, watching his every move.

Your legs are bare beside him, wearing shorts that barely cover anything, close enough that if he shifted even a few centimetres, his knee would brush your thigh. Your tank top has one of those necklines that dips when you lean forward, which you're doing right now, peering at his screen.

"So," you say, "Where do we start?"

The fairy lights catch the curve of your shoulder, and he notes how your skin looks warm. Soft. It probably feels that way, too, doesn't it?

It takes a moment to find his words.

"I'll walk you through it," he starts, clearing his throat, "It's not bad once you get it. I swear."

"Okay," you reply with an innocent smile.

He reaches for the notebook in your grasp.

"May I?"

"Mhm," your grip loosens, and he plucks it from your hands, along with the pen. The same pen he remembers being pressed to your lips in that one photo.

Focus, Jake.

"Alright, this part," he gestures to the equation on his screen, flipping for a clean page in your very disorganized, doodle-filled notebook. "It's the same thing from last time. You just—"

His mind goes blank as you angle yourself just a bit closer, squinting your eyes at the page, and he sucks in a breath when your knee presses against his. You don't move it.

"—You just rearrange it like this," he finishes, quickly scribbling it out step by step. "Then plug it back in. Makes sense?"

"Hm," a hum escapes your lips, sounding almost breathy and whiny as you ponder the page, making him think of things he definitely shouldn't, "...I think I get it."

"Try it," he smiles, handing the pen and notebook back.

A second passes, pen tapping your chin slightly as you stare. Then blink. Then furrow your brows together.

"Actually... I don't get it."

"Okay," he nods slowly, determination not yet shaken, "Well, look, it's the same thing, you just have to—"

"Can you show me one more time?" You look at him, wide-eyed. Confused. Helpless. Your tank top strap slips off your shoulder just a bit, and his eyes follow the movement as you reach to adjust it. "Please?"

As if he's on autopilot, he takes the notebook back from you, nodding wordlessly as he writes the question for you.

He tries the same thing with the next question. Writing up a nearly identical example and solution in clear, detailed steps, explaining as best he can. But he freezes when he feels your hand on him, looking over his shoulder.

"Sorry, I just see better this way," you say so casually, like it's nothing, like he isn't losing his goddamn mind. You're then pointing, "Why does that happen?"

"Oh... because of the negative sign. So when you move it over—"

"I'm so bad at this," you sigh, voice close to his ear, "I don't even know what I'm doing."

There’s a tug at his heart.

"You're not bad!" He says almost automatically, "Not at all. Don't say that. You just need more practice."

"You think?" You ask, your hand sliding down his shoulder, until your careful fingers reach the sleeve of his hoodie. Fiddling with it, absentmindedly, you continue, "You're really patient, you know that?"

"I... I mean, I—"

"Most people would've given up by now. But not you," you whisper, "You're good to me, aren't you?"

"I try my best," he stammers out in a nervous laugh, trying not to malfunction. He taps his pen against the notebook, "How about you try the next—"

"Jake," you sigh again, though it sounds more like a whimper in his ear as your chin rests against his shoulder, "Can we just... do this one together?"

He nods, enjoying the feeling of you pressed against him too much to bother passing the notebook back to you anymore.

It's faster this way anyway, right? That's what he tells himself as he does the rest of your assignment. He can always explain it after. You'll get it once it's done.

"Really, you're the best, Jake," you repeat for what must've been the fifth time that night as he clicks the 'submit' button.

For a while now, you've been lying back against your pillows, smiling at your phone while he works, occasionally moving to watch him or leave some kind of commentary, and his roommates' warnings began to echo in his mind. Especially as he's folding up his laptop, shoving it to the side, watching you from the corner of his eye. He can't see your screen, but your hands move like you're texting someone. That thought alone makes him want to crawl into a hole somewhere and die.

"It's nothing..." his voice comes out too quiet.

Your gaze shoots up, expression changing in seconds.

"Oh, but it's not nothing!" you reply, tucking your phone. "I seriously feel like such a jerk for ghosting you! I'm sorry. I'm just so bad at texting."

Before he can process it, you're sitting up, on your knees, scooting a bit closer. Too close.

"Really, it's—"

"And doing all of this for me... You work so hard."

Your hand lands on his shoulder, gentle but firm enough that he doesn't think to resist, and you pull him back. His head hits the mattress softer than he expected.

You come into view, sitting up now, face above his. He doesn't know where to look, your eyes, your lips... definitely not where your tank top hangs low, revealing way more than you probably realize. He opts to stare at the ceiling instead. Then your face. But your face is too pretty to stare at for too long without making him nervous, so he looks anywhere else.

"You must be tired, huh?"

He's not quite sure how to even process what's happening, so he mindlessly nods.

"Poor thing," you coo, and the way you say it, soft and almost sweet, makes his chest ache, a warmth blooming in it. "I'm really happy you showed up. Actually, I was kinda nervous to ask. Thought you might be busy. Or that you'd hate me."

There's another pause as you stare down—waiting, watching with your brows furrowed in worry, lips pulled into a pout.

"Do you hate me, Jake?"

"Hate you? No. No, no, no," He's shaking his head profusely, the words tumbling out too fast. "Life gets in the way sometimes. I get it."

He should have a harder time believing it, given that he's seen you posting on your social media everyday, videos and photos from parties he'd never be invited to in a million years.

Still, how could he ever hate you when you're letting him lie down on your bed like this, looking at him like that? The memories of hurt from weeks of radio silence practically melt away like it was never even there to begin with.

"You can ask me anytime. Always. I'm free whenever."

"Whenever?" You tilt your head, mildly amused.

He swallows, mentally scolding himself as you reach for the strings of his hoodie, toying with the ends of it absentmindedly.

Come on, Jake. At least pretend like you have a life.

"Well. Not always, whenever but, I'm not busy on weekends, unless..." unless I'm playing Smash Bros with my other loser roommates. Yeah, genius. That will really impress her. "Unless I'm... studying or something."

"Is that all you do? Study?"

"I, uh..." he thinks, "I go to the gym. Sometimes."

He looks at you, searching for a reaction.

"Mm." You hum, and he swears he's going to have a heart attack when he feels your hand slide up the sleeve of his arm, firmly grasping his bicep. You barely squeeze, just once, and your hand then quickly slips away. "I can tell."

What the hell.

He gapes.

What the actual hell.

"Your girlfriend must like that."

"Girlfriend?"

"You don't have a girl?" You raise a brow.

"No—I mean—no."

"Oh?" You tilt your head, curiously, "But you talk to girls, right?"

"I'm just... I study a lot so..."

"So I have you all to myself, then?" You smile, "That's good to know."

You hum, blinking at him. Suddenly, you're reaching for his hair. He literally has no idea what the fuck is happening or how it happened, but your fingers are now in his hair, raking through it slowly. And when he feels you gently scratch at his scalp, his eyes almost close, biting down on his lip just to stop himself from making god knows what kind of pathetic noise he would've.

This isn't normal. Girls don't just do this—not to just anyone... right? He has no idea. All he knows is that he's getting embarrassingly flustered, and increasingly worried that he's misinterpreting everything all over again. It all blurs together in a messy, dizzying spiral of infatuation and anxiety.

"Do you talk to guys?"

It sounded more casual in his head. Now, it sounds stupid coming out of his mouth.

"Why?" You tilt your head, grinning, and he gulps, "You trying to see if I have a boyfriend, or something?"

"No! Just you asked, so I thought I'd ask, too. So—"

"Kidding," you sing-song, a soft laugh escaping you, "I don't really take that stuff seriously, you know?"

Jake nods, like he understands what that means. He thinks it means you at least don't have a boyfriend, which is reassuring enough. For now.

Though he can't really think anything at all, actually, because suddenly, he's panicking over a much larger problem than the thought of you talking to other guys. Your fingers, still working at his scalp, slow and deliberate, start to build a familiar heat inside him, and not the innocent kind.

Stop. Think about something else. Thermodynamics. The quadratic formula. Jay’s morning breath. Literally anything—

You graze a particular spot just behind his ear, and his whole body betrays him. He feels it immediately—a rush of need, a tightening in his jeans that he cannot under any circumstances let you notice.

He sits up so fast his vision blurs, back snapping straight.

"You okay?" Your hand hovers in the air where his head used to be.

"Bathroom," he stammers, already scrambling off the bed, nearly tripping over himself, "Um. Where's the bathroom?"

You point him down the hall.

After a good few minutes of splashing his face with cold water and thinking the unsexiest thoughts he could think of, he's calmed down enough that it's unnoticeable.

But unfortunately, when he's out, you're already guiding him to the front door, talking about some eight a.m. lecture tomorrow.

He nods along, trying to focus on tying his sneakers instead of the way you're leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him.

He finishes the second knot after fumbling with it for longer than he should've and stands up, brushing off his jeans.

Alright, Jake, this is it.

"So, um, hey," he starts, hesitantly. "Would you want to hang out sometime? Not for school stuff. Maybe... like... go see a movie, or something?"

He watches you carefully. Holding his breath. Waiting for what feels like forever.

"Sounds fun!" You smile.

The words ring in his ears the whole walk home, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt, so stupidly infatuated and lovestruck by you that he barely registers the cold breeze that cuts through his sweater.

He wastes no time plopping down on his couch to tell his roommates about his new date plans, feeling on top of the world when their concerned expressions shift into grins—cheering him and patting him on the back before quickly devising his next move;

"Ask her what movie," Jay insists.

"What? No. That's way too passive," Sunghoon rolls his eyes, "Tell her what movie. Girls like it when guys are decisive."

"And make it a horror movie," Heeseung adds, nodding in agreement, "She'll get all scared and cling to you. Trust me, man."

"That's such a cliché."

"Cliché, but it works."

His roommates keep arguing—something about jump scares versus psychological thrillers, about whether first dates should even be movies at all, but Jake stops listening. He's staring at his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

Jake: does friday or saturday work?

He waits.

And waits.

And waits...

"I don't get it," Jake frowns, staring at the unread messages on his phone. The screen glows in the dim kitchen light, the last message he sent still hanging there, no reply.

"She said she wanted to hang out again," he continues, more to himself than anyone else. "She said, 'Sounds fun!' She even smiled when she said it."

His roommates are scattered around the kitchen like they normally are post-dinner, with Sunghoon and Jay fighting over whose turn it is to do the dishes. Meanwhile, Heeseung scarfs down his third bowl of cereal, like he hadn't just devoured a full plate of food less than an hour ago.

"No offence, but like... are you really asking that?" Heeseung doesn't even look up. Just raises the bowl to his lips and gulps down the remaining milk, dribbling a little down his chin.

Jake blinks.

"She's playing you," Jay adds, turning off the running water at the sink, sponge in one hand and a plate in the other. From that, Jake gathers he lost the dish war. "And it's working. Clearly."

"But—"

"She ghosted you for three weeks," Sunghoon cuts in, drying his hands on a dish towel. "Hit you up when she needed homework help. Then ghosted you again the second you asked her out. What part of this says 'interested' to you?"

Jake opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking back at his phone, and Sunghoon's already plucking the device from his hands before he can even consider double texting. He closes the phone, laying it face down on the kitchen table, and presses his palm flat against it like he's putting down a verdict.

"Listen, you really wanna give this homework-stealing attention whore even more attention?" He frowns, "She doesn't deserve another word from you."

His words make Jake wince a little, the pathetic urge to defend you still lingering, but he doesn't say anything. He knows what it looks like.

Heeseung sets his empty bowl down with a clink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, studying Jake.

"Why are you so attached anyway?" He raises his brow, "Like sure, she's hot, but did you even, you know... get any action?"

"I mean."

The kitchen goes quiet, and Jake feels a heat creep up his neck. He looks down at the table, recalling his time with you last week.

"She played with my hair."

There's a pause.

"...the fuck?" Heeseung finally says.

"Like, head scratches. You know?" Jake can feel how stupid it sounds even as he says it, but he keeps explaining, as if it will make it sound any better, "She was saying all these things, and talking, and running her fingers through it. It was nice. It was—"

"Bro," Heeseung cuts him off with a laugh—not a mean one, but something close to it, "She pet you."

"Like a dog." Sunghoon grins.

"Did you start kicking your leg when she scratched behind your ears?" Jay snickers.

"Did she call you a good boy for doing her homework?"

The three of them burst into laughter. Sunghoon has to brace himself against the table, and Jay doubles over, gripping the counter. Heeseung is just shaking his head, grinning, like Jake is the saddest thing he's ever seen.

Jake flushes.

"Guys, come on—"

"Listen, Jakey," Heeseung's voice softens, "You do realize what this is, right? She uses you for your brain, then forgets you exist until she needs you again. And like a stupid, loyal mutt, you keep running back to an owner who doesn't reward you with any treats."

"I know it looks like that, but you weren't there," Jake shrinks in his chair, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands, "She was talking to me. For real. Like. Touching me and—"

"And she didn't text you back," Sunghoon states. There's no bite to it. No malicious intent. Just that. That's what it is, after all.

The truth of it hurts more than he expects, maybe because deep down he knows it already. His throat tightens, and he stares down so that none of them can see how his eyes get glossy.

He just thought that maybe this was it. That maybe, for the first time, someone actually liked him. Is he really so wrong for wanting to believe that?

The kitchen is quiet now. Jay has gone back to washing dishes, but slower, quieter and Sunghoon joins him, pretending to be interested in dishes to avoid addressing the emotional tension in the room.

Heeseung is the only one who still watches Jake.

"Look, man," he starts, softer this time. "We're not trying to be dicks. We just—"

All four of them glance at the device face down on the table. No one moves. The buzz fades. Then another one. Then another.

Jake's hand twitches toward it.

"Don't," Sunghoon warns.

"It could be important."

"It's not."

Jake's hand hovers. What if it's you? What if you're apologizing? What if you have an explanation?

Sunghoon beats him to it, snatching it from the table with dishwater hands.

"Oh? Would you look at that?" he raises a brow, and Jake's heart pathetically flutters, "Let's see what the she-devil wants now."

Jake watches, holding his breath, as Sunghoon swipes open the messages. His face is unreadable for a moment.

"Gee. Shocker." He reads aloud, dripping with sarcasm. "Hey Jake, sorry I've been MIA—And there's a sad face emoji, how sweet—Did you start the next assignment yet?"

"She can't be that shameless," Heeseung states in disbelief.

Jay sets down his sponge and grabs the phone from Sunghoon, scanning the screen himself. His jaw tightens.

"That's it." He turns to Jake, holding the phone up like evidence. "This is an intervention. If you're not getting anything out of this, and I mean anything, then ignore that bitch."

"She's not a—"

"She is." Sunghoon sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "Honestly, it's just sad at this point. You're better than this."

Jake looks between them. His phone is still in Jay's hand, the screen lit up with your message. He can see the little three dots at the bottom of the chat box. You're still typing, probably coming up with another excuse— another reason for him to come running.

"Jake," Heeseung steps forward, blocking Jake's view of the device, "She hurt you. Do not respond. I'm serious this time. You hear me? You hear us? We're looking out for you."

Jake swallows. He wants to say that it'll be different this time—wants to say that they don't know you like he knows you. Wants to believe his feelings are reciprocated, and that your soft touch and sweet words were more than just a cheap manipulation tactic, but they're all watching. And he knows. He knows he has to concede.

Deflated, he nods, promising his friends he won't give in. Even if the memory of your hands in his hair sticks. Even if he swears it was real.

He really does ignore you. He doesn't respond to your messages, doesn't screenshot your selfies—well, he does look at them maybe a couple times, but that's not technically breaking his word. He keeps his phone on the other side of his bedroom when he sleeps. He spends his time with his friends laughing, instead of sulking in the corner over ignored messages.

The inexplicably strong ache he felt in his chest when he thought of you was nowhere near close to disappearing, an ache that couldn't decide between desire and hurt, but he could feel himself slowly, bit by bit, start to return to some semblance of normalcy.

Then you decide to show up to class for the first time in weeks.

Jake notices you the second you walk through the door. How could he not? You're all he can think about still, as terrible as he knows that sounds. How could he possibly bring himself to look away as your eyes scan the room, ultimately landing on him, making your merry way to slip into the seat at his side?

"Hey!" You're smiling, bright and easy, like no time has passed at all.

It's tempting to return the smile. God, he wants to accept your warmth again so badly, and maybe that would've worked on him a few weeks ago, but time has passed for him.

He'd spent all this time second-guessing every smile, every touch and word. Suffered while listening to his roommates call him a dog. He doesn't have it in him to continue hoping for anything more. Even if you look extra pretty today.

"Hey." Jake keeps his eyes on the board.

"How are you?"

"Fine."

Your smile doesn't waver, but something in your gaze is a little different, a little more steady than usual. You lean in close enough that he can smell you, breathing in your sweet, warm, intoxicating scent, close enough that his resolve starts to crumble before he can stop it. That's just what you do to him.

"You look cute today," you say softly. "I like your hair."

"Thanks."

He manages to keep his tone flat and his face neutral, as if he doesn't still dream of your hands in his hair, like you had the last time he saw you, still weak from the mere thought.

Stay strong, Jake. His jaw is tight. His hands are curled into fists under the desk. She hurt you. Don't give in.

Your smile then fades, if only a little.

"Hey... what's up with you?"

He turns to you finally, unable to keep up the act. In a moment of weakness, he lets you see the hurt, the confusion, the resentment.

You seem concerned. A little confused.

She's playing you. She's using you.

"Listen," he inhales, trying to sound firm, but there's a shakiness in his tone that he just can't hide. "I'm not helping you this time, okay? So don't—"

His eyes catch something on the desk that halts his thought process completely.

Your phone is sitting there, face up, dressed in a clear case like always, but with a new set of cute little charms attached—though that's not even the thing he notices first. The screen is covered in cracks, fractures spreading from a point near the top all the way to the bottom, and a chunk of glass is missing from the corner, exposing the dark screen underneath.

"What happened?" he blurts. Whatever he had been planning to say, to finally tell you, vanishes in an instant.

You look down at the phone. Then back at him.

"Oh my god, you have no idea." You're already shaking your head, "Last week, I lost my phone. Like, lost lost. Couldn't find it for days. I tore my whole apartment apart. I filed a lost and found report. I even checked the campus security office."

Jake stares at the cracked screen, your thumb swiping over it.

"Then," you continue, wincing as you recall the story, "my roommate tells me she felt a crunch when she was pulling out of the driveway. Turns out my phone was lying face down there. For three days. And she ran over it."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was. I think it must've fallen out of my pocket in the dark." You pick up the phone, sighing, "It was like this when I found it. But you wanna know the craziest part? It still works."

Jake just blinks, and you laugh a little as you hold up the device to his face, showing off the horribly cracked home screen.

"I guess you thought I was ignoring you again, weren't you?" Your expression falls, "I'm so sorry, Jake. I really didn't mean to."

"It's..." He blinks again, then shakes his head. A laugh escapes him, feeling relieved, almost giddy, and all the emotions he thought he had buried for good come rushing back to him in an instant. Just like that. "I just thought you were, like, using me for homework, or something—"

"What?" You gasp, shock flashing across your face. "Oh my gosh, no, I would never."

A hand lands on his arm. Warmth spreads through him where you touch.

"I guess asking about homework first thing when I got my phone back was pretty stupid of me, wasn't it?" You shake your head, muttering, talking to yourself almost, "I was just so stressed after the whole lost phone situation, and school was the first thing on my mind. I didn't even think about how it would look."

A nervous laugh escapes you, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater, glancing at him wide-eyed like you're scared that he hates you for real this time.  Suddenly, his roommates' words are fading to nothing in his head.

"I mean," he says slowly, and then a small smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah. It was a little stupid."

You stare at him for a second. Then you laugh, bright and real and just like he remembered, your whole face lighting up. Relief seems to wash over both of you, and when your hand lightly grazes his shoulder again, he leans into it this time.

"Okay, okay, I deserve that," you say. "But I'll make up for it. I swear."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You pull out your phone, squinting at the cracked screen as you pull up a tab in your search engine. "There's this new indie horror thing my friends keep talking about. Apparently, it's super scary, and I'm terrified of watching this kind of stuff alone."

You tilt the screen to him, rambling about different showtimes, explaining bits of the synopsis of the film, and he swears his heart is about to explode. His mind is already conjuring images of you clinging to his arm, burying your head in the crook of his neck at the sight of a jump-scare.

"So?" You finally ask, "You free Friday?"

There's a moment of hesitation as he thinks about his roommates. Their warnings. Their jokes. Their certainty that you were using him. Then he looks at your phone—the cracks, the missing chunk. The undeniable proof that you weren't lying.

Then he thinks about getting to hold your hand in a dark theater, driving you home after. Would you let him kiss you? Would you pull him closer, with your hands at the back of his head, fingers grazing through his hair again? Would you pull away, breathless and smiling, and invite him inside? Probably not that last part, but the thought still makes him blush.

"I'll check my schedule."

"Okay," Your smile turns almost shy, but your determination doesn't waver, "Well, no pressure, but you better say yes."

Jake spends the entire lecture trying not to smile back, thankful that all the pain he had felt, all the hurt, had been nothing more than his own imagination.

He's already knows he's going to say yes.

Jake is halfway to the door when Sunghoon's voice stops him cold.

"Where are you going?"

Jake winces, hand hovering just above the doorknob. His keys are already in his other hand, jingling softly. He doesn't turn around, certain that the look on his face will give him away, and to be honest, he's tired of being looked at like a lost cause when it comes to you.

"Out."

"Out," Sunghoon repeats slowly. "Out where, exactly?"

With a shaky breath, he turns finally. His eyes land on Jay and Sunghoon sprawled on the couch—same as always, controllers in hand, paused mid-game. Heeseung pokes his head out of his bedroom door down the hall, drawn by the sound of an argument brewing.

Jake allows himself a small, hopefully convincing enough smile.

"To study."

Like a cruel joke, a small foil square slips out of his jacket pocket and flutters to the floor—revealing the condom he'd stolen from the box Heeseung keeps at his bedside.

They all watch wordlessly, staring for a beat.

Jake's face flushes, bending down to snatch the condom off the floor, and he tucks it back into his pocket.

"Uh-huh. Study." Jay deadpans, setting down his controller. "Studying what, human anatomy?"

"It's a study date," Jake says too quickly, waving it off, "With uh... that one girl I was lab partners with last semester. You guys remember?"

"The girl you said you weren't into?"

"Well, I changed my mind."

He can feel the weight of their stare. Watching. Waiting. Judging.

"You think you're gonna get laid." Heeseung gestures vaguely to him. "And you didn't try to tell any of us about it?"

"It's just in case," he replies, still a little embarrassed, "Besides, why should I tell any of you? It's none of your business."

Heeseung tilts his head, studying him. The other two exchange knowing glances.

"It's not that you have to," He says, "But you would've. Which means you're hiding something."

"You're running back to your master, aren't you?" Sunghoon cuts to the chase with a grin, "Did she throw you a bone again?"

"No."

"Aw, I can see his tail wagging," Jay teases, "He's so excited. Thinks he's gonna finally get his dick wet this time if he plays fetch."

"Shut up."

"Jake, man," Heeseung almost groans, "You can't seriously think she wants you for real this time, right?"

"What's the score now? Campus slut: three, Jake: zero? You're losing pretty badly," Sunghoon whistles, shaking his head, "Just don't come crying to us about it after."

His fingers tighten around his keys, metal biting into the palm of his hand. He wants to tell them tonight will be different—and he's sure it will. It has to be. But he's done explaining himself, and he's done trying to explain you.

"I'm going on a study date with my old lab partner," he lies through gritted teeth, "And while you sit your lazy asses on a dirty fucking couch, marinating in your own filth, I'm going to actually be talking to a girl. So fuck you."

He doesn't wait for a response. He just turns, yanking the front door open and slamming it behind hard enough to rattle the frame just a bit.

The boys don't say anything. They just stare at the door, watching the frame shake in silence until it goes still.

"Well," Sunghoon pauses, "He kinda got us there, didn't he?"

He pulls up to your place, eyeing the same rickety-looking porch and broken railing he remembers, noting how the light above the front door flickers. And though it's anything but perfect, he still feels like he's in a scene from a movie as he walks up your steps—the kind where the guy finally gets the girl and sweeps her off her feet.

His heart is pounding as he knocks on the door and stops the moment it swings open, smiling as soon as he sees you, expression dropping when his brain catches up to realize you're... not dressed for a date. At all.

You look at him wide-eyed, almost shocked, a pencil tucked behind your ear, wearing an old hoodie and those little shorts he remembers from last time. And there, in your hand, is your thermodynamics textbook.

"Oh, Jake..." you say, blinking at him like you'd forgotten he was coming. "I totally lost track of time."

You're already turning away, leaving the door open for him to follow. Already walking back into the place, socked feet padding against the hardwood, muttering to yourself.

"This is due on Monday, and I haven't even started and— gosh, I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot."

Jake stands still in the doorway of your bedroom, watching you plop down on the bed, looking up at him with a silent plea.

"I really thought I'd have this done by tonight. I mean, I could spend the rest of the weekend doing it, but I have all these plans and other things I have to do..." You continue to ramble, but he stops listening.

You're doing it again.

He watches you for a long, silent moment. You're already flipping through the textbook, muttering to yourself about equations and deadlines, completely absorbed.

Any butterflies he'd felt were gone, replaced with... nothing. He felt absolutely nothing, just hollow and empty and utterly deflated because he's been here before. He knows the script. He knows what happens next.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear his roommates laughing. Hell, he's sure those stupid plushies in the corner of your room are probably laughing at him, too.

"I was thinking maybe if I could just get the first few problems, I think I could figure out the rest. But I don't even know where to start."

You look up at him, and there's that look again. The same look you gave him the first day of class. The same look that made him want to solve all your problems.

Just like that, he's doing it again, too.

She needs me, he starts to think.

People get stressed, don't they? People lose track of time. You're just one of those people. It's not on purpose. It's not malicious. It's just you.

You're tugging at his sleeve, then slipping past it just to grasp around his wrist.

"I know I'm asking for a lot, but you'll help me, won't you?" You pout, "Please, Jake?"

That almost gets him. It shouldn't, but it almost does.

"But the movie—"

"I promise we'll see it another time," you cut in, "Pinky swear, on my life, we will."

Jake can feel his hands trembling at his sides. All he wanted was a date with you. Just one night. No textbooks. No equations.

He'll be damned if he lets your poor time-management skills and terrible studying habits be the reason his night is ruined.

"What if I just... send you the answers later?"

He manages a broken smile, and you blink.

"Really?" You gape, "Oh, Jake, I'd feel terrible—"

"We can't let our movie tickets go to waste, right?" He shrugs like its nothing, like he's nonchalant or something, but there is absolutely nothing chalant about the way he needs to go out with you tonight. "I don't mind. Really. Don't worry about it, okay?"

You beam at him, and with a squeal, you're jumping off the bed faster than he can process. Your arms are around him, hugging him tight, so much that he can feel every part of you pressed against him. Suddenly, he's light as a feather again. Drifting. Weightless.

"Thank you so much!" You pull away all too quickly, shoving him out your bedroom door, "Just give me a few minutes, 'kay? I won't leave you waiting too long."

Jake can barely focus on the screen, eyes drifting from the atmospheric shots of a creepy house in the middle of nowhere, towards you instead.

He's hyper-aware of you sitting there, next to him. He can't help the way he watches you, how the light flickers across your face, catching the curve of your cheek, and your gloss-covered lips. He also can't help the way he's falling apart from just the feeling of your arm brushing against his in the dark, soft, accidental, and electric all at once.

The scent of your perfume mixes with the smell of buttery popcorn, neither of you had touched yet. He can't bring himself to eat it. Actually, he can't bring himself to do anything when he can barely manage breathing in your presence.

His heart is doing that stupid stuttering thing again, the one that makes him feel like he's a teenager taking his school crush to prom, as his hand twitches restlessly at his side.

He wants to hold your hand. He's wanted to since the moment you slipped into the passenger seat of his car, wearing that sundress, but he knew he had to wait. He rehearses the motion in his head, a slow, deliberate slide of his palm against the armrest until it touches yours. He even tries, for a second, his hand slowly drifting until his pinky barely brushes yours, enough to feel the warmth of your skin.

For a moment, he allows himself to imagine what it would feel like to do it—to take your hand in one smooth, confident stride and feel your fingers interlace with his. The thought alone is exhilarating... and far, far more terrifying than the movie's been so far.

Before he knows it, he's chickening out, hand drawing back to his lap when the screen flashes.

A face appears, a shrieking sound erupting through the theatre speakers, and he swears his soul fucking leaves his body. He jumps, a full body flinch, arm nearly knocking over the popcorn bucket as his heart slams against his ribs.

And almost immediately, he glances at you, mortified at the thought of you witnessing him actually get scared at a jump scare. But you had jumped too, hands flying to his arm, fingers digging into his sleeve. It only registers in his mind after the fact that you're clinging to him, your smaller hands curled against him, just like he had imagined. Just like he had hoped.

"Sorry," you whisper, still holding him.

"It's okay," he whispers back, silently praying that you'll continue to.

You do, and he doesn't dare move a single muscle for the remainder of the film. Even as there's more blood, more screaming and horrifying faces that genuinely make him want to sprint out of that theater crying like a baby, he stays put, trembling at the thought of the nightmares he'll have for the next few days and enjoying every second of you burying your face into his shoulder, clinging to him like he's the safest thing you've ever known.

Sometime halfway through the film, your hand finds his, fingers intertwining with his, still leaning into his shoulder. In that moment, he thinks all the missed texts, all the hurt and confusion, all of it was worth it just to feel this.

"That was so good," you rave on the car ride home, smiling from the passenger's seat, "Honestly, way too many jump scares, but the cinematography... wow."

Jake's hands grip the steering wheel just a little tighter than usual, still nervous. More nervous, actually, because he's still trying to figure out what he's going to say to you when he gets back to your place. But he knows he's overthinking it; tonight had reassured him of that.

Relax, he thinks, glancing at you from the side.

"The cinematography?" Jake teases lightly, "You were hiding in my shoulder for half of it."

"Because it was scary," you swat his arm, rolling your eyes at him, "You're supposed to protect me. Not make fun of me."

"I'm just saying..."

"You're saying nothing," you shake your head, grinning, "Don't think I didn't see you flinch a few times, too."

"You got me," he winces a little, then it's his turn to grin, "But at least I didn't scream out loud at the part with the axe, unlike someone—"

"Stop, that was so embarrassing!" You groan, bringing a hand to your face. "I'm pretty sure the entire row in front of us turned around to look. I can never go back there again!"

Jake just laughs, and you're hiding your face further in the palms of your hands as you plead with him not to tease you any further.

It's nice. Easy. He only wishes the night didn't need to end. But, alas, he's pulling up just outside your place, putting the car into park, feeling a little foolish now for having slipped that condom into his pocket at all. As if tonight could have ended any other way. But he shakes the thought away. That's not what he's here for. He's just glad that he even got to hold your hand.

"Well," he starts a little shyly, "If you're too embarrassed to go back, we can do something else next time?

He looks at you. Eyes shining. Hopeful.

"Jake..." you smile, "I had a great time tonight."

His heart swells, warm and fragile, like a balloon stretched too thin.

"But..." you continue, and he feels himself start to deflate. You look down, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, "I probably can't hang out like this for a while. You know how I am. Busy with school and all my other classes."

There's a silence, the engine still humming in the background.

"I'll help you," he then says. It's too eager sounding, the words just tumbling out of him as he goes on, "Whatever it is. Whatever class. I can do it."

"Really?" You look at him wide-eyed, seeing him nod enthusiastically, "You'd do that for me?"

"I'll do anything," he continues to nod without a second thought, "It's nothing to me, if it means—"

You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, and he feels himself turn bright red, butterflies exploding in his chest. He's breathing heavy as he watches you pull away, your lips against his skin forever burned into his memory.

"You're the best, Jake."

"You don't mean that," he waves it off bashfully, smiling like an idiot now.

"No, I do," you smile right back, tilting your head to the side. "You're just the sweetest thing, you know?"

He looks at you, eyes dropping to your lips.

This is the part where he's supposed to kiss you, right?

He'd pictured it so many times in his head that he couldn't even believe it might be happening. It's too surreal. Feels too far removed from anything within the realm of possibilities, and yet here he is. With you in his car. Sitting in silence.

He's not sure how it's supposed to work. Or when the right moment is, but he feels like it has to be now.

Swallowing his nerves and his fears and everything else, he starts to lean in, his eyes about to fall shut when—

"You're a really great friend."

His stomach drops.

"You're just so easy to talk to, you know?" You continue, as if his entire world isn't crumbling around him.

He pulls back. Watching you. Confused. Hurt. It doesn't hit him all at once, dizzy and disoriented from the whiplash you've just hit him with.

"Any girl would be lucky to have—"

"Friend?" The word escapes him like a sharp, ugly hiss, tasting bitter on the tip of his tongue.

"What?"

You blink innocently—or, with what he would've convinced himself was innocence only moments ago, had you not decided to rip his heart and squash it beneath your feet like it means nothing to you. Like he means nothing.

"I did your assignments for you. I took you out, paid for everything," His voice is shaking now. He can hear it, can hear how pathetic he sounds, but he can't stop. "And you think I'm trying to be friends?"

"I don't understand—?"

"I like you. You know that I like you and you still..." Shaken, he trails off, looking back at the steering wheel. He can't look at you anymore. Actually, he thinks he'll literally die if he has to spend any longer in your presence, playing whatever game it is that you've been playing with him. "Forget about the schoolwork. I'm done with you."

"Jake—"

"Get out of my car." He manages, "Please, just leave me alone."

He's blinking away tears that threaten him, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

You don't move, but something in you shifts. He can't quite place it, but it's like the air around you grows colder, distant. The softness drains from your face, replaced by something else entirely.

"Seriously?" You scoff, low and annoyed, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jake's eyes snap back to you, arms folded over your chest as you scowl. Not pouting. Not looking concerned or helpless or confused like you usually do.

"You're the most annoying nerd I've ever had to deal with. You know that?" You continue, venom dripping with every word, "Every other loser folds with a bit of flirting and a couple selfies, but you? You realize how much time and energy I've spent on you? God, I'm way too deep in thermodynamics hell to find a new pathetic little thing to deal with, but you can bet your ass that as soon as this semester ends, I'm never, ever going near you again."

Jake's jaw falls slack, and you take a deep breath.

"And I'm literally so nice to you. I had you over in my house, on my bed. I pretended not to notice your boner—which you're terrible at hiding, by the way. I even went on a fucking date with you and clung to your arm for, like, an hour," you huff, exasperated, like you've just been dying to get it all off your chest. "What else could you possibly want from me?"

He doesn't react. He doesn't know how to.

"You were pretending." His voice is timid. Weak. Everything he tried so hard pretending not to be all night. "Everything you said, playing with my hair, going out with me, holding my hand..."

"You're just making it sound bad," you sigh, "You liked all those things, didn't you?"

"I liked them because I thought they were real."

"What difference does it make?" You snap.

Jake swallows the lump in his throat. He always knew he was a loser. Always knew he was a bit of a pathetic simp. But he never truly thought he could ever be this blind—this stupid.

"Your phone," he recalls the cracks, "That was fake, too?"

"A real convenient coincidence, wasn't it? I thought for sure I'd lost you. Luckily—or unluckily—the universe gave me a real excuse," you wave it off, looking at him, "So. What is it you want, hm? I have an assignment due in a few days, and the clock is ticking. Let's get this over with."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Come on. Everyone has something," you groan, "You could show me off to your other nerd friends. Is that what you want? Or are you gonna be one of those perverts who asks for my used panties or something?"

"You've traded your panties for grades?" His eyes go wide. The image is ugly and nothing like the fantasy he'd built up of you in his head. "How far have you gone for—?"

"I'm not a prostitute." You snap, "No touching."

Right. You've done this to other guys before. Not only was he tricked, but he's not even special. He's just the latest unfortunate soul in a long line of desperate idiots who line up to worship the ground you walk on.

Campus slut, Sunghoon had called you. Jake had scoffed at the time. Wanted to defend you. Convinced himself his roommates didn't know you like he knows you. This might even be worse than any of them could've ever imagined.

That's the sad part, too. He could sit here and ask for your used panties, but he didn't even want that. He never did. Sure, he'd gotten hard over things he probably shouldn't have. Had wet dreams about you that he should probably never repeat out loud. But talking to you was never about just wanting to get laid— even if he'd thought of it countless times. All he really wanted was to be wanted.

You start to get impatient with his silence.

"Look. I didn't want to be so brutally honest, but you were starting to act like I was your girlfriend, and I panicked." You take in a breath, still watching him. "But... I could've been a little nicer, so I'm sorry, okay? Does that make you feel a little better?"

He is just looking at his hands, the hands you held in the theatre. Which apparently now meant absolutely nothing.

"Alright, fine. Maybe this time I can make an exception," your voice is a little softer this time. "What about second base? Is that enough for you?"

"I already said I don't want anything."

"Jake," you start, your hand landing at his knee, thumb stroking in slow circles. "You're a virgin, right?"

"I'm—"

"Shh..." you press a finger to his lips, your other hand now sliding up his knee to his thigh, "I know you are, it's okay. You've never touched a girl, either, have you?"

He shakes his head.

"Then I'll ask again." Your hand trails high enough that it's just barely grazing the tent in his jeans, but still somehow earning a sound from him.

You look up at him through your lashes, like you've finally caught him, and take his hand. He watches, wide-eyed, as you lead his hand closer to you, hovering just above the swell of your breasts. His hand is so close he can feel the heat radiating off your skin, almost touching.

"Is second base enough for—?"

"No."

He draws his hand back, and your expression falls... and so does something else. Both of your eyes land on the condom- the one in his jacket pocket, which had decided to choose that exact moment to fall to the floor.

His face burns with humiliation. How stupidly hopeful he'd been just hours ago, stealing it from Heeseung's bedside like it was a talisman that could make him into someone you might actually want.

He scrambles to pick it up, but you beat him to it, holding it between your fingers with an amused expression. You're grinning like you're trying to hold back a laugh, and he thinks that kind of reaction might be worse than disgust.

"No?" you echo him, reaching to tuck the little foil back into his pocket for him. You give it a few pats before drawing back your hand. "Don't get too greedy, Jake. You know I won't do that."

"I wasn't—I was just—" he shakes his head, collecting himself, "I'm not gonna ask to feel your tits in exchange for homework answers. That's just weird," He says weakly, like it hurts him. Honestly, it does, a bit, because he's about to turn down the opportunity to feel you up in exchange for something far more pathetic sounding. "But..."

"But...?"

He looks at you, thinking of how pretty you look in the dim light—how romantic this would feel if the circumstances were different. It's just not fair how badly he aches for something he knows now, for certain, that he'll never have; something real. But he thinks that if, even for a moment, he could feel the same way he had in the theatre, when you'd taken his hand and held it, that maybe he could settle for just pretending that it's real. Maybe he could go home tonight and not feel entirely awful.

"Would you kiss me?"

You blink.

"Just a kiss?"

"Yeah," he can feel his ears turning red, "But you have to kiss me like you want me. Like we're actually on a date."

Your eyes flicker over him for a good few seconds, expression unreadable. Not upset, not weirded out, just... thinking.

"One kiss, and you promise to do my work for the rest of the semester?"

"One kiss to cover the debt you owe from the past three assignments," His voice is firmer now, though his hands are still shaking, "Then we can negotiate the rest."

"Seriously?"

"You need my help more than I need your stupid kiss," he shrugs, eyes flickering to your lips. "You asked for my price. This is the cost of my labour. Take it or leave it."

"Fine." You inhale, "One kiss—"

"With tongue."

"...With tongue," you deadpan.

You sigh, reaching up to take his glasses off. Your fingers brush his temples, gentle despite everything, and you fold the glasses carefully, setting them in the cupholder.

In this light, he looks different. Not that anything about him has changed. Rather, you're acknowledging things about him that you hadn't thought too much of before. Unlike a lot of other nerds you've led on, Jake actually showers. His skin is clear, and his smile is bright. You suppose he's also a lot kinder than the rest, too, if that counts for anything. And now that you're looking at him up close, without his glasses, you're thinking that maybe he's actually kind of cute.

Still. That's not enough to make your heart race, or something. He's pathetic enough to ask for a kiss in exchange for doing your work. That says all you need to know about him.

You lean forward and press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. Slow, tentative, expecting a nervous response from him, so you're a little bit taken aback by the way he returns the kiss so eagerly. He's needy, not exactly rough, but too worked up to be gentle, and his hand comes up to your jaw a little too fast, fingers pressing in just enough to keep you there, like he's afraid you'll tear away all too soon.

He's messy with it. All tongue and desperate whimpers, not trying to hide how badly he clearly wants you— like he's been thinking about this for weeks and doesn't give a shit about hiding it anymore. It's not the most coordinated of kisses, but it certainly makes you feel something.

You start to forget that you're supposed to be pretending to enjoy it— not actually enjoying it. So much that you don't notice right away how his hands reach for your waist.

"Closer?" He practically whines against your mouth, "Please, can you...?"

You're sighing as you concede, not fully understanding why you choose to. You tell yourself it's to make him content enough so that he won't complain later when you ask for help again, but you're sliding into his lap so easily, dress riding up, suppressing your own noises as his hands roam your body so freely. It's only when you feel his hand slide up, feeling your chest, that you're coming to your senses.

You break the kiss, panting, hands on his shoulders to push yourself away. He lets you, but not without a string of saliva connecting your mouths. He's breathing heavily, lips swollen, and eyes wide with an emotion you can't quite read.

"The deal was a kiss," you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice comes across shakier than intended.

He just stares at you, chest heaving, like he's trying to process what just happened. His gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, then down to where your dress has bunched up around your thighs.

"I know," he says, his voice rough. "I know. I just... got carried away."

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the solid evidence of his desire pressing right up against you. This is dangerous territory. You've always been in control of these situations, leading guys on, getting what you need, and walking away unscathed. But something about Jake's desperation, the raw, unfiltered need in his eyes, has you losing your grip.

"Please, just..." his eyes drop to your heaving chest, "Can I see them? Or like touch them?"

He's like a helpless puppy begging for a scrap of affection. And it's pathetic, really. But also... kind of hot in a weird, sort of sad way. You're not sure what that says about you, but you're there, in his lap already and against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding regardless.

You bite your lip, watching him swallow hard as you slowly pull down the strap of your sundress. You can see the hope in his eyes, the way he's practically holding his breath as the fabric starts to fall, revealing the lace of your bra. Under his gaze, fixed and intense, he reaches behind you, fumbling with the clasp until your bra falls away, and you're bare to him.

He makes a sound, a strangled, restrained sounding gasp that's part surprise, part pure, unadulterated lust. His hands are on you in an instant, not rough, but with a curiosity that sends a shiver down your spine. His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you can't help the small sigh that escapes your lips.

"You're beautiful," he breathes.

Oh. Your face heats up, and the throb between your legs suddenly becomes a bit harder to ignore.

You should stop this. You know you should. You've given him what he asked for already with this deal.

His mouth is on your chest. Sucking. And he can't control the way his hips buck up into yours, muttering sweet whispers into your skin. You allow yourself, if only for once, to enjoy it—not daring to allow any of the sounds you desperately wish to make escape you, but closing your eyes and just letting him do his thing. You couldn't even begin to remember the last time you've been touched like this, with this kind of earnestness.

All too soon, his hips stutter, and he's whimpering into your skin. His hands are at your hips, gripping you in place, moving them against his own, almost subconsciously, and you can't even form a single word as you watch him grind up against you, chasing the craps of friction you've offered him until he's coming apart. A string of choked noises leaves him as he rides out his orgasm, and you stare, unblinking, in... shock? Horror? Awe, maybe?

You stare at his pretty, big brown eyes, and his perfectly kissable lips, and the gorgeous expression on his face as he unravels beneath you until he goes still. Breathing. Forehead against your bare chest as he collects himself.

Then, you blink.

"Did you just...?"

He doesn't answer, but he nods against you, and your blood runs cold.

Suddenly, you remember where you are, who you're with, and why you're here. Suddenly, you remember you're right outside your place, in a university student-ridden neighbourhood, on a Friday night. Suddenly, you're just humiliated as he is—if not more—and sick to your stomach at the realization of just how fucking badly you want him right now.

You push him away, not too hard, but enough to make a point. He looks up at you, dazed, his lips slick and swollen.

"Did you actually just cum in your pants right now?"

"Sorry," he stammers, though he does seem like he means it, even if his eyes are glued to your tits now. "Sorry, just—"

"Yeah. You should be sorry. Because what the hell?” You shake your head, all too defensively. "That wasn't a part of the deal, you freak!"

He watches you fumble with your bra strap, watches you smooth down your dress, watches you avoid his eyes. Your movements are sharp, defensive, like you're trying to erase the last five minutes from existence.

For a moment, he had you. Now, all he was left with was the shame of the aftermath; you, looking at him with disgust. Him, humiliated. His pants, ruined, sticky and uncomfortable.

"I can't believe I let a loser like you touch me," you continue, muttering more to yourself in disbelief than anything else, "That was so... just... ew!"

Your words are like a slap in the face, only instead of knocking him down, they make him snap back to reality, like he'd suddenly just decided to ask himself the question he should've been asking all along: what the actual fuck is he doing?

He can't make you like him. He can't even make you respect him. Clearly, you can't even pretend to either, even with your grades on the line.

He feels different, like something about jizzing in his pants reset his brain and brought him back to normal again. Maybe that's just the post-nut clarity talking, but regardless, he's seeing you now. Not that fake fantasy version of you in his head, but you.

You need him. You need him far more than he needs you. Without him, you fail thermodynamics—you'll sit there, in your room all alone, staring at a textbook you don't understand, praying for a miracle.

He's not the pathetic one. You, the one adjusting your dress in the dark, acting all high and mighty, pretending like you don't trade your dignity for easy A's, are the pathetic one.

The hurt isn't close to dissipating, still heavy and aching within him. The slight flutter in his heart that he feels in your presence isn't gone either. But something else lies beneath it all, something that feels a lot like freedom.

"Get out."

"Just give me a sec—"

"Get out," he snaps, flashing a glare at you while you're in the middle of fixing your hair in the side mirror. "Transaction's over. You can leave."

"Okay, jeez!" You scoff.

You get out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you, and he drives away from you faster than he's ever driven away from anything in his life.

"Well, well, well. Look who's back."

Jake doesn't say anything upon his return, hanging his keys and kicking off his shoes. Of course, all three of his roommates are still awake, sitting on that damn couch, waiting for the resident punching bag to return so they can have a good laugh before crawling to bed.

"So," Sunghoon says, a smirk on his face. "How was the big 'study date'?"

He doesn't react. Not really. He just stands there in the doorway, tired expression taking in each of theirs. The silence is abnormally long, and he notices how Sunghoon shifts in discomfort, how Jay sits up straight, how Heeseung's smile fades to concern.

"She asked me to do her homework again," he says, his voice flat, "Asked me to help with the rest of the semester too."

To his surprise, there's no 'I told you so'. For once, there's no laughing or mocking. Just silence.

Jake doesn't want to admit how much that means to him.

"So it was her." Jay says in a low voice, finally.

"The she-devil strikes again," Heeseung lightly jokes, but his tone remains sympathetic. "She really doesn't beat around the bush, does she?"

"You told her no, right?" Sunghoon blurts before Jake can respond, "Right?"

"I said yes."

The three of them sigh almost in unison. Jay has his face in his hands, and Heeseung shakes his head like a disappointed father, and Sunghoon just glares like he can't actually believe what he's hearing.

"Then I got to feel her up."

The chorus of disappointment stops, and they watch as a grin spreads across Jake's face. Not the dopey sort of puppy-love grin he used to wear when he thought of you. It's broken, revealing the hint of something cruel beneath it.

"She said I could touch her if I send her the answers, so I did, but..." He pauses, laughing to himself under his breath, "I'm not gonna send her shit."

The room goes quiet.

Heeseung is the first to move. He stands up slowly, like he's processing. He crosses the room, footsteps heavy on the hardwood, and stops in front of Jake.

For a second, he just looks at him. Then he places a hand on Jake's shoulder. Squeezes. Then grins wide.

"That's my boy."

Sunghoon recovers first. He grins, getting up to clap him on the back, and holds up a hand for a high-five. "Respect, man. Actual respect."

Jake leaves him hanging.

"No fucking way," Jay is also beaming like a proud father, "No way you actually did?"

"I did. And I'm not doing shit for her anymore," Jake says with a timid sort of smugness, "I'm done. I saw her tits, and I'm out. I'm serious this time."

"You guys hear that?" Heeseung shakes him, "Our little Jakey's all grown up."

"I'm not little."

"Your dick is little."

"Shut up, Sunghoon."

"He's just jealous," Jay rolls his eyes, moving to pick up his gaming controller. "He's never even seen tits in real life."

"I've seen plenty of tits!"

Sunghoon moves to try and wrestle Jay on the couch, their bickering falling on deaf ears as Heeseung returns his attention to Jake. He lowers his voice just a bit this time, his gaze softening.

"For real though. You're good? Like... actually good?"

Jake thinks about it. The drive home. The way his heart sank when you called him a friend. The way your voice sounded when you called him a loser.

Then, he offers his friend a smile.

"I'm good."

Heeseung smiles back before gesturing for him to join them for the next game, and Jake then seats himself on the couch. Laughing. Enjoying the rest of his night. Trying to ease the sting of your words.

He's not good. Not right now. But he'll feel better soon.

It's only a matter of time before you come crawling back.

The assignment deadline looms, a ticking clock in the back of your mind. It follows you everywhere—to class, to the dining hall, to bed at night when you should be sleeping.

Jake still hasn’t texted you the answers, even though you let him cross way too many boundaries just to secure it. You’re stewing in your own frustration. Never in all the times you’ve traded your attention for the academic labour of sad, lonely boys had you come across someone who asked for so much.

You kissed him. You let him grope your chest. You even made him cum in his pants. How on earth was that not enough to make him happy?

But. You kinda broke his poor little heart, didn’t you?

You sigh, and you realize, sitting alone in your bedroom with your textbook open to a page you've been staring at for at least forty-five minutes now, that maybe you were harsh.

You called him a loser. You called him gross for finishing in his pants—something you'd never seen happen before, something you should feel disgusted by, and yet something that you can't stop thinking about.

The thought should make you roll your eyes. It should make you shrug and reach for your phone to find the next desperate nerd willing to do your work. That's what you always do. That's what you've always done.

But Jake is different.

Unlike the other creatures you've put up with in the past—the ones who ask for nudes or used panties or god forbid feet pics—Jake was so stupidly, sickeningly sweet.

He blushed when you touched his arm. He held your hand like it was something precious. He asked you for a kiss when you offered him more. He called you beautiful.

You shift in your seat, pushing the memory away.

What an idiot.

There’s an inexplicable heaviness that sits in your chest that you’re still trying to decode. It's not guilt. You don't do guilt. Guilt is for people who care about things like morals and consequences and other people's feelings. But there's something else there that feels a lot like guilt if you squint.

You didn't need to cuss him off. Or belittle him. Or call him a gross loser for coming in his pants—the look on his face after, now forever burned into your mind. Not angry, not defensive, just hurt. Like you'd confirmed something he already believed about himself.

And underneath that disgustingly new achy feeling that you refused to name, there was a desire far worse:

You want him to text back.

You want him to want to text you back.

You want him to want you.

The thought is so foreign, so uncomfortable, that you shove it away immediately. You don't need his admiration. You don't need anyone's admiration. You're fine on your own.

Then, you look down at your textbook and sigh.

The assignment is due tonight. You haven't started. And Jake still hasn't texted back.

So you do what any normal person would do.

You find where he lives.

Not in a creepy way. You just... have connections. Your roommate happens to have a friend who has a friend who knows a girl who went out with his roommate once. Sure, you had to do a little digging, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

You make sure to arrive dolled up, pretty as ever, hoping that when he opens that door, he'll fall to his knees and bark for you like the good mutt you know he can be. And when he answers it, he's definitely looking, but not with the same kind of desperation as before. Rather, he looks at you like he has the right to.

His eyes are entitled to wander every inch of your body freely without complaint. And to be fair, you realize that in order to get his help again, you might just have to let him. So you let him. You even give him a little smile.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone flat. He doesn't invite you in, only opening the door enough to block it with his frame. He glances a moment, back inside, distracted for a second until he turns back. "Wait, how did you even find where I live—?"

"The assignment is due," you state, plainly, "I'm collecting my end of the deal."

"Are you, now?" He scoffs, "Pretty sure that deal was broken when you started calling me a gross loser to my face."

Your eyes narrow at him, realizing he’d actually grown a semblance of a spine. How inconvenient.

"Come on, Jake, you got to take my bra off and hump me. That's way more than you bargained for."

"It's not," he says firmly, and before you can even protest that, or demand what it means, he continues, "And I'm not making deals with you anymore."

"Jake," you plead, "I'm going to fail."

"Good."

He tries to close the door on you, but you hold your arm out to keep it open.

"No. Not good," you snap, "Stop being a dick and just tell me what you want!"

"What I want, huh? Well, it's gonna take a lot more than some used panties or a pair of tits, I can tell you that much," He mocks you, a grin you've never seen him wear before spreading across his face, "What exactly are you willing to-"

You grab him by the collar of his shirt, dragging his face down to meet yours at eye level. Those big brown eyes of his blink at you, and that's how you know. You know he's still in there. The Jake who looks at you like you're the sun, and he's the planet perpetually stuck in your orbit. Not the new “Jake” who ignores your texts and acts like he doesn't want your attention.

"Anything," you seethe, sounding a little more desperate than you would hope to, but that is what you are. You still need his help. You still need to know that he wants you. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He blinks, his twisted smile returning in an instant.

"You want a blowjob or something, you perv?" You roll your eyes at his expression, "You'll finish in five seconds, but I'll be nice and offer a round two if you send me the answers first."

You let go of his shirt, and he stumbles back as he begins to laugh, foot kicking the door. Distant laughter joins him, and the door opens just enough to reveal his three roommates sitting there on the couch, looking real amused by the scene that just played out.

"Shit, you hear that, Jake?" Heeseung calls out, "Buy one, get one free. That's a steal."

"Didn't know blowjobs were on sale this season," Jay snorts, "What's next, handjobs for half off?"

"Is swallowing included, or is that a part of the premium package?" Sunghoon grins, eyes meeting your murderous glare, "What? I'm just trying to understand the business model."

You feel your face flush with humiliation, and Jake just watches.

"Jake," you step closer, voice just above a whisper, a quiet plea, "You want something. Everyone does. Don't act like-"

He grabs you by the wrist, pulling you inside. And you both ignore the shock and teasing that escapes his roommates as he practically pushes you inside his room, firmly shutting the door behind him.

It's a small, cluttered space, but it's clean. A desk with his gaming PC, his twin bed in the corner with a rumpled comforter, and some nerdy-looking posters on the wall. It's exactly what you expected.

You open your mouth to speak again, but he cuts you off.

"I don't want a blowjob." The words cut you off, flat and final. He's already pulling out his phone, thumb swiping across the screen. He doesn't look at you. "I want something else."

He opens his roommates' group chat. Scrolls. Taps. Then, he's holding up his screen for you. A video loads, sent only a few minutes ago—blurry, shot from inside the apartment, the frame slightly obstructed by what you think is a couch pillow or someone's pocket. Though your voice is unmistakable.

"I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Jake can be heard too, but his voice is a little lower, and with his back turned to the camera, he's not easily identifiable. It could be any dark-haired guy at your school.

"You want a blowjob or something, you perv? You'll finish in five seconds, but I'll be nice and offer a round two if you send me the answers first."  

Your face is clearly revealed in the final frame just as the door cracks open, and just before the camera falls into the couch cushions. The video then cuts off.

You blink at what you'd just been shown, your stomach dropping, then you blink at the man before you.

"What I want is for you to promise you'll never do this to anyone ever again." His voice is steady. He locks the screen and tucks the phone into his back pocket. "Otherwise, this is getting sent straight to the university's confessions page."

You twitch, and your fingers curl at your sides.

"Jake." You let the old sweetness drip back into your voice—the one that used to make him blush, the one that used to work. "Are you really trying to blackmail me?"

"I'm not trying to." He holds your gaze. "I am."

You gape.

"My roommates want to leak it right away." He shrugs, moving away to lean back against his desk, arms crossed. "But I thought you at least deserved a chance to redeem yourself."

He lets the words hang. Lets you imagine the comments. The screenshots. The whispers in the hallway.

"You know what this would mean for you." His voice is quiet. Matter-of-fact. "Social suicide. No one will talk to you. No one will want to associate with you. You'll be..." He pauses, tilting his head. "Ah, what do you call it again? Right. A loser."

The word lands like a slap.

"Aw, don't look so down," he coos, "You'll always have me, right?"

You scoff, narrowing your gaze.

"You can't do this to me."

"Oh, please." He pushes off the desk and takes a step toward you. "You started this. It isn't even a big ask. Just stop flaunting yourself around and open your textbook for once."

You glare at him.

It isn't a big ask. But it's not about what he's asking you to do. It's the fact that he's holding this over your head, thinking he has the right to control you, acting like he's above your little con—all for what, revenge? Vengeance?

Boys are usually easy. You're not sure how you got stuck making deals with the most difficult of them all. But a boy is still a boy. And Jake is still Jake. And currently Jake is, you notice as your eyes drop, obviously hard in his pants.

His sweatpants do nothing to hide it. You watch his eyes drag over you—your lips, your chest, the curve of your waist—against his better judgment. He swallows, and you smile to yourself. He's still in there.

"It kills you, doesn't it?" You step closer, voice like silk. "Having a girl in your bedroom for the first time. Offering to let you do anything you want with her. And turning it down just to pretend like you're a hero."

His jaw tightens.

"Are you hoping to be applauded?" You tilt your head. "For saving all those poor innocent guys from the terrible fate of a pretty girl flirting with them?"

"It's more than that."

"Jake." You laugh, "All the other losers on campus aren't going to thank you. The only thing you'll get out of this is a pat on the back from your little friends. But if you make a deal with me..."

You reach out, trailing a finger down his chest, then let your palm slide over it instead. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your touch, his chest heaving as you look up at him through his lashes.

"I can make it more than worth your while."

You drop to your knees, ignoring how they dig into the cold, hard floor. The look on his face is priceless, seeing him slowly unravel in your grasp.

"You're upset, aren't you?" Your hand trails up and down his thigh, and your eyes shift back and forth from him to the desire in his pants, "I've been feeling down, too. I miss the little thing we had going on. It was easy, don't you think? You and me. Helping each other out."

"I helped you." His voice is strained. "And then you hurt me."

"I was so mean to you last time, wasn't I?" Your hand rests above cock this time, and he winces at the feeling of your palm engulfing him, even if through the barrier of fabric. You lean forward enough to nuzzle him, lips brushing over his crotch, "I'm sorry... But I can make up for it."

You tease him—slow, deliberate, mouth half parted over him.

"Just forget about the video." You purr, finally pressing your palm against him—just enough pressure to make him gasp. A strangled whine escapes his throat. "And just send me the assignment, Jake. I'll let you have your way with me. I'll scream loud enough to make your roommates wish they were you. You just have to click send."

You look up, and you know that look. It's the same one that folded for you when you brushed his shoulder at your house, ultimately convincing him to do your work. It's the same one he had in the car when you offered him second base. It's the look of someone who wants something so bad that they can't possibly deny themselves any longer.

"You said anything?"

"Anything."

He looks at you, pained. Helpless. Brows furrowed together, then he nods.

Your eyes glimmer.

He pulls out his phone. His thumb moves across the screen, and you wait somewhat impatiently. It feels like it takes longer than it should, you think, before your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

You immediately move to open it, ignoring the other notifications.

Jake: [sent Assignment_3.pdf]

He reaches out immediately, his fingers tangle in your hair. It's not gentle. It's a warning. Your phone tumbles from your grasp, landing with an ungraceful thud to the floor.

"You better act like you enjoy it."

You don't flinch; instead, you lock eyes with him, letting a sly smile curve your lips before your fingers hook around the waistband of his pants. His length springs free from its confines, baring him to you for the first time, and admittedly, you stare.

"That's a nice surprise," you coo, sounding genuinely impressed, rather than the act you had planned on, as you wrap your hand around his cock, thumb collecting the precum at his tip and spreading it down the length of him. You look up, seeing how he watches in complete adoration and awe, biting down his lip. He's barely holding himself together already, and you're already grinning at the thought. "You're big. You've really been keeping this thing hidden away?"

Your lips part around the head of his cock. Your tongue darts out , lapping up every drop of precum you can taste—salty, warm, proof that you've already got him. He whines, fingers curling tighter in your scalp.

"Ah- fuck," You hear him hiss. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

You moan around him, low and appreciative, the vibration buzzing straight through his shaft as you take him deeper, inch by inch, your mouth stretching to accommodate his thickness, taking him like your damn life depends on it- and well, your social life now does depend on it. Your tongue presses flat against the underside to trace every ridge and vein, and you can't look away from him. You're just beaming, knowing that he's struggling so hard not to lose himself this soon, when you've only just started.

His thighs tremble, muscles jumping under your hands as you grip them for leverage, nails digging in just enough to heighten the sensation. A whine slips from him, high and needy, when you take him down your throat, relaxing to let him nudge the back. You gag softly on purpose, eyes watering but never breaking contact.

"Fuck... you're really working for it, huh?" he stammers, almost in disbelief, "Maybe if you'd done this at the start, I would've done your work- shit."

His hips are stuttering into your mouth, throwing you off, and his words are laced with a mix of mockery and raw hunger, even as his body betrays him with those trembling jerks. You keep taking him anyway.

"B-but you chose to lead me on. Let me hope," He grabs your hair this time, pulling you closer despite the whines escaping him, "You're such a bitch."

Strangely, his words send a sharp pain through you, and his sounds, which grow more desperate as you work your mouth on him, start to sound less like a whimper and more like a cry, like a wounded animal. You knew you had hurt him. You just never placed yourself in a position where you had to confront that reality. But here, on your knees for him, you were forced to.

He finishes with no warning, unravelling completely in your devoted mouth, and you swallow every last drop, up until the moment he's dragging your head off of him and staring down at you. He's starry-eyed, a little distant-looking, laced with a foreign sort of desire that you don’t quite understand.

"Jake—?"

You're not sure how it happens, but you're being pushed to the bed, lips clashing into yours, tugging your clothes off your body until you're bare. You only pull him closer, removing his shirt too, and he kicks his pants to the side. He wastes no time dipping his head between your thighs, marvelling first at just how wet you were for him, then letting a shaky finger drag through the folds.

"Wanna taste you." The words escape him almost involuntarily, before he's diving right in, lapping at your folds with an eagerness that makes you gasp.

There's no teasing. His tongue laps at your folds, sloppy and unsure. There's no technique, just raw, desperate need, and yet somehow, it has you gasping for air like you've forgotten how to breathe. Your hips jerk involuntarily as he grabs you, pressing his face further into you.

You shouldn't love this nearly as much as you do. You shouldn't be showing him your cries of pleasure- you should be having to fake them. But your body betrays you. You want this. You want him so fucking badly.

Jake doesn't stop to think or second-guess; he just devours you with single-minded focus, eyes shining in wonder every time they flicker up to note your reaction, and you're losing yourself. Your fingers twist into his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, and yet it only makes him moan against your skin, adding fuel to his burning desire. Clumsy or not, it's too much, too intense, and your back arches off the bed, legs threatening to thrash around, though he keeps your thighs steady.

"Jake—ah, Jake!" The name rips from your throat, not only loud enough for everyone in the house to hear, but you'd be surprised if the neighbours didn't hear it, too. Your breaths come in sharp, uneven pants, body coiling tight.

"Come for me," he mutters into you, and you swear you feel his stupid grin between your legs. "Come for the disgusting loser you hate."

You come with a cry, trembling all over, soaking his chin as your thighs clamp around his head. But he doesn't stop. His hands lock onto your thighs, fingers digging in to hold them wide, keeping you pinned as his tongue keeps working—lapping up your release, circling your oversensitive clit with that same relentless hunger.

"Jake—ah—Too much," You sob it out, voice breaking into higher pitches, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

He just keeps going, humming against you, coaxing his name from your mouth until you're a whimpering mess.

When he finally pulls away, crawls back up to cup your face, staring at you.

"You let me do that," he breathes, "And you liked it."

It's not a question. It's a fact. He knows it. You know it. You both know it. If screaming his name like that wasn't proof of it, the stickiness between your legs and all over his chin certainly served as evidence enough.

You can fake flirt with him. You can fake a pitiful, sorry-eyed gaze that makes him weak in the knees. But you can't fake the way your body reacts from his touch. That, alone, seems to make him malfunction all over again, his face flushed, and his eyes dropping to your lips again.

And though you only just finished coming down from your high, you're pulling him down to kiss you, hungry and wet and needy and... slow. He kisses you slow this time, breathing you in, letting his mouth learn the shape of yours. You feel the length of him against your thigh, hard again, and against all common sense, you let yourself say the one thing you never thought you'd be saying to him, of all people, so easily.

"Fuck me."

He pulls away, but he blinks from the fog in his glasses. Quickly, he removes them, fumbling around as he scrambles to hover back over you. His arms brace himself on either side of the bed, and you look up. You could take back your words. But you don't. You don't want to.

"...What?"

"Fuck me," you repeat, a little slower this time like you're spelling it out for him, "I want you to fuck me, Jake."

He looks at you, and for a moment, you see a flicker of hesitation, a flicker of the Jake you'd known that first week of class, the one who was so desperate for your affection.

"Okay," he nods, a little dazed, "Okay, lemme just..."

His hand fumbles around at his bedside, half-blindly for the little foil he'd had yet to use, but you beat him to it. You tear it open, rolling it down his cock yourself. And, a little clumsily, he positions himself, though he turns to you uncertain, his eyes meeting yours.

"You know, when I said 'you better act like you enjoy it' I didn't mean like you have to. I was just kinda saying stuff," his voice is soft, sounding almost conflicted. His hands are at your waist, thumbs moving in slow circles, and though he's achingly hard against you, he hesitates, "So if you don't want this—"

"I want this," you affirm him, and you sort of raise your brow, "Do you want this?"

He smiles, then practically scoffs in disbelief at your question.

"Do I?" He laughs, a slight shakiness to it, "I've dreamed of this."

He presses his hips forward, and you both gasp at the sudden intrusion. He's big, but it's more than you expected, and the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, is overwhelming. A whine escapes him as he pushes just a little further, until he's buried all the way in. Then, he takes a moment to steady his breathing, like he's trying not to cum on the spot.

"F-fuck, I thought about this every day for weeks." The confession is ripped out of him, hands digging just a little harder into your waist at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, "You're so tight, holy shit."

He starts to move, slow, like if he dared to move any faster, it might end all too soon, though you're thankful he does, considering you feel every movement all the way in your guts. You're a mess yourself, hands digging into his shoulders for support.

"Thought about your face," he keeps going, his mouth running like he doesn't know how to stop it. His hand moves to your jaw, taking in your glossy-eyed gaze and parted lips. "Thought about you saying my name-"

"Jake," you involuntarily squeak, his hips starting to pick up the pace just a bit.

"Just like that," he half-laughs, half-moans, looking down at your chest. He brings his hand to it, "Thought about these. Thought about all the pretty noises you'd make."

You're arching your back, meeting his thrusts, your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on. He leans down, capturing one nipple between his lips, sucking hard while his tongue flicks over the sensitive peak. His free hand slides down your side, gripping your hip to angle you better, driving deeper into your slick heat. You can feel every inch of him dragging against your inner walls, the friction building that delicious pressure low in your belly.

"You like this, don't you?" He breathes. Though he's bringing a hand to your face, forcing you to look at him, "You like being fucked by the nerd you used."

You can't answer, can't form a coherent thought. All you can do is feel, feel the way he's filling you, the way he's making you feel alive in a way you haven't in a long, long time. You nod mindlessly, uncaring.

One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your neck. He presses open-mouthed kisses there, sucking into your skin like he wants to claim every part of you.

"If I'm such a gross loser, what does that make you?" His breath is at your neck, then at your ear. "Campus slut, right? That's what they'll call you."

You cry out his name, a raw, desperate sound, as his cock presses right against the right spot inside you, and he's already following you over the edge. You clench around him, nails digging into his shoulders as he fucks you through your climax, riding out his own release you until you've both gone still.

He collapses on top of you, his body heavy and warm, his face buried in the crook of your neck. For a moment, you just lie there, tangled together, the smell of sweat and sex thick in the air. It's dizzying, trapping you in a post-climactic haze, so much that you cannot suppress the way your chest swells as he nuzzles into you. You look down at his peaceful form and instinctively, your hand reaches for his head, brushing through the mop of hair on his head. The gesture draws a groan from his throat, making you smile.

"You like it when I do that, right?" You ask softly.

He hums approval into you, arms wrapped tighter around you, all sweetly like he hadn't just fucked your brains out moments ago. It's nice. It's easy.

His breathing evens out, and for a second, you think he might have fallen asleep. So you just stroke his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands. You’ve always thought his hair is soft. The kind of soft that makes you want to bury your face in it and never come up for air.

"Jake?" You whisper.

"Mm?"

Your words get caught in your throat for a moment, your heart beating faster than you're used to. It makes you want to laugh at yourself.

"I liked holding your hand in the movie theatre," you finally say, with an unintended shakiness to your voice that makes your cheeks grow warmer, "and I liked kissing you in the car after."

He tilts his head at you, smiling. Wordless. Unreadable. You're not sure why it makes you nervous. You're not really sure what kind of response you had been hoping for, either.

"Just... thought I should let you know."

You scratch a particular spot close to his ear, and he lets out another happy grunt.

Your phone pings the floor, discarded somewhere along with your clothes, but you ignore it, deciding Jake's arms are too warm, and his bed is too comfy. But then it pings another time. Then another. Then his head turns to you.

"Not gonna check that?"

"Should I?" you raise a brow, and he shrugs.

You sigh, begrudgingly pushing yourself from the bed. It's probably your roommates texting about someone's dirty dishes, or your friends blowing up the group chat. But when you dig your phone up, you're blinking at the notifications.

Crawling back into the bed, you swipe through them as they filter in. Tags, messages, reactions, and your stomach drops at the one that stands out most—a mention in the university confessions page.

It's the video. From outside his door. Your voice, your face, your words: "You want a blowjob or something, you perv? "

There are already hundreds of comments, the video having been posted sometime an hour ago.

He sent it an hour ago.

You scroll in a panicked haze, skin crawling where his arms move to hold you again.

Laughing emojis. Jokes about your "business model." People you've never met are calling you a dumb whore, a desperate bitch. Campus slut. People you have met are calling you that, too. Your 'friends' have already unfollowed you, posting gossip to their stories, reposting memes.

Your social life is over. You could say goodbye to parties, to the circle of popularity you'd clawed your way into, to the image of perfection you'd upheld for years.

Pathetic. That's what you were, and that's all you'd ever be known for on campus from now until graduation, maybe even after.

The phone trembles in your grasp as you turn to him. You don't have the strength to ask how or when or why, though you suppose you already know why.

"Don't worry. I'll still help you with school," his voice is steady as he reaches over, taking his glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. "But that was my price."

✰.ᐟ read the epilogue Irreversible Process

Usually you’d hate for people to offer help when you’re forced to do something you were unprepared for, taking the sentiment as a passive aggressive version of getting called incompetent but this time, you ponder while rereading the sweet little note in green ink— of course he used green ink to avoid students from being discouraged — and it's one of those times your stupidity has done you some good.

It’s an hour and a half later when class ends, people filing up to leave the doors of the lecture hall when a voice calls out to you. 

You smile at your professor, a little strained, but it’s okay, you tell yourself, you expected it. You walk up to him, bag on your shoulder, unzipped because you rushed down. You’re still smiling when you’re there, already preparing for what he has to say. 

The smile falls and you sigh, “I know that look.”

He’s standing with his arms crossed, dark shades balanced on his straight nose, looking down at you with nothing short of paternal disappointment. “Yes, and you shouldn’t be too familiar with it either. Seventy-five? really? I thought we were talking recommendation letters last week, turns out you’re barely passing my class?”

You swallow back, not really knowing what to do so you kinda just stand there awkwardly, waiting for him to air out his worries. “I know it's like, a little weird to put this much pressure on you but c’mon kid, you’re looking at being the next assistant after Choso to help your resumé right?” 

You nod, still not saying anything, but you can’t deny how you perk up when you heard his name. 

Your professor pauses briefly mid rant after spotting how you only met his eyes when he mentioned his current TA’s name, a light bulb flickers on in his head. 

He squints, “You’ve been familiar with each other, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” You’re quick to reply, stopping yourself from physically gulping out of nervousness. 

“He been showing you the ropes bit by bit?” he mutters, uncrossing his arms and leaning over the desk. 

“Bit by bit, yes.” You echo, unable to reply without being scared of saying the wrong thing to tick him off.

“And…” He feigned thinking about it, fidgeting with he pen in his hand and tapping the butt end of it on a thick stack of paper. “…He’s also helping with lessons to keep your grades up?” 

You say nothing, keeping your mouth flat and shut. You peer up at him, and shake your head slowly, “No sir.”

He tsks, standing up to his full height. “It’s not necessary but  you’re aware there’s an average for you to keep up just to become a TA right? We wouldn’t want students biting off more than they could chew.”

You nod once more, though this time, a lot more fervently. “I—yes, sorry. I’ll-“

“Get to it, yeah.” He finished for you, tucking his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He waits for you to move, watching how you’re still standing there and waiting for him to also tell you to move. You’re so alike, he thinks. 

He nods upwards, dismissing you. You thank him while you’re already turned your back, eagerly making your way to your next mission.

Gojo watches the door swing inwards from the impact of your departure, a smile in his tone when he mutters to no one, “That’ll give her some motivation.”

You’re rushing to your next class now, given the fifteen minute grace period you were granted had now been shaved down to ten, no thanks to your professor, forcing you to take two steps at a time when making your way to the other side of the building. 

You’re looking down at your phone, deleting and retyping a message in your instagram dms. It’s when you pass the stairway that an unexpected force uncontrollably comes on to you. You thud against it, breath caught, hand tightly clutching at your phone. You stumble on your steps, holding onto the closest thing you feel for. You don’t fall, you don’t even come close to the ground, but your knees certainly felt like they couldn’t carry you.

Because here you stood against a very worried, very tightly holding you, Choso Kamo. Your mind blanks, your class just a few doors away, forgotten. Unintentionally, a small smile spreads on your face. 

“Hey, I was—“ He laughs nervously, “I was looking for you.” His hands wrap around your nearly limp arms, almost covering the expanse of it, yet held at a respectable position.

“You okay?” He tilts his head down to meet your eyes, a look of concern etching back on his terribly handsome face, he swallows thickly and you watch his adam’s apple bob decorating his thick neck.

 He takes a second to peer back at the stairs, then back to you before he realizes how his grip still clutched on you. “I’m sorry.” He pulls his hands down at his sides, unsure of what to do with them. “I was about to-“

“-Me too actually.” Cutting him off, you couldn’t help but smile even wider, uncaring if you looked too excited. You raised your phone, “Was about to send a dm but I got class in like,” You flip the screen to face you, “two minutes.” A pinch of apprehension makes its way to you but you push it back. 

His eyes widen behind his rectangular frames, lenses making them appear bigger than they actually are.  

“Really? Shit, “ He cursed, regretful,  “I don’t have class anymore so I could just wait out—”

“Sit in with me?” It comes out of you before you could stop it. “—or not.” You quickly add, retreating. “I could just go and email you.”

“No—I mean, Of course. Yes. Me, I’ll go.” He smiled with a toothy grin, ignoring how you said email instead of your socials in hopes you won’t bring up how he stuttered over his words.  You’re caught off guard and before you know it, he’s already making his way to the door without even being sure which class it was. 

He’s reaching for the handle when you stop him, “Oh, next door, please.” He nods bashfully, adjusting the strap of his comically small backpack on himself and apologizes under his breath. He follows you inside, you push, prying the door open. His palm flat against the wood, effortlessly holding it for you both. 

Luckily your professor hadn’t been in class yet, so you  weren’t spotted as the only late comer (technically no, with company, you weren’t.) The class was sparsely filled as it was only part of your minor and this schedule wasn’t as popular, so you could basically sit anywhere. You scan over the room, and you spot some seats at the very front. You’re about to take a step forward when you realize you’re being a little rude. 

“Where d’ya wanna sit?” You ask, head tilted up with a smile. You try to ignore the gleefulness that comes with the idea you’re gonna be seated next to him. Again, you push this feeling down, knowing it’s completely unprofessional and straight up childish. Though conversely, what you feel for him is not in the slightest, childish. 

“Back, definitely.” He answers a little too fast, blinking to check with you. “If you want.” He adds. 

He’s so polite, you could just die. 

You find comfortable seating by the right side of the class, second to last row and close to the back per request. This classroom was a little smaller, so distance from the whiteboard wasn’t really an issue.

You’re listening to your elderly professor repeat instructions about a future assignment and knowing he’s just going to be posting the guidelines, you just tune him out again, distracted. You have to learn to stop doing that.

But you’re shamelessly peeking at the side, Choso’s writing something down, you watch his face as he continues without a care in the world, back hunched down to get closer to the papers maybe, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in focus. You look down at what he’s writing when he flips the sheet over, the sound of the paper is quiet amongst the loud hum of the air conditioner.

 He’s checking something, a test again? You wonder if yours is there. Something catches your eye, he’s even writing down notes in the side for each correction. Maybe he’s also writing notes of encouragement for others. You don’t wanna wanna act all sensitive but something in your chest dampens. A lick of disappointment knowing you weren’t just given a little extra effort.

You shift in your seat, suddenly aware that you completely distracted yourself again and let your overactive imagination take over. You bite your cheek, brushing off the disappointment and sit properly on your seat. It moves the entire table though, you moved a little too roughly. Choso backs up in his chair, the commotion throwing off your professor in his fruitless discussion.

You gasp before immediately turning to check on your hard of hearing professor. He mumbles some incoherent complaint but you don’t wait to think and just apologize, “Sorry,” and it’s hopefully enough to divert the attention from you both. 

Choso grunts, “No—sorry, my chair was too loud.” He pulls the long, shared desk back with one pull of his hand, before hunching to go back to work. There’s already a furrow in your brows at the apology, and you’re staring at the side of his face, his hand behind his full, overgrown hair, expression mirroring your own except towards his papers. 

You adjust back, only this time you’re a bit farther, scared he’ll probably sense you’re being a little invasive. So you keep your eyes up at the projected screen and let the silence pass, the light sound of the ballpoint scratching paper on the smooth surface of the table and your teacher murmuring mix behind the stupid thoughts interfering and prodding at your composure. 

You made this unnecessarily awkward, eyes looking back down on the paper without trying. You’re still kinda curious what he’s writing down. He’s writing down notes to the side, red pen and all— red pen and all?

You do a double take, your uncontrollable, imposing, borderline deluded thoughts returning back to their place in your hopeless brain. Did he use a red pen for everyone or green? He used green earlier, definitely. What the hell? Why does it matter?

“Can I help you?” The inner monologue in your head ceases at the question. You glance up at him, a crooked smile on his face, dimple gracing his features. He waits for you to say something, you process how it's a little close to a tease. You’re unable to say something and end up nodding.

He smiles, achingly sweet and sincere, still waiting for a response. You blank out, unable to think of a proper fake answer in time. 

A last flick of your gaze at the paper outs your thoughts, he looks down at them. “If you’re looking for any of your own, this isn’t your section’s.” He assures, trying to fill in the silence you were so talented in bringing out in your conversations. 

You giggle out of pure giddiness, unable to hold it in as you act like a school girl and not a college student. It’s probably so strange to him that you’re acting this way  — internally reprimanding yourself is your only avenue for self control at these moments. You hope he doesn’t think the same way. “No um, you’re so focused on writing nice notes for everyone and marking every point.“

He smiles wider, eyes turning into pretty crescents. He shakes his head once, sitting back on his chair, and finally not slouching. Your stomach flips noting how he occupies more than half the seat. He scratches his neck, eyes flicking back at the papers for a moment before meeting yours, then averting again. 

“I don’t think…” He leaned over to read the name on the paper, “…Inumaki, T. thinks my detailed corrections, or rather critiques are very nice, nor the rest of section Z26.” he mumbled the last part, adjusting the collar of his pull over.

“critiques?” You inquire, unconsciously leaning to his side of the desk, closer so you could read them too. Choso hopes you can’t feel the warmth on his cheeks radiating right now. 

He nods his head a little too quickly, despite not being able to see him from where you were. He’s dizzy with the scent of your floral shampoo under his nose, heady and pulling. “Yes, just to help with,” he falters again, your bare arm brushing against his own, clothed one when you point at a certain part of the paper while reading, knees hitting under the table when you’re closely looking down on the sheet. “With the, the uh, future tests yeah-”

Choso watches your lips move but he doesn’t hear what comes out. Right now, he’s pushing away such un-utterable, uncalled for thoughts when his view is your head over what would be is his lap, only being separated by this rickety table. It only gets worse when you shift your eyes at him, wide and up at his tired onyx ones, only now his are a little wider too, something past friendly reflecting in your before averting back down the white sheet.

You’re still reading the paper, taking in the info for each question. “Oh,”

He snaps out of his daze, immediately taking notice of your blank tone. “What’s wrong?” 

You’re processing the words on the essay type test he’s checking and you realize you’ve never seen this kind of test before. “Y’know, now that I’m reading this, I don’t think  we’ve answered this activity yet.” A beat, and Choso flips the paper down.

“Right, that’s probably not good,“ He places a spread out hand over the papers, sheets mix on top of each other, disheveled and disorganized, one nearly falling off the narrow table.

You’re already laughing, “You’re so clumsy,” your hand stopping one of them from flying out of place. 

“No, you probably shouldn’t look at that too-“

“Relax, I don’t have the photographic memory to copy each answer. As much as I wish I did.” You mumble the last part, tucking the papers into an organized pile, facing outwards. “See? No cheating for me.” 

Choso fights the smirk that inches his way under the skin of his cheeks, nodding to you. “I appreciate your integrity.” You return the look on his face except with the stack in your grasp right now, it reflects its white canvas like a soft light on your skin, a sweet warmth overcomes him. “I never told you why I was looking for you.” 

You place the sheets separate from his pile of unfinished work. Pursing your lips, you make a noise of acknowledgment. “Oh, I was thinking the same thing. I didn’t know how to approach you ‘cause it was kinda embarrassing.” 

“Embarrassing how?”

For a while, you contemplate how to make yourself sound less pathetic, trying to amp up how to sound flirtier without breaching whatever boundary of the title you held to him. You wanted to play safe, for now.

“Like to ask for help, I bet it's as funny as someone asking a stupid question since you probably didn’t have to do any of that when you were in my year.” You don’t have to confirm with him whether or not it’s true, Choso’s going straight to a master’s after graduating this year. You’ve been hyping yourself up to ask him out for a while, knowing that he’ll most likely drift from you as a friend with the work that comes with finishing one. 

You truly weren’t looking for any kind of college relationship or even a fling, knowing such places bring unnatural levels of attraction to people who lack self identity, and if you’re being honest, college made you question that part of yourself when you first began.

 Ergo, you focused on yourself for your first year to second. Now, you’re in your third year’s second semester and people are thinking about their thesis and fellowships.  And here you were only starting to make career moves for your future in your third year. 

But you digress, circling back to how all that led you to meet Choso. Someone you’ve made acquaintances with last year during an exhibit at the school’s anthropology museum. Yes, you had an anthropology museum — Jjk technical college was not cheap.

His hair was a tad shorter back then, guiding a bunch of first years through the new exhibit, excitedly discussing some bones and energy. The glint in his eyes was bright and he was wholly unfiltered, charmingly gauche. You had tried to pose a question at the time, wanting to entertain him out of definitely just pure curiosity for Bioarcheology, but second guessed yourself and never approached him again. 

Until, it was that same year you found out he had been the TA for the professor you were aiming for next year (as a second year college student), and you found out he was resigning as the teacher’s assistant from a friend of a friend, and how Gojo had been already looking for a new one early on because Choso was that competent.

You want to say that maybe you joined just because professor Gojo was someone you highly look up to in the field of history research and will grant you a killer recommendation for a future career — which you know he will— there’s an underlying feeling where you also can’t deny that the idea of how it brings you closer to Choso made the position all the more appealing. 

So this year, when Gojo read your CV and decided to accept you out of the many (3 applicants, one was an irregular student, the other a nepo baby), and encouraged Choso to start training you by now, it was like fate realigned itself to bring you closer to him.

Sort of.

Now he was in front of you- beside you, and casually replying with, “ I don’t mind spending my free time with you—tutoring and stuff.” He offers, completely unaware how he gets your stomachs in knots and your heart feels like it's trying to rip out of your ribcage. 

“Really?” You ask too eagerly, he nods for extra reassurance. “It’s just, Historiography just isn’t something I’m good at but I’m also I find it interesting but it’s also really hard but— I also want this.” You size him up,  towards his side of the table. “Y’know, this.” 

He‘s about to point at himself, before looking at the papers and something clicks in place. “Checking papers on top of your thesis, dropping them off at Gojo’s office at 8 am, and getting death stares when I come across his students?”

You nod, almost even more eager, “Absolutely.”

“You’re perfect then.” He says, no hesitation whatsoever. You were eating it up and he was completely unaware. You giggle, heat rushing to your face.

You almost forgot how talking came easy with Choso. It was refreshing to meet someone you could hold a conversation with without feeling like you had to perform all the time, or wonder what to amp up or tone down. He had his intimidating moments at first, like being overqualified for a TA and the unmistakable height, or when you’re overthinking how to impress him and you don’t truly act yourself —  but those impressions crumble effortlessly when you recognize him for his sincerity and obsession with the academe. 

Choso can’t help but let a chuckle bubble in his throat, smooth and rich like a creamy cup of strong coffee. He’s analyzing your face, the apples of your cheeks are out with how wide you smile, he made you smile like that. The fact sits comfortably in his chest. He’s staring at your lips, maybe he can get away with it as him just looking down to your height, the few times he feels his own acted as an advantage for him. 

“…any reason you use green?… Choso?” He blinks, and he’s back in the classroom and you’re now holding your own head with your palm, waiting for him to answer. 

The back of his neck is hot with the thought you could probably notice him zoning out. “I like,” he searches your eyes, hesitating, and then, “I like green, so.” He nods, trying to rationalize his plain answer to himself. 

You’re squinting, “Cool,” nothing behind your tone, just the air that still manages to sit awkwardly between you two, suddenly the old scribbles in the storage part of the desk was so interesting—

“And it's good for not like…” He swallows back his nerves, heart pounding in his ears. “I didn’t wanna discourage students.” 

The admittance runs like oil down your back and you feel like you’ve hit him dead center in what you wanted to hear. “Right,” You look around, a false pretense of thinking in your expression, “So… why the red?” You ask curiously, pen in your hand scratching off the old paint under the desk in anticipation.

He paused like a deer caught in headlights, licking the dryness of his lips. Staring down the sheet of paper, yes it’s red indeed, he thinks. His lips part, you watch the smooth, glossy sheen of it move against the light. “I guess I have a favorite class.” He coughs, feigning the ease he was currently lacking with each word he carefully chose to speak.

Despite the urge to egg him on, you leave it at that, your bravery for the day already expended. You know if you continued you might say something a little irrational, and you’re also afraid to jump his bones too quickly. Though you’re pretty sure he could still hold you up if you tried.

Class ends anti-climactically, your professor waving your class off with a less than interested parting. You’re out of the classroom, Choso following behind when, “So, when do you wanna start? I’m free after class tomorrow and it’s the weekend. I don’t mind staying longer.”

You’re following his pace as you walk through the hallways of your building, aiming for the exit but you’re thinking about what happens after. You’re not fully sure where you’ll end up once you part. Do you just go? He stayed with you the entire boring class, (obviously the only reason why you want to stay longer and none other in particular) surely there must be something you have to do in return.

You’re nearing the exit and you can’t help but feel like you’re letting something slip if you go past the doors without making your thoughts known, “I have this thing with my best friend tomorrow, this is not a very good look for me— I promised I’d do this qualitative interview and—“

He’s quick to reply, “Oh yeah, I totally understand—“

Shit, okay you were not seizing the moment correctly. “You should come with me.” You turn over to him, unable to stop yourself.

Choso all but freezes, “What?”

Okay, no going back now, smacking your lips together before going for the kill. “—With me. Yeah, we could hang out and,” Could you still back out? No. 

“Just, maybe study after? like we could study like… for the,” So much for not wanting to jump his bones, “…whole night.” You can’t look at him any longer, eyes scanning back the outside that now surrounds you. The noises of campus and the lamp posts are bright, projecting a warm white over you. But all this is not enough to comfort you from the trepidation finally shaking your brain.

You watch as Choso’s pale cheeks start to tinge into a flushy pink, eyebrows raising behind his glasses.

 “Oh, okay, yes. Okay!” He nods taughtly, though willing.

You pause, “Okay?” trying to check if he’s serious.

“Sure.” You’re both standing opposite his body, shocked with what you’re hearing from the other as much as you were shocked from the words leaving yourselves. 

A beat passes, leaves rustle, and amidst that you’re silently hoping it won't matter how you didn’t think this through fully. “Five o’clock sound good?”

***

It was a steady, calm-ish afternoon, your best friend Miwa was sat in front of you, laptops laid out on the table. She’s writing down notes and closing up her recording software and you’ve been fixing up your hair, clothes, and picking lint off it. You find a loose thread on your shirt when, “Hey,” You look up, alert. Miwa’s squinting at you, blue hair cast in a warm yellow from the mid-afternoon sun. “You good?”

You’re finger quits picking at yourself, “What? Yeah,” eyes flitting back to the pesky string sticking out of the hem of your top. 

There’s a hum coming from in front of you, “You sure? You’ve been so fidgety this entire time.”

“I am not fidgety.” You say, fidgeting. A sigh comes out of you, and you lean back on your chair, hands coming on top of the arm rests. “You really okay with me bringing Choso?”

At this, Miwa’s lips curl into a smirk. “I knew it.”

Your eyes flick over to the side in thought, then back at her sly expression. “What do you know?”

She’s sitting up from her hunched posture over her laptop, and drinking from her cup of her almost lukewarm coffee, shrugging with her eyes still locked on yours.

Your thumbs come up from the arm rests, “What is it?”

She clears her throat, placing the mug on a coaster. She looks back up, a smirk still planted on her face. “Just that I didn’t know that he was your crush,” she expects you to reply, but you’re still waiting for her to elaborate. “Y’know, Choso.”

“I don’t have a crush on him!”

She squints, “Okay so we’re lying today.”

“It’s merely admiration— and some attraction at most.”

“That’s literally what a crush is based on.”

You’re blinking at her, feeling caught. You bite your tongue, knowing that your best friend out of anyone should be able to catch you in a lie. Or even a truth you lie to yourself about. You speak up, “Well?”

“Y’know I love you.” She starts.

“Oh no.” Dread seeps into your stomach, and you know if she starts somewhere along the lines of sugar coating, the following was about to be some bland truth coated around maybe an even bitter core inside.

“I like Choso! He’s been your friend for a while and I’ve never talked to him but he sounds really devoted to his work, maybe goodlooking, he’s smart, and he’s nice—“

“What would Muta think…?”

She chuckles, softening at the thought of her own boyfriend. “No, I just wanted to keep an eye out for you too when I say this.” She pauses, trying to find a way to word this as pleasantly as possible. “Cause you know how girls talk…”

You latch onto that last part, stomach churning in suspense. “Not really, I don’t.”

She stops herself from cackling at your nervous expression, “I just heard he’s always…nice.” 

“What’s wrong with that?” 

“Like too nice? I guess…it’s really hard to explain babe,“ She cuts herself off, sensing your growing apprehension. She observed how your hands are rubbing on the expanse of your cup, and bringing it to your lips to avoid saying something. She quiets down her tone, now kinda shy about mentioning it. She leans a bit towards you, “Like… in bed, y’know?” 

You sputter in your mug, feeling unwelcome liquid scratch your throat. Miwa’s eyes widen when she watches you cough, eyes turning watery. “Ooh gag reflex, that’s not coming in handy.“

“Fucking shut up-“ You’re coughing still and she’s laughing uncontrollably now. “—I did not expect that.”

She’s wiping the corner of her corneas with a finger, “I—I’m sorry I just had to bring it up.”

You’re more composed now, eyes looking up at the clock, it’s ten minutes to five, and you’re trying to relax. 

You don’t exchange looks with Miwa until a short moment passes for you to think. 

“So have you thought about what it would be like?” You’re back to meeting her eyes, a silent exchange between you both. Miwa smiles at you, lowering her voice and putting a finger up to her ear like an agent, “Then I’m glad to relay information.” She’s giggling when you throw a tissue at her.

You’re already standing out of your seat and making your way to sit beside her. She motions her hand for you to come nearer, both turning your heads when the door chime rings and someone enters, calming down when it’s just some delivery person. You relax, side eyeing her. 

Miwa inches closer, “Okay so I’m friends with this senior from my org and she had a friend who was seeing Choso, sort of? Anyways I mentioned once that you were replacing him and that you’re a little into him, sorry.” You’re beckoning her to continue, not caring much for the last part and nodding along. 

“Anyways, it was like a one night stand thing and — don’t get me wrong I’m not trying to spread rumors or judge,” Another pause, and you’re already on the edge of your seat. 

“Well? Go on,” You pull her in, arms tangled and clutching her, knee jittering. 

“I heard he was kinda scared in bed? Like maybe he has a phobia or something.” Your knee stops, and you’re now confused, “It’s just kinda odd ‘cause the guys like a unit, right?” a crease forms between your brows. “Maybe he’s like… a power bottom?” she whispered, tone serious.

You’re nodding, taking in the information with actual consideration. “Possibly,” You’re fully facing her now, “Y’know…he is a TA.” 

It’s Miwa’s turn to be confused, struggling to find the correlation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You fight the expression trying to pull on your lips, you nibble on the skin then let go, “I’d say he’s good at being told what to do.”

Miwa’s eyes widened, before adding, “Tell me when you find out.” A second where you’re both quiet and then you’re being shook by the shoulders, both of you squealing and chortling in your corner. It would be no surprise if you’ve caught the attention of other customers with your commotion. 

She quits with the shaking, now smoothing over the fabric over your shoulders for messing up your top. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

You can’t help but entertain your imagination, “I mean I think I’m too conscious to be playing around too much.” Your friend nods along, supportive. Past these exciting thoughts, it was all a front for the feelings you struggled to word out, “I really like him, Miwa.”

She parts her lips but as if on cue, another chime from the door rings once more. He stood by the entrance for a brief moment, barely scanning the vicinity when he locked eyes on you, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. 

***

“—I think they never made any real contact.”

“No, that’s definitely up for debate.”

Miwa watches your back and forth, pen in hand. Choso decided to be part of her research sample as well, given that he’s already here, he should make use of his time. And he didn’t mind, he liked helping out. 

If only he could actually speak and answer the questions without you guys debating every time one of you made an opinion on something vaguely related to Miwa’s research topic.  At first it was good, your opinions can be added too but now she’s running out of space in her storage with how long this unintentional joint interview was going.

“Okay guys, the interview questions are about historical revisionism. While I do see the correlation, how did we end up in Egypt and…?”

“Ancient Mesopotamia.” Both of you say,  completing her sentence. 

“I can elaborate.” Choso suggests, clearly unable to read between the lines of Miwa’s inquiry.

She stretches in her seat, her legs feeling cramped up with the lack of movement all this time. “Y’know what, I’ll hold you two to that. But first, let’s take a break!” It’s not even a minute until she’s out of both your and Choso’s sights, on the way to the restroom, pen and recorder left on the table. 

“Y’know, I don’t think she likes me that much. I also think she’s too nice to tell me that.” You’re in the middle of cracking your neck until you’re moving your attention to him.

“Don’t worry too much about it, I think she just isn’t up for hearing any more strong opinions on exported textiles.”

“That’s if they were truly exported—“ You shove his arm, and he’s laughing at your face, not even moved from the push. He’s pretending to rubbing his bicep in feigned hurt, lifting his arm in the process, almost flexing. You try to ignore how they felt so hard under your fingertips. You check him out unintentionally, taking notice of how the hem of his layered shirt hangs enough to show the lower part of his stomach. Out of respect, you look the other way.

You swallow thickly, ears hot. “I think I’ll get another snack. Want anything to eat?” You’re already standing up and off the chair, limbs wobbly from the long period of time you spent sitting on the deep arm chair.

There’s a sudden burst of noise coming from the entrance of the café, very loud and boisterous. You can’t help but let your jittery self get distracted, there stood an entire group of men, looking like they just got off practice. You’re wondering why one of them looks vaguely familiar, but there’s a body blocking your view out of nowhere with what you realize is Choso’s chest. 

There’s an odd, slightly frantic look in his eyes you haven’t seen on someone as easygoing as him. “Um, how about I go with you?” 

You’re looking up at him, a little skeptical on why the sudden change of tone, but agree anyways. 

You’re in the short line along the display and point out pastries that you could try when a voice calls out to the person beside you. “Cho!”

It’s easier for you to check where it’s coming from as Choso was in front of said voice. You recognize the pink hair from the group coming in earlier. He’s about 2 inches away from being as tall as Choso, hair damp like he just came from a shower, and a sports bag was strapped across him. 

A pat on his shoulder signals your dark haired companion to turn, seeing a sight he’d been trying to avoid earlier. Of course he had to be the one ordering for his group. 

“Hey man,” Choso greets, strained, a guard visibly coming up around him. 

“What’s up, you don’t say hi to family anymore?” The sentiment, although on paper sounded sweet, in reality was like a taunt. Something you don’t wanna dissect to avoid reading into it too much. “Who’s this?”

You peer over at both of them, their attention now on you. Still unable to read the room, you focus on Choso to see how he wants this to play out. He steps in for you, “You know her, I mentioned the TA thing like a while back. She’s a friend, though she is replacing me.”

 He gestures to the pinkette’s side, introducing him. 

“My brother by the way. Same year though.” 

Sukuna nods at that and smiles, canines showing. He reaches out with his hand, and you meet it halfway. “Ryomen Sukuna.” Huh, he’s not a Kamo.

“Pleasure,” You’re squinting your eyes, there’s something a little unsettling about him that you can’t place, but you’re not trying to jump into that. 

 “I didn’t know Choso had any siblings — ones on campus, no less.”

You let go of his large, callous hands, moving an inch closer to the cashier when the customer before you has their turn to order. “Have 2 terms to catch up with and I don’t really see this one around either ‘cause I did training camp in Barcelona last semester.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Silently, you’re comparing them, unknowingly looking back and forth between him and Choso a little too obviously. 

“We don’t look related do we?”

 Before you could defend yourself, a dry chuckle beats you to it. “We get that a lot.” He squeezed where his hand was planted on Choso, who visibly tenses. “Different mom, same dad. He doesn’t take after him though, if you’re worried—“

“Alright, I don’t think she wants to know about that.”

“Speak for yourself,” You laugh nervously, trying to ease the tension you could feel multiplying tenfold. He pats Choso’s shoulder before bringing his hand down to the side, not before looking at the side of his brother's face as he semi-whispered, “At least one of you doesn't have their panties in a twist.”

“I would if I were wearing mine.” A very long, awkward silence overcomes all three of you. That is until a nearly genuine smile breaks out of Sukuna’s angular features. 

“Ha, what the fuck,” He mutters in amusement, “You’re both weird, that’s cute.” A dry chuckle eases the anxiousness you were struggling to place the source of. Though at the cost of your own dignity.

The line to the cashier moves, it’s yours and Choso’s turn now. He’s first to leave his brother’s side, not even bidding him a glance as he moves past you. “Nice meeting you,” you voice out, still on edge, Sukuna just nods in acknowledgement. 

***

It’s around 6:40pm  when Choso walks you to your apartment outside of campus. There’s a slight tension in the air that you’re struggling to bring up, it’s been there for the remainder of your meet up, not having said a word since you’ve left the café. You’ve been trying to make a move and talk to him but he’s had his eyes on the ground this entire time, rarely up, and definitely never on you. 

He was about to walk in the pedestrian lane when you tug on his backpack. He’s caught in the pull, looking up to the red walking signal reflecting on the road. He walks back to stand next to you, still not saying a word. “What’re you thinking so hard on?”

For a moment he turned his head to you, a little too quick to not look like he wasn’t anticipating you to bring it up yourself. He looks ahead once more when you’re walking now. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

You start to feel a little guilty for not clarifying sooner, wondering if this entire time he thought he should’ve apologized for something he couldn’t control.

“It’s alright, it wasn’t unpleasant for me.”

He almost laughs at that, “Right, and I was jumping for joy.”

The air shifts, it’s not so tense anymore, just between that and uncertainty directed at something else entirely. “I felt really dumb earlier.” He adds, looking back down on the pavement. “I couldn’t say anything to make him leave us alone.”

You’re a few blocks nearby to your place, walking a little ahead of him so he could follow you now. 

“Again, it wasn’t that bad. You don’t have to apologize.” Once more, silence fills the space between you both and it feels like you’re unable to remove this weight you feel affecting your interaction.

Now you’re both looking at your feet as you wait for cars to pass the street you’re crossing and for the timer to finally get to zero. Your foot is stepping over a dry leaf to fill in the lack of communication, the sound crunching in the quiet in a loud, distant manner.

“I just kinda get made fun of for acting like this—weak.” You crane your neck up to meet his eyes, and you’re right to think he’s still looking down. “It’s just annoying how even until now it’s expected of me to bite back on others ‘cause I look like I should.” 

There’s a furrow in his brows, and he’s tightly clutching on the strap of his bag. “Like I’ve accepted that, sort of.  I’m already conscious of it— but maybe people like to pick on me when it's obvious I’m not gonna do anything.” 

You’re making another turn together, he’s leading with the path he’s familiar with and you follow, his words don’t falter. “Maybe ‘cause it makes them feel less small or some shit — I don’t know.”

After processing the words that left him, it brought you back to your conversation with Miwa. How you laughed about his past history with women and how you basically gossiped about his insecurities. Guilt swirls in your stomach, realizing this might just be a little worse than you treated it to be. You keep quiet, deep in your own thoughts, letting him say what he needs to.

“And of course my own brother is like that too.” He rants, tracing back to the behavior he displayed earlier. “He’s my brother and I love him, yes. But frat guys could be such dicks, y’know? I was like his first practice hazing dummy lite…in a way.”

You nod, acknowledging him. “Right, right.” You’re turning to the street ahead of yours, just about a block away now.

“It’s hard to not let those insecurities take over.” He groans, “I spent so much of my life trying to make my best first impressions, and I feel like it backfires on me with the wrong people—I hate that.” He’s scratching the back of his head. “Sometimes I just wish I looked normal. That way I wouldn’t literally feel like the elephant in the room.”

At that, you turn almost as if you’d heard the worst take in your life, brows scrunching. “Normal?”

He shakes his head, “Yes, normal. Like I can wear normal shoes and sit on couches normally.”

“I like that you’re not.” You say, insensitively. “I mean you’re not not normal. But I like…it.” You slow down, trying to backtrack on what you just let slip. 

He’s blinking down on you, a look of surprise etched on his slowly flushing face. “…Why?” 

Your breath is caught in your throat, not knowing how else to explain it.  No going back. Remember? 

 “I feel safe, even if you don’t…bite back. And on top of that you’re kind. I think that matters a lot.” 

Choso stares at you like you just grew a tree on your head, but in truth, he’s just trying to tone down his elation. “Really?” He asks dumbly, already cursing himself in his head for looking like he wants to hear you call him that again. Safe.

You dip your head, agreeing once more. “I’m a girl so I may be a little biased but if I were also a little taller, I wouldn’t have to deal with some idiot guys trying something on me, and I could also defend myself easier.” 

“Oh yeah—Yes, that's totally different from my problems.” He clarified, trying to catch himself from sounding ungrateful. You watch the way his expressions shifts from blank to stressed and bite back a smile. “There’s obviously people with worse problems than being bigger than a doorway.” He’s looking down and pushing his glasses up, almost ashamed. 

You turn to the road leading up to your street, your apartment just at the end of it. “Is that like 6’3 or…”

“Huh?” He meets your inquisitive eyes, “Uh, just a little more.” He replied, shying away from your stare. You’re thinking about all the objects that could possibly match up to Choso’s figure. 

“Those chillers they got in 7’11?”

“Hm, nope. Like 2 inches more, maybe.”

Your stomach does a flip you had to ignore, “You’re lying. Six foot six?”

“Without shoes, yes.” He nodded, met with you side-eyeing him. “Well you’re free to go with me to my annual checkups and see.” He defends, a smile finally appearing on his face at your skepticism.

You squint, stopping yourself from looking too excited with the many, unbecoming thoughts storming your brain. “I’ll hold onto that.” 

Shortly after, you find yourself standing in front of the building to your apartment. “I’m sorry about dumping all that on you, It was a lot.” He looks around before letting out a barely there sigh, “I’ll get going now—“

“Are you forgetting?” You look back and Choso’s standing stiffly, feet planted on the ground. “We’re…studying, remember?”

Choso’s throat bobs at your sly tone, convincing himself there is nothing behind it.  “You did a lot today I just thought we were tired—“

“We don’t have to study then.” You’re looking around and thinking to yourself before landing back on his face, “I mean you came all the way here, you could come up and have some tea?”

The notion has his chest puffing out to regulate the way his heart started beating like its pounding from behind his sternum. He doesn’t say anything, his eyebrows raise behind his glasses, his usually sleepy eyes now wide. He nodded and let out a strained, “Okay.”

***

The door to your apartment swings open with a loud creak. The lights switch on, a warm white cascades from the ceilings. 

Your keys make a clinking noise against the ceramic jewelry tray you leave on the dresser by the entrance. The door is wide open, you feel Choso trailing behind a couple steps away. 

He’s standing kinda stiffly, “Do I take my shoes off or—“

You’re shaking your head, stepping aside to let him in. “My neighbors are kinda sticklers for people who leave their shoes outside in the halls.” He walks past the doorway, head craned down. It’s supposed to look like he was trying to avoid getting hit by the frame of it, though he’s only finding a way to hide his face naturally.

He picked his head up when he heard clanking from the kitchen which meant that you were inside. “I hope you’re not allergic to pollen? I like to put honey in mine.” You ask, your voice still clear as the space isn’t big at all, but in his head it’s distant. He’s trying to calm himself down, taking in your apartment. 

It’s small, kitchen tight and you’ve no space for a table. You use the counter as one, your bed, desk, and sofa all in the same space. However, the lack of furniture made it wide, the “living room” taking the least space with just a little coffee table and the tv on the floor as the only decor. 

“You didn’t say anything so I didn’t add any honey.” He finds himself turning on his feet when he’s met by your figure, coming from the kitchen with two— red and yellow —mugs. You hand him the yellow one, he  takes it with a ‘thanks’. You make a move to sit on the couch, trying to get cozy. Choso’s still standing, sipping on his cup awkwardly.

“You can sit if you want.” Choso’s eyes flick over to you. You realize he had shed his bag on the entrance, still it looks like something is weighing on him.

“I’m okay, I might launch you out of it—“

“Sit with me.” You pat the spot beside you on the couch, your fawn-like eyes up at him. 

It turns his legs into jelly. Thoroughly convinced, he sits beside you, trying to be as careful as he can so the side of the couch doesn’t sink to his weight too much.

He winced at the audible sound of the springs under the cushions, “Sorry.” 

Quietly, you assess him. How stiffly he sat, how much of the seat he took up despite keeping himself at the edge of it. If he sat back, would his knee brush against yours? Though you feel a little bad for taking advantage of his reactiveness towards you. However, something deep inside you is undeniably excited with the thought. 

On the other hand, Choso feels like he’s watching himself act in third person, deliberating what part of his body he should move next to not look too obnoxious or stiff. He doesn’t know if he should just let the silence pass till he runs out of tea, or maybe till it turns lukewarm. You shift in your seat, he feels your gaze heavy on him. You don’t say anything, you just stare at the side of his face. His throat bobs.

He looks over to you for a split second and meets your eyes, you raise your brows at him, a smirk growing on your sweet face. 

An anxious laugh bubbles from his throat, the tips of his ears tinging red. “I think you’re aware of how you’re making me nervous.” 

You couldn’t stop the way the smirk spreads into a wide smile. “I was thinking of how to get you to talk, is all.” You tilt your head to the side, checking out how the light from your room lamp makes his jaw seem sharper. His hair nearly fell on his shoulders, built and perched with his elbows on his knees, posture a little hunched, but he still sat taller than you. Nothing short of tempting in your eyes.

He follows your gaze, “What?”

“You’re also thinking of something.”

His brows pinch, he hates how good you are at prodding at him when he clearly doesn’t know what to say. “I’m always thinking.”

You nod, “And still, you haven’t said anything since we went up.”

Choso pauses his already stiff self. You place your mug down, crossing your legs on the couch. He brings his attention back to you but you’re already intently looking at him. He flinches back.

Sighing, “What do you think I’m thinking about?” You purse your lips, shrugging at his question. He shakes his head, a smile fighting its way on his face.

 “Then I’m happy you only brought me here to drink some tea.” A roll of his eyes comes out of sarcasm, reaching for his own mug on the table, stretching his arm out. 

He’s about to pull his hand back when your smaller one lands on top of his. The contact would have made him drop the glass into little pieces if it weren’t for the coffee table underneath. He lets down the cup, missing the coaster you laid out. 

“That’s my mug….” You point at the red cup in his grasp, yours. You let the words linger like the pads of your fingers on the back of his hand, “Hm, you’re really warm.”

He blinks, unable to ground himself back to reality because maybe, maybe you’re trying to make a move on him. He’s unable to look into your eyes, 

“Uh,” He falters, the warmth on his cheeks multiply and spread out when you inch closer, the warmth of your own body makes him feel like he’s overheating. 

“How else could I get you to go up with me?” You say, goading another reaction out of him. 

“I-I mean you could just ask and…I wouldn’t say no,“  You’re closer to his face now—too close. But you’re still not looking at eye level — not close enough. 

“I think I’ve done a lot just to be around you, Cho.” He almost melts at how the stupid nickname his brother calls him sounded so good coming from your honeyed lips. Choso gulps, audible and embarrassing in the silence of your apartment. 

He started off this conversation on the edge of the couch, somehow it feels like you’ve backed him into it.

“Y’know, the TA stuff, asking to study—do we look like we’re studying now?” Your arm skates over his hand, up his arm, the touch leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You watch how his jaw all but clenches at the feeling, a newfound confidence makes you unbelievably giddy, driving you to push more. “But what I wanna know is,”

He feels like he’s running out of breath before he could utter a word when your palm lands up on his hard chest, feeling for the erratic thumping of his heartbeat underneath the fabric of his shirt.

Your head is craned up, lashes bat at him, “What are you willing to do…?”

He’s looking deeply into your eyes, searching for the answer to your question, not realizing how his neck is craning down at your height in return. Several beats pass — he feels a tug on his shirt and then he’s closing the distance between your lips. 

He whines on the soft, wet skin, sucking gently, eyes falling shut. His hand finds your cheek, the other reaching for your side when you tangle your arms around his neck. The pace is hungry yet fervent, tugging and melting against the other. You pull away slowly, lips parting from each other wetly. You’re smacking your own lips before smiling up at Choso, giggling. 

His eyes are hazy, glasses crooked out of place. His hands are covering your back and smoothing over your clothes, “I can do anything— whatever you want.” 

If you weren’t already grinning wide enough, now you’re fully Cheshire-like. Pushing yourself closer towards him, “Anything?” He nods eagerly, you’re pulling him in, hungry. 

His hand is on the back of your neck now, holding. There’s something about his touch that feels like it’s keeping you together without feeling too possessive. Caring with a dash of hesitance. One you’re looking to break through tonight.

Your lips travel down his neck, leaving hot, lingering kisses along his throat. “Oh, mmh-“  He bites his lip immediately after nearly letting out the low noise from chest, eyes shutting when you find the particularly sensitive spot on his neck. You feel his fingers dig rougher on your hips, you’re on your knees now, determined to cover every inch of him in your touch. Your weight falls on him when he tugs you, the hands planted on his shoulders squeeze out of instinct.

“You good? I-I didn’t mean to, ah—“ He tried to move his head away from your persistent lips, but a shiver that runs through him stops his actions. You’re sucking on his skin, humming proudly, undettered from your little slip. His hands brush down your sides, they plant themselves lower on your waist.

You plant kisses all the way back to his chin then meet his lips again. You’re eye level, a sinister glint in your eyes. You stick your tongue out, half lidded gaze and staring right at him — brushing the wet, pink muscle along Choso’s bottom lip, teasing. Heat rushes on his face, blood rushes on his crotch. You’re killing him.

You suck on the pink flesh, tugging then letting go, he’s pulling you in closer by the back of your neck. He wants you on him,  mind unable to decide how — just everywhere is fine. You drop your palm down between your bodies and on the garter of Choso’s sweats, feeling for the hardness underneath.

He hissed as your fingers brushed what would be his shaft, “Um, sorry, can we make out a little I think…” He holds your head closer to his face, breaths mingling as you catch them. “I’ll get less hard— nervous, I think. Sorry,” You hummed in agreement before landing back on the flushed skin of his mouth, quieting him down with your lips.

You giggle against him, chasing as he squirms, palms settling on his shoulders. You pull off him with a peck, feet planting back on the carpeted floors.  Choso now sat far into the couch, slacked with legs spread. His mouth parts as you start undressing, stripping off into your underwear. 

He sizes you up and down, taking in your soft, bare skin, your strapless bra and cotton panties under the warm lights of your apartment. It elicits a heavy throb under his pants. Choso’s breathing feels uneven and the air grows thinner when you settle back on the couch, only now between his spread out legs.

 You’re steadying yourself, his hands find a place on your warm, now bare skin. You smooth over the wide expanse of his chest, then land on his neck, even warmer than you. “This okay?” You ask, to which he only replies with a nod. 

You’re about to lean into him when he reaches for his glasses, but you stop him before he tries to pry the piece of metal off. “They stay on.”

His breath catches in his throat, stomach dipping. A part of him he’s not quite sure whether he wanted to acknowledge, liked when you tell him what to do.

 He lets his hand fall, you adjust the rims on the bridge of his nose. “You’re so pretty.” You’re holding his face with both hands, tilting it upwards to you. A lopsided grin appears on his face at the comment, eyes shying away and down from your face and to the body on him.  

“Thanks- Thank you,” He replied poorly. His palm skated from your waist and to your back, laying above the clip of your bra. His lips are caught between his teeth as he takes in the feel of your skin against him, he looks up. “You’re awfully pretty as well.”

He was never good at expressing himself,only with what he was sure of. But this was new, you pushing, him taking, it was all new. But he meant every word he said to you. He leaned in to catch your lips against his. Fuck, if only you could tell how much he meant it.

He’s slotting his tongue in between your parted mouth, leaning further in and you’re falling back, but he’s catching you — keeping you to him. You work together smoothly, as smooth as silks rubbing against each other. You clutch on to him tightly as if he’ll slip if you don’t. You taste like jasmine tea and he’s wondering if the sweet taste is from the honey or just you. He’s holding you by the neck and pushing your back into him. 

You finally move to settle on his lap, the kiss unwavering so you’re first to pull away, “Choso—“ He catches the sound of his name in your mouth, chasing, taking, and taking. There isn’t any place on your body that isn’t covered by him, your arms, your back, your legs in between his that caged you. You moan at the thought against his greedy tongue,  entirely consumed. But you’re impatient and already wet, the fabric of your panties has been riding up for the last 10 minutes. So you squeeze his arms weakly, but it’s enough for him to let air flow between you.

“Shit, Sorry—” He’s frantic and searching your eyes, but he’s met with your hazed out ones and your swollen, drooly lips. He wiped the corner of it, chest heaving. “I need to— you’re driving me insane,” He chuckles, deep and uncertain with how true the fact felt. He’s brushing your hair back gently, “I’m sorry,” he lets go of you as you’re pulling away.

You’re upright now, letting your feet back down. You’re bending over to his lap, palms resting on his spread out limbs, “You need to make it up to me,” You’re once again reaching for his sweats, the imprint of his shaft taking form at the side. He gently lays his hand on your wrist.

 “Are you sure?” His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, the frames of his glasses are now on the tip of his nose bridge. But there’s a wave of genuine uncertainty blanketing his expression.

You’re blinking up at him, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

It’s a tangled knot in his chest, one bundled in embarrassing moments and unsuccessful hook-ups. He stuttered over his words,

“Just that before I’ve-“ he pondered if he should risk you laughing at him, but you’re expectantly looking into his eyes, and your hands are already on his lap, a little more and you’d be right where he’s aching for you. “I’m scared of making it…unpleasant?” 

His hand rubs up and down your arms, you’re tuning him out and thinking of how you should go about sitting on him. He continued to ramble on, “Um, like I’ve been told it was…“

“Too big?” You ask, attention now on him. Externally you’re collected, stating it like a remark. But internally you know it’s a fact. You feel a little bad thinking about it but now you’re piecing together your earlier conversation on what Miwa’s friend’s friend might’ve been complaining about. 

Choso all but nods, eyes scanning your room as if that would keep yours away from him. “I could just help you, y’know. We don’t have to—“

You’re turning over and maneuvering his hand out of his lap, sitting on his thigh. For a moment, you’re a little hesitant, hovering. “I mean I’d like it if we did, but I’m also…” His words trail off, holding your hip and securing you on his lap, unbothered as your weight settles on one thigh. He clears his throat, “I’m okay with, um,  anything.”

You’re leaning into him, on your side, hand trailing underneath the hem of his shirt, grazing his clenched abdomen. He jolts, causing you to jump in your seat. Your eyes widen for a moment before relaxing, hand skating lower under the garter of his sweats with a simpering grin on your face. You’re kissing his cheek, gentle and slow as your hand palms over his hard, covered cock.

He’s watching your move under the fabric of his gray sweats, feeling your smaller fingers squeezing and rubbing the base of it. It hurts, he thinks. In a way that something stings and feels good at the same time. You’re squeezing at his tip when he throws his head back on the couch, groaning loudly. You take the opportunity to mouth on his neck again. 

“Can you please— Can I please take it off?” He asks politely, but the grip on your hip feels anything but. You hum, still licking at the expanse of his neck. 

You’re pulling his pants down with his help—mostly him just taking it off himself, desperate and aching. He’s bare from the waist down now when you settle back on his thigh, sweats and boxers discarded on the floor. 

You’re now shamelessly gawking at his erection bouncing against stomach, slapping against it. The warmth of your hand catches him off guard, finally making contact skin to skin. You tug on the shaft, immediately taking notice of how your fingers struggle to close around it and were squeezing on accident.

“F—oh, god. ” He rests his head on your shoulder, sweat building on his forehead. You start moving your hand up and down, already slippery from how he’d been oozing in his boxers the entire time. He’s quiet behind you, save for the heavy breathing on your skin. You go faster. “Your hand’s so tight,” it comes out in a whimper. A wet, mouthing sensation can be felt on your shoulder, he’s biting your skin to muffle himself. But It doesn’t work, his throat lets loose with each reaction.

 His eyes roll up from your shoulder when he feels you lean forwards and away from his chest, cock twitching when a wet glob of spit drips on him from your tongue.

You’re both watching your hand work up and down, bringing both onto the shaft, he’s cursing as you go faster. 

You’re throwing your other leg over his thigh, straddling him in reverse, before resting back on him. Choso's hands come up to hold you under your knees, keeping your legs apart. He watched as the movement stretched the fabric, pussy still clad in underwear, drenched and barely covering it. But he can’t help but peek lower, your hands exclusively paying attention to his erection. 

You joke, “It’s like I'm jerking myself off.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, the vibrations thrum against your back and you turn them into moans as you suddenly go faster. “Sucks though, I can’t feel it.” 

You’re unable to see his expression behind you, but you can hear how his moans are muffled between his teeth, “You’re s-so eager.”

You reveled at how shaky he’d sounded. “One of us has to be.”

And then a strange noise akin to the tearing of fibers can be heard from below. You gasp as it happens in front of you, hands slowing its ministrations. You realize you’re watching him rip your underwear, exposing your wet, shiny pussy. “Hey—“

 He’s adjusting himself from under you, bringing his other hand under your thigh, your legs tugged higher as he starts rubbing right on your clit. 

He’s rough and accurate on where he wants to touch you, deliberate in his movements.  He’s quick but he isn’t rushing either, his only motive was to get you to falter in his stead as you were doing just the same.

Your voice shrinks into breathy pants, the slick sound from your poor clit syncing in with each, “Ah, ah, Cho—“

“You’re making me so, so hard, baby—” You’re both an obscene sight to behold, playing with each other, spread out, grunting or whimpering. Both sloppily still trying to let your lips tangle with each other despite the inconvenient position. Both a mess, your tits spilling out of your bra, and his glasses all fogged up. 

You grind into him, “Feels so good,” rubbing your juices on the cock you’re jerking with now one hand, coating his chubby length. Your body felt like it was on overdrive, moving your hips up and down as you clenched on nothing, gushing freely. 

You’re biting your lip as your hips grow erratic, brows pinching and your abdomen clenches on itself. “I-I’m close.”

Choso lets a groan escape,“Fuck, really?” realizing he’s making you come first. It’s a miracle he’s held off this long, he wonders if he’ll hold up if you let him inside. The thought makes him move your hips on his cock, assisting you as you use him to get yourself off. 

He doesn’t know if he’s breathing so hard because he’s getting tired or because he knows getting your clit rubbed nudges you a little closer to the edge when you start to get louder. He breathes against your ear, “Come on me, please.” He’s mumbling now, less at you and more to himself.  “I wanna see you cum on me, please, please—”

Your legs begin to shake in his hold, fighting to shut close but the grip under your knees forces you to come with your legs spread wide, pussy making a show of spasming against Choso’s cock, voice breaking as you whimper. “That’s it baby, that’s it,” 

Choso is completely enamored, the sounds of your high pitched whines in the air was like music to him, the way you writhe against his body was this entrapping dance. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

He notes how you were still in your bra, he whispers something about it, but you’re just nodding your head with your eyes shut, riding it out. Then he’s unclipping the strap with one hand, the fabric falling off and releasing your perfect tits.

You then relax your back to him, twitching still. But then he’s thrusting his erect cock up between your folds, the stimulation starting to make you wetter again, your breath can only catch up so fast.  You’re attempting to lift your hips with a squirm.”Gi-give me a sec—”

Choso quickly lets your legs fall to the side and pauses, sitting up and moving your head to face him. “Shit- we can stop here,” he assured, breathy and worried. “I didn’t mean to, I was just looking at you. You looked-” So fucked out, “I’m sorry.“

“Sh-shut up,” You look away and Choso stiffens under you. Was he too rough? Before he could even utter another apology, you spoke, “I’m fine, I just need to— breathe.“ 

He watches you quiet down from underneath you, he’s rubbing your thighs comfortingly. “I am sorry,” The silence lingers, only getting tenser with each beat that passes.

And then you start chuckling — at nothing in particular. Your breathing slows down, and you look back to check on him. He looked so worried, brows pinched and his lip jutted out. A lazy smile breaks into your features, leaning down to catch him in a chaste kiss so he wouldn't see the expression on your face. “I liked it, okay?”

His breath hitched in his throat when you spoke against his lips, “Yeah?” 

You’re nodding, smile now exposed. You kiss him again, powerless against his sweet lips. He relaxes, hand coming up to the back of your head. “I wanna-“ A kiss, “Fuck you now,” A slower kiss, “Please.”

He’s backing up to read your face, reassessing. Within the silence, something passes between you two. Amidst the air that smells of sex and vaguely of tea, there’s this mix of warmth and uncertainty—and whether or not to dive in it — that lingers in between. 

He’s nervous under your gaze, once again, looking for a way out of your eyes that traps him so effectively like no other. He’s looking down at his still, very much, erect self. “I don’t have a condom.”

You’re thinking to yourself before you reach for the side table of your couch, scrambling for a box you kept there in case.

Choso’s scrambling to rip the plastic off before fishing for one packet. “I’m not really sure if it would fit so, maybe just try it,” You remark as you’re being maneuvered out of his lap and on the side of the couch. He fumbled with the rubber a couple times, pulling it down before it snapped a little too tightly on his girth. He tugs it down on him until a tear starts spreading on the side of the translucent material. 

“I’m sor—“ He hissed as it snapped against his skin, “See I can’t even fucking…I don’t think this is quite right—” He’s cursing to himself, obviously a little sexually frustrated. For someone his size he still managed to look somewhat like a defeated puppy. 

You’re tugging the broken thing off, relief blooming in his chest but it’s short lived as he’s reminded of how he might not even have sex with you anymore. “But no, we really don’t have to.”  He says, discouraged. 

“You can fuck me raw, I’m on the pill.” He internally groaned, pulled back out of his head. You just had a way with your words. 

He does a complete 180, eyes widening, shifting from beaten to optimistic. He reminds himself to curb his excitement though, slowing down. “You can be on top—set the pace?” You’re already moving to sit on his lap.

He’s nodding his head at you, and finally rips his shirt off himself, now completely naked. You’re staring down at him, licking your lips at the sight of his milky skin and toned chest. He pulls you out of your thoughts, voice small and distant. 

“I’ll pull out, yeah?” He’s swallowed back thickly, more of reminding himself to do that. “Just be slow okay? I didn’t prepare you that wel—um,"

His voice trails off when you’re already lining yourself up with his reddened tip. “A little at a time—Oh,” You’re already sinking down, unrepressed. 

The stretch is long and constant, to the point it feels like you’re rethinking how fast you jumped on this, except you remember you’re already lowering yourself very carefully. 

Your jaw hangs open in a silent scream when you get past the head, sinking lower, your walls throb against his member. You’re bracing yourself with a palm, Choso’s chest is covered in sweat and heaving. “You’re so—‘s really tight, oh fuck you’re so warm,” He whined out, unable to complete a sentence.

He’s leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses on your neck and then back on your lips to keep your mewls at bay. You’re kissing back, he’s only half way in when you start moving. Choso’s breaths turn ragged against yours, pulling you closer to him. You catch your breath, “It’s stretching me out so much, Choo-” You whine, slowly rolling your hips.

He’s squeezing your waist before trailing his hands down your ass, “You’re doing good, you’re doing really good.”

He’s looking down at your progress, struggling to tell where you ended and he begun, now nearer to the base of his cock. He throbs inside you. “Fuck, a-are you okay?” He’s looking back up at your face, taking in your lips, bitten and swollen under your teeth. 

He lets out a shaky whimper, “You’re taking so much.” His eyes finding their way back to your hole swallowing him. “So good, baby.”

You tuck your feet over his thighs for leverage, pulling off his cock slowly then sinking back down, and back up. You repeat the motions, torturously slow, your slick creating this lewd noise from each rock of your hips as you go deeper. Choso’s hands are on your thighs, weighing you down but he’s really holding back from actively pushing — still you’re sinking, taking more. 

You start to bounce, struggling to hold yourself up with your palm on his chest, the slight sting of the stretch dulling out to a deep pressure. It’s a lot easier now, you go even faster with the help of your growing arousal slicking up his cock. Every touch you leave on each other now feels highly sensitive, your tits pressed against Choso’s hard chest, his hands squeezing on your ass for dear life. You’re left unable to keep up conversations or teases to each other now, heads completely in a different space. You're left babbling incoherencies as your tingling nerves derail your focus, the only thing clear was to go after what felt good. 

But you falter, your knees slowing as they start to ache but you push yourself further, desperate, taking even more of Choso’s length. You find yourself losing balance and lean over, panting. You lift your hips, then let your ass fall back into his lap, a strained mewl leaving your throat, “I-I need help. I need you, Cho—need you t’a fuck my pussy,” 

He groans out at how high your voice got, fresh from its suppressed whines. “Okay I’ll help,” He’s quick with his hands, holding you by the globes of your ass, and pulls you up. He bites back a noise, hearing and feeling your tight pussy gush and clamp on him as he lifts until it’s just the tip. “s’ okay if I thrust a little?” He whispers against your ear, growing desperate as his cock pulses in anticipation. You nod fervently in his neck, arms circled around him. “Okay baby, I’m gonna. I’m gonna help this pussy- fuckkk” 

It’s noisier now, from your skin, sticky and slapping against each other, to your gasps turning into moans against each other’s open mouths. Choso’s now taking all the work, lifting your ass and bringing it down to meet his aching cock even faster than you could have. He starts meeting your pussy half way, thrusting up wards and it knocks the wind out of you.

Moans spill out of you with each thrust up, breaking and then bursting out of you. You’re clinging to him, bodies impossibly close, skin rubbed up against skin. “You’re so fucking loud, honey—do you like it?” His groans turn into grunts with how he’s physically exerting his body, on a mission to see you break apart on top of him.

You reply with a noise of acknowledgment, barely audible amongst the slapping and heavy breathing. You’re body feels hot all over, from inside and out. He’s deep enough inside you in places you didn’t even know was possible to go that far in, and the best worst part is you haven’t even reached the base of him yet. A new objective makes itself known in the part of your brain that still functioned, a dimly flickering idea. 

“Ch-choso can you, ngh—“ You’re bringing your face out of his neck to face him, but he’s still busying himself with his thrusts, “I want you deeper, c-could you do that f’me?”

He’s letting out a high pitched whine he when lets you down, about to throw his head back when you catch his lips in yours, tugging on his hair and pulling roughly.  “You’re stronger than me Cho, c’mon. Make me cum on your big cock—“

He groans, planting his feet on the ground, before you know it you’re up in the air, now standing. You cut yourself off with a moan, both of you do —sighing out when he lifts your ass up before dropping you on his painfully hard cock. “You’re so filthy when you talk, y’know that?”

It feels like he's all the way to your lungs when he finally bottoms out in you, which would make sense since it feels like you aren’t breathing anymore. You cry out once more, wiling your eyes and muffling the noises in his neck, biting down. “Are you crying?” He asks, concern prodding between his excitement, but the thought manages to make it’s way to his cock, fucking you on him rhytmically slow and deep. You let out a choked sob, “Fuck you’re crying—not even going that fast.”

“Then g-go faster,” You managed to voice out between moans, your hips wiggling in his grasp. He groans in response, kneading your ass to stop you from getting ahead of him.

“You tell me if it’s too much- just, you have to tell me a-alright?” You’re clenching on him, still trying to bounce. “Shit, Okay.” 

The slower sounds of your skin slapping each other turn into rapid, sharp sounds. Choso grunting from each thrust, now fully unrepressed. In seconds, the image you’ve crafted of him as this shy, hesitant boy, crumbles. You’re fully moaning out now, his cock nudging deeper and repeatedly in that spot that triggers your insides. “I’m so full, fuck-“

He’s hiccuping his moans out, turning into whimpers as he pumps you up and down even faster, his nails digging into the meat of your ass. “You’re taking me so good baby,” He’s thrusting up when he lets you fall on his cock midway, his muscles forgetting to strain. “Fuck, take it, take it—“ 

He dives in against your lips, tongue invading your whimpering mouth. You try your best to kiss back, eyes nearly closing while he’s drowning you in him. You’re clenching on his cock a lot tighter now, his balls drenched in your arousal, slapping against your other hole from the impact of his motions.

“I think I—I’m gonna cum-“ You pull away from Choso who lets out a breathy moan, licking your lips to chase yours. You’re falling limp against him, hips rendered useless when he’s already fucking you on a pace outside of your own stamina. 

Your insides are pulsing around his member, your moans growing even louder. Choso’s deep enough into you when he feels his cock twitch, “I need to pull out—“ You’re immediately protesting, letting out noises of disapproval. “No, no baby I’m gonna cum if you—“

“I don’t care.“ Fuck. Choso holds himself back, his pre-cum oozing out makes your sopping hole even more slippery at the thought of filling you up to the brim.  He’s thinking of ways to keep himself from cumming right this very second when you’re already so fucked out and desperate, high up in your own head.

His dick twitches again and he’s biting his lip, slowing his carry on your body til you’re stopping altogether. Before you could say anything else, he’s pulling out and placing you on the couch, lying down. You’re complaining, spreading your legs as much as the cushions on your side could let you. 

Choso’s holding his cock, squeezing at the base to calm himself down but he opens his eyes to your gaping, hungry hole, presented to him like an offer, “C-cum inside me, Cho,”

His resolve breaks within a blink of an eye, already laying above you and wrapping your legs around his waist. You feel like crying out of joy when he finally makes his way inside, thrusting slowly and hissing from how tight you still are. “I need to be on top of you, I need to—“ He mumbled, eyes already hazed out and clambering for satiation.

He topples over you as he finds his balance, now setting a newer pace from earlier, caging you with his body while his thrusts grow even faster.

The sensation is much more different now, a stretch added with the forces of his thrusts now fully landing on you.

He’s watching every twist of your face and moan spill out. Scanning your body downwards while he lays a palm on your lower abdomen, “If I cum inside you’re gonna bulge right h-here, d’ ya want that?”

You’re squealing against him when he presses down, his cock nudging where he’s digging his fingers from the outside. Your walls flutter against his member, sucking him in and pulsing wetly. Choso’s grunting against you, hips growing faster as he watches your eyes get even more hazy and your face twisted.

Your eyes are rolling back when he starts rubbing on your clit, already impatient with wanting to feel your pussy tighten impossibly around him.

He’s whispering incoherencies to you, face on your neck when he pulls back his hips and pushes back in deeply as he continues rubbing you. 

You cry out, shuddering against Choso as the coil in you snaps, holding onto his wrist as your legs secured against his ribs.

He lets out a shaky moan, pumping faster when he chases his orgasm while you ride yours out on him, bodies grinding up against each other intimately. 

A curse lets you know that he’s finally reached his climax, thrusts growing slow and deep while pumping you full of his sticky cum.  Your eyes are glossed over, your throat sore from your own voice when he’s riding out his high, panting and leaving kisses all over your face. 

Your chests are pumping against each other,  both catching your breaths. Your hand finds its way to his face, turning it so he could look back at you. His cheeks are red and his glasses were no longer on him, probably losing them from how much you’d been switching positions. 

You’re brushing his hair from his face, tucking a long strand onto his ear. Your body still feels like it’s on fire but it doesn’t compare to how even after all that, his stare on you still makes your heart skip a beat. You let out a breath, gathering yourself.

 “What do you think?” His eyes scans over your face, “Better than coming up to study?”

Choso shifts on his elbows as he’s laying on top of you.“Yeah that was…” He takes a moment to think of a better way to describe it, a smile spreading on his face. “Really good.” He settles with honesty instead.

He’s thumbing over your shoulder, a hundred thoughts trying to materialize themselves in his still mushed up brain. “I’ve never done it like that, before I mean.“ 

He’s looking up to meet your eyes, and you’ve got a glow emitting from you, drawing him in. He hesitates for a moment but then, “And you? How’d you feel?”

You huff out a soft chuckle, realizing how ironic this all was. How you’ve still managed to not destroy the awkwardness that came with affections even when you’ve skipped over to, well sex. Choso waits for your answer, something swirls tight in his chest, uneasy but still patient. 

You’re brushing back the hair on his scalp, taking in how much less guarded he looks without glasses. “Yeah, I feel…safe.”

He smiles, that knot in his chest untangling. To no surprise, he finds the thread it’s bundled from may be connected to you. “Yeah?”

You nod, smiling, “Yeah.”

stepdaddy!toji couldn't tear his eyes away when you walked around the house in just panties and a sheer white top after another fight just to spite your mom, with your nipples peeking through. you never gave any blunt hints, but the way you stared at his biceps every time he reached for the salt on the table, or at his huge cock when he wore gray sweatpants, spoke for itself.

stepdaddy!toji walked into your room one day while you were out to swipe your panties and sniff 'em while he jerked off, but he found something way more interesting. your laptop stayed open with a chat with your friend on the screen. he was just about to blow it off when he saw his name.

→ idk girl, it sounds gross but if you saw him you'd wanna fuck him too

i mean, you got a shitty mom who's been terrorizing you since you were a kid, he didn't raise you, he didn't change your diapers, so why the hell not? if the dick's worth it lol ←

→ it's huge, i'm sure he'd just rip me apart. i have to imagine him instead of my dildo, though he's definitely like three times bigger

stepdaddy!toji decides to shower with you the next morning, making you let out a scream. "what are you doing in here?" and you try to cover yourself up, but he just laughs. "giving you exactly what you want." he starts stripping and you stare at his massive biceps, his rock-solid chest and abs, then your eyes trail down and see the happy trail leading to a huge, hang-hard cock that was already standing tall. your mouth hung open while he sat down on the edge. "get over here, baby." one second you stopped hiding yourself, and the next you were bouncing on his cock, and he was deep inside you, ripping you apart.

his hands are glued to your ass, guiding your rhythm, squeezing and spreading you open on his cock. every time you slide down, you feel him hit that spot deep inside. "nngh! yes! yes! so good—" he leans forward and captures your nipple between his lips, suckling hard, his tongue flicking across the sensitive peak. "you were made to take my cock." you gasp when he bites down gently, then soothes the ache with his tongue. "mmnn— my little girl’s got the sweetest tits, huh? gonna suck 'em dry." your hips start to slow — you're exhausted, your muscles screaming — but he won't let you stop. his hands grip your waist and start bouncing you on his cock, fucking up into you with brutal precision. your head falls back, mouth open, letting out a long, guttural moan. "you like that, baby? you like your daddy using you like this?" "yes! yes— please nngh! don't stop—" "that's it, baby. cum for daddy. cum all over my cock."

stepdaddy!toji gets addicted to you right away. he turns fucking you every morning into a tradition. he's already hard when he pushes your door open, already stroking himself through his boxers by the time he's kneeling on the mattress, dragging the sheets off your sleeping body. "mornin', little girl." you stir, blinking up at him. his cock is already out, thick and heavy, the head brushing against your thigh. "...it's so early..." "shhh." he pulls your panties down your legs. "daddy needs his breakfast." he rolls you onto your stomach first, because he likes watching the way your back arches when he pushes inside from behind. his chest presses against your spine, his mouth at your ear. "been dreamin' about this pussy all night, baby. you know that? can't sleep proper without knowin' i'm gonna be inside you the second i wake up." "nngh! daddy—! so good..."

stepdaddy!toji uses your tits like a pacifier. it started as something innocent — him suckling gently while you watched tv — but now it's a full-blown ritual. his hands find your shirt, push it up. your bra follows. he groans the second your nipples are bare, leaning down to take one into his mouth. "toji—" "shhh." he sucks hard, tongue circling the sensitive peak. "just let daddy have this."

his eyes are half-closed. he is latched on, suckling slow and steady. his hand cups your other breast, thumb stroking over the nipple. "one day," he murmurs against your skin, "gonna put a baby in you. gonna fill you up so good. and then these tits..." he takes the nipple between his teeth, tugs gently. "gonna be full of milk for me. gonna drink it straight from the source, baby." you whimper, and he suckles harder, his hand sliding down between your legs. "and you'll let me, won't you? let daddy drink it whenever he wants. let me fall asleep right here, with your nipple in my mouth and my cum drippin' out of your tight little pussy." he does fall asleep like that, sometimes. your nipple still between his lips, your hand stroking his hair. and when he wakes up in the middle of the night, hard and aching, he slides inside you without a word, still half-asleep, still sucking your breast.

stepdaddy!toji loves making you squirt just to prove he is way better than guys your own age. he's on his knees between your legs, and he's been down there for god knows how long. your thighs are shaking, you're soaked, and he shows no signs of stopping. "i know you got it in you, baby." his fingers curl inside you, pressing against your front wall. "give it to daddy. give me that." "daddy, i can't—mnngh! i can't, it's too much—" "you can. you will." his mouth closes over your clit, sucks hard while his fingers pump faster. "c'mon, my baby. let go for me. let me see it." your body locks up. every muscle goes tight. and then it releases — a gush of fluid that soaks his hand, his chin, the towel he'd laid down beneath you. "there she is. there's my good fuckin' girl." he doesn't stop. he keeps fingering you through it, keeps sucking your clit until you're screaming, until you're pushing at his head because you can't take anymore. "one more, little girl. give me one more."

stepdaddy!toji who treats your pussy like a living thing. he talks to it, kisses it, worships it. he pushes your thighs up to your chest and groans at the sight of you. "mm, she's wet for me. of course she is. she knows who she belongs to." "look at my girl. missed me, didn't she?" he's talking to your pussy, and he means it. he leans in, presses his open mouth against your folds like a kiss. "fuck, i missed you too, pretty girl." he makes out with it. that's the only way to describe it — his tongue sliding between your lips, pressing inside, then pulling out to suck your clit into his mouth. "daddy's girl's got the sweetest fuckin' pussy in the world. you know that?" he presses his nose against your clit, inhales deep. "can't get enough." "ha— mmnh!!— daddy! i'm gonna—!" "come in my mouth, baby." you cum again from his tongue alone, and he moans through it, smiling against your pussy. when you try to pull away from the oversensitivity, he grabs your hips and yanks you back. "i'm not done. daddy's never done with this pretty pussy."

stepdaddy!toji doesn't give a fuck if someone can catch you guys, if he wanted to fuck you, nothing was gonna stop him. "someone will see—" "let 'em." he pulls you over the center console, guides you onto his lap. your back presses against his chest, the steering wheel digging into your knees. his cock slides into you from behind, and you choke on a moan. "shhh, baby. gotta be quiet." but he's already thrusting up into you, one hand on your hip, the other wrapped around your throat. "look how good you take my cock." a woman walks past with a shopping cart. you freeze, but he keeps moving, keeps fucking up into you slow and deep. "look at her. she got no idea you're gettin' stuffed full of my cock right now." "fuck— daddy! —nngh!" "that's it. let 'em hear. let 'em know who you belong to." sunlight floods the car, and anyone glancing over would see two silhouettes. he comes inside you with a grunt, holding your hips down, filling you up while a minivan parks three spaces away.

stepdaddy!toji who tells your mom he needs to spend more time with you to get to know his stepdaughter better, so he heads to the mall with you. he fucks you in the first dressing room he finds. you're on his lap, your back against his chest, the flimsy curtain doing nothing to muffle your sounds. his cock is buried deep, and he's holding you still while the saleslady asks through the curtain if everything fits okay. "just fine," he calls out, voice steady. his hips thrust up. "my girl's just trying things on." you bite your lip so hard you taste blood. his hand covers your mouth. "shhh, my baby. don't wanna get caught, do you?" but he's fucking up into you harder, faster. the cheap stool beneath you creaks. "nngh! mmn—!" "what was that?" he pulls his hand away. "you got something to say, little girl?" "daddy! — fuck... i'm gonna!—" "gonna come? right here? with your mama thinkin' we're just havin' a nice afternoon?" you nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "then do it, baby. come on daddy's cock. let 'em all hear who makes you feel this good." you come with a broken cry, and he follows right after.

stepdaddy!toji finally gets to fuck you everywhere after the divorce, without hiding or trying to muffle your sweet sounds. he bends you over the thick upholstered arm, your toes barely touching the floor, ass arched high. he pushes in slow, watching his cock disappear into your tight little pussy inch by inch. the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy fills the room. "you hear that, baby? listen to how wet you are for me. this pussy knows who it belongs to, doesn't it?" "y-yes, daddy! it's you— ah!— all yours!" or when he folds you in half, knees pressed against your shoulders, your ankles hooked over his biceps. he looms over you, watching his own cock slide in and out of your gaping hole. he fucks you deep and slow, grinding his pelvis against your clit with every thrust until you're a writhing mess beneath him. "look at you little girl, taking every inch. you love being stuffed full of this cock, don't you?" "yes! daddy— mmnh!— yes, i love it, i love it!"

stepdaddy!toji who loves it when you warm up his dick. he's sitting on the couch, watching tv, and you're in his lap, facing him, his cock buried deep inside your pussy. you're both fully dressed except for where your panties are pushed aside and his zipper is down. "just sit still, little girl. keep me warm." you try to stay quiet, but every small movement makes you clench around him, and you can feel him twitch inside you. your thighs are shaking, your pussy pulsing, and you're so wet you can feel yourself dripping down onto his lap. "please— i need you to move—" you can feel him twitch inside you, feel him get harder even though he's not moving. his thumb traces lazy circles on your hip. "one day," he murmurs, "gonna keep you on my cock all day long. gonna carry you around the house like this. make you breakfast with my dick still buried in you." you clench around him involuntarily, and he groans. "fuck, yeah. squeeze daddy just like that."

stepdaddy!toji who couldn't see you for a whole week because of all the divorce drama. and when you finally show up at his place, he doesn't even take your clothes off all the way. just pushes your skirt up, rips your panties aside, and sinks into you with a groan that sounds like relief. "fuck! fuck— i needed this. i needed you, baby." your back hits the wall, your legs wrap around his waist. he's holding you up, fucking you standing, your weight suspended on his cock. "never again. never gonna go a week without this pussy again. you hear me?" "yes— mmh! daddy— yes!" "now i can have you whenever i want. wherever i want." he carries you across the room, still inside you, fucks you against every surface he can reach. the counter. the couch. the floor. "gonna make up for lost time. gonna spend the whole weekend buried inside my little girl."