his words are followed by a disgruntled sigh and the sound of retreating footsteps.

you think you’re alone. you try to take a deep breath, a shuddering inhale that does little to calm the beating of your heart. you need to compose yourself enough to leave this disgusting bathroom and figure out how you’re getting back to your dorm. your ex is definitely not your ride anymore. your phone is dead, so no uber. and the thought of walking the mile and a half back to your dorm alone, in the dark, is terrifying.

your head snaps up as the lock clicks and the door swings open.

satoru is standing there, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders. he’s not wearing the obnoxious sunglasses you usually see perched on his nose, and his ridiculously blue eyes, the color of summer skies , are full of concern that seems so out of place on him.

“shit, sorry,” he says, his voice much softer than it was a second ago. “the lock on this door is whack. if you twist it enough it clicks open. i just wanted to uhh. . . you okay?”

you just stare at him, tears still trickling down your face. “i’m fine,” you lie

he doesn’t buy it for a second. he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, effectively blocking out the worst of the noise from the party below. he leans against the counter, giving you space.

“that was your boyfriend, right?” he asks, nodding vaguely toward the door. “. . . the guy you were yelling at earlier.”

“ex-boyfriend,” you correct, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, the skin coming away wet and smudged with black.

“ahh shit," he says sympathetically. “that sucks.”

“yeah,” you sigh, another sob wracking your body, “it really, really sucks.”

“don’t waste your tears on him,” he frowns, brows furrowing. “he’s not worth a single one, ‘kay?”

you look down at your hands, twisting a loose thread on your jeans until it threatens to snap. the small, repetitive motion is the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart again. “i don’t know what to do,” you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush, “we came together and my phone’s dead and i just. . . i can’t be here anymore.”

he’s silent for a moment and you brace yourself for the ‘sounds like a you problem’, the kind of dismissal you’d expect from someone like him. instead, he shifts, pushing off the counter to stand before you.

“fair enough,” he says. “first, we’re getting you out of this gross bathroom. then we’re getting you home.”

your head snaps up. “but—”

“no cuts, no buts, no coconuts,” he cuts in, and despite everything, a watery snicker escapes you. “i’ve got you. i’m not letting you walk home alone this late. i’ve been drinking, so i can’t drive, but i can walk with you. it’s not a problem.”

satoru gojo — the guy who’s rumored to have a different girl in his bed every weekend — is the last person you’d expect to show you even a hint of kindness. you’re not even sure if he knows your name.

“are you serious?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper

“dead serious,” he holds out a hand. for a beat, you just stare at his long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, then up at his face. he waits patiently until you finally place your hand in his.

he pulls you to your feet effortlessly. you sway a little, unsteady from the crying and the stuffy air of the bathroom, and his other hand comes up to steady you, hovering just above your elbow before dropping away,

a fresh wave of embarrassment washes over you as you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror over the sink. it’s worse than you thought. your face is blotchy and swollen, your eyes are rimmed red, and your mascara has created smudgy, black circles under your eyes that make you look like a raccoon. you groan, turning away from your reflection and pressing your face into your hands.

“i look awful,” you murmur into your palms, the words muffled. “i can’t have anyone see me like this.”

“‘s nothing a little damage control can’t fix,” satoru says, turning toward the sink and grabbing a few squares of toilet paper from the roll. he runs them under the faucet until they’re a damp clump. “it’s not the fancy skincare stuff you girls usually use,” he admits, holding up the damp wad of paper, “but it should work.”

he turns back to you, the wad of toilet paper balanced between his fingers. he takes a step closer, and you instinctively stiffen, your body tensing.

he moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. you don’t. his fingers gently cup your jaw to hold your head still. his touch is feather-light, his thumb rests softly on the curve of your cheekbone and it’s oddly comforting. your eyes flutter shut as he gently dabs at the mascara smudges under your eyes. he manages to wipe away the worst of the mess without being too rough

“there,” he hums softly, dropping the damp paper into the trash and letting his hand fall away. you immediately miss the warmth of it. “better?”

you open your eyes and risk a glance in the mirror. you still look like you’ve been crying, but you no longer look like a character from a tim burton movie.

“yeah,” you sigh, your voice barely audible. “better.”

“good,” a small, genuine smile finally graces his lips

“why are you being so nice to me?” you turn away from the mirror to look at him directly.

“i don’t like seeing pretty girls cry,”

the words hang in the air between you, “oh,” you murmur, because you can’t think of anything tangible to say.

he clears his throat, his easygoing smile sliding back into place. “c’mon, let’s get you out of here.” he holds out his hand again, and this time you don’t hesitate.

satoru keeps a firm hold on your hand as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the party. he uses his broad shoulders to part the crowd, people seem to naturally move aside for him. you keep your head down, focusing on the scuffed linoleum floor

just as you’re nearing the hallway that leads to the front door, a figure detaches itself from a group lounging on a nearby couch and blocks your path. it’s suguru geto, satoru’s other half, the vice president to his president. equally as infamous around campus.

“there you are, satoru,” suguru says, his eyes flicking from satoru to you, and then down to your intertwined hands. “toji and sukuna are talking mad shit again. come play beer pong with us.”

satoru doesn't even break stride, he keeps pulling you gently along. “maybe when i get back.”

“get back from where exactly?” suguru raises a brow, he glances at you again, a look of genuine confusion crossing his features as he tries to place you, and comes up empty.

satoru finally stops, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. he tilts his head in your direction. “walking her home.”

the shift in suguru’s expression is immediate. his lips part slightly, his eyes widening as the pieces fall into place. he opens his mouth to say something teasing that would make your face burn with embarrassment. but before he can get a single word out, satoru is already shaking his head. ‘don't.’

suguru’s mouth snaps shut. he narrows his amber eyes, looking between your tear-streaked face, your clasped hands, and the uncharacteristically serious look on his best friend’s face. a knowing grin spreads across his lips.

“right, right,” he laughs, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door with a sweep of his arm. “you two have fun.”

as satoru pulls you past him, you catch suguru muttering under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear over the loud music “about damn time, you idiot.”

you don’t understand the full weight of his words

you don’t know that satoru has pointed you out to suguru countless times before, wayyy back during orientation week when you were all freshmen trying to figure out where your classes were.

you don’t know that he calls you ‘the pretty girl with the sketchbook’ . you have no idea that for the past two years, satoru gojo has been nursing an unrequited crush on you — the girl who always seems to be in her own world, a world he desperately wants to be a part of.

all you know is that the campus player is currently leading you out into the cool night air, his hand warm and steady in yours. and for some reason, it feels right

you catch a glimpse of your ex laughing with his friends by the beer pong table, completely oblivious. he doesn’t even notice satoru pulling you through the doorway. it stings, but it’s duller now

cars are lined up haphazardly along the street outside the frat house. people are sitting on the hoods, vaping, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of their geek bars. a few call out to satoru as you pass, but he barely acknowledges them. one of his ex-flings is glaring at you from the porch, whispering to her friends as she stares at your interlocked hands.

“which way?” he asks, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. he seems to realize he’s still holding your hand and lets go of it suddenly, shoving his hands in his pockets. you rub your arm nervously

you point to the left side of the street. “that way. it’s like, a twenty-minute walk on a good day.”

“cool,” he says, falling into step beside you. you walk in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the distant thump of the party fading behind you and the scuff of your shoes on the pavement. his eyes are fixed on you while yours are locked on the cracks in the sidewalk,

“so, what did he do?” he pipes up, then immediately seems to regret it. “actually nevermind i probably shouldn’t be asking that right now—”

“he’s been cheating on me,” you sigh, “he gave me his phone so i could text my roommate and i had a gut feeling so i went through it and—” your breath hitches

“oh fuck don’t cry again,” satoru frowns

“sorry it’s just . . . ”

“don’t apologize either,” he says, “none of this is your fault.”

“we were together for eight months,” you sigh, the admission feeling heavy in the cool night air. “i thought. . . i don’t know. i thought everything was good. i thought he loved me.”

“he’s an idiot,” satoru says, so matter-of-factly that it makes you believe him. “anyone who would cheat on you is either blind or just plain fucking stupid.”

“you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“nah i’m saying it ‘cause i mean it,” he shakes his head.

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile at him with your watery eyes and he swears he feels his knees buckle. even with puffy eyes and a quivering lip you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

he musters up a smile and looks away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. you keep walking. the cool early spring air caresses your cheeks, carrying the smell of petrichor from a recent rain shower. you don’t notice him staring at you, or the way his gaze softens as he watches the streetlights cast your face in a fluorescent hue

you frown down at your phone. it’s completely dead and he wishes he’d offered to charge it for you in his room at the frat house so he could’ve spent more time with you. he wants to spend more time with you. he knows he may never get the opportunity again.

he’s grinning like the cheshire cat when your stomach lets out a loud growl and you look positively mortified.

“you hungry?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.

“a little,” you nod meekly, your stomach rumbling again in agreement. the crying and the vodka have made you feel hollow.

“me too,” he says. “there’s a konbini a couple minutes away, we can grab something to eat if you want.”

you end up stopping at the konbini. the store is a stark contrast to the cool darkness of the streets. you wander the aisles, your eyes landing on a shelf of instant ramen cups. nothing sounds better than a salty, savory meal

“ramen?” you ask, holding one up, “i get this brand a lot”

“you’ve got good taste” he says, grabbing one for himself. “i like this brand too”

you end up with a cup of spicy ramen, a strawberry milk, and a box of cookies n cream pocky. he grabs a bottle of water and pays for everything before you can even pull out your card, waving away your protests. he uses the hot water dispenser by the door to prepare your ramen, handing it to you with a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brush against yours.

you eat sitting on the curb outside the store, the steam warming your face. it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

“i feel bad for dragging you away from the party,” you say between slurps. “i’m sure your girlfriend is wondering where you are.”

“nah, i don’t have one,” he shakes his head, taking a sip of his water. “not really my thing.” he regrets the words the second they fall from his lips.

“not your thing?” you raise a brow. “you’re notorious for having girlfriends.”

his eyes crinkle as he laughs, a genuine, bright sound. “i’ve never had one.”

you don’t seem convinced.

“i’ve had girl friends,” he says, “i don’t really do labels.”

stop. fucking. talking. he groans internally.

“someone’s got commitment issues.” you hum

for most people? yeah. the thought of a relationship with the girls he fools around with makes him break out in hives. but you? he would commit to you in a heartbeat. he’d do everything under the sun and then some if you asked him to.

a cold breeze picks up, rustling the plastic bag from the konbini, and you shiver.

“cold?” he asks, already shrugging out of his jacket before you can answer.

“no, i’m fine,” you lie, your teeth chattering slightly, betraying you.

he drapes his jacket—a black and crimson varsity jacket with the frat’s letters stitched on the chest—over your shoulders. it’s heavy and warm, and it smells like him, a clean, sharp mix of cologne and something sweet, like vanilla

“i don’t need it,” you protest, even as you snuggle deeper into it

“you do,” he says, his voice soft. “it’s cold out.”

you accept defeat, finishing your ramen with his crossing jacket around you.

the rest of the walk passes in comfortable silence. you don’t feel the need to fill it with small talk, and he doesn’t seem to either. it’s just the sound of your footsteps on the pavement and the hum of the city. his jacket is a heavy around your shoulders and you find yourself unconsciously pulling it tighter.

before you know it, you’re turning the corner onto your street. your dorm building is a few paces down, tired-looking brick walls and a flickering porch light that casts long, dancing shadows on the sidewalk.

“i didn’t know you lived in the dorms,” he says, looking up at the building. he shoves his hands in his pockets, his thin t-shirt clinging to his frame in the cool air.

“mm my family lives a couple hours away, it’s convenient,” you mumble, suddenly feeling shy.

you trudge up the concrete steps together, the silence stretching between you. you fish around in your pocket for your keys, your fingers fumbling with the cold metal. you finally manage to get the key in the lock and push the heavy door open.

“well,” you start, shrugging out of his jacket. “thanks. for everything. really.” you hold it out to him. “i appreciate you walking me home. and paying for my ramen and stuff”

he looks at the jacket in your outstretched hand, then back at you. he doesn’t take it.

“keep it,” he says. what he doesn’t say is that it looks better on you than it ever will on him, the way the crimson fabric brings out your eyes, the way you seem to swim in it, small and delicate.

“what? no, i can’t. it’s your crossing jacket.” you feel heat rise to your cheeks. “isn’t this like, a huge deal for you frat boys?”

“yeah well. . .” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “i need a reason to see you again,” he says, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

you blink at him, completely taken aback. “oh. . right”

“yeah,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “get some sleep.” he gives you one last smile before turning and walking away. you watch him until he turns the corner, his silhouette disappearing into the night.

you stand there for a long moment, the cool air raising goosebumps on your arms, before you finally turn and head inside. you shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a second, letting out a long, slow breath.

you shrug the jacket off your shoulders, intending to just drop it on a chair, but as you do, something slips from the inner pocket and flutters to the floor. it’s a small, crumpled piece of paper.

you bend down to pick it up, it’s the receipt from the konbini. you’re about to crumple it up and toss it towards the trash can, but you see the faint blue lines of ink on the back. in messy, scrawling handwriting is a phone number. and underneath it, a short message:

keep the jacket!!! text me if you wanna hang out some time - satoru :p

you stare at the note, a soft smile spreading across your face, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. satoru gojo is so , so much sweeter than you expected.

Your eyes roll back down.

“Mhm.”

"And it was such a good question.”

You turn a page. "Really?”

“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”

You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."

It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.

It had not.

Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—

…

Wait.

Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?

Fucking great.

“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”

Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?

With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby.  But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.

He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…

Oh.

That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.

Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”

It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.

“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"

“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.

But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.

“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”

Lips parting, you blink.

…why is he so observant?!

For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.

You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”

His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”

Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.

Oh.

Way too observant.

Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.

His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”

Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”

You blink.

Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.

Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.

After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?

Last month, you still answered her phone calls.

Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.

Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

“Oh—uh, hi mom!”

Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.

“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”

“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.

Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”

“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"

"—have you booked your flight yet?"

Your mouth flattened.

Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.

“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”

“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”

A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.

Every week is a crazy week?

Yeah. No shit.

Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.

You’re the one people relied on.

Just… never the one people chose.

“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”

“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”

…

Keep forgetting?

She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?

How convenient that she forgot that.

The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”

"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”

Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.

No thanks.

“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”

“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”

Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.

Shit.

“I-I—I didn’t say—"

“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”

“—Mom, I—"

“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”

Love?!

Who has time for that?

And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!

“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”

And she was off.

Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.

“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”

Click!

And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.

‘We’ve been so worried.’

…

If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?

Funny how that works.

Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.

“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”

Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.

The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.

But…

None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?

“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”

“Huh?”

Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.

“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”

“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”

For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.

But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"

“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”

And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.

"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"

“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”

Why does he sound… bitter?

No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.

You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"

He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"

Your lips purse.

What does he care? He’s not your mother.

“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”

“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”

You frown.

What the fuck are you supposed to say!?

Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.

Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”

“But I—”

“Drop it.”

He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.

“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”

The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.

God.

Of all the places to hit.

“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.

He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"

“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”

Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.

His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.

Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”

“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”

Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.

“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"

“Oh, finally.”

Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.

Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"

You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.

Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.

Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.

You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.

It doesn’t.

And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.

Un-fucking-believable.

He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.

…

He could fire Kento.

Should he fire Kento?

As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.

'Grow up, Satoru.'

'Apply yourself, Satoru.'

'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'

Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.

Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!

He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.

The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.

It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.

“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”

His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”

The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”

"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”

“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”

…

Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?

Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.

“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”

"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"

"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."

He’s been her intern for that long.

That’s the question, right?

"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”

He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.

“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”

Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.

"…sorry. Who is thi—"

“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"

Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:

📞 Mom

Oh.

Oh, shit.

This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—

"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"

"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”

"Stop. I-I really think—"

“—Satoru, what are you doing?’

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.

Oh, fuck.

“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.

He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.

“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"

"Mom."

"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"

"I'm at work. Gotta go."

"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"

Click!

The phone sits in your hand like evidence.

And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.

“Sooo… funny story…”

“—what did you do?!”

Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.

Great. Fucking great.

You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.

But cry?

Never.

And this had his fingerprints all over it.

"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"

"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"

Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.

God. How fucking humiliating.

"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."

“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”

Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.

God. Stop it.

Stop it stop it stop it.

Think.

Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.

But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.

…what look will she give you when you show up alone?

"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"

Single.

The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.

And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.

"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"

You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”

"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.

"Huh… okay."

Okay what?

You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."

No biggie?

Your mouth dropped.

That wasn’t even an option, was it?

…is he crazy?

“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."

You stared at him. Genuinely stared.

Oh. He wasn’t kidding.

Yup. He’s crazy.

"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."

“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"

He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.

"…that is not the point."

“Mm… feels a little like the point."

He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."

He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.

…

His family’s in Japan too?

You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.

But…

"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."

Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.

"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."

"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"

Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.

“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”

He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?

Shit…

That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂‍↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖

well, not exactly. toji zenin has his biceps flexing under the weight of crates but his eyes don’t lift to the shelf he places them on. instead his pupils flit to the automatic entrance doors, thick & glass-heavy, before he glances at his watch & back to the door again. 12:30 PM sunday. toji knows you should be here by now.

but you’re not, so toji’s lip twitches as he stares at the box of freezies in his arms and sighs. it’s pathetic, really. he’s got five more boxes of who-knows-what to arrange before the end of his shift but he can’t fucking focus. his mind’s on your short skirt & pretty laugh & the way your voice goes sweet whenever he pretends to help you look for items while holding your hand between the aisles. toji grunts, shakes his head. focus focus focus.

“toji.. can you help me reach the olive oil? the cold-pressed one with the pretty label?”

toji’s head snaps up so fast he almost drops the box of freezies.

it’s you—oh god, it’s you, and you’re looking down at him with those pretty lashes & short skirt & your hands holding a basket behind your back. you’re in those cute kitten heels you had on the first time he saw you—did you get your nails done? so pretty. you’re so pretty, you’re always so pretty, and toji’s mouth dries.

he doesn’t say anything because he can’t, because your perfume smells like honey & has his lungs sticking to his throat—but he slowly stands up anyway. you’re humming to yourself as you pad closer, getting in his way, heel clicking against the tile as he traps you in the aisle.

he reaches up to the glass bottle, and he can see your lashes fluttering up at him. your chest presses against his, and his lip ticks upward.

“you want this, princess?” he mumbles.

you playfully swat his chest, but your palm doesn’t slide off. you’re caressing his pecs now, teasing. “toji, give it to me. i have a pasta to make tonight. i’m busy.”

toji chuckles, slipping the bottle into your basket and letting his palm sneak over your waist instead. your hands are still on his pecs, lightly squeezing as you laugh when he tugs you closer. he nuzzles your jaw, murmuring, “only if i get an invite, sweetheart.”

“we’ll see,” you tease as his tongue licks your earlobe. you’re running a thumb over the silver tag on his chest: TOJI. “if you’re good, maybe i’ll let you wash the dishes.”

he kisses your neck. “m’always good for you, baby.”

you’re giggling now, shoving him away with flushed cheeks & a laugh too bright. toji catches your hands, tugging you back with a smile on his face before squeezing your hips. your lips are so glossy. is that the new gloss you bought last week? can he kiss it off?

he’ll never know, because he’s holding your hips while you tug at his collar and whisper something he doesn’t care about in his ear. his manager calls his name.

fuck.

toji gives your hips one last squeeze. “go pay, princess. i’ll bag your stuff.”

“you better.” you huff, spoiled & sweet, and toji can only watch the sway of your hips as you make your way to the register.

you’re a pretty girl with a posh life who will never know lack. toji’s a 24-year-old who’s still in college, working odd jobs with a son waiting at home.

in the third aisle of the local loblaws, toji zenin has his hands on his hips and his eyes on the ground. toji zenin will never say it out loud, but he knows he will never, ever, get the girl.

ⵌ AT THE FRATHOUSE !

“you can’t pull someone like y/n, no offense.”

toji wishes suguru wouldn’t spell it out. he already knows, for christ’s sake.

in sigma chi’s living room, toji zenin is sprawled out on the center rug while suguru and sato eat on the floor beside him. sato is between geto’s legs with his back against geto’s chest & his toe tickling toji’s jaw through his socks. suguru is tilting his shawarma for sato to bite from before taking a bite of his own.

sato’s about to dish out an insult of his own when the door swings open. in comes ryomen sukuna, standing in the doorway with bags in his hands and his limbs stretched out like some sort of clown. he bellows, “therapy fucking sucked today. i still don’t think i need therapy, by the way. watching porn and jerking off is completely normal—fuck you, suguru.”

“maybe it is,” suguru’s lips are sticky with shawarma sauce, “but having your dick out in the same room as other people is not.”

“a young man can’t be an exhibitionist? suck my dick, man.”

“oh, i’m not hungry..”

sukuna trudges over toji’s legs, then plops on the ground opposite sato and suguru. sato throws him the middle finger with a grin. sukuna throws it back. “i brought drinks. toji, why’re you on the floor? ya need therapy too?”

sato snickers. “toji’s fallen for a rich girl.”

sukuna snorts, “don’t even joke, lad.” but suguru and toji aren’t laughing. his brows scrunch. “wait—“ he turns to toji, “you’re serious?”

toji eyes him. “mind your own business.”

sukuna doesn’t believe in complex schools of thought like ‘minding your business.’ so instead of picking a shawarma for himself and eating in silence, he joins sato and nudges his foot against toji’s cheek. “does she know you’re poor?”

“hey, hey,” geto bites his cheek, “not too much on him.”

but sukuna continues. “what about the kid? does she know you have a son?”

toji’s jaw only tightens.

sukuna looks at toji in disbelief. then at sato, then suguru—then shakes his head, laughing. “jesus christ of jollof rice,” he cracks open a beer, “you’re fucking cooked, bro.”

toji drags his hands over his face. his eyes are hot, for some reason.

suguru sighs, resting his chin on sato’s head as sato munches happily underneath him. “i hate to suggest this, but there’s a way you can get her to give you a chance.”

sukuna and toji both perk up.

“if she doesn’t know about meg—or your, uh, economics,” suguru clears his throat, “then you keep it that way. she thinks you’re some hot older uni student who works at loblaws for beer money. lean into it.”

sato frowns. “this sounds like something i’d suggest. so not good, i think.”

suguru pokes his cheek, making sato’s pout grow deeper. “i’m just spit-balling here. it’s obvious you really like her, toji. and megumi needs a mommy.”

“i don’t like her because i want her to play housewife.”

“we know,” suguru’s smile is affectionate. “that’s why we’ll help you.”

sukuna grunts in agreement. “sounds scummy but it makes sense. if she finds out you’re a baby daddy with no money, she’ll just run back to her range rover.” he takes another swig of his beer. “we’ll help you hide your true identity. you just get her hooked enough that when she eventually does find out, she won’t leave.”

sato nods. “we’ll babysit. lend you money. heck—you can drive my porsche to your dates.”

on the floor, toji zenin is staring towards the ceiling. it’s a stupid plan, his frat brothers are even stupider, and there is no way in hell whoever is up there will actually let things work out in his favor.

but toji’s desperate. he has been for a long time. so before he can let himself think about it, his lips part to respond.

“alright,” he grunts. “let’s fucking do it.”

SIGMA CHI’S REMARK : DON’T WORRY BRO, WE GOTCHU !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #2: WHO’S YOUR DADDY ?

taught by: sato, sukuna, suguru

“babysitting a five year old brat. how hard could that be?”

ΣΧ

megumi zenin is tufts of black hair, sleepy blue eyes & a tiny fist in a jar full of gummy worms. he’s slumped against his dad’s thick leg, shoving fistfuls of gummies in his mouth with candy-smeared cheeks & a bored expression on his face.

sato, sukuna and suguru are side-by-side on a straight line.

hands tucked behind their backs & chests puffed out like soldiers. toji clears his throat. “listen up. i’m going to be gone for exactly two hours. if i come back and the kid has a single scratch on him, i’m throwing all of you into a pond.“

suguru shakes his head, stepping forward to crouch down to megumi’s height. he wipes megumi’s cheeks with a smile. “don't worry, toji. we've got him. right, little man?”

“hi, uncle sugu,” megumi’s voice is flat but he leans into geto’s palm on his cheek. “are we going to draw today?”

“of course, kiddo. i bought some new crayons just for you.”

toji scoops his son up in his arms, ignoring the way his tiny body writhes towards the gummy worms abandoned on the floor. suguru lifts the jar back to megumi with a smile. sukuna, however, is frowning. “why is his face like that.”

“sukuna, do not fight my kid.”

megumi points towards him. “my daddy calls you a pervert.”

sato bursts out in laughter. suguru’s snickering too, though he’s doing a better job of hiding it. toji drops his son to the ground and crouches to his height. megumi offers him a soggy, wet gummy worm. toji eats it off his palm & pokes his belly.

he rises to his feet. “suguru is in charge. rest of you, keep your hands off him. i’m leaving.”

megumi waves a sticky hand. “bye, daddy. bring me a cookie.”

“will do, brat.” and the door shuts with a thud.

——

“we should go to wonderland. you like amusement parks, ‘gumi?”

megumi zenin has a crayon in his hands, scribbling furiously with a focused expression on his face. he’s seated in geto’s lap, occasionally having suguru hand him a crayon as he perfects his artistic masterpiece. to his right, sato gojo is leaning over the table and talking a mile-a-minute.

megumi answers, scribbling a drawing of what looks like him and his father—DADDY AND ME. “i’ve never been to an amusement park.”

“what?” sato slams his palm on the table, distraught. “what kind of kid has never been to an amusement park?!”

“my father is poor.”

“oh,” sato shrinks. “fairs.”

suguru lets out a fond huff, burying his nose in megumi’s hair to hide the fact that he’s shaking from laughter. sato looks crushed by guilt. “i can’t take this anymore, suguru.” he clutches his chest. “we’re going to the apple store and getting him an ipad pro right now.”

suguru raises a brow. “toji said no screens. and either way, i won’t let you turn him into an ipad kid.”

megumi slumps against geto’s chest. “i want a blue gatorade.”

“i’ll get it for you, buddy,” suguru smiles before kissing his cheek, easing him off his lap. “don’t let sato teach you about investment and stocks while i’m gone, okay?”

sato has his chin on the table, defeated. and just as suguru’s back turns into the kitchen, sukuna saunters in, steps heavy, palm curled around a blue bottle of—is that the last gatorade?!

sukuna cracks the plastic seal, taking a slow, heavy swig of the drink while staring right at the five year old. megumi’s tiny brows furrow. “that’s mine. uncle sugu said i could have it.”

“well,” sukuna licks his lips, slow. “uncle sugu’s not the king of this house.” he takes another gulp, throwing his head back with a refreshed ahhhhhh. megumi frowns, lips tight.

and then he screams.

“uncle sugu! mister pervert’s being mean again!”

sukuna chokes on his gatorade. “who the hell are you calling mister pervert, you little brat—“

sato jumps over the table to hold back sukuna before he can strangle the five-year-old. suguru runs out of the kitchen in alarm, quickly scrambling to hold back sukuna’s wrath alongside sato.

megumi only blinks at the display. three grown men bickering and shoving over gatorade. hell, he’s not so sure he even wants it anymore.

he sighs, reaching across the table to pick up sato’s iphone. he dials his dad’s number, palm smushed into his cheek as he watches suguru smack sukuna for his bad behavior.

ⵌ AT THE DATE !

in the local coffee shop, your lashes are fluttering & the sunlight kisses your skin as you stare out the window.

toji zenin has his heart in his throat. his hands are in his pockets but his ribs are cracked against his chest, and the sight of you pouting out the window has his mouth drying with want. he strolls over regardless, posture lazy, steps cool, because toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

“hi, princess,” he slides into the booth seat—next to you, not across, because he’s been thinking about the feel of your waist in his hands since last thursday—and his ankle hooks around yours on autopilot.

“hi,” you smile, leaning into his side as he kisses your hair. toji takes your palm in his. your fingers are so dainty. fuck.

“you look nice today,” you hum. “who are you trying to impress?”

your lashes are batting up at him, but toji manages to keep his cool. his smirk is lazy & gorgeous. “you, obviously.”

toji wonders how you can let him touch you so casually. even now he’s nibbling your ear as you talk about something from class—a lazy professor or something else, it’s hard to listen when your thumb brushes his jaw while you speak—and toji’s mind wanders. he’s kissing your neck now, thumbs rubbing circles on your thighs as your breath hitches between words, and toji wonders why you haven’t yet flinched in disgust.

he doesn’t dwell on it too long, though. he knows the topic will only get him down.

so he kisses your neck as you laugh and swat him away, telling him he’s distracting you from your story. you never push him off, though, and your thigh’s on his lap now.

but all good things must come to an end.

toji’s phone buzzes.

loud & obnoxious. SATO, his screen reads. he quickly swipes it away. “sorry…just spam.”

“spam?” you poke his bicep, grinning. “or is your little side piece getting impatient?”

“don’t have a side piece, baby,” he murmurs into your cheek. “only want you.”

1 NEW FACETIME AUDIO CALL : SATO 🤡

his phone has been buzzing for ages now. you sigh, crossing your arms & clearly annoyed. “toji, just answer it. what if it’s an emergency?”

you’re right, he should answer it, because if anything happened to megumi, he’d fucking flip. he bites his lip, “one second, princess.”

he presses his phone to his ear, but megumi’s voice greets him instead.

“daddy! uncle kuna’s trying to kill me because of blue gatorade!”

toji’s eyes widen. from the corner of his eye, he can see you inching closer, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to listen in.

in the background of the call he can hear sato shrieking. “suguru—! use the spatula! use the spatula! sukuna stop—“

you’re blinking at him, inching closer to his bicep on the table. “daddy? who’s calling you daddy?”

toji’s soul leaves his body.

“daddy, are you coming home soon? uncle sugu’s spanking him now. it’s very loud—“

he ends the call before you can hear any more.

“do you have a son?”

toji’s breathing stutters. you’ve inched away from him now, lips bent in a frown, brows furrowed, expression curious—or cautious, toji can’t really tell. and it pains him to lie to you, but what else can he say when you’ve already shifted your thigh off his lap?

“nah,” he answers too fast. “it’s my nephew.”

toji reaches out to thumb your cheek, but you don’t relax into his palm. “think he meant to call my brother, not me.”

he tugs your bottom lip as you speak. “i didn’t know you had a brother…”

“there’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess,” he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, because he knows he doesn’t deserve any more than that. your pout deepens.

“we can change that though,” he lies, smiling. “wanna get dessert?”

SATO’S REMARK : NICE SAVE, TOJI ! AND MY BAD—HAHA !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #3: BLEACH !

taught by: geto suguru, toru gojo

“inviting her over already? we’ve gotta scrub this place clean, then.“

ΣΧ

toji zenin has one hour to make it seem like megumi doesn’t exist.

geto suguru is scrubbing the bathrooms. toru gojo has somehow been roped into this predicament and is scrubbing away in the kitchen. in the living room, toji zenin is picking up cheerios from the rug, phone in his ear with sukuna on the line.

“hi daddy,”megumi’s voice is flat through the speaker. “uncle kuna’s being nice to me today.”

“that’s great, kiddo. can you put him back on the phone?”

“yo,” sukuna’s voice crackles through.

“if anything happens to my son, i will spread your ass cheeks and sprinkle paprika in the hole.”

“oh.”

“yeah,” toji shifts the phone in his neck. “make sure he has a good time at that amusement park. and don’t let sato spoil him too much.”

“heyyy toji!” sato’s voice crackles through the speaker. toji sighs before grunting back a hello. “keep megumi safe, got it?”

“yes, sir!” / “we got it, boss.” / “bye, daddy!”

toji says his goodbyes. just as he clicks the end button, toru gojo pads into the living room, glasses tilting off his face & slipping rubber gloves off his hands. “all done in the kitchen. remind me why we’re deceiving this poor lady again?”

toji picks up a gummy worm tucked under the rug and cringes. “because she wouldn’t look twice at a broke guy with a kid.”

toru softens, adjusting his glasses. “you don’t know that. have you tried telling her?”

“no.”

“why not?”

"because,” he picks up another gummy worm hidden under the couch, glaring at it before throwing it away. "because every time someone finds out about megumi, they look at me different. like i'm a burden. like he's a burden."

toru purses his lip. he’s watching as toji ducks under the couch, picking out stray bits of cereal and snacks and other things that make toji’s nose scrunch up in disgust.

toru shakes his head, taking off his glasses to set them on the counter. “but you don’t know if she’s like that.”

“i know i can’t lose her before i even have her.”

toru purses his lip. toji’s voice came out too tight.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

when toji opens his front door, you’re in a too-short dress and there’s moët & chandon in your hands.

god, you’re gorgeous. and toji really needs to stop thinking that. needs to stop saying it in his head before he slips up and says it out loud with a tone he can’t take back.

“hi,” you tilt your head, batting your lashes in that way that makes him stupid. “you gonna keep standing there? or are you gonna take this bottle off my hands?”

ah, right. toji reaches for the bottle but you pull it back. he raises a brow.

“say ‘please pretty girl, may i have the wine?’”

you’re still peering up at him, hugging the bottle of wine to your chest, teasing smile on your glossy lips. toji leans against the doorframe. arms crossed, dark eyes raking over your hips, plush thighs, pretty waist. fuck.

his lips twitch, “i’m not saying that.”

“aww,” you pout, glossy and spoiled. “guess i have to turn back home and drink this expensive wine all by myself.” you turn, and toji bites his cheek because your dress has ridden up to give him the perfect view of your ass. so soft. he can’t wait to squeeze it.

“i’m gonna be so lonely…” your back is still turned to him, voice wistful. “and i came all the way over here, too. i’m so upset.”

toji doesn’t let you take another step.

you squeal as he scoops you up with a grunt, arms snaking over your waist & under your thighs to lift you bridal style. you squeeze the bottle of wine in your arms, eyes shut tight as you giggle while he kicks the door shut. “toji! put me down!”

careful what you wish for.

toji drops you to his couch with a thud. you land with a breathless laugh, dress bunched up to your hips & he can see the print of your panties. your hair is fanned out, and the bottle of wine is pressed to your stomach. you’re giggling, eyes bright, and god. you look so fucking gorgeous all laid out for him. toji’s jaw ticks.

he climbs over you, pressing his warm body down until the wine digs into your stomach. his eyes are dark. hungry.

“please, pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath hot, lips teasing your neck. “may i have the wine?”

oh.

your breath hitches. you stare up at him, cheeks hot, eyes wide, thighs squeezing together in anticipation. but you’re a bad girl, so you don’t give toji zenin what he wants just yet.

your smile falters, but you tilt your head. “thought you weren’t gonna say it?”

he grins, pressing a hot kiss underneath your ear. “and i thought you were leavin’.”

you let out a shaky gasp as toji licks a hot stripe up your neck. he’s filthy—big hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned to the couch, squeezing you hard each time you moan and buck yourself into him. his breath is hot against your neck, sucking and kissing and teasing, the occasional nip when you whimper just the way he likes.

his weight presses the wine harder into your stomach. you gasp, “toji, the wine—“

“hold it, baby.”

your eyes squeeze shut as his kisses trail further down your neck, tummy fluttering as heat pools between your thighs. his thumb on your hip sinks under the silk of your panties, and you whine his name before he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your cheek.

toji doesn’t kiss you on the lips. the lips are too honest, and toji is not.

you’re still clutching the bottle, chest heaving as toji presses your hips deeper, deeper—

“ow!”

toji freezes.

in truth, toji zenin has never been a gentle man. his body is too big and his hands are too rough, and life itself has never treated him gently, nor given him much reason to be gentle towards others. but as toji hovers over you, limbs frozen in alarm, his stomach can’t help but twist with disgust. said body and rough hands have crushed something soft yet again.

“did i hurt you?” his voice comes out weird. “doll—look at me. you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you wince, cheeks flushed as you try to steady your breathing. you twist your leg slightly, sliding your fingers down into the sofa cushion where something sharp poked at you. “something... something poked my leg.”

you pull out a tiny, red brick.

you blink. “a lego?”

for the second time this evening, toji freezes.

he takes it from your hand, flicking it away. he lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck, and lowers himself back to your chest. “that what you stopped me for, princess?” he mutters coolly, like his heart isn’t beating in his throat. “had me so worried, baby.”

“toji, why do you have a lego?”

he kisses your jaw, “my nephew’s.”

ah, that makes sense. you hug his neck tighter, giggling as he slips the wine off your belly & onto the floor. he presses yet another kiss to your neck, warm & sweet, and you let your chin rest on his shoulder as he loves you with gentler hands.

but then you see it.

on the metal door of the kitchen fridge, past a jar of gummy worms and a poorly placed broom, a banana-shaped magnet is there.

and right under it, a scribbled drawing. the messy figure of a man with spiky hair, and a smaller, more spiky-haired boy.

DADDY AND ME.

your body goes still.

toji’s hands are on your hips, thighs, waist—but his touch suddenly itches. the warmth has gone cold.

“toji,” you whisper. “who drew that?”

toji doesn't move. his eyes slowly follow your gaze to the fridge, and the panic in his eyes is unmistakable. the lie slips out of his mouth before his brain can even catch up to it.

“sociology project,” he breathes. “developmental regression. drew it with my left hand.”

“your left hand…”

your voice trails off as toji sinks his lips back to your neck.

toji zenin does not study sociology.

TORU’S REMARK : YOU CAN’T FOOL HER FOREVER.

BROKE BOY TACTICS #4: LEAN INTO THE LARP !

taught by: sato gojo

“you can’t pull up to a date in an uber. take my porsche—you’re a rich guy now.”

ΣΧ

it’s late, and three floors down, toji zenin has his hands on his hips, staring at sato’s sleek black porsche in disbelief while his tie itches at his neck. three floors up, in toji’s crappy apartment, the gang’s all there.

megumi has a blanket pulled up to his chin, seated on the couch next to suguru. sukuna is lounging on the floor with his back against said couch. sato is flipping through TV stations. the light in the room is dim, and sato snickers at something sukuna says before tossing him the remote.

“why does everyone always leave me?”

the trio freeze.

megumi’s expression is flat. he’s staring into the tv’s glow, but his eyes are soulless and empty. suguru hesitates—but then he rests a hand on megumi’s hair. “what do you mean, kiddo?”

“daddy’s always leaving now,” megumi closes his eyes, rigid against the couch cushions. “he never spends time with me anymore. he’s acting like my mommy did.”

the three boys’ hearts crack right down the middle.

they’re staring at each other now, the weight of megumi’s words on their shoulders. how do they tell a little boy that the reason his father has been less present—and is also not present tonight—is because he’s currently trying to hide his child’s existence to impress a woman? and that they’re all helping him?

sato speaks first. too quick, too fast.

“he’s just been busy,” he croaks out. “he’s been picking up new shifts. he’s working really hard.”

“yeah,” sukuna agrees. “he’s working hard. to take care of you, meg.”

megumi stares into the tv screen. geto’s hand is still heavy on his head, and his body is limp and his eyes are heavy.

“i know.” megumi mutters. “he’s my hero.”

suguru bites his lip. “you know what, meg? why don’t we draw something? a new picture for your dad?”

megumi’s eyes flit to the kitchen fridge. DADDY AND ME. the picture is still there, but the paper is crinkled and damp now. as if someone threw it away with heavy eyes, then somehow thought better of it.

megumi nods, “yeah.”

“okay, buddy. i’ll go get the crayons.”

“i’ll get the paper!”

“and i’ll… uh. you want a gatorade, kid?”

the three adults go after the various items. megumi takes one last look at his drawing on the fridge, and then he slips off the couch and pads away.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

so today, he pretends the sleek black porsche parked outside your house is his. he pretends he’s not wearing sato’s luxury cologne, that his tie isn’t secondhand, that the cuff of his suit isn’t too tight on his wrist and that the guilt in his mouth doesn’t taste like his blood.

he’s gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.

when you open the car door, you look like a dream.

your lips are glossy, always glossy, but it’s a different shade of shimmer tonight. your hair is loose all over your shoulders, heels clicky, dress black and matching the shade of sato’s car. toji stares, jaw slack as you slide into the passenger’s seat. the words in his throat have turned into bile.

“Hi.” you blink at him.

“Hi.”

he can’t say much else, and he really ought to but he can’t, so instead he only watches as you huff and click your seatbelt in place. toji licks his lips, turns back to the wheel. says a quick prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in. “you look gorgeous.”

you don’t respond.

the car starts with an expensive growl. it makes toji wince, and he hopes you don’t notice. he’s practiced starting the car three times so he can pretend he’s used to it. he isn’t, and he’ll never be.

he pulls onto the streets, eyes frantically scanning the road as his pulse drums in his teeth.

“toji?” you say, eyes trained ahead of you, voice flat.

“yeah, baby?”

“where are we going?”

toji’s fingers drum on the steering wheel. he turns right at the fork. “somewhere nice,” his voice is strained. “somewhere you deserve to be.”

he lets his right hand shift to the center console, trying to bridge the gap. his hand is sweating, maybe. you glance at it. glance away.

you peer out the window, head against the edge, watching the lights blur through the glass. “i feel like i’m sitting in a museum,” you murmur, quiet. “everything feels curated. including you.”

he swallows. “i’m trying to make tonight special.”

“special…” you trail off, lashes fluttering as you stare out the window.

“i don’t know who you are, zenin.”

toji’s head aches. and so does his chest, violent and sharp and stabbing. he’s a liar, a con artist, a selfish man with rough hands and a son waiting at home. oh—megumi. his phone’s been buzzing in his pocket for a while now. how’s megumi?

“i’m just a guy,” he chooses to say. “a guy who likes you.”

“do you? or is that just part of the exhibit?”

maybe there really is a god watching, because before toji can respond something makes a sound.

he’s not sure what, honestly, but he’s quick to capitalize on it. he needs the air. toji turns into an empty street to park. he unbuckles his seat belt, leans over a bit. “stay in the car, okay?”

you only nod, and toji’s throat curls with guilt.

the night air is cool on his skin. he opens the car bonnet—careful, as careful as a man like him can be—pretending to scan the engines for a possible source of the noise. he doesn’t find anything wrong, and he knew he wouldn’t, but he holds up the bonnet and pretends to check anyways.

three minutes pass before he returns to the car.

three minutes of toji zenin teaching himself how to breathe. the same way he does when megumi shuts down even though he thinks the steps are corny. having a kid really changes you, doesn’t it?

megumi. he looks at his watch, 9PM. his boy should be in bed by now.

the buzzing from his phone has stopped. he should check it now, but you’re still waiting. still beautiful. still hurt.

so toji slams the hood shut. sucks in a breath and slides back into the driver’s seat. you’re staring at him as he buckles his seatbelt.

“toji,” your voice is careful. “do you have anything you want to tell me?”

yes. i work three jobs and i’m drowning in student loans. i got a girl pregnant when i was eighteen, and she left me when i turned twenty-one. i have a boy who’s five-and-a-half and he’s the only good thing i have left. and i’m sorry i lied, but i didn’t want you to leave me before i could love you and i’m sorry, and i’m sorry again, and you deserve better, and i’m sorry.

“no,” toji lies.

you purse your lips. “okay.”

the engine roars back to life. and toji is sweating, and the date feels over before it’s even started, and his pulse is too loud and—

“daddy?”

toji’s blood runs cold.

in the backseat of sato’s porsche, megumi zenin is there, body tucked under a blanket and rubbing his eyes. he slips off the seat and stumbles towards the console, still rubbing at his face. “hi, daddy.”

toji zenin can only stay frozen as megumi wraps his smaller arms around his neck.

he tries to speak, fingers twitching as they hover over his son’s back. “megumi—hey, buddy—what’re you doing here?”

megumi buries his nose into his father’s neck. “i didn’t want to be alone again.”

toji bites his lip. he can feel your eyes boring into him, and he nervously scrambles. “hey—you’re never alone, buddy. where are your uncles? come here.”

he lifts megumi into his lap, avoiding your gaze.

“is this your son?”

toji’s mouth dries.

he could say it’s his nephew, make up some lie about him referring to both him and his ‘brother’ as dad, but god. you’re already looking at him with something he doesn’t have the vocabulary to name, and toji’s jaw aches.

“yes,” he sucks in a breath. “this is my son, megumi.”

he brushes megumi’s hair back, taking his little fist away from his face so he stops rubbing at his eyes. “meg, say hi to the pretty lady.”

“hi, pretty lady.”

megumi waves a small hand, then collapses against his father’s stomach.

you force a smile and flick your eyes back up to toji.

“i think you should take me home.”

???’s REMARK : YOU CAN’T LARP YOUR WAY INTO BEING LOVED !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #5: EMBRACE YOUR ECONOMICS !

taught by: nanami kento, megumi zenin.

“maybe she doesn’t hate you. maybe she hates that you thought so little of her you felt the need to live a lie.”

ΣΧ

it’s a new day, and toji zenin is laden with old burdens.

he’s slumped against his bedroom wall, phone pressed to his ear with megumi on his stretched out legs. megumi has a red & green colored hand in another jar full of gummy worms. toji makes a mental note to hide it better next time.

“you didn’t just lose the date,” nanami’s voice cuts through the speaker, flat and professional as always. “you insulted her intelligence. made her out to be a shallow woman who’d only care about you if you had money in your bank account.”

toji stares at the ceiling. then at megumi, who’s about to eat a gummy worm off the floor. he flicks it away. “she looked at me like i was trash, nanami.”

“she looked at you like you were a liar,” nanami corrects. “which you are.”

nanami sighs, breath sending a crackle through the speaker. all he wanted to do was spend his afternoon reading his new favorite BL, doukyuusei, but once again the shenanigans of his friends have interrupted his peace.

“toji, you’re a smart man. and she sounds like a smart woman. i doubt she’d lose interest because you have a son—i believe she hates that you lied to her.”

megumi takes a worm and makes it crawl through toji’s lips. it’s cold, but toji chews and swallows anyways. “i need to apologize.”

“yes,” toji can hear a page flip. “and quickly. i have to attend to other matters now, but say hi to megumi for me.”

the line goes dead, and toji drops his hand to the floor.

megumi chews a gummy worm. then he takes it out of his mouth, frowns at it, then eats it again. “daddy, are you mad at me?”

toji frowns. “for what?”

“i ruined your date,” megumi looks into the jar of worms, frowning, then back at his dad. “with auntie.”

toji looks at his son. at his candy smeared cheeks, sticky hands, black spikes of hair and sugar in his teeth. megumi looks just like him. he’s always known it, but he’s growing to look more and more like his father every day.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmurs, pulling his son into his chest. “you’ve never ruined anything in your life.”

he pats megumi’s hair, head thrown back. “i’m sorry, meg.”

five-year-old megumi zenin has already lost interest. he’s more focused on getting the red and blue gummy in the sea of yellow-green ones, small hand grabbing fistfuls of worms before dropping them back. he doesn’t know his father is sorry, sorry for everything, for trying to erase his existence to impress a woman and for bringing him into this world knowing he will never be able to give him the future he deserves.

megumi retrieves the red and blue gummy worm. his favorite flavor. he blinks at it once, twice.

then he turns to his dad. lifts the gummy worm on his palm to his face.

toji zenin eats it right off.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

megumi zenin is in his best clothes: baby blue button-up from suguru. a white top with a red race car that sukuna had got him for his birthday. light up skechers from uncle sato. toji had tried to get him to wear normal shoes, but megumi shut that down quickly. he wanted to be seen.

you no longer frequent the local loblaws.

and it breaks toji’s heart, actually. you haven’t blocked him just yet, thank god, so toji thinks you might not yet hate him completely. that he might still have a chance.

call him a weirdo, but he’s been to almost every grocery store nearby.

no frills, sobeys, you name it. and now, at 12:30PM sunday, toji zenin is in his car with his son, watching you load groceries into the backseat with a pout on your lips. like you’re above this. like you need a big, strong man to offer his help. and toji’s chest aches. because he could be that man, you know. if you’d let him.

toji slips out of the car. megumi hops out too.

he stops just a few feet behind you, watching you mutter curses as you haul a carton of juice. toji’s lip twitches. then he pulls megumi along.

“let me help.”

you blink as toji comes out of seemingly nowhere to save the day. he lifts everything out of your cart and into your car, never breaking a sweat. truthfully, your groceries aren’t even that heavy. he’s not sure why you were struggling, but he thinks it’s so fucking cute.

he lets you click your remote to close the boot shut. then he turns to you: “i owe you an apology.”

you tilt your head. “do you?”

he squeezes megumi’s hand in his own to ground himself. “i lied because i was scared,” he admits, and you never thought you’d hear toji and ‘scared’ in the same sentence. “you’re a pretty girl from a nice family who spends my rent money on groceries,” he breathes. “and i want you, bad. and i thought if you saw me—the me who lived paycheck to paycheck and has nothing except this little brat,” he raises megumi’s hand, “you’d leave before i even got a chance.”

he shifts his hand to megumi’s head. “it’s fucking stupid, i know. but this is my son,” he ruffles megumi’s hair. “say hi, kid.”

“hi, auntie.”

your gaze shifts away from toji, and drops to the little boy beside him. megumi is apple cheeks, dark, messy hair and nervous feet shifting on the pavement. he looks like his dad, and the sight makes your heart melt.

“hi, baby boy.” you crouch down to his height. “i love your shirt. do you wanna come here?”

megumi nods. he abandons his father’s side to let you scoop him up in your arms.

toji frowns.

megumi’s a shy kid. or not shy—awkward. he can’t make eye contact with kids his age, his tone is too flat, and his eyes are always bored. he doesn’t like to be touched by people he isn’t familiar with, and he’s very quick to say no to what he doesn’t like or want. so toji can only watch, brows knit in confusion, as megumi’s fist curls over your necklace and he lets you press a kiss to his cheek.

“hi, auntie,” megumi collapses into your shoulder, fist still gripping your necklace. “i did a very good job.”

“so good, baby,” you kiss his hair, grinning. “i’m gonna buy you all the gummies in the world.”

megumi blushes from the affection. he shifts his head over your shoulder so all you can see is his pink chubby cheek.

“what the hell is happening?”

“daddy’s a big dummy,” megumi mutters into your shoulder. “the biggest,” you agree.

toji’s frown deepens, and you laugh. “i’ve already met megumi, silly.”

toji blinks. he’s about to ask how, but you beat him to it: “remember when you got out of the car? megumi woke up in the backseat,” you kiss his ear softly, and megumi’s blush deepens. “we had a long chat about you, toji. and i asked him to pretend we’ve never met, and go back to sleep in the car.”

you watch megumi, fond. his fingers curling deeper into your necklace, his eyes shy and staring behind you. “i can’t believe you’ve been keeping this little angel from me. you’re a monster, toji.”

“dummy monster…” megumi mutters. you kiss his cheek again and he hides.

toji thinks about it. to megumi referring to you as auntie back in the apartment. fuck. he didn’t think too much of it, but perhaps he should’ve.

“so? you two were testing me, or some shit?”

you shift a hand from megumi’s back to your hip. “no attitude, mister. i’m still mad at you,” your frown, and then your shoulders drop. “did you really think you had to fake having money to impress me? picking me up in a porsche when i’ve already seen your crappy apartment?”

you stroke megumi’s hair. “and lying about meg,” your expression goes soft, sad. “have you apologized to him?”

“yeah,” megumi tugs your necklace. “he told me sorry.”

you smile at him, then kiss his little fist. “that’s great, baby. you deserve an apology. and i’m sorry as well, for taking away your time with your father.”

megumi pats your face, voice flat. “i forgive you.”

you giggle, pinching his cheek, and toji can only stare in disbelief.

megumi’s cheeks are pink from your kisses, little fingers curled tight around your necklace while you sway him absentmindedly against your chest. his light-up skechers blink every time his feet kick against your thighs. you’re smiling at him like he’s heaven as a boy, and megumi—quiet, awkward, megumi—is hiding his face in your shoulder because he’s shy.

how greedy.

how greedy of toji zenin to pick out cheerios from between couch cushions like trying to erase evidence of a crime scene. how greedy of him to scrub crayon off his walls, peel gummies off his floors and hide away his son with other people he can’t truly call family. how greedy of him to rip his son’s drawing off the fridge, only to put it back again later because he can’t even be greedy right.

how greedy of toji zenin to hide the only good thing in his life away; all because he wanted yet another good thing: you.

he wanted your pretty laugh in his apartment. wanted your heels by the front door, wanted your perfume in his sheets and your voice mixed with megumi’s cartoons on saturday mornings. toji zenin wanted everything.

now his everything was shoving his chubby hand in the face of his other everything to keep from getting attacked by kisses. but he was smiling. megumi zenin was smiling, and blushing, and laughing—and toji thinks about how he hasn’t seen megumi this childish in a while.

his heart aches.

“i’m sorry.”

sorry for what? he knows what he’s sorry for, but the words have failed him again, so he can only watch. watch as you tilt your head the way you always do, before megumi glances at you and tilts his head back at him the same way. oh god.

“‘gumi, do we forgive daddy?”

“yeah,” megumi’s feet kick. his shoes light up, red and blue. “if he stops hiding my gummies.”

toji won’t hide his gummies anymore. hell, he’ll never hide anything again in his life.

and maybe megumi senses the guilt on his father’s shoulders, because he squirms his tiny body for you to set him down and dashes so hard into his father’s legs that he knocks his forehead against his knee. “ow…”

toji snorts, crouching. “what are you doing, kid.” but he’s scooping megumi into his arms anyways. you pad closer, grin cheeky, and poke megumi on his side.

“how about we go shop for some gummy worms?”

BONUS — Y/N AND MEG’S FIRST MEET !

“who are you?”

the voice makes you jolt. you’re staring at your hands in the passenger’s seat of toji’s rented—no, probably borrowed—porsche, blinking away tears in your eyes when a tiny voice speaks behind you.

you whip your head around so fast your neck aches.

and standing there is a little boy, tiny, maybe four or five, rubbing away sleep from his eyes. his hair comes in tufts of black, and his eyes are blue, and oh my god he looks just like his father.

toji.

megumi is rubbing his eyes harder now. your heart melts.

“hi, baby,” you coo, patting away your own tears on your lashes. “i’m friends with your daddy. what’s your name?”

“i’m megumi,” he sniffles, yawns. “my friends call me meg. but i don’t have any friends.”

oh. “hi, meg. what’re you doing here? did your dad leave you home alone?”

you hope he says no, because you know toji’s been hiding something—someone from you, but he wouldn’t go that far. at least, you hope he wouldn’t.

“no, my uncles are at home,” he says sleepily. and you hover your hands over his face in silent permission. he blinks at your hands, sniffles again, before nodding to let you brush his hair back from his face. “i wanted to see daddy. he left for work.”

work? no he didn’t. toji zenin is outside, lifting the bonnet of a car he knows is too good to call his. “did he tell you he was going to work, meg?”

“no, but i know he is. he works for us. he wears the tie and he goes away.”

“oh, baby…”

toji zenin is a liar. a liar with a handsome face, and warm touch, and words that make your head dizzy. and you should be mad, really. you are, but the sight of this little boy with a face like his father’s only makes your heart ache.

you want to ask questions: who are your uncles? where were you when i came over? is your mother still in the picture?

but megumi zenin is blinking sleepily as you caress his cheek, leaning into your touch with a sigh.

“megumi, do you wanna make a deal?”

“what kind of deal?” megumi tries to rub his eyes, but you ease his fist away.

“a super simple one. your daddy’s been acting really strange, right? to you and me,” you pat his cheek. “all you have to do is act like we’ve never met, and i’ll give you anything you want.”

megumi thinks very hard. then he asks, “are you the lady daddy wants to impress?”

you blink. “what do you mean?”

“i heard him on the phone with uncle sugu,” megumi rests his head against your leather car seat. “he said he likes a nice lady. said he wants to be a better man for her.” he rubs his eye. “then he started leaving me. where’s daddy? i wanna talk to daddy.”

“oh, meg,” your heart breaks. “come here, baby.”

megumi hesitates, but then he lets you pull him into a hug. his hands are limp by his sides, but he pats your back once before his tiny hand slips away. “auntie, why are you crying?”

your shoulders shake over him. you sniffle, “don’t worry about it, meg. and your daddy’s gonna come back soon, okay? and he won’t leave you alone anymore. i’ll make sure of it.”

megumi pulls back. “you promise?”

you cup his cheeks. “i promise. go back to sleep, okay?”

EPILOGUE !

on the couch of toji’s crappy apartment, megumi zenin is curled into his father’s side, gummy worms in his mouth as he presses his sticky hands to the screen of his brand new ipad pro. a shiny gift from his loving uncle sato, who bought him the device despite suguru and toji’s wishes.

megumi offers his father a gummy worm. “when is auntie coming?”

toji eats it off his palm. “soon, kid,” he clicks his tongue. “swear you like her more than me now.”

megumi picks out five gummy worms from the jar, then lines them up on his ipad screen for convenience. “nah, i like daddy the most.”

toji softens.

all toji can see right now is the top of his little boy’s head, his tiny nose poking out and his chubby little cheeks. the ipad screen is sticky and candy smeared—much like megumi’s hands—and on the screen is a video of a teacup in a ballet dress—ballerina cappucina?—getting married to a little espresso man wearing a ninja bandana. toji frowns. the video gives him flashbacks to his days of working as skai jackson’s personal AI prompt writer. he shivers.

toji shakes his head. “meg, you know i’m never leaving, right?”

“i know,” megumi groans. “you told me a billion times yesterday!”

“quit whining,” toji murmurs, pulling his son into his lap. megumi reaches for his jar of gummy worms, and toji tugs it closer. “just wanted to remind you.” he mumbles.

megumi slumps against his father’s chest. soft, distracted, satisfied. “you don’t need to say sorry anymore. i forgive you.”

toji kisses his hair, burying his face in the dark strands. he sighs, “thanks, kiddo.”

———

when the doorbell rings, toji zenin is already half-asleep.

the sound—and megumi’s accidental jab of his elbow against his stomach—wakes him right up. toji smooths his hair, rubs the sleep from his eyes. then he turns to tell megumi to go wash his sticky hands, then decides not to.

he sucks in a breath and opens the door.

“hi, pretty.”

“move. i’m not here for you.”

you shove at his chest and push your way into the apartment, and on the couch to the right megumi zenin is there, ipad in hands and cheeks sticky and looking up at you with big, blue eyes.

“auntie?”

“oh, my baby!”

you scoop him off the couch and into your arms, and megumi clutches your shoulders tight as you attack him with kisses on his forehead, cheeks, everywhere. toji’s eye twitches in disbelief. “are we serious?”

“oh, you’re still here,” you glance over at him, bored. “meg and i are gonna make cookies today. mind being a doll and fetching the ingredients from the car?” you toss him your car keys.

toji looks at the keys in his hands. then you, who is cooing silly things that make megumi blush and bury his head in your neck.

toji pads over to you, slow. “i wanted to see you.”

you ignore his hands snaking around your hips. you turn your nose up at him, “and now, you have.”

“you still mad at me?”

of course you’re still mad. maybe not as mad as you were a week ago, but still upset. that he lied. that he thought so little of you that he went out of his way to sculpt a whole other life and hide away the little angel in your arms. but toji’s hands are still heavy on your hips. his voice is warm in your ear. and he apologized, you know. in the parking lot that day. at your house on monday, holding a bouquet of half-dead flowers and wearing a rented suit that went to waste because you refused to go out with him anyway. he sent you an hour long voicemail apologizing. you listened to it all on the way here.

toji zenin is such a sap.

he acts like he isn’t, though. but he is, and you feel it in how he presses his lips to your neck, over and over and over again. i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry.

megumi shoves his father’s lips away. “daddy stop.”

you laugh, nuzzling megumi’s cheek. “he’s such a dummy, isn’t he meg? do you think i should forgive him?”

“yeah,” megumi mutters, collapsing into your neck. “he said sorry a billion times to me yesterday. daddy’s really sorry for everything.”

“aww. daddy’s so cute when he’s sorry, isn’t he?”

toji is glaring at you. you can only giggle and press a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes widen a bit in surprise. you cup his jaw and press another one to his cheek. just one more, because you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed him as well.

“i forgive you, mister. now go get those groceries—shoo!”

toji nuzzles your neck before leaving the apartment.

megumi is still on your hip, clutching your shoulders for balance as you pick out pans and trays from the cupboard. he grips your hair in a tiny fist. “auntie?”

“hm, gummy?”

megumi hides in your neck—shy, nervous. “are you gonna be my new mommy?”

you freeze.

megumi clutches you tighter. his face is buried in your throat, and he’s gripping so tightly his little nails bite into your skin, but you soften. toji had already confessed everything in his voicemail. his mom isn’t in the picture anymore. how a mother can let go of a little angel like meg, you don’t know, but who are you to judge and conclude?

“i don’t know, meg, it’s too soon,” you hum softly, setting a pan on the tabletop. “but i know i’ll be here, baby. for you.”

“will you be at my school, too?” he peers up at you, big eyes glimmering with hope. “all the other kids have mommies except for me.”

“oh, megumi—of course i’ll be there!”

it’s taking everything in you not to carry this boy and run! you attack his face with kisses, and megumi squirms in your arms but he’s giggling. his hands are sticky on your face, neck, everywhere, but you kiss him over and over again, because you’ve only known him for a little over a week but you’re already ready to give him the world. “auntie, stop!” but he’s laughing. “there’s lip gloss all over me!”

when toji walks in, he can’t believe his eyes.

there are too many shopping bags in his hands, because everything about you is too much, even down to your shopping, and toji is staring in disbelief. the woman of his dreams in his kitchen, holding his son, and his son is laughing. laughing the way he used to before his mother left him two years ago.

and he doesn’t really deserve the warmth curling in his chest, or the strange feeling coursing through his veins, but who is toji zenin if not greedy?

so he drops the bags to his feet (gently, because you’d curse him if the eggs broke), and pads over to the kitchen where you’re showering megumi with affection, and he snakes his arms around your waist and drops his head into your neck. you turn, grinning, and you don’t push him away when he presses a quick kiss to your lips. the lips are honest, and now toji is too.

“aww, look at you getting all sappy.”

“auntie made my face all sticky..”

toji squeezes you both tight. a little greed never killed a man.

MEGUMI’S REMARK : CAN I HAVE SOME GUMMY WORMS…?

#SIGMA CHI STORIES !

LOVE OVER LOBLAWS, end.

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload.

SIGMA CHI TAGLIST (A) — JOIN HERE !

I mean— he did have a flicker of a thought pass by his brain about you cheating, but then remembered how you had waited an entire week to gather up the courage to hold his hand and the thought was quickly disregarded.

Psh. You? Cheating? You glared at every man that even tried to talk to you, as if they had made a mistake by even daring to enter your space.

You slammed your laptop shut and sent your note pad flying across the room in a hurry, rushing to erase all evidence of what you had been doing when your eyes met Sukuna’s narrowed pink ones. Freezing in the act, your arm still outstretched to where you had thrown the notepad. Flustered, and a little disheveled and you tried to act innocent, muttering a “h-hi ‘kuna..” while busying your hands with fixing the pillows.

Sukuna found the room empty except for the flustered, blushing woman he loved more than anything. His brows furrowed in confusion when his eyes trailed across the room to notice the laptop shut, and your glittery pen and notepad thrown out hazardously on the floor near a potted plant. His eyes narrowed further, a long sigh passing through his nostrils when his pupils slowly trailed back to you.

You blinked at him innocently, playing up the oblivious act to a 100, despite the heat you felt all over your face and just how much you just knew you were absolutely screwed. You swallowed, acting as if you hadn’t just been watching porn seconds before. You mumbled a terrible lie, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, “I was just.. working on my assignment for bio,” you nodded at your very very bad lie.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed as he took a few steps towards you, his gaze darting between your flushed face, the closed laptop, and the notepad lying haphazardly on the floor. He knew something was up, knew that you were hiding something from him. The way you shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, the way you avoided his gaze... it was all so fucking telling.

You were never a good liar, were you?

“Working on your assignment, huh?” he drawled, his deep voice tinged with a hint of skepticism as he crossed his arms over his muscular chest. “Funny, I could've sworn I heard some pretty loud ass moans coming from in here… sounded nothing like you typing away on a laptop.”

He took another step closer to you, his tall frame looming over your smaller one as he bent over his hips slightly. He could feel the way your breathing had quickened, the way your chest was rising and falling quickly beneath your shirt.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxed, his voice softening slightly as he reached out to tip your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You don't need to lie to me, sweetheart. I know something's up. What were you really doing before I got home?” He asked. His tone was gentle, but you knew better than to lie to him and potentially make him mad.

Last time that had happened you found yourself sentenced to sleeping alone on the couch, while a pouty sukuna was sleeping alone in your bedroom.

He could see the hesitation in your eyes, the way you bit down on your plump bottom lip nervously. He wanted to lean down and pull it between his teeth, to bite it gently as he kissed you. But he held back. He wasn’t gonna fuck you just yet, he had to figure out what the hell those moans were first.

He knew he had to tread carefully here, had to find the right balance between being understanding and being demanding. He didn't want to make you feel bad for exploring your own desires and curiosities, but he also needed to know that you trusted him enough to say ‘sukuna I was watching porn!’ So he could applaud you before dragging your ass to the bedroom.

You whined before making him sit on the couch right next to you, plopping him down comfortably on the soft futon, before you got up and picked up your note pad with the neatly written notes from the floor. Walking back to him with trembling steps you plopped comfortably down on his lap, sighing softly and showing him what you had been doing.

Your handwriting was cute and neat as always, with the cute little drawing on the side, despite how lewd the words were. “The video showed the wife teasing her husband before sex with something called a strip tease? I don’t know what that is but I’ll try it for Sukuna!” Sukuna read one of the dot points aloud, as you sighed wearily and defeated, completely embarrassed.

Your brain was already planning your funeral.

You opened your laptop, about to explain to him what you had been watching before the loud lewd sounds of moaning bursted out from your laptop. You quickly jumped out of sukuna’s lap to shut down the porn video that you were ‘learning’ from.

“I don’t-.. watch anything like that for my free time usually, by the way..” You mumbled embarrassed and shy.

Sukuna's eyes had widened in surprise as he scanned over the notes scribbled in your neat handwriting. He couldn't help but let out a small snort, looking away to try and stifle his laughter.

“Hey! I can see you laughing at meeee!” You whined and punched and slapped at his chest, gently enough to not hurt him.

While he took in the lewd words and the cute little doodle of a woman on top of a man with both of them having dumb little smiley faces . Fuck, the way you had written out your little to-do list, complete with hearts and silly faces next to each point… as if all the words weren’t the most pornographic descriptions ever.

“A strip tease, huh?” he murmured, his deep voice a low, teasing rumble as he looked up at you with a smug smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. ”Baby, you don't need to learn how to tease me. I'm already putty in your fucking hands.” He said, already making you weak in the knees from just that smirk of his.

He reached out and took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze as he pulled you down onto his lap. He loved the feeling of your soft, plump ass pressing against his thighs, loved the way your small frame fit so perfectly in his larger one.

“But if you want to practice fucking with me in allll different types of positions, I'm more than happy to let you,” he said, his voice growing thicker with desire as he slid his hands up your sides, his thumbs brushing along the sides of your breasts. Just itching to inch closer to where he could properly pinch and pull. “In fact, I fucking insist on it, baby.” He whispered into your ear. “C’mon, it’ll be fun… practice every new foreplay thing or sex position you learn. Only on me.”

He could see the embarrassment in your eyes, when you blurted out a “huh?” He could feel the way you squirmed shyly in his lap. But fuck, he loved that you were trying to learn how to please him, loved that you wanted to make him feel good in every way possible. It just showed how much you cared for him, how deeply you loved him.

“I’m not gonna judge you for watching porn baby, but I’d rather you to just watch the tapes we’ve filmed” he breathed out a little hazy, already imagining all the filthy things you’d discover on your own and try with him for the first time.

You whined to him, grumbling at his last words and narrowing your eyes onto his pink ones. “I didn’t watch porn because I was horny or anything.. I have you to help me if I feel like that anytime..” you admitted to him pouty before sighing and looking away. You hesitated before whining again and letting your insecurities spill.

“I just feel like you won’t love me as much if I keep being boring in bed..”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow before pulling you closer again and narrowing his eyes, his rough fingers gripping your chin and making you face him. His glare made something inside you ignite, something between your legs throb a little. “Don’t you dare call my girlfriend boring. Do you even know how fucking hard I am right now? Just from you sitting in my lap?”

He couldn’t have his girlfriend (whom he loved very much) doubting her worth. In fact, he’d fuck those worries out of you.

Right now.

The next thing you knew was that you were dumbly whining into the mattress, ass up as he had a large hand pushing your face down, pounding into you. You didn’t need to watch porn or anything to please him.

You were already doing such a good job already! Squeezing him… squirting everywhere… drooling into the pillow.

Sukuna groaned loudly, his deep voice a low, animalistic rumble as he pistoned his hips forward, driving his thick cock deep into your tight, wet pussy. He could feel your silky walls clenching around him, gripping him like a tight glove as he fucked into you hard and fast, just the way he knew you needed it.

“F-fuck fuck fuck, baby, you feel so fucking incredible,” he grunted, his hot breath fanning over the back of your neck as he leaned down to growl filthy praise into your ear.

”So perfect, like you were made just for taking my fucking cock…”

He slid a hand up your arched back, his long fingers splaying out over the smooth skin of your shoulder blades before he pushed you down harder into the mattress. He loved seeing you like this, loved the way your ass jutted up and out, the perfect target for his hard thrusts. He could see your tits squishing against the pillow, could hear the way you whimpered and mewled with every slam of his hips against your plump ass.

“You don’t—shit… fucking need to learn a goddamn thing from porn, sweetheart,“ he panted, his voice strained with pleasure as he fucked you harder, faster, spurred on by the feeling of your slick walls squeezing him so fucking tightly. “Y-you're a fucking natural, b-baby. The way you fucking squeeze me—oh shit you’re so tight… the way you squirt all over my fucking cock... fuck, it's so fucking good, sweetheart.”

He could feel your thighs trembling beneath him, could sense that you were getting close. He knew all the signs, knew every little sound and shiver that meant you were getting closer and closer to your orgasm.

He was a good boyfriend. He always put your pleasure before his.

“That's it, baby.. f-fucking take it,” he commanded, his hips slamming against your ass with brutal force as he fucked you into the mattress. “Take my cock like the good slut you are. Fucking soak my dick with your sweet cum, baby…”

Maybe… you should’ve just stuck with the vanilla sex.

You send him the same bewildered stare, "You're a six-foot tall, nerdy, pretty boy with glasses, there's no way you're some kinda virgin."

"Well... uh..." He gulps thickly and leans back, the pillow in his lap faltering with the way he readjusts his long legs to try and ease the rather annoying ache in between them, "I kinda am..."

Now you were giving him that cute deer-in-headlights kinda look as if there wasn't a single thought inside your head, the same look that has him flustered for some reason. Followed by which is a turn of your head before you casually return to reaching for that needed puzzle piece, "That's surprising. 'Thought a guy like you would have tons of women."

Gojo looks around for a second before pointing at himself, "You though I would have tons of women? Me?" He scoffs as if that were the most ridiculous thing in the world. "I mean, I know plenty of women who talk to me, sure. But, I've never slept with any of them."

"Why's that?" You ask, knees shifting against the floor so that you could find the desired spot for the piece in your hand, "If you don't mind me asking, of course."

You seem to be entirely oblivious to the way your skirt is still rising against your thighs, especially as you bend down a bit to plop the little puzzle piece into place. Gojo finds himself looking up at the ceiling now, hoping for you to become self aware any moment now, "I dunno, I'm not good at flirting, I guess." He says with a shrug of his shoulders.

The sound of that makes you glance back at him again. This time you look down at his now uncovered crotch and spot the boner prettily resting there. Smiling a bit, "I could teach you." You offer sweetly.

His cock drools at the idea alone before he's fixing his glasses against his face and looking at you again, "Really? You'd teach me how to flirt?"

You snort, "No, silly. I'm offering to teach you how to fuck."

Now, Gojo is many things. Filthily educated in Digimon? Well, of course—he's even got it plastered all over his shirt right now. The most studious individual in every academic institution he's ever attended? Duh. And a completely closeted freak who does nothing but imagine what it'd be like to feel pussy for the first time? Well, yeah...

So when you offer to teach him how to fuck and essentially, take his virginity, he doesn't think he's ever nodded his head faster in his life.

Next thing he knows and your legs are sprawled out over him, caging the sides of his lengthy limbs in between yours as your ass hovers in the air and you move a hand back to tug your panties to the side. Your cute nerd of a friend thinks he's in love as your gorgeously soaked cunt is revealed to him.

He almost reaches out to touch it-, to touch you but, he controls himself and lets you do all the work. After all, he has no idea what he's doing. Gojo only knows things about sex through porn and... well, that can only teach a person so much.

"Y-Y'know," And then he's starting already—yapping as if that would hide his nervousness. His cock is out and you're rubbing two pretty fingers through your folds before moving your hand in between your legs to grab ahold of him. "S-Shiit... Y'know this uh, this puzzle we got-, oh... it-, oh, that feels good-, it was a limited edition-"

"Satoru, you're cute but," You giggle as the lips of your pussy begin to close around his drooling cockhead, "If this is your idea of dirty talk then you have so much to learn..."

He tries to swallow a whine down his throat but it unfortunately escapes him as he continues his rambling, "I just-, goddamn... I thought you'd wanna know that," Gojo utters with a nervous chuckle, hips bucking up slightly to sink himself deeper into the dewy warmth that's currently swallowing up his length. "'Cause o-only a thousand," his breath hitches as you get about halfway down on him, "You're so fuckin' warm... Only a-ah.. a thousand of those sets were s-sold..."

Biting back your own moans whilst his thick cock stretches up into your welcoming walls, "Yeah?" You chime as if you genuinely cared about what he was saying. It's not that you didn't care at all but, the puzzle was the last thing on your mind with the way his dick felt slowly splitting you open. "T-That's... so nice, sweetie."

Gojo's hips snap up at the sound of the praise—wether or not you meant it to be sarcastic—and it's instant the way he brings a hand up to your hip to hold you down as the rest of his lengthy shaft disappears inside you. "Fuck, that felt good," He gasps as if this were some kind of new discovery for him, "C-Can you say that again? Praise me more?"

You work up a steady rhythm of lifting and then slamming your hips down on him after only a few moment of adjusting to his staggering inches, your jaw quickly falling open with slutty drool dangling out past your lips, "You're into that?" You huff softly before glancing back at him, "Y-You want me to-, mmnh, praise you more?"

Gojo's eyes are a little glossy from pleasure and he nods cutely, "P-Please? I'm being good so far, aren't I?" Then he looks down and you feel his cock throb inside of you, "Fuuuck... I haven't even-, ohgod... h-haven't even told you any more s-stupid facts. Aren't you proud of me?"

Another laugh exits your lips before you still your hips down against his, grinding with his cock buried inside of you instead of bouncing on it, "Yeahhh, I guess you have a point," You snort. Then you turn your face forwards and reach for a new puzzle piece before placing it somewhere. Your honeyed pussy clamps around his bulging girth and you hear the way he chokes out a gasp. "I'm so proud of you, 'Toru. Bein' such a good boy for me, aren't you?"

What you don't expect is the thick cum that spills out inside you. The hand he has on your hip grips a little tighter and he groans loudly, tossing his head back losing it at the sound of those words on your tongue. Well, that and the way you'd went back to those puzzle pieces as if this was just another Thursday night for you...

You have a little smile on your face as you feel him finishing inside you and by the time you look back at him, Gojo seems to be completely out of it—as if that was singlehandedly the best nut of his life. Glasses crooked on his face now, hand still anchoring your hip against him, hair tousled, and heavy pants exiting him, you can't help but tilt your head.

"Wow, two minutes. Impressive, really." You snort.

Gojo looks at you, just barely, and then pouts, "It was my first time, I'm sorry."

banner art by rororogi mogera || perm gojo tags (1/2):

@imyourightnow @cupidstrace @billiondollarworth @navyllll @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa444 @sugo-jo @etsuniiru @not-a-glad-gladiator @2kool4skoolll @yulissacastillo11

@daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @oookore @blubearxy @wonderfullymickey @iaintblockinnobody @anothergojostan @kitassecretgf @nanasukii28 @iam-souless

@nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @kunababy @withersworld @suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke @kvsqkiii @forest-nymph666 @yourlocalcatscammer @viiennie

@1stmagnoila @moonmilk102 @v33326 @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @serenadesvt @bloxdhawks @riameriash

A sudden hush falls over the studio—cameramen meeting eyes with each other, and producers who simply couldn’t see past the multi-million yen signs that were popping up in their vision. They’re rubbing their hand together, and urging the handsome man on the seat to continue speaking-

The producer that was more in charge of the B-roll footage speaks to Toji once more, “Now that’s certainly the way to enter this season, Fushiguro-san.” Flipping through the notes given on each condition, “And what else? Could you please tell the audience what you like to do for fun?”

“Hah…going to the gym, martial arts, taking care of my little one.” He scratches behind his neck.

“You have a child, Fushiguro-san?”

“Yeah, I have a son. Just six years old.” And he wonders just what booming sound effect they might add on into the background of this confession. He chuckles just thinking about it - how did Shiu convince him to come on here again? Well…he supposes it might also have something to do with you.

Toji’s eyes slide over deftly to the small screen at the back end of the room - just to get the contestants more familiar with you prior to your actual meeting at the mansion, they were replaying raw B-roll from your own introduction.

And Toji isn’t one to latch onto someone like that but- fuck, his eyes really couldn’t stop drifting over.

The curve of your smile. The way you’re looking behind you.

The way those lashes of your flutters just so—

He’s sure the cameras around him notice and hone in on the slight flickering of his peripherals, and he has to shake his head ever-so-slightly to stop himself from making a fool out of himself right here and now. “Yeah…” He rubs his roughened palms down his thighs, “Could you ah- repeat that last question?”

A few crew members chuckle. “Do you think that being a dad is going to hinder your chances in any way, Fushiguro-san?”

“Nah.” He leans back n’ tightens his crossed arms, scarred lips parting with a grin. “I’m a Fushiguro and I always get what I want—and I know what I want now.”

Eyes wafting over once more.

.

.

.

Most of the contestants still remained after the introduction phase - other than a few that were just plain rude, or the two-toned Zenin bastard that was kicked out for his outdated opinions. Upon entering the mansion, Toji Fushiguro had received your first impression rose that night - a signal to Toji that you’re keeping your eyes on him, and a signal to the 21 other men to up their damn game. 

They were threatened, clearly.

Perhaps that’s why some of them were throwing disgruntled looks his way. Perhaps that’s why they ducked their heads whenever he passed, whispering behind their hands like high schoolers at a slumber party of some sort.

He’s witnessing this bizarreness as he trudges into the mansion’s vast kitchen. And honestly, Toji could almost laugh- but that’s before he’s catching a shred of what garbage they’re spouting. 

“—heard production discussing that he’s a dad.”

That makes him pause.

Though Toji doesn’t let it show on his face, he keeps his hands working on his bottle of protein shake- and his ears turned in the direction of a bunch of stupid bastards that didn’t think they could be heard.

They shoot a few glances at him once more—“You really think she’s gonna fall for an older guy like that? I bet you it’s a pity rose-”

“It’s to get the ratings up, duh.” Another pipes up. “Everyone knows that in the end, she’s never going to go for the old guy.”

“A dad, at that.”

“Shouldn’t he be with his kid, instead?”

“I don’t think she even knows-”

“Probably too embarrassed to tell her-”

SLAM!

The protein shake bubbles over as Toji struggles not to grip it to bits- ultimately ending up banging it down on the marble counter. The group of men swivel their heads around as they realize that he might just have ended up hearing—not so geriatric now, huh?

And Toji feels his face twist into something akin to…a smile. Something welcoming, that you’d never catch dead on his face.

He’s looming one step towards them - just one step - when lo and behold you’re making your way into the kitchen. Baring such a beautiful smile at them all.

And who was Toji to pummel some ugly faces in when your gorgeous one was watching?

Instead, he’s taking you by the hand. 

Not even a second glance at the stunned losers left behind- Toji’s dragging you to the quietest, most private room he can find in this house filled with bachelors. Ultimately—it ends up being his room, and the cameras and microphones can only catch snippets of his confession to you.

“There’s something you hafta know.” Comes out Toji’s usually-gruff tone, “I’m a dad.”

A pause.

And then your voice, “Dad? Like…zaddy?”

Beside himself, he laughs. “No. A dad—I have a son.” And by that excited look in your eyes - the way it piques your interest that this might just be the hottest DILF you’ve ever seen - he already knows that those other bastards are going to eat their words.

.

.

.

“S-so about that- ngh—” All the cameramen had been kicked out - just in time for Toji to let you grapple him onto the creaking bedsprings. Clamoring on top. Swallowing n’ sucking down as much of his thickened length between your legs as you could.

You’re feeling his incredible girth stretching you out- throwing your head back as far as it would go.

As you’re babbling and drooling on his sheer length, Toji clasps onto one side of your hips. He’s using but a fraction of his strength to bounce you towards him - in a figure-eight motion that could barely be completed given the sheer shakin’ of your thighs. Squeezed around him.

Rolling his sage-green eyes with rough laughter, he’s spreadin’ his meaty thighs and bucking up into you—the edge of his cock bulges even deeper inside. Deeper than you ever thought possible. 

Deep enough that your stomach was displaying a slight bulge where he was pushing his erection against your walls. At least you could feel it like so…and the older man wastes no time before reaching up and pressing the front of his palm against it—feeling for that cylindrical outline. “So? Cheh- finish your sentences, doll.”

“I was just about to…” You pout- and he coos. How cute…

Before craning his head down and spitting between those jutted-out lips of yours. Toji looks up at you through the gaps in his shaggy black bangs, “Are those lips wet enough to finally enunciate your words or do I need to spit again?”

“I was saying—so about you being a father…” You’re trailing off - and there’s a glint in his eyes that lets you know that you’ve certainly caught his attention now. Shyly continuing on with the cockdrunken thought that’d been tumbling around your head, “This is definitely too soon- too forward, but um…have you ever thought about perhaps wanting…another…?”

You could barely meet his eyes- fuck.

Though he doesn’t seem to mind that. He’s wrapping his large hand around your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes either way, breathless. Stunned.

Something so charged between the two of you that it’s easily leaving you even wetter—staining the ridges n’ muscles of his abs with your slippery slick.

Toji leans in close enough that you think he’s about to kiss you. Before he suddenly stops - lips millimeters away from your own - and asks. “Who said you could stop, mama?”

Your eyes widen, “Wh-what—oh.”

And you hadn’t realized that in your tension for his response- you’d completely halted your bouncing hips. You’d completely let your cadence peter out.

And Toji Fushiguro couldn’t have that, now, could he? Especially not when he was…

Before you can even gather your thoughts, he’s arching his sculptured back against the comfy mattress. And fuck- you almost wish you had those cameras right about now—because the way his muscles rippled beneath you was heavenly to look at - Toji smirks like he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

That smug quirk of his lips turning into something far wider, something far more feral once he’s holding onto you from beneath and rut-rut-rutting his slick-sheened cock into you.

Hard hits. Dark brows furrowing in concentration. 

Despite you being the one above, you’re completely at the mercy of his swollen cock. 

At the mercy of his heavy balls plapping! against the forefront of your cunt. At the way he’s using one hand to keep you stable on top of his vicious pelvis, and the other to press down upon that one spot on your stomach where he could feel himself—Toji runs his calloused fingers across where his reddened tip was pokin’ into your cervix.

Bashing away - he smiles as he feels every single one. Every single bruise he’s pounding out into your deepest depths.

And you’re wracking with shivers on top of him once Toji presses down. “Like I said- who said you could stop?” 

There it was again. “I-I mean—”

“If you want to be fucked pregnant, then you’ve gotta continue until those pretty legs of yours are begging you to stop.” Your jaw drops as he continues in his hoarse tone, “You’ve gotta need it.” He tap-taps on top of your core, where your poor innards were being absolutely molded to the thickness of his cock. Vein-covered and hot. “You’ve gotta hunger for it—”

And it doesn’t matter what he could say at this point - every single word was sending your mind spinning even further. “I am-” The globes of your ass stinging at the feeling of his contact-driven body beneath. 

“Nuh uh. You’ve gotta work for it, girl—” Emphasized by pushing down on that spot of your tummy once more, “Arch your back.”

Whimpering, you can’t help but listen.

“Heeeeeh- good.” And as a reward, his free hand finds itself slitherin’ between your swollen folds. So sensitive that you’re damn-near sobbing- he teases out your cute clit and gives a few good pinches. “Now clench your pussy. Swerve your hips ‘round and ‘round.”

“L-like this?”

“Mhmmm. You’ve gotta keep on milkin’ my cock for every last drop m’gonna give-”

Your gaze drops between your legs, “I-”

“And then it doesn’t matter if m’shooting blanks—you’ve gotta milk me even more.” Something crazed in his eyes, he’s leaning into your kiss with a smile. Again and again; he’s splitting up the sweetest syrupy orifices inside you - and with only a few more sloppy slashes inside, you’re feeling your body get overcome by the waves of your high.

It fills you up with an initial warmth- from the tips of your toes and to the crown of your head.

Toji snickers as he fucks you through the soaring pleasure, making you feel as though you were on cloud nine. You’ve never known yourself to cum this easily with someone else before - and it’s only growing stronger and stronger inside of you given every thud-thud-thud against your cute g-spot. 

Roverin’ his red, rounded tip and keeping it there—

You swear you feel his rock-hard cock start to bead out in even more pre- and perhaps something…even more?

“Follow all that n’ we’re not just going to win the season with an engagement…” Toji snickers to himself, palm massaging over the tummy bulge he was fucking into you. “But a baby, too.”

“O-oh…”You wondered how the producers were doing to explain away this.

♡ NANAMI KENTO - HEART RATE <3

“My name is Nanami Kento, I’m 27.” Such a deep, droning tone—one that immediately catches the attention of those watching, one that immediately sets the speakers slightly, sensually alight. 

The camera pans upwards, up and up: revealing a firm torso, clad in such a smart suit. Sculptured core. Strong shoulders. Blond, slicked-back hair that glistened with a thin sheen of gel underneath the studio lights.

Nanami wonders what clips they’d be playing for his B-roll montage - something with the mock-business calls the producers made him act out, something with the sweet treats he bakes as a hobby, something with the long walks on the beach.

The entire process has been a whirlwind ever since Shoko signed him up- for a joke, mind you.

He never expected to actually see himself on trash- ahem, eccentric television.

And yet, here he was.

Hot around his collar as he sneaks a glance at a small screen to the side, replaying raw footage of the show—but most importantly, you. Nanami gulps.

“I’m looking for something serious.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as awkward as he feels, and the tips of his ears tingle once he’s looking away from the screen. “My friends signed me up for this show because they think I’m married to my work- hah. Perhaps I do tend to get caught up in it sometimes, but I really do hope to get married someday…to someone sweet, someone tender.” Nanami glimpses at your smile once more, “To someone I can come home to- not a physical house, but to someone I can leave my heart safe with.”

A producer whispers a question.

“Oh? What’s my position at work?” He repeats the question, before staring straight down the barrel of the camera, “CEO.”

.

.

After an early coupling—the producers couldn’t have anyone closed off too early, of course. Where was the fun in that?

And so came…the challenges.

Just a few days into mingling, the producers pulled you aside to let you know that you’d be taking part in the first challenge of the season: The Heart Rate challenge. 

The rules were simple - you were subjected to three minutes of a striptease from each of the contestants, in whatever manner and outfit they chose. In the meantime, a heart rate monitor would be tracking your BPM to announce which contestant had raised your heartbeat the most with their performance. 

Simple…right?

Not.

Not quite when there were 18 (a slight drop from the initial 22) of some of the hottest men baring you with their washboard abs- showing off their sculptured shoulders- shyly bringing themselves closer to you. And though it’d been a tie between a certain white-haired model and your favorite DILF (who’d promised he’d be the one to win), who would’ve guessed that calm, collected Nanami Kento would’ve been the one to catch your eye the most?

He was clunky in his moves, that was true, but the ultimate killing shot came towards the end of his somewhat-awkward routine—when Nanami had leaned in close- half-dressed in his suit, tie dangling ‘round his neck - he’d forgone any extravagant costume.

Closer and closer. You were sure he’d be kissing you before…he gently grasped your hand and pressed his lips to your inner wrist. 

Right on the erogenous zone.

To you, at least, it hadn’t been a surprise when Nanami had won the heart rate challenge.

Toji’s jaw had dropped- the producers were loving this.

And your reward - a night at a getaway suite with no cameras - had ended up a little…

“N-ngh—” Your mouth gapes open on top of the silken pillowcase, spit leaking out at a dizzying rate. Back arching. Thighs clenching-

Nanami shoves a hand between your pretty legs n’ spreeeeads your pussylips apart for him to slip in easier. “Now now, my love…” His smoky breath rumbles beside your temple, head bowed into the crook of your neck. The blond man feels a single line of tears splash down your cheeks, and he’s running his flattened tongue up the salty liquid- “Has this pussy never been fucked by a gentleman before?”

Before you know it, the rugged hand at your core smacks! down on your puffy lips. And you whimper- “Shit, no—?”

“Oh, reeeeeeally?” Nanami’s sweet, sweet tone coos at you—and you’re given no warning before his beefy right arm wraps around your neck in a headlock. “I fear I could tell, darling.”

Just the slightest twitch of his grin- pressed against the clammy side of your neck.

It’s all you’re getting before Nanami’s reeling his toned back even further, even hungrier - he lets his reddened, bulbous tip throb-throb-throb at your first ring of muscle before shoving it all the way down to the bottom. All the way until your walls have gobbled him down to the hilt, and you’re gasping as you struggle to take him.

Spit drivelling. Fists clenching the pillowcase.

And so he waits.

Juuuuuust waits and watches his massively thickened length disappear between those pussylips of yours. Until you’re starting to whimper. Until you’re starting to perk your hips up impatiently-

And Nanami plasters you to his firm body- the weight of his hips leaning down upon yours. The muscles of his v-line digging into the globes of your ass. Pinning you down to the comfy mattress—he’s then languidly gliding his shaft in and out. In and out.

With the most lecherous squelches! Nanami starts off slow at first - looooong and languid…before then thrashin’ himself carnally inside. “Easy—easy there.” Raspy whispers in your ear, “When you take a cock this- hah, big you hafta take it slooooow, my love.”

Your legs twitch as he’s easing inside a few inches even deeper, probin’ that girthy top into the base of your cunt. “Sh-shit…”

“C’mon.” Nanami grumbles, “Breathe with me, my love- breathe.”

“Breathe?”

“Mhm—s’what you do when it’s hard to take.” He huffs, “Never been taught that by those other boys, hm? Never been made to stretch like thiiiiiis-” Just as long as he elongates his words, his knobbly fingertips scissor open your crevice slightly- making it even easier for him to slip in and out. “Never had this needy pussy fed- hah, until she’s full? My poor lady…Never had these spots over here-” You’re trembling as he swipes down tender orifices, “-stimulated, hm?”

Shaking your head.

He audibly controls his breathing, urging you to do the same.

“Thought so. Now breathe in slooooow—” The blond man directs you- and when you’re taking too long to listen, he’s slammin’ his hand down on top of your cunt with another spank. “Yeah-” Once you’re listening to him after a few struggling seconds- “Yeah, you’ve got it. Take in a deep inhale f’me…” 

Just as you do, your stomach contracting with the action, he’s mazin’ away a few more lewd inches - his palm skidding upwards to press down on your stomach. Feeling for himself as he pushes and pushes and pushes inside—“And then- fuck. Then exhale.” Nanami’s usually-steady tone almost…wavers as he says so. 

“It feels so—mmm, good.” You’re babbling away as he slots inside. Almost as if your cunt was made for him, he’s lodging against every slick ridge, crevice, and bundle of nerves. 

Hitting all the way at the very bottom.

He cracks a little smile, “And that’s how a gentleman fucks.”

Hiccuping, those torturous strokes of his made you wrack with primal shivers. “B-but I want it more-” Attempting to push yourself up onto your elbows, “I want it harder, Nanami-”

“Kento.”

Before you can babble out something questioning at his sudden interruption, you’re being shoved right back down onto the springy suite bed. The luxurious mattress engulfing you. The globular head of Nanami’s cock propels even deeper inside you.

He crushes his bicep even harder around your neck- cutting off your airway.

Even harder.

And you’re choking n’ sputtering - both on the stronghold he had on you, and on the thorough movements of his shaft shovelling inside. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he lodges himself straight at the spongy door to your womb.

Nanami tugs you up to his firm front then, “Call me Kento when we fuck.” Something different in his tone now - something dark and barely held back. It’s as though he was gnawing down on his bottom lip to keep himself in check, he lets out a roughened grunt as he plants one hard stroke—one incredibly hard stroke. “And be careful what you wish for, darling.”

For a gentleman never denies his lady, right?

You whimper. 

Steadying his hips, he’s somehow managing to stretch your delicate walls out to his shape. Somehow managing to rub n’ pinpoint the most sensitive areas with his flared ridges. Already locating where your sweetest spot was- Nanami inches his long cock backwards and bashes it right near your g-spot.

Harder and deeper. Harder and deeper. Again and again. Just so thorough that it feels as though his round, red tip was pushing into your very throat.

In just a few sloppy strokes, he’s mapped out your entire cunt.

And no matter how much you’re moanin’ and clawing at the headboard - attempting to pull yourself up as though you’re caught between fucking down to him and moving yourself away - Nanami merely has to tighten his beefy arm ‘round your neck and haaaaaul you right back down. Pressing you against his plush pecs. 

“For m’not going to leave this cunt high n’ dry like those other boys-” He whispers in your ear, callused fingertips darting down your slippery crevice to pinch your clit. Those pearly white canines of his nip at the shell of your ear, “I’ll have you know that I’m a man, my love. I’m a gentleman.”

Tears welling up in your eyes, “A-and that means…?”

“And that means I’m going to treat you as this lady-” Rolling over your sweet nub - it sends sparks up your spine. “-deserves to be treated. I’m going to take you out to a nice- loooooong dinner. I’m going to fly you out anywhere your sweet heart desires, my love. I’m going to take you out shopping and- fuuuuck.” The irritated end of his shaft trickles out hot precum, “I’m going to let you try to max out my debit cards- ”

You catch his emphasis, “Try?”

He chuckles, “You sure can try. And then…” Before you’re left eagerly wondering what else he has to say- Nanami rests his cockhead against your g-spot inside.

And then he’s making your poor walls bulge with the sheer force of him digging in and in- such raw pleasure that it makes moans rip at your throat. He didn’t know where you were drooling more from at this point - your mouth or your cunt.

Nanami’s golden hair nearly curtains his gaze now, though that doesn’t shield you from the sheer intensity of it. “And only then am I going to fuck this pretty lady.” He plasters his reddening pelvis against the globes of your ass cheeks, “After such a long, hard day of being spoiled- best believe that m’gonna fuck her to sleep. Fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.”

“A-and what about you?” You’re turning your head backwards to get a good look at the handsome man, “Aren’t you going to cum, Kento?”

“Oh, my love…” It was just so cute how fucked you were - how you still had your manners despite being so. The sweetest smile graces his face, “Having you cum ‘round my cock is my greatest pleasure.”

And then you’re cumming.

Oh- you can’t help it. Head throwing back into his collarbone. Hands grasping at his own- ones in a headlock around you.

Those zaps of electricity curl at your toes, heat taking over your body, and all it takes is a single glide—down the pulsating area of your g-spot for you to be thrown completely over the edge. Wave upon wave of euphoria floods your body until you feel numb- and through it all, Nanami’s slick-glossed cock was shoving into you at a rapid rate. “Please…” Your mouth waters at the perfect way that Nanami was fucking you through each peak, “Sh-shit, it feels so good-”

Vein-covered cock massaging you up and down, in and out.

Even the tiniest bumps of his prominent veins leave you seeing stars- twinges of pleasure exploding between your legs. Your body goes slightly limp during the crescendo of your high.

“Oh, don’t tap out just yet, my love.” 

And something primal inside you twitches at the sound of calm, cool, collected Nanami Kento’s voice like this- before you’re feeling his buff arms pull you right back to him.

“Because this is just the beginning-” He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “-isn’t it, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - One-on-one.

“Hm? Oh, who doesn’t like long walks on the beach?” Geto laughs something deep and rich- unabashed. Blowing his knee-length hair out of his face, some of those Stygian strands get tucked delicately behind one ear. “My name is Geto Suguru, I’m 28, and I’m a professional masseuse.”

Geto’s murky amethyst eyes stare down the camera.

He already knows he’s got them captivated.

He crosses his legs, hands intertwining on top of them. Geto’s smile was utterly feline towards the lens, “And don’t take this the wrong way, but…” When his best friend had jokingly suggested joining this show- he didn’t think that it’d be so fucking fun. “-I’ve never had to chase anyone in my life.”

Geto feels the temperature in the studio drop a few degrees.

A producer stutters, “Y-you aren’t serious…are you, Geto-san?”

“Dead serious.”

He might get his scenes cut out and edited together to paint him as the villain- he doesn’t care. Because it was true—really.

All the confessions, the letters, the sneaking glances down the street. It wasn’t a lie that Geto Suguru never had trouble with the ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between - to the point where he’s almost grown bored of it. But—you?

He’s seen the raw footage of you on the screens around, and he can’t deny that he was damn intrigued.

You were a challenge. You were someone that made his heart race- and oh, wasn’t that a strange feeling?

“So it’s nice that the roles are flipped for once.” He continues, flashing that infamous smile - breaking a few hearts, or so he’s sure they’ll make it seem so in production later - at the camera once more. He knows how these shows go…“At least, for now.”

.

.

.

“Fuck, Suguru-” Dreamy mewl echoing out in the enclosed space, bouncing off those polished wooden walls. It sounded even louder in the production-made massage room - like music in Geto’s ears.

Geto’s expert hands slide down your body, coated in a sheen of oil.

It smears down your skin—illuminating the spots that he touched. Which seemed quite fitting, in your opinion, as wherever Geto’s fingers traced seemed to leave you alight - his thumb digs into one particularly stubborn knot on your right calf and you shiver.

“Tell me if it gets too much, gorgeous.”

“I will.” You just barely manage out.

The numbers had dropped down to 15, and it’d been time for the one-on-one dates. After your getaway with the blond man, Geto had been the first to whisk you away from the mansion once more—and needless to say that production was having a lot of fun with his profession as a masseuse. The best in Tokyo, actually.

Clients travelled far and wide for an appointment with him - and you’re beginning to understand why.

With you spread face-forward on the smooth table, with your arms crossed in front of you- lips cracking gently open with a sigh once his rugged fingers touch on just one spot—

“R-right there.” On your inner thighs. Too aware of the cameras surrounding you two, you still can’t keep the pleasure out of your voice. 

And Geto shifts aside the towel on your otherwise-naked body - shooting a content smile at the camera as they don’t get to see - to rub up on that specific spot once more. “Here?”

Biting on your lower lip, you’re nodding your head. “There.”

Bit by bit. Press by press; he’s inching up the plane of your right leg - kneading and unravelling those knots you didn’t even know you have. He massaged you so well that you could moan. And just as Geto’s fingertips are about to become so blissful that you might have to ask him to pause - not for you, but for the cameras - he speaks. “You’re very tense here, I can tell you don’t let yourself rest.” The crowns of his thumbs rolling circles at your inner thigh, “You have so many knots here- if you want, I could…nevermind.”

And you’re looking over your shoulder at him with an anticipating gaze. “What was that, Suguru?”

“It’s stupid.” He shrugs sheepishly- though the glint in his eyes was telling you a whole different story. “It’s just…there’s this other type of massage that I never actually offer- but it might help you…unravel your body a bit more. But forget about it-”

“Let’s do it.”

And his lips quirk upwards.

And you knew what he was inferring- you fucking knew it. Which is exactly why you’re holding back a slight smirk as it takes Geto Suguru exactly 1 minute and 30 seconds to kick the camera crew out.

Then less than that to hoist himself up onto the massage table as well, to tug his baggy pants down, n’ have you bouncing on his cock. 

Spit leaking down one side of your lips as you’re crashing your mouth against his pretty, puckered one- moaning straight into the hot, open-mouthed kiss as Geto’s thick cock swabs inwards. He was just about eight inches, and decorated with so many veins—he might just be stretching you out in ways you never thought were possible to feel before.

The plumpness of his cockhead, the zig-zagged patterns of his veins.

Geto didn’t just have his size going for him- he manages to curve his incredible length just perfectly inside your tight channel. Targeting your sweet spot within mere moments of finding himself between your legs—“Oh-ohhhh.” Crackling out from the back of your throat, “S-Suguru, that feels sho good.”

“Sho good, huh?” You feel his grin against your own mouth, “Don’t tell me you’re that cockdrunk already, gorgeous? And I haven’t even used my fingers on you, yet…”

Before you know it, he’s reaching up his mean left hand- letting it smush your cheeks together. You’re sure that that makes you create such a lewd expression upon your features, but Geto merely beams down at you as though you were the most beautiful creature he’s ever set his eyes upon.

Amethyst peripherals murky with something indiscernible. “C’mon- can you say something without slurring? Can you count from one till ten?”

Crossly- you couldn’t believe his sheer audacity right now. “Of course I can count until—ngh.” Only to be cut off with a thorough slash of his rounded cockhead- you feel it throbbing right against the spongy layer of your cervix.

Gluing himself even deeper with a few wads of his sploshin’ sap. He cracks a smirk, “That’s not the way you count till ten.”

Your mouth gapes.

And Geto takes his long, lingering time to lean closer and spit straight between your stunned lips - before using that left hand of his to close your mouth. “You’ll catch flies, gorgeous.” He titters to himself. The massage table creak-creak-creaks with each thrust of his - and his pace was something thorough and lingering.

Geto knew that his mushroomy tip felt good - and he was using it to his advantage. Not a single hammer of his hips was without reason—he was making sure to massage all the inner linings of your walls - every nook and hidden crevice - before he’s emptying out dollop after dollop of pre at the very bottom of your pussy. Giggling to himself at the way you’re utterly ruined on his long, long length- “Yeah- fuck, yeah. My poor baby can’t even speak?”

Your g-spot, however…he merely teases. Lightly grazing his flared tip near that treasure trove of nerve ends, but never quite hitting it. Again and again.

The velvety walls ‘round that spot quiver with need.

“But can she at least remember her own name?” He echoes. And throughout it all, you’re mindlessly attempting to angle your hips further into his- the ruthless man grabs onto a handful of your hair with his right hand. Jerking your face to look into his own, “I said- can she at least remember her own name?”

You hiss at the searing burn—

“Tell me your name, my cockdrunk girl.”

“Suguru- fuck.” Barely even registering the question - you doubt you could even hear him by this point. 

Merely babbling away expletives at the way he’s fucking his cock up even more rudely—he’s poundin’ and poundin’ up into you in sloppy, structured hits. Deep. And Geto peers up into your dazed pupils whilst he fucks you - whatever he’s seeing there makes him smile, “Suguru? Heh- you think that’s your name, gorgeous?”

Mouth gaping, “I-I mean…”

“Well, you’re not technically wrong.” He hums- more to himself than anything. 

And by now he’s rammin’ his length away into you at such a pace that the pap-pap-papping sounds were nearly louder than your own mewls. The sheer pressure of the strokes leaving you limp. Tenderly, you’re pushing your face into the sweaty crook of his neck- only for Geto to pull you back once more with the vicious restraint he has on you. 

Making you stare into his ravenous gaze, “Look at me when m’speaking, gorgeous- you might be fucked stupid but you’ve gotta remember your manners, right?” Taking your cutesy whimpers as an affirmation, “And you might not be Geto Suguru but…how about Mrs. Geto Suguru?”

Shockwaves of pleasure cascade down your spine.

“Yeah- yeah, you like that?” Snickering to himself - who’d have thought you’d be such a romantic? He was, too…not that he was fucking you like it.

Geto was fucking you rough and hard- bruisin’ his rotund girth at the back of your pussy. He was leaving his mark for anyone else that came after - let them know that he’d been the one to make you feel so good. “I can take your last name, too, if you’d like.” 

You’re breathless, “You- you really want to win—”

“Oh? So you can speak.” He speaks with slight amusement, “And, gorgeous- I really want to make you mine.” His tip bulges even bigger at the feeling of you clamping down- shit, it feels so good that he has to gnaw down on his bottom lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. Panting out again, “Mrs. Geto Suguru.”

“Fuck-” You’re bouncing down onto his gluttonous cock.

“Mrs. Geto Suguru-”

“Please-”

“Mrs. Geto Suguru—” The pretty man smiles to himself as he’s finally - finally - pressin’ down on the button of your g-spot. Watching as your thighs quake, watching as your eyes spin to the back of your head. “Cum on my cock, Mrs. Geto Suguru.”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Who the hell doesn’t wait after knocking?

Surely part of the producers’ ploy; both your heads snap in the direction of the massage room door to see a flash of auburn hair—followed almost immediately by the door slamming closed once the intruder registers what he’s witnessing. And a familiar skater boy’s voice emanating through the slim wooden panel, “S-sorry–!”

You and Geto can do nothing but look at one another.

You’re sure the rest of the contestants would be hearing about this very…very soon.

Though Geto doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest. And he’s the first to move-

He’s the first to flip your positions around so that you’re splaying your back against the massage table now. His toned body hovering over you, he doesn’t waste a second before swatting- yes, swatting aside your trembly thighs n’ swivelling his length inside once more.

Long, luxurious slides down the narrow channel of your cunt.

You’re taking his strokes with a moan, “Suguru—y-you’re not bothered by- ngh, that in the slightest?”

“Why would I be?” He answers. And with that said, his soft fingertips snake between your legs- pinching that swollen clit of yours. “In fact…”

Just the slightest roll of his thumb - and you’re already feeling pleasure wreak havoc on your body. Then he’s pressing, then he’s tugging- then he’s alternating between teasing and pulling and massaging your needy nub over and over in ways that drive you wild. Spelling out what you’re piecing together to be his name—

Geto was about to show you what a masseuse could truly do.

“-how about we step up that volume, Mrs. Geto Suguru?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Fan-favorite.

“I-I’m Choso Kamo, I’m 29, and…um, I honestly don’t know why I’m here.” The dark-haired man beneath the spotlight fidgets with his thumbs, lips barely moving as he attempts to continue the introduction that he’s surely fucked up by now. “My little brother submitted an application on my behalf because he thought that The Bachelorette would be p-perfect for me to find someone and…um…yeah…”

The producers look at each other. Eventually, one of them calls out—“So is she?”

Choso startles- almost as if he didn’t expect to be addressed. Almost as if he didn’t expect himself to be perceived at all. “Well…”

And his eyes drift towards the small screen behind the camera - one that had been playing B-roll footage of you so that the contestants could get more familiar prior to the actual meetings. Oh. It’s strange how as soon as his gaze latches onto you, his eyes can’t seem to find any other purpose but to linger.

Choso’s shoulders raise up to his ears- as if to cover the faint blush that was creeping onto them. “Yeah…” He whispers, “Yeah, she’s just beautiful.”

And it’s all quiet on-set for a second—nothing sounding out but the mechanical hum of the lens as it zooms in on the flush he can’t deny. Choso jumps back a bit as he realizes just what they’d been focusing on, and he’s flickering his eyes uncertainly towards the cameraman behind it- “Are those things always going to be on?”

The other man nods, deadpan.

“Oh.” Choso gulps, “W-well I made sure my little brothers won’t be watching this season- but for the erm…Tiktaks? For the Tiktak edits they’re sure to get, could you make sure you get my good side, please?”

A producer asks, “And just for your brothers- if you could say something to them now, what would you say?”

And he gets a slightly determined smile upon his pretty, pretty face. “Your big brother’s going to win.”

.

.

.

“So…bachelors, as you may know, this week’s Rose Ceremony is going to be like no other- because tonight we’re introducing the infamous golden rose—” A hush falls over the set. The host turns and blinds you and the lined-up contestants with his smile - one of those contestants being your future husband, perhaps.

You’re nodding back at him with a confidence you hoped your expression falsified.

And he turns back to the camera, “Tonight, whoever you choose to hand the golden rose to-” An impression rose just like the others before it, only this time it’d been sprayed gold and held a weight far heavier than just the paint. “-is who you’re going to be going on a three-day romantic getaway, with a honeymoon suite to boot—! No cameras.”

Twisting the rose nervously in your hands, your mind still whirled with names. So many handsome men. So many eligible bachelors- fuck, how were you ever going to choose?

“But…there’s a catch.”

12 contestants - and you - snap their heads over to the slyly beaming host. 

He claps his hands in satisfaction, “You won’t be the one choosing your getaway partner.” Your jaw drops- and the host continues into the greedy lens—“It’ll be all of the world that’s been voting, day in and day out, throughout this week to pair up just who they want to see more of. Just who they think will be the perfect match for you…” 

“Oh goodness.” You feel something - excitement, anticipation, fear - shoot through your blood vessels.

And looking straight at you, the host pulls out a glossy envelope from his suit jacket. You’re eyeing it as though it was a ticking bomb - and he merely waffles at the camera some more. “And our viewers have chosen: your romantic companion, your getaway partner, the man you’ll be sharing a bed with is—” The words hang in the air for a few more seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps what feels like hours. “Choso Kamo.”

.

.

.

“Shit…” Choso’s jaw drops, pupils turned into the cutest lil’ hearts and peering right up at you—as you lower yourself down onto him. 

His sensitive, twitching shaft disappears between your pussylips, and one hand of his immediately darts upwards to clasp at the side of your waist. Even just touching you like this…fuck, it sends bursts of electricity shooting from the tips of his fingers and up to his frazzled brain- then right back down again to his rock-hard cock.

He doesn’t think he’s been harder in his entire life.

Choso’s letting out a rugged moan as he fits inside your dripping wet cunt with a sluuuuurp! Pretty brown eyes rolling to the back of his skull- he’s shocked once he flutters them open to find that you’ve leaned yourself closer to him.

“O-oh, god…” Words barely a whisper. 

One of your hands softly cupping the side of his face, “Something wrong, baby? Would you like to stop?”

“No.” The answer explodes out of him faster than he can control, and before you can register it - before he himself can register it - Choso’s quickly pressing both hands deeper against your hips to keep you from leaving. Even though there didn’t seem to be any immediate urgency of that- he doesn’t let up for a single second.

Digging his nails into your flesh- he’ll apologize for that later. Planting his feet on the soft mattress. 

He slams you down to pin that hot, wet cunt of yours against his pelvis - until your clit caresses his happy trail—such a primal scratch down where you were most sensitive. And his body moves before his damn mind as Choso’s swabbin’ his cock inwards-

Not with any specific rhyme nor reason in mind.

Nothing but the primal urge to fill you up - to chase that heavenly squeeze of your walls. They’re spreadin’ apart juuuuust wide enough to gulp down his inches, and then when he’s reeling his hips back you’re clamping down until the man’s held hostage- gladly.

Shit- his lower lip trembles at the feeling. This was like nothing he’s ever felt before- and he hasn’t—

“You’re a virgin, Choso?” Your sweet, sweet hum breaks through the haze of his lust- just about the only thing he hears past the papping! of his hips arching up into yours.

And the man below you blinks up in confusion for a few seconds- long lashes dotted with tears. Before the smile upon your face makes him realize that his muddled brain - all your pussy’s fault - might have just said those last thoughts out loud…

You’re coming to the same realization he is. And you’re cooing down at him- pushing aside the sweat-dampened curls of his bangs. “Awww, pussydrunk already, baby?”

“M-mhm…” He’s nodding languidly.

“Tha’s alright.” You tut, “You’re doing so well for your first time- oh.”

Almost as if jinxing it - though that really wasn’t your fault, he was barely holding himself together as is - he throws his head back n’ lets his aching cockhead dribble out a few wads of…cum. Just from that. Just a few ivory beads of sap that glue to the veeeeery back of your pussy, making Choso lose his mind every time he’s gliding down your cervix and feeling his mess splosh ‘round inside you. 

A singular line of cum leaks out of you, and Choso shivers as he catches it. “S-sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to-”

“Nothing to apologize about.” You’re cutting him off with a smile, meeting his thrusts by grinding your cunt down to meet his cock. “You’re still doing so well, baby…fuck, look how much you’re cumming.” And with that said- Choso thinks he sees the pearly gates themselves open up once you’re spreadin’ aside your thighs—just the slightest bit.

But Choso Kamo takes one look between your naked, shivering legs and moans.

Your pussy was just drenched in his cum - absolutely drenched. He hadn’t even recognized that he’d been cumming so much until he’s taking a peek, and he’s watching a few velvety ribbons of seed run down either side of your legs - creating a sheen that smears n’ spreads the more you’re meeting his cadence with your own. Skin against skin.

He’s letting out a ruined whimper—and you’re pushing down on his chiselled chest with a snicker. “See that, baby? You’ve been- hah, holding back for so long.” Even the slightest sound of your voice is enough to make his overstimulated cock spark with pleasure- he’s sure he empties out a few more droplets of cum. “How long have you been wanting to fuck me?”

Choso startles- eyes darting up to meet your expression. Damn that smile of yours. “I-I don’t know what you’re…”

“Oh, c’mon—” Teasing him. Putting pressure on his toned body, you’re now fully letting him recline- it was just so fun how much in awe Choso was…especially when you’re taking control instead.

Almost as if he was being thrown further and further into dreamland with every sloppy drag of your cunt - swallowing him up from his round, blushin’ tip and aaaaall the way to his hilt. His heavy balls, tightening as though he wanted to cum again. “With the way you’re grabbing me? With the way you’re- hah, rutting up to me?” Shoving between his pecs once more—“Down, boy.”

He whimpers.

“How long have you been wanting to fuck me, Cho?” Your lips twitch with amusement- he looks torn between sobbing in pleasure and sobbing in embarrassment. “It’s alright…I won’t judge-”

“Always—” Choso finally echoes out with a sudden squeeze of your velvety pussylips.

Practically wrenching the answer out of him- he laughs out something hollow at the back of his throat. “I’ve a-always wanted to…ngh.” The pointed edge of his tip draaaaags down your cervix, and he’s shivering as he recognizes just where your womb was. If only he could…“Ever since I first met you, I-I’m ashamed to admit but I’ve always wanted to stuff myself between those gorgeous legs.”

You’re giggling scandalously at his admission.

But Choso wasn’t done just yet-

Soon enough, he’s using the firm hold upon your hips to increase n’ increase his pace. Grabbing you firmly and burrowing his cum-soaked tip deeply between your folds- “I’ve wanted to know what she’d feel like wrapped around my cock.” Almost on cue, he’s throbbing between your legs- even harder. “Wanted to know how she tasted-” 

“Don’t tell me you’re…”

And without a second thought, one hand lifts off your body - for the briefest split-second - to swipe at your sopping slit. Catching a few droplets of your mess and bringing it up to his lips to suck.

He moans at the taste of you, “Wanted to know how she’d take me. Wanted to feel her get stuffed-” Choso grumbles, and you’re vying to catch up with his needy pace - utterly needy. “Wanted to fill her up so much that every other man afterwards w-would be able to feel me…”

And then he’s trailing off, a harsh blush flooding his pretty features.

“B-but that’s just stupid-”

“Why’s that stupid?” He looks up at you in shock- only to find that you’re already beaming. “How would you know if you don’t try? Heh.”

“I think m’gonna cum again.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - BOMBSHELL!

“These losers aren’t going to know what fuckin’ hit them.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing those beefy arms in front of him. Unlike the introductions for the other contestants, he had…his t-shirt off. For what reason, you might ask?

Well, you’d go unanswered.

Even the producers were unsure just what had compelled their latest bombshell to display his chiselled front. But that didn’t stop them from keeping the cameras rolling- already knowing that audiences were going to go wild for the pink-haired, foul-mouthed addition to your roster. “Name’s Ryomen Sukuna- remember that. Age doesn’t matter. Occupation’s professional MMA fighter.”

He gestures to those scarred ears of his, as most fighters don like medals.

Behind him, there’s cues for footage of his uproarious and successful MMA career - particularly one clip of him winning the title of UFC light heavyweight champion last year - to be added in post-production. And he cocks his head to the side with a chuckle, “Best know that I’ve never lost a match before- and I don’t plan to change that anytime soon. I bet those losers at the mansion- and my pretty lady are going to be damn excited to see me.”

There’s a cue card for him to talk about his hobbies.

“Haaah…” All that boring shit- he wonders who gets off to small-talk on a show like this. “Boxing. Lifting. Meditation. Cardio- many different types of it.”

One producer pipes up, “And why that part about remembering your name, Sukuna-san? Could you clarify that for the viewers?”

“Heh-” Sukuna leers something sinful, crimson eyes flickering over to the small screen of your own footage. It was some B-roll of your own introduction interview, muted for the moment yet he thinks he could almost hear your soft chuckle in his ears- playing on repeat over and fucking over. “Because my future wife’s gonna be moaning it soon enough.”

Someone drops a boom pole.

There’s a cut in filming called out. He knows they won’t be editing that out.

.

.

.

“H-haaaah, now that’s just unfair.” 

Toes curling. Your back arching deeply into Sukuna’s sculptured front- it was almost Herculean how he flexed and tensed his abs to show off…particularly when it came to ramming his hips up into yours. Out of all of the contestants, Sukuna was the only one to put you in a full nelson.

“Heh- what’s unfair?” Sukuna’s deep trundle makes your body erupt in shivers- the smugness was practically seeping into every syllable. “Isn’t the bombshell supposed to mess up this pussy- whoops, I mean…season?”

“You’re messing up nothing but my peace that’s for sure…” You’re grumbling back at him - slightly nervous to meet his crimson eyes.

Though you’d have been foolish to think that the MMA fighter wouldn’t catch that- he’s grasping the edge of your chin with a single hand. Tugging your face behind to look at him. All of it in just a few seconds. And Sukuna raises one pink brow as he smirks, “Look me in the eyes when you’re saying something like that, brat.”

“Y-you’re messing up nothing but my peace—” You’re just barely managing to stammer out - Sukuna was savage with his thrusts. And they’re only seeming to grow even faster as you’re answering, as though he wanted to see you struggle n’ choke around his thick cock. 

Around that pierced head of his.

The frigidness of his metallic Prince Albert runs down the sides of your walls - and he’s purposefully stopping right before where your g-spot was pulsing. “That’s not what this cunt’s telling me.”

And without any warning, he’s reaching one hand down and smacking! the swollen top of your pussylips. 

“Isn’t that right, my pretty girlie?” 

Not talking to you—he’s talking to your cunt now. 

Dragging the fatness of his thumb - that greedy edge - vertically down your sopping slit. He collects the wetness that leaks out of you, “My wet girlie—yer a lot more honest than this one here, hm?”

You shiver as he slams his rugged palm down on your cunt once more. 

How’d you even get here?

Right now, the contestants had been weaned and weeded out until only your very favorites had remained…and then there was Sukuna. It was just today that the bombshell MMA fighter had been introduced to the mansion, and for the short amount of time he’d gotten here- he’d already started seven fights, triggered an emergency meeting, and had enough time to whisk you away on a one-on-one date that had ultimately ended up like…this.

Your legs hooked behind your head. Your back arching against the mattress of your beach cabin—the waves rolled softly outside.

The only thing separating you from it were the semi-sheer curtains of the cabin, swaying softly in the balmy breeze. What a romantic date the producers had set up- for an utterly unromantic man. 

Or so he was fucking you like it.

Thank goodness you’d left the cameras behind, though your glaring disappearance was nothing if not scandalous. There goes your reputation…you ponder. This might’ve been the fastest that you’ve gotten into bed with any one of them. And you know he’s bad news, you know you shouldn’t like him so much- you know that out of all those eligible bachelors, Sukuna was going to be the most dangerous for your heart (and between those legs of yours).

But you just couldn’t help yourself. 

You’re leaning your head back against his firm collarbones- mewls falling from your lips at an incredible rate. 

Sukuna’s veering his hips back and rub-rub-rubbing his flared tip around the area of your g-spot—but never directly upon it. Frustration makes your brows furrow, and you’re just about to bounce your hips down when-

“Ah ah—now what do you think you’re trying to do, woman?”

Just then you’re being pinned right back down with a sudden thwack! of his fingertips. Hard and fast. They’re lingering over your pussylips for just a few seconds, before reachin’ in-between and pinching your cute nub.

And as you’re shaking in his arms - “Did ya think that after so much back-talk you’d suddenly get to play nice?” Sukuna titters to himself, mean lips pressed up against your temple—it would’ve been a sweet gesture…but this was Sukuna you’re dealing with. “Ryomen Sukuna never plays nice.”

“P-please—” Had this been any other time, then you might’ve been embarrassed by just how much he managed to shatter you with his fast, hard-hitting strokes.

Your thighs are flapping lewdly open, and he’s teasin’ your clit even harder with his fingers. Though he still narrowly manages to avoid your damn g-spot—“Wh-what do I have to do to- ngh, get you to hit that spot?”

He acts confused, “What spot?”

“That spot-”

“Hah? I don’t know any spots-”

“H-here…” Rounding your hips down - in something that halfway-resembled a figure-eight. It’s the closest you’re getting to Sukuna grazing your g-spot: the lightest touch of his crowned, throbbing tip. Swollen enough to stretch apart your walls like none other. He’s barely slipping past that orifice with his vein-covered shaft, and it’s already enough to make you moan—

“And who said you deserve that, brat?”

Crossly, “Me- I said that.”

He laughs deeply in disbelief, “Hear that, pussy?” Slapping that cunt of yours once more, “The audacity- it doesn’t matter if I wasn’t the one ta say you deserve this. After all, who does this pussy really belong to?”

Starting to babble out some answer-

Before yet another spankin’ leaves your folds feeling raw - and your eardrums echoing with the dampened noise once more.

It’s all the answer that Sukuna needs.

He nods as though he’s just been handed the answers to the universe, “See- see—did ya hear what she said?” This time, he’s asking you. And you’re barely given the opportunity to answer between his roughened thrusts, “She said that she’s really mine. She’s always- hah, been mine.”

You’re shivering, “A-always…”

“And she wants you to beg for your orgasm.”

That being said, Sukuna reaches down and clasps your neck with his thick digits. Choking you- choking your moans, he’s wrenching such primal noises out of you through the combination of the pressure on your airway, and the pressure between your legs. 

Shovelling his thiiiick cock over and over-

“C’mon, my spoiled brat—” Sukuna chuckles, “Beg-” Between thorough thwacks! of his rotund cockhead hitting your cervix. You always have said that Sukuna was so big it feels as though he had two cocks…“Beg, girl, beg—”

“P-please.” 

“Tch, you can do better than that.”

The only thing you’re left to do - after so many battering rams of him bottoming out - is to meet his gaze with your teary one. Your bottom lip trembling with sobs, “Please, hit my g-spot.”

“What was that?” He leans in. Smile utterly mocking.

And though your stomach churns, you can do nothing but repeat, “P-please hit my g-spot…please let me cum.” At the very least, now he was letting you swerve your hips back into his - “Please make my- your…pussy feel good.”

And it’s that last sentence that deals the final blow.

“Damn right.”

Because in the next breath you take, Sukuna arcs his pelvis deeply and thuds his drippin’ wet cockhead against your g-spot. Just the slightest push. Just the smallest pressure. And yet, it’s still enough for you to throw your head back and cum—

“Fuh-fuck…” It takes you by surprise - sure, you’d been feeling a few zaps n’ whips of something at the pit of your stomach, but you didn’t expect for Sukuna to actually make you cum so easily. It almost leaves you shy.

For he levers his thick cock backwards, balls twitching eagerly once he pushes his entire length inside. Inside and inside. Fucking you through every single wave - Sukuna’s cold piercing targets your g-spot exactly at the moments where you felt the dopamine in your body surge, and the stark contrast in temperature is only making you even dizzier.

Even needier to feel him.

And he certainly wasn’t leaving you wanting for long- soon enough, Sukuna’s poundin’ away at your sweetest spots so hard that it stings both your slamming skin. His was red and swelling with the print of your hips on his hips.

Yours were barely able to keep up-

Just as you feel the hot flashes of your high bate, Sukuna’s pulling you close and whispering—“Knew that hadn’t changed…” And he’s gesturing to the way you’d - in the heat of your moment - intertwined your fingers with his. Without you even realizing. “Heh, those losers are going to be so pissed when they find out.”

When they find out what you and the producers already know…That Ryomen Sukuna was your ex-boyfriend.

♡ INO TAKUMA - Group date.

“My name is Ino Takuma, I’m 23.” Ino’s pushing back his dark-colored beanie, exposing tufts of cute caramel hair- “And I’m a professional skater.”

“Professional skater?” A producer urges him, “Tell the audience more.”

“W-well, I’ve been skating for a while now, and…” The sheer amount of focus being put on him makes him blush, fingers fighting the urge to pull down his beanie - entirely over his face - once more. Goddammit—Ino watches every season of this show, he can’t deny - trash television was his thing. Saturday nights with a facemask on, phone turned off, volume turned up. So when one drunken night out with his friends meant that he ended up applying for it…he didn’t think he’d actually get in. 

It’d been like navigating through thick fog- so many cameras, and boom poles, and acting suave (somewhat) for his introduction footage. It almost made him dizzy. “You might have seen me ‘round in a few competitions…some competitions…the Olympics…”

“The Olympics-”

“Yeah.” He fiddles with the hemline of his beanie awkwardly.

“And did you win a medal, Ino-kun?”

Ino smiles because he knows that it’d been plastered across every headline and sports magazine - there’s no need for him to clarify. Though he does it for the clicks anyways, “I did. First place.”

Excited whispers spread around the studio.

The skater shuffles once more beneath those harsh white lights- this time more out of embarrassment than anything. The cameras roll eagerly, following every movement, and a producer probes at his silence—“And does this mean you’ll be aiming for first place to win her heart, too?”

He chuckles nervously, “I won’t be aiming for it.” Scratching behind his neck, he cocks his head up and catches sight of the B-roll footage they were playing of you on one screen. “I’ll be first.”

.

.

.

Okay, so maybe his introduction was a little overconfident…but wasn’t everyone’s?

Ino Takuma has watched many a dating shows in his twenty-something years, alright; which means he’s gotten used to the pompous one-liners, the nonchalance that everyone attempts to show, the self-assurance—he’s just never wondered what happens when that self-assurance simply…doesn’t produce results.

Which- alright, alright…that’s not to say that he hasn’t produced any results.

As more and more of the contestants dwindled away, Ino still found himself (somehow mercifully) still on the show. And he’s had a handful of good conversations with you, along with a few bonding moments. 

It’s just- how come that long-haired masseuse managed to get you into his arms - and on his cock…he’s ashamed to admit he actually saw when he’d walked in on the two of you - all on this show?! Ino didn’t even know that sort of thing was allowed here…

And he feels foolish admitting it but he’s grown to really, really care about you. So thinking about you with some other guy like that pink-haired bombshell or the CEO or whatever—it was starting to make him tick. 

Which is why he’s jumping to drag you away from the others at the next group date. 

This time, the producers had arranged an indoor skating park date, perhaps to make up for the fact that he hasn’t gotten a one-on-one date yet. 

And as you’re a little wobbly on that new board, Ino’s using his expertise to teach you, to hold your hand, to gently direct you around the park—and eventually let you direct him out of sight of the cameras.

Soon enough, you’re pushing him against the wall of the restroom on-site - vast and clean, and spacious enough for you to push him into one of the stalls. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing me.” Leaning up on your tip-toes to whisper in his ear, “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”

He thinks those might just be the best words he’s ever heard. 

You’re turning around and placing both palms on one plastic wall of the stall. Panties in your pocket. Smirk something delicious. 

And it takes just a few sloppy strokes between those pretty cunt lips of yours for Ino to become utterly gone—

He’s pussydrunk already.

Mahogany eyes criss-crossing. Weakening in the knees.

The skater holds onto either side of your hips as though to guide the way you’re fuckin’ back into him- but really he’s gripping onto you for dear life. To stop himself from collapsing onto his knees on this damn washroom floor. To stop himself from making a complete and utter fool of himself - the curve of your hips is the lifeline he can’t let go of.

And yet another wretched moan leaves this throat when you’re veering your hips down to his base and clenching-

“Taku, baby…” Your giggle comes out unfiltered, harmonizing with the sinful sound he’s just let out. “You’ve got to be quiet, otherwise they’re going to find us- cameras and all.”

He lets out a slight whimper at the thought, “I w-wouldn’t want you to be exposed because of me like that.”

“Mhm—” Just as soon as Ino’s agreeing to be quiet- you’re gently suctioning your cunt down until his hilt - coating your gooey slick along all his inches - and he’s letting out a euphoric noise. Even louder than before. And you’re just looking over your shoulder with a grin, “Now, what did I say about being quiet, Taku?”

Sounding as though he was on the verge of tears, “I-I can’t help myself, sweetness.” Tone husky. Octaves higher. His poor hips stutter out a singular thrust, and even that seems too much for the skater boy to handle- he reaches up to tug down his beanie. “It just feels so good…maybe m’just not deserving of your cunt- ngh.”

“Awww, don’t say that, baby.”

With a resounding squelch! you’re letting Ino pull out - and instead of telling him to tuck himself back into his pants, as he might’ve expected, you’re gesturing for him to seat himself down on the closed, clean toilet. 

Straddling his slender hips and kissin’ his blushing tip to your entrance. 

It doesn’t take long for you to siiiiiink yourself down onto him—he might not have been the thickest, but Ino was a length that you swear you could feel at your very throat. And he was actually the perfect girthiness to stretch apart your walls enough that tears prick behind your eyelids- but still smooth n’ slim enough for you to immediately start up an urgent pace. Quick.

Up and down. Up and down.

Ino’s shaft had a particularly prominent vein going down his middle that made you shiver - it was in the perfect position to massage your puckered, pulsing g-spot. You could feel the squiggly line of it practically emblazon against your wet walls. 

Your hamstrings keening at the stretch - and Ino was, too.

At least…until you’re tugging out the damp panties you’d kept in your pocket this entire time. And the next moment that Ino’s letting his maw ajar with a sudden moan- you’re quickly stuffin’ his mouth full with the lacy fabric.

Smirking, “See? Isn’t that a lot better, Taku?”

First, Ino’s eyes go wide—then he’s blushing as he registers just what you’d put in his mouth. Then he’s letting those dilated pupils roll aaaaall the way to the back of his head at the feeling of your cunt lavishing out looooong, luxurious thrusts. Squeezed tight around his cock.

He throbs even harder inside of you, “Mmmpf- ngh—sh-sho…can’t even-” Muffled.

“Shhh, you don’t have to say a thing.” You’re reassuring him, pushing back his beanie- there. Those chocolate-brown eyes of his were so pretty. You’re witnessing him tear up - and you weren’t sure whether that was because of the sudden blockage in his airway, or because it just felt so good—you had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter. “Just be good f’me and fuck up to me, okay?”

“M-mhm.” He’s nodding obediently.

Because it might’ve been him teaching you how to skate out there- but in here…he was all yours.

He was at your beck and call. At the mercy of your bounces-

You’re telling him to go easier on your poor cervix - and though it takes every single shred of will within him to do so - he’s listening to you without fuss. You’re telling him to speed up, and he’s gladly bashin’ away his eager cock inside of you until the skin of his pelvis feels raw…

You’re telling him that someone might be inside the bathroom, too, and he’s too gone on your pussy to even compute—

“Taku.” Stern tone. Serious eyes- despite the fact that your pussy wasn’t letting up for a single second. You’re grabbing directly by the throat - something his cock twitches at - and bringing him up to face you. “Someone’s in here, okay?”

He feels goosebumps go down his spine, “Mmmps- schtawp?” 

You giggle, “No…no, we don’t need to stop.” And perhaps in the next few seconds you’d suggest that you two should slow down, instead. Perhaps you’d suggest cockwarming until whoever was inside (and Ino could hear the other person’s voice as they splashed water on their face) left. 

But instead you’re merely leaning in- grasping one of his strong arms and guiding it beneath you. You’re directing Ino to cup his fattened base, “This way it’ll be quieter.” Whispering to him, “In fact—how about we see just how quiet you can get, huh?”

And his maw unhinges - drool dripping down each side - and those gorgeous eyes of his nearly bulge out of their skull.

“N-ngh—”

“Shhhhhhh.” Hips growing even faster.

Ino’s long, vein-decorated cock flinches inside of you- Outside, Geto Suguru smiles. Touché.

♡ GOJO SATORU - BOMBSHELL #2

“Of course this bombshell’s gonna blow this whole season up-” Gojo didn’t need to try to make everyone opposite the camera faun - it was practically what he was made for. 

One of the tallest in the show. One of the flashiest.

One of the most famous - there wasn’t a soul who’d walked past the billboards in Tokyo that hadn’t already seen Gojo Satoru’s dazzling smile, or peaked traitorously at a blown-up picture of his abs on numerous billboards.

Brands were practically clawing for him—just as much as the ladies and gents were. But that’s exactly why he was here - wouldn’t it be fun to be the chaser for once? Besides, his agent had told him that if he behaved himself, then he might just end up boosting his career to heights never seen before. This season had been a hit so far- but of course, what was a hit without Gojo Satoru?

Pretending to flip his hair over one shoulder, Gojo’s posing with all the best angles for the lens. “I mean- no offense, but have you seen me?”

And on anyone, such confidence would have been seen as a turn-off, a red flag, perhaps even compensation for something lacking. No one should be this confident. 

Except Gojo Satoru, of course.

And he smiles like he knows it- rows of pearly white teeth flashin’ in the direction of the camera. “Oh, I guess I really should introduce myself, huh?” He sighs, “I’m Toru, I’m 28. And I’m the man of your dreams~!”

A producer whispers something to him.

“I’m also a model.” Gojo adds, “High-fashion. Editorial. Digimon ads- you name it. I don’t consider myself a romantic, nor someone that really needs love but…” His eyes drift to the B-roll footage they were playing of you on some small screen in the back, getting the contestants more familiar before they actually joined you in the mansion. “-who knows? Maybe things can change.”

Dimples pop out when he smiles.

No one should be this handsome.

He winks.

Except Gojo Satoru, of course.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru was sent to the mansion to wreak havoc.

And wreak havoc, he did.

In the four hours and forty-five minutes that he’d been here, he’d interrupted your rose ceremony and thrown out the rose that you’d been about to give poor Usami—and taken it for himself. Not a shred of apology, he’d tucked it straight into his button-up pocket and winked at you.

Leaving the other man to whirl around at the producers that simply shrugged. Who was to say what Gojo Satoru did?

And you can’t deny it…that charm of his was irresistible.

You were sure that the viewers were loving this- in even less time, he’d picked a fight with Sukuna because of the long-standing rivalry between the two - something the producers had likely known just to stir the pot even more. According to what the skater boy had whispered in your ear, it was because the two had been battling it out for the title of TC Candler’s #1 Most Handsome Man for the last few years now.

One year it’d be Sukuna. Next it’d be Gojo.

The next they’d get absolutely washed by Zayn Malik and would have to lick their wounds and battle it out over second place.

It all left you a little dizzy, if you’re being honest.

And sure enough- after a hectic few hours of introduction between the new bombshell and the rest of the contestants - during which you’d seen more fists flying than small talk - Gojo finally managed to pull you away for a chit-chat.

He stuck his tongue out at the other men as he dragged you by hand, pulling you into the cosy gazebo outside—the one with the creeping vines up its pillars, and shutters for if you wanted privacy. Speaking of, it gave you way…way too much privacy…

And soon enough he’s pulling you into his arms, you’re crashing your lips into his in a searing kiss.

Having kicked the camera men outside, they could only see just the faintest shadows of the two of you inside - before Gojo’s dragging you down to the fucking floor like an animal—helping you tear through your panties n’ sticking his fat cock inside.

The crown of his reddened tip was burning hot, streaming out precum that sticks to your inner thighs in heavenly layers- he’s sucking in a breath as he fits his first inch inside. “Oh.” Maw dropping breathlessly - you think that perhaps for the first time in his twenty-eight years, Gojo Satoru shuts himself up. Low. “Oh.”

Clammy head falling to the crook of your neck. White bangs sticking against the side of your throat. 

He lets out a sensual few groans that seem to almost cling onto your skin - just like how his muscular body was right now. Long limbs nearly collapsing on top of you as Gojo’s stutterin’ his gleaming shaft inside a few more inches—“Oh- ohhhh, fuck. Do you h-hear that?” Voice cracking towards the end of that sentence. 

“Hear what?” Your brows furrow.

And Gojo’s snowy brows knit even deeper - more confused than you by what you seemingly couldn’t hear—how could you not hear it? “You- you seriously don’t…?” And those toned hips of his reel a few inches backwards, draggin’ the zig-zagging lines of his veins along your tightened channel- ever-so-slightly before thundering back in. “Hear it- now?” He asks, strangely out-of-breath. The pupils in his ice-blue eyes blown wide. The breaths emanating deeply from his chest.

Though his sheer desperation only leaves you more confused, “I…”

“You s-still don’t hear it—?”

As if he’s trying to prove his point, he’s grabbing ahold of one side of your hips- the manicured nails upon his left hand digging into your clammy flesh. Thrusts growing more emboldened. Gojo’s connecting his body with yours until he doesn’t know where his starts and yours ends—gripping onto every inch of you like adhesive coats your body.

His eyes lazily fail at keeping shut every time you’re clampin’ your tight pussy around him. A thin trickle of perspiration lines the side of his face, and once he’s finally able to veer his gaze to meet yours- you’re swearing that it’s as though his pupils have suddenly turned into hearts.

Something dazed and drunken in his gaze, “Can you…”

Barely able to finish his thought let alone his sentence.

“The only thing m’hearing right now is that you’re- fuck-” Gasping between the roughening and roughening rams of his hips—he pistons his swollen cock inside until your walls are bulging at the size of him. Swerving n’ swerving it into every single sweet spot inside you. 

Almost as though Gojo didn’t even need to try - he’s discovering your g-spot after only a few more determined strokes. And just the sheer force of him pinpointing that cute lil’ bundle of nerves - whacking it - makes your thighs squeeeeeze around his waist. It makes your pussylips get crushed together under the sheer pressure of movement, letting out an audible squelch!

“That.” 

Blinking through your tears, “What?”

“That-”

Gojo’s so excited that he’s running out of breath - almost as if he’d just run an entire marathon, and would run at least five more just to experience this again. 

His red-hot tip smears aside your walls, scouring your insides like a hidden maze. You feel the exact moment that he’s bottoming out his long, entire length at the very back of your cunt—“There…” A thin ribbon of drool glides down the side of Gojo’s mouth, tone almost in tears.

He flinches-

The raw softness of your womb- it was almost too much. Gojo reaches his right hand down to spreeead open your pretty pussylips, opening you up like lotus petals for him, then rolling his thumb down on your neglected clit.

You’re moaning at the sparks of carnal pleasure wracking through you - and Gojo himself grins at the music: your gorgeous noises, the sound of the night, the way your cunt’s lettin’ out the most lecherous squelches as he eases his cock in and out.

“There- right then.” Gojo finally - finally - husks out after one particularly loud slurp! Looking up at him, only to feel a jolt go through you at something primal shifting beneath his gaze. “Can you hear her say my name?”

“Her…?” Dazedly asking, “Do you mean me—?”

“No.” Gojo stubbornly answers, “I mean her-”

And before you know it, he’s honing out a few more strikes at your poor g-spot. Until you were sure it’s bruised enough with the round circumference of his length - hard and fast.

It’s enough to make you bellow out a few more hoarse noises—before Gojo himself is letting go of your waist to clasp his slender fingers around your neck. The cold sensation of them sending thrills down your spine, he’s teasingly tightening his hold as he bores deep into your eyes with his nearly-glowing ones.

“Shush, sweetheart.” Gojo admonishes softly, “Let me show you- hear her?” And it’s only after a few seconds you’re realizing that…her really meant your sopping wet pussy. Namely the lewd noises that you’re creating from it- just that wet. “Hear the way she’s whimpering? And mewling? And yowling?”

You yourself were struggling to get a single word out when he’s holding onto you like that. “Y-yes—”

“Well all that pretty noise is her…” He trails off, listening to a few more syllables of your pussy. “-screaming my name.”

Jaw dropping. “Your…”

“Mhm.”

Thin fingertips leaving marks.

He continues, “She’s been beggin’ for me to fuck her ever since- hah, ever since I got here.” And without a single warning, he’s toying with your clit and ultimately pinching it. “I know she’s been thinking about me—hah, shirtless. I know she’s been thinking about being under me, over me-” An almost wolfish expression taking over his face, “All on my face until I can’t breathe-”

“S-Satoru—!”

“Oh yeah, that’s exactly how your pussy’s saying it.”

You’re smacking Gojo’s bicep for that, and he merely chuckles. 

“I’m just saying~” The motions of his thumb then start taking a more…interesting turn. And you have to tilt your head down to get a proper look at what he was doing - Gojo’s moving so fast that his digits were nearly nothing but frenzied, feverish blur between your legs. “That’s exactly…”

He himself couldn’t keep up.

Just too enraptured by the swervin’ and swoopin’ movements—the way his fingers had to quirk just right when he’s spelling out a repeated S-A-T-O-R-U.

S-A-T-O-R-U.

S-A-T-O-R-U.

S-A-T-O-R-U.

Both in Japanese and English.

Looking up at you through his curtained white bangs, “What’s that spell—?”

“Satoru—” It would’ve tumbled out of your mouth regardless of whether he asked or not, and you’re sure he knows. 

“Exactly.” He responds. 

You look on in gaped speechlessness as he flashes you that award-winning grin. The last thing you’re seeing before your high floods you in bursts- nothing like the torrential waves of dopamine, or the hills or relaxation that’d pass by you during your other highs.

This one was taking you over.

This one was zapping every atom of your being and leaving it charged.

“Sh-shit, Toru—” Hiccuping, your nails drag red, red lines down the plane of his shoulders. They’re standing out stark, and you’re hit with the strange feeling that he’d be the type to show them off during his next photoshoot - “It feels so good, Toru-”

“Heh, you’re welcome.”

Babbling out stupidly- the way he elongated every single peak left your mind heated. “Y-you could at least pretend to have some humility.”

“Humility? Don’t know her.” He winks, “You’re my only gal, sweetheart.”

Grumbling, “I better be…”

“Now why’d you hafta go and say something so cute…” You’re still seeing white from the pure shockwaves of your high- “Because that’s only gonna make me cum.” When Gojo himself throws his head back and cums inside. Loooooong and deep slashes at the back of your cunt, he draws numerous lines of white that dribble all the way down your channel then.

Ending up frothed between your shiverin’ legs. 

The glistening layers of it smear n’ make your entangled bodies slip.

Jostling you even further, making you feel the splashin’ of his clingy sap inside you. More and more. More and more and more—no matter how many wads Gojo’s fucking inside- he just can’t seem to get enough of you—

“Because no one else can fuck you like Gojo Satoru can.”

Just the seven previous men and this bombshell left in the mansion.

Who would you even pick at this rate?

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - One-on-one.

“My name is Higuruma Hiromi, I’m 33.” Deep voice. Deeper eyes. There was a certain handsomeness to Higuruma that made it hard to look away - perhaps it was the dark features - that nose, the intelligent twinkle behind his eyes.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was dressed to the nines in his smart, black suit.

Or perhaps it was that air of confidence around him - nothing of the outward flashiness that most of the other contestants boasted. Something quieter. Something that had the edges of his pouty lips quirking, as though he already knows he’s won this season…he just won’t admit it yet.

For the viewers’ experience, of course.

He cocks his head slightly to the side and sighs, “I’m an attorney at my own law firm. I enjoy long baths and even longer debates, I’m looking for someone that can indulge me in both of these things.”

“And why are you here, Higuruma-san?”

“Because some interns of mine thought that it’d be funny to sign me up.” He chuckles softly to himself, “They’re mad- of course, perhaps I’m more mad to actually be here.”

“In the long run, Higuruma-san?”

“Ah…” He takes the time to think, eyes drifting over to the screen replaying footage of you - he’s already heard some of the other men gossiping amongst themselves in the waiting room about just how beautiful you are. And he hates to admit it when someone’s right, but he can’t deny it—they were fucking right. “I guess I’m looking for my wife.”

His eyes never miss yours on the screen.

The producer probes once more, camera angles shifting to accommodate for his intense staring match. “And do you think that you’ll find that?”

“I think I already might have.”

.

.

.

The audience had been curious about the hotshot lawyer from Tokyo.

“H-Hiromi, I’m ngh- cumming again…”

And so had you.

It’s been a string of more one-on-one dates that the producers had arranged prior to the finale where you had to choose…your future husband. Fuck- at this point you were wondering whether you couldn’t just have them all. And though the dark-haired lawyer had made it this far, he hadn’t featured in too many of the episodes—that is, until a recent edit of his B-roll footage had gone absolutely viral online - quite to the distaste of one particular white-haired model. 

Clips of him laid back in a bathtub - suit still on. Clips of him slamming his gavel down.

And so, of course, they’d rushed to bring the two of you together to raise viewership—lo and behold you found yourself sneaking off to the couples’ suite after a romantic spa date. Escaping all the cameras - shutting those hungry lenses behind the door - it didn’t take long for the man to corner you against the rose petal-covered bed and bend you into the meanest mating press that you’ve ever even heard of. 

Though Higuruma might’ve seemed all cool and composed on the outside- he was drilling his rock-hard cock into you like a fucking madman.

Thick and throbbing. Thrust after thrust after thrust-

“Fuck—” He snarls something primal from the back of his throat, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. Hoarse, sensual grunts leave him after every battering ram.

His skin was still damp from all the hours prior- when you’d been riding Higuruma’s face silly.

And even now, you could see the slight sheen of slick clinging onto his handsome features. Without thinking twice, you’re reaching up and swipin’ away some of the remnant excess, which immediately makes him snap his head down with a low trundle. “Fuck, don’t act so sweet, sugar.”

You huff, “M’not acting-”

Before you’re immediately getting cut off by the slam! of his round, reddened tip on your cervix. Barely reeling from the sheer pressure of it- before Higuruma reaches somewhere above your head - at the clothes that you’d discarded hours prior at the start of the night - and produces his favorite black tie.

You’re blinking up at him in slight confusion.

To which he doesn’t say much - he doesn’t say anything at all, really. Without a single word, Higuruma loops the soft silk of the tie around your wrists, and he’s tightening it into a knot that your muddled mind barely computes—tying you up. 

It’s too late once you’re realizing- no matter how much you tug, you’re left unable to move. At your sultry mercy before the man - exactly how you wanted to be.

“S’not handcuffs, but it’ll have to do.” He mutters to himself. 

“And why would you want me in handcuffs?”

“Because act sweet t’me one more time and you’ll be walking out of this suite pregnant, angel.” And you can’t believe it—the ever-eloquent Higuruma Hiromi was slurrin’ and babbling because of your cunt. “Why else?”

“O-oh…”

You snark back, “And what if I want that?”

“Well, you don’t deserve that.” He counters, “You’re a guilty girl.”

Squirming- he runs a long finger of his down the crevice of your pussylips. Just the very tip of it teasin’ in-between, uuuup and down, uuuup and down until you’re restless. And you can’t even do anything because of the ruthless restraints that he’d tied around your wrists. 

“G-guilty for…?”

Higuruma doesn’t answer instantly.

He’s curling his dominant hand around the ribbons of fabric that were decorating your hands.

Cold fingers grazing your own- you’re just about wondering what Higuruma was about to do right then and there. But just then, he’s tightening his hold and draaaagging your body down. 

As though you weighed nothing.

Higuruma’s hidden biceps bulge ever-so-slightly as he’s manhandling you down, down, down—onto his thickened cock. The silken bedsheets bunch up around your waist, and the bedsprings creak at the way you’re being thrown about like a ragdoll-

This rough angle makes his globular tip maze even deeper inside of you- burrowing a circular bruise at the very bottom of your pussy. And you’re gasping—you’d be clawing at Higuruma’s handsome back had it not been for this damn tie.

Almost as though sensing your desperation, the man looming before you huffs out in laughter. It fans your face in a scorching breeze - you think you can feel the smoke and need in his breath. The addiction to white-knuckling your cuffs and hauling you down after every thrust pushes you up, up, upwards- “Count one: seduction” 

“S-seduction?” Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull.

“Count two: temptation of a working attorney.” He lists off. The slightest smile lifts up the edges of his lips, “Count three: temptation of a working judge.”

“You’re the-”

He sighs as though this was just another day in the court for him - though if this was the type of court he led, you’d be showing up for jury duty everyday. “Count four: perjury.”

“Perjury?” You gape, “When have I ever lied to the court?”

Higuruma cocks his head, “And when you told me you weren’t acting sweet?” That rounded tip of his lingers where your g-spot was, “I know how filthy you are, angel, no need to put on an act…”

“I—fuck, please…”

“Count five: greed.” Higuruma finally ends off, and you’re probing into his darkened eyes for clarification. “You seriously think you deserve to be fucked pregnant by me, sugar?”

“Y-yes…” You’re barely able to mumble out.

And he merely scoffs out a

And he scoffs out a slightly mean bout of laughter, as if he’d expected for you to say that. Oh, how he’d expected you to say that. But instead of responding to that directly, Higuruma’s openin’ up your sopping wet pussylips.

The hand between your legs bears your stuffed entrance for him to examine. Those intelligent eyes of his twinkle as he’s taking in the plushness of your swollen folds, the way your hole leaked even when stuffed to the brim with his fat cock - struggling to take him, yet still yearning for more. And most of all…he’s admiring the way your cute clit twitches- “Count one…” Higuruma announces with no warning—and even less of a warning is given before he’s planting a solid spank on your clit. “Guilty.” Even harder than he might’ve done with that gavel of his.

You’re surging up on the bed due to the sheer shockwaves coursing through you. “Fuck- fuck, you’re just-”

“Count two—” 

“Shit-”

Barely giving you the time to compute before his hand comes slammin’ down once more. “Guilty.”

Tears stream down your cheeks, “Hiromi, I’m going to cum-”

“Count three-” And it wasn’t like he couldn’t hear you - he just refused to respond until his judicial duties were completed. Higuruma was a man of the law, after all. And surely it was that discipline that led him to spank your cunt two more times, “Guilty. Count four- guilty.”

Your thighs were shaking with your impeding high, “I-I’m seriously going to-”

“Count five-” The fifth, final punishment. “-guilty.”

And you’re crashing against the waves of your high - it feels as if you’re floating on air. On clouds. On the white-hot pleasure that Higuruma was fucking into you.

His pace doesn’t falter for a single second. The plush edge of his shaft probin’ into you in and in and in—Higuruma knows exactly which nerve-filled spots you wanted him to push. Exactly where they were. And he doesn’t do so immediately…but once he’s glissading his lengthy cock inside your cunt, he sure does press his pointed tip hard into wherever he can reach.

Not quite agonizingly teasing, but not quite giving your guilty self what you wanted.

Somewhere along the way, you’re feeling his gooey white sap fill you up as well. He lets out a choked-up groan as he floods the lining of your cervix- “Guilty…haaaaah, on all counts.” The sheer volume of him forms a little puddle there, “And I sentence you to…”

“Y-yes…?”

“Hmmm—” He pretends to think, though the lewd humor in his tone told you that Higuruma already knew. The full stop at the end of his duties- he thwacks! his palm down upon your cunt once more, “How about five more rounds? One for each count- hah.”

You’re letting your head fall to the side, where the curtains of the suite were just barely cracked to reveal pinkish-yellow lighting filtering inside. It was morning.

You weren’t making it out alive for the rest of the season.

A/N. MAYHAPS have a special treat for whoever wins. Can you tell my best friend made me watch Single's Inferno with her-

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Latest Essay Submission

Sure, I’m free on Thursday afternoon at 1:30pm for an office hour. I’m happy to discuss any parts of your essay you would like feedback on and answer any questions regarding the feedback I provided. I cannot, however, remark your essay. Department policy. — Toji

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Thank You

Dear Toji Fushiguro, Thank you so much for your prompt reply, and for being amenable to meeting with me. Whilst your response greatly pleases me, it also disappoints — I was so very hoping you would consider re-reading my essay, because I am certain you will see the value in pushing me into the next grade boundary.  It is, after all, only a matter of recognising brilliance when it is placed directly in front of you. I trust this will not be your first encounter with such a phenomenon. Please consider it. Kind regards, Someone who would owe you the world if you do

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Department. Policy.

No.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: no??

Um, excuse me.  Do you not find your reply unprofessional and unnecessarily rude? As the Teaching Assistant, you have a responsibility to respond appropriately and with grace. Need I remind you, you are representing our dear Professor, who would want the very best for his students (which includes me). Nevertheless, I shall overlook this callous response in exchange for extra marks. I am, as always, generous. You could learn from me. Best wishes, Someone not above blackmail

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: nice try

I don’t know where you got the idea that you’re above policy, nor who told you I’d listen to you over the Prof (my employer), but you’re barking up the wrong tree. And in reference to your initial email, I have many friends, you are not one of them, but even if you were, I still wouldn’t pull strings and be as stupid as to leave a paper trail via email. If you want higher marks, earn them the normal way. Wishing you a speedy recovery from the head injury you must have suffered recently, Toji

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: I am well, thank you very much

Dear TA with a stick up his ass, Note how I have not explicitly asked to be given extra marks? I am only asking that you reconsider my essay and the marks you have awarded me, because I am absolutely certain you were mistaken in your initial assessment, which is fine. I understand. You’re overworked and underpaid. Shit happens.  So allow me to say, my essay was well-researched, balanced, concise, and thoroughly supported with relevant scholarship. I engaged directly with the question, demonstrated independent thought, and constructed a coherent argument that remained consistent throughout. According to the mark scheme — which I have, unlike some people, actually read in detail — I should be placed in the top band.  This is not an isolated case of overconfidence either. I have submitted numerous essays to both you and the Professor, and they have consistently fallen within, or very near, the top band. There is a clear pattern of performance here, one that does not suddenly collapse without reason.  In short, my essays are worthy of that standard. I am worthy of that standard. You are, at present, the only barrier between me and my deserved academic standing. I would encourage you to reflect on that carefully — on the weight of that responsibility, and on whether you are discharging it fairly. Wondering why you were ever hired, Girl who regrets ever giving you my last gum three months ago P.S. You really needed it

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: that supposed to make me want to reconsider?

I’m sure Mommy and Daddy gave you too much praise and love as a child and that’s why you are the way that you are, but you’ll find that I’m not so easily impressed.  Your essay had egregious mistakes that, if I had it my way, would have earned a 0. Be grateful I even let you have the marks you have now.  No one is ‘worthy’ of top marks by the simple virtue of existing. That is an arrogant way of thinking I despise. There is only hard work and determination, which yes, you show at times, so good for you, kid. Still not just gonna hand out extra marks because of whatever history you think we have together. Advising you to get over yourself, Toji P.S. Not taking judgment from someone who pops three gums in the morning instead of brushing their teeth

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: suing for emotional distress

Dear Toji Fushiguro, My parents are both dead, so thank you for bringing up traumatic memories. I really don’t appreciate the personal jabs. Please refrain from mentioning them, from talking about the people who worked multiple jobs to put me through college, who won’t be there to see me graduate, won’t be in the crowd cheering me on. But yes, they loved me very much. And it is because of their support, which I still feel even when they’re no longer here with me, that I do this.  It isn’t easy for me to grovel at your feet for scraps, for crumbs. However, I will do whatever I must to succeed. So judge me all you want, hate me, and show me disdain for my relentless, shameless ambition. Just answer me this one question: What are you willing to do to prove people wrong? Because if it is anything less than what I am doing, then you are not a TA deserving of my respect. Despite it all, best wishes, An orphan P.S. If you are apologetic and regretful, you may earn my apology via extra marks. Thanks in advance P.P.S. I do brush my teeth thank you very much!

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: you’re deranged

I saw you touring your fucking parents through campus just last month. You pointed at me and said and I fucking quote, see that miserable-looking homeless man? he’s the TA with no hobbies or interests other than grading that I told you about. Spare me the guilt trip.  Even if you were a Make A Wish kid, still not giving you shit.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: did not know you heard me…my bad, big bro

Dear the greatest TA to have ever lived, So, yes, I did lie about being an orphan. But, I feel that I was one in another life, and the tragedy of that distant life long lived carries me through this one.  More importantly, I have a special message for you: Thank you so much for your continued responses. I deeply appreciate every hour you dedicate to aiding me, and the student body which you govern. I understand you are so busy and carry many burdens; it cannot be easy. Yet you persevere and always give detailed and insightful feedback that has never failed to guide me towards improvement. You truly are an inspiration. If I could nominate you for employee of the month, I would. If such a thing existed. Let me know and I’ll campaign for you myself. Scout’s Honour! (Please do forgive me for my lapse in judgment. It’s late and I am not thinking clearly). All the best and love in the universe, A student who really needs you to not tell the Professor about any of this P.S. It really is late, what are you still doing up? P.P.S. You jerking off? P.P.P.S. The video you watching any good? Send recs pls

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: don’t play games you can’t win

Dear idiot,  It’s just three marks. You can live without it.  Enjoying the ass-kissing though, Toji P.S. What the hell is wrong with you? P.P.S. Working. 

From: [email protected] Subject: lol sure

'Working.' And no, you give me too much credit. I really cannot live without the three marks. I need it for something. This isn't just vanity talking.

From: [email protected] Subject: go to sleep

We have an early lecture tomorrow. Shut your laptop and count some sheep or something. I don’t want to hear anything from you tonight again. I’m serious.

From: [email protected] Subject: fine

But this isn't the last you've heard of me.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: stop. seriously

I know you’ve been following me. To my classes, the library, my hang outs, my fucking home. Don’t pretend otherwise — I could hear you whispering ‘oooh you wanna remark my essay sooo bad’ from behind a fucking bookcase. Not only is it stupid as hell, it’s also creepy as fuck. Do you not have better things to do? Like, I don’t know, hitting the books so your next essay will be better and we won’t have to do this whole song and dance? Next time I see you stalking me, I’m going to tie you up to a lamppost and let campus security deal with you. – Toji.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: oh that?

Dear Toji Fushiguro, For legal reasons, I will neither admit nor deny your accusations. Perhaps every encounter you believe you had with me outside of lectures/classes/office hours were mere coincidences. Campus isn’t that big, after all. I promise I would never do anything to endanger you (unless, of course, it’ll give me extra marks — I kid, I kid). If my persistent appearances are bothering you, however, maybe you should reconsider your rejection of my plea to have you re-read my essay. Just food for thought. Best wishes, Woman who might already have been, but I’ll keep that to myself P.S. you’ll tie me up? Kinky. Didn’t know you have those kinds of interest rawr

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: fat chance

My answer was no yesterday. It’s a no now. And it will be a no in every single instance you ask me in the future. Grow up, Toji

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: never say never

We’ll see…

From: [email protected] Subject: hi handsome

Dearest Toji,  The distance is agony. I miss you so very dearly, yet every metre we are kept apart only strengthens my adoration for you.  Lots of love, Your soulmate

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: it’s too early for this

Don’t be emailing me during a lecture. Focus. And I don't know what distance you're talking about; you’re literally sitting on the front row, right in front of me. Damn near killed that girl when you shoved her for the spot. Listen to what the professor says — it’s important.  And stop spreading your legs; I can see your panties from here. — Toji P.S. Focus on your notes before I move you to the back.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: boo you’re boring

Dear hot stuff,  Important, you say? Important in the sense of appearing in the next exam important, or important for the soul important? You don't need to tell me, just send one wink for the former and two for the latter. Also, I have no idea what you’re talking about.  I’m not wearing panties ;) All the best, Your gorgeous girl P.S. ngh I love when you wear those grey sweatpants, if I look closely enough, I swear I can see every vein

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: no.

Dear dumbass bound by the university’s Code of Conduct, You know better than to solicit unfair advantages by exploiting your personal relationships. I trust you also know that since we filed an official form regarding our relationship that you face different papers than your peers, which will not be marked by me.  — Toji P.S. quit staring at my dick. you panting like a bitch in heat ain't helping. neither was the low cut top you're wearing.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: I know I know

Dear Mr. Strict TA, I’m well aware. I was just kidding. I actually appreciate that the department approved of our relationship, with the support of the Professor. Not that we would have let them stop us — I just like that we can still see each other in lectures and classes, whenever you’re auditing or teaching.  You know how worried I was that things would change if we became official.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: yeah, me too

I owe the Prof a lot. Guess he was preparing for this day or something.  Look, just don’t do anything that’ll get you in trouble or will make the other students think you’re getting special treatment. I don’t like the idea that you’ll be discredited because of me. You got a bright future ahead of you. I won’t ever hold you back.  So head down, alright? Leave all the worrying to me. — Your Toji

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: I love when you’re sweet

Okay, okay. I’ll pay attention. This is a rather interesting topic anyway. I bet the PowerPoint was all you — it screams, I don’t get paid enough to use pictures and animation lol Oh, and don’t forget we promised Megs we’re taking him and his wittle friends to the movies tonight! Please don’t stay too late grading. Love, The best sister in law ever!

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: good girl

Yeah, didn’t forget. Little brat’s been going on and on about it. Says he wants to sit next to you, like I didn’t raise the runt. Whatever. Wait till he finds out you hog the popcorn.  Meet me in our usual spot after this lecture. I wanna verify something you said for myself.  Better not have lied to me.  — Toji

Where does this take you? Right back to a game of eye-tag so doused in tension that it feels like a physical strike to your nerves.

Unknowing of how he'd recently fallen victim to your budding attractions, your mystery man sat particularly independent and detached from the room surrounding him. The only thing that seemed to pluck him out of his perpetual state of aloofness was the persistent way in which a gaze landed on him.

The gaze in question being yours, of course.

You simply couldn't help yourself, especially after he’d gone out of his way to buy you a drink.

Though, despite him being the picture perfect image of your type, you weren’t about to let this kindling flame crackle and then die out too quickly. No, you much preferred when mutual interest like this played out nice ‘n slow.

Which is exactly why you let your eyes glide down to the silently offered drink, lift a manicured nail to the glass’s rim, and then create a mild bit of distance by pushing it away.

The glass coolly slides across the bar far enough to be received as you declining the beverage, and your mystery man of interest catches it immediately. You look up again just to make sure he was watching you and you’re left with a little jump in your heart as his tired eyes mull elsewhere.

Fear threatened to take over at the momentary loss of his attention, but your worry was quickly soothed as he looked at you again. Lifting that half-drunken glass of his, he lightly tips it your way with an understanding nod of his head, obliging to your rejection.

Now, most would assume that this is where things end between you both. He offered you a drink and you politely declined it, how can tension possibly still exist there?

Simple—if you’re someone that’s of true interest to him, he won’t exactly stop there.

Which is precisely why it's of no surprise when he moves to stand up.

You'd been sipping on something you'd ordered roughly thirty minutes ago before Shoko left you to network the dance floor, trying your best not to make it obvious that every smidge of your attention was trained onto a man whose name you hadn't even gotten yet. But with the way he carries himself, it was almost impossible to do so.

The moment he stood up seemed to make your centered attention worse off. He was noticeably over six feet, a trait of which you recognize from across the room as you let yourself watch how he absentmindedly lifts a hand to make an unnecessary adjustment to his tie.

The way he walked around the bar had people turning heads and bartenders exchanging glances as if to imply he hadn't moved from his previous spot for a while up until now.

An exit is located not too far off behind you, so part of you figured your singular rejection is exactly the thing that'd drive him into retiring for the night. Was this your intent or goal? No, not at all.

But you liked the thrill of clinging on to the wildly false sense of hope that dwindled about inside you. The same sense of hope that sparked your intuition and made it less of a surprise to see your mystery man round the bar and relocate himself a mere two barstools away from you.

You watched through your peripherals how he fit himself into his seat—the length of his legs angling beneath the bar, and his charcoal-colored suit sleeking darker under the new angle of the establishment's dim lighting.

With him being closer to you, it was hard not to turn your head to get a better look at him and all that he had to offer you visually. Then again everything involving this man and your will to do things threads on a very, very thin line—as you'll come to find out.

Five minutes—not that you're counting or anything—roll by before anything noteworthy occurs.

Unfortunately, it's of your own actions that bring interest back into the slowly rolling interaction-, er, lack thereof...

You look back into the moderately distant clumps of people in search of Shoko, wondering just what has kept her so occupied this long. Eventually you spot her talking to a rather timid man with glasses, his gaze hardly meeting hers due to the intimidation she exuded via maintaining completely undivided attention on him.

The sight makes you smile as you set your drink down and you take this as the perfect opportunity to steal a quick glance at your fairly quiet mystery man. He'd bought you a drink, you declined it, then he came over, and since then... things have been placid. Unwelcomely so.

Has it been your turn to make another silent move all this time? Or were you both waiting for something to just happen out of the blue?

When you move your eyes to him, you feel your heart lurch in your chest.

The man is already looking at you—or, more specifically—at your legs. His eyes traveled slowly along your thighs based on how much you had revealed, making an intentionally steady descent to your calves and around the curve of them, before eventually falling onto your heels. At that final stop, his brows twitch.

He doesn't make a face or anything like that, rendering you unable to figure out what was going through his head, but he does blink ever so slowly before making eye contact with you.

...Almost as if he knew you were watching him check you out.

You start to open your mouth to say something of the quirky variety but he beats you to it.

"You declined my drink," Rumbles off the expanse of his tongue like he'd been holding the words there for longer than he meant to. The throaty base in his voice has you inattentively crossing one leg over the other.

Which, he notices, of course.

There was music playing softly throughout the room but from the moment he opened that dangerously calm mouth of his, every other sound seemed irrelevant to your ears.

Now that a conversation had finally presented itself, you had an excuse to take in every feature he had. His eyes are naturally wide in a way that should feel hollow or empty, yet does the exact opposite somehow. There's a richness lounging around in his irises, the outskirts of them indicating nights and nights lacking sleep, and the dull way in which he drags his gaze everywhere telling you that being tired is a trait he may have been born with.

All of which have you so utterly intrigued.

"I did," finally exits you, and for a split second his face dares to show emotion. An unspoken battle of attentiveness waged between you both, evident his mild reaction to hearing you for the first time. Someone could walk by and see or feel the tension already blooming between the two of you.

The man patiently waits for you to grant him with more of a response than that, eyeing how you move your hand towards the drink he purchased for you.

Your nail lightly taps against the rim and your shoulders rise to shrug, "Buying a woman a drink from across the room without even saying hello feels a bit lazy to me, sorry."

He doesn't smile at that but the corners of his mouth involuntarily move. A faint scoff leaves his nose, "I see." He murmurs, making it clear he wasn't exactly a man of many words. "Is that your type, then? A man who approaches you directly?"

Things had only just begun and the dynamic had you reeling in your seat already. Turning to face him a little more, "Depends," Your head tilts and you send him a grin, "Is that you?"

"Could be.” He offers suavely, “I've approached you, haven't I?"

You hum, tapping at that idle glass of rejection again before returning to your own cup, "Only after I've declined your drink."

He appears unimpressed by your response, eyes leaving your face and moving to your hand, "You didn't answer my question."

"I thought it rhetorical." You bite back.

His lips twitch again, "It wasn't."

Something about the blunt end of his statement has you unable to lessen your attraction for him. You liked how he was carrying himself through this conversation so far.

Sighing, "...Obviously, you've approached me."

He notes the sass in your tone but doesn’t address it in the slightest. Instead meeting you with some of his own, "Then that makes me your type, no?"

Before you can answer that, he slowly leans over with his arm extending out. You thought he was about to offer his hand to shake but it amply moves past you and plucks up the same drink you denied moments earlier. Bringing it to his lips, you’re left to watch him turn his head to the side as he sips.

And that—whether it be intentional or not—has your mind set on how you want this night to go. This stranger had already been your type in terms of perpetually presented exhaustion, a drawling voice, and calculated way of speaking but his most redeemable quality was undoubtedly his nose.

Oh fuck, it was beautiful. The gorgeously arching curve had your eyes stuck in place. You didn’t want to stare at it but shit, you didn’t realize how big it was up until now.

In the casual manner he goes about drinking, you wonder if he even realizes the sex symbolistic quality shaping his face.

Your lashes bat and your words nearly come drooling out of you, "I don't even know your name."

God, you hope it wasn’t obvious that he’d you exactly where he wanted you already.

"I don't recall you asking for it." He hums gravely.

It’s like he’d written out a response for everything hours before even approaching you! Or, perhaps he’d exchanged this set of dialogue before. Maybe you weren’t leaving the stand-outish impression you’d hoped to.

Instead of playing into his game, you take matters back into your hands, "Is that your type, then?” You mock with the slightest smirk on your face, “ A woman who shows interest immediately after you've approached her?"

"No,” Fuck. Of course he had a response prepared for this as well, “I prefer a woman who can't keep her eyes off of me, and then plays coy once confronted about it."

You scoff, "I'm not playing coy."

"It's cute how you didn't deny the first part.” He finally grins, albeit small. Then he makes eye contact with you again and lifts his brows, “Was that intentional?"

"Very." You claim.

...Just who exactly was playing into who's hand now?

There’s a small beat of suspense that splays out between you, but he eventually breaks it before you do.

"Higuruma Hiromi." He finally tells you, splitting his keen attention to return to his drinking.

You offer your name politely in return and then add, "I like how I didn't have to ask for it."

The exchange of names has him loosened up more than the alcohol. You see it in how he becomes a bit more telling in his expressions and body language. 

Higuruma shrugs, "You should never have to."

"Almost seemed like you wanted me to," You fire right back.

He can’t help but smile for the first time, thinking he was quick with his words but noticing you’re becoming quicker. "No? I'm your type, remember?” He teases, turning his head to scan the bar, “I know how you like a direct approach."

You wanted to hate how smooth he was but unfortunately it was only worsening the existing attraction you felt for him. He was supposed to approach you and say something corny like most men do—y’know, struggle to finalize your interest and completely squash whatever fantasized version of them you had in your head.

Yet, Higuruma was the exact opposite. He exceeded your prospects and then fucked a throbbing new reality right into your fantasies. 

That can’t be fair, can it?

"Alright,” You finally breathe out, feeling sick of how things are only getting worse for you. “So did you buy me a drink for the banter or are you interested in something more?" You ask.

Higuruma leans forward toward the bar and moves to rest his cheek against his knuckles as he looks at you, "Are you denying me the option of both already?"

"You didn't answer my question." You mock again.

Something on him twitches but it’s not his mouth this time. He distracts you from it with a kinder expression, "I'm interested in both."

Your brows raise, "So you expected the banter then."

"Not at all," Higuruma chuckles faintly. "My expectations were nonexistent, considering I prefer to be surprised."

You lean toward him a little, your dress shifting against your body and tempting him to dip his gaze elsewhere. Then you’ve the nerve to bat your lashes at him, "And how did I do? Are you surprised by my wit?" You joke.

Luckily it lands with another smile coming your way, "I'm surprised by you, period. Mainly because this is my first time seeing you here."

"I'm on a vacation trip with my friend," You hum, glancing and pointing back at Shoko.

Higuruma’s eyes follow before he nods at your spotted friend, "Ah, I see."

“And I'm assuming you come here often?" You ask, feeling happy to keep the casual conversation going.

He looks at you again, "More than I care to admit, yes."

"Mh." You squint skeptically at that, "Demanding job?"

If his answer turns out to be yes then it would all make sense. He looks tired, he’s still fully dressed in a suit, and he’s on his third drink of the night. 

"Yeah, I’m a lawyer.” Figures. “What gave it away?" Higuruma asks.

You gesture at his face playfully, "A little bit of everything."

He chuckles, "I get that a lot.” Then, he finally sets his glass back down and sits up a little straighter, intent on showing you that you have his undivided attention now.

As it stands, the two of you know so very little about one another. The only thing inherently obvious between you both is that you’re deathly attracted to each other.

A mutual comfort of sorts settles in between you and Higuruma, evident in how things felt moderately different now. The small talk had been nice and all, but it was overtly obvious that you both wanted much more than to pass time with words that’d surely be forgotten come the next morning.

Which is exactly why you run your eyes over the man one last appreciative time and let your head tip to the side as you say, "It's my last night here."

The sound of that has his brows perking up in interest, "You wanna make it worth something?"

"How so?" You shoot back.

Higuruma quips lightly, "Answer my question without another question and you'll find out."

You smile and finally concede, "Yeah, I wanna make it worth something…”

——

Which is roughly how you end up in the backseat of his car—his personal driver ahead pretending not to hear the heavy pants and breathy moans leaving the two of you.

You hardly remember how you got from one place to another. One second the two of you were drunkenly locking lips at the bar, and the next you were unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing on top of him after growing too needy to wait for the ride to be over.

The two of you were on your way to—what you assume to be—his place and while your concern for leaving out with a complete stranger should’ve been present, it wasn’t. Instead, the only thing concerning you was the way your dress slid up your thighs and over the curve of your ass via needy shoves from Higuruma’s big hands.

His grasp had been careful when it first met you in the bar—initially treating you all delicate-like as he cupped your jaw and pulled you in slowly for that first kiss. Then it’d traveled to the back of your neck, tugged you in to deepen the kiss, and ultimately ended up where it is now: tracing the skin of your thighs and bundling the fabric of your dress up, up, up! until your lacy panties were revealed.

One quick peek from his poor driver ahead and he’d surely be flashed by the sight of your underwear. Not that you were sober enough to care.

Higuruma’s fingertip dug into your thighs with a certain fixation for them, hauling your body impossibly closer to his own and prompting a proper grind against his clothed cock so you could feel exactly what you’d done to him thus far. It was enough to have you gasping into his mouth, your sounds swallowed up by his desperate kisses and the searing swats of his tongue that accompanied them.

Your arms were slung around his neck loosely and you couldn’t help how your hips bucked against him—the fabric of your panties clinging to your wet cunt as you ground a particularly soaked spot into his dark slacks.

"You want me now?" Higuruma scoffs into your mouth as if to scold you. Smirking before you can even answer and tonguing his next words into you, "Are you like this often? Throwing yourself on top of strangers and begging for them to touch you? Hm?"

When he pulls away, you’re given but one second to gasp as his head dips down and his nose brushes against your jawline—the sound of him inhaling your very scent giving you a short chill down your spine.

You manage a cheeky smile as you thread a hand into his hair and ruffle the strands in between your fingers, "If I say no, would you even believe me?"

His lips plaster the right side of your neck in hot kisses before he whispers, "Depends on how convincing you make it sound."

You push him back softly and his body rocks along with the movement, hands growing tighter at your hips. There’s a prominent twitch from his cock just under you at your sudden assertiveness, and the way you two meet eyes is downright filthy. Whatever visual chase you’d done earlier couldn’t possibly compare to the way you both just eye-fucked one another.

Breaking the moment, you lean to his ear, "No, Higu, I don't throw myself at people like this.” Your hands shift down and you start plucking a few of his clothes off—starting with his tie and trying to make your way down to his belt, “But, it's like I said earlier, tonight's my last night here and I wanna make it count. Sue me."

He chuckles at that, "Careful, sweetheart.” 

You’ve no idea if he was warning you about your words or the fact that your touch is trekking dangerously close to his erection. 

Your wonder is satisfied a mere second later as he adds, “I just might."

With a roll of your eyes, "Gross, does dirty talk with all lawyers sound like that?" You groan, finally pulling his belt free from the loops and tossing it to the side.

The sound of it clattering against the vacant seat has the driver up ahead—who's name you caught as Shiu Kong—peering into the rear view mirror. 

"It was a joke,” Higuruma responds to you lowly, a couple of his fingers slipping under the lace of your panties at your hip.

You scoff playfully, “A corny one.”

“You smiled.” He bites back.

Shaking your head this time, your gaze slips down to watch yourself unbutton his pants as you snort, “Jokes are meant to be laughed at.”

You barely get to unzip him before he says, “And you’re meant to be moaning by now.” 

Just like that, your attention is stripped from the task at hand (literally), and you’re meeting eyes with him all over again. It was clear he didn’t want to waste what little time he had with you. 

Thus leading you to match his energy as you always do, arching a brow and leaning in a little closer, “So make it happen.”

“Needy girl.”

——

Between the luxury car and penthouse you soon end up in, you hardly remember a pure thought ringing throughout your head. The entire ride had been filled with dry humping hot enough to have the two of you drooling into one another’s mouth, and it was like you’d blinked before you were being tossed onto some bed.

Items of Higuruma’s suit and your dress decorated the hallway leading up to his room, and the few remaining pieces of fabric between your bare skin and his was currently being glared at by a patently prurient pair of eyes. 

During the ride here, Higuruma had muttered something filthy into your ear about how he loooves making women like you feel good. Obviously you were too wrapped up in your own aroused brain to realize this was a warning of sorts.

The thing is, Higuruma was not your average eater. He didn't treat oral sex like foreplay or a thing to be done out of convenience, but he catered to the act as if it were an art to be studied and thoroughly executed.

You, (un)fortunately learn this the hard way.

After being not-so-patiently tossed onto a plush set of sheets, large, grabby hands met the underside of your thighs and were quick to sprawl your legs apart. Then Higuruma was settling himself in between them, uncaring of how hard he was and wanting-, no, needing only one thing from you at present.

You severely underestimated how infatuated a man could be with eating you out until you met Higuruma.

The gentleman was so utterly craving that he didn't even bother pushing your panties to the side. His lips met the fabric with ease, and you were left to watch him with slightly furrowed brows as he tongued through them to gather the first taste of you onto his rather famished tongue.

The first noise you let out was nothing short of embarrassing given that you flinched like a woman who hadn't been touched in months. Higuruma comforts you with a sound of his own though—a throaty groan vibrating directly in between your puffy folds in response to the teasing taste of you greeting the center of his oral muscle.

A long stripe of salivating sin swipes up all crookedly against your panty-clad cunt as he takes his sweet time figuring out how he wants to go about devouring you tonight.

When a proper dribble of your aroused slick enters his throat with one slippery descent, Higuruma's lashes begin to flutter as if heaven itself just met his taste buds in liquified fashion. Then he moans against you, a sneaky whine laced somewhere in between the desperate sound.

His hands grip the skin of your thighs and he pushes your legs out impossibly wider—like you hadn't been spread enough already! The little gasp you let out in reaction to being stretched so widely goes through one ear and out the other with the way Higuruma lets the entirety of his mouth cup your pussy before giving it a firm suck.

You thought having your panties on would be uncomfortable for you but you quickly found that it was the exact opposite with him. He'd suckled your taste hard enough to pull the fabric up into his mouth for a second, lifting his head a little and letting space grow between your now outstretched panties and your glistening cunt.

Then a cold brush of air would slip through said space and you'd shudder just to feel your underwear wetly slap! back down against you.

It was then that your hand shot down to his hair and your hips lightly rolled up for more. You felt the corner of his lips curl up to smirk as he continued with his oral motions.

At some point you get the feel that he's just taunting and your impatience gets the better of you, causing you to use your grip on his hair to push his face a little harder against your cunt.

Higuruma's hips buck against the bed hard enough to rock the entire frame at that as he lets something filthy exit his throat. Then you feel his smirk widening out into a smile before his eyes peek up at you. His tongue glides right and finally shifts under your panties for a moment, languidly licking at the lip he's met with there.

"Higuuu," You try crying out in an honest attempt for him to quit it with the teasing.

As if encouraged by the sound, his tongue simply begins to dip at the outskirts of your pussy. A thumb comes over smoothly to peel the rest of that lacy fabric out the way, and you hear him breath out something of awe at the raw sight of you.

Your poor cunt was sooo swollen from all the sucking and wet kisses he'd given you for the past however many minutes. If the sight didn't have his cock slobbering against his boxers then perhaps he'd feel bad.

With one more adjustment of his positioning, Higuruma moves his hands to your hips and then pulls you a little closer before he dives in nose first. The tip of it peppers a couple kisses around your clit just to feel the way your neglected nub twitches at the first bit of contact, and you feel a fat glob of spit meet your entrance.

The plump pad of his thumb pucks at your weepy hole a couple times before you hear him whisper, "Such a pretty lil' thing, fuuck."

Then he angles his face and you watch the whorish display of him lathering the bumpy ridge of his nose with all your profoundly drooling slick, his mouth returning to taste you directly for the first time.

Once he gets a full taste of you, he doesn't stop until he's satisfied—your gorgeous string of whines 'n moans drowned out into the air and battling for volume against the sloshy shlicks! coming from your cunt as Higuruma does what he'd been dying to do from the moment he first met eyes with you that night.

The feel of you against is tongue is something he just can't get enough of, his mouth is moving haphazardly along your slit to work your drenched folds further apart.

Then comes his thiiiick fingers, which work your insides out steadily in scissors-like motions. You feel him prodding against spots you weren't even aware you had, promoting the prettiest arch in your back as your body uncontrollably squirms against the bed to escape him.

Your breath had run from you many moments ago and you struggled to capture it back into your lungs, much too wrapped up in the pleasure thrumming all throughout your body.

Higuruma's a feral eater but he's neat with it, making sure none of your delectable slick escapes the jail of his mouth, and thoroughly pursuing any slips that dare to trickle elsewhere.

It's not until after your fourth or fifth orgasm—coaxed via his tongue alone—that you feel your legs turning to mush, jittery shakes noticeable as you use that grip on his hair to tug and then push at him all confusedly. You were at a point where you didn't even know what you wanted anymore. On one hand, his mouth was absolutely perfect against you, but on the other hand, you couldn't quite take it anymore.

Your whines were of pleas to convince him to give you a break yet your hips insouciantly bucked up at his face. And fuck if all of it didn't drive Higuruma mad.

Nothing could top watching you lose yourself in the pleasure he was able to give you.

Well, except for you giving him a rather rude shove just as his tongue flicks over your overstimulated clit. The exhale you release is one of near exhaustion but he only takes that as encouragement.

Grabbing at your wrist and lifting his head away from your cunt for the first time in a while, his eyes meet yours with a perfectly ticked-off glare, “As much as I love your hands on me, gorgeous, you’re interrupting my meal.” His tone is low and raspy in a way that shows his vocal cords have been well saturated with your taste.

The moment of grace you're given directly after only comes because Higuruma is busy snatching the loose tie that's been hanging around his neck off, and then lifting over you and taking the both of your hands into his grasp. Crossing your wrists with one another, your lashes are cutely flopping whilst you peer up at him with pleasureful tears coating your waterline.

A few minutes later and you find your wrists tied up over your head 'n anchored to the bed.

Your voice comes out all shaky, "H-Haven’t you had enough?”

His eyes lazy flick up to you and for the first time, he crack a crooked, but genuine smile. Cocking his head to the left, "No one’s ever eaten you out properly, huh?” He asks as if he already knew it to be a fact.

Blinking, “…What gave you that impression?” You huff.

Higuruma scoffs and looks back down at the sopping spread of your pussy, admiring the way your slick oozes out of you in pretty glimmers. Before losing his train of thought, “The dumb question you just asked.” He soon shoots back to you.

Your brows furrow, “Hiro—“ Before the rest of his name can finish its departure from your tongue, he's diving back in and you're left moaning all over again, “F-Fuuck!”

The man was no longer eating you out as if starved, no. He was now feasting upon your sloppy folds with a prideful passion of greed guiding ever nasty swipe of his tongue.

It wasn't long before his fingers joined back into the fun, stuffing you nice 'n full to prepare you for the next way in which greed would express itself into you.

Through the entire time he spent satisfying his oral fixation for you, his poor, fat, neglected cock was left to sob out something creamy down below. His balls ached from the lack of stimulation but fuuuck if he wasn't gonna prioritize his cravings over what his body claimed it needed.

When he finally lets his head fly back—after watching you fall apart on his mouth for the nth time of the night—you see as he pants, as if he was the one who'd just been slut out on a mere finger and tongue combo.

Casually muttering, “I think she’s ready for me now," as he shifts back to sit on his heels and works the weight of his cock out from the damped fabric it's been confined in all this time.

Your head shakes slightly but your cunt is busy twitching with readiness—clearly matching his greed with some of her own. “I don’t think I can…" You tell him while he comes up to untie you. Never quite finishing your sentence, you end it off with a sheepish, "Hiromi...” to gain his attention on you.

As if it had ever left to begin with...

He arches a thick brow your way, “You don’t think you can, what?" Another cocky smile is bearing across his lips, "You talked such a big game earlier. Surely a little foreplay hasn’t worn you out already.”

Foreplay?? He just ate you out for two hours!!

At that, you roll your eyes and playfully scoff, “Oh, fuck you.”

He hums, “You’re about to,” and then slots a wet hand to your hip, tapping slightly with his instructions of, "Flip over.”

You do exactly that with utmost swiftness. No matter how many pouts you sent him or how bratty your words were, your body couldn't deny the incessant desire for him. That feeling has been buzzing through you all night and now was not the time to try 'n ignore it.

“Oh fuck,” Higuruma lightly smacks your ass as you roll over, helping you to get in position as he throws a leg over you and sandwiches your limbs together. Grinning at how ruined you are for him already, “S'this your type too? Having a stranger's big cock stretch you open jus' right after a long day? Hm?"

You're drooling from every hole already—reduced to nothing more than a wet, needy mess of a woman below the man you met only a few hours ago.

If he'd mentioned anything personal to you between the bar and now, you wouldn't be able to remember it by tomorrow. But the way he fucks? Oh, you'd be remembering that for weeks to come.

And how could you not? There's nothing more memorable than the swollen, plump rounds of his cockhead smearing in between your puffed pussylips—sweetly streeetching you open to take the rest of his length.

"Yesss, Higu'." Your voice is immediately moaned into a pillow as the soft material smushes against your face, back arching some. "This is my type t-too.. hahh, I love it."

You're obviously just babbling whatever you can in agreement with him, but he couldn't much care.

With a firm thrust of his hips, his cock slides in deep and you're biting down at the pillow already due to his raunchy tip slathering in a messy greeting. “God, you’re nasty.” He huffs out a breathless little chuckle, already losing his own mind from the warmth that's currently swallowing him, “I think I like that about you.”

“Mnngh-, y-you just like how good I feel.” You say back to him, feeling one hand hold your hip to lift it up a few centimeters as the other presses into the slope of your spine.

The arch he forces you into is just filthy and you're almost annoyed by how snuggly his cock fits because of it. Your salivating walls twitch and throb out to his shape, folds kissing his wide base with him just nesting in place for a moment.

He snorts, “No, I like this—how bratty you pretend to be.” Then his hand kindly flies up to the back of your head so he can shove your face down, and his hips are reeling back.

Shit.

Fingers slot through your hair just to grip at you nicely and his cock pivots left inside you, “All that talk just to get a good fucking as if a simple please wouldn’t have brought you the same results.”

“Hiro,” You moan breathlessly, fingers dug into the sheets for support and toes curling up as mindless pleasure washing over you in hefty waves.

“Ohhh, I know, I knowww, sweet girl.” He coos with a condescension that has you spilling glossy gushes around the thick of his shaft, each spill decorating his thumping veins. “Don’t cry like that, I’m just givin’ you what you wanted. You wanted me to fuck you like this, didn’t you?”

The weight of Higuruma comes over you next, smothering you into the mattress and having your entire body jump involuntarily. You don't know whether or not you cum or cry because of it, but either way your reaction is adding a certain wetness to the situation.

Then you're just nodding in an all too fucked-out manner, “M-Mhmmm.”

“Mhmmm, yeahhh, you did.” He mocks, hips rocking down into you tenderly so he can stir up your insides jus' right, “Now tell me it feels good—tell me it feels good to get what you wanted, c’monnn.”

Higuruma's words of encouragement are enough to make your mind go blank, “I-It feels s’good Hiro,” His thrust gets unintentionally sharper and you're still going, “Ngh! You feel s’good.”

“So do you,” His voice gets louder with base as the heat of his mouth slanders against the crown of your ear, “I’m tempted not to let you go.”

Him being addicted to you was the one thing both of you wanted to avoid, but the heat of the moment got the better of you and he feels how your pussy hugs him in reaction.

Licking at your skin, "You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He whispers.

“Uhuhhh.” You nod again.

“Use your words, hun. I can’t understand you when you mumble.” Fuck, you don't think you'll be lasting the number of rounds he had planned for you if he continues to speak like that. “C’mon, talk to me all pretty like you have been all night.”

“Yes, Hiromi.” You eventually mewl, “I-I’d love it if you-, ah! didn’t let me go.”

“Fuck, you’re so good for me.” He praises huskily, dick achingly hard within the sleek confines of your cunt, "Bet you want me to keep you around after this, just so you can get the cock you deserve whenever you want it, huh?"

Your body tries to inch away from the strong roll of his hips and how soppily his cockhead is lapping against your sweet spot, "Ohmygod," He easily follows your chaste movements by bucking into you. "M'gonna cum Hiromi."

His bottom lip pokes out to pout, "Aww, again? A little bit of talking really gets you there like this?" He asks as if he's not right there with you, his fat balls taut with the need to pump something sinful into you.

You're a complete mess and your mind is going all blank on you, "M-Mhm."

"M-Mhmmm," He mocks again, "My poor baby, when's the last time you were fucked properly?"

Cunt fluttering around him, "I-I don't-"

"Shhh, not you." A bulky arm comes wrapping around your frantically twitching frame and two fingers suddenly slide right into your gaping mouth. Voice still hot against your ear, his other arm snakes down so he can tap at your clit, "M'talking to my pretty girl down here."

And that is all it takes for you to choke on his fingers as you leave a splashing mess on him, eyes rolling back, back, back! until only the whites are showing.

Higuruma fucks you good. Talking right through your every orgasm as if he had no idea how to shut that filthy mouth of his, cooing and mocking you all through each mess.

You'd hadn't been fucked that good in so long, you're pretty sure you were the first one to tap out not too long after leaving a squirting slob of cum on him.

And Higuruma, ever the cunt-connoisseur, made sure to end the night by "lightly" licking you clean.

During that act is when you actually fall asleep and he's pretty sure you're the kinda woman he'll be thinking about for a while after this.

You may not have kept up with him fully—at least not to his standards of doing so—but he does appreciate how you allowed him the opportunity to slut you out exactly as he'd hoped to!

——

The morning after was nothing short of a blur. 

You departed without giving Higuruma much of a goodbye, but you’re hoping the little note you left with your phone number attached to it will be enough. Part of you felt bad knowing that he’d be waking up to a half empty bed—considering that’s definitely not what he fell asleep in—but the other part of you felt as though Higuruma may appreciate the lack of you in his arms, per not wanting to get too attached.

And bearing in mind the way things play out for you going forward, you’re sure the latter of your preferences are closer to validation.

Shoko had a field day upon hearing you recount your details of the night as you two exchanged stories during the flight, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself right back home.

The first day back to reality was a painful reminder of why you’d left in the first place. 

Walking into the lobby of your family’s company building for the first time in weeks was dreadful, to say the least. Employees greet you all politely as you pass, but their heads only dip in automatic acknowledgement of the chairman’s daughter—aka, you. It’s a fake routine you’ve grown both accustomed to and very tired of. 

Nothing real ever comes from these small interactions and the majority of the people in this building view you as some sort of pawn in your parent’s game. Which, unfortunately, is exactly what you come to find out you are.

You made way towards the elevator and mashed the button for the thirtieth floor, shutting your eyes for a moment to collect yourself and get your thoughts back into that working mindset. Your phone buzzed against your palm with a message from your father’s assistant, urging you to make your way to his office a little faster.

A sigh escapes you and with each floor you pass, you feel the weight of impending doom press into your shoulders. You'd hardly been home for more than twenty-four hours and you already wished you were back on vacation.

When the elevator doors finally open to your designated floor, the hallway outside your father's office is quietly expecting you. His assistant shoots up from her desk immediately.

"Miss," She greets ever so politely, a tremor of nerves caught in her voice as she does so. "He asked that you come in right away."

You wave a hand her way and let an unimpressed smile carve itself into your face, "I got your text, thanks."

You watch as she hurries over to the door and knocks once before peaking in to announce your arrival to the room. After which, you step right inside and watch your father's assistant give you nervous eyes just before the door shuts behind you.

As the soft click serves as the only sound in the room, you turn your attention elsewhere and immediately realize something is off.

Your father's seated behind his desk with his hands neatly folded together, a composed expression you only see when he's conducting board meetings plastered across his face.

In your head, you wondered if that was any way to greet one's child after not seeing them for a few weeks, but you suppose your father has never really viewed you as such. You've always been less of a daughter to him and more of a strategic asset liable to be moved at any point in time, for the betterment of the company.

While harsh, you—and everyone else around you—knew it to be true.

Before you or your father could greet one another outside of distasteful looks, the sight of some blonde man sitting in front of his desk makes your brows twinge up some more. You thought it weird that you were called here in such a hurry just for someone else to be there as well.

Your father notices where your eyes have gone and just as you open your mouth to say something, he's cutting you off with a gesture towards the empty chair beside the blonde stranger, "Sit down."

Whatever this was, you hated it already.

Not that your feelings stop you from doing as you're told, considering it was much too early to start an argument. The moment you seat yourself, you turn your head to get a better look at the man next to you.

Safe to say, you've never seen him before.

He seems tall, he's got these broad shoulders that are concealed only by the tailoring of his tan suit, and his facial features are sharper than ever. A fawning pair of brown eyes glance your way and gently meet yours, matching the concern and confusion etched into you.

It was clear that you weren't the only one curious about this sudden meeting.

"I've called you in here because there's an important matter we need to discuss regarding the future of the company," Your father says, snatching both the blonde man's attention and your own all in one go.

His statement is enough to have you feeling nervous but you do your best to steel your emotions until the real bullshit comes flying out of his mouth like you know it will soon.

Continuing on in that tiresome drawl, he looks directly at you, "As you know, our company has been in negotiations for several months with another firm concerning a potential merger."

You can't do much except nod your head slowly, "Right.."

Your father gestures to the man beside you, "This is Nanami Kento."

On queue, Nanami looks your way again and then moves his hand out for you to shake, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Unfortunately for him and the respectfully offered handshake, you decline it rather rudely. Looking down at his open hand and then turning back to your father with a cocked brow. "And?" You ask, ready to get to the point of this meeting.

Nanami's hand remains outstretched for an awkward moment before he retracts it, pursing his lips together at the feel of embarrassment washing over him. Had he made such a bad impression on you already?

"The Nanami Group has agreed to the merger," Your father finally gets out, leading to your brows lifting in surprise.

Well, now you felt bad for declining the handshake...

"Oh." Glancing at Nanami again, you have a softer expression on your face as you go to apologize. "That's wonderful, I'm—"

You're cut off by the slow addition of, "On one condition." soothing into the air.

Your head whips back into your father's direction and whatever expression of excitement you had, drops with utmost quickness. "What condition?" You ask with a pointed look.

His eyes shoot down to his desk as if to avoid yours. "You're to marry him," He responds shortly, gesturing to Nanami as he speaks.

Aaaand there it was! The bandaid had finally been ripped off.

For a moment, you swear you heard the old man wrong. Surely he didn't just say you have to marry the man you just met less than five minutes ago?

"...Pardon?" You breathe out.

Your father maintains that eerie calmness of his, "The union between our families will solidify the partnership between our companies."

Some of his words mull through one ear and out the other because you're too busy trying to figure out whether or not this was really happening to you. 

The man who raised you was actively informing you that he'd basically sold you off for the amelioration of the family company.

You only manage to tune back into what he’s saying when he finds the gall to hum, "The merger between our families will then be finalized after the marriage produces an heir."

Across the desk, Nanami shifts slightly in his chair as he chokes—a clear sign that the conversation had become uncomfortable for someone other than just you.

Meanwhile, you manage yet another scoff, "You're joking."

"Not at all," Your father chirps, "The boards of both companies felt it would ensure a lasting partnership between our two families."

"Oh okay, so not only am I being married off," You begin slowly, "But I'm also expected to start producing corporate successors? I'm to be married and bred, all in one go."

You watch the way he rolls his eyes and gestures a hand out to wave, diminishing both your words and your feelings, "You make it sound so harsh. This agreement merely ensures stability between both families.” He claims before adding, “A-And you've already agreed to it.”

The stammer in his voice told you more than enough. You knew right then that whatever agreement he was referring to was probably born out of some form of manipulation or miscommunication.

Blinking, "I beg your finest pardon?"

A document is slid your way just as your question finishes off.

"Years ago,” Your father nods, “During the board's succession program. You remember.”

No the fuck you don’t.

Well, you do. But you definitely don’t recall signing your consent to this arrangement.

You know what he’s talking about took place when you’d first joined the family business but, at the time, he’d told you that the documents you were signing was "standard procedure for future executives in family companies"

Now you're seeing that this wasn't the case at all.

Silly you for thinking it was all just meaningless paperwork.

As you snatch up the document, you notice your signature sitting clear as day across the bottom. Shaking your head, "Nowhere on this does it say that I'm supposed to be—"

"Clause seventeen." Your father directs.

Your eyes narrow as they flock there immediately.

In the event that the chairman determines a strategic marital alliance beneficial to the company, the undersigned consents to participate in such union for the purpose of securing corporate stability and lineage...

Your gaze stops for a moment, jaw agape and heart clenching up in your chest. Especially as you continue reading to see that it only gets worse.

...The parties involved acknowledge the expectation of producing a direct heir to reinforce the partnership between two family entities.

"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me." You scoff.

"Language." Your bastard of a father has the nerve to scold, leaning back in his chair with a casual creak. Shrugging, "You signed it willingly."

That sentence alone is enough to start an argument between the two of you that stretches on for at least thirty minutes. All of which Nanami sits there listening rather uncomfortably due to feeling like he’s overhearing things he really shouldn’t be.

You bring up past family issues and the current relationship between your mother and father—scolding the old man for doing the same thing to you as was done to him years ago. Arranged marriages shouldn’t be some type of tradition in your family but with the way things are looking now, that seems to be what was becoming of it.

Despite his discomfort, Nanami sits there in awe of you. When his parents informed him that he’d be marrying a woman he’d never met, he didn’t even think to argue with them the way you are with your father now.

And he hadn’t even seen you yet!

Part of him supposes that’s because he was raised differently than you—having been told from a young age that his role in his family matters little to nothing if the future of their company isn’t his top priority. Whatever childhood dreams he had were crushed a long time ago and replaced with only the thought of doing what’s best for the company, even if that now meant marrying a woman he knew nothing about.

But seeing you now…

Nanami knew then that knowing nothing about you wouldn't matter much longer. The mix of passion and honest frustration you so openly expressed towards your father directly in front of him was nothing short of endearing to the blonde witness.

And by the time you flung that signed document back into your father’s face and went storming out the room, Nanami was certain he’d fall for you even if you swore never to look his way.

Which is why he shoots up to his feet just as the door slams behind you, ignoring the way your father murmurs something to him about not bothering to chase after you, and giving the man a curt nod before doing exactly that.

As Nanami opens the door, he spots you making way for the elevator and does his best to keep up with you without looking like he intended to follow you (even though he did).

Like a lost puppy of sorts, he trails behind you and enters the elevator alone with you just before the doors begin to shut.

His eyes fall to the way you’re mashing at the button to another floor—trying not to chuckle at the way you accidentally press seven other buttons to various floors in the process. His posture stiffens up as you side eye him sharp enough for him to feel it, and he worries that following you in here may not have been in his best interest.

…Even though he wanted to speak to you after witnessing everything.

Lifting a fist to his lips, Nanami clears his throat. The elevator begins its slow, creaky descent and he keeps his gaze fixated straight ahead as he breaks the silence, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t pity me,” You breathe out without thinking, immediately regretting the harshness of your voice. 

His shoulders tense up at how immediate your response was, heart skipping a beat now that your aggravations were being directed towards him. Even his face was getting warm like you’d complimented him or something.

A quiet moment passes before you slowly release a sigh, “While it’s appreciated, I’m afraid your sorry is worth nothing to me.”

Nanami nods, “Understood.” His single word of comprehension soothes your nerves over juuuust a tad. Then, he glances over to you—appreciating the side of your face, “I hope you know I had as much control in this as you did.”

You didn’t have any control in this—obviously—so his words provided a light sense of comfort to you. Meeting his gaze, you lift a brow at him, “Your parents see you as a means for breeding just as mine do, I’m assuming?”

His mouth opens but you watch the way they twitch as your bluntness throws him off. Clearing his throat again, his eyes darted off, “That’s uh… That’s one way to put it.”

“Well,” You huff, turning to face forward, “At least I’m not alone in that regard.”

Nanami doesn’t say it, but he hopes to find more regards to comfort you in as time passes. While the marriage itself isn’t what he wanted in the slightest, he can’t find it in himself to complain after his eyes have taken you in.

He’s never believed in love at first sight and he knew for sure this wasn’t that but… there was something about you that had him thinking all of this would be worth it in the end, somehow.

——

The next few days, weeks, and soon months of preparation feel like you’ve entered an unimaginable level of Hell.

You were trying your best not to be a drama queen, but you can’t exactly help yourself when the announcement of your engagement was merely the tip of the iceberg.

Due to your outburst in your father’s office that day, he thought it best to have you and Nanami constrained into the same home for some time before you two were to be wed. 

The apartment you resided in beforehand had been purchased and provided under the family company, but now that you were forcefully engaged and clearly not fond of it—it was in both company’s best interest to have you and Nanami grow used to each other in one way or another. So, in other words, shoving the two of you into some house together with curfews and security placed all around simply made sense.

Living with Nanami wasn’t the worst thing in the world since he’s nothing short of a gentleman, but you still hated every waking hour of it.

Your father may have been able to drive you into a relationship and a home with some stranger but he couldn’t force you to interact with the man so, you didn’t!

There was one bedroom designated for the two of you but Nanami insisted that you sleep there and he take the guest bedroom down the hall so that you’d be somewhat comfortable. You appreciated that much from him but it didn’t stop you from avoiding him at all costs.

Even if he was the first face you were greeted with every morning, even if you two had silent dinners together, even if you were forced to head to work together, and even if you quite literally could not escape the damn man—you refused to open up to him.

He could put a ring on your finger and a baby inside you directly after, and yet you remained firm with your decision to never pretend to be happy in your impending marriage.

Nanami of course is fine with whatever you decide to do. He would accept your comfort over fake happiness any day. 

So if he had to stomach scolding from both his parents and yours about how the two of you are the most awkward couple ever to be seen—he’d do it a thousand times over knowing that you’re content with the way things are.

The concept of distant lovers proved itself in the most outward way through you and Nanami. While labeling the two of you as “lovers” without the addition of its artificial origins is quite the stretch, neither of you could pretend that nothing existed between you.

Especially on Nanami’s end.

He understood that your distaste toward him came from the lack of control you had in your being together, but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t bring himself to care at the same level you did. Not when he was so utterly enamoured by all that you are.

You distracted him from the realities of this compulsory relationship. He knew he was attracted to you from the day you walked in that office, hardly spared him a glance, and proceeded to curse your father out right in front of him.

Then there was how snappy you’d been after, how tense you looked every time you and him occupied the same room, and how distant you keep yourself nowadays.

Nanami knows he should be on the same page as you—protesting against this union through refusing to get close to you and keeping things strictly cordial.

But… he can’t.

There’s a stubborn thump of longing in his heart that’s highlighted for him every time you enter a room, his eyes find you in every crowd, and he feels himself wanting nothing more than to gently wipe the stress right off that pretty face of yours.

He swears he could do it too—if you’d let him.

Unfortunately, you’re far more stubborn than he is when it comes to matters of the heart. In the few personal conversations the two of you have just barely managed to have, he can tell your mind is constantly elsewhere. Constantly distant.

You could be sitting a few feet away from him, looking him directly in the eyes, and actively engaging in conversation with him but he can still see that something-, or someone else is on your mind.

And of course he doesn’t know it but that’s another issue for you.

How can you be expected to get close with Nanami on your own accord when Higuruma is still lingering around in your mind?

Perhaps it was because being with him was the last time you got to do something for yourself. Or maybe it was the simple fact that the night with Higuruma still replays in your head while you’re at your most vulnerable. Or, even worse, possibly it’s the way that man hasn’t reached out to you once and how much that bothers you.

How fair is it that you’re still thinking about him all this time later as your life is falling apart and yet he’s probably not doing the same at all, considering the way he refuses to contact you?

Was that single night with him really not enough to have him wanting more? Had you meant so little to him because you were a mere stranger? Would you ever see him again—and if you did, would he even rejoice in the reconnection?

At some point, you find that the more you let thoughts of Higuruma plague you, the further you distance yourself from your fiancé. While that was your preferred outcome, you felt that it wasn’t fair to Nanami to have someone else on your mind like this.

It was one thing to avoid him out of parental rebellion but it was another thing entirely to do so because of another man who’d clearly forgotten about you some time ago.

——

Hence why you allow yourself one day to try getting to know Nanami about seven months into your engagement to him.

Yes, seven months in. That’s seven months of dry conversation, seven months of stubborn avoidance, seven months of trying to prove to your parents that you’d never be happy in this, and seven months of Nanami suffering from feeling his heart long for you more and more despite the lack of reciprocation.

While the change is certainly unexpected on his end, he doesn’t shoot down the opportunity to get somewhere personal with you for once.

You woke up that day telling yourself that if he started a conversation with you, you wouldn’t be as dismissive as you usually are with him. When you ran into him in the hallway first thing that morning, you greeted him with a smile that made his heart skip several beats.

Not only was it unfair for you to have neglected him for so long—for reasons outside of your parents and the overall dynamic of your relationship—but it was also unfair how much of an effect you seemed to have on the man. 

His cheeks hued a soft shade of pink upon being greeted so kindly and the awkward little murmur of good morning wishes that came your way in response had you feeling rather good about your new little plan.

Perhaps giving Nanami a chance wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe you wouldn’t have to fake being happy for the entirety of your being with him. Though, you know deep down that’s exactly what your parents wanted from the get go.

At least it’ll be on your own terms though, right?

The entire day of giving Nanami a chance goes by at a normal pace. You share a breakfast with him instead of skipping out on it and starving yourself for half the day as you normally do, the two of you not only head to work together but you’re also spotted acting like an actual couple for once, and the day later concludes on quite the sweet note.

Which brings you to the end of said day where you’re just pushing away from the dinner table and helping Nanami to collect the dishes and carry them off to the kitchen. He gentlemanly takes your plate before you could even turn with it and leads the way, to which you slowly follow after.

This is where the real rare part came in. Before today, you’d always bid him goodnight after sitting in uncomfortable silence and forking at food you hardly had a taste for. But now—now that you’d spent the day trying something different—you figured you shouldn’t let things end as they normally do.

Nanami has moved to wash the dishes by the time you enter the kitchen, and you come to lean against the counter to watch him. He caught on to your change in attitude earlier that day, so it doesn't surprise him too much to see you changing other things in your routine like this.

“Thank you for today,” He starts out easily, sponge in hand and skin soaked up to his wrists with soapy water.

Your brows twinge at that almost instantly, “You don’t have to thank me for that, Kento.”

Ah, the sound of his name on your tongue has never been sweeter. 

Nanami’s hands are still against the submerged dishes, and you catch the way his shoulders tighten ever so slightly before relaxing again. Then he shakes himself out of his surprise, “I do though,” He says a moment after, his voice a tinge quieter. “It meant more than you think.”

His delicately spoken words have you seeing things from a new perspective for once. You’d spent all this time so wrapped up in being trapped in a relationship that you nearly forgot he was just as trapped as you were. It’s not like he signed up for this, the only difference between you and him was the fact that his parents spent their whole time raising him into being exactly what he was now: a product of marriage for the company.

Meanwhile you had been blindsided by your parents for years.

When you take everything into consideration, you realize both you and Nanami are living on two different sides of the same coin. During the past few months you spent resenting him as much as you did your situation, you’d been incredibly lonely and now you wonder if he’d felt that way his entire life.

To be raised the way he was is nothing short of cruel, but at least with this engagement he wouldn’t have to live in that cruelness all alone—so long as you take the blame off his shoulders and replace it with a feeling of understanding. To be trapped in a relationship is one thing, but to be trapped in a relationship with Nanami Kento doesn’t have to be as horrid as you’ve spent months convincing yourself it would be.

The kitchen you both occupy is calm now that his thanks has settled into the air. Sounds of dishes clinking softly, the warm water splashing against his skin, and the distant hum of your shared home gave you a domestic feel for a mere moment

Your eyes find Nanami, quietly admiring his acute focus on getting those plates and utensils clean. You knew this from the day you met him but, he was never a bad looking man. Hell, he had a list of redeemable qualities.

Months you’ve spent living alongside him, existing in the same space, eating across from him, and yet this feels like the first time you’ve allowed your eyes the liberty of lingering with no resistance. Between your appreciative glances, something of guilt swells up inside you—as if you weren’t supposed to be looking at him like this after spending so long ignoring him.

But at the same time, he is your husband-to-be.

You push yourself away from the counter and then round it, still taking all of his build in for the first time. His back is the first thing that yanks at your attention as you pace somewhere behind him.

Gaze tracing the line of his back, you notice how structured and broad it is—a feature you noted upon first sight of him in your father’s office before. The tension of the day rests clearly in his posture and the way he holds himself upright. His dress shirt pulls across his shoulders whilst his hands busy against those dishes and you nearly walk into the opposing counter-side when the fabric stretches just enough to tease at something bulky resting beneath.

You swallow thickly and turn your head away sharply to distract yourself.

Because you’re standing behind him, you miss how he grins to himself—having felt your eyes on him, but not daring to comment on it. He’d acknowledged the same thing you did: the two of you are engaged and fully allowed to gawk at one another.

Nanami had indulged in it more times than he’d probably ever admit to you, unable to focus on anything else whenever you’re around.

With the way you’d turned your head away to stop yourself from drooling over a man you willingly ignored for far too long, you notice a small radio tucked neatly into a corner. Curiosity quickly gets the better of you and you snatch the item right up into your hands.

Toying with the buttons rather cluelessly, you wonder why Nanami’s got a radio sitting in the kitchen when you’ve never heard the man play music a day in your life.

Even though you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for as long as you’ve known him…

You’re not sure what exactly you press but something soft begins to leave the radio and you're quick to locate what appears to be the volume knob, turning it and letting the sound of Be Like a Woman replace those domesticated noises that were starting to get to you moments ago. 

It’s a little staticky at first, just barely crackling the song to life with grainy distortion before the device remembers its own function and plays out smoothly.

The moment your ears pick it up, you smile to yourself and fall into a slow sway.

Behind you, the sound of running water comes to a steady stop. You don’t turn right away as the music settles fully, wrapping around you and your idle sways to it.

As if delighted by the tune, Nanami’s eyes locate you from over his shoulder with passive quickness.

It takes you a moment or two before you glance back at him, spotting an outstretched hand, and then biting back a smile at the implication. “You can’t be serious.” You murmur, even though you’d already set the tone for dancing.

“Humor me,” Nanami hums, a kind smile working wonders at turning your heart to mush. “One dance won’t kill you, will it?”

You continue to gape at his hand as if it’d go away without you saying something. Sighing, you’re careful with the way you bring your eyes up to meet his.

This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To try?

“I suppose not.” You respond while moving to take his hand and let him gently bring you closer. 

His palm is moist from the water he’d hastily dried off and it tightly locks against your own. Then as he guides you toward himself, his other hand lifts before stopping just short of your waist. There’s a question and request for consent in his eyes—to which you grant by looking down at his not-yet-connecting hand, and then back up at his face to nod.

Nanami’s touch eases into your side and both of your bodies sway right into one another. Your free hand finds his shoulder to rest on, and just like that the two of you are dancing.

It’s naturally a mix of slow ‘n awkward at first but what makes it an act to relish in is the way you both feel the romance bundling about.

The subtle clumsiness of it all is enough to make you break eye contact first, looking off to the side as you sway together. That is, before Nanami tilts his head toward the direction you’ve focused your attention into and whispers, “You’re good at this.”

God, his voice was much too endearing for you to ignore—especially all close to you like this. You shake your head and let your eyes roll playfully, “We’re just swaying back and forth, it doesn’t take much skill.”

Nanami chuckles at that and you feel your heart thumping a little louder. "Then I suppose I shouldn't be too proud of myself," He murmurs.

You release a soft huff, the sound light and easygoing—much unlike how the two of you have been for months.

Your bodies continued in their dance with one another, everything steady and close as the music continued to envelop you.

Soon your hand shifts slightly on his shoulder, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt and feeling how firm he is beneath it.

Nanami's reaction is near-immediate.

He inhales sharply to show that the touch had clearly caught him off guard, composure thinning by the second. Then his jaw tightens a bit and you see a faint flush creeping in along the highest points of his cheekbones.

Cute.

Unable to control your grin, "Kento..?" You murmur.

Instead of answering right away as he usually does, Nanami seems to be lost in thought before he responds. His hand tightens at your waist just a faction and his mouth is slow to open and close with words struggling to leave him.

"I've uh..." He starts, only to stop shortly after.

You're patient with him and give no sense of hurry with how you're staring up at him.

Clearing his throat, "I've wanted to do this for a while." Nanami admits quietly, eyes dropping.

Your brows raise, "What, dance with me?"

His gaze flickers and something in between shy and utterly embarrassed flashes over him. The way he shakes his head all slowly makes you want get the sudden desire to bite him or something.

"...No," The honesty in his singly spoken word makes your chest clench.

Swallowing thickly, "Then what?" You ask.

Your dancing gets impossibly slower and you're left to realize just how close you two are. Breaths are shared, gazes are locked onto everything but one another's, and it's almost like the music had stopped playing just to highlight the mirroring beats of your hearts.

Nanami's head tips to the side and he leans in, stopping just short of pressing his lips to yours, and leaving your breath to hitch.

Were you really gonna let him kiss you? That easily?

His lips graze yours and you're unconsciously gripping onto both his hand and his shoulder with something anxious building inside you. You didn't realize how badly you wanted this until it was—quite literally—dangling in front of your face.

“May I?” He utters, oh-so-sure your rejection will be what follows.

To his surprise, you’re already nodding.

And then it happens. Then his lips are meeting yours and you're feeling the way he flinches as if he hadn't initiated the whole thing.

Something vibrates inside his mouth but you're unsure whether or not it's a hum or some sort of whine. Nanami kisses you in a tentative way, testing something delicate with every soft slip of his mouth to yours.

Your hands leave each other and he carefully wraps the both of his arms around you as your arms do the same with his neck.

For a first kiss with the man you've been engaged to for seven months—it's not exactly what you expected.

Nanami is surprisingly shy with it, almost as if he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. Because of this, you're guiding him through most. of it and he's blindly following your lead.

Even so, the kiss is quite sweet, and when you pull away, your eyes widen out at how much he's blushing.

You didn't know a man's face could go so red from a single kiss. Especially a kiss without tongue. You hardly did anything!

When Nanami's eyes open, they meet with yours briefly in hopes you won't comment on how embarrassed he seems to be.

Luckily for him, you find the hues of pinks and reds on his face endearing enough to move your hands up to his face and cup his cheeks into your palms. He's warm against your skin and you hear his breath stutter when you pull him in for another kiss.

It's clear that you never really know how badly you wanted or needed something until you have it.

This time around, the kiss is needy. Your lips part over one another and he lets you slip your tongue into his mouth, groaning at the connection, and pressing forward with you until your lower back meets the nearby counter.

Nanami keeps kissing you like he doesn't know how to, but you find yourself enjoying the liberty of leading him through it.

That is, until he grunts into your mouth and you feel something solid twitching against your front. You try to ignore it at first, telling yourself there's no way he popped a boner from kissing you, but that grows increasingly difficult as his hulking frame melts into you entirely.

You nibble on his lower lip a little, whispering, "Kento.." as if ready to scold him.

Nanami panics. Fuck, why do you choose now of all times to call out his name? He's already trying his best not to cu-

"Are you hard?" You ask.

Fuck. Why would you ask him that? Can you feel it? Has he accidentally rubbed up against you?

"U-Uhm-," Nanami chokes on his own breath. "I-, what?"

You snort.

There's no way you find this funny, right?

"I asked if you were hard," You repeat nonchalantly, caressing his face, "Did kissing me like that turn you on?"

"Well.. uh," He gapes at you like one big himbo, "I-Is it that obvious...?"

Now you're giggling, "I mean, I can feel it."

"Sorry," He looks down to avoid getting even more turned on from the way you're staring at him. "I told you I've been wanting to do this for a while and-, well... I didn't mean to get so excited from it, sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for it, Ken." You comfort sweetly.

The nickname makes his situation worse by a long shot, sticky dribbles of precum promptly oozing out of his blushing tip. God, did you have any idea what you were doing to him?

With the way you remove an arm from around his neck and begin to trail your hand down his body, it's clear that you most certainly did. "I just didn't expect you to be so reactive like that," Your tone is different now.

Something sultry is in your voice and it's making poor Nanami nervous beyond belief.

He'd never gone this far with a woman.

Shrugging, "Well, most virgins are rather sensitive to touch, I'm sure." Nanami says timidly.

Your hands freeze against him and you blink. "You're a virgin?"

He nods.

The way he kept avoiding eye contact with you, the sound he let out when you initially kissed him, and the way he flinched at your touch shifting earlier all make so much sense now.

“Does that... turn you off?" Nanami asks, voice airy. "Me not being experienced?”

“What? No, of course not!” You pull him closer and then push up to peck at his mouth, “If we’re really getting married then, I’ll take care of you, Kento.”

That makes his head spin with dizziness and his cock throb. So much so that he's hardly even thinking straight as he asks, “You want to wait?”

You blink again. “You.. don’t?”

Because of the nature of your relationship, you always just assumed Nanami would prefer to wait 'til marriage, and now that he's admitted to you that he's a virgin, you were sure on that fact more now than ever.

You never had a preference of when sex between you two happened since you spent most of your time failing to think of a way out of this engagement.

“I’m sure our parents would prefer it if we did.” Nanami tells you.

Oh.

It was true, both of your parents would probably prefer the two of you doing things the more "traditional" way, but with that rebellious streak still lingering inside you...

“Perhaps we shouldn’t, then.” Flies out of your mouth without second thought as you're pressing up on him—tits neat against his chest.

“I agree.” Nanami rushes out, thinking only with what's drooling in between his legs right now instead of his head. “Let’s have something for ourselves."

——

And have something for yourselves you did.

While one would think that after a softly whispered claim such as that, the two of you would end up fucking like feral beasts within the next few minutes… that’s not quite how Nanami loses his virginity to you.

Instead, you two agree not to do anything that night.

Nanami mentioned something about not being ready for it by the time you both made it to the bedroom, but in actuality, he was a bit fearful to have sex. He told himself that kissing you would be enough for the time being, and you went right along with it.

…Until the following morning, that is.

Now, after you and Nanami finally seemed to resolve whatever thick walls of tension had been between you both, you took it upon yourself to share a bed with him. Nanami, having been crushing on you from the moment he laid eyes on you, would’ve been a fool to deny you of your wish to do so when you’d asked.

Which is exactly how you two ended up in the position you’re in now—snuggled up together in what used to be his bedroom but would soon be shared between you both.

Nanami remembers vividly how he told you he wanted to wait to take things to the next level but that request seems to have been tossed right out the window as he stirs awake first. He’d always been one to think with what’s in his head instead of what’s in his pants but it seems a simple night of sleeping in the same bed as you is enough to change things for him.

This isn’t the first time he’s woken up with a troublesome throb coming from in between his legs—especially not since he’s been living with you—but it’s downright ironic how he just told you he wanted to wait and now his body was desiring otherwise.

Nanami keeps his eyes shut for a while, hoping his boner would magically go away before you wake up.

Unfortunately for him, you don’t even have to wake up for his situation to get worse.

His eyes end up shooting open as a soft breath of air flutters against his naked chest, making him keenly aware of your resting face smushed up against him. Then other sensations occur; the scent of your shampoo trickles up into his nose, your chest snuggly presses into his side, and your entire leg has been thrown over him somewhere in your sleep.

His gaze lifts up to the ceiling in hopes he can ignore how those combined factors do nothing more for him than lead his cock to weep small dribbles of precum against his sweatpants. 

Nanami had gone to sleep in only his sweats due to the fact that you’d already been in his room by the time he got in the shower last night. He never found an appropriate time to slip in to grab the boxers he’d conveniently forgotten, so now he was dealing with his tip leaving a prominent wet spot against the grey fabric concealing his erection.

Fuck, he’s sure if you were to open your eyes now, you’d be met with the nasty sight. The worst part about it is the fact that you laying on top of him is only making it worse by the second because his brain just won't shut up.

He can’t help but wonder how you’d react seeing him like this—knowing you’re the reason he gets so uncomfortably hard. Would you scold him for it? Tell him off and call him a perv even after the lighthearted events of last night?

Or would you comfort him? Show him another side of you he’s only ever dreamed of seeing?

Either way he knows he’s screwed since his cock twitches at both thoughts. 

And then you shift.

The hand you had laying idle on his chest slides down a little and his dick bobs its thick head up against his sweats. Being so sensitive to your touch was faring much worse for him than he expected it to.

Your head moves a bit as you stir awake and Nanami’s heart is pounding so hard in his chest that he wonders if you can feel it. You turn to groggily look at him, immediately met with his half-lidded eyes meeting yours as the morning sunlight highlights the flush decorating his cheeks.

You blink a few times before mumbling, “Morning Ken.”

The arm Nanami’s had comfortably wrapped around you grips you ever so slightly. Then he whispers back to you, “Good morning, love.”

Warmth settles into your heart at the sound of that.

“Are you okay? Your face is all red,” You point out, lifting your hand away from his chest and up to feel his forehead.

“I’m fine,” He lies, knowing you’re just one glance down from realizing he’s everything but.

You nod though, moving to sit halfway up and extend your arms over your head to stretch. Nanami watches you carefully, having spent night after night dreaming he’d wake up to this very sight.

Seeing you wearing a shirt of his because you were too lazy to go grab one of your own last night, gaze following how the fabric hugs you—Nanami is forced to adjust his hips a bit.

He feels utterly perverted staring at you like this while his mind works up the most sinful imaginations of you so early in the morning.

You’re likely about to depart from his room and yet he’s laying there wondering how your hands would feel exploring every inch of him.

“Kento,” He flinches at the abrupt utterance of his name. Then he focuses his attention back onto your face and notices where your eyes have finally fallen. “Do you uhm,” You point at his crotch, “Do you want help with that?”

Something especially wet slides down the side of his cock—as if he were literally drooling from his tip. Glancing down at himself, then back up at you, “You can ignore it if you want. I just—“

“I don’t wanna ignore it, though.” You admit, leaning closer to him.

Nanami’s breath catches for a moment and he tries to sit up, only to be stopped by your hand meeting his chest and lightly pushing him back down. Eyes softening on you, “What are you doing?”

“I told you I’d take care of you last night, didn’t I?” You remind him.

He gulps, “Yes but… I didn’t think you’d want to do something like this. It’s embarrassing and..."

As he speaks, your hand is traveling down the smooth, yet firm board of his abs—feeling him tense 'n twitch the lower your touch gets.

It's not until you're playing with the drawstrings of his sweats that he lets out a rather submissive noise. "...A-Are you really going to touch that?" Nanami squeaks.

You smile at him innocently, "Touch what?"

The usual base in his voice is all but lost as he gulps, "My cock."

"We agreed to have something for ourselves," Your fingers halt against his drawstrings and then slip under the fabric, skimming over the light tufts of blonde hair just above his base. "So unless you want me to stop, I should like to have this for myself."

Nanami shakes his head slowly, chest rising and falling as his nervousness runs rampant throughout his body, "N-No, don't stop."

Those words are exactly what lead you to jerking your fiancé off on that slow morning, eventually working his cock out of his sweats and kissing at his flushed skin as your hand travels up 'n down his length.

It was more intimate than it was inherently sexual up until Nanami began returning the favor. In the middle of your lips locking against his, you felt a hand creep in between your legs—palming your pussy just to feel how wet you got from jerking him off.

As Nanami's big hand lightly squeezed and then rubbed over you through the cottony shorts you were clad in, you both began to pant heavily into one another's mouth.

The room got hotter and both of you got needier, your thumb teasing his sobbed tip as it traveled through his slit, and his hand wasting no time in locating your core without all the measly fabrics in the way.

He hadn't even seen you and yet he was muttering into your mouth, “God, you’re gorgeous..." Two long fingers gliding up 'n down your leaky entrance, “I’ve thought this from the moment I met you.”

“Mgh-, Kento,” You gasped in return, your hand growing shaky around his dick whilst your wet lips messily detached from his.

Nanami may have been unexperienced and shy but the second half of that seemed to go out the window the moment he felt how aroused you were. "Can I feel how gorgeous you are in here?" He politely asked, fingertips rounding your oozy hole and daring to slip inside.

As you nod, he watched your face intently to see your expression twist up in response to his digits greeting your warmth. Then your hand had tightened around his cock and he hissed out some sort of low curse.

It wasn’t long before the two of you were making a mess around each other’s hand. But that didn’t seem to be enough for either of you—especially not Nanami who’d been waiting for this day for months.

When you soon strip what’s left of your clothes off, tossing them across the room, and then throwing your leg over his body to straddle him, he gapes up at you in pure awe.

There’s nothing sexier than watching the woman he’d silently fallen for get on top of him with such a starved look in her eye.

And the way you move to grab his cock—angling it against your cunt and furrowing your brows with great focus—has his jaw left open. Drool slips out the corner of his mouth and nothing can compare to watching you slooowly sink down on him.

Nanami never thought himself to be big or anything like that, but considering the way you struggle and flinch as he enters you…

He nearly gets nervous all over again before your head tips back and you slip further down, fluttering walls swallowing him in thankfully with a sloshy squelch ringing out upon each quivering inch.

“Kento,” You husk out, moving one hand to his lower abdomen for support just as he grabs at your waist.

“You say my name so sweetly,” Nanami compliments with sweat causing his blond hairs to cling to his forehead. Eyes batting up, “Does… Does it feel good?” He nearly moans, “Do I feel good inside you?”

You’d thought it be obvious based on the whorish way in which your face is twisting up—tears coating your waterline from the long stretch of his cock.

Each time you think you’ve met his deft base, you found yourself still traveling down on him. Nanami’s cock stood up straight with no curve, giving you nonexistent room to run or escape his sheer size.

“Uhuh, yes,” You eventually whimper.

He seems a little unconvinced below you, “You keep squirming, though. Are you sure?”

“Kento,” You lock eyes with him and his cock twitches against the lathering edges of your inner walls, “You feel fuckin’ perfect inside me.”

“O-Oh.” Then his hips snap upwards uncontrollably, and your body jerks along with it as you moan out. “Sorry,” Nanami huffs, repeating the movement despite his apology, “Fuck-, sorry. You feel s-so good-, ngh.. so wet ‘n warm.”

It was almost like he couldn’t help himself. As soon as he heard your praise and saw the way his your cunt lips bulged around the very wide ‘n thumping base of his cock, his hips moved on their own.

He was fucking himself up into you and watching how pretty your tits looked bouncing along with the rest of your body before he knew it.

Hearing you cry out, “Kentoo! Nngh, right there.”

“There? Do I feel good there?” He asked, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust.

Your goopy insides gobble up everyyyy inch of him so perfectly that he feels like he’ll cum in you without realizing it any second now. Especially as you begin to rock your hips along with him, gaining your own momentum and fucking yourself down on him to further paint his cock with filthy traces of your slick.

“Hahh, your hips won’t stop moving,” Nanami grunt, brows taut together, “Do you like my cock that much?”

His only response to that is a wild throb around him.

To which he smirks briefly, “S’that-, hahh.. S’that supposed to be a yes?"

Left to whine helplessly, your hands clasp over his wrists and he maneuvers them to hold them instead as you nod.

“Say it then,” Nanami hums, “I want to hear more of you, instead of her.”

Her..? Your brows furrow, “Wha—“

Oh. As Nanami’s thumb darts across your clit, you understand quickly what he meant.

“F-Fuuck,” You moan, “Yes-, just like that, Ken’.”

Something pitiful ‘n creamy gushes up into you but neither of you really acknowledge it.

“Yeah? Fuck,” Nanami curses lowly, his pupils dilated out, “More, p-praise me more… Please?”

Your fingers clench at the skin of his large hands, hips rolling back ‘n forth with needy vigor as his dick knocks around every nook of your cunt.

“Ken, s’good. Ah! You’re doin’ so good for me,” You praise all prettily, head tilting a little once you realize he’s left most of the movement to you, “J-Just-, mngh! Just go a little harder. You can be rough with me.”

His eyes soften, “Are you sure? I don’t want to-“

“Kento.” You scold, “Fuck me.”

That flips a switch in Nanami’s head and you lose the hand holding with him as he grabs ahold of your body and promptly flips you over. Your back clashes into the fluff of the bed and he slips out of you for a second too long, hurrying to stretch at your wet core once more.

“Is that it? S’that how you want me, sweetheart?” Nanami heaves with a different look in his eyes. Before you can even answer him, he’s got two fingers pulling your pussylips apart to watch that glossy, debauched sight of his cock entering you again. “Yeahhh, this is how you like it. Goddd, I’ve fantasized about this, y’know.”

Your legs are captured into his hands within the next moment and he’s got you in a meann mating press as if to prove a point. It’s almost like your little permission of a harder fucking had challenged him or something.

Nanami’s voice sticks against your ear, “Got off just thinking about how good it’d feel inside you and n-now—“ Both your body and the bed jolt up with his rude thrusting, the mushroomy head of his dick kissing at your sweet spot, “Fuck, now I’m in here.”

“Uhuhhh,” Your jaw slacks and you’re the one drooling as if fucked-out now.

He lifts his head for a moment just to hold eyes with you. Whispering, “Deep in here too, huh?”

You pout, “D-Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m just being honest, look.” His hand moves to splay out against the fat bulge of his cock nestled inside of you.

You moan, nibbling at your bottom lip to conceal a slutty little smile, "Yeah, but you also-, mmh.. you also came inside me."

Nanami smiles back at you for realizing he’d already experienced an orgasm, "Hahh.. accidents happen..”

"No, you meant to do that,” You tease back with your arms wrapping around his neck.

"I have an obligation to breed my girl, do I not?" With that, another load is being french kissed against your womb, globs and globs of an impossibly thicker substance filling you.

You tug him down for a kiss and your lips tangle against one another as you whisper into his groans, "I suppose you do."

——

It would’ve been lovely if that intimate morning was the very thing that solidified your relationship with Nanami. The days after were filled with a more loving relationship, leading both of you to assume things from there on out would work.

And it should’ve! It really, really should’ve.

But you were forgetting one rather important factor.

It was foolish for you to think life was gonna let you fall for another man without throwing a surprise at you.

The following days after you and Nanami finally seemed to break down whatever walls were being held up between you, something changed.

You noticed Nanami on his phone more often, heard him chuckling on calls at inappropriate hours of the night, and caught a newfound light lingering in his eyes as if you and someone else were brightening his every day.

Now, you know Nanami wouldn’t be dumb enough to have an affair going on during his engagement to you—especially when he’s the one who had less of a problem with the arranged marriage to begin with. But, at the same time, he started to act differently.

Not with you, of course. Just… with everything else.

He almost seemed happier in some ways. You wanted to rejoice in the positive energy he radiated now, but there was a shadow of doubt casting over you at every turn.

Something bad was on the uprise.

And that something rears its ugly head on the day Nanami calls you out to help a “friend” of his move into the city.

You almost said no—and maybe you should’ve—but with the way he asked all soft ‘n hopefully like he just wanted to include you in more parts of his life now that you two were somewhat happily together, it was too hard to turn him down.

Besides, you told yourself that this is what you wanted, right?

Hence why you’re pulling up to an address for some luxury apartment complex Nanami had sent you, and aiding him with unloading a truck full of boxes.

Swirling around as the sun casts its warm glow down onto the right side of your face, you glance down at the box that’s found itself in your hand for a moment. It was rather large ‘n heavy when you swiped it up so obviously you grow curious about what’s in it.

The word Gavels is printed out over the top in Shappie, making you snort a bit. “Ken, is your best friend a judge or something?” You ask curiously, looking over his way.

Nanami waves a dismissive hand at you playfully, “Ignore him and his weird assortment of items. I couldn’t tell you why he has that, honestly.”

You chuckle again and open your mouth to say something just as you catch the apartment complex doors swinging open. Unfortunately, your words die out on your tongue along with your smile the moment you see a familiar face strolling towards you and Nanami.

Your heart sinks to your ass and you think you’ve lost all sense of movement as you and the familiar face in question lock eyes.

Higuruma nearly trips—just barely managing to catch his footing before making a fool of himself. Quickly taking his eyes off of you and hoping he’s just imagining things, he makes way towards your fiancé.

You hoped for a second that he wasn’t the best friend who’s been bringing Nanami’s energy up lately. There’s no way, ri—

“Kento,” Fuck. “Is this one giving you some trouble?” Higuruma asks before reaching his hands out to take the box Nanami’s holding, “You’ve been out here for a while, I was starting to get worried.”

Nanami, none the wiser, smiles softly as he keeps the box close to him, “No, no, I was getting distracted by my darling fiancée here.” Then he gestures your way with a tilt of his head and gives Higuruma your name to introduce you. 

And god is it awkward.

The two of you don’t bother meeting eyes, Higuruma introduces himself as if he doesn’t vividly remember the way you were drooling his name out into his bedsheets some months ago, and both of you can feel how things are about to play out from here on out already.

After the thin-lipped, unnecessary exchange of names, Higuruma steps forward to try helpfully taking the weighty box out of your hands.

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” You shake your head and step back a bit, “I’ve got it.”

He ignores your claims, “No, please, I insist. This is one of the heavier boxes left.”

His hands meet the ends of said box, brushing over yours.

Tension shoots throughout your body as if you’d been shot and your voice bursts out of you with more conviction in it than necessary, “Really, I’m fine.”

As if he handn;t heard a thing you just said, Higuruma’s eyes steady onto yours and it’s like his hold on you returns all in one moment. Memories of that night wash over every thought you’ve had since and your breath is nowhere to be found as he finally takes the box from you. Sternly humming, “Allow me.”

Again—awkwaaaaard.

You clear your throat and try to recompose yourself by looking away, “There’s uh, there’s a lot of gavels in there…” Maybe if you pretend not to know him, that’ll help your situation? “Are you a judge?”

Hopefully he doesn’t remember you.

Higuruma stops to think for a moment, then smirks, “Depends…” He trails off for a second much too long. “Is that your type?”

The question—the theme of which had been repeated to you multiple times throughout that night you spent together—has a chill churning down your body and straight to your cunt. You almost wish you’d forgotten about him now because it was clear he damn sure didn’t.

Nanami nudges his arm, turning to him, “Are you flirting with my fiancée, right in front of me? Have you no shame?” He teases.

Higuruma sends him an innocent smile, “You hate it when I flirt with you, so I thought I’d try something a little different.”

The two men carry on with banterful conversation that somehow manages to exclude you, but you’re stuck reeling over the fact that this is truly happening to you.

Your fiancé’s best friend is the same man you slept with on the day before you got engaged.

What the hell are you gonna do now?

——

Simple; you’ll treat Higurma the same way you treated Nanami for the first seven months of your engagment—avoiding him like the fuckin’ plague.

Even being in the same room with him was like torture though. 

Higuruma was shameless with how he sent you these accusatory looks, as if it were somehow your fault that you two spent a night together just for you to end up marrying his best friend.

Who seemed to be a little more than that to Higuruma as the weeks passed by, might you add…

Maybe it was just that shamelessness of his, but Higuruma wasn’t exactly subtle with how he eyes your fiancé. Like, not subtle at all.

You’re not blind and you’re far from stupid—you know what a yearning man looks like.

The only confusing thing about it was the fact that Higurma shared those gazes between you and Nanami as if he were experiencing bi-panic every single time he interacted with you guys.

Nanami seemed clueless to all of this. Which, checks out considering he’d spent so long as a virgin and probably doesn’t have the best sense of picking up on flirtatious or romantic looks. 

None of that takes away from the tension building between the three of you though.

You could keep yourself distanced from Higuruma all you wanted, but if he had any say in the matter—which apparently he did—this wouldn’t last forever.

In fact, it only lasts until the night before your wedding.

Because you kept Nanami in the dark when it came to what had happened between you and Higuruma, he would constantly bring the three of you together. You would all meet up for lunches, go out for drinks, and linger a little too long in conversations that should've felt harmless but never did.

The three of you fit together rather naturally.

So much so that after a long day of being with the both of them, you just barely managed to break off into your Higuruma's kitchen for a moment to breathe. It was hard pretending that he didn't have you uneasy, particularly on nights like this where Nanami instead the two of you spend time at his place.

You were supposed to walk down the aisle tomorrow and yet the marriage had somehow become the least of your worries.

Now you were stress cleaning a spotless counter, panicking in thought of how the your married days would play out if Nanami planned to never break his friendship with that devilishly handsome lawyer.

And what would you even say if Nanami ever found out about—

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Higuruma murmured, voice like a cruel drag of burning smoke to your spine.

You swirl around, already looking for an escape.

He naturally steps in your way before you can even depart from the counter, “Don’t try doing it now, either. I just want to talk.”

Shit.

Letting your shoulders slump, “What is there to talk about?” You ask.

Everything about the conversation you begin to have with him goes by with rapid fire questions and responses.

Higuruma enters the kitchen fully and makes his way towards you. Keeping his voice low, “Aren’t you curious?”

You remain where you are, too fearful to make any sudden movements just yet, “Of?”

“Why I didn’t contact you.” He clarifies.

“No.”

He stops just short of entering your personal space and a stupid smirk appears on his face, “Liar.”

“Asshole.” You shoot back.

He scoffs, “That was cute.” Stepping closer again, “But you don’t mean that.”

You finally manage to shift further back, “It doesn't matter why you didn't contact me, considering I’m engaged now.”

“I’m well aware,” Higuruma chuckles, “To quite the astonishing man, might I add.”

The compliment rolled so easily off his tongue that it almost made you jealous. But, in the recent time you'd come to know Higuruma again, you'd learned that he and Nanami had been "friends" for years.

Friends remaining in quotes due to the questionable way in which Higuruma's voice softens whenever he speaks highly of his best friend, how his eyes showcase something of longing within them, and how he admires your partner in a manner well beyond something friendly.

"Fine, I'll bite." You soon sigh as you fold your arms, “How could you not call, or text? I didn't leave my number for no reason.”

“I knew you were curious." He hums victoriously, "Anyhow, I was busy, and—“

That ticks you off faster than you expect it to and words shoot out of your mouth carrying solid repugnance, “People make time for what and who they care about.”

Higuruma also decides to speak without thinking, staring you down as he says, “How could I care about you? I spent one night with you.”

That hits much harder than you expect it to.

You thought you'd moved on but the feelings you'd been harboring for the man come back all in one moment, “Wow.”

“I'm being honest. I hardly knew you,” He shrugs, “We had a wonderful night, but I was swamped with responsibilities directly after—especially between work and preparing to move.”

“I don't even know why I asked.” You scoff, rolling your eyes elsewhere and attempting to turn away, "Fuck you"

Higuruma bites back a smile. That’s fair—he thinks, hating how your immediate response for him never fails to rial him up. It’s one thing (amongst others) that he couldn’t stop thinking about after that night with you, “You did that already."

"Save me the cliche responses." You nearly push past him, "If you have nothing of substance to talk about with me, then i’m—“

He steps in your way again, flying a hand to your waist that you don't even try to remove. Then both his words and voice comes out softer, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Your jaw tenses, “It’s worth noth-“

“You don’t have to lie to me,” He interrupts as if he knew exactly what you were gonna say. “I know it’s worth something to you, don’t be so stubborn.”

For the first time since he'd entered the kitchen, you manage to meet eyes with him, “Why should it be worth anything to me when the night we spent together wasn’t worth anything to you?!”

“I never said that.” Higuruma claims.

“Well, it was heavily implied.” You scoff, yet to remove his hand from your waist. “Where’s Kento?”

“Asleep.”

Your tongue clicks, “Ah, so you’ve ambushed me. Got it.”

The man laughs, “Not at all. I only want to talk.”

“You don’t have to be this close to talk to me.”

“It’s the only way you’ll listen, as I’ve come to learn.”

You ultimately smack his hand off, “...It’s wrong to touch an engaged woman in this way.” Higuruma scoffs and you send him a glare, “Something funny?”

A smug look takes over his usually tied features, “We both know you don’t really want anything to do with Kento or that arrangement you’re trapped in.”

You're left offended, “You don’t know shit.”

“Oh yeah?” Higuruma challenges, “Then why—“

“—and I don’t owe you any sort of explanations. I don’t need you to save me from this, or to sweet talk your way back into my life.” You explain, despite yourself, “I don’t need you, period.”

He takes a moment to let your words settle, then the corner of his lips quirk further up, “Does lying to yourself like this help you cope?”

“Cope with what.” You breathe.

“Cope with the fact that you don’t feel the slightest thing for Kento—and you may never be able to—because you’re still stuck on that night we had together.”

“I… I-I’m not-,” Your words tangle up, “I’m not stuck on anything.”

“So answer me then,” That hand returns to your waist and he takes up the space directly in front of you, his other hand coming to your chin to tip your head up, “Why have you been avoiding me?”

His touches should've felt disrespectful to what you had built with Nanami thus far, but in the moment you found yourself forgetting that.

The contact leaves you blurting your truth out, “…It’s awkward to face you.”

And he's annoyingly quick to ask, “Why?”

“Because..."

Higuruma gets closer, “Because, what? Because you can’t stop thinking about it? About that night? About me?” He leans to your ear, “About us?”

Your resolve crumbles, “…Fuck you.”

He lightly grabs a full hold of your jaw and lifts your face further up, “You want to so badly, huh? Haven’t even let poor Kento kiss you because of it, I bet.”

It was ironic how wrong he was with that statement.

But you don't get to argue about it because the man in question walks in with a loud clearing of his throat, "What’s going on here?”

You instantly shuffle away and nearly trip over yourself, muttering, “Shit.”

Higuruma remains casual and swivels around, “We were just talking, Ken’.”

The nickname on his tongue makes your stomach twist up weirdly but you refuse to label it as jealousy for sure.

“You two seemed rather close for a conversation,” Nanami says, nearing you already and bringing a warm hand to where you'd bumped into the counter, “And you hit your hip, are you alright?”

The fact that he noticed that makes your heart churn with guilt, “I-I’m fine.”

“Your voice is unsteady,” He points out, glancing at Higuruma. “What kind of conversation were you two having, exactly?”

“One of the past.” Higuruma replies for you.

“Hiromi.” You warn.

His dark brows furrow, “What? Surely you don’t mean to hide it from the man you’ll be married to by tomorrow.”

“Hide what from me?” Nanami presses.

Putting it all out there, "We slept together. The night before you two met, actually.”

Those words open an entirely new can of words that span out for the next few minutes, ultimately resulting in a series of confessions. Many truths come out all at once.

Nanami asks you if that's why the two of you spent seven months like strangers, to which you naturally deny. Then he asks if you have feelings for Higuruma and you begrudgingly admit that you do, only to get rejected again by the man—since he had a confession of his own to get out.

The night was a lot, all because Higuruma decided to ambush you in the kitchen.

Hell, with the way things play out, you nearly wonder if the two men had planned this sorta thing. Especially when all feelings have been expressed and you realize it's a three-way mess of romance with only one not-so-obvious solution.

Of which Higuruma is the one to explain by making his way in between you and Nanami.

His hand intimately glided hand along Nanami's shoulder, then his neck, and soon grabs his jaw at the same time he grabs your hand and pulls you closer.

Higuruma leans over as if to kiss Nanami before whispering, “Let me be yours.” He starts, turning to you to kiss your hand fully, “And yours—if you’ll both have me.”

Obviously, the two of you let out a choke.

“What?” You snort.

Meanwhile Nanami’s face has gone beat red, “You’re suggesting a throuple? Hours before I'm to be married??”

Higuruma meets his eyes, “Yes. Think about it, how could your family deny another powerful union?” Then he looks to you, “Same with yours. Two brilliant men at your beck and call—twice the chances of you getting pregnant, as you've mentioned they so desperately want for you.”

With all that's transpired, you hardly even remembered doing that. But, you knew he had a point.

A damn good one too.

——

And to solidify the threeway agreement you all come to after a rather hasty conversation... the three of you rightfully make your way upstairs together.

Nothing else mattered when you had two genres of your type catering to both you, and one another, within the confines of Higuruma's bedroom.

By now, your body was trembling between them as you found yourself caught right in between the raw heat of pent up arousal. Nanami's hands were gripping your hips firmly, his fingers grounding into your flesh as he thrusted deep into you. His familiarly thick shaft kept your sloshing pussy stretched with each deliberate push of his hips.

The slick sounds of skin clashing against skin crowded the room, and your muffled moans vibrated against the cock Higuruma had curving all nastily into your mouth. There was a steady rhythm between the two men that swiftly guided your body back 'n forth between their much bulkier ones.

Nanami’s stiff cock easily broke you open from the back, while Higuruma’s leftly curving length slathered against the center of your drooling tongue.

A low groan rumbled right out from Higuruma's chest, his hazed eyes locked onto your teary ones—loving the way your swollen lips stretched around him, “Ohhhh fuck, I bet you’ve been wanting this, huh?” He puffed hotly, mixing his questions with praises of, "That's it, sweet girl." and, "Take me juuust like that, mhm."

Even if you could answer him, Nanami wasn't letting up with how his pace was building. His hand slides up the delicate arch in your spine, forcing you to feel every twitching vein 'n inch of his like he'd done before—the sensation sending rapturous sparks through your core.

"Our greedy girl," He grunted, not even noticing the way Higuruma began to lean closer to him. "S'tight in here-, fuck. You were never gonna be satisfied with one or the other..."

The dual stimulation was enough to have your eyes cloudy as pretty streaks of tears ran down your face. Higuruma would do his best to wipe them from you, but when he saw how Nanami wasn't doing much better—even with how filthy he managed to speak to you—he couldn't help but get distracted.

Higuruma's cock throbbed against the roof of your mouth, your cheek hollowing out so you can swirl your tongue along his veiny underside and draw a crisp hiss from him. Then his hips buck forward and push you further back onto Nanami—making the blond gasp while you gag.

You're too busy doing exactly that to see how the Higuruma takes his hands off of you for a moment to grab at Nanami's face, tugging him over and kissing him. Nanami's thoroughly fucked out and can hardly think with the combination of your cunt quivering around him as his best friend devours the inside of his mouth.

Then Nanami's pouring his words out against Higuruma's lips, "A greedy pussy like this needs two cocks to fill her right."

Higuruma whines at that as if his dream were actively coming true. "That means we hafta' take turns ruining her, right?" He mumbles.

You barely realize what that means before Nanami's withdrawing from you, leaving your pussy all aching 'n empty—slick arousal dripping down your thighs.

A gasp hitches out of you as Higuruma then moves to take his place behind you, grabby hands pawing at your ass to spread you out for him to see. His plump tp presses against your entrance to tease you just once before he sinks in with a smooth thrust. The angle instantly hits differently—deeper, brushing against your candied walls in a way that causes your fingernails to curl into the sheets.

Meanwhile Nanami kneels in front of you now, his erection overtly rigid and shimmering with your juices. He cups your face a moment, wiping drool from your chin. "Messy girl," He whispers lovingly, tapping at your bottom lip. "Open up nice and wide for me, yeah?" He instructs.

It was clear he gained a little more confidence with the presence of his best friend.

The taste of him soon mixes with the prior taste of Higuruma on your tongue as you bob your head, feeling your tongue sore from all the weight that's rut against it for the past however many minutes.

Higuruma's hips slap harder against your skin, his palm calming down on your ass with a slight smack. You push back against him and he scoffs, "You should see the mess you're making. Should be ashamed of it, really."

Then Nanami's distracting you all over again with his hand tangling into your hair and his words landing down on you, "Swallow around me-, mhm."

You cry out around his cock, the thrum making him thrust a little more erratically. Higuruma's following soon after by burring himself impossibly deeper before choking on his own breath and spilling hot 'n sappy cum inside you.

A few seconds pass, and while he's pulling out of you to watch his seed chase after his tip with stringy shlicks, Nanami's impolitely releasing his own few thick ropes of cum down your throat.

Panting, you're slowly eased down onto the bed by the two men—who waste no time in cleaning you of their mess—and you all flop into some semblance of relaxation.

You're barely lucid but you feel Higuruma pressing kisses into your temple as Nanami keeps wiping at the lower half of your face. Then, the lawyer whispers, "I'll make it all official by morning—documents and all."

As if you cared about any of that now...

Nanami nods along though, pulling you closer and leaving you to wonder—if both men really were to become your husbands, and nights like this would occur more often...

Which one would get you pregnant first?

tags:

@hiromihigurumaswife @clownerylynn @mnicfz @soupydumplings @themossiestchick @iiakithegoat @nanamimylife @izukuuu @mspineapplelover @thecrazyfangirlthings

@rzaau @wondrous-me @pearlydays @bobis-notmylover @letter123goanony @jaehyunsleftnut @chuuyan4kahara @lishenluv @chlefnikkl @maxxthefan

@eeveemainfr @ashsummer @brieflyinfiniteglitch @reinleelife @hxteurgutz @a-court-of-smut-and-sluts @almamelancolica @babblybebe @crispytreats047 @smoki-reigns

@minastoe @wonderfullymickey @re-tired-succubus @bitt3rk0i @longhairedfeline @luna5607 @yeagerbombxxx @fd3h @amigojuice @kebablove

@toffeebrat @hxteurgutz @pearlsalmi @datsbel

additional tags of interest: @blkkizzat @cupidstrace @uhnosav @madamechrissy @yenayaps

Things were turning out well for you—or at least, that’s what you thought. You remember your mother’s warnings about boys but… what about a man who had just graduated from law school?

“Hi. Is this seat taken?”

You look up abruptly and see dark eyes scanning yours. The stranger’s posture is relaxed—one hand tucked in the pocket of his black slacks, the other gripping a book thick enough to bludgeon someone. You glance around the café and realize how the place is jam packed now. Most of the tables and chairs are already occupied except yours.

Probably because you’re sitting at the far end by the window that is too secluded for anyone to bother noticing.

“Go ahead.” you say.

You push your sprawled notes and books aside to give him space. He slides into the chair immediately. The scent of coffee and something faintly woody hits you as he settles in. You try not to stare, but it’s hard not to when his long and thick fingers drum against the book’s cover.

He doesn’t talk to you. He just flips the book open and starts reading like you aren’t even there. Which should be a relief, right? You just want to study in peace, too.

Except that you catch yourself glancing up every time he turns a page. The fourth time you do it, his eyes flick over to yours.

“Yes?”

You blink up at him.

“Oh. Uh—nothing.” You gulp, fingers tightening around your highlighter. “Sorry, are you a law student?”

He shakes his head. “Was.” His voice is dry and low. “I already graduated a month ago.”

You nod, though your fingers still grip the highlighter too tight. His gaze drops back to his book, but you don’t look away. There’s something alluring about the way his thumb brushes the edge of the page.

Oh my god, you are not getting horny over someone’s goddamn fingers!

You should really go back to studying. Instead, you blurt out, “What’s your name?”

His eyes slowly lift, like he’s weighing whether answering is worth the effort.

“Hiromi.”

You nod again and tell him yours, the syllables slipping out softer than you intended. You cringe at yourself.

“Good luck with… whatever you’re reading, Hiromi,” you add, gesturing vaguely at his book.

He gives you a slow blink before dipping his chin in acknowledgment. Then, silence finally settles between you two.

Three days later, you see him again. Though this time, he’s sitting a few tables away from your usual spot in the café. You’re supposed to be studying for a quiz but instead, you waste an entire hour staring at him. You busy yourself by doing one of your ‘observing people’ routines.

Upon watching him, you notice that he doesn’t really move that much. He stays still while turning pages. And it’s oddly captivating—the way his fingers pause just before flipping to the next page. He doesn’t slouch, not even once, nor prop his head up in boredom. The only time he moves is when he reaches for his phone. You watch the way his brows furrow and how his lips thin to a line. He gathers up his things and walks out of the café.

You notice that you seem to be seeing him a lot these days.

It starts to feel like a glitch in the universe. Like the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. Now that you’ve learned his name, the world seems determined to show him to you in the randomest places.

You see him at the crosswalk, his back straight and his head slightly tilted as he listens to something on his earbuds. You see him at the convenience store just outside the campus, buying nothing but three cans of black coffee and a single pre-packaged sandwich.

One Friday, the rain is drumming a relentless, grey rhythm against the café windows. You’re tucked into your usual corner. The bell above the door jingles, and there he is. He shakes the water droplets off his coat. His hair is damp, some strands are sticking to his forehead. He heads straight for the counter and orders something too quiet for you to hear.

You look down on your laptop when you feel his eyes turning to you.

Just a few minutes later, you feel a presence at the end of the table. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. He slides into the seat without asking.

“Hm. You’re everywhere.”

That makes you look up.

You snort. “You’re the one who sat at my table first.”

“Fair.” He takes a sip on his coffee. Black coffee, no sugar. You know because you watched him order it last time. “You’re a psych major, right?”

“Yeah… how did you-”

“I figured from your notes,” he nods at the open notebook beside your laptop.

You blink. “Are you stalking me?”

Okay, that might be a reach.

He chuckles low and dark, it makes your heart hammer with something weird.

“You’re interesting.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just raise an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer.”

Hiromi leans back in his chair, looking at you with those heavy-lidded eyes.

“I really hope you’re single,” he says flatly. His fingers tap once against the side of his coffee cup.

You gulp. “Why?”

Hiromi shrugs, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Because I’d like to take you out.”

You feel your pulse kick up. It’s stupid, really, considering you don’t even know this guy.

“I am single.”

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. Hiromi looks at you, and for the first time, his lips slowly curl into a smile—the kind that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle just slightly. It’s disarming, and you find yourself smiling stupidly, too.

He bites his lower lip, a quick gesture that makes your stomach flip. Then, he reaches for his phone. He unlocks it with a swipe and hands it out to you without a word. The screen glows with the new contact page. You take it, your fingers brush his.

You type your number in, savoring the way his gaze lingers on your hands. When you give it back, he doesn’t check it. He just pockets the phone and takes another sip of his coffee.

“You don’t want to test it?” you ask, teasing. “Make sure I didn’t give you a fake one?”

He almost laughs at that.

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t.”

The following weeks are a blur. You spend your mornings in lecture halls, and your nights with Hiromi across various dinner tables. He’s a creature of habit; he likes his steak medium-rare, his scotch neat, and his conversations intellectually grueling.

The first time he brings you to his apartment, it’s under the guise that he has the better Wi-Fi for your joint study session. Only for the day to end with him pressing you deep into the mattress while whispering the filthiest praises into your ear—how good you take him, how pretty you look falling apart, or how perfect you are when you choke on his cock.

Eventually, it becomes a habit. Your supposed study sessions dissolve into him pinning your wrists above your head while he peppers you with warm and delicate kisses. His hands map your body like he’s memorizing every dip and curve. His tongue worships you like his sacred texts.

You find yourself breaking every rule your mother ever set.

“Can you please fuck me now?”

You look up to Hiromi with the best pleading eyes you can put on, tugging on the hem of his hoodie as you go on your knees in front of him. He only exhales deeply, as if annoyed (he’s not really). He pushes the bridge of his reading glasses back.

“What? No.” he almost says quickly. “Babe, I’m still reading.”

Right. He’s busy reviewing for the bar exams. He’s adamant on passing it with first try, but the thing is, he barely has time to even sleep—let alone fuck you.

You pout and shift closer. You press your cheek against his knee.

“But you’ve been reading for three hours straight now,” you murmur while tracing idle circles on his sweatpants. “Your brain’s gonna fry.”

Hiromi doesn’t look up. “My brain’s all fine.”

“Your dick, though-” You press your palm flat against the front of his pants, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Seems like it could use some attention.”  

He exhales through his nose. It’s that long-suffering sigh he does that you’ve come to adore.

“No.”

No?

You blink up at him and he straight up just goes back to reading that stupid thick-paged book. He even uncaps a highlighter with his teeth while you’re sprawled between his knees.

One thing you’ve come to realize since dating Hiromi is that you never back down on any challenge. It’s almost as if that since he’s a very stoic and determined guy, breaking him in is a challenge for you already.

Your fingers curl around the waistband of his sweatpants and the fabric slides down easily. And just like you predicted, he’s not wearing anything underneath again. His cock lazily springs free, thick and soft. You wrap your hand around him to feel his warmness.

Hiromi doesn’t react. His eyes are seriously fixed on whatever the hell he’s reading. You smirk and drag your tongue along the underside of his cock. You feel him stiffen slightly. Then, you swallow him down in one go, hollowing your cheeks as you pull back.

Except that he’s just too dedicated on his studies that he couldn’t give a fuck he’s balls deep in your mouth.

His breath suddenly hitches when you take him even deeper. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and you almost gag at the sensation. You hum around him as he slowly shifts his hips to meet your movements. Still, he doesn’t look at you.

But you know his game.

You pull off with a wet pop! Your teeth lightly drag along his length and you feel his thighs tense under your palms.

“You’re really gonna pretend you don’t wanna fuck my mouth?”

“I told you-” He clears his throat. “I’m busy.”

You roll your eyes in irritation before taking him back to your mouth. Your head bobs up and down so fast while your throat works around him. You hollow your cheeks once more, pulling back to swirl your tongue around the slit of his tip. Hiromi’s fingers twitch against the pages of the book. The sound of sucking and slurping are so obscene it’s echoing off the walls.

The heavy thump of a book snapping shut makes you glance up. Hiromi removes his reading glasses and he looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes.

“You’re so stubborn, I hope you know that.”

Hiromi yanks you up with ease just as he stands from the swivel chair. He drags you by the wrist and the back of your knees immediately hit the edge of the mattress when he pushes your body to it. His fingers fumble with the button and zipper of your denim shorts and he tugs them down along with your panties in one smooth motion. The cold air hits your skin, but his hands are warmer as they slide up the inside of your legs before spreading them.

“Such a goddamn distraction,” he mutters, finally leaning down to catch your mouth with his.

You arch shamelessly into him, wrapping your legs around his waist. His cock presses against your lower abdomen and you rock against him just to hear him groan into your mouth.

Hiromi pulls back abruptly. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, dragging the fabric up your torso until you lift your arms. He tosses it somewhere behind him, and then his hands are on you again—palming your tits, rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until they harden under his touch.

You let out a whine as you buck against him, but he clicks his tongue.

“So impatient.”

His lips brush your collarbone, then lower. He licks a warm stripe over one nipple, then sucks it into his mouth. You gasp and tangle your fingers in his hair. He flicks his tongue over the peak and bites down.

“Hiro-”

“Shut up,” he murmurs against your skin.

His hands slide down your sides, slightly squeezing your waist before gripping your hips. He drags you close to him and you feel the blunt head of his cock nudge against you. You’re wet—have been since you sucked him off earlier—but he doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he grinds his cock between your folds ever so slow you let out a whimper.

You claw at his shoulders. “Stop teasing.”

“You’re gonna have to ask better than that.”

“Please, fuck me,” you look up at him, his eyes flicker with something dark. “I want you so bad, Hiromi.”

Hiromi slides into you with one smooth thrust. His grip on your hips pins you down on the mattress, but your back arches off, anyway.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re so tight.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, your legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper.

“Move,” you demand breathlessly.

He does—his hips snap forward followed by a sharp, punishing rhythm that has you gasping. There’s nothing gentle about it. His hands slide under you to grip your ass, tilting your hips just so until every thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

“Mhhhhmmm… fuck me harder, please,” you pant, your voice breaking as he fucks you harder.

The veins of his cock drag against your walls in a way that has your toes curling. The bed creaks violently under the force of his movements, the headboard slamming against the wall. All you feel is him, the brutal stretch, and the way your body clenches around him like it’s trying to keep him inside.

“You-” Hiromi grits out between clenched teeth, “are fucking persistent.” His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider. “You couldn’t just let me study in peace.”

You gasp when he suddenly flips you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up before driving back into you. His palm lands sharp on your ass.

“If I fail the bar, what would you do, hm?”

Hiromi’s voice is deep and edged with something between frustration and irritation. You don’t get the chance to answer since he slams into you again, his hips thrusting so hard your knees almost slide against the sheets. You claw at the mattress—the pillows—anything to grab on but he only drags you back onto him.

He leans over you, his chest is pressing hot against your back. His hand gathers your hair to yank your head back.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he growls. “Wanted me to fuck you stupid instead of studying.”

You nod frantically, your words dissolving into a gasp as he angles his hips deeper.

“Yes! Nngghhh—just like thaaat-”

Hiromi’s grip tightens in your hair. “So fucking greedy.”

The slap of skin to skin fills the room, punctuated by your ragged moans. His thrusts grow erratic. Then, his fingers press into the dip of your lower back before sliding between your legs. His middle and ring finger circles your clit and you choke on a sob as pleasure starts to coil tight in your stomach.

“Fuck-” you gasp, your thighs trembling as his fingers work in tandem with the ram of his cock deep into you. “I’m- I’m so close, Hiromi!”

“Hmm…” Hiromi hums. “Gonna cum already?”

You don’t answer again—not when his fingers press harder, not when his cock kisses that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. Your hips jerk uselessly while trying to meet his thrusts.

Hiromi groans and you feel his rhythm stuttering. You can feel your legs shake as your pussy clenches around his cock. You roll your eyes so hard it almost reaches the back of your head.

“Shit- oh my fucking-!”

Your voice cracks, all high and desperate, as the wave of orgasm crashes over you. Hiromi curses under his breath. He pulls you back to him before burying himself to the hilt just as your legs shake violently. You feel him coat your insides with his warm, thick cum.

For a moment, neither of you move. His weight presses you into the mattress. Then, with a slow drag, he pulls out. He collapses onto the bed beside you. You roll onto your side, immediately pressing your face into the crook of his neck as his arm drapes heavily over your shoulder.

Silence stretches between you, but it's comfortable. You trace idle circles on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“You’re gonna pass,” you murmur after a while, your voice still thick with satisfaction.

Hiromi snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me like that.”

You grin against his skin. “But you love it.”

He doesn't deny it.

You lift your head to look at him. His dark lashes are fanning over his cheeks. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. You caress his lips that are still slightly parted as he catches his breath.

“You should take a break,” you say, nudging his shoulder with your nose. “Just for tonight.”

Hiromi sighs as his fingers trail absently up and down your spine.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” you insist. “One night won’t kill you.”

He opens one eye to glare at you half-heartedly. “You say that like you won’t be the reason I fail.”

You laugh before pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Ugh. Stop being soooo negative. You won’t fail.”

Hiromi hums before his arms tighten around you to pull you closer. You settle against him with your limbs tangled with his and your skin still sticky with sweat.

Outside, the city bustles—cars are passing by and there’s the occasional blare of a horn. But inside of his apartment, it's just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet aftermath of something raw and real.

You close your eyes while listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

If only you had known that it’s the last time you’ll be with him, you would’ve savored every second—every ragged breath, every groan, every heartbeat—more. But you didn’t.

Because when Hiromi passed the bar exam with flying colors, his priorities shifted.

You thought you’d be happy for him when he landed his first case. You tried to but you really couldn’t. The moment he stepped into courtrooms, he stopped being yours. His texts dwindled to one-word replies. The weekend dates turned into rescheduled ones that never really happened. His eyes, once warm and soft when they looked at you, became cold and distant.

“You knew what you were in for,” he told you one night when you dared to complain about his absence. “This is who I am.”

And that was it. The beginning of the end.

Then came the night of your twenty-second birthday. You’re sitting at the edge of your bed, staring at your phone screen illuminated by the last text Hiromi sent six hours ago.

Hiromi: Busy. Raincheck dinner?

You swallow the lump in your throat, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before you can type a reply, a notification from your roommate pops up on top of the screen.

Roomie: come downstairs, i brought sum food

You frown but oblige, padding barefoot down the stairs. The apartment is dark except the flickering glow of candlelight from the kitchen. There you see him—Hiromi, standing stiffly beside a lopsided homemade cake. His tie is loosened and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

“You… baked?”

Hiromi exhales sharply, avoiding your gaze. “It already collapsed twice.” He gestures to the cake. “The recipe online obviously lied.”

You bite back a laugh. “You could’ve just bought one!”

“I wanted to do it right, at least.”

The words hang between you two, heavy with everything he hasn’t said. You step closer, close enough that you see the exhaustion in his eyes. You tiptoed to press a kiss on his lips.

Your fingers slowly brush his. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” Hiromi’s thumb traces your knuckles.

For a moment, you feel warm and happy. Until his phone buzzes on the counter, shattering the quiet. His grip tightens briefly before he lets go, reaching for it. You watch his expression shutter as he reads the message—the way his shoulders slump and how his mouth thins into a line.

“I have to go,” he says, already grabbing his coat.

Not even a single “I’m sorry” or a “Happy birthday” came out of his mouth.

You just look at him while tears slowly form in your eyes. You don’t bother asking him to stay because you know he won’t.

A month later, you ended your relationship with him. You didn’t even cry when you told him a simple, “This isn’t working anymore.” But the worst thing is that Hiromi didn’t even try to argue with you.

He just nodded once and said, “Okay.”

You walked away with your chest hollowing. You ignored the way his eyes followed you until the door clicked shut behind you.

You told yourself it’s for the best but you spent the following years believing that lie. Maybe your mother was right. That men in school are completely up to no good. But men in general? They are just different versions of the same storm.