mullermilkshake

Your heart skipped a beat when his eyes seemed to bore into your soul, the dim light of the room amplifying the intensity of their sparkle. You felt like a small, insignificant thing, lost in the vastness of his attention.

The cheers that erupted around you felt distant, like you were hearing them through water. Someone clapped you on the back, and before you could fully process what was happening, hands were shoving you forward. Your heels skidded against the floor. The closet door swung open.

Then—darkness.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in a space so small it felt like the walls were pressing against your back. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and forgotten dust, and somewhere in the darkness, he shifted.

You strained to hear the sounds of the room, but it was as if the world had narrowed to a single, fragile thread—the sound of your own ragged breathing.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until his voice—gentle, smooth, husky and entirely too amused—broke through it. "So... only seven minutes?"

A shiver ran down your spine.

You swallowed hard, pressing your back against the wall, desperate for something solid. "Oh God," you whispered.

His low chuckle was warm, rich—dangerous in a way you couldn’t quite place. “Oh God...? That’s the first thing you say to me? Not gonna lie, kinda hurts my feelings.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You forced a laugh—nervous, brittle, barely a sound. "I should leave," you stammered, the words rushing out too fast.

He tilted his head, smirk evident even in the dim light. "Leave? Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?"

Your hand shot out, scrambling for the doorknob.

It rattled.

Didn’t turn.

Locked.

You barely held back a whimper. "God, nooo."

He let out a sharp, genuine laugh, the kind that made his shoulders shake. “Hey… relax. Why’re you panicking so damn much?” His voice was softer now, teasing but not unkind.

You opened your mouth, but your brain short-circuited and your tongue betrayed you. "Why are you so cute and tall?"

Silence.

Then, his laughter deepened—low, honey-warm, curling around you like smoke. You felt it more than heard it, the way it filled the tiny space, and seeped under your skin. He took a slow step forward, his presence swallowing the remaining inches between you. The scent of his cologne—clean, a little sharp, like cedar and something fresh—hit you like a second wave of intoxication.

"You think I’m cute?" His voice was laced with amusement, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Oh my… and you’re the one panicking right now."

“I’m not,” you blurted out, even as your pulse betrayed you.

He clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. “Not panicking? You tried to run, like, three seconds ago. Plus—” his gaze flicked down “—look how shaky your hands are.”

You looked down, and they were.

“Because…” Your voice came out barely above a whisper. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

His smirk faltered.

Just for a second.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he schooled his expression back into that effortless confidence. But you saw it. The pause. The way his breath hitched, the way he went completely still.

He knew he was handsome. Knew people stared when he walked into a room. But beautiful? No one ever called him that.

“…You sure you aren’t blind?” he murmured, voice quieter than before.

You shook your head. “No. It’s true.”

His throat bobbed, and for a second, you thought he might look away. Instead, he took another step closer—so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the barely-there brush of his sleeve against yours.

“…That’s an exaggeration,” he muttered.

But the pink dusting his ears said otherwise.

You nervously started cracking your knuckles.

Your fingers twitched, nerves unraveling one by one.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

The soft pop of your knuckles breaking the silence made you wince, but before you could shove your hands behind your back, his fingers wrapped gently around yours.

Warm. Steady. Confident.

He lifted your hand between the two of you, inspecting it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "You a little nervous, huh?"

“Yes...” You kept your gaze anywhere but on him.

That was a mistake.

Because the next thing you knew, his fingers ghosted over your chin, tilting your face up—effortless, like he had all the time in the world to make you look at him.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“Noo.” Your breath hitched. He was too close.

Your first instinct was to wriggle away, but his touch—light yet firm—kept you in place.

Not trapping. Not forcing.

Just holding you there, as if he knew you were already melting under his attention.

“Now you’re trying to get away from me?” His smirk deepened, amused. He was already enjoying this way too much. “Don’t like me having a hold on you?”

The way he said it sent something sharp and warm through your spine.

“Come on, look at me.”

The words weren’t a command. But they slithered into your veins like one.

So you did.

And immediately regretted it.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared into his eyes—striking, consuming, too much. Your brain fully short-circuited, leaving you scrambling for words. Any words.

“…Ahhh, your eyes are like… hypnotizing, bro.” Your voice cracked. “Like biblically accurate angels saying ‘be not afraid.’”

For a moment, there was a pause.

Then he threw his head back, laughing. A real laugh, rich and easy, like you’d just said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

You dropped your gaze, mortified. “Well, it wasn’t supposed to be one, but sure.”

His laughter softened, settling into something quieter, something heavier. The tiny space between you shrank, and you felt yourself retreating—only to realize there was nowhere left to go.

His fingers slid away from your chin, trailing down, featherlight, until they rested on your waist.

Testing.

The touch barely there.

You sucked in a breath.

“You’re cute when you’re all flustered.” His voice dipped lower, sending a shiver through you. “Am I making you nervous, princess?”

Your stomach flipped. “Princess?” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

His smirk deepened. “Yeah… you’re all cute and shy, like a little princess.” His fingers flexed slightly, pulling you closer.

You were losing to him. And you were losing badly.

He chuckled at your reaction, watching as your cheeks continued to flush a deep shade of red. “Yeah… you’re all cute and flustered. Like a little princess.” He smirked, his hand on your waist slowly pulling you closer.

A warmth spread up your neck, filling your face.

Before you could think—before you could second-guess yourself—you acted on impulse.

You leaned up, fast, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his lips.

And then immediately tried to flee.

Big mistake.

His arm was tighter around your waist before you could so much as turn, pulling you flush against him in one smooth, effortless motion. The sudden heat of his body against yours sent your brain into a full-blown shutdown.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” His voice purred against your ear.

You stiffened. “Home.”

He chuckled, the sound curling around you, sinking into your skin. “Now, now… you can’t just steal my first kiss and run away.” His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. “Besides… what do we have left?” He looked at his expensive watch. “Five minutes?”

“Oh…” You swallowed hard, heartbeat pounding in your ears. “…So now what?”

He tilted his head, feigning deep thought before his smirk curled into something lazier. Something dangerous.

“Now? Well…” His hand on your waist barely moved, but you felt the shift—how deliberate, how controlled every inch of his touch was. “Since you’re stuck here with me, how about we have a little fun?”

You were done for.

“Wh—” You cleared your throat. “I mean, like, what?”

His grip didn’t change, but his presence alone felt suffocating.

Too much heat. Too much confidence.

He leaned in closer, lips hovering just above your temple. “Oh, nothing too crazy... but I have a few ideas.”

Your hands flew up, landing on his chest in a desperate attempt to do something—only for your fingers to betray you by gripping his shirt, balling the fabric into your fists like it was the only thing keeping you from combusting on the spot.

He noticed.

Oh, he noticed.

“Someone’s holding on pretty tight, huh, princess?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Yes, because you are like a beautiful eldritch horror. I can’t look away.”

His chuckle was deep, vibrating against your skin. “A beautiful eldritch horror?” He hummed, tilting his head. “And you say you can’t look away… I’m surprised you’re not terrified of me, then.”

“I am.”

That made him pause.

His hand lifted once more, fingers tilting your chin up again—gentler this time, slower, as if savoring the motion. His gaze burned into you.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t run, princess.” His voice was softer, lower. “I quite like having you in my arms like this.”

Your breath was uneven. Your pulse was a mess. And before you could let yourself think, before you could stop yourself—

You wrapped your arms around his neck, cutting him off with a kiss.

For a split second, he stilled.

Your lips against his.

His breath caught.

Then, like a wave crashing against the shore, he melted into you.

A slow, devastating surrender.

His hands slid to your hips, fingers pressing with something dangerously close to possession. He pulled you in—closer, closer—until there was no space left between you, until you could feel every inch of him against you. His lips moved against yours, slow and teasing, yet demanding all at once. Spearmint. Heat. A smirk ghosting against your mouth, like he was already savoring the way you trembled under his touch.

His left hand moved and he tilted your head—his fingers slipping into your hair, guiding you like he had all the time in the world to kiss you exactly the way he wanted.

The way he needed.

The heat of him was everywhere—his chest pressing into yours, his thigh slotted between your legs, the faint tremor of his breath against your skin.

You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading into his snowy-white hair—too soft, too unfair—and he let out the smallest, pleased hum in response. The sound vibrated against your lips, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

His touch was a paradox—gentle yet commanding, teasing yet desperate. He kissed you like he was trying to memorize you, like he could drown in the heat of your body pressed against his. Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue, sent another rush of warmth pooling in your stomach. You could feel the intensity of him in the way his hands explored you, in the way his breath hitched when you tugged lightly at the strands of his hair.

That did something to him.

Because the second your fingers threaded through his hair again, he kissed you harder, deeper—like he was losing control. Like he wanted to lose control.

His grip on your hip slid lower, fingers grazing the curve of your thigh before hooking under it and hitching it around his waist, pulling you flush against him. The movement sent a dizzying shockwave through you—the friction, the pressure, the overwhelming heat of his body pushing you against the door, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

He wasn’t just kissing you—he was claiming you.

And god, you were more than willing to let him.

You smiled against his lips, dazed and breathless.

That was his undoing.

A low, deep groan rumbled from his chest. His fingers curled tighter, his arm locking around you, his grip at your waist firm yet careful—like he wanted to devour you but still didn’t want to break you.

Your warmth. Your scent. The way you melted into him.

It was intoxicating. Maddening.

His heartbeat pounded in sync with yours, the weight of his desire pressing against you, sending another pulse of heat straight to your core.

And still, he didn’t let go.

Couldn’t let go.

Wouldn’t let go.

And then—

You did.

Vanished.

Like you were never there.

He stumbled forward, arms suddenly empty. His breath hitched, chest still heaving.

“What the f—” His voice died in his throat as he whipped around. Had you run away in the dark? That was impossible. The door had been locked.

The closet door slammed open, harsh overhead light flooding in.

And that’s when they saw it.

Gojo Satoru. Standing alone in a musty closet. Flushed. Panting. Sporting a full-on, undeniable, raging fucking boner.

Suguru was the first to react, stepping into the doorway with the kind of deadpan horror reserved for witnessing a catastrophic natural disaster. His gaze flickered from Satoru’s messy hair to his swollen lips, then down to the obvious problem pressing against his jeans.

"Jesus Christ, man." Suguru's face twisted in disgust. "Tell me you were at least jerking off and not—"

"NO! What the fuck?!" Satoru nearly tripped over his own feet as he scrambled out of the closet, hands thrown up defensively.

Behind Suguru, the rest of the frat house was in disarray. Red Solo cups were strewn across the floor, someone was passed out mid-handstand on the couch, and Kashimo was crouched over a half-eaten pizza like a feral raccoon.

Suguru’s brows furrowed. "Dude, I told you not to party with Fine Arts hippies. They always slip you something weird."

“I took nothing.” Satoru semi-yelled.

"Kento, how much did Satoru drink?” Suguru asked aloud, not trusting him.

Kento came up behind Suguru, looking already done with this conversation. "He didn’t drink anything when he was with me, then I left for five minutes to put Haibara’s lightweight ass to sleep, and he ran off."

"You were taking forever," Satoru shot back, still breathless.

"Haibara threw up on me," Kento deadpanned. "I’d rather not walk around campus smelling like his five-day-old burger lunch."

"That’s valid," Toji affirmed, lazily leaning against the hallway door, tossing a peanut into his mouth. "Pukeboy's been living on McDonald’s and spite."

Kento approached closer, rubbing his temples with the exasperation of a man who had seen far too much in his short life. "How much did he drink?" he asked, already regretting it.

Suguru dragged a still-stunned Satoru forward. "He claims he didn't drink at all."

Kento stared at Satoru, then at the situation going on in his pants. Then back at his face. Then back down. Then back up.

Finally, he cracked open a fresh beer from his hoodie pocket and started chugging it while turning the fuck back around.

"Okay, hold on—" Suguru cut in before the inevitable drunk fighting started. "Satoru. Who the hell were you kissing?"

Satoru blinked, still half-dazed. "What? What do you mean? Her." He turned, gesturing back toward the closet.

Silence.

A long, loaded silence.

The group collectively paled.

"Satoru," Shoko said, suddenly way too serious as she stepped forward and pulled the closet door open wider. "There was no one in there. And no one left besides you."

His stomach dropped.

His skin still tingled where your hands had been. His shirt still smelled of your vintage perfume. His lips were still warm from your kiss.

“What did you smoke, man? Better yet, tell me your plug,” Sukuna called from the couch, not even looking up as he flicked his lighter absentmindedly.

"Nothing! I haven’t even had a sip of beer!" Satoru snapped.

“It’s okay, dude. We won’t snitch.” Kashimo snickered, passing the blunt to Sukuna.

"Stop messing with me," Satoru scoffed, but his voice wavered.

Suguru and Kento exchanged a look.

A very specific look.

It was Choso who finally broke the silence, rubbing the back of his neck as he reached for the blunt. "...You do know the story about that closet, right?"

Satoru deadpanned. "What story?"

Yuki let out a slow breath, passing the whiskey to Shoko, uncharacteristically serious. "The girl. The one who got locked in there."

A strange, ancient wrongness settled in his gut.

Hiromi sighed, exhaling smoke from the blunt he had taken from Choso. "No one found her in time."

The air shifted.

The music from the other room seemed quieter now, the hum of the house pressing down on them like a weight.

Satoru’s breath hitched.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

"It’s just a lame story to scare freshmen," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“This is giving me a bad trip; let’s go somewhere else,” Sukuna muttered, getting up from the couch.

Sukuna wasn’t the type to get spooked—not even when he was piss drunk.

He didn’t seem scared now, but if he was avoiding this place, then maybe... just maybe... the stories were true.

"It’s just a story," Satoru muttered again.

"It's not," Haibara called weakly from the couch, still half-conscious but somehow invested. "She’s been seen before. But never like this."

Shiu grabbed a beer. "Man, I hate this place."

Suguru hesitated. "...Satoru, she’s not—"

Satoru’s throat closed.

He turned back toward the closet.

At the empty space where you had been.

Where your warmth had been.

Where your hands had trembled in his.

It seemed impossible—your touch, your breath, your mouth on his—it all felt too real.

And yet…

A deep, aching sadness settled in his bones.

And then—

He smiled.

Soft. Almost wistful.

"Well," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

"At least she thought I was beautiful."

The rest of them were too scared to grimace as they dragged his stupid ass out of the house.

A/N: So yes, she was dead; yes, he still got haunted by the best seven minutes of his life; and yes, the real victim here was Gojo’s dignity. He got kissed by a ghost, got hard about it, and now he gets to live with that forever. Tragic. Embarrassing. Deserved.

Headers by me and dividers by @sisterlucifergraphics.

Chapter 2 [Tumblr/Ao3] | Final Chapter 3 [Tumblr/Ao3]

Masterlist

“I do.” He didn’t risk getting closer. “I do, I get that you’re angry, but you need to calm down. You’ll hurt yourself-”

You cut him off with another projectile, a book from his bedside drawer. “I’m always hurting! You leave me here for hours and I have no way of contacting anyone outside, you lock me in and you want to pull the ‘I care for your welfare’ card?!”

“I do.” His tone was firmer. “Of course I care about you, and our baby. That’s why you need to calm down before your body goes overboard and you get pains you shouldn’t be getting this early in your pregnancy. Of course I care.”

Hiromi was unsure why he was letting you get away with this, he glanced down at the cracked photo frame, the only picture he had of you the night you two met. You always looked at it with a glare and insisted he keep it on his side of the bed.

“If you genuinely cared about me, you‘d take this chain off my ankle. It’s not like I have anywhere to go.” Your anger turned to sniffles, and you turned away to hide it.

“Sweetheart…”

If he took off your restraint, you had access to the cleaning products. If you had access to those, he couldn’t exactly trust to eat anything you prepared, and if you ever hurt yourself purposely just to get out of here… it wasn’t something he could risk.

In Hiromi’s mind, the only time you would be let out was when you went into labour.

He reached out to your shoulder. “Please try to see this from my perspective-”

“Don’t touch me!” 

The moment he touched you was the second you lashed out and pushed him away, actually managing to get him up against the wall for a moment before he grabbed you and turned the tables out of instinct.

The chain on your ankle rattled like it was excited, Hiromi’s frown dipped lower than ever before and he noticed how wide eyed you were. His hands were wrapped tight around your wrists, your chest moving rapidly above your baby bump breaching the gap between you and him.

This time he really had fucked up.

You were whispering too. “You’re hurting me, Hiromi.”

“I…” Where had the sudden rage come from? “I didn’t mean-”

When you hissed, sucking in air with your eyes screwed shut, he let go immediately. You pressed your hand to your stomach and hunched a little. “Ouch… ouch-ouch.”

“What is- is it the baby?”

“Don’t- don’t touch me. Please, just leave me alone.” You scrambled away in tears, ignoring his presence until you went into the other room, the door never closing because of the chain.

In a time like this, Hiromi was wracked with guilt. He had to ignore his instinct to follow you and try to cure the sound of your sobs and find the source of the pain. There was no way the baby could be coming now, not when the nursery hadn’t been finished yet, and he was certain that the altercation couldn’t have triggered any contractions of any kind… right?

It couldn’t have been him. He would never intentionally harm you or the baby. Ever.

No. It couldn’t be.

He decided to give you space for the moment before checking up on you. Despite your defiance in his presence, he was confident you’d tell him if something was wrong and that you knew he’d get you prompt medical treatment.

Even so, it didn’t make it any more agonising for him to wait and stand there in the bedroom noticing the chain on your ankle move like it had a mind of its own towards the room you were crying in.

Maybe the chain is no longer necessary? 

If it was making you this unhappy… Shit. His brain was battling itself. Should he take the leap and pray that you wouldn’t run or try to poison him? Would making your quality of life here be better for you in the long run?

He didn’t like it any more than you did, having someone he was going to have a child with at home when no one in his life knew you even existed. You were someone who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, to grow this little family and hope that one day you’d actually look at him with warmth and not hatred. Hiromi wanted to show you off to everyone and anyone who would listen.

Having you cooped up in here was nightmarish to say the least. But the thought of you leaving him stopped him making logical decisions.

Hiromi picked the mess on the floor and kept his ear open for you, if you needed anything or called for him before he made his way over to the door. He knocked and waited, hoping that giving you space would calm you in some capacity.

“Love?”

Nothing. Just sniffles.

“Sweetheart… Can I come in please?” He slipped his head through the gap and didn’t see you at first, but upon further inspection, you were sat on the floor in the corner.

You had your head resting on your arms over your knees as far as you could with the baby in the way. He waited for a response, but he didn’t get one. You never looked up at him, but your lack of aggression spoke volumes to him, so he came in and made the active decision not to touch you this time.

“Are you still hurting?”

He only got a head shake from you, but he saw the way you rubbed your stomach in a calming motion. You had worked yourself up so much, it must have given you pains. For now at least, you seemed less distressed and did not complain of any ailments.

‘Face it. I’m going to need to go to the hospital sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time.’

It was. Hiromi had considered that. What if you went into labour earlier than anticipated later down the road? You didn’t even have a way of contacting him should that happen, he only had the camera’s to go on to know how you were doing and they didn’t have any sound. 

It was all coming true quicker than he was ready for.

He reached out again, though as if on cue, you backed away against the wall. “Please… Please don’t touch me… I can’t- You really hurt me.” 

Just seeing you like this tugged his chest more than he ever thought was possible. He realised just how much he had hurt you and let his emotions get in the way of your wellbeing.

How can I make this better?

He studied your ankle, totally red and swollen all the times you had pulled on it. The metal edges of the cuff already producing a scarred texture to your ankle bone. That was Hiromi’s doing.

So he took out the key from the chain around his neck and pulled at the lock. You flinched and went to pull at his shirt with wet eyes until you noticed. The lock clicked off and let your bruised ankle breathe for the first time in months.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He hoped this would help show that, maybe make it up to you in some way. “The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you.”

Even though this was one huge decision for Hiromi.

You rubbed the skin, struck at the sight of your bare ankle. Rubbing the wet away from your face, you stopped crying. “Why did…”

“I want to show you that I’m not the bad guy here if you let me in. I love you, even if you don’t love me. But we’re having a baby together.” You didn’t react to his touch when he rubbed your bump. “I want to provide for you, to keep you safe and be there for you when you need me. And I can, if you let me.”

You said nothing, still entranced by your ankle.

“I’m sorry for grabbing you the way I did, I don’t know what came over me. But it won’t happen again. I promise. That isn’t the person I want to be… not for you, or for our child. But I have to know if you’ll at least entertain the idea that we could be something together. It doesn’t have to be right now, but I hope with time, you’ll know just how much I love you.”

“You’ve gone about this all the wrong way.”

“Hm?”

You didn’t look at him, but you trained your eyes on his chest instead. “I would have had my baby regardless… We could have co-parented. Maybe even given it a go despite only spending a night together, people do that… But taking me away like this, hurting me and keeping me locked up like an animal isn’t the way to go about things…”

But it was the only foolproof plan that you would stay with him. Hiromi did not see any other choice. 

“How?” He shrugged, for the first time, he faced his demons. “As soon as I wanted to get involved, you pulled away from me. I offered you everything and you wanted none of it.”

“You asked me to move in with you and said you’d give me monthly money when we’d hardly known each other a month or so. Of course it pushed me away, you didn’t give me space- you still aren’t giving me space, Hiromi. Being in a relationship takes time. And you’re incapable of waiting.”

No, of course he could wait. He was waiting now. He gave you as much space as you wanted, yet you wanted more space and more time alone. Hiromi was losing you by the day and his gut told him that you’d try to get away from him when the baby came.

A thought he couldn’t bear.

“I can wait.” His hand still sat on your stomach. “I really can. I want our life to be the best it can be, but we have to work together to make it happen. Love, when the baby comes we need to be a team, not at each other’s throats.”

“Then give me time to come to terms with all this.”

He tried his best not to react to your movement, the way you peeled his hand away from you when you got up to stand. “If it’s anyone who can’t trust the other, it’s me. I can’t trust you.”

“What are you saying?” 

He shot up and watched you with wide eyes. He wasn’t trustworthy? He was a defense attorney, one of the best in the area. He was better than those men who hurt women and did things to them that were unspeakable.

Hiromi was nothing like those men.

“I can’t trust you not to do what you did in the bedroom. In this ‘thing’ you’re obsessed over. It isn’t healthy.” When you made a move to leave, you threw up your hand when he did the same. “Give me some fucking space… Sort your life out or it’ll bite you in the ass. Just leave me alone for a while.”

He stood there like you had dropped the biggest bombshell on his shoulders, and now you weren’t restrained.

Did he need to sort out his life? Well trouble in paradise was one of them, yet how could Hiromi sort that side out if you weren’t willing to budge on this. He’d just taken the chain away and you weren’t the least bit grateful, he hoped it was a small mercy to prove that he could be the best person for you.

You were making things difficult.

What the hell could he do to prove to you that he wasn’t the asshole you were making him out to be?

Maybe in time, you could accompany him on a grocery shop? Maybe a little freedom was exactly what you needed.

He hoped this time you would be grateful for it.

Part 1 <- Part 2 -> Part 3

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Nanami makes a long-suffering sigh of a man who’s spent two decades corralling these idiots—but he catches his anyway. “This is idiotic.”

You laugh, turning yours over. “Come on, Kento. Live a little. We’ve done stupider things.” He meets your eyes. “Fine. But if I end up in the ER, I’m billing all of you.”

They all rip theirs open at the same time. Thick, sweet honey squeezed onto tongues. It tastes like expensive cough syrup, fucking disgusting.

You’re still sandwiched between Kusakabe and Higuruma on the couch, legs kicked up across Kusakabe’s lap because he claimed “more room” like an asshole. Nanami’s back in the armchair, shirt mostly open now, one ankle crossed over his knee.

“Man,” he drawls, scratching lazily at his stomach under his shirt, “this shit’s hitting different. I feel like I could bench-press a car. Or fuck through a wall.”

You snort. “Romantic.”

Higuruma doesn’t look up from where he’s idly swirling the last of his beer. “You already talk like you could fuck through a wall on a normal Tuesday.”

“Jealousy’s a bad look on you, Hiromi,” Kusakabe fires back, grinning wide. He stretches, arms over the back of the couch, deliberately crowding you more. His thigh presses hot against yours. “But seriously. You guys ever think about how unfair dick genetics are?”

Nanami raises one perfect eyebrow. “We’re doing this now?” “We’re absolutely doing this now,” you say, grinning as you nudge Kusakabe with your elbow. “Go on. Enlighten us.”

Kusakabe takes the invitation to brag. “Look—I’m just saying some of us got blessed, some of us got… adequate.” He side-eyes Higuruma. “No offense.”

Higuruma finally sets the beer down. “None taken. I’ve never had complaints.”

“Exactly,” Kusakabe says, pointing at him like he’s making a winning argument. “You’re long. Elegant. Lawyer dick. Probably slides in like butter. Me? I gotta do warm-up drills.”

You laugh so hard your head tips back against the couch. “Warm-up drills?”

“Yeah. Foreplay for like twenty minutes minimum or it’s game over. Girls either tap out or cry—happy tears, obviously.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Big-dick problems.”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me,” Kusakabe says cheerfully. Then he turns to you, suddenly conspiratorial. “C’mon, princess. You’ve seen all of us change in locker rooms and shit back in the day. Be honest. Scale of one to ‘monster cock,’ where we ranking?”

You pretend to think, tapping your chin. “I think Hiromi’s got length—like, porn-star proportions. Kento is definitely thick like can’t wrap your hand around it ‘girthy’,” You shoot Kento a wink. “And you Atsuya…” You drag it out just to watch him squirm. “are stupid thick at the base and stupid long everywhere else.”

Kusakabe beams like you just handed him a trophy. “See? Told you. Big-dick problems.”

Higuruma rolls his eyes but there’s a faint smirk. “And yet you still complain more than anyone.”

“Because it’s a curse!” Kusakabe throws his hands up. “Last girl I tried to hook up with—cute little bartender from that spot in Shibuya? We get to her place, clothes off, she’s all ‘yes, yes, fuck me’—then I line up and…” He makes a dramatic wince. “Nope. Too tight. Wouldn’t even take the head.”

You raise both brows. “You’re bragging about not fitting?”

“I’m bragging about the reason,” he corrects, smug as hell. “She was soaked, ready, begging—and still my dick was like ‘nah, we’re good right here.’ Had to finger her open for ten minutes straight before she could even think about taking it. And even then she was whimpering the whole time. ‘It’s too big, Atsuya, it’s too big—’” He drops his voice into a breathy imitation, then grins. “Music to my fuckin’ ears. She was into it. Left scratches down my back. Texted me the next day asking when round two was. I just… need a girl who can handle the whole package, y’know?”

You’re laughing again, half horrified, half turned on because the honey’s making you feel horny as fuck. “So what, you’re saying you need a custom pussy?”

“Basically.” He shrugs shamelessly. “But yeah. Big-dick tax.”

Higuruma snorts softly, leaning back. His slacks are tenting noticeably now—the honey working fast—and he doesn’t bother hiding it. “You talk like you invented the concept,” Higuruma says dryly. “Every guy with more than average girth thinks he’s suffering uniquely. Newsflash: most women don’t need a warm-up marathon unless the guy sucks at foreplay.”

Kusakabe clutches his chest in mock offense. “Excuse you, I’m a gentleman. I do the full ritual—kissing, fingering, clit worship, the works. Still gotta ease in though. You wouldn’t get it.”

Nanami, who’s been quietly nursing his beer finally speaks up, “You’re both overselling it. Size is irrelevant if technique is garbage.” He meets your eyes again, “And technique can make even ‘adequate’ feel overwhelming.”

“Oh-ho,” Kusakabe says, catching the shift in Nanami’s tone. “Kento’s getting defensive. What’s the matter? Worried your ‘perfect girth’ isn’t enough to win first place?”

Nanami laughs, arching one brow, “I don’t need to win anything. I know what I’m working with.”

“Exactly my point!” Kusakabe throws his head back laughing. “We’re all walking around pretending we don’t compare but let’s stop bullshitting.” He sits up straighter, suddenly serious—or as serious as Kusakabe ever gets. “I know I’ve got the biggest dick in this room. Hands down. Length, girth, the full combo. But words are cheap.”

He looks around at the three of you, eyes gleaming with challenge. “So prove me wrong. Or let me prove it. Right here. Right now.”

You blink. “You want to… what? Whip them out and measure?”

Kusakabe shrugs like it’s the most logical next step. “Why not? We’re all adults. Let’s settle this like men.” He grins wider. “Or like horny idiots who took sketchy gas station supplements—Fuck me,” he mutters, palm already drifting down to adjust himself through his sweatpants. “This shit’s no joke.”

You snort-laugh, heat crawling up your neck. “You’re actually doing this now?”

Higuruma tilts his head toward you, eyes half-lidded. “He’s been waiting for an excuse since middle school. Might as well settle it.”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is the most undignified conversation we’ve ever had. And we’ve had some bad ones.”

Kusakabe grins ferally. “C’mon. Pants off. We compare, then we… test compatibility.” He waggles his eyebrows at you. “You get final vote.”

“Okay… hold up.” Your voice comes out higher than you meant it to. You sit up straighter, legs still slung over Kusakabe’s lap, suddenly hyper-aware of how close his hand is to the seam of your shorts. “You’re seriously proposing this, a dick measuring contest?”

Kusakabe’s grin gets wider, “Yup.” Higuruma lets out an amused huff, “To be fair, you did rank us already.”

“Yeah, but that was theoretical!” You gesture wildly at the three of them. “This is… this is practical application. Like, actual dicks. Out. In the open. For science.”

Nanami’s voice is taunting, “And apparently for your entertainment.”

You shoot him a look and he just raises one perfect eyebrow like you started this. “I mean…” You drag a hand down your face, trying to sound reasonable even though you were fucking so soaked. “This is insane. This is so insane. We’re grown adults. We have jobs. We pay rent. Kusakabe probably has a dentist appointment next week.”

“Thursday,” Kusakabe supplies helpfully. “See? Normal people shit!” You point at him accusingly. Then you drop your hand and exhale hard. “But also… fuck.”

All three of them go still, waiting.

You chew your bottom lip for one more second, then let out a shaky laugh that’s mostly nerves and lust. “Damn it. I’m so fucking wet right now I can feel it on my thighs. And you three just spent the last fifteen minutes talking about how big your dicks are. So yeah. Fine. Whip ’em out. Let’s do the stupid comparison. Because apparently my dignity left ten minutes ago.”

Kusakabe lets out a triumphant “YES!” and immediately shoves his sweatpants down to his knees without another word. His cock slaps up against his stomach already glistening at the tip. The rest follow suit.

“Okay, c'mere boys," you say, sliding off the couch to your knees in front of them. The rug is soft under your shins. You’re eye-level with three very hard, very different cocks, and the visual alone makes your clit throb. “Let’s see.”

Kusakabe steps up first—cocky as ever. He’s thickest: heavy, girthy, maybe 8.2 to 8.5 inches but the width makes your mouth water instantly. Veins prominent, head flushed dark. He strokes himself once, smirking. You wrap your hand around him—fingers don’t quite meet. Not bad I guess, you think to yourself.

Next, Nanami. You have to use both hands again. One around the base—fuck, it’s wide—and the other higher up the shaft. Definitely 8.5 to 8.8 inches. It’s long enough that there’s still room to stroke. The head is flushed angry red, already slick. You give an experimental squeeze and he groans, hips jerking forward.

Higuruma last. Longest by a noticeable margin—8.7–9 inches, slimmer than the other two but with that elegant upward curve and a slight left lean. His cock would definitely bulge through. Darker shaft, flushed head glistening. He tilts your chin up with two fingers while you stroke him experimentally. “You pick a winner yet?”

You wrap a hand around each of them—Kusakabe in your left, Nanami in your right, Higuruma guiding your mouth first. “Too close,” you mumble against the head of Higuruma’s cock before licking a stripe up. “Need… more data.”

Kusakabe laughs already stroking the base of himself while he watches your tongue flick over Higuruma again. “Fuck, beautiful. You’re gonna kill us before we even start.”

You shoot him a mischievous look, then turn your head and take Nanami into your mouth instead, letting your lips stretch wide around that fat head. He hisses through his teeth, one hand immediately sinking into your hair. “Damn.” Nanami mutters, You hum around him in agreement, the vibration making his thighs flex. Then you pop off strings of spit connecting your lips to his tip.

“See? Data.” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at them. “Nanami wins on stretch. My jaw’s already sore and I’ve barely started.”

Higuruma’s long fingers slide into your hair next, guiding you back toward him “Then let’s see how deep you can take length.”

You open for him willingly, tongue flat, relaxing your throat as he feeds inch after inch past your lips. Your eyes water almost immediately. When your nose brushes the neat dark hair at his base you moan, loud and shameless, the sound muffled around his cock. “Good girl,” he murmurs, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth where it’s stretched tight. “Look at you. Taking it so well.” You pull off gasping, spit shining on your chin, eyes glassy. “Okay—fuck—Higuruma wins depth.”

Kusakabe’s had enough of being patient. He steps in closer, fat cock nudging your cheek. “My turn. C’mon, baby.” You laugh because god he’s so impatient and wrap both hands around him again. Even with two hands there’s still shaft left to stroke. You lean in, licking a broad stripe from balls to tip, tasting salt and precome. Then you try. You really fucking try. The head pops past your lips with a stretch that makes your eyes flutter shut. You get maybe halfway before your jaw protests and your throat says nope. You gag softly, pull back, try again—deeper this time—tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Kusakabe groans like he’s dying. “Fuck—fuck—look at that. Trying so hard for me.”

You manage another inch, cheeks hollowed, before you have to pull off completely, coughing, laughing, wiping your eyes. Kusakabe pulls out of your mouth, flips you onto all fours. Nanami slides underneath so you’re straddling him, sinking down onto his thick length with a gasp. Kusakabe notches at your ass—slowly careful with spit and leftover slick—then pushes in.

You’re already so full from Nanami’s thick cock buried to the hilt in your pussy; every tiny shift of your hips grinds you down harder on him, the fat head nudging against your cunt. “Fuck—breathe, baby,” Kusakabe rasps, one big hand splayed across the small of your back, thumb rubbing soothing circles even as his hips keep that slow, inexorable slide. “You’re doing so good. Taking both of us so perfect.” You can’t answer. Your mouth is open on a silent scream, forehead dropping to Nanami’s shoulder. His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing away the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze and he kisses you while Kusakabe sinks another inch deeper. Kusakabe finally bottoms out his hips flush against your ass, balls heavy against your skin. You feel impossibly stuffed, both cocks rubbing against each other inside you. You break the kiss with a sob. “Oh my god—oh my god—I can feel you both—fuck—”

Higuruma has been patient, kneeling beside the bed, stroking himself long and slow while he watches. He climbs up behind Kusakabe so he can reach you. Long fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head back gently. “Open,” he says. You do immediately, your eager mouth falling wide as he guides that elegant length past your lips. You're a whimpering mess as the three of them find a rhythm almost too quickly, like they’ve done this before in some fever-dream fantasy.

Nanami rolls his hips up in shallow, grinding thrusts—never pulling out far, just enough to drag that thick ridge along your front wall over and over. Kusakabe matches him from behind, pulling out halfway and sliding back in. You whine around Higuruma’s cock and he pulls out just enough to let you speak. “Please—” The word comes out slurred, spit-slick. “Please—more—need—” Higuruma strokes your cheek with his thumb, “More what, sweetheart?”

You can’t think. Can’t form full sentences. “Need… to come—please—fuck me harder—need all of you—”

Kusakabe laughs, “Hear that? Princess wants it harder.” Nanami’s eyes flick up to meet the others—some silent agreement passing between them and then they move.

Nanami plants his feet on the floor and thrusts up harder, deeper, that thick cock bullying against your g-spot before pulling out as does Kusakabe. Leaving you clenching around nothing. Your hips twitch up instinctively, chasing the contact, and a confused little “wha—?” slips out. You blink, dazed and still throbbing. “Wait… what are you guys doing?”

Kusakabe huffs a low laugh, already shifting down the couch again. “Change of plans, princess.”

“Huh?” Your voice cracks, high and needy. You prop yourself up on your elbows, thighs still trembling, “You were literally about to—”

“We were,” Nanami cuts in, leans over you, caging you with one arm braced beside your head. “But then we realized something.”Higuruma finishes for him, “You haven’t come hard enough yet.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “I literally just—”

“Nah not like that,” Kusakabe interrupts, already settling back between your legs, his big hands hook under your knees and spread you wider. You open your mouth to protest—something about how you’re already sensitive, but Higuruma silences you with a kiss. “Let us spoil you a little longer,” he murmurs. “You deserve it.”

Before you can form another coherent thought, Kusakabe seals his mouth over your clit and sucks hard. Your back bows off the couch, hands flying to his hair as you moan into Hiromi’s mouth. Nanami moves to your left nipple, taking it between his lips and rolling it gently with his tongue while his hand cups the other breast, thumb flicking the peak.

Every pull of his mouth makes your hips grind up against Kusakabe’s face. Atsuya’s tongue starts flicking fast over your swollen clit, while Hiromi breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth down your throat, sucking another dark bruise into the soft skin just above your collarbone while his long fingers slide down to join Kusakabe between your thighs before Hiromi physically pushes him aside. Atsuya lets out an indignant “Oi—!” but he’s already being shoved to the side, sliding off the couch edge with an amused grin. Higuruma takes his place settling between your thighs. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and buries his face into you. He laps his tongue through your folds as Kento continues to switch between sucking your tits and giving you love bites while Kusakabe grips your hair forcing you to look up at him.

You’re about to come until the fucker pulls off, his eyes flicking up to meet Nanami’s over your body. “Your turn, Kento.” Nanami releases your nipple with a soft pop, pressing one last kiss to the peak before shifting down. Higuruma moves aside without protest, sliding up to claim your mouth instead as Atsuya moves onto your breasts now. Kento takes a second to admire how you’re glistening, swollen, dripping down your ass and onto the couch. What a fuckin’ sight. He flattens his tongue against your overstimulated cunt and flicks tiny precise strokes on your clit. “Fuck—Kento—wait—I’m gonna—” Your voice cracks, but he doesn’t stop. You come so hard your eyes tear up. You squirt hard, soaking Nanami’s chin, his chest, and the couch beneath you. Atsuya looks at you in awe, “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You gushed like a goddamn fountain.”

Hiromi helps you sit up while Kusakabe pulls you half into his lap, back against his chest, thick arms caging you. Nanami kneels close, one hand on your thigh as he continues to eat you out. Kusakabe groans like he’s in pain, stroking himself faster. “Fuck, Kento, don’t hog her. I wanna feel that pussy too.”

They stroke themselves in sync on you as you attempt to stop trembling from your orgasm. Kusakabe comes first spills across your stomach, thick ropes painting your skin in hot streaks. Higuruma follows seconds later landing on your chest, your throat, one even catching the corner of your mouth as he groans. Nanami lasts longest before coming hard across your thighs marking you everywhere. You’re covered dripping with them.

You’re slumped in Kusakabe’s lap, back plastered to his chest, legs still splayed wide across the couch cushions. Atsuya’s arms tighten around your waist, “Okay soooo…” He drags the word out, “Who the fuck won?”

You feel Nanami snort softly against your thigh where he’s still kneeling, lips brushing the sticky mess he just left there. Higuruma, stretched out beside you now, one long arm draped possessively over your hip, lifts his head just enough to arch a brow at Kusakabe. “Seriously?” he drawls, “We all just came on her, and your first thought is the dick-measuring contest from forty minutes ago?”

Kusakabe shrugs, chin hooked over your shoulder so he can look down at the obscene painting they’ve made of your body. His hands slide up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing idly over your nipples. “I mean… yeah? That was literally the whole point, right?” He grins, “We were supposed to settle who’s got the biggest, best dick in the room. And then we got distracted by—” he gestures vaguely at you, “So c’mon, Final vote. Who wins?”

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh that turns into a half-moan when Kusakabe pinches your nipples at the same time. “You’re actually asking me to rank your dicks again right now?” Your voice is hoarse, still shot from screaming, “Fine. Still tied. But Atsuya wins girth, Hiromi length, Kento… perfection.”

Nanami huffs softly against your hair. “Acceptable ruling.”

Higuruma hums, fingers still tracing lazy patterns through the come on your skin. “Or…” he says softly, “we can agree the only real winner is her.”

Kusakabe groans dramatically. “Fine. Tie. Whatever. But I’m calling dibs on eating her out first next time. I wanna see if I can make her squirt faster than you did, Kento.”

Nanami smirks at him already knowing there’s no one who knows how to eat pussy like him. “Challenge accepted, Atsuya.”

Hiromi laughs as he begins cleaning you up, “Give her ten minutes to breathe first,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll see who really wins round two.”

Oh well, Men and their dumb big dicks.