" miisbehaved "

These were intense times. 

The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed. 

There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft. 

As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses. 

It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk. 

Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones. 

As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf. 

Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field. 

His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table. 

He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer. 

Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls. 

She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself. 

And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts. 

His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded. 

“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”. 

Part one?!

He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one. 

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The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20. 

And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name. 

“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”

He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty. 

But in the lecture hall? Well… 

His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II. 

He was truly a lost cause. 

He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never). 

So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago. 

At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast. 

Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you. 

And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter. 

It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.

In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.

“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”

It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.

You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.

He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.

He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him. 

His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter. 

Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”

You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen. 

For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.

What the fuck? 

He took your phone. 

“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”

He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones. 

“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”

He hated how his dick twitched at your words.

But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.

He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake! 

His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”

You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!

And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.   

After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.

He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.

You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday. 

The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission. 

And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill. 

He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.

Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days. 

And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days. 

“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both. 

You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe. 

He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…

“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare. 

“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power. 

You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!

You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache. 

The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?” 

He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips. 

“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you. 

He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag. 

“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”

And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest. 

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand. 

“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.” 

His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away. 

“It’s a small place,” you warned. 

He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”

He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them. 

You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”

For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world. 

All he could do was swallow and nod. 

He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door. 

The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road. 

Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row. 

The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen. 

Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.

And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.

He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–

He coughed lightly.

What was he thinking?

As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine. 

Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.

It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.

“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table. 

You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down. 

He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room. 

And, holy shit. 

No. 

There was genuinely no way in hell. 

He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it. 

His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body? 

Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.

His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it. 

Everything looked familiar.

Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–

“Can I help you?” 

You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours. 

You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.

And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words. 

All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.

“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.

The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.

And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself. 

What. The. Fuck. 

It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it? 

No. He couldn’t. He’d never.

Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell? 

He couldn’t tell.

What does this mean? How should he act?  What does he fucking do with this information now?

He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer. 

“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”

He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin. 

“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled. 

He tapped into the link despite himself. 

“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”

He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video. 

For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera. 

But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded. 

The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind. 

He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look. 

He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.

You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”

The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1. 

His jaw ticked, hard.

“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before. 

His dick bobbed in his pants. 

This could not be happening to him right now. 

You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”

He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie. 

And he couldn’t help it, really. 

Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers. 

He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back. 

Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit. 

He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip. 

He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him. 

He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to  uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot. 

He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.

And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.

It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner. 

And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing. 

He just finished to the thought of you.

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Toji Fushiguro had a problem. 

No, scratch that. 

He had a fucking crisis. 

It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times. 

And that was only how one of his practices went this week. 

It had been five whole days since he last saw you. 

Five days of being dogshit at his sport. 

Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.

It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say. 

How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?

How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay? 

How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!

And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.

He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body. 

A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him. 

He stared down at your last texts to him.

⭐️ (Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark  ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Ba-dump!

⭐️ (Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree 

Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

⭐️ (Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

⭐️ (Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive

It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare. 

Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet. 

He needed time. 

He needed space. 

He needed to get this shit under control.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals. 

It would be the perfect distraction. 

About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light. 

He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–

“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”

His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised. 

Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him. 

He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature. 

You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame. 

He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.). 

“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily. 

The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire. 

He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt. 

You looked good, really fuckin’ good. 

Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding

Did he say that outloud?!

You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.

Back to the last name basis. 

You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes. 

A dull pang rippled through his chest. 

He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started. 

And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter. 

And, you knew he was huge before. 

But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms. 

He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly. 

You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled. 

He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear. 

You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other. 

You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.

But for him? That just would not do. 

He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate. 

“Because you scare me,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched. 

“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.

“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I can go-”

“Don’t.”

And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt. 

“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.” 

You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”

“Stay.”

It was as simple as that, really. 

And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you. 

Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.

He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits. 

He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face. 

Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start. 

And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh. 

You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous. 

“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened. 

“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell. 

His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.” 

Please.

His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission. 

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

You breathed. 

The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–

“It’s not just you, Toji.” 

Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest. 

And that was all he needed. 

He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.

He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom. 

He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.

The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own. 

He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own. 

It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.

You put your hands against his chest. 

“Toji-”

“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”

You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed. 

His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place. 

You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.

A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing. 

“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?” 

And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.

He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process. 

“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?” 

You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs. 

You shook your head. 

“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”

He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench. 

Fuckin’ tease. 

“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out. 

A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.

“Good girl.” 

And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties . 

“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”

And - Holy shit.

The videos of you didn’t even do this justice. 

Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.

And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric. 

It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong. 

But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks. 

He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots. 

“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet. 

His heart was thunderous against his chest. 

And his dick? 

Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.

He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.

After all, how could he say no to you? 

He pushed your panties to the side. 

And oh. 

His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy. 

Holy. Shit.

Everything was soaked and glistening. 

He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process. 

He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool. 

It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room. 

The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. 

“Toji, I might-” 

He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle. 

You saw fuckin’ stars.

The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs. 

He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again. 

He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him. 

Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three. 

You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer. 

Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears. 

Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.

The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs. 

You were orgasming before you even realized it.

And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks. 

Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place. 

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt. 

You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples. 

Your heart squeezed in your chest. 

It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond. 

“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.” 

And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went. 

You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso. 

You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.

“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”

You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.

Who would move first?

His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist. 

“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.” 

Oh. 

And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue. 

And then he’s pulling you into his lap. 

You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again. 

A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.

“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting. 

“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.  

And oh fuck.

Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud! 

The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.

Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat. 

You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff. 

You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear. 

“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you. 

Pretty girl. 

He squeezed tighter.

His pretty girl. 

A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”

And who was he to deny you? 

Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs

Your mouth gaped open.

And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.  

You didn’t even think anyone could be this large. 

Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head. 

He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.

Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.

He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him. 

You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.

He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.

He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.

You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead. 

And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him. 

None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock. 

You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.

But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together. 

“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”

A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass. 

“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices. 

Your heart fluttered.

His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off. 

You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you. 

You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips. 

He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.

Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt. 

You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly. 

Please, please, please, ple–

And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole. 

“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. 

Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip. 

And this was just the tip.

He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant. 

You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him. 

“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.

“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him. 

Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”

And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests. 

He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.

You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.

You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need. 

It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here. 

“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features. 

“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.

“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.

And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.

His dick bobbed from inside of you. 

“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down. 

“But-?”

He thought you would hate him if you knew. 

He agonized for days for this reaction?!!

“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”

And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy. 

“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?

“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.  

And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again. 

T-O-J-I !

He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air. 

You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise. 

In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.

He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck. 

Oh. His cum.

His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming. 

You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you. 

“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?” 

And oh, how his broken mind snapped. 

The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear. 

And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb. 

It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.

Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white. 

And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer. 

Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed. 

And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.

And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.

“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”

And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.

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Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.

After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.

There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side. 

Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).

He still kept his same protein shake recipe.

He still kept his same choice of attire.

But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb. 

And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag. 

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The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38. 

And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend. 

“Where the fuck is he?” You mumbled anxiously underneath your breath.

You had been waiting inside Curseblood Studio for almost twenty minutes at this point, your phone long since dead by your side, thighs stuck to the plush leather of the parlor couch, and the thin heel of your boot tapping restlessly against the worn flooring.

The interior of the place was dim, and the reception area was entirely empty. It was 19:00, and you knew it was near closing hours (if not already). 

Behind you, the soft pat, pat, pat of the summer rain tapped against the shop’s windows - a gentle melody accompanied by the faint humming of a tattoo gun somewhere deep within the shop, steady and distant, like a pulsing heartbeat thrumming in anticipation.

You were supposed to meet Suguru over an hour ago to catch the train into Chuo together. It was by order of Satoru, as the white-haired menace had practically begged the entire friend group to go clubbing with him tonight. But when Suguru never showed up at the station, you found yourself heading to the one place he was most likely to be: the tattoo shop where he worked. 

Which, conveniently, just so happened to be situated right underneath the apartment that he shared with–  

“You good?”

The voice was deep, soft, familiar.

You lifted your head, only for your eyes to land on… him.

Kamo. Choso. 

The tall, tired-looking man had silently situated himself behind the counter without you realizing earlier. His dark hair, which normally was tied up, fell loosely around his neck, showing off his shaggy wolfcut. The dark inked slash that ran across the bridge of his nose contrasted well with the silver shark bites that adorned his pink lips, and his usual loungewear was replaced with ripped cargos and a black muscle tee, exposing his muscular arms and the gorgeous, dark red ink that wrapped around his pale skin in dizzying patterns. 

His dark eyes met yours for just the smallest of moments, before quickly flicking away.

“Hi,” you murmured. You suddenly grew shy, feeling embarrassed for imposing well past his business hours. “Yes. I’m… good.”

He offered you a small nod in response. 

The two of you knew each other only in passing. He was part of Suguru’s other friend group, and just so happened to be both his roommate and the other co-owner of the studio. 

A reserved tattoo artist during the day. 

An introspective stoner during the night.

During the numerous times you found yourself in your best friend’s apartment, you had only observed Kamo Choso from a safe distance: the hard planes of his bare back as he disappeared through the kitchen, the faint scent of old weed lingering from his room, and the sharp line of his jaw caught in brief, accidental glances. 

It was only during the rare moments when the two of you awkwardly crossed paths, whether in the cramped hallway or the messy foyer, that conversation ever seemed possible. Yet even then, it rarely made it past a simple “hello”. 

Which is why you found him so hard to read.

You truly couldn’t tell if the man genuinely disliked you, found you entirely unremarkable, or if he was simply the kind of person who kept everyone at arm's length. 

Regardless, this was the first time ever where the two of you were addressing each other directly, without the chaperoning assistance of Suguru. 

The quiet man rested his inked arms on the countertop that separated the two of you, silently letting his dark eyes wander over your body, taking you in. 

Your hair framed your face softly, and every time you shifted, he could see the faint glint of the earrings that dangled beneath. The dress you wore tonight was short with a modest neckline, and the sheer black tights that adorned your legs accentuated the curve of your thighs. 

Choso blinked, before wordlessly staring down at his hands, which had, at some point, unconsciously began to grip onto the countertop below him.

“I apologize for imposing on you.” Your words came out small as you looked up at him from where you sat, your nails tapping nervously against the frayed leather of the couch.  

He shook his head almost immediately. “You’re not.” His voice came out a touch too deep, too serious, too rushed. He coughed lightly, willing his eyes to look at the clock on the wall rather than the mole by your lips. “Shop’s about to close though. You waitin’ on someone, or d’ya get bored and want some ink?” 

You couldn’t help but release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, an endearing chuckle escaping from your prettily glossed lips at his dry words. 

Cute. 

“Hmm…” you smiled, playfulness laced in your voice, “unfortunately, just waiting today...” 

He didn’t even have to ask. He already knew for whom.  

Suguru. 

Choso tsked, cursing the other man underneath his breath for keeping you, the most attractive person that’s ever stepped foot inside the building, waiting. You watched him with doe-like eyes as he scratched the back of his neck, his brow furrowed in deep thought, and his inked biceps flexing subtly under the lowlight.

A moment passed before the man in front of you spoke again. 

“Well then. Wanna do some waitin’ upstairs?” 

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The thick smoke from a dying roach curled languidly in the heady air between you both. 

It had been roughly thirty minutes since Kamo Choso had invited you into his apartment, taken your phone to his room to charge, and returned with the disappointing news that Geto-Fucking-Suguru hadn’t left you a single notification.

It had also been roughly twenty minutes since he’d offered you his weed.

Which is how you both found yourself here, sitting on a large couch in his shared living room, Human Earthworm 4 playing in the background, Choso’s zip-locked stash laying haphazardly on the coffee table in front of you, and his extended leg mere centimeters away from your thigh.

He didn’t expect you to be able to keep up with him, let alone agree to his offer in the first place. 

Smoking with company felt a whole lot nicer than smoking alone. 

Though, he didn’t know if that was because it was with you.

He took a sip of his Asahi, before chancing a glance up at you. 

The whites of your eyes were glazed a pretty pink, and you were already staring at him with hooded lids, your glossed lip caught between your teeth as if you were deep in thought. 

He looked away abruptly, startled by the force of his own heart squeezing at the sight of you. 

“You don’t like me very much.”

Your head felt heavy as it lolled to the side, lashes fluttering lazily with each slow blink. The observation left your lips with surprising ease, delivered in the same matter-of-fact tone one might use to comment on the weather or the color of the sky.

He raised a pierced brow, his eyes impassive and his jaw drawn tight. 

“Pardon?” 

You smiled at him as if you were amused, before reaching out to grab the perspiring can from him, your soft fingers grazing his inked ones. 

How bold. 

If you were any more sober, maybe you would have refrained. Given him his space. Maintained the formal distance that had always existed between you. You frowned at the thought. 

You took a sip of his beer, a hearty sigh escaping your mouth as the cool liquid gave you some reprieve from the heat that permeated the room. 

An unreadable look crossed his face as his eyes locked in on where the gloss on your lips left a faint mark where his mouth had been just moments before. 

“You heard me, Kamo Choso.”

You regarded him for a moment, dark eyes probing him as if a dare.

And, despite his proclivity for solitude and his enjoyment of peace, at the end of the day, Kamo Choso was simply a man.  

Game. On.

He wordlessly fished out another pre-rolled joint from his stash, settling it between his pierced lips before sparking his lighter.

A moment passed. 

The movie played on in the background. 

Outside, the distant horns of late-night Osaka traffic drifted up to the third-floor apartment. 

He exhaled through his nose, letting the smoke unfurl between you, filling the space, before slowly turning his head to face you, his expression unreadable. 

“Address me casually.” He spoke coolly, his voice deep and just a touch scratchy. 

And it took a moment for your hazy brain to register the fact that he was not asking.

He tapped the joint against the ashpan on the table, before taking another drag. 

You swallowed, heat beginning to pool in your belly as your legs clenched subtly at his words.

It was almost a tease, watching his strong jaw work as he smoked in front of you, and seeing the glimpses of hard muscle rippling underneath his cut shirt. 

How gorgeous he was.

How breathtakingly intimidating. 

And before you could even have time to register your thoughts, he’s shifting closer to you, his hand mere millimeters away from your leg. 

“Open.” His voice was low and careful. 

You quietly obeyed.

And his eyes were focused solely on your pretty mouth, on the way your lips softly wrapped around the paper of the joint as he placed it gently between them. 

His large fingers brushed against your bottom lip, the metal of his rings cooling the heat on your skin, before tenderly grazing your jaw. 

You quickly took a few puffs, trying to conceal your reddening face behind the smoke. 

You removed the joint from your lips, letting it rest on the edge of the ashpan as you stole his beer again, doing anything you could to try and calm yourself down. 

The corners of his mouth curled into a knowing grin. 

“-And for the record,” he leaned in, his hand moving to rest against your knee, the warmth of his skin searing straight through the thin fabric of your tights. “I don’t share my weed with people I don’t like.” 

And his face was so close to yours that you could see the flecks of gold in his glazed eyes, the smooth lines of his tattoo that ran across his nose, the reflection of the TV light within his brow piercings, and the way his tattoos crawled up his forearms and curled around his neck.

Your head began to spin.

The steady warmth in your belly began to manifest an embarrassing amount of slickness between your thighs.

There was no denying it.

He was attractive. So damn captivating. 

So really, you couldn’t help it when the following words tumbled out of your sweet, sweet mouth:

“I think I’m gonna need more proof than that, Cho-so-kun~” 

And despite your light, breathless voice and wavering grin, Kamo Choso was oh, so serious as he pulled you into his lap, muscular arms working to situate yourself on top of him as your dress rode up higher along your thighs.

Your hands instinctively reached out to prop against his hard chest, and the shock on your face had your mouth forming the cutest little ‘o’ for him. 

His chest was firm underneath the fabric of his shirt, and he smelt faintly of smoke and peppermint. 

The longer you sat on his lap, the more your breaths intertwined, his air becoming your own, and yours becoming his. 

You couldn’t help it as your hand drifted up the broad plane of his chest, your fingertips skimming over the fabric of his shirt before running over the slope of his tattooed neck. Your touch lingered along his jaw, thumb brushing gently against the cool metal of his shark bites 

So soft, so intimate.

He brought one of his hands to cup your own, keeping your palm pressed to his jaw, and your thumb resting against his lips.

“Deal.”

And then he’s turning his head to press his lips against your palm, mumbling something against your soft skin, before moving both of his large hands doowwnn your body, finding steady purchase on your hips, fingers spanning across your ass as he’s shifting you impossibly closer to him, until your warm cunt was pressed against his painfully large erection.

Your chest was now squished against his, your noses knocking, and your long lashes fluttering against his skin.

He could feel the stiffness of your nipples as it pressed into him, and he could smell the jasmine of your perfume that began to mix with the light perspiration on your neck. 

His lips were hovering yours, his breath shaky as he stared down at you. 

“Choso…” you all but whimpered to him.

And oh, how he loved hearing his name in your mouth. His dick lurched in his pants. 

Which is why he’s sticking his pierced tongue out, running it softly along your bottom lip, before languidly curling it up, letting it slip between the seam of your parted mouth as he finally, finally kisses you, sucking you in, savoring the sweetness of your saliva and the softness of your tongue. 

And you sighed, so prettily and dreamily as your eyes fluttered closed. 

You could feel the heaviness of his erection now as it pressed against your clothed cunt, the tights you were wearing doing absolutely nothing to hide the pathetic dampness that already began to soak through.

His large hands began to roam, rubbing circles into your hips before running down to your thighs, slipping his calloused fingers underneath the seam of your little black dress. And then pushing up, up, up along your legs until the skirtpiece is thoroughly bunched around your waist. 

And your mind was spinning, the head high from his weed making all of your senses feel so heightened. 

His hands felt rough and dominating. His tongue tasted like syrup and felt like sin. The cool metal of his piercings sent electrifying jolts straight through your overheated nerves and all the way down to your throbbing pussy. 

There was just something so addictive about him, the way he moved, the way he controlled the pace – something so captivating that all you could do was follow, willing your body into submission, making you want to obey. 

He released your bruised lips with a small haah~ 

You blinked up at him, your pretty eyes dazed and cutely confused as to why he was stopping now. 

His heart squeezed tightly in his chest. 

With one hand on your waist, he’s gently reaching around you, carefully picking up the joint that was still burning away on the ashtray, and then placing it between his lips. 

He inhaled slowly, methodically, letting his eyes lock with yours again, his gaze glassy and heavy-lidded.  

Such a pretty little thing, you were. 

And oh, how he wanted to keep you. 

Mark you and bite you and claim you for himself. 

Choso reached out, his large, ringed fingers lightly wrapping around your neck as he pulled you closer, pressing his mouth against yours again as he let the smoke lazily unfurl inside of you. 

And the smile on his face was nothing short of sleazy as he felt another gush of slick escape through the now translucent material of your tights.

“Mhhhn. Easyy there,” he all but drawled into your ear, his hand still firm against your throat. 

You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, your core twisting with embarrassment, shame and… arousal? 

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, before resting the joint between your lips as he uses his other hand to lift the material of your tights higher, drawing the fabric taught to enunciate the folds and dips of your pussylips underneath. 

He sucked a heavy breath in, his dick twitching at the sight of the soaked fabric, your quivering lips, and the impressively large dark spot that you were making on his pants just from kissing alone. 

He was such a fucking goner.

“‘M not even close to done with ya yet,” he breathed, his chest starting to rise and fall almost erratically. “Not even close to provin’ to you…” his glassy eyes were slowly growing wild as his brain seemed to register something.

“Proof… You wanted proof, babygirl?” His low voice came out rough and partly delirious. He didn’t even give you a chance to speak before he’s using his large hand to cup your sex, the heat of his palm against you making you clench in anticipation. 

You could feel your heartbeat throbbing in your pussy, pounding to a beat almost similar to his name.

Cho-so. Cho-so. Cho-so. 

“I’ll show ya’ proof-” 

And then he’s riiiipping the flimsy fabric of your tights apart, until your bare cunt lay fully on display before him. 

“-And you’re gonna take it. ” 

You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he’s pushing you down, down, down until your upper body rested against the cushions of his couch. 

He leaned forward, holding the dying joint to your lips, letting you take another hit before he finished it off, taking one long drag before crushing the roach into the ashtray. 

You try to keep the smoke inside of you for as long as you can, letting it settle in your lungs and course through your blood. 

And it seemed like he was of a similar mindset as you. 

Except, instead of exhaling into the already hazy air of his living room, he’s leaning down, until his flushed face is nestled between your damp thighs, his tattooed nose pressed firmly against your exposed clit, and his soft mouth latching onto your drenched  pussylips as he blows the smoke inside you for yet the second time that night. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, kiss-bitten lips tugged between your teeth, and cheeks flushed a sensual shade of rouge.

Everything was just so incredibly warm.  

“Choso–!” 

“Haah– this what ya’ wanted all along right? You just wanted me.” He’s lapping you up, licking fat, messy stripes against your folds, talking against your pussy almost breathlessly. “Say it. Say that you just want me. That you just need me.”

And your jaw is hinging, mouth parting, the words forming at the tip of your tongue–

Squeellchhh~ 

“Yess! Good girl! Such a good fuckin’ girl.” 

It’s only then that you realize he was never even talking to you to begin with - in fact, he wasn’t just talking against your pussy, but to it.

You moaned, your chest heaving, your skin buzzing with every touch of his fingers and every lick by his tongue. You squirmed as he draagged his piercing through your folds, the smooth metal tracing a cool path on your blazing skin. 

You could hear the sound of your blood pounding loud in your ears now, your heartbeat wild in your chest. Everything felt like too much, and not enough, all at the same time. 

“M-more, Cho. Need more.” You panted out, your glassy eyes staring back up at him pleadingly. 

“That so?” He grunted, the words reverberating throughout your cunt as he spoke between your lips. 

You nodded, a tear slipping from your eye as the heat in your belly grew. 

“Then get louder.”

And there was absolutely nothing that could’ve prepared you for when he pressed his pierced tongue against your clit, letting the metal ball press firm as he plunged his thick, ringed fingers inside of you, fucking into your tightness, pumping in and out and in and out, hitting and pressing and massaging that sensitive lil’ bundle of nerves deep within your velvety pussy. And you’re gasping shamelessly, your breah hitching and your back arching and your voice breaking as he’s fucking his fingers impossibly deeper, crooking them up until you saw stars. 

You could feel yourself beginning to cream around him, your juices messily splattering across his maw. 

And the way he was staring up at you had your tummy twisting in on itself, the unyielding heat pooling in your pussy growing hotter and hotter. 

He stared at you through glassy eyes and heavy lids, his cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink, sweat running down his temples, and his warm tongue swirling his name onto your clit in agonizing lil’ loops. 

Cho-so, Cho-so, Cho-so~

It was divine. It was hot. It was messy and wet and so fucking good.  

You began to chant his name like it was the only one you knew, like you forgot your own entirely, like you didn’t even fucking care  – because all that did matter was the wet sounds of his mouth sucking your clit and the squelching of your pussy as it echoed throughout the heavily smoke-filled room. 

And you were doing so well, crying his name on both your lips, that he didn’t ever want to stop. 

So, it nearly broke him when he had to release your clit with a little paah~ 

He leaned back, one of his hands still fucking his fingers inside of you as the other worked on unbuttoning his pants. His rhythm faltered for only a fraction of a second as he tugged aside his briefs, releasing his cock with a heavy thump! against his hard abdomen. 

And…

Holy shit. 

Your wide eyes ogled at him as your mind fully fucking short-circuited. 

He was large. 

He was pierced. 

And he was inked. 

You let in a small gasp, your glassy eyes trying to take it all in: the tattoos that wrapped around his base, the sheer fatness of his girth, the angry veins that climbed up his cock, and the glinting metal on the underside of his shaft. 

Another warm gob of slick slipped languidly past your lips, making a trail through your soaked folds before finding home on the damp couch cushions below.

And a burst of pride swelled in Kamo Choso’s chest at the way you were looking at him, at the way your pretty pussy was crying to him: so cute, so pathetic, so needy. 

He swatted his hand against your swollen cunt, relishing in the little aah~ that escaped your kiss-bitten lips. 

“You’ve been doin’ so well, babygirl,” he breathed. 

And you were so dazed, so stoned and blissed out that all you could do was whimper in response. 

Slowly, he pulled his ringed fingers out of you, his hand and wrist soaked fully in your release. He hummed, a proud smile pulling across his features as he languidly wiped your juices over his already leaking cock, before slowly, teasingly jerking himself off. 

It was transfixing, to say the least – watching as he gripped himself at the base, his heavy dick bobbing as he pumped himself, pushing thick pearls of pre-cum up, up, up through his slit. 

His breath stuttered as you reached out, curiously tracing your fingers along the underside of his shaft, pausing his ministrations. 

“I thought…” you began, your eyes locked onto where the veins on his dick pulsed in anticipation. “I thought you still had somethin’ to prove to me?” And your eyes were wide and doe-like as you menacingly spread his gooey pre all over his throbbing tip.

“Oh I do, don’t I,” he drawled, leaning over your body, caging you in, as his hips dipped down to meet against yours. “How could I even forget.”  

And then he’s slipping his cock against your soaked folds, coating himself further in your slick, rolling his hips so that you could feel him, all of him, from base to tip. 

You mewled at the sensation of his heavy dick pressed against you, using you, and the metal of his piercing meanly rubbing past your pulsing clit. 

“There ya go,” he crooned, his mouth licking hot stripes by your ear. “Jus’ like that now. I like it when you're loud f’me.”

And he keeps his pace, rubbing against you, letting the weight of his leaking tip tease lightly against the tightness of your hole, before retreating, always retreating, slipping and sliding against you in painstaking loops. 

You could almost cry. 

You could almost scream. 

And then you’re clawing at his back, at his hair. Digging crescents into his shoulders. Begging him to go. Begging him to do something. Begging him to fuck you. 

And the grin that formed on his face was positively wicked. 

“Deal.”

And then he’s presssingg his thick cockhead against your entrance, the cool metal of the piercing rubbing against your warm lips, as you slowly began to swallow his tip whole.

You’re gasping, your hole stretching to accommodate for his girth, for the extra metal that he wore on his skin.. 

“Holy fu–” his eyes screwed shut, his breath ragged, and his chest rising and falling erratically at the sensation of your warm, gooey walls wrapping around him in an overwhelming kiss, squishing and massaging against the sensitive underside of his tip.

He could’ve nutted right then and there, your wet pussy squeelching as you squeezed around him. 

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“Fuck, you’re just a cruel lil’ thing, aren’t ya?” 

And you don’t even have time to respond, don’t even have time to think, because he’s forcing himself in, spearing your gummy walls apart, burrowing his dick deep within you until it felt like you could feel the metal of his piercing practically smooching against your cervix.

Your eyes roll back into your head, the air feeling as if it had been knocked from your lungs from the sheer length of him. 

“Haah~ knew my baby could do it f’me,” his deep voice cracked, his glassy eyes wild as he gripped firmly onto your hips. He started to buck into you, fucking himself deeper and deeper, until all you could hear was his skin slapping against yours as he molded your pussy to the shape of him, rubbing his cockhead against your g-spot savagely, ruthlessly, animalistically. 

“Knew you’d be able to take it,” he was grunting now, his words choppy and he veins on his neck popping from the sheer force of his dick pounding against your cunt. “Knew you’d feel this good while I prove to ya how much I fuckin’ like ya.”

Your traitorous heart swelled at his words, your tummy fluttering, pleasure building, and your pussy gripping onto his cock like a lifeline. 

His pierced mouth found yours again, his tongue meeting yours in a messy french. Drool started to spill from your lips as his pace quickened, the wet sound of his balls smacking against your soaked cunt filling the hazy air around you. Everything was getting hotter, stickier, clumsier. His hips were beginning to stutter, and his breaths were coming out in short, quick pants. 

And his tip just kept pressing exactly into that spot you needed most, the smooth metal of his piercing rubbing your nerves in ways that had your toes curling, skin tingling, and head absolutely reeling. 

And you could feel it – your legs trembling, your ears ringing, the absolute peaks of your orgasm rippling and running through your body in overwhelming waves as his fat, leaking cock fucks into your womb. 

“Shit–I’m–” his jaw tensed, his muscles flexing as he willed himself not to cum. 

His dick was almost halfway outside of your gooey hole when you blinked up at him, teary eyed. 

“C-Cho…” you were barely coherent, sputtering and gasping. “More.” And then you’re wrapping your legs around him, locking him in, pressing him flush against you, pushing his cock back inside you, refusing to let him go. “Need more proof,” you whispered. 

And oh, of course he had to oblige. 

Especially for you. 

Especially like this. 

“Yes, babygirl” was all he could breath out as he messily fucked you through your orgasm, pumping his cock in and out and in and out of your squelching pussy. 

He watched, entranced, as he could see the soft bulge of himself in your tummy from where his dick was buried within you. 

It was just all too much, too warm and soft and wet and tight, that his vision turned blurry, his lungs squeezing, and his chest heaving, as his thick, ropey cum forcefully painted your womb white, stuffing you full. 

And, despite the absolute mess, he tenderly pressed a kiss to your temple, letting his mouth rest against your skin as he shallowly fucked his seed inside you, riding through the peaks of his own high.

For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that, his body warm as you breathed in each other’s air.

“Stay tonight?” His voice was soft, almost uncertain. 

Your heart tugged against your ribs. 

“Okay.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You snuck out of his bed before he had the chance to wake.

You blamed it on work. On responsibility. On the long list of reasons that made leaving feel like the right thing to do.

It was for the best, you kept repeating to yourself.

The two of you had been stoned last night. Perhaps even a little crossed. Those were all facts. 

And this was not your first hook-up. You knew how it always went. You knew that by the time he would wake, you’d see it on his face: the embarrassment, the awkward realization, and the forced post-sex niceties

You knew how it worked – so why risk spoiling a beautiful(ly perverted) memory? 

Your heart squeezed, and your stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot.

It was nice, for what it was worth. 

Your thoughts were a blur as you hurried back to your apartment, too focused on putting distance between yourself and the warmth you’d left behind. And it wasn’t until you sat down at your desk that you noticed your phone was still dead, its screen dark and lifeless in your hand.

He never charged it. 

You sighed, plugging the device into power as you began to ready yourself for the work day ahead.

And it was only after you finished making yourself a cup of coffee and settling down into your chair when your phone finally lit up. 

.

.

3 missed messages from “Sugu”

1 missed call from “Sugu”

9 missed messages from “UTAHIME <33”

21 missed messages from “Gojo (Block L8r)”

5 missed calls from “Shokkkkko”

1 missed message from Unknown Number. 

Oh?

You pressed into the latest message.

.

. 

Unknown (01:07):  txt me when u wanna make it permanent. X

Your brow furrowed as you read the text again.

The hell did that even mean?

You glanced up, pondering the message until your eyes briefly caught your own reflection in the mirror across from your desk.

And there, just visible above the collar of your shirt, was a swirl of dark red ink peeking through the fabric.

Your breath hitched quietly.

Slowly, you hooked a finger beneath your collar and pulled it down, revealing tidy, elegant, deliberate strokes. 

脹相の

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"Choso’s"

a/n: apologies if this got poopy this was totally meant to be a lot shorter than i made it. arf.