Akane take a bow

Through the sea of drunkards and fishnet he spots you, dancing to whatever overly sexualized pop song is most popular at the time. His eyes rake over you, greedy and lust driven. You glow under the lights, clad in a white fishnet dress with no panties on. You're tall in your pleasers, little fake fish in the clear platforms— he finds them amusing. You, even more so.

There's something magnetic about you, the way you smile lazily as you move and contort on the stage. He wants to devour you whole, like a lion taking possession over its prey.

It starts off small at first. Satoru watches you from the tall chairs surrounding the stage, picking the ones that'll cause the least interference with his vision— you know, blinding strobe lights and all. He watches you take men to the backrooms for private dances— all long legged and perfect with a man— who looks like his parents and his parents parents might've been related— following behind you.

He, of course, white knuckles the arms of the chairs the whole time. Feigns interest in the other dancers to remain unsuspicious and stays until you sneak your way back into your dressing room. He makes his way back out to his car, all long limbs and casual as he leans against it, beer bottle in hand.

He stays just teetering on tipsy, right before a warm hum starts tickling his cheeks and ears— still too sober to pass this off as a drunken interest. He watches you walk to your car, a nice little Mercedes bought with other men's money— your money— watching the tail lights as it drives off. He throws his beer bottle against the dumpster where the homeless man leaning against it snaps awake and curses at him. He gets in his car and goes home, falling asleep thinking about you— tying you up and all that super normal stuff.

The second week is when he starts getting… weird. He comes by 4 days out of 7, lets you tease him silently from across the club. Clenching and unclenching his fists as your spine bows and your legs spread. He grits his teeth as you bend over, your teeny tiny bikini puts your pretty pussy lips on display. He buys your company for the last 2 hours of your shift, half hard in his pants as you sit in his lap and purr in his ear.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here?" He watches your mouth as it moves, awe struck.

He gulps, "I could ask you the same."

Keeping his cool from across the club is one thing, touching your skin and pretending he isn't teetering on the edge of orgasm at the smell of your perfume is another.

"I've seen you eyeing me." You smile, your ankle coming to rest on his shoulder, "But this is only the second night you've booked me."

You feign something between hurt and intrigue. He's handsome, tall as all hell and clearly has money if he's able to come so often and book your last two hours. You were a hot commodity, priced out at $1,000 an hour and here he was the second night in a row. 4k in two days, plus the $500 he'd given you as a tip the previous night and the extra $200 for your outfit. He was sitting at a whopping $5,400 if tonight went the same, which you had no doubt it would. He's paid your rent for two months in two nights.

"What can I say, I wanted you to notice me a little." He chuckles, pearly whites glowing in the dark light.

He doesn't consider himself particularly partial to sex workers. No, he was partial to you. You could've been a barista or a librarian— hell you could've been a damn beggar on the street and he'd be dishing out cash your way. He buys your outfit again, another $200 dollars extra in your pocket but he tips you $600 tonight.

He has you reach inside his pants pocket, fishing out his wallet but not before feeling his hard on through the thin fabric. He prays you don't feel how sticky it is. You do.

You say your goodbyes, slinking out of the room butt naked but not before bending over and showing off the way your lower lips part. He bites his knuckles to hold back a moan before making a beeline for the exit.

He watches you walk to your car through his rear view mirror, spitting down onto his cock and pressing the bottoms part of your outfit to his nose. He takes a big breath in as he fists himself, imagining your fingers wrapped around him— better yet your wet little mouth that keeps his ear too occupied to think about the little beads of precum your movements often left in his boxers. He laps at the little bit your pussy sits in, sucks on the thin piece of fabric that rests against your asshole. His eyes roll back, hips bucking as he tastes the sweat and other bodily fluids from the long shift. He thinks he may be able to understand addicts a little better, he feels high off the euphoria of it all— the wrongness. His body tenses and writhes as he spits hot spurts of cum into your bottoms, savoring the way both of your scents mix together.

He deludes himself into thinking he's special, something more than a wallet to take advantage of. That you're young and naive enough to let a kind man feel like anything more than a cash cow. He is sorely mistaken, doesn't understand that you go home and scrub the nastiness of the night off and don't pay him a second thought until you count your money and hope he comes to offer more again soon. He was a transaction.

The line he's willing to cross goes further when he begins following you home, keeping a safe distance behind you with his headlights turned low. You live in a nice apartment in the middle of the city, on the top floor with a nice view, you know the ones seated behind a big gate with a security guard manning it. Gojo lies, telling the man he's a delivery driver and giving him your real name instead of your stage name. He doesn't want to think about how much he'd paid the private investigator to find that out.

Night after night, the security guard lets him pass. They make small talk as Gojo waits for the gate to open, never questioning why a delivery driver is sitting inside such an expensive car. Satoru lies about other deliveries he's been on, how much of a nightmare some customers are. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

He starts by just sitting in his car, keeping up his nightly ritual of jerking himself off with fishnet and spandex. That doesn't last long, he's fickle and covetous as most men are. He doesn't come in one night, just sits in the parking lot close to closing time in a less recognizable car. He follows you home once again, is let in beyond the gate and pulls a medical mask over his face. He's dressed in all black, a hat pulled on to cover his unruly and easily recognizable white hair and glasses pulled over his eyes. Suspiciously unsuspicious.

You don't think anything of it when he stands next to you in the elevator, there were plenty of people in your building who wanted to keep their anonymity. His cock strains against his pants when your perfume wafts around him, he likes you in your regular clothes even better— the way they let his imagination run wild.

He gets off on the same floor as you, pretends to go the opposite way down the hall. You don't see his phone in his back pocket and even if you did you wouldn't suspect a stranger of recording you walking into your apartment.

He watches the video back over and over once he's back in his car, zooming in to watch your tongue peek past your lips as you input your door code. He memorizes the door number, watches your fingers and maps out the door code.

He pacifies that guilty part of his conscious that tells him this is wrong by feeding the much larger part of him that believes he's doing a good thing. He tangles himself in a web of self-important delusions: he's just taking the necessary steps to make you fall for him, to be a good man to you and give you a beautiful life where you want for nothing.

Satoru begins paying closer attention to when you arrive at work instead of when you leave, putting one of those non-detectable trackers on your car before making his way to your apartment. He brings the security guy a case of beer under the guise of manly comradery. His eyes are glued to his screen, watching the little blue dot sit inside the club as he rides up the elevator.

He gets into your apartment on the first try, pushing his way in and familiarizing himself with the layout. No pets, a big white couch taking up a quarter of the living room, leading into the kitchen with all its pink utensils and pots and pans. These rooms are of no consequence so he passes through them quickly. He walks down the hall, with its warm motion sensor lighting leading the way to what is probably tantamount to the entrance to heaven.

He presses the door open, fingers itching at his sides as he decides where to look first. He takes a deep breath in, letting the air back out slowly as he fishes a hidden camera out of his back pocket. Your bed dips under his weight— he had been nice enough to take his shoes off before stepping on it— and places the device in the ceiling light above your bed.

The smart thing to do would be to turn tail and get the hell out of there, and as smart as Gojo is— he has impulse control. He needs something that smells like you, he'd fucked and came inside everything he'd already bought from you, though he still keeps them by his bedside. Little trophies that he saw as equal to love letters. Misguided in his way of thinking, as if you hadn't sold a hundreds of outfits both in person and online to whatever sick fucks offered the right price.

His fingers shake as he rifles through your laundry hamper, trying to decide whether he wanted to take your stage outfits or one of the less sexy pairs you probably slept in. He goes for the latter in the end, shoving them deep in his pocket, but not before giving them a hearty sniff.

There's a vibration on his phone signaling the camera and his phone were now synced, a toothy grin pulling his cheeks up unnaturally. His footsteps reverberate around your apartment as he takes his leave, checking his phone again to make sure you're still at work like a good girl.

That night when he's all curled up in bed mindlessly scrolling his phone vibrates again. Movement detected! His overexcited fingers struggle to click on the notification, heart thrumming behind his ribcage. Frustration licks at his already fried nerves as the app loads before giving way to your room. He watches as you undress, your tits and pussy freed from the confines of your clothes and the micro-bikini hidden underneath.

He finds that he enjoys the way you look with no makeup on, gets off on the fact that only he gets to see you like this. So much so that he pulls his half hard dick out, letting it slap against the pale skin on his stomach and brush against the little patch of white just above his pubic bone. His fingers tremble as he watches you lay on your bed, stroking himself slowly as your large t-shirt is pulled just under your breasts.

Your fingers dip between your legs, your phone held in your hand as soft moans part your lips. Something akin to butterflies dance in his stomach as he matches your pace.

To Gojo, it's almost like your fucking. That overactive imagination of his creating the delusion that it's your hand and not his own pulling at his skin, thumb grazing over his frenulum.

He can hear your cunt squelching around those pretty little fingers and pulls the panties he'd stolen earlier from his bedside drawer, stuffing them in his own mouth and moaning around the fabric. Your eyebrows knit together, knees open to the point of almost laying flat against your pink sheets.

Even from here, he can tell how close you are. Your fingers are getting sloppy as they move in and out of you, his own stomach is tightening as he focuses on his tip. He mewls out your name, the crotch of your panties soaked with his drool as he picks up his pace. His balls pull tight, cock pulsating underneath his grip as he watches you cry out and spasm. His screen is painted white not too long after and he uses your underwear to clean himself and his cellular device.

That night and for the next few nights after, he falls asleep watching you do the same.

Everything comes to a head when the club starts implementing "Topless Tuesday"—not that you or your coworkers typically wore a top anyway— and of course Gojo's there. He's sitting in his usual chair, a particularly pink drink in hand as he awaits your arrival onto your usual stage.

His mouth runs dry when he sees you, all dolled up and glistening, music thrumming through every cell. You smile at him, naked as the day you were born with nothing more on than pink pleasers that glow under the black lights.

You follow your usual song and dance, though he buys out your time a lot earlier than usual. He watches your tits bounce with every step closer to his favorite dark room in the back, the one that smells the least like dried cum and years old spilled alcohol. You can feel the irritation buzzing off him and it makes you uneasy, seeing a man usually so easy going with a poorly concealed tick in his jaw.

"Something bothering you, handsome?" You melt into his lap like a lazy kitten, your delicate fingers on your right hand stroking the side of his face while the ones on the left run through his soft hair. His expression snaps into one of calm, quiet. The sudden change makes something in your stomach twist, the inside of your cheek pulled between your molars. You continue coddling him like a child.

"Just a long day at work." He smiles, leaning into your touch. A lie, of course, he had spent the early hours of the morning watching you, fell asleep and woke up just in time to watch you get ready for the day. He hadn't noticed how little you'd thrown in your bag that afternoon, too enthralled by you to care. He feeds you that facade of comfort until you relax, he needed you to relax if he was gonna move up his plan.

So, he compliments you and creates a web of lies about his ever-so-hard day; he pays you more than he had the time before and smiles at you as if he hadn't just handed you enough money to pay off another two months of your rent. He stays within the boundaries of normalcy whilst puppy dog eyeing you about how disappointed he is he can't buy the piece of string pressed against your asshole— though he words it much more beautifully. He is the picture of perfection as that ugly, jealous feeling gnaws at him just under the surface.

You're especially kind, chalking him up as nothing more than a lonely stranger. You take the little black straw from his cup, pushing it past your lips to suck the liquid left behind off while maintaining eye contact. He gulps down a breath, too aware of how far you're leaning into him and the way your perked up nipples rub against his shirt.

"You're always so good to me," your breath fans against his ear as your purr, sending goosebumps down his whole body, "so let me be good to you. Just this once, 'kay?"

He nods, the tips of his ears tinged pink as he watches your legs spread, heels resting on either side of his knees. His heart hammers against your back, watching as you swirl the straw through your pussy lips, collecting your sticky slick wherever it touches. You lean further into him, head lolling back against his shoulder so you can look him in the eye when you dip it just past your entrance. He's so hard underneath you that the fabric of his pants feel like an illusion and he wishes as much when he hears the low, wet sounds emanating from between your legs. You play it up like an Oscar-winning actress, your hand coming up to play with one of your breasts as you pump the slender object in and out with an exaggerated moan or two.

You don't know that he's all too aware of what you really sound like when you're enjoying yourself, that you aren't satisfied with something so small between your thighs. Regardless, his whole body stiffens underneath you to keep him from creaming his jeans. You smile, all pink cheeked and unaware as you dip the straws back into his cup. He scrambles to his feet, closing time only ten minutes away. He needed to fade into the cover of night so he could linger behind you on your way home. You wave and tell him how you hope to see him again soon, pretending that you care as you tell him to take care of himself.

He stuffs the straw in his pocket, leaving in a hurry and sucks on it the whole time he follows you to your place.

The wait is akin to torture. Dramatic as it may be, the sentiment is true to Satoru Gojo. He sits in his car, tucked into a dark corner as he watches you lay in your bed doom scrolling. His fingers fidget with impatience, wishing to himself that there was a way he could've slipped you a sedative. Next time. Next time he'd find a way.

Ironically, it's almost 4 a.m. when your soft snores grace his ears. He waits another 20 minutes just to be safe, so logical in his depravity. The sky is blooming into the pinks and purples of morning which makes it all the more exhilarating. He's alive with euphoric delight as he pushes through the lobby, practically floating his way to the elevator. He feels the same way you do before you go on a big trip, all full of restless energy and excitement. He pulls himself together, footsteps quiet and slow as he approaches your front door. His fingers twitch as he inputs your code and lets himself inside, closing the door softly, like he was performing open heart surgery.

He knows the layout like the back of his hand at this point, he even had a map all scrawled out in panicked chicken scratch tacked to his wall at home. When he opens your bedroom door he almost stops breathing, he'd figured out you're quite restless in your sleep after many nights of surveying you. You're laying on your side, scrunched up in the fetal position. If he was a godly man, he would've thanked god for creating such a beautiful opportunity for him.

His steps are slow and soft as he inches toward you, stopping just in front of your face. He unzips his pants with careful fingers, eyes watching you harder than the camera he'd installed. His cock is heavy and weepy in his hand as he gives a few tugs. Your mouth is inviting, all hung open and wet with drool. He presses his tip to where its leaking, using your saliva to lubricate himself as he keeps stroking. Out of reflex, your tongue darts out and touches his frenulum, his eyes roll back and he bites his bottom lip to muffle and whine.

He fights against whatever rationality is left and pushes the very tip of his dick past your lips, instinct making you suckle a bit. Soft hums fall past your lips as his precum beads onto your tongue and it's a fight for him to keep from cumming. He stays like that for a while, letting you nurse his cock totally unaware. But he's greedy, detrimentally so. Especially when he pushes a bit further, his thickness making your mouth open wider and your body stir uncomfortably.

His heart stops when your lashes flutter, though his cock gets impossibly harder when your blinking up at him— trying to discern whether you were still frolicking through dreamland or not. It's a harsh reality when you realize it's the latter, shooting straight up in bed with your mouth agape and no sound coming out. You scramble to the opposite side, hitting your knee on your nightstand as you plant your unsure feet on the ground. You try to make it to the door, heavy breaths puffing in and out. But he's on you, overpowering you in every way as he wrestles you to the floor.

"Where do you think you're flying off to little bird?" He coos, broad chest pressed to your back. It's apparent he doesn't really want an answer when his hand cups over your mouth, despite that you manage to let out a couple muffled sounds as you try to bite his hand.

It had been the wrong night to sleep nude, but the sweltering heat of the day was still trapped in your apartment. His unoccupied hand pulls your legs apart, resting his cock right where your back dimples. "It's okay baby, 's just me."

You're terrified, limbs flailing before he uses one hand to pin your wrists behind your back, sliding his cock between your ass cheeks. You don't realize it you're pissing yourself until a soft trickling sound floods your eardrums, followed by a guttural moan from behind you. "Do it again, pretty. This time when I'm inside you okay?"

He uses it to lubricate himself, disgusting enough to dip his fingers in the little puddle you've made and bring it to his lips. He gives you what he thinks is a compliment, telling you how even your piss tastes good as he pushes his reddened tip past your entrance. You recoil at the stretch, he's much too large and much too rough. He's leaning forward to nip at your shoulder, biting too deeply as he thrusts the rest of his length in. Tears prick at your eyes and that only goads him on further, covetous free hand coming to dig half moons into your hip.

"Gonna take my hand off your mouth, okay?" His tongue laves over the bite mark as you nod too quickly. "And you're gonna be a good girl and be quiet, yeah?"

You nod, not sure if you even mean it. You realize you do when his hand comes of your mouth and you're silent as a mouse. His hips continue their assault on your ass as he moves forward and back, the slapping sounds reverberating— you can't decide if the echo is in your head or bouncing off the walls. His biceps comes to wrap around your throat to pull you up, practically kneeling on his cock as he brutalizes you from behind.

"Why are you doing this?" You croak, fingernails clawing at his forearm. He laughs, it's cold and unfeeling, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind in its wake.

"Well because I love you, of course." He says it like it's a very obvious conclusion to have come to, you think you might throw up. You don't. "You became my companion, think of this as us sealing our contract."

The tears really have begun to fall now, all hot and wet against your cheeks. He gasps with delight when he sees them making paths on your face, licking up their saltiness with a satisfied hum. You think you feel his cock twitch when you wince at his saliva covering your face like a dog.

"This isn't right." You choke out. He sticks his long fingers in your mouth to shut you up, playing at the back of your throat to make you gag. It makes you squeeze around him and he gasps into your ear.

"Oh? But this pretty little cunt is drooling all over me." It's smug as he drills you deeper, harder. "Don't worry baby, it won't be much longer. You're making me feel so fucking good."

You hate the betrayal from your body, the way your pussy milks him as he drags his tip from just outside your cervix to that little ring of muscle at your entrance; the way your lips part to let out little pants that do anything but dissuade him. You can't deny him even if you try.

"Gonna cum in you so everyone knows you belong to me." He's aggressive, losing his mind as he delves deeper and deeper into insanity. He thinks this is what heaven feels like, all warm and wet and you. You oppose him, convincing yourself that you have descended into hell or at the very least were stuck in a very convincing nightmare. "You don't have to go back to work though. I'm prepared to take care of you forever."

"You're out of your ever loving mind if you think I'm gonna have your baby." You spit. His sentiment would be heartwarming in any other circumstance. You're struggling to regulate your breathing as an unwelcome pressure builds just below your belly button. He's pistoning so hard inside you that drops of sweat are dripping down your shoulder, seeping into your pores as if solidifying his wants.

"Hmm, maybe we'll wait then? Yeah we'll wait. I want us to have time as a couple before we become a family." He's dipping his nose into the space between your shoulder and neck, huffing you like a drug. His bicep gets tighter and tighter around your throat, his balls pulling close so they no longer slap at your clit.

Your vision starts to blur at the edges as his grunts become more frequent, his movements more sloppy. He whispers little stomach twisting praises in your ear but they sound like they're coming from a different room. He whines and cries out as he fills you up, paying no attention to the way you claw at his arm as he uses you as a means to and end. Your vision blacks and your body goes limp, yet he keeps fucking himself through as you piss on him, your cunt spasming with your orgasm.

When you wake up the next morning you're tucked between your sheets, the only evidence of the night before being a bite mark on your shoulder and a dull ache between your thighs. You almost believe it was just your overactive imagination, you were always prone to vivid nightmares. You probably could've kept deluding yourself if Satoru hadn't come to see you two nights later to repeat his little ritual.

And okay, there had been a handful of heated hookups after long nights of breastfeeding and soothing your daughter back to sleep in her crib, where you'd begrudgingly let him pry your thighs apart on the couch to bury his tongue inside of you or sleepily fuck you on the stained cushions with your face buried in the pillows. But you'd made it clear each time that you still couldn't stand him.

You were using him for sex.

The sad thing was he didn't mind.

Not when his skin was on yours, when your mouth was still saying his name instead of someone else's.

He tried to propose to you. Four times.

You called him a manchild for thinking a marriage would make the two of you magically work.

"Think she'd say yes if I asked her on a real date then?" Sukuna said, trying to piss him off today as he leaned back in his own chair and chuckled. He didn't like the way he said real. Like the two of you had been on something that could've qualified as a date before without him knowing.

God, the only reason that asshole even came was because he heard that you were dropping off her.

"Don't even think about it," Gojo groaned, tempted to reach across the table and throttle him for suggesting it.

Having a baby with someone he was hopelessly in love with was hard enough.

Did all of his friends have to fucking audition to be the stepfather?

Sukuna hadn't even known you until after he'd knocked you up.

Never met you until you begrudgingly showed up to the frat house with a pregnancy test in hand and a scowl etched across your pretty face.

"I mean, who would you rather have be the stepdaddy?" Sukuna dryly mocked, actively ragebaiting him as he snagged the muffin that had been meant for you, unwrapping it and taking a big bite before talking with a full mouth. "Me? Or Suguru?"

Gojo would actually rather die than watch either of them marry you.

What the fuck was he supposed to do to stop them from speaking to you though?

Especially when the latter had managed to end up firmly planted in your good graces with those irritatingly smooth lines of his? Cooking you meals and murmuring in your ear what a good mother you were?

All while he just fucking sat there and stumbled over his words, feeling shittier and shittier as they tried to steal you and his daughter right out from underneath his nose.

"Neither," he grimaced, turning his attention back to his baby.

She was awake, kicking her legs in her seat as he bent forward to unbuckle her, carefully picking her up before placing her in his lap.

His heart pounded in his chest, pressure pushing down and making his ribs constrict at the thought of fucking this up.

He didn't know how to be a father. Not really. He'd never even been anyone's boyfriend. Never had any pets growing up to take care of.

Becoming frat president was the first real responsibility he ever had.

And now he had an entire human that was half-him to raise.

Drunk idiots were a lot fucking different than a baby. Who needed to be fed and bathed and loved and a million other overwhelming things he was struggling to keep track of.

She blinked up at him, familiar blue eyes squinting at him before they started to well up with tears, face scrunching up like she was about to start wailing.

He tried bouncing her up and down, but it only seemed to make her more upset, panic bubbling up before Sukuna was getting up out of his seat.

"Here," he grunted, scooping her out of his arms and cradling her against his chest as if it came naturally. "I've got her."

Her tiny body relaxed, eyes softening as he murmured something under his breath - not to Gojo, but to her. Soothing her in a way that simply didn't come naturally to him.

Going from on the verge of bawling to batting her lashes in a matter of seconds.

His daughter didn't even prefer him.

And he only had himself to blame.

Maybe if he managed to make up with you sooner, actually make you his, he could actually be living with you full time. Sharing a bed, sharing breakfast, being there to handle all the dirty diaper changes and spilled milk instead of just stopping in and begging you to let him stay to do night shafts.

You didn't trust him. Thought he was just a temporary fixture. Someone who was here for now instead of forever.

Every time he got close to convincing you he was here permanently, he always screwed it up.

God, he almost missed you giving birth just because some goddamn sorority girl stole his phone at a stupid party Suguru had insisted he show up to for at least an hour. But he'd been the one to accept the first beer - and the second.

The shots were harder to excuse.

If it wasn't for you calling Suguru in between contractions, he probably wouldn't have gotten there minutes before you had to start pushing. You had glared at him, stray strands of hair sticking to your forehead as you studied the glazed over look in his eyes and scoffed that you could smell the alcohol on him.

All he'd done was stain the memory of meeting your baby for the first time.

Fucked it all up from that very first moment.

He overheard you on the phone a couple days later, muttering something about how you couldn't believe he couldn't just stay sober when he knew you were about to go into labor any day.

Gojo hadn't touched a drink since.

He still had to show up to parties sometimes, had frat duties he couldn't exactly dodge, but he didn't let it interfere with him being a dad anymore.

"You're lucky she looks like you," Sukuna muttered, reaching up to scruff up her hair.

"Yeah," he swallowed, although part of him still wished she had more of you.

"No one would believe she's actually yours if she didn't," he dryly commented, picking out the the stitches of wounds Gojo was still licking.

"Can you stop being a dick for like, a day?" Gojo grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he glanced away from his daughter out the window at the people passing by on the street.

Staring a little too long at the happy families, his mouth twitching down at the tiny kids chattering to their parents, struggling to accept the fact that one day his own would be that be that big.

"I'm just sayin'," he shrugged. "How'd you even get her to fuck you?"

Sheer luck?

Pure chance that you somehow found his stupidity cute when you weren't sober?

He had etched the night in his head, held onto the memory with the worry that it could somehow be ripped from him too.

One of the few moments he'd gotten with you that was relatively untainted by everything that happened since.

Playing it back like a movie in his head, convinced that if he closed your eyes, he could smell the perfume you wore that night, feel your skin on his again.

He'd barely been brave enough to work up the courage to come over to you, jittery as he made an awful joke about running into you here while you tilted your head to the side and replied that you were surprised he even recognized you.

It wasn't like he'd even spoken to you before.

Not technically.

He'd bumped into you once after class, too distracted on his phone to pay attention to what was actually in front of him. In his defense, you weren't looking either, leaning against the wall to rummage through your bag for something with one hand and a coffee clutched in the other one.

The collision spilled your drink, mostly onto the floor as he immediately stopped and gawked at what just happened while you huffed an insult under your breath.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but you just glared up at him like he was worse than gum getting stuck on the soles of your shoes, nose scrunching up as you rolled your eyes and sarcastically thanked him for wasting the one treat you'd gotten yourself this week.

Gojo was pretty sure he fell in love with you from the first scowl.

Clumsily shoving his hands in his pockets and fumbling for a fifty from his wallet, holding it out as he tried to convince his tongue to move and tell you to take it. But you just shook your head and mumbled that you were going to find a janitor to mop up the mess.

His crush hadn't ended there.

Not when he couldn't stop himself from picking you out every time you passed by him on campus, feeling like a creep when he tried to come up with some way to casually run into you again.

So, yeah, when you showed up to his frat house, wearing a pretty little dress and sipping shitty beer out of a solo cup, he was rushing over before any of his brothers could notice how cute you looked when you frowned.

"Come to spill my drink?" You sarcastically asked, arching up an eyebrow when he inserted himself in the space next to you.

"That was an accident," he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip and hoping you didn't find it completely cringy. "Can't I make it up to you?"

He couldn't fucking believe it when your mouth curled up in a soft smile instead of an automatic scoff, his heart slamming so hard against his ribs he was sure it was going to burst before he even got your number.

"What do you have in mind?" You asked.

He was ready to get on his knees then.

More with every second you spent by his side, giggling at his awful attempts of flirting as you kept him at arm's length, forcing him to try harder than he had with any other girl before just to take a single body shot off of you.

His cock throbbing and aching in his jeans when your lips softly pressed against his collarbone, drifting up to drink the vodka you poured in the divot above it. His hands had been on your waist, fingers sinking in like he couldn't quite tell if you were real or just some dizzyingly beautiful hallucination his drunk brain had conjured up.

It wasn't until he managed to pull you back into his room, bending you over the bed and shimmying your dress down that he let himself believe this was actually happening.

"So you fuck every girl you take body shots with?" You teased, out of breath while he felt his own get caught in his throat at all your exposed skin.

"Just you," he lied.

Although, now that he was with you, he couldn't remember a single one that had come before.

"Uh-huh," you muttered, not believing it for a second.

He wished you had.

"You're the prettiest girl at this party," he purred, although he was already thinking that maybe he should've said planet as he dragged his tongue over the inside of your thigh, up to where your lace panties were still bunched between your legs. Leaving a damp patch as he greedily tried to eat you out through the thin fabric, acting like a desperate loser in love with someone leagues above him.

Gojo always thought he was a catch.

Cocky enough to find confidence in his position as class president, in his body and his brains, in his financial and social status.

But he couldn't shake the fucking feeling you thought he was beneath you.

It only made him crave you more.

It wasn't good enough to have you writhing underneath him, chest heaving when he finally buried his cock inside of you, hastily just grabbing a random condom from the closest drawer and carelessly sheathing himself in it. It wasn't enough to make you moan his name as he bottomed out again and again, focused more on your pleasure than how tight the condom was as his fingers sloppily played with your clit.

Gracelessly grinding as deep as he could inside you, gritting his teeth as he watched every tiny flicker of your face, searching it for a tiny inkling of passion, of hunger that wasn't just primal.

Gojo wanted you to want him for him.

Not just a quick fuck that you'd forget about sooner rather than later.

Still, he never meant for the condom to break.

He'd known from the second he saw it register on your face that you weren't going to give him a second chance. That he'd totally fucking blown it as he stammered out apologies and spread your thighs further apart to fish out the broken bits of condom from inside you, cum leaking down your thighs as you bit your lip and stared at the ceiling.

"Are you on birth control?" He asked, his voice thin and strained as he pulled out the last piece, a funny feeling settling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of his own cum dripping out of you, the way the panties he'd forgotten to fully take off of you had gotten soaked as you stared at him with unfettered irritation.

"No," you spoke quietly, a hint of embarrassment shining in your eyes as you looked away from him to the state of his messy room. "I don't really do...this."

"Oh," he swallowed.

He didn't know what to say.

What to do. How to fix something he'd never had before.

So he just awkwardly threw away the condom, chewing the inside of his cheek as he tried to put on a casual grin. "Do you, uh, wanna shower or something? Stay the night?"

"Fine," you muttered, the mood still ruined no matter what he did to lift it again. Anxiety creeping in and making his usual aftercare routine awkward and tense until you were both laying on different sides of the bed, him staring at your back while you faced away from him.

He hoped that you would be there the next morning.

That the next day would be the start of a different story. He'd take you out for breakfast and reassure you that you probably wouldn't get pregnant anyway.

Really, what were the chances of it even happening?

He fell asleep fantasizing about ways to make you fall for him too.

But you were gone when he got up, rolling over to find a cold place where your body should be.

The bed was empty, your clothes missing from the floor and no note left behind.

No phone number for him to call or text to beg for a date. He stopped seeing you around campus too.

In some sick way, he felt a fucked-up sense of satisfaction when you showed back up to tell him you were pregnant.

He thought that it'd mean you were stuck with him.

Not that he'd be spending the next year scrambling to keep your attention to himself.

And away from them.

Sukuna reclined back more in his chair, his hard features softening as he dragged his thumb to wipe away the drool from his daughter's mouth.

"You're kind of a shitty dad, dude," Sukuna grunted, not even glancing up at him.

Was he?

He didn't know what a good one looked like.

His dad had barely been there for him growing up. Too busy to be at the dinner table or attend his soccer games.

"Can you stop talking like you're her stepdad?" Gojo grumbled, exhaling as he held out his arms, ready to take her back just for his baby to betray him again, clinging onto Sukuna's shirt with her tiny fists.

"I'm not the one you should be pissy with," Sukuna shrugged, a little glint in his eyes that made his stomach churn. Already aware that something he wouldn't want to hear was about to leave his friend's mouth. "Suguru's the one taking her out to dinner tonight."

Since when?

His jaw locked, fist clenching under the table at the thought of you and Suguru sitting at a table together at some fancy place, his hand sneaking out to brush over yours as he ordered you wine and wooed you.

How the hell was he supposed to let his best friend fuck his baby momma?

"Do you know where?"

a/n: i'll let you guys name their baby, drop suggestions in the comments!!

You moaned.

He stopped—deliberately braked, mid-thrust—cock still throbbing inside you, arching a platinum brow at your lack of answer, the ring hooped around the tail glinting for emphasis. Technically, a moan was a response, an unintelligible sound that narrowly escaped between gaped lips, drool stringing down the corner of your mouth. Your lipgloss was a thing of the past, a sparkly smear like cosmic dust, mascara trails stained you cheeks like spilled ink, delicate and careless, black clumps sticking to your lashes. Your hair was a tangled halo around your head, strands clinging where sweat and glitter met skin.

Not a pretty sight when you had sweated out all the effort you’d put into your appearance. Six hours of flat-ironing your hair, poking your eye with the mascara wand twice, and changing your outfit an embarrassing amount of times had gone down the drain.

One of your tits spilled out of your bubble-gum pink corset, the tight laces cinching your waist that created a dramatic hourglass silhouette, loosened from eager touches, reverent fingers had unwrapped you like a long-awaited present. The pushup bra underneath was skewed, ruffled lace trim teasing the edges, a tiny bow placed at the center. Your nipple was tender and swollen from being sucked, marked with faint impressions of teeth. The other half, barely contained by lace and delicate flowers, peeked out, soft and inviting. Your lacy thong had been carelessly tossed across the room, landing near his chair, forgotten as his fingers and tongue had replaced the soft fabric.

Diamonds settled right in the dip of your throat, tiny stars caught in a delicate spill, the silver cool against your skin, a notable contrast to the heat licking every surface of your body. Princess was spelled out in elegant loops, shimmering every time your breathed—cute and gaudy and unapologetic—less a title than a bold statement.

But you weren’t feeling very princess-like or intelligent at the moment.

Having sex with your tutor had officially dumbed you down, as if his dick had deducted points off your IQ, leaving you a few points below average.

Not that you had much to begin with.

“You know the rules—” Satoru paused, letting the words hang between you, eyes flicking over your face from behind foggy lenses, slick-coated lips tugging upward into a smug smile because he already knew the answer. The smirk widened just enough to be infuriating, lazy and deliberate, like he was daring you push back just to see what he’d do. “So don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Satoru—I dunno,” you whined, rocking your hips forward, a wordless nudge see if he’d budge. Your pussy was pulsing around his cock, slick leaking out the edges of your slit. “…gimme a hint.”

“No,” Satoru remained still, an unbudging wall of flushed skin, thumbs pressing in warning at your hips—grip steady, unyielding. “C’mon, we went over it a billion times. You don’t get to dodge now. Not when you’d been doing so well. You want to come again, right?”

“Yes,” you pouted, lashes fluttering as if the answer might fall into place if you looked cute enough. “Just…remind me? Please?”

Satoru exhaled from his nose, a whoosh of reined frustration, then a devastating smile masked his barely-concealed expression. “Cute doesn't work when you have yet to give me the correct answer. Try again.”

You blinked, smile faltering just a little. “B-but you said I can ask for hints.”

“I say you could,” he smiled like he was indulging a child. “Not that I would make it easy.”

You shifted again, hopeful despite yourself. “But you like when I try, right?”

He chuckled softly. “I like when you think you’re trying.”

“R-really? You mean it?” You asked, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and optimistic.

He hummed, thumbs skimming over the crease of your thigh. “I like when you use all of your brain cells to generate something even more obtuse,” Satoru replied, tilting his head as he observed you. “It’s a talent, really.”

You squinted at him, somewhat confused. “Obtuse? Isn’t that the large bird that can’t fly?” You paused as the cogs inside your mind slowly rotated, then your demeanor brightened at the image of the feathery creature with the long lashes and adorable eyes. “I saw it on Animal Planet.”

Satoru sighed, firmly correcting, “No. No. That’s an ostrich.”

You blinked once. Then twice. The mental picture of the ostrich poofing out of your thoughts.

“…Oh.” A beat. “Then why do they sound so similar?” You asked earnestly, brow knitting as you tried to work it out—completely disregarding how you had a cock inside you. “That feels kinda misleading.”

You didn’t wait for an answer, adding, softer, like you were genuinely trying to be helpful. “Maybe they shouldn’t do that. The words, I mean.” Your eyes snapped back to his, eager and a little proud of yourself. “Did I get closer this time?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured. “Because intellectually? This is doing me no favors.”

All you heard was cute, and started giggling. “Cute enough to give me the answer?”

“If being cute earned answers,” he said drily, “you wouldn't be struggling this much.”

You huffed softly. “Maybe it you're just not a good tutor.”

Satoru laughed under his breath. “No. You’re just a terrible student.”

You gasped softly. “Wow. And here I thought tutors were supposed to be encouraging.”

“Encouraging,” he repeated, grinning in a way that could be patronizing, but you weren't too sure. “That’s a big word for you.”

You smiled sweetly. “See? I am learning. Gold star for you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Satoru smugly said, cerulean eyes lighting up with unmistakable confidence. “I’ve already earned my fair shares of gold stars, but you? You’re still fumbling through the basics.”

“I wouldn’t be fumbling if you would just tell me the correct answer,” you mumbled, feeling disheartened. You were really trying to find the answer, but the mounting ache between your thighs drew your focus away as it intensified, eyes flitting restlessly to where his swollen cock stretched your pussy open, a creamy, froth-lined ring clinging to the base. “Would save us both the trouble.”

He tilted his head. “If I give it to you, then you wouldn't learn a thing.”

You clicked your tongue. All your attempts were futile, producing an undesirable outcome. The only other option would be to coax an orgasm on your own, your fingers twitched, itching to dip below, between your spread legs—circle your throbbing clit—and put an end to this misery.

“Don’t even think about it,” your tutor reprimanded, brows scrunched together in disapproval. “I’m the one who gets to make you come, not you. That’s another rule you had forgotten. Do I need to make you write them down a hundred times? Hm?”

“Satoru, please,” you begged, hot-pink acrylics scored over his skin, pretty charms tinkling as you carved slow, taunting paths down his chest. Fading, glossy lip imprints and ruptured capillaries dressed his collarbone, trophies you’d left behind at the beginning of your study session. “I’ll pay attention after. Whatcha think? I’m almost—”

“If only you were this determined about identifying chiral centers,” he scoffed, middle finger pushing back his glasses—the same one that had been inside your cunt earlier, scissoring and prodding your g-spot until you’d seen the entire solar system—gaze lingering on you, “we might actually get through this chapter.”

“I need to come,” you persisted, voice airy. “Maybe it’ll relieve the pressure or something and I’ll be able to find the answer!”

Satoru laughed, a breathless and mean sound, blue pools glittering with pure joy—his dick getting harder at your suffering, still buried balls-deep inside you, pulsations filling your walls. “Oh, sweet, sweet ditzy girl—that’s not how it works,” he cooed, voice suddenly tooth-rottingly saccharine and mocking all in one. “There's no pressure in there—believe me. Just a hollow skull,” he tapped his temple lightly, “air whistling straight through,” he lazily drawled, grin widening. “I’d say you’re knocking around in there, but that would imply there's something to bump into.”

“That's not true!” You squealed in a high-pitched tone, doe-eyed and gullible. “Someone once actually said I have a teeny-tiny monkey with cymbals living in there!”

“Oh yeah?” Satoru raised his pierced eyebrow again, lips twitching with amusement. “Then maybe you should ask the monkey to give you the answer.”

You didn’t know why, but the idea of your skull housing a miniature monkey playing an instrument—cymbals clashing together—sent you into a fit of giggles, or perhaps it was the perfect distraction from your lust-bridled mind. Once you’d caught your breath, you reached for a strand of hair and twirled it between your fingers, humming to yourself before you spoke up again, “Oooooh! Greeeeat idea! Wonder why I hadn’t thought of that,” you paused, eyes rolling upward in mock contemplation. “Do you think it'll help me? I hope it’s like…super smart! Hey!” You smacked his shoulder, playful and flirty, fingers lingering on a sweaty canvas. “Maybe it's smarter than you!”

Satoru chortled, blue eyes still glinting with familiar mischief. “Smarter than me?” He echoed, voice dripping with entertainment. “Well…why don’t you ask the little monkey, hmm? Give it a little interview, see what it says. Meanwhile, I got something to do.”

“Something to do?” You parroted, glancing at him like he was speaking in a different language.

He chuckled at your reaction. “Yeah, something’s come up. I’ll be back soon.”

You frowned, your playful mood quickly souring. “Wait, so you’re just gonna leave me here with this monkey in my head?” You sulked, crossing your arms. “What? Should I just keep asking it for questions instead?” You gave him a pout, even though you couldn’t completely hide the smirk tugging at your lips. “Not to mention how you’re totally like…blue-balling me. That’s so unfair, Satoru!”

“Blue-balling you?” He echoed, incredulous, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “For that to happen, you’ll need to a have a cock.” Satoru said with a head shake, “Sweetheart, I’m literally giving you a free anatomy lesson with the organic chem. A two-in-one special—no extra charge. You should know the reproductive system very well.” He flashed his canines, sharp and gleaming, “But in your defense, you can barely grasp the concept of one course, let alone two.”

You frowned, clearly not getting it. “I don’t get what learning about the stars and the planets aligning has to do with us…having sex,” you faltered when a thought entered your mind. “But maybe that’s why I’m feeling extra…sexually excited? Maybe the planets are like sending signals to my pussy.” You said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, flashing him a I’m well-informed smile.

“First of all that’s astronomy,” Satoru breathed, pinching the bridge of nose, clearly exasperated. “I was talking about anatomy.” He shot you a pointed look. “But if the planets are turning you on, maybe I should grab additional assistance to help with the lesson.”

“Ugh, whatever,” you rolled your eyes, jutting out your bottom lip. “I don’t care and I don’t need help.”

He didn’t respond with words, instead, his hips pettily slid back a fraction, cock dragging, veins etching into your walls until you were contracting around him with apparent greed, with possession. “Satoru—what—no, you can’t do this to me,” you whined again, sexual frustration cracking the surface of your tone, sharp talons digging into his shoulders, intentionally drawing pain out of him, a hiss that sounded like the chorus of vengeance. “Please—just let me finish—I need this—I need you to keep fucking me.”

“Thought you said you didn’t care,” he replied, indifferent and cruel. You clenched down with merciless intent, just to hear him whimper, the sound escaping him before he could stop it.

A small, smug smile pulled at your lips. You reveled in it—the way he tried to mask his reaction, only to fail.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Satoru warned through gritted teeth, but didn’t move. He took a deep breath, dragging a hand through damp strands before fixing you with a narrowed, dangerous stare. “Congratulations. You just added another chapter to your lesson plan.”

Before you could protest any further, Satoru pulled out, in-by-inch, audible squelches filled the room—slow and deliberate—you felt the withdrawal in stages, every second stretching thin, like a cruel reminder meant to haunt you the moment he was gone. Your cunt clenched around nothing, weeping at the absence of his cock.

Satoru hoped out of bed, and stood at the foot of it in all his glory, giving you a generous view of his physique, bracketed abs faintly glistening with a coat of sweat, a path of white hair led straight to his cock, still hard and slick with your arousal—the head flushed a delightful, light-pink—a color you’d begged your nail tech to replicate once during one of your weekly manicure-pedicure appointments because it fit with your aesthetic.

You’d recalled how pretty his cock looked with your fingers wrapped around it, leaking with cum as you’d given him the best handjob of his life. That was one of the first sexual experiences with Satoru—the night you’d both agreed to cross the line between tutor-student and into something deliciously inappropriate—and since then you’d been hooked on him. Well, his dick in particular, the rest of him came afterward.

Who knew underneath all those Digimon hoodies, crisp button-down shirts, and khaki pants—the perfect nerdy getup—was a dick bigger than his brain? You did. Nerds were notorious for being third-legged, which was why you hadn’t been too opposed to getting a tutor after your professor, had revealed your failing grade. Straight Fs lined up the roster, you’d gotten an abysmal score on every exam—and the only points you’d miraculously earned came from writing your name—which, on occasion, you’d spelled incorrectly.

When your professor had suggested going to the highest ranked student in the entire university, you’d laughed, one: because you had no clue who held that title, and two: because the idea of someone that smart dealing with you felt wildly unrealistic.

And shockingly, you’d clocked it right—for once.

Satoru had walked in—glasses perched on a sloped nose—taken a good look at your rhinestones, velour, and obnoxiously loud pink, and walked right back out. You’d spent the next two weeks begging, bargaining, and promising to actually try before he’d begrudgingly agreed to tutor you—clearly against his better judgement.

He wasn’t the nicest. You’d gathered that from the way he’d assessed you, with an upturned nose and a faint smirk, like he was already mentally grading your outfit, your attitude, and probably your entire life in one glance.

He’d often insult you, tossing out big words you’d never be able to understand—not unless you lugged around a dictionary as bulky as his frames. You weren’t completely too dim-witted, you had your moments where the dead lightbulb inside your head flickered.

But sometimes, you’d run into him on campus, and he’d actually be…nice. Like wearing a clean, casual shirt with a bold lingo, silver tufts escaping from a baseball cap, and that grin—oh, that blinding grin—that made you forget everything else. Forget how dumb you felt, forget your grades, forget even why you were standing there. He treated you like you actually mattered, throwing in little flirty winks and cheesy one-liners that somehow made your heart do cartwheels and left your panties, well…soaking. Honestly, you couldn’t stop thinking about him for hours afterward, not until you’d use your rose toy and imagine it was him swirling his tongue around your clit and making you cream instead.

It was like dealing with two different people—and it left you even more confused than usual—desperately grasping at any reason why Satoru couldn’t just treat you with consistent charm and respect. Did the location make a difference? Maybe he felt more at ease in an open space.

“—be back soon,” Satoru announced, already dressed when you’d tuned back to his voice. He hadn’t noticed your glazed eyes, too busy rummaging through his organized desk for something. You blinked, suddenly distracted by the posters around his room, a few diagrams of molecules with lines and circles and letters that might as well have been hieroglyphics to you—a sleek laptop, a cup full of pens, and notes pinned with meticulous precision. For a moment, you wondered how someone so annoyingly smart would have such a chaotic effect on you.

He finally straightened, a silky piece of fabric dangling from his index finger. A blindfold. “Here,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Put this on…and wait for me on all fours.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and a giggle fled before you could stop it. You took it from him, no questions asked. You didn’t question why a nerd like him had a blindfold ready—like some secret, sadistic male lead straight out of an erotic movie. Blindfold over your eyes, the room dissolved into darkness, and suddenly, every sound, every creak of the floor felt amplified. You fumbled a little getting on all fours, spine arching, hair falling forward over your face, knees slightly wobbling, and your mind went completely haywire.

You wiggled your ass, the air tickling your exposed pussy, mixed arousal trickling down the back of your thighs. Oh my God, he was going to fuck you doggystyle—one of your favorite positions. He’d done it before, pounded into you from behind, hair wrapped around his wrist, roughly pulling you by the scalp, his cock honing into you while you’d recited elements from the periodic table. An elementary task you should’ve perfected since gen chem , but of course, you hadn’t paid a single attention.

The only elements you had known back then were silver and gold.

And now after six months of tutoring, you could confidently recall thirteen—an amazing accomplishment compared to before. It was such a huge leap for you, really, you couldn’t help but feel a little proud, even if you didn’t fully understand why carbon and oxygen mattered together.

You bit on your lower lip, imagining what he would do next, every nerve in your body alighting with anticipation. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, about his cock stretching you, about coming around him again and again. Waiting had never felt like this, and you didn’t care if you looked silly—you were too busy being completely and utterly captivated.

And then he was gone. You heard the door clicking softly behind him, leaving you there—dark, wobbly, and ridiculously wet for whatever came next.

Minutes passed, and you were humming the tune to your favorite, overlayed pop song.

The sound of the door swung open snapped you out of your humming. You heard him stroll into the room, his steps lighter, more carefree, and his presence had a completely different energy. You stayed where you were, too distracted by the blindfold-waiting game to notice anything had changed.

“Damn, you’re still waiting for me, huh?” His voice was smoother, less stern, more relaxed—and you didn’t even detect the light shift in tone. Instead, you thought he sounded a little more casual, like he wasn’t trying too hard to be a serious, no nonsense tutor. Maybe he’s just…in a better mood today?

You felt a flutter of excitement that had nothing to with the lesson. Maybe today he’d be more…playful? You didn’t remember the last time he sounded like this, and the thought made you squirm a little with curiosity and desire.

Oh my God, he sounds kinda cute like this—more laid-back, not so serious. I mean, yeah, I’ve never really seen him like this, but maybe he’s just warming up to me?

You shifted slightly, your body more aware of the subtle changes in the atmosphere—like everything was suddenly lighter between you. It made you feel tingly, like maybe all that tutoring stuff was just a game, and today, it was finally time to enjoy it without the overwhelming tension.

“Of course,” you giggled again, low and sultry. “I was just…following your instructions.”

He hummed at that, a devastating rumble that made your pussy clench. “My instructions?” He echoed, voice low. “Careful. You’re making it sound like you enjoy being told what to do.”

You cocked your head, smile slow and knowing. “I enjoy,” you said, “being very good at it.”

“Yeah?” You envisioned his pierced brow quirking, lips curling into that smug smirk you knew so well. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the smile in his voice. The faint shift of fabric. The slow step closer. The way his breath seemed heavier now.

“Well…are we gonna pickup right where we left off?” You asked, letting the words linger between you, playful but gentle.

“Oh—we’re, uh…yeah. Yeah, of course we are,” he said, voice dipper lower like he was trying to smooth it out. “You think I’d make you wait like that for nothing?”

A shuffle.

“Just had to grab something. Relax.” Something fell on the carpet with a muffled thud. “Oh, shit. Ignore that. Nothing important,” he added quickly. A pause. “…okay, it was important. But it’s fine. I meant to drop it!”

You could almost hear him crouching to pick it up. You smiled, chewing on your bottom lip again. He was trying so hard to sound confident.

“Satoru?”

“Y-yeah? I’m here. Don’t worry.”

“You still sound a bit far away,” you flirted, biting on your lower lip. “Why don’t you come closer?”

More muffled steps.

“Hey,” his tone softened, the distance between you suddenly felt smaller, the heat of him radiating off his body. “Don’t move, okay? I like you right here.” You could feel the weight of his words settle in the room. Then, quieter—almost to himself. “…God, you really listening to me, huh?”

You nodded, breath hitching slightly, heart thumping in your chest. You could barely form any words, too caught up in how good his voice felt, how it vibrated through you. It was deep, warm, full of confidence—and it wrapped around you like a comforting, electric current.

Did you…accidentally discover you had a voice kink?

Your face burned, and you felt more giddy, a nervous laugh bubbled in your throat. You couldn’t remember the last time a sound left you this breathless. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. Every word was like a caress. And he didn’t know how much he was doing to you just by speaking.

You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips, feeling so far gone from just a couple of sentences.

“Satoru,” you breathed, head tilting toward the sound of him. “…touch me.”

There was a pause. Not a dramatic one. Not calculated.

Just a beat too long.

“Satoru?” He echoed, and you could almost hear the grin in it—but it wobbled. “My name is—” He cut himself off.

Silence.

You didn’t see it, but you could feel him freeze in the moment. More rustles of fabric, louder now. Closer. A soft exhale that sounded suspiciously like relief—like oh-my-God-I-almost-fucked-that-up.

“…Right,” he recovered quickly—too quickly. “Yeah. Satoru. That’s me. Obviously. The, uh—” a nervous scoff. “—the huge nerd. With glasses. And books. I love books.”

Another beat.

“And—uh…biology.”

Your brows furrowed slightly beneath the blindfold.

Something about his voice felt the same…yet so off—you couldn’t put your finger on it. Still warm. Still close. But friendlier. Less sharp around the edges. Like he was smiling too much while talking.

“I thought—you were teaching me chemistry,” you slowly replied, wondering if you’d made an error yourself. You could never rely too much on your knowledge—it had failed you many, many times—but you recalled the title written in red capital letters on the syllabus, printed there for you as a warning.

Caution: you and chemistry…had no chemistry.

A lapse stretched between you.

Then a soft, nervous chuckle. “Right. Yeah. Chemistry. Obviously.” You heard a swish, like he ran a hand through his hair. “Interdisciplinary approach?”

Interdisciplinary?

Satoru had never simplified a word for you. Not even once. He weaponized vocabulary like it was a part of the curriculum. But this—this sounded like someone pretending to be intelligent.

“You’ve never mentioned biology before,” you said carefully.

“Sure I have,” he shot back swiftly. With that same edfortless swiftness from before. “Atoms. Cells. Same vibe.”

Same vibe?

Your lips parted—unsure of how to respond.

The real Satoru would’ve corrected you by now. He would’ve sighed. Maybe even muttered something condescending about your academic survival rate.

Instead, this version of him felt…easier to talk to—to understand.

“You’re acting weird,” you murmured.

“Me? Weird?” He laughed, not offended by your observation. “You’re the one blindfolded in my room.”

That sent a flush racing down your spine. Right. You were quite literally on all fours, wet and waiting for his cock.

But still, your gut insisted that something was wrong.

“Say something only you would say,” you challenged softly.

Another pause loitered.

You could practically hear the gears turning.

“…Periodic table,” he answered.

Your lips dipped downward.

“That’s not a sentence.”

“Right. Uh.” Another shuffle. “Wait. Wait. I got one…electronegativity.”

You almost ripped the blindfold right off.

Was he on drugs? Your brain slipped into another dimension. Did he leave the room to like…microdose intelligence or something? Snort powdered equations off a ruler? Did nerds even do that? Or was that just the finance majors?

Being the highest-ranked student in the entire university had to come with a lot of pressure. Maybe he had a secret stash labeled ‘Emergency Brain Boost.’

Or maybe…maybe he was just nervous.

That thought made your stomach flip and perform a bunch of other tricks.

Because Satoru—the Gojo Satoru—cold, condescending terrifyingly intelligent Satoru—nervous?

Over you?

You swallowed. “Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“…You sound different.”

The room went quiet.

“Different how?” He asked, lower now. Less playful.

And that was the problem.

The real Satoru didn’t lower his voice like that.

He sharpened it.

This one softened it.

You hesitated, “…like you don’t hate me right now.”

And for the first time since he’d walked back into the room, he didn’t have a clever retort ready.

“Oh.”

You smiled beneath the blindfold, fingers flexing against the sheets. You acted like it didn’t sting when he didn’t deny it. What were you expecting for him to say? “No, I don’t hate you?” Maybe something more fairytale—“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. Will you be my girlfriend?”

You swallowed, shaking your head at the delusional fantasy. It sounded unrealistic, even in your own mind. But still, the idea of hearing those words…of him saying the like he meant it—yeah, that would’ve been nice. A perfect, shiny little moment you would treasure forever.

Then he’d kiss you. Hard and slow, like his mouth was the thing keeping you both tethered to reality. Kissing you until your lungs burst, until every breath was shared between the two of you.

But this, this wasn’t that.

This wasn’t a fairytale.

You weren’t that girl—the type he would go for. Right?

“Oh? That’s all you got to say? You’re beginning to sound a lot like me.”

He laughed, full-bellied and genuine. “Yeah. I’ll just lose the thick glasses and I’ll be all set.”

You grinned at the contagious sound coming out of his mouth. “Right. The glasses.” You paused, musing over their distinctive shape. “They’re like super thick.”

“…Yeah,” he echoed, a little too loudly. “Thick. They’re meant to be like, academically intimidating.”

You hummed, dragging your knees an inch closer to where you felt his warmth. “Then come here, academically intimidating Satoru.”

There was another shuffle. Fabric brushing fabric. He clearly hadn’t expected that.

“I—yeah. Okay. I can do that.”

He stepped closer—close enough that you could feel the hesitation in the air, the way his breathing hitched like he was trying to remember lines in a play he hadn’t auditioned for.

“You, uh…sure you wanna keep calling me that?” He asked, cautiously.

You angled your head. “Calling you what?”

“Satoru.”

You giggled. “That’s your name, silly.”

“…Right. Obviously. My name. Totally.”

Another awkward pause—followed by a quiet, almost disbelieving exhale. “Wow,” he muttered under his breath. “You really can’t see under this thing, huh?”

“No,” you teased. “Why? Nervous?”

He scoffed—cocky, but just a little cracked at the edges. “Me? Never. Just…recalibrating.”

“Recalibrating?”

There he goes—using big words again.

“Yeah,” he responded hurriedly. “New angle. New…uh…variables.”

You smiled, reaching blindly for him until your fingers brushed fabric at his waist. He startled—actually startled. The air moved around you as if he had taken a step back from your touch.

“Okay,” he rasped from somewhere behind you, voice dropping an octave like he remembered he was supposed to be in control. “Don’t rush the genius.”

You bit your lip, even more turned on by the thought of him staring straight at your dripping cunt. “Then don’t make me keep begging you for you to touch me.”

He gulped. You could hear it, loud and clear.

“…Yeah,” he said, trying for smooth and landing somewhere adorably flustered. “I was literally about to.”

The mattress suddenly dipped, his energy dominating everything in the room.

You could feel him shift behind you, that familiar weight of his presence too close, too warm. His hands hovered for a minute, like he was thinking it over—like he wasn’t sure whether he was doing this right.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled to himself, his breath tepid against the shell of your ear as he tugged at the loose corset laces. “This is fine. We got this.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his half-assed self assurance. It was like he was faking this smooth persona, but you could sense the nervous energy buzzing beneath the surface.

With a slight grunt, his hands pulled the laces just a little tighter. He gave a soft chuckle, though it sounded more like a nervous laugh. “Okay, okay. Not so bad, huh?”

He tugged again, the fabric loosening around you, but just enough to make things feel like they were starting to slip into a new territory. You could feel him leaning closer, too close, as he reached around to adjust the corset.

“Uh…don’t mind me,” he said, almost too casually, fingers fumbling with the fabric for a second, treating it like it was some weird, never-before-seen contraption. “I’m just making sure this fits right, y’know? Gotta get the angles perfect. I’d been told I’m good with adjustments.”

Your brows pinched together.

He’d taken this off before. More than once. Easily. Confidently. You’d only taught him how to do once—unlike you—who needed a long time for things to stick to your cranium—and suddenly he’d mastered the art of removing lingerie. Like he’d invented bras and personally designed their clasps just to remove them from you.

But now?

There was a pause. A tiny fumble. The faintest exhale of frustration.

He slowly started pulling the remaining laces free. The movement was slow, purposeful, like he was testing how far he could go without overwhelming you. You felt the corset slacken against your body, the tension easing as each knot became undone.

“…Okay, hold on,” he mumbled, cursing lowly when he couldn’t work the laces out of the final knot.

A soft breath escaped his lips when he pulled the final lace. The corset loosened enough that you could feel the pressure against your ribcage easing until your lungs could finally fully expand. Still, the front busks held firm. He steadied your waist and rotated the garment around your torso, the cool metal pressing against your back.

He hesitated, fingers resting on the dip of your spine.

A flicker of doubt sparked—but your pride smothered it instantly.

Everything about this session was making your bimbo brain gymnastics really shine.

Oh my God, stop being dramatic!

Obviously there was a logical explanation.

Maybe it was because your corset was different today. Yes! That had to be it.

And yes, he was genius, but maybe genius only applied to like…organic compounds. And equations. And whatever else boys with glasses did.

Corsets were more of a…feminine engineering field.

Lingerie infrastructure was entirely different branch of science.

You wore the underbust one—the one with the criss-cross lacing—instead of the less-complicated overbust. Maybe the clasps were smaller. Or shinier. Or…nerds weren’t good with textures? That sounded right.

Or maybe—

“Why are there so many hooks?” He whispered, genuinely confused. “They kinda look like tiny teeth,” he added, almost in awe, like he’d stumbled upon a new species.

You giggled, finding his new sense of humor to be adorable, but you were steadily losing your composure. “It’s okay. They’re not gonna bite you.”

He didn’t respond, hands too occupied with unclasping each hook, one at a time, ceremoniously taking his time with the task like he was performing heart surgery. Each tiny hook was a delicate operation.

“I—uh—I think I got this!” He said very enthusiastically—a eureka moment for him. “Just gotta—uh—yeah.”

Now you were growing impatient and your horny-meter was acting gimmicky—the gauge switching over the full side—your pussy was aching to be stuffed.

“Satoru—are you, like, doing this on purpose?” You whined.

“Doing…what?”

“Stalling!” You exclaimed, your lips forming an exaggerated pout. “Do you like…not want to fuck me?”

There was a sharp pause.

“W-what?” He spluttered, coughing a little, the confidence crumbling with every passing second. “I—no! I mean—yeah! I do! ’Course I do!”

You could hear the panic in his tone, and the way his hands moved frantically as he disassembled more clasps like he’d been given a sudden pop quiz on his feelings.

“Then why’re you taking so long?” You asked, half-exasperated, half-annoyed. “Do you need more to time to, like, figure it out?”

“Figure it out? I already—what? Figure what out? I mean—I know what I’m doing, alright?” He sighed dramatically. “You’re, like, super hot, okay? And like, I don’t wanna mess this up or anything. Y’know? Like, I wanna be good at this.”

“Wait, what?” You asked, a little breathless. “Hot? Me? Really?”

There was another awkward cough from behind you, like he was kicking himself for sounding so out of character.

“I mean—yeah! You are. Obviously!” He cleared his throat again, his voice rising a few octaves higher.“You’re really hot and…you don’t need me to say it, but you are so beautiful—like, ridiculously, insanely beautiful. I just…I just don’t wanna ruin things.”

You tilted your head, still processing. Hot? And beautiful? Really? Two compliments without a single insult in between? This was the guy who thought you couldn’t even pronounce half of the periodic table correctly. He called you a “walking disaster” every time you messed up a formula. Why was he now just acting like he’d figured out how beautiful you were?

His words rushed out in a tumble, and you had to fight a full-blown grin. Your chest was swelling at his unexpected sweetness.

He sounded so similar of the version you’d meet on campus.

Wait, maybe he was just saying that to make me feel better because I’m like too much of a mess to even get this off myself.

“—there!” He eagerly detached the final clasp, sounding far too triumphant for someone who’d just defeated a piece of lingerie.

The corset loosened completely, falling away from your body in a soft cascade of fabric. Your bra followed a second later—more fumbling, a quiet mutter—until the straps slid from your shoulders and disappeared somewhere behind you.

Cool air kissed your bare skin.

Your nipples were hard enough to cut glass—tingling from sensitivity.

“I told you I’d figure it out,” he said, proud—like he’d just solved a complex equation instead of wrestling with tiny metal hooks.

You felt his hands hover for a second, warm and uncertain before they settled back on your hips.

“You’re, uh,” he started, then stopped. A quiet exhale brushed your spine. You could literally feel his eyes assess your puffy folds, slick and ready. “You’re really…”

Wet?

Soaking?

The sentence dissolved into nothing.

Instead of finishing it, his weight pressed forward—careful this time—and printed a soft, almost shy kiss on your spine, like that said enough.

“I really…like where we left off,” he admitted against your skin, softer now. Honest.

Your pulse stuttered under his touch. Without sight, every single thing felt amplified—the heat of his palms, the way his thumb traced a slow, absentminded circles against your skin. Not possessive. Grounding.

“And where exactly did we leave off?” You playfully teased. “Need you to remind me…”

Satoru groaned from behind you. A soft, strained sound. Then, the mattress shifted again, and his body heat receded from your back.

For a split second, you thought he was just repositioning.

Your brows knitted faintly. “Hey—”

Another shift. Closer this time.

You straightened your posture and sat on your heels, swatting your hands in the air to feel for his solid frame. “Satoru? Are you playin’? C’mon, I thought you were gonna—”

Your fingers skimmed over a chest. A hand caught your wrist. Not rough. A swift movement. Steady. “Careful,” came a low murmur—closer than you expected.

Before you could place it, fingers slid to your jaw and titled your face upward. The blindfold made you hyperaware of everything—the warmth of his palm, the slow drag of them beneath your ear, the way his breath hovered just shy of your lips. Minty fresh.

Unless Satoru had brushed his teeth after eating you out earlier—

Your pulse skipped.

“Satoru?” You tried again, softer now.

He didn’t answer.

He kissed you instead.

Not a brush of the lips. Not a tease.

His mouth pressed against yours with controlled heat, firm enough to make whatever thoughts you had left, scatter instantly. The blindfold turned the kiss into something overwhelming—no visual cues, no smirk to decode, just sensation.

His lips moved slowly against yours, deliberate, claiming. When you instinctively leaned forward—to get more of him—he let you, but only just enough. Like he was measuring how much you gave before he could reward you.

Your fingers fisted into his shirt, tethering yourself.

This wasn’t playful.

This wasn’t taunting.

This was intentional.

His hand coasted from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair, deepening the kiss without breaking its control. The sound you made was soft and unguarded.

He swallowed it.

Behind you, the mattress creaked faintly.

You barely noticed.

Because when he kissed you again, it was deeper—slower, but heavier, his mouth angling just enough to make your breath hitch. The blindfold made you feel lightheaded. You couldn’t see the expression on his face. You couldn’t see the shift.

All you had was the difference.

And it was undeniable.

You pulled back barely, lips grazing his as you whispered, perplexed and breathless. “…That’s not how you kiss.”

A pause.

A thumb traced once along your throat, where your pulse hummed.

“No,” he agreed quietly.

And only then did the lightbulb inside you head flicker.

Your stomach performed something close to acrobatics. “…You’re—you’re not—”

He just leaned in again—a hairbreadth away—like he wanted you to feel exactly who had been kissing you all along.

A quiet, familiar chuckle sounded somewhere from behind you.

Your entire body locked up.

The hand on your neck didn’t move. But the laugh was undoubtedly not coming from the mouth pressed to yours.

“…S-Satoru?” You said with clear hesitation.

“Yeah?” Came an answer.

Again, from behind you.

Your pulse banged against your ribs—hard, fast.

No sound came from the man in front of you.

He didn’t pull away.

Just breathed against your mouth—inhaling as you exhaled—an exchange of some sort that was weirdly intimate and confusing.

Another voice. Lower.

Closer.

“Wrong guess.”

Your fingers flew to the blindfold, tearing it off your face.

Eyes fluttered as they adapted to the light, the room snapping into focus.

Two men.

Identical.

You gasped—loudly—eyes wide and stunned.

One was kneeling directly in front of you, hand still wrapped around your wrist, eyes warm and dazzling blue. Not surprised, but sheepish.

The other was sitting on the edge of the bed, behind you, watching with infuriating calm.

Your jaw fell open.

“You—”

You looked at one. The familiar Satoru with the knit sweater and glasses.

Then the other.

He looked like he’d stepped out of a recruitment poster—broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his white-tee—his frat’s logo stamped on the front—sleeves tight around his biceps, one wrong move and he’d rip the whole thing. His built wasn’t just muscular, it was sturdy. Solid. The same as his twin, only he showed it off instead of hiding it underneath loose clothing.

He wore a cap backwards, the brim sitting low against his neck like a lazy declaration of “I don’t care.” Pale strands of hair pushed out from the front, soft and slightly unruly, brushing his forehead in a way that looked accidental but somehow worked.

He smiled like nothing rattled him—a guy who strolled through life as if the rules don’t apply to him. But the way his eyes tracked every detail, the way they shone brilliantly with something unnamed, told a different story.

“Got some assistance for your lesson,” Satoru said, smirking at you. His glasses caught the light as he fixed them—precise, studious. Up close, the frames didn’t soften him at all, they only emphasized his patronizing gaze. “Try not embarrass me in front of my brother,” he added lightly. It didn’t sound like a joke.

“B-brother?” You squeaked, staring at him like he’d cloned himself—which was ironic given the circumstances.

His mouth curled slowly, like he was savoring the moment. “Aw,” your tutor said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did no one tell you?” He leaned forward, invading your space without hesitation. “Yeah. Meet my twin, Souta.”

Like he was introducing a party trick. Not a person.

The “random guy” sitting in front of you grinned—straightening slightly like he’d been waiting for his cue. “Nice to finally meet you properly,” he breezily spoke up, eyes scanning you appreciatively.

“Twin?” You gawked at him, your interactions hitting you full force.

You remembered your conversations on campus—

The awkward flirtation. The stilted jokes. How he’d blush one second…and smirk the next. How sometimes he couldn’t look into your eyes—and other times he couldn’t look away.

Your breath caught.

“Oh my God…I don’t even know what’s real anymore!” You screeched, flailing your hands a little. “Wait…I must be dreaming!” You pinched yourself and shrieked. “Ouch! Okay, definitely not dreaming!”

Satoru smirked. “No, ditzy girl. You’re wide awake. I brought him to help with your lesson…since you weren’t exactly catching on.”

“Ohhh…wait…he’s here to help me?” You gaped at him, panic-stricken like you were given two options on a multiple choice test—fifty-fifty chance of getting it correct. “But…but which one am I supposed to listen to?!”

Satoru rolled his eyes. “Relax. We’re going to give you a demonstration first.”

“A demonstration?” You echoed with wide eyes, voice shrill. He was so not calming your frazzled nerves. “Wait…are you gonna show me together?!” Your hands waved again. “I-I don’t know if I can handle that! I might, like, faint or something!”

“Don’t worry,” Satoru said, but his tone indicating that you should, in fact, be worried. “We’ll try not to overwhelm you too much.”

You blinked at him, heart hammering. “Oh…o-okay…maybe I can…maybe I can watch?”

“You have to participate,” Satoru insisted in a way that left no room for arguments.

You breath lodged in your throat, wide eyes flickering between the twins. “P-participate?” You stammered, voice shaking. “I-I can’t…I don’t know if I can do this.”

Satoru’s grin widened as he leaned closer, his presence asphyxiating. “You don’t have a choice, ditzy girl,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You hands instinctively pressed to your chest, your pulse thundering as you tried to gather your thoughts, but your body was already betraying you.

“I’m not ready for this,” you mumbled, alarmed, but there was something in the way his body was positioned, so close to yours, that made it hard to focus on anything else.

Satoru scooted even closer, his gaze locked on you, and despite the teasing tone, there was something commanding in his voice. “You asked for this lesson,” he said, crossing his arms. “Now it’s time to learn.”

Souta’s hand engulfed your own, reassuringly, his touch heavy, as if savoring how your skin felt. “You’ll be fine,” he murmured, his eyes glinting, and he removed his hand. “Just follow along.”

Your worries dissipated like smoke, and you nodded, trying to steady your breathing. “What…what do you want me to do?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper, your fingers twitching.

Satoru gave you a small, approving smile, but his eyes were sharp as he crowded your space. “Good girl,” he actually praised you—a rare occurrence—his voice low and rich with authority. “Now, just relax and let him show you. You’re here to learn, right?”

Souta leaned in, his face now only inches away, and the air felt impossibly thick. “I’ll show you exactly what you need to know,” his voice smooth, almost comforting, but there was an edge to it.

Your hands trembled as you slowly brought them up, unsure of what to do. “W-what do you need me to do first?” You whispered, eyes dancing between them, feeling more exposed by the second.

For the first time, Souta’s lips stretched into a wicked grin, thumbs grazing your knuckles gently but firmly. “Just sit back and let us handle the rest,” he said softly, but the demand was there, unmistakable.

Satoru watched with a knowing smirk, his posture relaxed, as if he were simply observing something interesting. “You’re going great,” he said lightly. “Now…get on all fours again.”

“W-what?” You uncertainly said, your cheeks were flushing with embarrassment. “You want me to—again?” Your eyes slid to Souta. “Like…in front of him?”

Satoru exhaled, his patience clearly wearing thin. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened. “Yes, ditzy girl,” he said, the words clipped. “You’re already naked, aren’t you?”

Your face flared an even brighter shade of red at the reminder, and you immediately tried to pull your legs together, there was nowhere to hide. “I…I don’t know if I can do this again,” you mumbled, glancing back at Souta, whose eyes were gleaming with expectation, almost like he was a watching a show.

“You’ve already come this far,” Satoru said with an edge. “So don’t back out now.”

You swallowed hard, the command in his voice was enough to make you hesitate. “Okay…” you agreed, slowly moving back into position, this time facing the desk at the front of the room. You could feel the embarrassment melt away, the feeling of your buzzing cunt outweighing everything, and you couldn’t help it.

Satoru’s eyes moved to his brother, as if sending him a signal. Without a warning, he took off his sweater, revealing his toned chest. A body that didn’t belong to a stereotypical nerd—honed and chiseled. His eyes never looked away, making sure you could watch him as he undressed.

Souta followed suit—and you turned to him—more curious about how he looked underneath. His motions were more casual but not less deliberate. The two of them moved in sync, like they’d done this before—each shedding their clothes with swift confident ease, the ambiance between you crackling.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Souta, appreciating the refined contours of his body, a teasing trail of hair poking from the waistline of his boxers. He tugged them down, his cock springing free, pale and long with a slight curve.

Your eyes roamed freely, mouth watering at how massive he was. And here you foolishly thought Satoru had the biggest dick you had ever seen.

You were highly mistaken.

Souta sauntered over, heedful at first, approaching you the same way you’d felt while blindfolded. “Take it in your hands for me,” he said, referring to his cock, voice warm and inviting.

You glanced up at him, your hands shaking as you fought to you steady yourself, but there was no turning back now. Not when you the curiosity was buzzing through your veins, and not when your brain was this lust-addled.

“Wait,” you said, gnawing on your lips nervously, “I’ve never done it with, like…twins before.” You blinked, your voice breathy and unsure. “Is it different?”

Souta’s grin expanded, his eyes lighting up as they took in your flustered state. “Oh, it’s different alright,” he said with a low chuckle. “But I think you’ll figure it out.”

Satoru, standing off to the side, watched the scene unfold. “Don’t overthink it,” he said, his tone casual but with an undertone of assertive. “You’re learning exactly what you wanted.”

You nodded eagerly, even more flustered, but still curious. “Oh, okay,” you mumbled, your fingers twitching as if they were about the act before your mind would catch up. “I guess I can try…”

Your fingers closed around the base—nails clicking together—and Souta’s breath caught, a soft groan escaping him. You felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach and a nervous giggle bubbled out before you could stop it.

“Oh my God, it’s…heavy,” you mused, the weight of his cock both figurative and real, settling deep in your chest as you tried to gather your bearings.

Souta’s icy gaze never wavered from you, his eyes brewing with something unreadable. “Yeah,” he said quietly, voice tinged with raspiness. “You get used to it.”

Carefully, you moved your fist up and down his shaft at the same time he began jostling his hips. His cock bobbed with the rhythm, tip leaking with precum—Oh my God, the color is even prettier than Satoru’s, you dreamily thought, getting distracted from jerking him off. It’s like a salmon pink! Maybe flamingo? Or is it more on the peachy side? Hm…doesn’t matter—new manicure color unlocked!

You couldn’t wait to tell your nail tech.

“Keep going,” Souta encouraged, misinterpreting your pause as hesitation from nerves. His gaze remained intense, focused on you as if waiting for you to prove yourself.

You shifted slightly, your fingers still wrapped around it, feeling him get hard with every pump. You were growing more confident, despite his larger size, but you managed to adjust your grip, wrist bending and unbending, fist rotating upward until you found the right pace for him.

His eyes followed your every action, a strained smile touching his lips. “Good. Just like that,” he said, voice thick with satisfaction. “But you can stop now…”

“Stop?” You questioned, frowning, your fingers still poised, unsure of exactly what he wanted. “Did I—”

“Need your mouth, princess,” Souta said, his voice velvety but with almost self-conscious ease, like he was still trying to get the hang of sounding like a natural. “Open up.”

Your mouth parted open on command, feeling Souta thrust his cock in—the sharp, salty taste of him coating your tongue. Lips slid closed, sealing around his girth before sliding further, working your jaw to take his all length, but gave up halfway.

“Wider, princess,” Souta panted, pushing deeper past your resisting throat. You gagged, then slowly eased, letting your muscles relax. “Good girl, knew you could take it all in,” he murmured softly. “You look even prettier with your lips around my cock.”

Suddenly, you felt the weight of another presence behind you. Warmth spread across your back as Satoru, silently enveloped your frame, his breath brushing against the back of your neck. You stiffened, eyes wide as he positioned himself behind you, his energy overpowering in a way you couldn’t escape.

Pressure heightened when you felt the tip sliding between your puffy folds, moving up and down the slit, using your slick as a lubricant before he pushed through the ringed interior. You moaned at the stretch, at how easily he filled you, hands palming your hips until he bottomed out. Hips molded over the swell of your ass, bodies fitting together like a puzzle piece.

Souta’s smile never dimmed as he peered down, his voice low, coaxing you. “Just relax,” he muttered. “It’s just the next step.”

Satoru let out a condescending snicker. “You should see the view from here. Her pussy’s gripping me like a fucking vice,” he snapped his hips forward in a cruel thrust, forcing a broken sound from you as the tears welled when the tip of Souta’s cock hit the back of your throat. Hard. “Hm. Your gag reflex needs more practice. I forgot—you’re not exactly great with basics, are you? Thought this was something you’d already have down.”

All you could manage was a quiet whimper around Souta’s cock, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to control your breathing, the sensation overwhelming. Drool slipped from the corners of your mouth, your eyes lifting slowly. You caught sight of Souta’s gaze, his eyes connecting with yours with tenderness that made you question what you really saw.

He slid out an inch, making you trace the underside vein with your tongue before he fully thrusted back in, short hairs tickling the tip of your nose. You moaned again, eyes fluttering from the crushing pressure from both ends. Souta caressed your jaw, thumb wiping away the saliva smeared on your chin. You could taste the precum inside your mouth, leaking down your throat.

“Are you okay, princess?” Souta asked softly, brows furrowing as he looked down at you with concern. When he pulled out of your mouth, you gasped for air, the rush filling your lungs. A thin trail of spit connected your lips to his cock before breaking, shaft glazed with a fresh coat of saliva.

“Y-yeah,” you coughed, your voice hoarse from the roughness of your breath betraying the tension hovering over the three of you. Eyes shining with faux-innocence, you glanced up, raking your nails over his thighs, feeling his shudder from your touch. “I want you in my mouth again…wanna keep tasting you.”

Prying your mouth open and sticking your tongue out, Souta dangled his cock, letting you swipe at the crown, laving every bump over the stretched skin. You licked the slit at the top, mouthing the perimeter of the crown and moaning from the addictive taste of his salty drippings. Your cunt was palpitating around Satoru, demanding attention, and you threw your hips backward, the ache traveling through.

“Eaaaasy, ditzy girl,” Satoru groaned, rolling his hips to drill deeper into you, a breath of taunting laughter slipping through his teeth. “I know you’re eager to come, but you gotta work on your patience.”

Souta thrusted his cock all the way back inside, fingers gripping your scalp to keep you in place. This time, you guzzled all his length, letting it slip through without resistance. The thick circumference of cock filled you once more, lips stretching and fitting around him like a glove. The three of you were now bridged again—you as their cocksleeve from both holes. Any movement completely stopped for a moment, both presences going still as if agreeing on something.

“Souta,” the nerdy twin called out from behind you. “You ready?”

A brief pause followed.

Then Souta let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah. Never been more ready.”

Hands grasped your hips as Satoru leaned forward, folding over you, the faint edge of a smirk in his voice. “Hope you’re ready for your lesson, ditzy girl. Try to keep up this time.”

You barely had time to inhale before they started moving again, the sudden shift stealing whatever garbled reply had been forming on your lips.

Their rhythm surged all at once, both of them tugging you in different directions. Souta fucked your throat, angling his hips to pace himself, shallow strokes massaging the ringed interior. At the same time, Satoru was thrusting his cock, bucking his hips to scratch at your walls, leaking tip nudging your cervix every time he ground deeper.

“Pay close—mph—attention,” Satoru growled, pace turning rough—savage—heavy balls slapping against your cunt. “Don’t let our cocks distract you.”

With a mouth full of cock, all you could do was whine. Souta pushed in, your throat expanding with every thrust, fingers curling into your hair as his eyes watched you carefully, almost studying. Despite how your body felt taut, like a thread about to break under pressure, you slurped his cock, deepthroating while you swallowed, treating it like it was your last meal.

“Fuck—fuck, look at this pussy,” Satoru hissed, and you felt his hand between your legs, wedging you further apart, you knees seconds away from giving out. “So wet…dripping down my balls…making a fucking mess.”

Every thrust from each end made a squelchy, obscene sound—your mouth, your pussy—rocking back and forth—united as one. A fucked up shape where you were all coordinated, moving in a rhythm that left your mind spinning, where all you could feel was their cocks—fucking you over and over—harder, faster, stretching your body beyond its full potential. Your nails burrowed into Souta’s skin, deep into his thighs until you touched corded muscles. He groaned, neck lolling back as his cock throbbed inside your throat like it had its own heartbeat.

Satoru’s finger pads began playing with your clit, hips slowing down as tremors traveled down his length. His slippery chest pressed against your spine, breathing deeply by your ear before he gasped out, “Learned the lesson yet, ditzy girl?”

“Her mouth’s so wet and warm,” Souta panted from above you, his breath ragged as he looked down at you, a mix of heat and something softer in his eyes. His grip on your hair tightened slightly, and his breath hitched. “I’m close, princess,” he admitted, his voice thick with desire and need but laced with something more hesitant. “Should I stop, or…do you want me to pull out?”

“She swallows,” Satoru answered on your behalf since your mouth was occupied—your hands fondling Souta’s balls—squeezing and massaging them while you bobbed your head. “Go ahead and let her drink every single drop.”

“I want her—hah—to tell me,” Souta breathed, his voice rough—strained—as he drew back just slightly, his eyes dark with something possessive. “I need her to say it.”

You hummed softly around him, the sound low and approving, a subtle confirmation that echoed your own desire. Eyes brimming with more tears, you felt the pull between you grow, a sharp ache tugging you closer to that breaking point, where your body trembled with a mix of desperation and surrender.

Satoru touch became more insistent, one hand playing with your pulsing clit until the pressure turned unbearable, the other resting on the dip of your waist, keeping you perfectly arched. And then, like a wire pulled too far, everything snapped at once—your body exploded, finally giving away. A hollow scream escaped, raw and broken, as heat flooded through you, radiating out in waves around Souta’s cock.

“Oh, fuck!” The nerdy twin exclaimed, rhythm getting sloppy, his hips ramming into your ass, lewd slaps echoing as he kept pushing forward. His chest was heaving against you, panting out between his thrusts. “Look at how you’re—fuck—milking me. Squeezing around my cock like you love it. You love it, don’t you, ditzy girl. That’s the only thing—shit, shit—that makes your nonexistent brain work, right?”

“You’re gonna swallow for me, princess?” Souta grunted, body tensing as his dick twitched against your tongue. Just as you nodded, there was a stuttering motion in his hips, a fleeting lapse in rhythm, warmth surging and flooding the inside of your mouth. Thick, salty spurts of cum slid down your esophagus, and held it inside your mouth, gargling a bit, fighting the instinctive urge to spit it out.

Yeah, you loved sucking dick, but this was your least favorite part.

Souta pulled out of your mouth, chest cresting and falling as he looked down at you, pupils blown out with anticipation—watching, waiting as your throat worked and you swallowed his cum, a faint, satisfied edge curling at his lips.

“Good,” he murmured, voice low and rough with remnants of heat. “Just like that…you did so well, princess.”

Blinking up at him through tears, you let out a shaky breath, the briny aftertaste still lingering as warmth crept across your cheeks. Your lips parted like you meant to say something, but no words came out—only another soft exhale as you tried to steady yourself under the heaviness of his gaze.

An abrupt yank from your hair brought you back to reality, your body jerking as the sharp pull made you yelp. Your neck bending backward as you were forced to look up, the pressure of his hand still tight but steady, controlling.

Satoru jostled his hips, every thrust jolting through you hard enough to make your body tense, every painful tug at your scalp a sharp contrast to the heat heightening between your legs. The headboard rattled in uneven bursts, matching the rough, punishing rhythm he set—fast, unrelenting, leaving no room to recover.

Around your neck, your necklace swayed like a pendulum—your knees careening forward until you had no choice but to take stroke after stroke. Dazed, you searched for Souta, spotting him by the desk, head turned away like he didn’t want to witness you getting fucked by his twin. You closed your eyes, allowing your bodies to frantically slide against each other—your own hips reeling backward—feeling his balls smack against your cunt.

Wet slaps bounced off the walls as he drilled into you, your pussy drooling and sloshing like it was speaking in a filthy language. Slick spouted out around his girth, running in warm rivulets down your back thighs. Your jaw fell open with sounds of your moans on loop, growing louder, degrading into shaky, raspy breaths. Each exhale came out fractured, your composure slipping the more he yanked at your hair.

“H-hurts—my neck—” You whimpered, and he immediately let go, your head flopping over—tension draining from your muscles. Satoru’s hands returned to your waist, effortlessly hoisting your ass up, keeping you arched with your stomach resting on the mattress.

“Shit, I’m done for,” Satoru growled as you convulsed, holding your hips tight, rolling your cunt over his length, from front to back—a slick drag that left you breathless. “Fuck—your pussy’s gonna be the death of—” The sentence was left incomplete, being replaced by a groan that shook you to the core, grip digging deeper into your skin, keeping you there no matter how much you trembled, no matter how overstimulated you’d become.

“God…fuck…” he rasped, raw and ragged, his body shuddering as he lost momentum. A low growl tore from his chest, and the heat of his cum spilling inside made your muscles clench around him, every nerve screaming.

Your back bowed, your walls fluttering uncontrollably before you came, crying from the overstimulation, hot tears skating down your cheeks. He didn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm, pelvis canting to push in his every drop of his seed, making sure he marked you from the inside out.

Then, he stilled—trembling against your spine, sweaty and panting like he had just crossed the finish line.

What felt like eons later, Satoru finally released you, your body collapsing like you were a limbless, broken thing. Muscle draped over you, pressing you into the damp sheets, skin pasting to skin, heartbeats pounding like a ticking clock.

“….lesson’s not over yet, ditzy girl,” he murmured, pressing his face into you neck, voice wrecked and reverent.

He lazily rolled his hips, rutting into you—half-hard—expanding your inner walls.

“C’mon—ngh—time for you to do some work,” Still connected, Satoru pulled you onto his lap, your back plastered flush against his chest.

The abrupt repositioning stole your breath, your body instinctively tensing before sagging against him. His grip tightened at your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to keep you there.

“Don’t just sit there,” he scoffed under his breath, lips close to your ear. “Bounce on this cock, ditzy girl.”

An avalanche of energy slammed into you, icy pin-pricks traveling through your physique. Chest heaving, your rose up your along his length, blunt tip trapped between your pussylips, head spinning from the intoxicating friction as you fed your cunt, inch by agonizing inch. You gave a few experimental bounces, eyes rolling whenever his tip possessively branded against your tender womb.

“That’s it,” Satoru growled from behind, his voice soaked in an strange mixture of patronizing praise and unapologetic desire. “That’s what you excel in, huh? Hopping on dick—hah—getting fucked and wrecked…” he snickered, low and mean. “If there was a class on riding cock, you would definitely—ngggh—get an A. Talk about academic achievement.”

All you could do was mewl, moving faster into a mindless rhythm, chasing your next orgasm. Through the blur of motion, a flicker at the edge of your vision caught your attention. Your head lifted slightly, breath hitching as your eyes tracked the movement—his twin lingering just within reach.

Much to your surprise, Souta picked up your lace panties off the floor, not so discreetly, like he wanted you to catch him the act. Panty-thief, you thought, a delirious little smile tugging at your lips despite everything. He walked over to the desk and dropped into the chair, your panties still dangling loosely from his fingers.

His gaze dragged over you, every move purposeful as his fingers wrapped around his cock, the faintest smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Idly twirling the lace between his fingers with the other hand, he cloaked the tip with the flimsy fabric.

Getting more comfortable, the frat boy sat sprawled on the chair, the gusset of your lace panties hanging over his cockhead like some ridiculous flag of victory, utterly shameless about it. He spat in his hand before he jerked forward and back in uneven motions, barely bothering to hide the urgency behind it. He made sure you were watching, timing his rhythm with the way you bounced on his brother’s cock, balancing on your tippy toes, hamstrings tightening as you lifted yourself up and down with practiced poise, pussy fluttering around him.

You rode him with a relentless pace, shifting to grinding your clit desperately against the base of his cock like you wanted to melt into his body. Your knees barely buckled—Souta watched you, wide-eyed, lips agape—your pussy swallowing and spitting cock, and you couldn’t help but smile smugly. Yeah, that’s right, you mentally commended yourself. Never underestimate the legs of a girl who spent half her time in six-inch heels, shopping for hours, and burning through cardio faster than swiping her credit card.

“F-fuck—fuck, take it easy—” Satoru grunted from behind you, his hands were on your hips, blunt nails holing into your flesh. You arched your spine, the pleasure nestling inside your core. “I’m—ngggh—gonna c-come.”

You walls were squeezing his throbbing cock, the tip nudging your tender spot with every bounce. Slick trickled filthily down his length, your pussy dragging upward, lathering the shaft with milky residue, you were making a cobwebbed mess on his thighs, and drenching the patch of pubic hair at the bottom. Abdomen tensing underneath you—cock pulsing inside your walls—yet you kept riding him, your skin smacking against his, ass recoiling on his lap.

“Can’t…you feel good—ah—inside me,” you rasped, looking over your shoulder at his disheveled appearance—gasping at the unexpected tears trailing down flushed cheeks. “Satoru? Are you crying?”

“Fuuuck, oh God—fuck,” he whimpered, throwing his head back, snowy lashes fluttering shut like he was on the brink of losing himself. “You feel—mph—fuck!” His eyes flew open, sudden, wild, like a devil had possessed him. Was your pussy that powerful, enough to make a grown man cry?

“Oh my God!” You giggled, delighted, holding back a gleeful squeal. “I can’t believe you’re crying.”

“S-shut up!” Satoru stuttered, the words sounding less menacing and more ardent.

“Do you want me to stop?” You cooed, never breaking out of your stride.

“N-no! Jesus fuck—don’t you dare,” he hissed, trying to glare at you, but his body turned traitorous. His muscles pulled tight, the whites of his eyes flashing as his control slipped. “Fuck—fuuuck. Yes—yes, ride me just like that.”

You obliged, imagining you were a little, happy bunny, hopping on his cock—each movement pushing him deeper, making him whine. Every bounce, every controlled stroke made him lose that edge, turning him into a mess under you.

His fingers dented your hips, desperate, but unable to stop you. He was at your mercy, completely helpless, babbling incoherently—a bunch of nonsense—his breath coming out in uneven gasps. His skin tinged pink, cheeks puffing out as he fought to breathe through it, eyes teary and wide, like he was on the brink of going insane.

And you were loving every second of it.

“Fuck—your pussy feels so good,” Satoru rasped, holding your hips so hard you could feel them bruise. “Fuck, I don’t ever wanna leave—shiiiit—”

He lifted you a few inches higher, surrendering with a broken whimper when you dropped back down. You threw your head back, taking one of his trembling hands before you placed it over your tit. Satoru understood what you needed, fingers tweaking your perky nipple that sent shocks to your pussy, hips pumping upward, your sticky walls vacuuming his cock. Glancing backwards at him, you catalogued his pussydrunk expression, cross-eyed, not a single thought in his mind. Except maybe—maybe the feeling of your to-die-for pussy.

No. Not to die for. To go dumb for.

He completely abandoned your tit, biting down on his bottom lip like that was supposed to stop the pathetic sounds escaping his mouth.

You giggled, facing the front, focusing on how Souta was jerking himself off. Running your tongue of your lips, you decided to tease him next, index and middle finger reaching between your legs, spreading your wet folds apart to show him how his brother’s cock went in and out. Swallowing a moan, you found your aching clit and drew dizzying patterns over it, your pussy spasming around Satoru, who responded with a strangled moan.

Your orgasm slammed into you without mercy, a hard collision that fired up every nerve inside your oversensitive body, your pussy violently pulsing, coming around him again. You couldn’t lift yourself, giving a final, weak bounce on his cock, toes curling so hard you almost dislocated your ankles. “Coming—Satoru, I’m coming. Oh! God—”

The three of you drowned in euphoria. Satoru’s cock began twitching manically inside you, almost slipping out of your gushing hole. On the chair, Souta was still pumping his length, pelvis stuttering like he was on the precipice of release, the vein on his thick neck popping out, eyes on you as if you’d disappear if he ever so blinked.

“C-come for me, Souta,” you moaned all dulcet and seductive, your nails biting into his twin’s thighs, hearing how he hissed behind you. You rutted against Satoru’s lap—frantic, desperate—sweat gliding down the curve of your spine, down your temples. “Do it for me.”

Your voice did the trick, both twins coming in unison from teetering on the edge—grunts echoing in the background. Satoru’s warm cum flooded your convulsing walls, you felt it trickle down your inner thighs. The fabric still draped over his cock darkened from his release, his touch lingering as the tension in the room had seeped into every part of you both. There was no need for words now—everything had been said in the way his hands moved, the way the space between you shifted.

With shaking legs, you got up—cum oozing out your hole—and you dragged yourself closer, collapsing beside Satoru, still flushed and boneless. You kept your eyes trained on Souta, at his tousled hair, the slick shine of sweat every ragged breath—looking every bit like a model from a fresh photoshoot than an horny frat boy who had just came all over your panties.

Souta stood up, clutching your lace underwear as if to show you the evidence he’d left behind. Creamy streaks painted the pink lace, and he noticed your gaze. With a cheeky grin, he shoved it behind his back, and a nervous laugh followed soon after. “Forget you saw that.”

You giggled, light and unbothered. “Don’t worry…you’ve earned it. It’s kinda like a prize, right?”

“Thanks, princess,” he said softly, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. “Every collection needs a first piece.”

Before you could answer, Satoru’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer. “You know,” he murmured against your ear, “the lesson’s technically not over yet.”

Heat bloomed in your chest and you glanced over at him. “Oh?”

Satoru’s smile turned suspiciously wicked. “Yeah. We still have practical applications.”

“Hey,” Souta muttered from nearby, not even bothering to look at you. “If you two are starting again, I’m leaving.”

Satoru smirked. “Who said you were invited? Your part of the lesson’s over. You’re free to go.”

“He can stay,” you blurted.

Satoru’s smirk faltered, brows lifting as he looked at you. “Oh, really?” Something sharp and curious flickered behind his eyes. “Didn’t realize you were his lawyer negotiating for him.”

You gave an anxious giggle. “It feels mean to kick him out.”

“Mean,” your tutor repeated, lips pressing into a hard line. “Sounds to me like you haven’t had enough of his cock yet.”

You didn’t deny it—you couldn’t. “So what?” You huffed, though your pulse thudded loud enough to drown out everything else.

“By all means,” Satoru ground out, not looking at you. “Don’t let me stop you.” His mouth twisted. “Fuck each other.”

Your eyes found Souta’s—bold, brazen—wondering how his thick cock would feel inside you. Your thighs pressed together, the wetness in between prominent with every clench. Biting on your lower lip, fingertips reached for your necklace. You toyed with the diamond letters, tracing their jagged edges before letting your hand glide down your throat, over your collarbone…and lower, until your touch brushed over your stiffened nipples.

Souta watched you like you were a miracle unfolding in real time, something too beautiful to look away from.

“Souta…” you purred, the name slipping out of your mouth like a quiet plea, voice low and teasing, and just enough to make him crave more. “Don’t you want to take care of me? I really like it when someone takes care of me,” you whispered, almost breathless, the words simple but saturated with unintended temptation.

Your thighs fell open, glossy cunt on display—clit buzzing again. You were basically dangling meat to a hungry lion, offering your pussy to him on a silver platter.

Souta’s eyes smoldered, breath ragged and drawn, feet advancing, already lost in your spell. But just as he was about to cross the line, he paused—frozen, as if a sudden storm had brushed his senses, warning him of what was coming.

Satoru spoke up, waving a hand like he was granting him permission. “Go for it, little brother.”

The twins shared a look, identical and loaded with meaning, like a silent conversation between them. The air between them thickened, like a secret was passing—only that only they knew, and only you were about to unravel.

Souta’s lips tipped into relaxed smile, confidence settling back into place as the tension ebbed. “I may be your little brother,” he drawled, “but there’s nothing little about me.”

Satoru hummed, eyes sharp despite the easy smile. “We’ll see,” he murmured. “Would be a shame if you disappoint her.”

When he got to the edge of the bed, he climbed onto it with a fluid motion, his eyes never leaving yours. He slowly crawled toward you, his every movement making your nerves fray even more. Now he was almost between your parted knees, the distance between you narrowing with every breath you took, making you dizzy from the proximity.

Souta’s gaze stole the breath out of your lungs, self-assurance lacing into every line of him. “Trust me,” he said softly, “she won’t be disappointed.”

You tilted your head, lips spreading just slightly. “I don’t think I could be disappointed,” you said sweetly. “Not with you.”

He grinned, eyes softening. “You certainly seem to have a lot of faith in me, princess.”

You smiled, all soft and trusting. “Mhm,” you agreed. “You just look like you know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” he confirmed, though there was a faint hesitation threading in his tone. “I can show you… if you’d like.”

“Yes, come and touch—”

“Hold on, frat boy,” Satoru cut in and disregarded your request, voice light, but unamused. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Souta.”

“Souta,” you whined, “don’t listen to him, and—”

The frat boy shook his head in disagreement, not listening to a single word you had to say. “Nah…I don’t think so,” he drifted even closer, movements careful, almost measured—like he was easing himself into something he didn’t trust himself with.

Satoru’s brows raised, almost impressed. “That’s big talk for Protein Shake Guy,” he taunted. “Don’t choke now.”

Okay, now you needed to distract them, as soon as possible.

You angled your head innocently as you set your plan in motion, fingers absently playing with your necklace once again. “You know…I kinda already choked earlier,” you added brightly, like it was relevant.

Both twins froze.

A short laugh escaped Souta’s mouth, eyes flicking away for a second like he was replaying it in his head. “Yeah…I noticed,” he said, grimacing a little.

“No worries though!” You chirped, eyes straying to the monster between his legs, practically salivating at the pearly bead oozing out the slit. “After all…it is really…big.”

Souta’s eyes grew even larger, a flush creeping across his cheeks. He swallowed hard, and for a second, the confident mask slipped. “Uh, yeah,” he muttered, voice a little tighter than he intended. Then, he straightened quickly, letting a cocky grin spread over his face—too quick, too practiced. “My cock is definitely bigger than his,” Souta boastfully added, trying to sound smooth, “Guess you’ll need some extra prep, huh?”

“It’s not about size,” Satoru shot back with a smirk, rolling his eyes from behind his glasses. “It’s about performance, idiot.”

Souta grinned, unbothered by the insult, and gave an easygoing shrug. “I don’t know, man. I’m performing just fine. You’re just jealous.”

The nerdy twin darkly chuckled, shaking his head. “Jealous? Of who exactly? The guy whose brainpower runs on whey protein powder and unseasoned chicken breasts?”

“Dude,” Souta said, feigning offense, his eyes widening dramatically. “What’s wrong with protein powder? It builds muscle!” He flexed his arm—veins protruding under his slightly-tanned skin—and kissed his bicep with a cocky grin. “See? It works wonders man!”

Satoru let out a sarcastic scoff, eyeing his twin’s flex with an unimpressed glare. “Protein powder, huh? Looks like it’s the only thing keeping you from being completely useless.”

You pursed your lips, growing tired of their bickering—and the fact that they were both paying zero attention to you. “Can you both, like, just stop arguing? I’m right here!” You pouted, realizing this was probably the hundredth time you had to beg for their acknowledgement.

“Sorry, princess,” Souta apologized, crooked grin never faltering despite his brother’s mean remarks. His fingers hovered near your twitching hole, teasing the perimeter of your slit with a featherlight brush, knowing exactly how to make you squirm without going too far. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

He buried them in, pulling out and back in, wetness lewdly echoing between your legs, two digits playing with your slick and his twin’s cum, varnishing them with secretions until they were shiny to the knuckles. Hooking them just right, pressing on that spot that made you lose your mind.

“Is…is this okay?” You rasped, bucking your hips for him as he kept his eyes locked on yours, watching for every subtle reaction, every shift in your body language. “You’re not, like, grossed out?”

“Why should I be, princess?” Souta answered with a carefree tone, spreading your slick folds apart to watch how swollen glossy interior you were underneath the yellowish lighting, clit poking out from below the hood, flushed and throbbing. Droplets of release flowing out your gaping hole the more he plunged his fingers inside. “We shared the same womb for nine months. Did you honestly think we wouldn’t share the same…y’know.”

You fixed a blank stare, not getting what he eluded to. “No. I don’t know.”

Souta’s cheeks burned a darker shade of crimson. “Uh…pussy.” The word sounded wrong coming from his mouth, like he’d borrowed it from someone else and used it.

Your eyes grew two sizes. “You share pussy?”

“We share a lot of things,” Satoru piped up nearby.

Your brows knitted together, puzzled by the vagueness of it all. “Yeah? Like…what?”

“Uh…” Souta diverted his gaze, shooting his twin a helpless look. “Like…bro. Help me out here.”

“Didn’t you like being shared earlier?” Satoru suddenly asked, something wicked pouring into his eyes. “Didn’t you like your holes stuffed with our cocks? That’s what a trigonal planar bond is like. The three of us…”

“Bonded together,” Souta finished for him, staring at you with unfiltered desire.

Your eyes ping-ponged between them, brain going blank. “A triangular what?”

Satoru exhaled like you’d deeply disappointed him. “Trigonal planar,” he repeated, slow and dramatic. “Three atoms. Equal angles. Perfect symmetry.”

You blinked. “Is that…a yoga pose?”

Souta was unsmiling, despite how silly your answer sounded.

“I already explained it to you earlier—it’s a molecular bond,” Satoru shook his head. “Perfect balance. All sides equally attached.”

You pointed a finger between the three of you. “So…we’re a shape?”

“Exactly,” Souta said, giving you a supportive smile.

You nodded slowly. “Ohhhh! So if one side slacks off, the whole thing collapses?”

They both went still.

“…Yes,” Satoru said carefully.

You gasped, getting excited over the concept. “So it’s basically a group project!”

Silence.

Satoru dragged hand down his face. “You’re still not getting it.”

“I think she is,” Souta muttered.

You beamed. “Wait…so am I correct?”

“Not entirely,” Satoru drawled.

Your face fell, eyes veering to the twin kneeling between your thighs.

Souta held your gaze for too long. Then, a small, almost secret smile curved his mouth. “Triangle,” he explained softly like you were the only ones in the room. “Three points. One center.”

With his free hand, he tapped the pad of his index finger lightly over your sternum, right where your necklace rested.

“You’re here.”

Your brain stalled. “Oh…”

Your hand instinctively came up to where his touched, like you were checking if something changed. “That’s uh…” You swallowed. “That’s a lot of responsibility.” You tried to laugh it off, but your voice came out softer than you meant.

“Relax, Princess,” Souta tossed a crooked grin your way. “Didn’t I say that I’ll take care of you?”

You nodded, more assured now, elbows propping on the mattress as you leaned back. Lips trapped between your teeth when Souta began rubbing tight circles on your clit, thumb pressing down on the swollen nub until you were writhing with the growing pressure. Your clit vibrated with zaps of electricity, wracking through your body, your cunt pulsing as another wave of ecstasy washed over you. Keeping your eyes open was getting harder, dewy lashes sticking together as your surroundings tunnel-visioned.

Souta grunted, clearly worked up over the moans spilling out your throat, the throbbing increased, walls constricting before the cord finally snapped. The tension in the air thickened as his movements became erratic. “Damn, sweetheart,” he muttered, pulling back with a smirk. “You’re gonna snap my fingers off. I need those for…uh, weightlifting, y’know?”

Tipping your neck back, eyes rolling like a bowling bowl in a lane, you fisted the sheets, thighs shutting around his wrist, body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you.

Souta let his fingers linger inside your walls, slowly dragging them, chest rising and falling. Platinum brows furrowed in concentration, the space between them creasing, cheeks flushed, mirroring his brother’s earlier expression. It was funny how they could share the same mask—yet respond so differently—Satoru, all sharp and controlled, while Souta seemed to react with something else entirely, more relaxed, but just as intense.

Souta’s eyes lost their mirth, pupils dilating until all you saw was a thin circumference of cerulean. He looked seconds away from exploding, wrecked simply from fingerfucking you into oblivion. His thumb kept tracing round shapes on your clit, your oversensitive clit that wouldn’t stop spasming.

Finally, he withdrew, fingers shining and sticky.

“Fuck, princess, that was—” he sounded tortured, sitting up on his knees, hand grabbing the base of cock, lubricating his shaft with your secretions and precum, before he lined it up at your entrance—pausing just to ask of you needed a condom.

“No need,” you murmured, voice turning airy and careless—cheeks warming as you thought about how often you had unplanned sex—especially with his brother. “Ugh, I hate the pill anyway…it makes me all bloated and messes with everything. I barely remember to take it.”

Souta’s expression shifted almost instantly, tension masking his features. “You barely remember—?” He started, a note of panic creeping in—any bit of color draining from his face.

You blinked at him, then gave a small, breezy laugh, waving it off. “Relax,” you said, a little sheepish but still light. “I have an app now—it reminds me everyday. Like, super loud notifications and everything.”

You tilted your head, offering a reassuring smile. “I’ve got it under control, promise.”

“Okay,” he let out a sigh of relief. “…good, that’s smart.”

You giggled at his reaction. “See? I’m super responsible.”

Souta chortled, an adorable sound that made you almost swoon. “Okay, super responsible girl…guess I can relax now.”

With your legs wide, he slapped his cock on your pussy, sticky slaps that resounded in the room, and you keened at the sensation. Pussy clenching with that familiar hunger before he tapped the blushing tip against your entrance, thrusted in slowly, stretching the flesh out around his length. Your back arched off the bed, mouth already hanging open.

Both moaning in unison, watching how his cock sheathed to the hilt—sticky tip kissing your cervix—his pelvis pressing against yours. “Holy shit—you’re so tight, Where have you—ah—have you been all my life?” Souta groaned, drawing back just enough to slam back home.

“S-Souta,” you keened, nails digging into his muscular shoulders as you steadied yourself. Your eyes flickered past him—and caught on his twin. You sucked in a quiet breath at the expression carved into Satoru’s features, something tight and unreadable flashing behind his eyes.

Truth be told, you had almost forgotten about him, but the moment your eyes made contact, something tightened in your chest.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl,” Souta said, his voice low, snapping you out of your trance. “Focus here.”

Souta’s large hands gripped your hips as he slid out a fraction, plunging back inside with one deep thrust. You let out a high-pitched moan, feeling how much he filled you before he pushed out, then back in, setting a slow yet desperate pace. Then, he picked up, rutting into you until you were dizzy, his tip nudging that sensitive spot that set fireworks off inside your brain.

“F-fuck, fuck,” Souta stuttered, your cunt squeezing around his length—his hand laid flat on your stomach where you could see the outline of his cock poking out —stretching the skin of your abdomen. “Feel how deep I am inside you? You’re taking me so well—hah—princess.”

“Ah—fuck, you feel…feel so good—don’t stop,” you sobbed, rocking along with him, scratching that delicious itch inside you. “Please—please don’t stop.”

“How could I—ngh—ever stop when I’m finally inside you. You’d been teasing me all night, showing me how good you’d feel around me,” Souta’s face scrunched from the pleasure, his hips driving forward, before he positioned his cock toward another orgasm-inducing spot. “It’s better than I ever imagined.”

“Harder…fuck me…please…mmm…harder!” Your legs shook around him, every nerve screaming.

Your walls were clenching around him with desperate intensity. He was working his hips deeper, harder, faster—the atmosphere heavy with the sounds of your fucking. But again, your gaze wandered to his twin, catching a glimpse of envy, and it made everything feel more complicated.

“Fuck, fuck—God, you’re squeezing the shit outta me,” Souta rasped, sounding absolutely demolished. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You cried out from the overflowing emotions, how his cock was spearing into you—he was fucking you like he wanted to erase every trace of his brother. “Oh God! I’m so close—you’re gonna—gonna make me come.”

“No,” Satoru growled, his voice sharp and commanding. “Don’t let her come yet.”

Souta grinned without slowing down, moving back and forth, his length glissading between your gripping walls. “Hold up, man. You already got your turn. Let her have some real fun first.”

You hadn’t expected for Satoru to intervene, his figure appearing in a flash by the foot of the bed. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned, his voice dangerously low, eyes locked onto Souta with that familiar, harsh glint.

Souta finally stopped, glancing over at his brother with his brows raised. “Jeez, dude. She’s not going anywhere.”

“Move out the way,” Satoru snarled, shoving his twin aside with a force that was both threatening and possessive. Souta’s cock slipped out of your wetness with a sloppy pop, slit weeping with pearly orbs. Satoru nestled between your legs, his presence dominating, and the tension settled with twice the strength. Your cunt was aching for release, climax just around the corner.

“Satoru,” you whined, damn near crying at the abrupt switch throwing you off-kilter. “Why do you keep—”

The merciless nerd entered you without warning, pounding into your gooey walls, leaning forward to capture your lips with a bruising kiss, teeth nipping at your lips, stretching the flesh until it stung. You whined and his tongue wedged your mouth apart, exploring inside, remnants of your arousal still lingering as he plunged deep enough to trace the patterns on your palate. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling closer to you, nails swimming through a sea of platinum before tugging on the ends of his hair.

Satoru pulled away with a wet smack. “Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, hips snapping in tandem with yours. “What are you doing to me, ditzy girl.”

You blinked at him, eyes big and innocently deceptive, before pressing soft kisses along the curve of his throat. Satoru groaned low, cock hard and throbbing and leaking inside you. Fast strokes sent sparks firing up your core, your body shuddering violently beneath him, bring you closer and closer to the edge.

“My turn.”

It was more than physical now—it was a pull between them, a twins tug-of-war for your attention.

Souta took over, shaky hands bracketing your hips as he braced himself to thrust into you. This time, when he was inside, his rhythm was relentless, cock aiming on that same spot that made you whimper, repeat after repeat, until your body was on the brink of shattering.

“Ah—Souta! Right there…yes, right there…oh my God, I’m gonna…I’m gonna explode!” You babbled, nails clutching onto his shoulders for dear life—scratching through skin—hips bucking on their own. Every stroke made your vision blur, heat pooling until it felt like you whole body might melt, and your voice squeaked out helpless, needy little moans that begged for more without you even thinking about it.

“Time’s up,” Satoru announced, smirking.

“Not…yet…” Souta groaned as he pulled out with a squelch—reluctant—wrapping one hand on the base and pumped his cock near your entrance, tip bobbing and leaking, abdomen stretching tight with every jerk of his wrist. “Need to—ngh—finish. Where do you…fuck…where do you want me to—”

“Come all over my pussy,” you keened, thighs parting wider for him, pussy blooming with invitation. “Please, please, please, please—Souta—need you to—”

His cock twitched and opaque ribbons splattered on your pussy, painting your folds, gooey and warm as it dripped down your hole—your cunt tingling from how good it felt.

Panting from over exertion, Souta released his cock, letting it slap against his thigh with a thwack, looking utterly captivated by your messy and abused pussy—glistening, swollen, sensitive. “Fuck, prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen…” Extending his arm, he almost reached for it—

“I said, your time’s up,” Satoru snarled, words fleeing through gritted teeth.

“Jesus, fine,” Souta mumbled, but he wasn’t too pleased.

He withdrew, and Satoru situated between your thighs again, tip pushing in, and folded you under him, knees to chest, his cock sinking even deeper until you could feel him in your throat. One hand snuck between your thighs, finding your slippery clit, your pussy angled upward, pulsing for his touch. Your almost had an out-of-body experience when he began rubbing tight circles all over it, pussy dribbling with his motions. A scream escaped your mouth—loud, pornographic, wrecked—you thanked every Higher being Satoru had no roommates. But he did have neighbors.

“God, you’re so infuriating,” Satoru spat, his voice thick with frustration, but his eyes, burning with desire he couldn’t hide, betrayed him. “With your stupid brain, and your stupid jewelry, and that damn cotton candy perfume…it’s drives me insane.”

He never gave you a chance to respond, lips seeking yours again, tongues sliding in and out—sloppy, twisted strokes where you weren’t even kissing each other—just licking and sucking. You moaned into his mouth, rolling your hips upward, feeling the ridges of his cock scrape your interior walls.

He was fucking you like he really hated you, roughly pounding you through the mattress, your tits jolting along with your necklace, your pussy fluttering erratically around his cock. Your thighs were now burning, and you cursed yourself for being too confident earlier—this was like new cardio from hell—everything ached when you were folded in half.

“Gonna fuck the stupid outta you—ngh—” Satoru grunted, voice fracturing as he lost momentum for a second. He drove forward, bullying his cock in with aggression, then out, forcing the air out of your lungs. “By the time I’m done, you’ll get—” another sharp slam into the throbbing spot, pussy clenching tight, “—every. Fucking. Question. Right.”

His thrusts were downright cruel and vengeful like he was teaching you a lesson—instilling information through his cock. Every collision sent your spine bowing, legs shaking and trembling, toes curving inward, his hand still latched onto your clit, circling and rubbing furiously. “C’mon, you’re gonna come again, right? Isn’t that what you were begging me for?”

He tore sob after sob from your throat, a stream of broken moans in between, drooling cock pressing hard on the aching spot, over and over—like an overused button on a gaming controller—until your body had no other option than to finally respond—incapable of delaying your climax.

It was building too fast to stop—far too fast. The pressure spiraled out of control, tightening low in your stomach until it almost hurt. You felt it climbing, climbing, a breathless awareness flooding as panic and need tangled together. A broken gasp slipped out of you when you realized you couldn’t stop it—you didn’t want to, but you couldn’t. Not anymore.

Tears were leaking down pathetically as you tried to bargain with him, voice desperate and broken, “Fuck—Satoru—no, it’s too much—I’m gonna—”

“Too much?” He laughed again, bitter and sharp, like it scraped his throat on the way out. “Nothing’s ever too much for you,” Satoru continued, breath uneven despite the bite in his tone. His glasses slightly slid down his nose, and just for a second, the anger gave away to something far more dangerous—hunger. “You parade around like you don’t know what you’re doing. Short skirts. Tight tops. High heels. Too much makeup. Too much hairspray.” His jaw clenched. “Too much everything.”

He leaned closer, punctuating his words with a swift buck of his hips that made you squirm. “And now my cock’s too much for you?” Another bitter laugh—but it cracked at the edges. “No, no ditzy girl. You don’t get to back out now.” His breathing staggered for a second, like he hated how affected he was. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re gonna take it. You’re gonna come around my cock again and again. And you’re gonna look at me when you do.”

The second he said the words, a portal opened. A veil of liquid starlight blanketed your vision, your limbs went rigid, spine arching off the mattress, walls wildly contracting before you squirted. Releasing a jet stream of clear fluid around his cock—warm, filthy, inevitable—spraying his sweat-slicked abs, and staining the bedsheets with another embarrassing splotch.

Your eyes involuntarily skirted past his—bleary, muddled, cockdrunk—and paused right on his twin.

Souta was also looking you, blues piercing through your soul, a barely visible smile on his lips.

You shakily returned it, a moment of understanding passing between you.

“Shit—there you go—” Your cunt didn’t stop clamping down on him—and that was finally when he started twitching inside you. Hard, violent. His rhythm faltered, hips bucking like they were chasing something, cock still throbbing inside you, hot and heavy and slick with every drag. “Fuck—gonna fill you up again—wanna watch how my cum drips out of you.”

You couldn’t stop whimpering, aftershocks jolting every nerve, his hips rolling even as you tried to ride it all out. Lips parting while you gasped for air, vision whiting out—

“Can’t—ngh—hold it back any more,” Satoru’s eyes squeezed shut, glasses tilting with every languid snap of his hips. He slammed in one last time—as deep as he could get—moaning deep and guttural as he came, emptying load after load.

Your tutor was still fucking you through his comedown, pumping every drop of cum into your womb. You could feel him coat your insides, hot and sticky, cramming you full of it, and you moaned at the sensation. Satoru pulled out of your abused cunt, cum leaking out and pooling underneath you. He collapsed onto you, his weight crashing down, his body half on you, half off, a tangle of limbs that barely made sense in the moment. His chest was pressed against yours, while his lower half hung precariously, his cock prodding your inner thigh, the heat between the both of you undeniable.

Eyes fluttering shut, your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. You were exhausted, yes—but it wasn’t just that. The weight of Satoru on top of you felt suffocating—which was odd because you had always begged him to cuddle with you after sex, craving that skin-to-skin contact. But once he finished, the dismissiveness was always the same: a flat “get out, session’s over.”

The harshness of it always made the intimacy feel like a fleeting fantasy, something you’d never get to keep.

Maybe it was post-but clarity, but there was an unsettling tension at the pit of your stomach, one you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t from him. You swallowed the thought—your mind kept drifting back to Souta, who was awkwardly loitering by the desk, naked body framed by the dim light, shoulder blades sticking out like hidden wings. Red lines marred his skin, marks left by yours truly, reminders of the intense, chaotic moment.

You took a second to admire him, lifting your head just a smidge to peek from behind Satoru’s shoulder, eyes raking down his physique. God, his ass is perfect, you thought, noting the way his muscles were sculpted and toned. Yet, something deeper stirred inside you—something between longing and confusion.

You weren’t sure why this felt more than just an attraction.

You shoved against Satoru’s chest, the movement quick and almost desperate. His weight felt like it was pressing down on you, and you needed space. “Get off,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended, your body sliding away from his as you tried to distant yourself from the inconvenience of your emotions.

Satoru grunted, surprised by the force of your push. He didn’t get up completely, instead he rolled beside you, pushing himself onto his elbows as he looked at you, irritation flickering across his face.

“What’s with the attitude?” Satoru asked, his voice strident. He didn’t move to leave the bed, but he clearly wasn’t pleased by the sudden shift. “You’ve never pushed me off before. What, are you—”

“Nothing,” you swiftly denied, rearranging your face into something a little more enthusiastic. “Oh my God, that was…wow, right?” You asked instead, sighing blissfully, eyes half-lidded as you still recovered from the post-coital intensity. Your body was so sore—aching—but that was a good excuse for you to visit the spa. “I feel, like, all tingly inside…”

“Nothing, huh?” Satoru raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the shift in your demeanor. He leaned back, studying your face. “Sure, if you say so…” he chuckled, but the amusement in his eyes never quite reached the rest of his expression. “If you feel all tingly inside, that must’ve been some wow, huh? Tell me, which one of us made you feel like you’re on cloud nine?”

His question hit you like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. He was looking at you expectantly, clearly enjoying the discomfort in your silence.

Souta clapped his hands together, his voice a little too loud. “So, uh, yeah, maybe we should clean up…I mean, we made quite a mess, right?” He gave a nervous laugh as if trying to steer the focus away from the weird tension in the room.

“R-right!” You agreed with an upbeat tone, silently thanking him for the much-needed distraction.

You all got to work.

The whole process had taken less time than you had expected, with Satoru barking out orders like a drill sergeant—“wipe this” and “put the bedsheets in the washer and separate the whites from the colors!”—as if he as in some military training instead of a post-sex cleanup routine.

After everything was over—and you’d scrubbed yourself clean with some towels—you traded your skimpy clothes for Souta’s oversized shirt, the fabric large and loose, swallowing you whole while you lounged on the bed. Meanwhile, Souta rummaged through his brother’s closet and pulled out a shirt that seemed way too way out of character—a nerdy graphic tee full of logos and comic book references. It almost didn’t seem like something he’d wear.

He looked at you, offering you a grin. “I mean, it’s better than nothing, right?” But the way he said it—there was something behind his words, a hint of familiarity you couldn’t place.

When Souta slipped on the shirt, it fit him just right—almost as if it was tailored to his frame. He looked exactly like his twin, no doubt about it. But then there was the smile.

It wasn’t just any smile. It was a smile that sent your heart into overdrive, and suddenly everything felt different. There was something in his eyes that made you second-guess everything you thought you knew about him.

“So…you still don’t know the answer?” Satoru suddenly asked, his gaze sharp, cutting through your thoughts. He tilted his head sideways, as if waiting for you to finally realize what had been in front of you all along. “Maybe it’s time for you to connect the dots.”

You blinked at him, a little disoriented partially from all the back-to-back orgasms and from thinking about his twin. You adjusted yourself and sat up, brows clashing together. “Wait…what do you mean connect the dots?” Then, your eyes suddenly sparkled. “Oh! Like those little puzzles where you draw the lines and it makes a unicorn or something?”

Souta let out a quiet breath, his expression the epitome of patient. “Not the puzzle, princess,” he said gently. He tipped his head slightly toward your tutor. “He means…you’re supposed to put things together. The clues.”

“The clues?” You stared at him, not a single thought inside your brain.

Something between disbelief and frustration crossed Satoru’s face before he shook his head. “You’re actually most clueless girl in the world.” He clicked his tongue, his gaze sliding back to his brother. “Screw it. Let’s just show her.”

The room was suddenly dead still, a charged silence hanging between you, the two men before you. You shifted on the mattress, tugging the oversized shirt down your thighs and folded your legs beneath you, straining your brain trying to understand what they were about to do.

They stood a few feet apart.

Identical in every sense.

Both equally bulky.

Same silver hair. Same height. Same face.

The one who’d been sharp with you for months—glasses, posture straight, expression cool—looked at his twin.

Not at you.

At him.

And the energy between them had shifted.

Something in his jaw loosened. Like he was fed up. Then, casually—too casually—he asked: “Ready to switch back?”

Your stomach plummeted.

The other twin—the one who had been smiling sweetly at you, fumbling hooks, laughing with feigned confidence under his breath—didn’t look too surprised.

He didn’t even look confused.

He just rolled his shoulders once, as if to get rid off all the tension. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now. Not flustered. Not himbo-soft. Just…steady. “Guess it’s about time.”

And then it happened.

Not a dramatic transformation.

Just subtle shifts.

“Go on,” Satoru encouraged his twin, passing him the thick pair of glasses.

Souta hesitated for a moment, then grabbed and slipped them on like they were a mask that had always belonged to him. His hand lifted to the bridge of his nose, pushing the glasses higher the way you’d seen his twin do it before.

His posture changed, spine straightening.

The playful tilt of his mouth disappeared.

His gaze became a lot intense—carrying this sharp intelligence.

And the one who’d worn the glasses for months?

He smirked.

Sharper than usual, his eyebrow piercing shining bright.

You felt it deep in your chest.

The switch wasn’t physical.

It was posture. Tone. Stillness.

Like watching two actors drop their roles at the end of a play.

And scene.

Your voice barely functioned. “What…?”

Neither of them rushed to explain.

Satoru reached for the cap on the desk and pulled it on like it was second-nature to him, flipping the brim backward.

Your eyes widened slightly.

Because now he looked exactly like the one you thought was Souta.

Stunned, your eyes followed the movement automatically.

For a second…nothing happened.

Your brain scrambled backwards through months of memories.

The different kisses.

The inconsistency.

The biology slip.

The fumbling.

Your eyes flicked to Satoru.

Then back to Souta.

The glasses.

The cap.

The eyebrow piercing.

The posture.

Then it almost dawned on you—something inside your mind snagged—you could feel the answer slowly rise to the surface.

Your mouth parted slightly.

“Wait,” you said again, slower this time—your thoughts racing at an impeccable speed. “…hold on.”

If your eyes grew any wider they’d pop out of their sockets. “Oh my God,” you breathed.

You pointed between them, horrified—flabbergasted.

“You guys—” Your voice jumped an octave. “You switched!”

Satoru snorted. “Took you long enough.”

“Wait, wait, wait…” You stared between the two of them like your brain was trying to reboot. “So…you’re the nerd?” You said slowly, pointing at Souta.

Souta smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, but I’m the real Satoru,” he admitted, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose like it was a habit he hadn’t been able to indulge in for a while.

A small gesture that suddenly looked more natural to him than the cap ever had.

The other twin grinned, slouched casually against the desk. “Which makes me Souta,” he said lazily, jerking a thumb at himself. “The real frat boy.”

This was the biggest mindfuck of all.

Not only had they managed to fool you once, but twice!

Granted, you were an easy target—though this didn’t excuse their cruel joke.

“…Oh my God,” you whispered, staring at him. “Wait…I’ve been with the frat boy this whole time?” You whispered, clutching the sheets. “All that time…I thought I was with the nerdy one…and it was you.”

You buried your face in your hands, heart racing. “No wonder why you were…so…different.”

The real nerd—Satoru—awkwardly adjusted his glasses. “Uh…sorry, princess. You didn’t deserve that.”

Souta leaned closer, eyes playful but full of frat confidence, with just a hint of asshole. “Relax, ditzy girl. You survived. That’s what counts.”

After you dropped your hands back on your lap, you gazed at both of them. “…But, like, why did you do it?” You asked, breathless from the whole shock. “Why switch? Why all the games?”

“Why not?” Souta said, his hands slipping into his pockets, clearly unfazed. “It’s fun.”

Satoru, however, looked more abashed. “We wanted to see if you’d notice—and maybe also learn a couple of things. We always switch…you’re not our first victim,” he confessed, eyes widening as he realized how it sounded. “But you’ll definitely be the last. This won’t be happening again.”

You mulled over his words, letting them sink in. “I still don’t get it,” you said, tilting your head. “If you’re the frat boy”—you pointed at Souta—“aren’t you supposed to be like the dumb one? How come you were able to like explain chemistry to me?”

Souta’s lips curled into his usual smug grin. He stretched his arms out like he’d been waiting for this question. “You think just because I wear caps and lift weights, I’m a complete idiot?” He chuckled, crossing his arms to show his bulging muscles underneath his sweater. “Nah, ditzy girl. I’m a bio major. I know my stuff.”

Bio? Of course, another crucial clue you had dismissed as nothing.

You blinked, drowning in more confusion. “Wait…so you’re actually…smart?”

Souta’s smirk only grew. “You’d be surprised. I just don’t wear it on my sleeve, y’know?” Now that the truth was out, even his lingo became more frat boy coded. “No one expects me to know anything other than to throw a party. But trust me, I’m way more than that.”

Satoru nodded in agreement. “True. We’re both pretty intelligent,” he said, glancing at his twin. “He actually knows more about chemistry than I do.” The real nerd paused, lifting the corners of his lips. “But I just happen to like it more.”

You smiled at him, hit with another wave of flutters.

“Enough about that,” Souta jumped in. “You never got to answer the question.”

You groaned, having enough of this twisted twin trivia. “What question? If it’s about the VACUUM theory, then—”

“Not VSEPR,” Souta cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Us.”

You felt your heart lurch—your gaze betrayed you, lingering on Satoru for a beat too long before you could stop it. “…Oh.”

Souta’s eyes tracked yours, catching that lasting glance. He let out a humorless laugh. “Wow. You didn’t even need to answer.” His gaze darted to his brother. “You’re not exactly subtle, princess.” The nickname sounded wrong coming from his mouth—more like an insult than anything affectionate. Like something dirty.

He stepped closer, crowding into your space, voice dropping low and razor-sharp. “Funny,” he spat. “Considering I’m the one you spent months fucking.”

The words landed like a slap.

Your chest tightened, heat rushing to your face—humiliation, anger, something raw underneath.

For a second, you couldn’t breathe.

But beneath that sting…something else surfaced.

Not guilt.

Not confusion.

Certainty.

Satoru came forward, putting himself between you and his brother, shoulders squared in a way that was suddenly very un-nerdlike.

“Souta, that’s eno—”

You held one hand up, keeping Satoru from getting in the middle—the last thing you wanted was to rouse any problems between siblings. This was your confrontation.

He backed up, giving you a nod to show he respected your boundary.

“Yeah…” You answered, lifting your chin in a fragile kind of bravery. “I think I just…I kept wishing for it to mean something.”

He didn’t crumble—he hardened.

Souta’s jaw clenched, something ugly flashing across his face before the smirk snapped into place. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“You were mean to me, Satoru,” you defended quietly, not even angry. Just stating a fact.

“It’s Souta,” he correctly automatically.

“Whatever,” you replied. The word wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t dramatic. It was worse.

Dismissive.

For once he didn’t get a reaction out of you.

He blinked like that wasn’t a part of the script.

Souta rolled his eyes, recovering from your intentional jab. “Oh, c’mon. You liked it.”

You didn’t bother wasting another word on him and turned your head—slowly—to the other twin. To the one with the glasses. The one who wasn’t smirking. The one who looked like he was bracing for an impact.

Standing there, taking up as little space as possible like he wanted to disappear into the dark corners of the room.

“You,” you said softly.

He straightened instinctively. “Yeah?”

Your fingers twisted together in front of you—not shy, just thinking for once. Like deep thinking where you listened to what your brain said for once that wasn’t nonsense or just never-ending static.

Thinking kinda hurt.

“You asked if I was okay.”

He swallowed, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Well. Yeah. I mean. Of course. I had to make sure…”

“You got confused by my corset.”

His ears flamed red. “There were a lot of hooks.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. “You thought they looked like teeth.”

He groaned softly. “Please don’t bring that up.”

“You explained to me what a triangle plane band is.”

“It’s trigonal—” Satoru started, then he seemed to change his mind. “You know what? We’ll work on it.”

“And you called me beautiful.”

That one made him freeze before his mouth curled into a sweet smile, “That’s because you are.”

You thought about the kiss, the way he made you feel with his lips against yours.

“You kissed me like…like it meant something,” you said, voice wavering.

Satoru glanced down, then he looked straight into your eyes like he needed to make sure your brain was ready to document every word. “It did.”

Across the room, Souta scoffed, incredulous. “I can’t believe you’re actually picking him. I’m the one who spent hours tutoring you—which was worse than getting a fuckin’ root canal, by the way. I’m the one who knows exactly how to make you come. I literally made you squirt not even thirty minutes ago!” His voice carried a sharp edge—half-wounded pride, half-challenge—as if he couldn’t decide if he was angrier at you…or the fact that you might walk away from what he had to offer.

Orgasms and offensive insults.

You glance back at the mean twin. “He didn’t make me feel stupid.”

Silence.

Not loud.

Not explosive.

Just…heavy.

Then you looked at the nerd, the real one. The one who pretended to be confident because he thought that was what you liked. But it wasn’t only that.

“I don’t care if you go to the gym fifty times a day, I don’t care if you can solve the…the,” you waved your hand vaguely, searching for something that sounded impressive enough to match his ego. “VAPOR theory.”

“It’s the VSEPR theory,” Souta corrected again with yet another eye roll.

“And I don’t care how many times you made me squirt,” you continued, adding a pointed look at him.

The words didn’t tremble. They landed.

Then you turned back to the nerd—to Satoru—and your voice shifted. Softer. Steadier. “I care that you’re nice to me. And tonight…tonight you were the one who proved that. Not him.”

He stared at you like you had just rewritten the laws of physics. “B-but I’m not—”

“You never had to switch your personality in the first place,” you interrupted tenderly. “It’s okay to, like, just be yourself.”

Satoru blinked at you like you made a groundbreaking revelation.

And then your lips curved—slow, bright, unmistakably you. “Plus. Didn’t you already know?” You said lightly. “I kinda have a thing for real nerds.”

Satoru leaned in, voice low and steady, eyes sparking with warmth behind his glasses. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met.”

Then, he kissed you—warm, sure, one arm firm at your waist as he pulled you closer. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t for anyone else in the room.

It wasn’t a fantasy created inside your mind.

It was a chemical reaction, a real one.

He broke the kiss first, eyes wide and shining like he’d been hit by the same wave of heat and electricity. “Wow,” he murmured, a soft laugh exiting as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Souta grumbled, his irritation swelling as his eyes bounced between you and Satoru. “We’ll see how long you lovebirds last when you’re dealing with someone who trips over her own stupidity. Remember that, bro. She’ll never be able to keep up with a Gojo’s brain.”

“Hey, you don’t have to talk about her like that,” Satoru defended, his tone was stern—a volume you had yet to have heard from him. Then, his eyes softened, a teasing edge creeping in. “Besides,” he added quietly. “If she can handle you, she can handle me. And I think she already has. What good is a brain if the heart behind it is rotten? And she’s”—Satoru faltered as if losing courage, but he pushed on, staring straight at you—“kind, gorgeous…fun. And she has a beautiful heart.”

You gasped, clutching at your chest as if he might actually see through it. “Wait…you can see my heart?”

Satoru shoulders shook with a quiet laugh at your expression, eyes warm instead of mocking. “Yes, princess,” he murmured. “Soft, sweet, and pretty. Just like you.”

Souta bristled, jaw working like he was chewing back something vicious. For a split second it looked like he might say it anyway. Then, he exhaled sharply and looked away first. “Whatever,” he said, his voice tight. “I’m done here.”

Both of you watched him as he gathered his stuff and left the room. The distant sound of the front door slamming shut was the only confirmation he left.

Satoru exhaled in relief once his brother left, shoulders sagging as if he had used all his energy to deal with him. “Hey,” he looked down at you. “Don’t listen to him. I meant every word—and maybe…I’ve been waiting to tell you that for a while.”

You almost burst into tears, but that would’ve been too dramatic, and you were done with the theatrics for the night. “But…what about not being smart? I can barely pass my classes, it takes me a while to understand things. You’ll have to explain everything to me. Don’t you want—”

Before you could finish, Satoru leaned in and captured your lips with his own. The kiss was just like before, soft and insistent—perfect—leaving no room for doubt.

Quieting your insecurities in a heartbeat.

When Satoru finally pulled away, his thumb brushed lightly along your jaw. “Let me take you out, princess,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “An actual date. No twins. No switching. Just us.”

A giddy giggle slipped from your lips, batting your eyelashes at him, even though of most of them had fallen off from all the sex. Fuck, you definitely needed to get them redone, but that was the least of your concerns right now. You would much rather pay attention to the gorgeous, sweet, and kind nerd standing in front of you. “Will it involve chemistry?”

Satoru’s laugh was low and amused, brushing against the shell of your ear. He flashed that fake himbo-esque grin, the one that fooled you for months, “Chemistry, biology, as long as you’re mine.”

an: here’s my contribution to the nerdjo + fratjo verse lol. i really, really enjoyed writing this. hope u all enjoyed the story! i had a Valentine’s Day oneshot to write but ofc i had zero time to work on it. this oneshot just flowed out more bc i’m sooooo in love with nerdjo (he’s def my fav Gojo variant). the ending was low key rushed, maybe i’ll rewrite it better in the future or maybe an alternate ending. but omg that part abt the whey protein powder and unseasoned chicken breasts killed me (i’m so funny sometimes) LMAO!

"No, of course not," he practically sputtered, holding his hands out defensively as Suguru briefly contemplated throwing him out of his house before he could scramble for another line.

None of it was supposed to be like this.

He spent all day trying to fix things for you. To make progress on scraping up the mess from the floor and giving you a clean foundation to start over from. The sex tape was mostly scrubbed, but you were scared of losing your job. Of finding a place you could afford. He'd asked around his contacts at least to see if he could snag a lead on either while he sat through meeting after meeting of corporate jargon and crisis management teams all coming up with ways to capitalize on what he was fighting to make go away.

But maybe he should've stopped for a few seconds to look back at what was happening under his own nose. In his own house.

Because sitting at his kitchen table, marker scribbles staining his t-shirt and stickers plastering pale skin from playing with his daughters, was a man who wanted one of the best parts of his life, to swoop in and save you and scrub Suguru completely out of the picture.

For one frozen second, he wondered if this was how Sukuna felt.

If the thick poison currently sitting heavy on his tongue tastes this fucking awful to him too.

Was he walking in his shoes now? Seeing how it felt to watch someone just show up and do the things for you that he failed to do? Would he have to watch you fall in love and drift further and further apart from him?

"I wasn't trying to fall for her, fuck, I mean, it's not like I ever fucking meant to-"

"Yeah, sure," Suguru scoffed, feeling like he was fourteen years old again watching Satoru carelessly smile and wave wherever he went in clothes that cost more than his parents made in months. When he effortlessly made grades Suguru had to study for. When he took the dream Suguru had and handed it over to his dad.

He wasn't being fair.

Knew the truth was more complicated than that. Fully fucking aware that he was more complicit in it than his own anger would let him accept right now.

It wasn't supposed to be a competition.

But then again, Satoru wasn't supposed to steal the love of his life either.

You weren't his right now. Maybe not ever again. But the idea of you being Satoru's made him sick. Jealousy coiling in his stomach, trying to drown him in the sticky pit of discomfort that kept bubbling up higher, flooding his lungs until he could barely breathe.

He had told himself before that even if you decided to be with someone else, he'd still be supportive. Try to find a way to be in your life anyway, if it was what you wanted. Make up for his mistakes and be there for you as a friend.

Couldn't stand to give up your smile, the soft way you spoke to him or the gentle way your fingers brushed against his skin. How you made everything feel brighter, warmer, just by standing a little closer to him.

But fuck, Suguru couldn't stand the idea of watching you lean up to kiss Satoru, your soft lips on his and your wrists looped around his neck, playing with his soft undercut and giggling at one of his bad jokes.

"It's just, everything about her, the way she laughs and-"

Suguru forced himself to tune him out. Unable to bear listening to him list off what made you so lovable like you were some stranger he hadn't met yet. He already knew every reason.

He adored you first.

Was it a mistake to bring you around to the shows? Should he have kept you out of the limelight from the start? Taken you on normal dates and held onto you like a secret someone else would just spoil?

"She doesn't know," Satoru said, as if it made it better. As if he was throwing any kind of lifeline for him to cling to when every word that left his lips just compounded on how fucked this all was.

"But you're going to tell her," Suguru assumed, voice hardening into an impenetrable wall. A defense that none of his pouts or promises could breach.

It might not be this week. Or this month.

But sooner or later, Satoru would spill his secret without thinking of who would have to sweep up the mess.

Would you want him too? Give him a chance because he'd done nothing to you yet except play the rich prince ready to cater to your needs?

Suguru hated how his internal monologue sounded. How he was already spinning a story and seeing how all the steps would unfold before anything had even happened.

Able to acknowledge that at least Satoru was saying something to him, admitting it so it didn't have to be awkward.

It just didn't make any of it easier to hear.

"I-I'm not," Satoru huffed, although it came out strained. Suguru knew his best friend well enough to pick up the split second he averted his gaze, glancing down at the nail polish stain on the table instead of the nearly empty pizza box in front of him from the dinner he brought over.

"You can't expect me to believe that," Suguru muttered, his voice measured, calm. Covering up everything buried underneath as his nails dug little crescent circles into his palm on his lap.

"I told you because I thought you deserved to know," his best friend argued, leaning back in his chair as nervousness flickered in his stare.

"You told me because you think something might happen," he corrected. Why else would he?

If he thought he could hide it, dig a grave deep inside himself and throw his feelings for you in without anyone finding them, he would've just done that. But no, Satoru was sitting here, in his house, at his dining table, telling him that he wanted his ex-girlfriend.

"I paid for, uh, her to go on a vacation," Satoru mumbled, and Suguru was fairly sure if the vein in his forehead throbbed any harder, it would burst. Maybe give him a brain aneurysm and kill him on the spot so he didn't have to live in a world where you belonged with his best friend.

"You-"

"She called me and just, you know, sounded all sad and I couldn't help it," he rambled, gesticulating with his hands and half-pouting. Of course. Satoru could never help himself. "I mean, doesn't she deserve a break anyway?"

You deserved the world.

It just fucking sucked to not be the one giving it to you.

"What do you expect from me right now?" Suguru deadpanned, bottling up the hurt before it could burst up. Feeling the dam of self-restraint start to splinter, the exhaustion that was around creeping around the corners of his brain threatening to make everything explode.

Satoru's mouth opened before he clamped it closed just as fast, rendered speechless for once.

It didn't help.

He didn't know what would anymore.

His face fucking hurt. Bruised and swollen and aching from getting the shit beat out of it before. The migraine that had been on the horizon all day throbbing behind his eyes as he uselessly massaged his temple. His heat aching at the idea of you curled up alone in a hotel bed trying to heal what he'd broken.

And now some new part of himself was shattering at knowing Satoru had a point. That his best friend might be better for you than he ever was.

"I was hoping you wouldn't hate me," Satoru finally spoke again.

That was the really terrible part.

Suguru didn't. Wasn't sure if he could ever be capable of loathing the one person who had been there for him through thick and thin.

He just couldn't fight the fear he was about to find out.

reblogs n comments are super appreciated <3 love hearing your thoughts as always !

you should feel bad. you do. you know it's awful. know you're using satoshi in a way that disgusted you to your very core— but what did it matter?

he probably fucked more girls than you could count. probably had them in this position. squeezing their thighs and calling them his babydoll while he rubbed their clit and told them to cum for him.

you knew guys like him too well. unfortunately well. you wouldn't be fooled again. so really— were you in the wrong for imagining his nerdy twin?

you're sure it didn't matter to satoshi anyway. as long as he had a warm pussy to fill and a hit for the night. guess you're both using each other, huh?

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ was eating up all of your attention. he thought he'd have to go back to chasing you down again after that night. but to his surprise, two days later you were giving him eyes in an empty hallway and batting your lashes.

. . . should he really be at fault for the way he shoved you into the lockers with a hand buried in the back of your hair and a hand squeezing your ass? could he really be the one to blame when he crashed his lips to yours and shoved his tongue in your mouth when you were looking at him so sweetly?

"babydoll," he groaned, whined, as he sucked on your tongue. "keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna make sure we get expelled."

and when you nipped at his lip piercing and called his name so softly? he just had to dive back in and kiss you until your knees were shaky. not caring in the slightest for the footsteps that stopped at the foot of the hall.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ for the second time, has never wanted to break his brother's jaw more.

or should he blame you? surely you knew by now that he took this hallway to get to quantum physics class. surely you knew that there was a chance he'd walk down this hallway and catch you face-fucking his brother. right?

the assignment sheet he'd been reviewing in his hand crumpled. fist shaking and jaw tight. fine. fine. if you wanted his brother so bad? you could have him.

it's hopeless anyway. satoru wouldn't even know how to treat you if he had the chance. too inexperienced. too emotionally inept.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ made sure to avoid you like the plague. he never should have let impulse take over. never should have kissed you in that library. fucked you on his fingers so clumsily and made you realise how useless his hands were when they weren't practising equations and flipping through textbooks.

he hated how he still wanted you. how he still thought about you. how he'd bury his face into a pillow and hump on another until he was grunting and cursing your name into the fabric. until he was whimpering it— like some pathetic boy who got his candy stolen.

"I hate you—" he huffed, voice shaking as his hand still had the nerve to squeeze around his tip and rub another pitiful spout of cum out of him.

"I hate you. I h-hate you— fucking hate you." his head tips back, breaths fogging his glasses that hang off his nose. thighs twitching from three orgasms spilled all over his sheets just because he can't get you out of his fucking head.

what did it matter? you're the kind of girl only satoshi would know how to please. and it seemed you knew that.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ was confronted by his best friend, sukuna, one thursday morning. yanked into some empty classroom with his helmet still tucked under his arm and cursing at the pink haired jock.

"the fuck's your problem?" he grumbled.

"should be asking you that shit." sukuna huffed.

he found out very quickly what sukuna was on about. asking if he was okay, if he was on something, if he finally gave in to peer pressure and decided to snort a line of some shit because he absolutely was not acting like himself. not looking at girls, denying numbers, missing parties. it wasn't like satoshi. not the campus heartthrob who just had to smile and wink a pretty blue eye to get whatever he wanted.

"you've been all over that girl." sukuna said. "you've never been this hooked. heard you last night too."

satoshi had to bite back his smirk. right. he had you bouncing on his cock last night. grinding your hips up into his and whimpering for him to help since he's just too big and your poor pussy's struggling. wait—

sukuna's rough hand shook him by the arm. "see? you're fucking spacey. what the hell's going on with you?"

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ got a firm talking to. got told he was actually falling in love— and that vulnerability scared the piss out of him. love? he didn't know how to love— not really. girls liked his dick and his bike and the filthy things he'd whisper in their ear when no one was looking. but love. . . fuck.

the way his heart was hammering said it. the way his chest fluttered when sukuna brought you up.

"what the fuck do I do?" he mumbled, hating how soft his voice was as he raked a hand through his white tuffs. "yeah— okay, maybe I like her. but what the fuck do I do?"

"take her out. maybe somewhere to eat. somewhere fun. can't be fucking her every time you meet up." sukuna flicked his arm.

satoshi winced. then considered it. maybe he could finally take you for a drink like he'd first offered. or maybe a party? a midnight ride?

"yeah well, she wants to fuck me whenever we meet up." he mulled, then shrugged. "guess I can combine the two. maybe that's just her style, y'know?"

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ thought about it a little more than he'd like to admit. spaced out in his classes, spent his lunch scrolling through food joints, hell— he even made a note on his phone. he wasn't good at this stuff. wasn't sure when last he went out on a date. girls usually wanted him for his body and that was it. they cried on his dick and scratched up his back but he never really offered them to hold their hand in some romantic coffee shop or whatever.

it hit him in the dead of night. when he was in bed and on his routinely hour of thinking about you. he phone has buzzed with a gallery memory. a picture he'd snapped from the photo album, of a kid him and satoru at a fair with their parents. satoru was hugging some big stuffie while satoshi lingered behind with a half-eaten funnel cake.

and that's when it hit him. . . a fair. they're fun, there's food, they're cute. that's what the couples in the movies do, right?

he sent you a text immediately. then flopped his phone down onto his chest and grinned at the ceiling like an idiot.

well. until a cold realisation washed over him, and he had to call up his best friend in the dead of night to awkwardly ask for some pointers.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ couldn't believe it. you actually agreed. you were actually standing right beside his bike and holding the helmet he'd handed you. with a cute little dress on and that lip gloss he had the urge to smear in heated kisses. but he held back.

"so you just had another helmet lying around?" you asked, brow arching as you fiddled with the straps.

"nah." he waved his hand. "just snatched one from the store."

he blinked at the look you gave him, then grinned as he took the helmet. plopping it on your head and clasping the strap beneath your chin. "meant I bought it baby. whatdya take me for? a delinquent?"

he flipped the visor up. crooned at your little glare and stroked his thumb on the side of your neck. "you really want me to answer that?" you huffed.

"don't look at me like that."

"or what?"

he pressed his lips to your temple. hand squeezing on your waist as he hoisted you up against him.

"or I'm gonna have to do some nasty things to you right over my bike, babydoll."

he always loved how flustered you got. the way you shoved at his shoulders and huffed at him as you turned away. but despite his wide grin and his low words— he didn't want any of that tonight. he just wanted to take you out. treat you right. if you initiated, well, he guessed he couldn't deny you but. . .

tonight he wanted to try to love you the way that you deserved. just for tonight.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ sent you a text. he couldn't help it. he saw you leave capmus with satoshi. saw the way you were bickering and he was grinning. what, were you off somewhere to fuck like rabbits again? off somewhere to forget about how it was his dick you were begging for in the library? the insecurity, the hurt, it all spilled over into harsh thumbs and harsher words.

gojo satoru: he's good for you. you're both whores.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ got you whatever you wanted at the fair. sweet treats? drinks? that oddly shaped teddy bear that he caught you glancing at when you passed one of those overpriced ring toss games? he made sure to win it for you. had no problem catching the rig in the game. he remembered when his parents would take him and satoru to these fairs and his dad would win the prizes. satoru often got them but— whatever. satoshi didn't wanna focus on that now.

all he cared about was the way you tried not to smile as he victoriously handed you the deformed plushie. "guess that means you owe me a kiss huh?" he hummed, leaning over you like some lovesick puppy.

he didn't catch the way you hesitated. nor the itch in your palms. he was too distracted by your gloss on his lips and the kiss that he melted into. shoulders sagging and heart fluttering as you hooked your arms round his neck. pulled him in deeper. gripped his hair.

he was all dazed. so drunk on your lips and the idea that he was here. kissing you at some fair with butterflies in his stomach and his heart in his hands. he didn't even process your mouth that slipped to his ear.

"I spotted a photobooth not too far. wanna go make some memories?"

as you nipped on his lobe. his chest fluttered.

wait.

that didn't sound very cutesy romantic.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't aware that the only reason you pushed him into that photobooth and climbed into his lap was because you were thinking of his brother. had no idea that satoru had even texted you. that the only reason you started humping on his lap and whining his name into his ear was because his twin had pissed you off and your pussy was throbbing for satoru. not him. but satoru.

he was a fool, really. gripping your waist and drowning on your lips. groaning into your tongue as he bucked up into you. catching on your clit just right and gripping the back of your neck as your pretty moans pitched.

"hah— gonna get us caught." he mumbled. too high on the way you ground on his cock to focus on how he was distracted by lust rather than love. on how you'd turned a sweet kiss into a filthy makeout session in a photobooth.

"that what you want? wanna get caught bouncing on my dick?"

his words were muffled by your heated lips. the hot tangle of your tongue and the dirty grind of you hips. blissfully unaware that you just needed him to shut up so that you could imagine his twin while you ground yourself to an orgasm.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ felt his knees shake as you both eventually crawled out of the photobooth with a strip of filthy pictures. unbeknownst that it was a testimony of you wanting his body because he looked like a man who actually held your heart.

he still folded it. fixated on the perfect shot of you both kissing. then tucked it away in his wallet.

he should have known better. he really should have.

but he was so lost in the fantasy of this date. in the idea that he was doing well for once— treating a girl in a way he never has before. outside of sex. outside of what his fingers, tongue or dick could do. no technique, just tenderness. he gave you his jacket at some point in the night. his heart throbbed at how pretty you looked in it.

yeah. satoshi was a bit oblivious to the way your hands were all over him at the haunted house attraction. he had to push you against one of the walls and kiss you stupid. but it's just because you needed him so bad— right?

yeah. he didn't think much of the way your hand crept on his lap while you both sat down to share a sundae. he just slipped his fingers down and wrapped them around yours. gave you a little squeeze.

he surely wasn't paying attention when you'd kissed him hard as the ferriswheel stopped at the top. all he heard was the fireworks above. all he felt were your hands pushing under his shirt. the way you climbed back into his lap and gripped the back of his hair.

no. satoshi didn't care. all he cared about was that you were kissing him. and it was beneath the fireworks. doesn't get more romantic than that, right?

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ was all loopy as he drove you both back home. his head spinning cause your head felt so warm laid between his shoulders as he steered the bike back to campus. he skipped a red light. didn't even care about the speeding ticket that'll probably await him.

all he cared about were your arms looped around his waist and the fluttering in his chest.

he walked you up to your dorm. told you to keep the helmet, and the jacket. smiled— not grinned or smirked or anything smug of sort.

he smiled when he told him goodnight.

"don't I get one last kiss?"

he couldn't help it. he was greedy for what he thought was his.

and here you both were now. with him pinning you to the opened door. hands gripping your thighs that plushed on his waist. his mouth on yours. hot and hungry and the kind of desperate need that he hasn't felt before with any other girl.

your hands were in his hair again. they always were. holding your mouths together as you rutted your hips into his.

"babydoll," he groaned, withdrawing so that saliva webbed both of your lips. a few messy strings caught on his tongue piercing. his white lashes fluttered over blue eyes practically shaped into little hearts. "you don't know what you do to me."

his breathing was ragged. something clenched in his chest. then lodged in his throat.

something he couldn't quite name but wanted to say anyway as he looked into your glassy eyes and felt your hot cunt throbbing on him through his jeans.

he sucked in a breath. one large hand cupped your face and tilted it up. he drew closer. breaths bated. heart stuttering. "I—"

bzztt!

he cleared his throat. something told him to pull his phone out. the text floating on his screen had him blinking.

toru: dude I need your help.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ set you down. smooched you for good measure and apologised. called you his babydoll one last time and told you he had an emergency. satoru never texted him for anything. and as much as he'd love to spend another night between your thighs— his brother came first.

he rushed off. leaving you panting and with a heavy stone in your heart as you shut your door and pressed your back into it.

did you really just do that? did you really just use a man because he had the face of your rival who you fell in love with? because his voice sounded just like satoru's when he said the right thing in the right tone?

you looked at the helmet in your arms. remembered the jacket wrapped around you.

you felt sick.

but you shoved it down. told yourself that satoshi only wanted sex. that you'd never love someone like him. that this was fair transaction.

as you plopped the helmet on your desk and drew a heavy sigh. still hot and bothered between the legs as you flopped onto your stomach into your bed. pulling your pillow closer and burying your face into it with a muffled, exagerated whine at your own heart.

his jacket still felt so warm around you.

sleep. you just needed some sleep. needed to stop thinking about the twins that you were caught in some messy triangle with. your eyes hung heavy. fluttering shut as your breath slowed. body easing into the sheets. you allowed sleep to drift you off somewhere warm.

that was until. you felt a weight press down on top of you.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ was shaking. actually shaking. his hands were shaking as they snatched your waist. his knees were shaking as they shoved into the bed. he watched you panic. watched you squirm. watched you jerk up— only to freeze when you saw him.

"sat— satoru?"

and he kissed you. harder than he had in the library. harder than in any of his dreams. it was clumsy and fervent. a clash of teeth and tongue.

the worst part? you kissed him back. fuck. you kissed him back. you want him. some part of you wanted him. even though you keep giving yourself to his bastard twin.

he gripped the back of your hair. shoved your face down and rutted his hips against your ass. slow, and rough and haphazard as groans caught in his throat.

he lurched down. nose pressing into your cheek and his cock throbbing against the back of your thigh.

a part of him thought his heart would stop from how hard it was beating. thought he'd pass out from pure hyperventilation with how heavy his breathing was.

his voice was ragged. it didn't sound like him. he didn't feel like himself. didn't know what he was doing— only that he was so. fucking. tired. of seeing you with satoshi.

"you wanted it?" he jammed his hips harder into yours. grinding in frantic bucks. "then you're gonna take it."

teeth clenched. eyes glossy behind his glasses. he shoved your head into the pillow further and nearly whined at your muffled moans as he pressed his panting mouth against your ear.

jaw ticked. breath jagged.

"even if I don't know how to give it. you're gonna fucking take it."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

♡ ₊˚‧ enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

"You're ridiculous," You did giggle now, still picturing a flustered Satoru struggling to even get his shirt off if he was in the same room as you. Anyway, Satoru had been the one pushing so hard for you two to get together after your one night stand to start with.

"And you're oblivious," He retorted with a little click of his tongue.

He turned a sharp corner to a narrow stairwell, taking two steps up at a time until he reached the second floor, the hall noticably more deserted as he continued to carry you past a few wasted makeout sessions and stoners flirting.

"Where are we going?" You poked his back just to bother him, on your own happy high for once, the fuzz that settled in your chest making the rest of you feel all warm and cozy despite your surroundings.

"Somewhere private," Suguru smirked.

It took you approximately four seconds after entering to realize he meant his best friend's bedroom.

You couldn't decide what gave it away. The framed digimon poster? The bright blue comforter? The bookshelves stocked with all sorts of mangas and movies lining half the walls?

It even fucking smelled like his cologne.

"Sugu," You started, a funny feeling twisting in your stomach, like you were a little kid again about to get caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

"He won't care," Suguru casually shrugged as he set you down, turning on a few lamps scattered across the room and switching off the overhead light. Kicking off his boots like he'd done this a billion times.

That made it worse, actually.

You supposed you weren't the first girl he brought up here at a house party if he was so confident. So comfortable to treat Satoru's room like his own.

But you swallowed it. Choked down the jealousy like it was just another bitter beer. Smiled when he picked you up again just to toss you onto the bed, slipping your heels off and letting him pull your torn tights down with his teeth next.

"Stay," He murmured, squeezing your thigh before standing. Your lips parted in protest, but you hesitated and he spoke up again. "You trust me?"

"Yeah," You nodded.

Maybe even more than you should.

He leaned down to kiss you again, the softest he had all night, delicate and tender.

Suguru was beautiful in a way that was almost painful.

He made it so easy to worship him. To suck you in until you hung onto every word that left those lips, until you spent every waking moment waiting for his touch and the rare tenderness he seemed to reserve for so few.

You were a mess. Lovesick and lost and longing for someone who was already supposed to be yours.

But the alcohol made it even more obvious.

You felt like a pet anxiously awaiting its owner, watching Suguru casually stride over to Satoru's closet, opening it and rummaging through the back until he dragged out a fucking tripod and expensive camcorder.

"Wanna make a movie?" He held it up, a crooked smile forming before you even replied.

Because he'd always known your answers in advance.

"No one else will see it?" You reluctantly asked after nodding, watching him set up the camera by the bed, peeking through the viewfinder to make sure he had a nice angle, a perfect view for whatever he was planning.

"Just us," He confirmed with a small smirk, humming to himself while he clicked through the settings.

You sat up straighter, turning to face the camera fully, a little more self-conscious now, fixing your hair with your hands and readjusting your dress even though you had a feeling you wouldn't be wearing it much longer.

He laughed at your nervousness, peering up over it at you. "You look gorgeous."

"Yeah?" You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, struggling not to hold your breath.

"Mhm," He softly murmured, hitting one last button before stepping around the tripod. "Beautiful."

And then you were watching him peel his black t-shirt off, tattoos stretching across the fine muscles of his chest, reaching out to graze your fingers over the gleaming edges in the soft lamp glow.

Skimming your hands down over his dark happy trail to unbuckle his belt, pulling it from the loops and throwing it on top of his shirt. He chuckled again, more amused this time, unbuttoning his jeans and letting you tug them down, your palm tracing over the outline of his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. Peering up at him and pretending the camera wasn't there before when you pulled those down too.

He made everything look effortless, stepping out and kicking the clothes aside, not nervous at all to be filmed, tilting his head back and groaning openly when you delicately wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, leaning in to lick the swollen tip of his cock.

Suguru's hands were tangled in your hair next, grabbing a fistful to guide your mouth to open up and take him how he wanted.

You were gagging on it two minutes later, his cock bumping into the back of your mouth and pressed against the roof of your mouth, struggling to take his thick girth and trying your hardest anyway, cheeks hollowed out and lewd moans escaping every time he rocked his hips forward.

Veins throbbing against your tongue, nose nuzzling against him and spit pooling around his cock, ignoring the ache in your jaw and only gazing up at him with glossy eyes.

"Fuck, baby," He grunted as you clawed at his hips, Adam's apple bobbing as his muscles tensed again. He let go of your hair to reach down and grab your throat, strong fingers flexing around your straining tendons. "Feel me in here?"

You weakly nodded, another muffled moan escaping when he squeezed just enough to make it hard to breathe.

He pulled out with a quiet groan, like if he didn't right that moment he might finish before he fucked you, but then he was pulling you up to your feet, twisting you around to pull down the zipper of your dress.

Suguru slid it off your body like he was unwrapping a birthday present.

Savoring the moment and enjoying the gift. Unboxing his new favorite toy and breaking it in.

"Been too long," He whispered in your ear, his chest to your back, his lips dotting a line down your neck. Sure, it hadn't been that long since you last had sex, but it had been a while where it was just the two of you, no one else to worry about or interrupt the moment. "I missed you."

"Missed you too," You smiled, relaxing naturally when his hands traveled over you, playing with your breasts and slipping between your thighs, teasing and nipping, taking his time to squeeze and grope you before finally laying you flat on the bed.

He readjusted you first.

Propped your head up on the pillow and splayed your hair out, wiping away a smudge of makeup beneath your eye and rubbing it off on Satoru's pillow.

He even got up to check the camera again, readjusting the angle.

You covered your tits with your arm, crossing your legs while he worked on it, but he just tch-ed, a quiet reprimand.

"Come back," You complained, pouting at the camera instead of directly at him.

"Just a second, pretty," He murmured.

You rolled your eyes at him, but your attention drifted back to his cock. Hanging heavy, so hard it had to ache, the tip pretty and pink now, pre-cum already collected there.

"Spread your legs for me, alright?" Suguru said, and your heart lurched into your throat.

Truthfully, this wasn't your first sex tape. You and Sukuna had made a couple over the years, but those were different. The sort of dumb videos where you or him just took on your phones, fast and filthy and blurry shots of him fucking you against a mirror or somewhere you shouldn't be.

This was intimate.

Drawn-out and devoted, something that meant more than just fucking jerk-off material.

You slowly spread your legs, feet planted on the bed as you propped yourself up on your elbows. You wondered if the camera captured the way you held your breath, the anticipation tinged with anxiety in the way you looked up at him, the longing in it.

"Touch yourself for me," He murmured.

"Suguru," You scoffed, but your hand was already inching down, biting your kiss-bruised bottom lip.

"Please?" He pitched his voice lower, and you groaned before giving in.

Fingers massaging your clit, muscles already tense as you tried to find a steady rhythm, closing your eyes and reclining your head back on the pillow that smelled too much like Satoru to really focus on anything else.

You felt clumsy, your circles messy, unable to make steady strokes when you could feel Suguru's stare searing through you.

Huffing at the friction, lip pushed out in a pout when you opened your eyes, glancing at the camera lens pointed at you.

"Look at me," He purred, and you forced your attention to flick up to him, his jaw tightening once you locked eyes with him.

Suguru was barely holding it together, leashing the urge to climb on top of you and bury himself in, cock twitching just watching your weak attempt to slot your fingers where his should be. But yours weren't long enough, weren't nearly thick enough to provide half the pleasure his could.

"I need your help," You whined, desperate to feel him, cheeks burning with the embarrassment of begging and core heating up because of it anyway.

You liked being beneath him. Liked being taken care of.

Knowing you were his - that he wanted you to be.

The mold you thought you had to fit didn't matter anymore. He sliced through all the shields you spent so long building, broke down the bricks you'd been hiding your heart behind. And part of you was still on standby, ready for repairs the second he slipped up, but it was getting easier to believe he wouldn't.

"Aw," He chided, and even his mocking was infuriatingly cute. Your heart skipping a beat when he climbed on the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight until he was on top of you.

"Asshole," You murmured, unfortunately not meaning it at all, blushing as he kissed you again.

Open-mouthed and heated, swallowing your needy moans when his hand brushed your aside to slip between your thighs, immediately shoving two thick fingers inside you. His cock was pressed into your thigh, and you could feel it throb when he felt for himself just how soaked you were.

"Call me that again, and I'll fuck yours," He dryly said, halfway between a tease and a threat, eyes narrowing like he hoped you would. Unlike you, he usually meant what he said.

Your lips parted to test your luck, but then he crooked his fingers deeper, and nothing would come out, just sharp gasps for air, brain blanking under the unrelenting force of his fingers. Thrusting hard and fast, curling his calloused fingers until you were crying out his name, eyes shut tight and hips arching up off the bed.

"C'mon, sweetheart," He hummed, smirk settling on his face watching you fall apart on his fingers, his thumb tracing far more effective patterns on your sore and swollen bud than you ever could. "Say it."

And another day, you probably would've. Would've giggled and bit back, grabbed his cock and teased him until he couldn't take it anymore and fucked you stupid in whatever hole he wanted.

But the alcohol had loosened you up, your head fuzzy and light for once while the rest of you was so warm and he felt so right, that the wrong thing slipped out instead.

"I-I love you," You breathed.

Three words you could hardly believe were leaving your mouth, but falling out anyway, the sort of truth that just spilled from you, too stuffed full of his fingers to keep it inside.

He paused, buried deep enough you could feel the metal of his ring rubbing against your skin, hair hanging down, a flicker of surprise flashing across his face as it set in for him.

You loved him.

Brushing his thumb over your lips as if he could capture the promise. There was no taking it back, not when you both knew you meant it.

He softened.

The storm that was always going on behind his dark eyes settling, an almost imperceptible smile curling up on his own lips before he kissed you. There wasn't biting or sucking, just a slow kiss that stamped his name on your heart.

It probably would've been the most romantic moment of your life.

Until Satoru stumbled in through the door.

You both turned at the first creak, but it was too late for either of you to cover up, both naked in his sheets, his camera on and blinking to capture you getting finger-fucked by your boyfriend.

Suguru didn't react, not really, just leaning down to brush your hair away from your ear before whispering in it. "Wanna test that theory?"

And God, you couldn't help the way the thought made you squeeze around him, cunt answering before you could. Your unsure gaze landed on Satoru just to find he was staring, blue eyes glinting with enough nervous energy to power a small city. Something in your chest pulled tight, intangible and impossible to ignore, swallowing the heart-sized lump in your throat before nodding.

You shouldn't.

It was a bad idea.

Terrible, even.

You had just told Suguru you loved him, and you were about to have a fucking threesome with his best friend. It could just be more proof he felt the same, the fact he was confident enough in your relationship to let him have even just the tiniest taste of you.

But there was the sneaking suspicion he just wanted to show off the fact that you were in love with him to Satoru too.

"If you want to, just ask," Suguru tsk-ed, burying his face in your neck to suck hickies down to your collarbone.

"S'toru," You gasped his name, glancing over still clinging to Suguru's shoulders as a third finger slid in to join the other two.

He was staring hard, his mouth hanging open, and you were pretty fucking positive he was drooling, a raging hard-on barely contained in his pants. "Y-yeah?"

"Are you coming over?" You whined, head tilting back to let Suguru's canines scrape harder against your throat. "Or are you just gonna stare?"

"Shit, fuck, okay, I mean, sure," He rambled, scrambling to strip his clothes off, shirt first and jeans quickly following. A surprising tattoo ran near his happy trail, a little giggle escaping you before he pulled his boxers down, and the sight of his cock shut you up.

It was longer than you expected, not quite as thick as Suguru's, but it had a pretty curve to it, a shade of pink that almost matched his lips.

Your boyfriend pulled his fingers out of you, but he popped them in his mouth instead, sucking it clean while he threw an amused gaze over to his clearly flustered best friend.

"You can't cum inside her," Suguru said, more stern than you expected.

"Okay, okay," Satoru eagerly accepted anyway, sitting on the bed next to him, his eyes flicking from one body part to the next like he couldn't decide where to look.

"What do you think, baby? Wanna show him how pretty you look cumming on my cock?" Suguru murmured, flipping you around easily, manhandling you until you were on your hands and knees.

Satoru readjusted too, positioning himself in front of you so you had to face him while Suguru spread your thighs apart from behind.

Fingers prying you apart, admiring you for a long second before you felt the tip of his cock start to edge in. You tightened in anticipation, hips wiggling back before he gripped one tight, sinking into the soft flesh.

You barely stifled your moan, nervously holding Satoru's excited gaze as he got closer, your stare flicking to the swollen tip of his cock in front of you.

Were you really about to let them to spitroast you? On camera?

Fuck.

The thought was enough you clamped down on Suguru harder as he pushed past the first ring of resistance, listening to him groan and imagining him gritting his teeth as he sank into your heat.

Satoru shuffled forward, and your mouth was already opening, ready to wrap around him and let him get laid for once, but Suguru spoke up, the sound of his honeyed voice making both of you hesitate. "Did I say you could fuck her mouth?"

Sometimes you forgot just how mean Suguru could be.

Satoru had to fuck his fist in front of your face instead, your lips permanently parted in broken moans and weak whimpers while Suguru fucked into you with rough thrusts, bottoming out with every harsh snap of his hips against your ass.

And as hot as he sounded on stage, it was wildly different to hear him in bed, moaning with you and watching his best friend give you the best fucking back shots of your life, thick fingers nimbly stroking your clit like it was an instrument he was a professional at playing while he pounded into you.

The headboard was banging into the wall with the force of it, and all you could do was hope the music downstairs was loud enough to drown out any noises the three of you were making.

Satoru's pale fingers were fast, sloppy, really, collecting the leaking pre-cum as lube as he roughly palmed his cock. Jaw clenched and watching you through hazy eyes, breathing through his nose as Suguru purred dirty nothings in your ear, teasing both of you for how wrecked you were.

"Jus' a little longer, alright?" Suguru murmured, leaning down so his chest was once again on your back, kissing your hair. It was soothing, despite how taut and tight the rest of you felt, forcing yourself to relax and cling onto your sanity for a few seconds more.

You nodded, choking out a mmph while his cock just grinded so nice and snug against your cervix, like he was right at home. He pressed more kisses to your shoulder, sweet ones that lingered even after his lips moved.

"So good for me, baby," He groaned, digging his fingers into your hip, the ones grazing over your clit pausing to apply more pressure. Your brain had turned to mush, melting into whatever mold he wanted it to. "Isn't she pretty, Satoru?"

"Fucking gorgeous," Satoru grunted back, although, it was so mangled and mumbled together through his grinding molars you could barely make it out.

You weren't faring much better.

Honestly, you didn't think you could form a word at all after Suguru fucked them out of you. You could barely feel your limbs, only held up his strength, squirming and gasping in time with his thrusts.

"Can't talk?" Suguru teased, knowing your body well-enough to recognize the tremble in your thighs, the shakiness in your breath. Careful to never cross the line, but bring you right to the border.

He chuckled at your attempt to reply, a choked-out whimper considering his cock felt like it was lodged in your lungs.

And then his fingers crested over you aching clit at just the right spot, massaging practiced circles that had you seeing constellations, cumming and unraveling so fast you almost forgot you were on camera.

"You're okay," He purred, dark and low and dangerous. "That's my girl."

You were clawing for something, anything to steady yourself, somehow accidentally grabbing Satoru's though, while you came undone.

Who, uh, proceeded to finish on your face.

You didn't even think he meant to, warm spurts of white cum hitting your (open) mouth and covering your cheeks while you let out a strangled yelp of surprise. Blinking up at him glossy-eyed just to see he was staring at you the same way, his cock still in his hands and leaking cum out on the bed as he gaped at what he just did.

Even if it wasn't being filmed, you were pretty sure he'd remember the image of you covered in his cum while his best friend fucked you for the rest of his life.

You were only half-aware of Suguru cumming, brain barely registering his groan as you felt something damp leak down your thighs too. Fucked out and literally filled up, you guessed.

You'd have to remind him to buy a morning after pill tomorrow.

Suguru's hand traced over your ass, holding you up still despite your shaking limbs, exhaustion clawing it's way into your bones.

"Cut the camera, Satoru," He muttered, sounding tired too.

"Sure," Satoru sighed, standing up. But not before dragging his thumb across the cum still sticking to your face, drawing a line with it over your lips, and you weren't sure what exactly he was wishing for. "Care if I make a copy?"

"Ask her," Suguru shrugged.

He flipped you onto your back, scowling at Satoru's cum all over your face and sighing.

"How do I know you're not going to like, send it to anyone?" You managed to ask, your voice a little raspy and raw still.

Suguru snagged some tissues from the nightstand, wiping your face as clean as he could get it while Satoru pressed a few buttons on the camcorder.

"Pinky promise?" Satoru proposed, pouting at you a few feet away.

"Fine, but I will literally cut your dick off if any of that footage sees the light of day," You threatened, not feeling very tough when you could barely move a muscle.

"You're not threatening Suguru," He complained, plopping down on the bed next to you and brushing a strand of hair away from your face. Suguru pushed his hand back before he could finish.

"We both know he doesn't like sharing," You shrugged.

Satoru was probably the only person who knew that as well as you.

Wherever he went, it was Suguru's show.

Your boyfriend smirked, just a small one, a coy little tug of his lips up at your back-and-forth. He grabbed another tissue, cleaning your lips off again. "You sore, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," You hummed, and it was obvious he was just feigning his apologetic smile, that he wasn't the least bit sorry for fucking you so hard. He tossed the tissues in a nearby wastebasket, running his hands back over your body, pausing to squeeze your tired thighs.

"Can I get you anything?" He cocked his head the side, searching your face for any lasting discomfort like Satoru wasn't still next to you.

"I'm okay," You yawned, pushing off your palms to sit up, and he immediately pulled you into his lap. His skin was still damp, sweat sticking to his muscles without any clothes on.

He didn't mind the cum still dripping down your thighs, given that it was his, pressing your head into his chest to kiss the top of it a few more times.

Being with him wasn't like anything else.

Sore hips and an aching jaw and the feeling in your gut that this moment wouldn't last forever but wished it would anyway. Studying every detail and line of his sharp jaw, the flecks of color in his eyes and every shadow of his face.

If Satoru wasn't here, you'd probably tell him you loved him again and hope to hear it back.

"When I told you guys to get a room, I didn't mean mine, by the way," Satoru scoffed behind you, and when you turned around, he still wasn't dressed.

"You didn't seem to mind when you were cumming on my girlfriend's face," Suguru reminded him, reluctantly untangling from you.

Perched on the edge of the bed while he stood again, picking up his discarded clothes from the floor to put them back on. You watched his tattoos flex, staring at his muscles as he pulled up his jeans and boxers first before tugging his t-shirt back over his head.

"Where was I s'pposed to cum?"

He really could be an idiot.

Suguru shot his best friend a sharp enough glare to shut him up, but the silence didn't last very long before Satori was speaking up again. "Are you mad at me?"

You weren't sure which one of you was playing the clingy girlfriend anymore after that line.

"It's fine," You mumbled, trying to ease the growing tension, although it was much more awkward than angry while Suguru tied his boots back.

Suguru pulled out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with a lighter you gifted him a couple weeks ago, but Satoru huffed. "You can't smoke that in here."

"I know," Suguru rolled his eyes, glancing towards you to gesture towards the door. "I'll be out front for a few minutes."

"Sure." You glanced back towards your own rumpled clothes before nodding. "Just, um, come find me afterwards?"

"I'll be yours for the rest of the night," He reassured, and he had the sense to at least check through the crack that no one was in the hall before stepping out and shutting it behind him.

Satoru picked up your clothes, round the bed to hold them out for you.

"Here," He mumbled, staring at the floor instead of your tits, and it seemed all that cockiness and confidence disappeared with Suguru.

"Thanks."

You tried to smile, but it felt forced, unsure of how to just act friendly when he was the reason there was still the faint taste of salt on your lips.

Hurrying to get your panties back up your thighs and shimmy your dress back up, you struggled to get the zipper until you felt a hand on your waist to hold you still. "Um, sorry, uh, let me help."

He quickly pulled the zipper up, letting go of you just as fast and stepping back like he wasn't sure where the boundaries were drawn now either after Suguru had turned the line into more of a squiggle.

"Thanks again, I guess," You awkwardly laughed, fixing the hem of it and trying to forget the fact Suguru's cum was collecting in your panties while you padded across Satoru's floor to snag your heels.

He watched you slip them back on, his lips parted and the words strangled in his throat.

"That was, um, fun," You smiled, hand on the doorknob already. "But, seriously, I will maim you if that gets out."

Satoru smiled back, all big and cheeky, running his big hand through his unkempt hair, and really, if you only looked chest-up, you could probably believe in that playboy image they kept trying to peddle for him.

"You can trust me."

And strangely enough, you were starting to.

Slipping back out into the hall, you hardly recognized anyone by the time you made it back to the living room. Friends of friends, a few faces you'd seen in magazines or commercials, all sorts of people who probably had barely spoken more than three sentences to the band before.

More people had shown up, packed in too tight for comfort. You were sweating already as you shuffled through the crowd, squeezing between people until you found a door leading out into an open backyard.

He must've hired a gardener, or someone who specialized in landscaping, pretty stone paths and flowers decorating the wide lawn.

You didn't go too far from the house, just a little ways down the path so it'd be easier for Suguru to find you.

But it seemed someone else spotted you first.

"You didn't text me back."

You didn't turn. Didn't look. Why would you when there was no need to?

Somewhere in the back of your brain, you'd already recognized his presence, maybe just the sound of his steps or some subtle change in the air.

"What do you want to talk about?" You hated how hurt you still sounded before you even saw him. His unopened gift was still left at home in its box, begging you to take a peek so he could shove himself through the crack and back into your life.

"Us," Sukuna insisted, like there had even ever been an us.

"I don't want to fight with you anymore," You mumbled. You were tired of it. Exhausted for clawing and clinging to any shred of comfort and control.

"Do you think I want to?" Sukuna asked, and he was closer now, probably just a step or two behind you, but he hadn't reached out yet.

"Yeah," You deadpanned.

He thrived in chaos. In the push and pull you two had been stuck in for years.

"I'm not here to fight with you either," He sighed, exhaling hard.

You did turn now, throwing a suspicious glance back at him before twisting, arms folded across your chest.

"I just," Sukuna stopped himself.

"You just what?"

"I'm sorry," He grunted, and despite everything that has happened tonight, this was the moment that made you question if it might've all been a dream and you were really dozing off back in bed.

But no, it was really him, dark circles bruising his eyes and a tight frown on his face as he clenched his jaw, every muscle tense as he stared through you.

"I miss you."

"Do you?" You echoed, blinking at him hard. Or was it just the sex he missed? The fact that he could do whatever the fuck he wanted and you'd still wait for him to come back to you?

You looked back to the house, searching to see if Suguru or Satoru would come out and catch the uninvited guest speaking to you, but Sukuna immediately noticed.

"Are you here with him?"

"You know I am," You muttered back. His face hardened as he bit down on the inside of his cheek.

"Boyfriend just taking a smoke break?" He scoffed.

You weren't sure if he was mocking you or Suguru. Either way, you didn't reply, sucking on the inside of your cheek and glancing down at the grass.

"You let him kiss you." It was more of a statement than a question coming from him. A sharp assessment.

When has he even seen Suguru kissing you? On the couch? Or earlier?

For some stupid reason, it felt like the world paused. No bugs buzzing or birds chirping, just a heaviness hanging in the air between you and your heart stalling in your chest.

"What?" You choked out.

"Don't you hate the taste?" He was skirting around what was actually bothering him, but then again, everything involving your boyfriend bothered him.

"You used to smoke too," You weakly mumbled, not sure where to look.

"I quit," Sukuna countered with a pointed frown. "Because of you."

"Yeah, sure," You dismissed, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of your mouth like it'd help digest that tidbit.

"I'm serious."

You could handle him being a dick. Could tolerate his impatience and disdain and all around awful attitude.

But this new serious Sukuna?

You were clueless.

"As if I could ever control anything you did," You argued. If you could, you wouldn't have had to bail him out twice before you even made it through college. Wouldn't have put ice packs on his black eyes or bandaged split knuckles when he got into bar fights.

"You didn't like it," He simply said. Plainly reciting a fact.

"Is that supposed to prove you like, love me or something?" You said it to scare him off, stun him the way he was last time.

But he didn't flinch.

"I always have," Sukuna grunted, not even hesitating a second. You stepped back, but he wasn't done. "I do."

"Funny that you decide that now," You mumbled, fiddling with your fingers and picking at your cuticles to calm yourself.

"Look, I know I'm an idiot and a huge fucking asshole, but I'm working on it, okay?" He admitted, the gravel him his voice not doing much to hide the panic in his words. The lump in his throat bobbed hard. "I can't lose you."

Just in general? Or to Suguru?

"Sukuna," You sighed. "I'm not leaving him."

"I know," He grumbled, frustrated. The anger simmering behind his eyes threatened to burn you too, but he was still keeping everything contained, carefully choosing every word for once instead.

There was some undertone to it that you didn't want to stare too hard at. The way he looked at you like he still thought Suguru would crush your heart, that it was just about sex or something that would end with you in pieces he had to pick up.

"Then what do you want from me?" You bluntly asked, begging him to just say it out loud.

"You said we could still be friends," He reminded you of that little fact as if it was some vow you swore to keep.

"You want to be friends?" You repeated incredulously.

"Just don't cut me out again," He grunted, not a hint of a smirk or snide smile on his face. It was as close as he could come to vulnerable. Eyes focused on you like there wasn't a huge fucking party raging on fifteen feet away.

"What about Suguru?" You asked.

"What about him?" He grumbled, barely stopping himself from scowling just at the mention of his name.

"I don't think he's going anywhere any time soon," You huffed. This wasn't something he could squeeze himself between. Not something you'd let him ruin.

"I know," He repeated again, thick brows furrowed together.

"What if we get married? Have kids? You'll be fine just being friends?" You tested, waiting to see if he'd snap under the tension.

But he held fast, stealing another step closer.

"I can't not be in your life."

You hesitated. Making up with Sukuna meant you'd probably have to confess to Suguru what sort of relationship you had before. But surely, Suguru would accept it - he already accepted everything else about you.

"Whatever issues you had with him before, you'd apologize to him? Play nice?" You reluctantly asked, glancing back towards the house again as your damp panties stuck to your thighs, plastered with the reminder of whose you were now.

"Whatever you want me to do." It was more of a grumble than groveling, his voice still rough, but you were stunned to realize he really meant all of it.

You never expected him to beg for you back.

But it was even stranger seeing him so sober about everything.

The regret etched into his face. Disappointment sinking in when his stare caught into the love bites littering your throat. His jaw shut tight as he grinded his molars.

"Did you watch the show?" He eventually asked after a thick pause, but his words didn't cut through the air, just added more weight to it.

"I heard your song," You admitted, although you hadn't worked up the courage to listen to it a second time, to dissect every line and turn it over in your head until you couldn't stand it anymore.

You didn't know what else to say. Call it beautiful when you just found it haunting? Tell him you liked it when it fucking hurt? That every word and wish stung?

Sukuna glanced over his shoulder, glaring at whatever he saw there before turning back to you.

"I meant it."

He looked at you one last time before heading back towards the front door without another word, eyes softer, lines crinkling beside them before he left you. You realized why a second later, a familiar head of white hair bounding in your direction, throwing a wary glance at Sukuna when they crossed paths.

Your (former?) best friend didn't acknowledge him, just barely brushing past his shoulder to head inside and probably leave. You had a feeling if you weren't here, Satoru might've tried to stop him, to drag him into a confrontation about crashing his party. But his current concern was you.

"What'd he say?" Satoru huffed the second he was close enough, but it was softer than you expected. Just a little surprised, searching your face for any clues. "Was he bothering you?"

"No, not really," You shrugged, and his shoulders almost immediately sagged with relief. He nodded his head towards a little swinging bench tucked under a tree nearby, before taking your wrist and tugging you towards it.

You briefly considered protesting before giving in, plopping down next to him with a sigh.

"That's good," He mumbled, and you tried to distinguish why from the pull of his brows, the slight squint of his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Suguru probably would've punched him if he saw him talking to you," Satoru chuckled to himself, scratching the back of his hair.

Your stomach churned.

"Seriously?" You asked, hoping he didn't catch the way your breath hitched.

"He fuckin' hates him," He nodded, and you noticed the new wine cooler half-empty in his other hand.

"Just because of the band stuff?" You tried to sound innocent, like you weren't just fishing for more information. Rivalries were one thing, but the contempt hinted out in seething comments and sincere scowls was a little much.

"Nah," Satoru shook his head. "They actually got into a fist fight a couple years ago."

How the fuck had they both left out that little detail?

"About what?" You gaped.

"Dunno," He shrugged. "Wasn't in the room when it started. Suguru never told me."

"Oh."

Just how fucked were you?

"My dad covered it up, helped bury the story, y'know, since we were still starting out and everything, said it was safer that way," He dryly repeated his words, but it just left an acidic taste in your mouth.

You sat in silence for a few minutes, shocked that Satoru was capable of clamping his mouth shut that long while you pulled over the facts.

Suguru and Sukuna hated each other.

Sukuna said he loved you. Your boyfriend hadn't. Yet.

Would he after you admitted you warmed his rival's bed for the past few years? Would Sukuna even really apologize for whatever part he played in pissing him off?

A pre-hangover headache was forming behind your eyes, the pressure building in your skull when you looked back over to Satoru.

He was lost in his own thoughts, probably replaying some other scene from today in his head, his stare focused just on some random bush, unblinking.

"You wanna talk about it?" You asked, swinging your feet and glancing up at the stars glittering in the sky overhead.

They were pretty out here.

Bright and eye-catching, the kind you could pick out constellations and planets in, no clouds or harsh city lights to snuff them out. You bet Satoru would know them. Could probably trace them out and explain however many light years away they were.

Another night, maybe, one where he wasn't wasted and mentally a million years away himself.

"About what?" He casually shrugged, kicking his feet off he ground to make the swing go higher.

"Tonight," You guessed, but the second it slipped out, you wished you could shove it back in watching him wince.

"It sucked," He muttered, before realizing you might misinterpret it and immediately backpeddling. "Not you, fuck, you were perfect, I just meant-"

"I didn't really do anything," You still smiled despite your churning stomach, a small giggle slipping out at the panic sweeping across his face.

"You're here," He casually said, like it meant much more to him. Then he sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I was just, uh, talking about dinner."

It was bitter, disconnected, as if even the idea of it was some cruel joke.

"Yeah, your dad was, uh, a kind of-"

"Insufferable," Satoru finished your sentence for you with a scoff. "A pompous prick who thinks he can pay anyone off."

You laughed a little, his bluntness comforting in its own weird way.

"We're all just stupid pawns to him," He muttered under his breath.

What was there even left to win when he was clearly already filthy rich?

You didn't comment, just listened to him ramble while you studied the stars some more, a cold breeze passing by and making you shiver as a few leaves fell from nearby trees.

He noticed.

Satoru set his drink down, peeling the new sweatshirt he was wearing without even asking if you wanted it. Just handed it to you, thick and oversized with some goofy character printed on the front. You still pulled it over your head with a soft laugh.

"Thanks," You murmured, grateful for the warmth.

"Of course," Satoru grinned, and it was the easiest smile you returned tonight.

He cocked his head, his bright blue eyes squinting before his cheeks flushed red. Nervously, he pointed at a loose strand of hair by your face.

"Um, you got a, uh, little something," He started saying, about to reach out and get it before hesitating as you realized what he was talking about.

Oh.

"You can get it," You suppressed another laugh. It was his fault it was there after all. If he noticed though, you sincerely hoped Sukuna hadn't.

Satoru swallowed hard before his fingers delicately started combing through it to get the dried cum out, mumbling under his breath. "My bad."

Then a camera flashed.

reblogs n comments are super appreciated <3 love hearing your thoughts !! also: sukuna's playlist here

He set you down carefully before the threshold of his room, his door already cracked open as he wrapped his hand around the knob and pushed it the rest of the way open.

"I would've picked up a bit more if I'd known you'd be here," He murmured, letting you step in first before he followed and shut the door behind you with a soft thud. You let out a soft giggle as you glanced around, his room far cleaner than your own. A sprawling bed was in the center pushed against the opposite wall to the door, all the furniture the same dark wood as its frame. He flicked on a lamp rather than the overhead light, bathing everything in soft white glow. On the closest wall, a door was open to an attached bathroom, and next to that, a packed closet. A laundry basket was peeking out, a black shirt hanging off the edge like he'd tossed it in without looking.

"If it makes you feel better, mine's a wreck right now," You mumbled, wishing you had more time to take it all in without coming across as weird. A few receipts were scattered over his dresser, a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter next to where he left his keys and wallet along with your purse. You guessed he must've dropped them back off in here when he grabbed you fresh clothes earlier while you showered on the other side of the house.

"With the girls here, I don't usually ever invite anyone over like this," He shrugged.

This. You still weren't sure exactly what this was.

The impression you were probably the first girl he let in his room was less touching when you couldn't help but wonder how many must've gotten the hotel treatment too.

Your feet sank into a soft rug as you padded over to the other side of his room, where a tall bookshelf was anchored to the wall, thumbing over titles you were unfamiliar with, but there were a few family photos set up in frames at the end of the shelves, mostly him with the girls at parks and museums, but one was him with the rest of the band, clad in graduation caps and robes, grinning at the camera.

"You like to read?" He asked, lingering a couple steps behind you, letting you look through his selection. Nonfiction, classics, philosophy, a touch of everything, all in good condition.

"Yeah, when I have the time," You nodded, although it'd been a while since you actually read something that wasn't on your phone.

"Here, you might like this one," He casually offered, his chest slotting against your back as he pulled out a book before you caught the cover, walking back over to place it by your purse so you wouldn't forget it tomorrow.

"I'll take good care of it," You giggled, turning your head before he could catch your grin. You doubted he was the type to dog-ear his pages or scribble between the margins.

"You better," He teased as he returned, his thick fingers finding your waist and slipping underneath the band of your pajama pants, one of them twisting and toying with where your panties hooked over your hips.

Another excuse created for you to keep seeing him even after the date he was planning - a car to pick up, a book to finish. When all of it had happened and passed, would you just keep finding new ones? Or maybe, would a day come where you no longer needed a reason?

The rest of the wall was lined with records and posters, a small table set up with an expensive record player and speakers. But on floor, there was a mess of cables, two guitars in stands and the same brand of speakers next to them you knew Sukuna also used.

A notebook was left on top of one of them, pen holding the pages open, his familiar handwriting filling them in unfinished lines. You were about to step forward, try to catch a closer look, but he held you back and clicked his tongue.

You really wanted to see now.

"What's that?" You asked, trying to peek over your shoulder up at him with your best pair of puppy dog eyes, batting your lashes. You had an inkling of an idea.

Suguru huffed, his dark brows drawn together as his stare flickered from you to the notebook.

"Nothing." He shook his head.

He was lucky he was handsome even when he lied.

"Then can I have a peek?" You pouted, trying to slip away from his tight grip, but he just wrapped another arm around you before you could. "Please?"

He chuckled, soft and low, the sound of his laughter reverberating through your chest as his body pressed into yours more.

"Begging me, pretty?" He hummed, bending down to deliver a distracting kiss to your throat.

"Will you show me if I do?" Your small whine just made him smile against your skin, one corner of his mouth curving up.

"Temptress," He teased, a sharp edge of his canines scraping against your pulse as he sighed. "It's really nothing, just a song I've been working on."

"And I don't even get a peek?" You tried to make it obvious you were just playing too, despite the curiosity that ate at you when he was around. Laughing a little so he knew your complaint wasn't serious, resting your head back on him and relaxing into his body rather than straining to sneak away to steal the book.

The back-and-forth was fun. Something you didn't want to fuck up.

It wouldn't hurt or sting if he didn't show you. You never actually expected him too. But the conversation was just so comfortable, one where you didn't have to worry about where it'd lead or what you said - even if you were still self-conscious.

"Mm," He breathed the sound out, his lips pressing down on your collarbone before he started pulling you back to the bed, walking backwards until you reached the edge, sitting down first on the dark blue comforter and placing you in his lap. "How about you get the first listen when it's finished?"

"It's okay, you don't have to-" You were stammering, face flushing and flustered at how suggested something that felt so intimate. Personal.

Sukuna wrote a lot of his own music, sure, but you pretty much only heard it after it'd been through rounds of rehearsals or the first time he sang it on stage.

"You just have to tell me if it sucks," He chuckled again, one thigh bouncing you up a little bit as he moved his hands over your waist to twist you around to face him.

"It won't," You managed a small smile, trying to squash the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach.

"You have a lot of faith in me," He murmured, dragging his thumb over your side under your shirt.

It was terrifying how true that was.

"Guess so," You sighed, brushing a loose strand of his bangs out his face, tucking it behind his ear as he smiled back at you. Dark eyes narrowed while he studied you, the dim lighting making it hard to spot the difference between where the color ended and his pupils started. You could get drunk on the way he looked at you, how he just stopped and stared, like you were his favorite painting or a piece of art.

"I'm glad," He spoke softly. Watched you intently. Acted as if every slow swipe of his thumb over your skin was deliberate instead of absentminded. Cataloguing you the same way you'd been bookmarking all the little facts you found about him.

"For what?" You heard yourself whisper, your breath catching in your throat when he leaned in so the tip of his nose was brushing against yours.

"You called me," He answered, fine lines etched in the creases by his eyes as they flickered down to your lips. There was still a dull ache where Yuji had headbutted you before, but you wouldn't mind making it worse if it meant he'd kiss you again. He paused though, his own pretty lips parted before he continued. "You're here."

You kissed him.

Each moment with him pulled you into new territory. Growing bolder, braver every time his lips brushed against his, hoping he wanted to explore you half as bad as you wanted to explore him.

A hand thrown over his shoulder, the other in his hair, leaning up to meet his mouth before the last syllable had even fully finished leaving it. You probably tasted like toothpaste, and it sorta stung, but he was kissing you back and you couldn't think about anything else.

His grip shifted so he could pull one of your thighs over his legs until you were straddling him properly. Trailing his huge hands over to your ass, squeezing through the pajamas and tracing a little circle over where he'd signed his name the last time you were in a bed together.

You almost moaned when his tongue slipped past your lips, your hips rolling forward on instinct so you could feel the growing bulge in his lap. Your chest was pressed against his, and you could feel how much he was itching for more.

Some invisible line tied from you to him, a connection that was more than just chemistry.

"This isn't fair," He murmured into the corner of your mouth, a low grunt falling out when you tried to move and he wouldn't let you, holding you down against him.

"I can't give you a good night kiss?" You pouted, pressing a few more against his cheek. You took his jaw in your hands, felt the way he clenched it as you tilted his face to the side to continue peppering them down to his throat.

"This is what you consider a good night kiss?" He chuckled, grabbing your wrist to hold it behind your back and return the favor. His soft lips ghosting over all the same spots on you, counting them out carefully.

"Mhm," Your small sigh turned into a yawn, your body starting to slump a little into his as you relaxed more and more into his touch.

His kisses eventually came to a pause, his focus shifting back to your tired eyes and sleepy smile, dark circles under his serious stare.

"You're beautiful."

And he said you weren't fair?

"You don't have to butter me up when I'm already in your bed," You hm-ed, attempting to tease him but really, you just couldn't think of the right words to get across how beautiful you thought he was. To capture how it felt like his fingers were wrapped around your heart and squeezing when he said stuff like that.

Especially when you could still feel his lips on your skin.

"So, um," You paused, finding it almost impossible not to let a little smirk slip when you ran your thumb over your lip. "We should probably go to sleep, right?"

He was chewing in the inside of his cheek before breathing out a sigh as he reluctantly nodded.

"Probably."

You climbed off of him, patting his firm thigh twice and rubbing your fingers over thin flannel of his own pajama pants. His eyes were on you while he stood - watching you pull back the covers and get under them while he shuffled over to shut the lamp off.

A fuzzy feeling was clinging to your chest, buzzing around and bumping off the walls, sleeping over with a guy you were starting to realize just how much you genuinely liked.

It was kind of uncomfortable to acknowledge. It hadn't snuck up on you - but you'd been doing your best to ignore it entirely when your instinct was to run away before you let someone else hurt you.

Considering you were currently carless, you guessed you wouldn't be able to sneak out of his bed tomorrow morning. You'd probably just end up running into his daughters or Gojo if you tried.

You wanted to convince yourself it was still casual. That this didn't have to mean something more than him being a good guy and potentially a better boyfriend than you'd ever had before - because he still wasn't yours yet.

Being normal felt next to impossible laying beside him.

Your brain scrambling to make sense of if you should curl up next to him, lay your head on his chest first or if you should just close your eyes and actually attempt to sleep instead of waiting for his next move.

In the end, you settled on something a little lame - turning to face him and throwing a leg over his while you readjusted the pillow under your head. He didn't say anything, but he rested a hand on your thigh.

Firm.

It was relaxing - it's sturdiness a sedative. How his fingers dimpled your skin and his palm pressed down like you were his to hold.

You hadn't meant to doze off so soon - hadn't realized you were falling asleep at all until you woke up confused.

Caught somewhere between dreams, blinking a few times while you struggled to process the unfamiliar shapes and shadows in the dark, the weight pressed against your back until your mouth conjured up the name for you.

"Sugu?" Your voice was still heavy with sleep, a soft rasp that was almost a whine as the muscled arm wrapped over your chest squeezed. Your fingers were holding onto him there, keeping him locked around you so you could be the little spoon while you slept on your side.

"Sorry," He muttered, his voice thick with something else. "Did I wake you?"

Your tired body was slow to register what he was talking about when so much of him seemed to envelop so much of you already. At least, until he readjusted, and you felt even more of him snugly pressing down on your spine.

A small noise slipped out, a tired mumble that was mostly incoherent.

He felt your pause, his face buried in the exposed crevice of your neck as if he belonged there.

"Can't sleep," He breathed, the muffled sleepy sound seeping through you. All the blankets had been kicked off but you were warm. It might have just been body heat - but you knew better when all your blood seemed to be pooling south, simmering under the surface and sitting heavy in your core when you felt his cock throb.

"Oh." It was a squeak.

You were absolutely awake now.

Sleepy, sure, but you didn't think you had a chance of slipping back into your dreams before he'd finished what he began here.

You shifted your hips, pressing your thighs together like it'd offer a fraction of the friction you actually wanted while his arm tensed, pulling tighter on instinct when you realized your ass was basically grinding against him.

"God, baby," He groaned in your ear, his silky hair falling down to brush along the nape of your neck. "You can't do that or-"

"Or what?" You dared.

He sucked in an uneven breath. How long had you been laying like this before you woke up? Him holding back and restraining himself while you were so snug by his side?

"You-"

"Does it hurt?" You interrupted, pitching your voice down to a soft tease. "Probably does, right?"

The mental image of it all pink and pretty and swollen because he wanted you so badly made your mouth water.

He grunted your name, a warning that was half a moan, his teeth scraping against your collarbone as he bit down like it'd help him hold himself back while you kept grinding back into him.

"You could just put it in," You suggested, bobbing your shoulders up in as close to a shrug as you could with his arm pulled around you so tight. "Wouldn't that be more comfortable?"

It happened faster than you expected, his grip suddenly disappearing as both hands practically ripped the pajama pants halfway down your thighs, tugging down his own just enough before he was readjusting your legs and spreading you open just enough he could press the first inch inside.

"Fuck," He hissed.

There was something irresistible about his impatience.

His heavy breathing as he struggled not to immediately shove himself all the way in, how soaked he managed to already get you making it easier for him to stretch you to his size. You bit back your own moan as he molded you to him, wincing when your teeth grazed back against the broken skin of your lip.

"Shhh, it's okay, I've got you," He soothed, and you wondered if he could feel the way you couldn't help but squeeze tighter around him at his low voice drawing the words out. His fingers splayed over your hip pulled you into him, forcing his cock in until his swollen tip was practically kissing your cervix while he pressed another soft kiss against your throat.

You braced yourself for him to pull out and push back in.

But then ten seconds passed.

And then a minute.

He hadn't moved. His breathing was controlled, his sharp nose occasionally nudging against your neck while his cock just fucking throbbed inside you. Or you throbbed against him.

You couldn't tell when your brain was starting to short-circuit. Your neglected clit was aching, your body needy, the feeling of being stuffed full and stuck like that only making every little twitch and movement he made more intense.

"Suguru," You whined, trying to shuffle back just for him to angle himself a little deeper, just enough you couldn't squirm away.

"Mm?" He answered like he was the one that had just been woken up, all tired as he yawned.

"Can you-" You were stumbling over the words, struggling not to moan or whine or be too loud when you could practically feel every last ridge and vein.

"Can I what?" He was taunting you, your idea backfiring in your face. But it was hard to mind when it still felt so fucking good.

"C-can you fuck me?" You heard yourself ask, an exhausted little whimper you knew he wouldn't say no to.

"Since you asked so nicely," He sighed, tracing his fingers over your stomach to just below your belly button, pressing down right as he slid out and finally thrusted back in.

It would be easy to fall in love with him when he fucked you like he already fell for you.

Holding you close and pinning you against him while he split you open again and again and again.

The pressure and the pace were mind-melting, unable to stop yourself from squirming each time he pressed so snugly against the soft little spongy spot he easily found again this time. He was whispering in your ear, but you couldn't think, couldn't piece together the syllables into something that made sense when his fingers were pushing down on your stomach like he could actually feel himself in there.

"I c-can't, fuck fuck fuck, Sugu, mm-" Your desperate whine was cut off by his hand over your mouth, the intense pressure building and mounting and building hotter and higher while you clawed at it.

"I know, baby," He murmured, and you'd never heard anyone make condescension sound so hot, his teasing and his touch making it so much fucking harder to hold back.

"Suguru, please, fuck, please," You moaned into his hand, although it was really just a whisper forced out between shaky breaths.

"C'mere and cum, baby, okay?" He teased, but you could hear the way his breath hitched in his throat, the hint that he was having just as hard of a time holding himself together as you were. "Can you let go for me?"

You bit down on his palm, not really even meaning to, whining as your canines sank down and you did cum, fast and hard, snapping into so many pieces you were pretty sure you'd fall apart if he wasn't holding you.

The pleasure was more of a wall than a wave, one it felt like you ran face first into, tears at your lashes and your body reeling as your thighs trembled, muscles tensed. Seeing stars as you cried his name, teeth retracting from his calloused palm as he had to let you go to pull out, hearing the sound of skin on skin as he roughly stroked his cock, cum dripping onto your ass and his palm too, probably.

He kissed your shoulder first.

A long press of his lips to you. Mumbling something about getting up to get a washrag to clean both of you up. He had to ask twice if you wanted another glass of water before you managed to shake your head no, your head falling back to the pillow as your body and brain attempted to sync back up.

You fell back asleep before he even finished cleaning you up.

Need was not a word in Sukuna's vocabulary.

He didn't need you, or anyone else for that matter. So why the fuck did he feel so horrible watching you drive away?

Sitting in the pit of his stomach, festering and feeding on guilt? Annoyance? He couldn't be disappointed. It was just a stupid fight. You'd be back.

You were just a constant. If he was the sappy kind of loser you seemed to like, he would probably say something about you grounding him, but he wasn't. Why waste words on something obvious?

Maybe bringing someone to make you jealous was a bad move, but at least he wasn't trying to hit on you at a fucking playground. It was bad enough watching you smile like an idiot at him, how annoying it was to notice the cute gleam in your eyes when he gave you some surely stupid gift and kissed you.

Suguru Geto didn't even know you. How could that asshole act like your boyfriend?

How'd he even fucking know you were there? The idea you just told him, or worse, you wanted to meet him, made Sukuna irrationally irritated.

And seriously - how could you say no when he offered to be your boyfriend?

Your relationship had never been conventional, but it hadn't mattered before. If he had a heart, it was already yours, and you'd always come back to him.

It was like a universal law, something you could deny but couldn't change. He didn't need to search for you in any crowd or wait around for you to show up (even if he always did that anyway) because you'd end up by his side again eventually.

So, okay, yeah you left him drenched in the pouring rain, and sure, he deserved it, but whatever, he'd let you have however much fucking space you wanted since you would eventually wind up back in his arms again.

It was easier being friends?

You were the one who practically ran away every time he tried to hang out with you, the only time he got to fucking spend with you these days was when you were underneath him.

"The fuck are you staring at?" He grunted, feeling the brown eyes studying his scowl and wet clothes before he even made it dripping across his own kitchen floor to grab another beer.

"A jackass," Choso shrugged.

The dark-haired guitarist might've been his bandmate, but Sukuna knew he considered himself your friend first.

"Whatever," Sukuna snarled back. "Not like it's any of your fucking business."

Choso was unphased, just blinking slowly. You probably complained to him, but even if you hadn't, he never liked Sukuna from the first day he moved in next door.

If he wasn't already in trouble with you, he might push his luck some more and throw a punch or two, but you might actually make the cold shoulder permanent if he did that.

"Not like it's my fault you're losing her," Choso said it casually, clearing missing the memo that he wasn't exactly in the mood to deal with any more bullshit as if the puddle by his feet and the clothes clinging to his skin wasn't already screaming it.

"You don't know shit," Sukuna muttered, all the bottles and jars clinking together in the side door of his fridge and he yanked it open to grab a beer from the bottom rack.

"I know she spent the entire night texting another guy while you tried to dry hump some girl to make her jealous," Choso shrugged again, and Sukuna may have really hit him anyway if the first half of his sentence hadn't smacked him in the face before he had the chance.

What the fuck were you doing texting that guy all night?

"I'm not her boyfriend," Sukuna said, trying not to wince when it made him recall exactly how you reminded him of that earlier.

"How long until he is?"

The disgusted noise ripped out of his throat was entirely involuntary and entirely embarrassing.

He twisted the cap off his beer, throwing it in the trash can just for it to rebound off the edge of the top and bounce out. Sukuna ignored it, bringing the bottle up to his lips to take a long sip.

But the burn going down wasn't soothing, and it only made everything taste more bitter than it already had.

The whole night had tilted and twisted, taken on some hazy filter that he hated. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

You were supposed to be stomping around and scowling at him, flicking him in the arm and telling him to stop drinking. He was supposed to be dragging you back to his room and stripping your skirt off to tell you sorry the only way he really knew how. His hands never failed him when his mouth often did.

But most of all, you were just supposed to want him.

"Hey, I was wondering where you went." A small hand was on his shoulder. A soft voice in his ear. Probably pleasant to someone else, but it was just grating when it wasn't the one who was supposed to be whispering it. Kissing her had felt slimy. Wrong. She didn't taste like you, didn't feel like you.

He brushed her hand off, peeling it off like a dirty rag before walking away. Footsteps followed, too heavy to be hers, an annoyingly familiar pace he wished would go away.

"You need to get your shit together, man."

Sukuna needed to not be receiving advice from Choso, of all fucking people.

"Like I said, it's not your fucking business," Sukuna snarled, not turning around. He hated the fact Choso was right. Hated you weren't here. And fuck, he hated that he hadn't said yes when you were.

"Go fuck yourself," Choso scoffed back. "You never deserved her anyway."

Like he didn't already know that?

"What? Think if you play white knight long enough she'll fuck you?" He sarcastically huffed, one hand hovering over the knob to his bedroom while they other gripped the glass beer bottle tighter as he paused in the hall, shirt still sticking uncomfortably to his chest.

"Think if you keep being an asshole, she'll fuck you?" Choso didn't skip a beat, leaning against the wall like he was bored.

His anger was quiet, coals that'd burn if you got close enough to touch.

Sukuna didn't answer.

Slammed the door behind him after he slipped inside, setting his drink down on a coaster and pulling off his wet clothes to discard into a pile in the corner. He had to walk back over to lock it before some drunk loser stumbled in looking for the bathroom.

He could just kick everyone out. All it'd take was for him to bark that the party was fucking over and they'd scramble. But then it'd probably spread some stupid rumor and now wasn't the time to deal with any shitty press. Really, he should've shut down the dumb argument with Choso too, should've bit his tongue and ignored it entirely.

Especially when they were supposed to spend the week in the studio working on songs.

He was a man of brute force. He didn't have a soft touch or gentle words that could fix or mend. He was jagged and rough, and everything he ever held seemed to break instead of bend. Before you.

Until now.

He flicked on the yellow light in the attached bathroom, but his reflection felt like a traitor.

Tattoos you'd went with him to get, holding his hand, not because he needed it, but because you said the needle of the tattoo gun made you feel queasy. He should've admitted he liked it instead of scoffing at you then.

Your smaller palm in his, your fingers pressed against the tendons on the back of his hand, squeezing every time you looked at where the needle met his skin and stained it.

Stupid. This was stupid, wallowing in his memories and staring at the mirror, forcing himself to turn back towards the shower to twist the handle and start the water.

It was just you.

Since when did you have so much control over him?

All because of a dumb dream?

The shower was scalding his skin, all the sculpted muscles and smooth skin starting to turn pink as he scrubbed himself with the soap bar until he risked rubbing himself raw.

Stepping back out to wrap himself in a patchy towel he'd never bothered replacing from the days where you used to live together, one of the few scraps from those days he had left. Most of it was at his apartment in the city since he usually stayed there anyway - but he kept a couple little items here, an ashtray he didn't even use anymore next to the bed, a pair of your panties in the top drawer of the dresser.

The party had died down outside his door - the music thumping lower, less annoying voices chattering. Sukuna changed into something dry, bending over to dig through the wet pile of clothes to find his phone. He wasn't sure why.

Some subconscious instinct to see if you had texted him. Or to salvage something.

There was one missed call.

He felt his stomach flip.

Sukuna's fingers worked faster than his brain. Typing in his passcode to call you back, wishing he had a cigarette for the first time in fucking years when the rings just droned on in his ear.

You didn't pick up.

Not the first time. Not the fifth.

His first text was simple. Call me back. But when ten minutes passed you still fucking hadn't, he was already fifteen messages deep, each one a little more unhinged than the last.

You turned your fucking location off too.

Was this a punishment?

He would've thought it was - but the fact that you called rattled him. You rarely did, only when you needed him.

He'd never actually missed one before.

He wasn't sure what the feeling seizing his chest was. What was making his pulse pick up, pounding in his head, refusing to let him catch his breath as he flipped the lock to his door and walked out, his attention flicking from face to face searching for the person that probably wanted to see him the least here.

At least it was easy to spot the one guy with pigtails.

"Hey," Sukuna called out, grabbing his shoulder to twist him around just for Choso to push him back off at the slightest touch.

"What do you want?" Choso grunted, grinding his back molars as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Have you heard from her?"

Choso was already rolling his eyes before he had the chance to finish.

"Look," Sukuna snarled. "She called me and won't pick up now. Her location isn't on, okay? What if-"

"You're actually worried?" Choso's face scrunched up in something caught between confusion and concern at the idea something might be wrong.

"Can you just fucking call her and see if she picks up?"

And even though it was his idea, he hadn't expected how fucking horrible it'd feel for you to not pick up. To find out you called Choso first and he'd missed it too.

Of all the outcomes for tonight, he'd never considered stuck in the passenger seat of his bandmate's shitty little car to see if you'd made it home and scanning the roadside to make sure you hadn't ended up in a ditch.

A headache was throbbing behind his eyes, not even drunk enough to use it as an excuse, tension and pressure building and bouncing around in his skull as he strained to see in the dark. The music was too loud - even if it was his own, the car practically vibrating with the bass.

You were probably fine.

He should probably stop thinking so goddamn much about his frustrating feelings for you and focus on making sure you were actually safe.

It was hard when he was just now realizing half the fucking songs he'd written were about you.

Gojo would not, in fact, be breathing, by the time you left.

Groggily following behind Suguru in the morning after waking up to the sound of the smoke alarm and giggling to discover Gojo attempting to switch it off in a frilly pink apron that matched the two toddlers sipping on juice at the kitchen table. He just grinned when he glanced at the two of you before smacking the button to shut off the noise, tilting his head to the side towards the flour-dusted stovetop.

"Want some waffles?"

He grabbed two plates already stacked with waffles, syrup dripping off them as he walked over to deliver them to the girls giggling between themselves. Clumsy hands struggling to properly hold the utensils as they stabbed at the food, both of them grinning when they glanced up to see Suguru.

"Are you trying to burn the kitchen down?" Suguru sighed while you stifled a yawn, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth while your attention from Gojo manning a waffle iron to the girls sleepily greeting their dad.

"Daddy," Nanako chirped, tufts of hair sticking up in odd places as she took a big bite of her waffle. "Uncle Toru made waffles!"

It came out closer to dah-ee and to-wu, muffled through her mouthful of food, but her sister just giggled and almost choked on her own bite.

"I see that," Suguru dryly replied, cutting Uncle Toru a look. "Let's eat with our mouths closed, okay? Chew first, talk later?"

"How many do you want, sweetheart?" Gojo was staring at you, head cocked to the side, hip against the counter while he held up an oversized beer stein he for some fucking reason chose to make the waffle mix in.

"Um, just one is fine," You yawned.

You had a feeling he was trying to get a rise out of Suguru by calling you that, and you suspected his teasing was working judging by how Suguru tensed by your side.

"Suguru?" Gojo hummed. "Two? Or three?"

"Let me cook," Suguru grumbled, rubbing the back of his eyes and stepping forward to take over before a phone started ringing.

It took your sleepy mind a few seconds to realize it was actually his. You hadn't even noticed he'd slipped it into his pocket from the dresser after you both woke up.

"It's the mechanic," Suguru sighed as he checked it. "I should answer."

You nodded, watching him walk back into the bedroom with the phone pressed to his ear.

The sizzle of waffle mix hitting the hot surface of the iron snapped your focus back to a grinning Gojo.

"You gonna just stand there or come sit down?" He goaded, setting the still half-full beer stein down on the counter by the previous ring of flour before walking over to the kitchen table and pulling out a seat across from the girls for you.

You guessed you should be grateful he was doing his best to act like a gentleman.

"Thanks," You mumbled, reluctantly walking over to sit. Both the toddlers were curiously staring at you, all big eyes and tilted heads, chewing their food with their mouths closed now.

Mimiko swallowed first.

"Who are you?" She blinked, her stuffed animal sitting in her lap now.

"I'm your dad's friend," You answered, figuring that was probably the least problematic response you could offer. She squinted her eyes, like she knew she remembered you from somewhere, but couldn't figure it out.

Maybe if Yuji was here too, she'd be able to place it, but not when you were bare-faced in her dad's pajamas.

"Girlfriend," Gojo corrected.

It was your turn to throw him an annoyed look.

"Wha's that mean?" Nanako quizzed.

"I'm his friend and I'm a girl," You corrected Gojo this time, smiling back at her syrup-stained face while she punctured her mostly-destroyed waffle with the fork again.

"And they like each other very much," Gojo cooed, pulling a golden waffle from the iron and dropping it onto a waiting plate on top of the fork and knife already there.

He was actually whistling walking over to set it in front of you, offering a huge shit-eating grin like this was all a part of some master plan of his.

"What are you doing?" You muttered when he was close enough, tugging at the hem of his shirt, careful to keep your tone controlled so the toddlers wouldn't think anything of it.

"Well, right now, I'm about to make another waffle, but then I'm going to shower and get ready so I go by this new bakery and pick up a cake, and this afternoon we're supposed to record and work on a new-"

"That's not what I meant," You interrupted.

But at the sound of approaching footsteps, you let go of his shirt, turning your attention to the actually appetizing breakfast. Butter and syrup were still out on the table, a couple bowls of fruits with spoons stuck in for you to scoop out and put on your plate if you wanted.

"You took for-ever," Nanako whined at Suguru's return.

He chuckled, walking over to ruffled her already messy hair.

"Sorry, sweetie," He apologized. His sharp attention swept back over the full scene - you at his kitchen table, the food on your fork and Gojo returning to the waffle iron before the next one could burn.

"Uncle Towu said she's your girlfwen," Mimiko tattled, forgetting what Suguru had said earlier and talking between chews. She dropped the fork to wag a short finger at you.

"Did he now?" Suguru chuckled.

"Mhm," They both nodded.

You couldn't help but note Suguru didn't correct them.

"Your car should be ready in a couple hours," Suguru informed you, combing his fingers through his bangs before glancing back down at his phone still in his hand. He was frowning while he tapped a few times.

"Oh," You nodded, a sharp stab of disappointment sinking deeper as you stared at the crease between his brows, heard the long sigh leaving his lips. "That was fast."

"I'm supposed to meet with a new babysitter for the girls before we're supposed to go to the studio, but-" He started to say, but you forced a smile.

"It's fine, you've already helped a lot. I can figure it out from here," You interrupted, glancing back towards his bedroom where the phone you'd forgotten to charge last night was. It was definitely dead now, but Suguru would surely let you borrow a charger. You could just get a ride share or call Kaori-

"Hello? I'm right here?" Gojo chimed in, pouting at being left out.

"Are you actually volunteering?" You blinked a few times, face scrunched together in a weak attempt to scrutinize how serious he was.

"Duh."

Suguru was glaring. Not that intensely, but you could see the irritation bubbling up, how obvious his disdain for the idea of Satoru driving you around was.

"I guess that works," You shrugged, trying to keep the smirk that so badly wanted to curl up on your face at bay as Suguru tried to keep his face neutral.

"Maybe I can reschedule-"

"Sugu," You laughed. "It's fine."

Gojo was his friend.

It was just what? A twenty minute drive? Thirty maybe? Yeah, he was an idiot. One who apparently loved to meddle with your love life. But it probably wouldn't be that bad.

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