˚˚⟢⸝⸝ ୨୧⸝⸝⟢˚˚

he hums in acknowledgment without looking up. “almost done.”

you lean forward and kiss his cheek. it’s quick, light, thoughtless.

choso freezes. completely.

his hands stop mid motion, necklace dangling between his fingers. his shoulders lock. his brain empties in one clean sweep, like someone wiped the slate.

you blink. “you okay?”

he nods once, too fast. “…yes.”

he is not okay.

his cheek feels like it’s on fire, his heart is beating in his throat, he is suddenly hyper aware of every inch of space between you.

you smile like nothing happened. “thank you for fixing it.”

“…you’re welcome,” he says carefully, voice quieter than usual.

he does not resume untangling the necklace for a full ten seconds because his motor functions have temporarily abandoned him.

this happens every time.

you like kissing him as punctuation.

he learns this quickly.

a kiss when you pass him in the hallway. a kiss when he hands you something. a kiss when he says something you find cute, which is often because you think everything he does is cute.

he’s leaning in the kitchen doorway one night, watching you stir something on the stove like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, when you glance up, smile, and walk over just to press a soft kiss to his lips.

you pull away immediately and go back to cooking like that was normal. (which, really, it was very normal of you to do.)

choso is still standing there processing.

his brain replays it once. twice. three times.

“…you kissed me,” he says finally.

you look over your shoulder. “yeah?”

“…okay.”

he doesn’t move for the next minute.

the spoon in your hand clatters against the pot and you turn to find him staring at the counter like he’s trying to remember how gravity works.

“baby?” you laugh. “you’re doing the thing again.”

“what thing,” he asks, dazed.

“the buffering.”

he nods slowly. “yes.”

that feels accurate.

you kiss him when you’re proud of him.

he finishes folding laundry. kiss.

he opens a jar for you. kiss.

he remembers where you left your hair ties. kiss.

each one lands like a small explosion in his chest.

one evening, you crawl into his lap while he’s sitting on the floor and cup his face with both hands.

“you’re doing so good,” you tell him seriously.

he blinks. “…doing what?”

“being you,” you say.

and then you kiss him.

soft. warm. lingering just long enough to make his thoughts trip over themselves.

when you pull back, choso is staring at you like you’ve just revealed a secret of the universe.

“…thank you,” he whispers.

his hands come up automatically to steady you, fingers resting at your waist like he needs to anchor himself to something.

you grin. “you’re welcome.”

he will think about that kiss for the rest of the night.

your favorite thing is surprise kisses.

choso never expects them. not because they’re rare, but because every single time his brain convinces itself he is prepared.

he is not.

he’s brushing his hair in the bathroom mirror when you sneak in behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and tilt your head to kiss his shoulder.

his reflection visibly short circuits. the brush stops halfway through a stroke, his eyes widen just slightly.

“…hello,” he says to the mirror.

“hi,” you hum, kissing his shoulder again. “you’re pretty.”

he swallows. “thank you.”

his grip tightens on the brush like he’s grounding himself. he finishes brushing his hair in complete silence, moving on autopilot while his thoughts spin uselessly in circles.

you leave the bathroom humming.

he stands there for another thirty seconds before whispering,

“…wow.”

the thing is, you never mean to wreck him.

to you, kissing him is as natural as breathing. it’s affection. it’s comfort. it’s joy. you do it because you like him, because he’s warm and soft and safe, because your heart tells you to and you’ve never been good at ignoring that voice.

choso, on the other hand, experiences every kiss like it’s the first one he’s ever received.

like a small miracle. like something fragile and rare that he’s terrified of mishandling.

so he stills every time. melts every time. forgets how to function every time.

and when you curl into his side later that night, pressing one sleepy kiss to his jaw before drifting off, he lies there wide awake, heart steady and full, thinking the same thing he always does after you kiss him.

how does something so small feel this big.

he wraps an arm around you carefully, holding you close, and lets himself relax into the warmth of it.

because if this is what love feels like he wants to malfunction forever.

his cock twitches hard inside you, but otherwise he doesn’t move. he stares down at you for a solid three seconds then bursts out laughing so hard the whole bed shakes.

“baby what the actual fuck-”

“no no listen!” you whine, pouting up at him, still clenching around his length because you can’t help it. “they’re so pretty and bright! what if they’re like… mood lighting? or like… orgasm flashlights? do they get super bright when you’re close? i wanna see!”

he’s wheezing now, tears in the corners of his eyes, but his hips start moving again. slow at first, teasing, keeping you right on the edge.

“you’re riding the edge of the biggest orgasm of your life,” he pants between laughs, “and you’re asking if my eyes turn into disco balls when i nut?”

you nod frantically, cheeks flushed pink. “yes! it’s science! cursed energy science! i need data!”

gojo groans, half amused, half feral, and suddenly picks up the pace. every thrust slams you up the mattress, making your tits bounce and your tears smudge your mascara.

“fine,” he growls, leaning down so his face is inches from yours, eyes blazing brighter now. “you want data? i’ll give you fuckin’ data.”

he fucks you stupid, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. one hand slides between you to rub messy circles over your clit, the other pinning your wrists above your head.

“watch,” he pants, voice wrecked. “watch my eyes, princess. see how bright they get when i’m about to fill this tight little pussy.”

you can’t look away. they’re glowing so intense now, electric blue, swirling faster, lighting up every inch of his face and the sight alone makes your tummy coil tight.

“‘toru, ‘toru ohmygod!!”

“yeah?” he snarls, hips stuttering. “gonna cum for me? gonna cream all over my cock while my eyes light up like you wanted?”

you shatter, clenching so hard around him your vision whites out, crying out his name in broken sobs. his eyes flare impossibly bright right as he follows, burying himself deep and spilling hot inside you with a guttural groan, grinding through the aftershocks while those blue lights pulse like they’re matching his heartbeat.

when he finally collapses half on top of you, both of you panting, he’s still chuckling softly against your neck.

“so,” he murmurs, pressing lazy kisses to your sweaty skin, “scientific conclusion: yes. they get brighter when i cum. happy now, my little researcher?”

you giggle weakly, all floaty and blissed out, reaching up to trace the fading glow in his eyes.

“mhm… best experiment ever.” he snorts, pulling you closer.

“you’re ridiculous,” he whispers, voice fond. “and i’m never letting you go.”

•●SUGURU GETO●•

you’re on your knees in the middle of suguru’s quiet bedroom, legs spread wide on the soft rug while he’s got his face buried between your thighs, long black hair spilling over your skin like silk. his tongue is lapping slow, lazy circles around your clit then dipping lower to lap at your entrance, making your hips twitch and your sparkly nails tangle in his hair. he’s humming low against you, the vibrations pulling soft whimpers from your throat and you’re already so close your toes are curling.

“sugu feels so good,” you breathe, voice all floaty and sweet. “you’re so perfect…”

he groans quietly in response, hands sliding up to grip your thighs, keeping you open for him. until your hazy gaze drifts down to the messy half ponytail he’s wearing. strands are falling loose around his face, and suddenly your brain latches on.

“sugu…” you gasp out, thighs squeezing his head just a little as you reach down to play with the loose pieces. “your hair… it’s so pretty. can i braid it? like, right now? it would look so cute with little flowers or something.”

suguru pauses. tongue still pressed flat against your clit, but he doesn’t move. he slowly lifts his head just enough to look up at you through dark lashes, eyes calm, unreadable, a faint sheen of your slick on his lips.

“…braid it?” he repeats, voice low and smooth, that quiet amusement he always carries when you derail him like this.

you nod frantically, cheeks flushed pink, still rocking your hips in tiny needy circles because you can’t stop. “yeah! it’s so long and soft and i could make it all pretty while you… you know… keep going. it’d be romantic!”

he exhales slowly through his nose, a soft, patient sound, and lets his head rest against your inner thigh for a second like he’s deciding how much to indulge you. then he reaches back, pulling the hair tie free so the rest of his hair falls loose around his shoulders.

“you want to play with it that badly?” he murmurs, voice velvet and low. “while i’m tasting you?”

you bite your glossy lip, nodding again, fingers already threading through the dark strands. “please? it’s so silky… and it smells like you…”

geto’s eyes darken, something possessive flickering there. he doesn’t laugh at the sudden shift, just watches you with that steady, intense gaze as he leans back in, tongue flicking slow and teasing over your clit again.

“fine,” he says quietly. “braid it. but you keep those hips right here. if you stop grinding against my mouth, i stop.”

you squeal softly, happy and needy, and start sectioning his hair with trembling fingers while he goes back to eating you out. slow, thorough, like he’s savoring every taste. every time you tug a little too hard or pause to admire how pretty the braid looks, he sucks harder on your clit, making your back arch and a broken moan spill out.

“sugu ohmygod-”

“focus,” he murmurs against you, voice muffled but firm. “braid. or i tie your hands behind your back with it instead.”

you whimper, trying to keep going, fingers fumbling through the strands while he works you higher and higher. the braid is half done, messy and cute, when the pleasure finally snaps. you come hard, clenching around nothing, thighs shaking around his head and crying out his name in soft, shattered sobs.

he doesn’t stop. just keeps licking you through it, gentler now, until you’re trembling and oversensitive. when he finally pulls back, lips shiny, hair half braided and falling in dark waves, he crawls up your body, caging you beneath him.

“look at you,” he whispers, brushing a loose strand behind your ear. “my pretty girl… couldn’t even finish the braid.”

you giggle weakly, all blissed out, reaching up to finish the last bit with shaky fingers. “it’s… still cute…”

he hums low, pressing a slow kiss to your swollen lips so you taste yourself on him. then he flips you over gently, face down, ass up, and slides into you from behind in one smooth thrust making you gasp.

“now,” he says, voice dark and calm against your ear, one hand wrapping around your tousled hair like a handle, “let’s see if you can keep braiding while i fuck you properly.”

•●KENTO NANAMI●•

you’re kneeling between nanami’s spread thighs in your shared dining room, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds and painting golden stripes across the polished wood table behind him. his slacks are open just enough, tie still perfectly knotted, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he’s simply taking a brief, necessary break from paperwork. you’ve got one hand wrapped around his thick cock, giving it slow, teasing strokes and your sparkly nails look almost comically delicate against the flushed, veined length.

you’re humming softly to yourself, all focused and sweet, when you suddenly tilt your head and start counting out loud in that breathy, innocent voice.

“one… two… three…” your thumb traces a prominent vein from base to tip, eyes wide with genuine fascination. “four… oh wow, five… six… they’re so pretty, ken. like little rivers. seven-”

nanami’s breathing hitches, his jaw tightens and the hand that was resting calmly on the armrest curls into a fist.

“eight… nine…” you keep counting the veins decorating his length, completely oblivious, other hand cupping his balls gently like you’re handling something precious. “ten… eleven… gosh, there’s so many!”

that’s it.

nanami’s control snaps like a taut wire.

in one smooth, powerful motion he hauls you up by the waist, effortless like you weigh nothing, spins you around and bends you over the table. your palms slap against the cool surface, papers scattering, a pen rolling to the floor with a clatter. your tiny skirt rides up instantly, panties shoved aside without ceremony.

“enough,” he says, voice low, clipped, dangerously calm. the kind of calm that means he’s about to ruin you.

he doesn’t tease. doesn’t ease in. he notches himself at your entrance and thrusts forward in one brutal stroke, burying every thick inch until his hips meet your ass with a sharp slap. you cry out, high and startled, nails scraping the wood.

“ken-!”

“quiet.” one big hand clamps over the small of your back, pinning you down. the other grips your hip hard, his expensive watch digging into your soft skin with every punishing snap of his hips. “you want to count? then count how many times i make you come before you forget your own name.”

he fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself into your body, deep and hard, the table creaking under the force. every thrust shoves you forward, tits pressed flat against the paperwork, sparkly lip gloss smearing across a contract you’re pretty sure is important. his watch leaves faint red crescents on your hip with each brutal grind, a perfect little brand of his restraint finally breaking.

“look at you,” he mutters, voice rougher now, strained. “distracting me with your pretty little hands and your ridiculous questions. this what you wanted? me losing control?”

you can only whimper, nodding frantically, thighs trembling. the angle is merciless. he’s hitting that spot over and over, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the otherwise quiet room. one of his hands slides up to fist your hair gently, tilting your head back just enough so he can see your flushed face, your teary eyes.

“come on my cock,” he orders, low and firm. “now. show me how sorry you are for teasing.”

you shatter almost instantly, clenching around him so hard your vision whites out, a broken sob of his name spilling from your lips. he doesn’t slow down. keeps pounding through your orgasm until you’re shaking, oversensitive, pleading only then does he finally follow with a low, guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside you, hips grinding slow circles like he wants to make sure you feel every pulse.

when he finally stills, he doesn’t pull out right away. just leans over you, chest to your back, breathing hard against your neck. his watch is still pressed to your hip, warm metal, faint imprint already blooming pink against your skin.

you’re both panting when you whisper, all soft and dazed, “do you think… there were twelve veins? i lost count after eleven…”

nanami exhales. a long, slow, long suffering sigh and presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to the shell of your ear.

“we’ll count them again later,” he murmurs, voice gruff but fond. “after i’ve fucked the curiosity out of you properly.”

he finally eases out, turns you around, and lifts you onto the table so you’re sitting facing him. his hands smooth over your thighs, thumb brushing the watch shaped mark on your hip like he’s inspecting his work.

“next time,” he says quietly, “keep your hands to yourself until i say otherwise.”

you giggle weakly, nuzzling into his chest.

he sighs, but his arms wrap around you anyway.

•●CHOSO KAMO●•

choso’s sitting up against the headboard in his dimly lit bedroom, dark hair messy across the pillow, eyes heavy and half lidded as you straddle his lap, thighs spread wide while you ride him slow and filthy. your tiny skirt’s shoved up around your waist, nails clawing at his shoulders and his big hands grip your hips, helping you bounce down hard onto his thick cock every time you drop.

“fuck, baby… so tight,” he groans low, voice rough and wrecked, thumbs digging into your soft skin. “keep taking it like that my greedy little slut.”

you’re moaning, head thrown back, tits bouncing under your crop top until your gaze locks on the sharp black blood manipulation mark stretched across the bridge of his nose. it cuts over his features like a wicked slash, and in the low light it looks almost alive. your brain zeros in instantly.

you slow your hips to a dirty grind, still stuffed full of him and lean in close, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses right along the mark. then you drag the flat of your tongue over it, slow teasing laps from one cheekbone to the other like you’re tasting candy.

choso’s whole body jerks. his cock throbs hard inside your dripping pussy, hands clamping down on your hips so tight it stings.

“shit- baby-” his voice cracks, raw and desperate.

you hum against his face, tongue flicking over the mark again in filthy circles, savoring the faint salt of his skin and that dark, addictive taste that’s pure him. “it’s so sexy, choso… like a hot little tattoo. does it make your cock twitch when i lick it?”

he shudders violently, hips bucking up involuntarily ,burying himself deeper with a choked groan.

“no one’s… ever put their mouth there,” he rasps, voice thick with lust. “fuck- keep going. don’t stop.”

you smirk, all bratty and needy, and drag your tongue along the mark again, long, wet stripes this time while you grind down harder, clenching around his length like a vice.

“like this?” you purr against his skin, tongue swirling right over the center. “you gonna cum just from me licking your pretty mark?”

that breaks him.

choso’s hands dig bruises into your hips and he starts fucking up into you, hard, fast, erratic, cock slamming deep with every desperate thrust. the wet slap of your pussy taking him fills the room, obscene and loud.

“fuck fuck- can’t hold it,” he growls, eyes rolling back. “you’re gonna make me-”

he comes hard, sudden and messy, spilling deep inside you with a guttural moan, hips jerking as thick ropes of cum flood your cunt. you feel every hot pulse, every twitch, and it drags a filthy little whimper from your throat.

but he doesn’t stop.

he keeps pounding through it, cock still rock hard, still throbbing, fucking his own cum deeper into you with sloppy, greedy thrusts. his hands yank you down until your tits are smashed against his chest, mouth right against your ear.

“again,” he pants, voice wrecked and demanding. “lick it again. make me cum inside you twice. fuck, i need it.”

you moan, tongue immediately dragging over the mark once again while you rock your hips to meet every brutal snap of his.

“a-ah! fuck cho- yes-”

he snarls low in his throat, pace turning feral, fucking you so hard the headboard bangs against the wall. the wet squelch of your cum stuffed pussy is shameless, dripping down his balls.

“cum on my cock,” he growls. “milk me dry. now.”

you shatter around him. clenching tight, screaming his name as your orgasm rips through you. the squeeze sends him over the edge again. he buries himself balls deep and comes a second time, even harder this time, flooding you with another thick load, hips grinding like he wants to keep every drop locked inside.

when it finally ends, he’s panting against your neck, cock still twitching inside your overfilled pussy. his hands stay locked on your hips, holding you down so you can’t move.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice rough and satisfied. “no one’s ever made me lose it like that. licking my mark while you ride me stupid.”

you giggle breathlessly, nuzzling against his cheek, tongue flicking out for one last teasing swipe over the mark.

“gonna do it every time now,” you whisper, all smug and floaty. “love how hard it makes you cum inside me.”

he groans low, hips giving one last lazy grind.

“good girl,” he rasps, pressing a rough kiss to your jaw. “keep that up and i’ll fill you till you’re leaking for days.”

you melt against him, already clenching around his softening cock.

•●TAKUMA INO●•

takuma’s got you on your back in the middle of his messy bedroom floor, the rug soft under your shoulders while he’s settled between your thighs, cock buried deep and slow rolling his hips in lazy, perfect circles that make your toes curl. your legs are hooked loosely around his back, sparkly nails tracing random patterns on his shoulders as he fucks you with that easy, goofy rhythm he always falls into when he’s lost in you.

“god baby, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, voice low and breathless, forehead pressed to yours. “so wet… so tight… like you were made for me.”

you’re moaning softly, all floaty and happy, until your brain takes one of its classic detours. your eyes flutter open, locking on his face sweaty, flushed, grinning that lopsided grin and the thought hits you like glitter exploding in your head.

“takuma… wait… wait a second,” you breathe out, hips still rocking up to meet his even as you cup his cheeks. “what if… what if our souls are fucking too? like… right now? while our bodies are doing this… are our souls just… banging in some cosmic plane?”

ino freezes. mid thrust. cock throbbing inside you, but he doesn’t move.

he blinks down at you once. twice. then a slow, delighted grin spreads across his face.

“holy shit,” he whispers, eyes sparkling. “that’s… that’s actually kinda deep, princess.”

you giggle, cheeks flushing pink, clenching around him just to feel him twitch. “right? like… maybe this is what the universe wants. two souls slamming into each other forever. maybe that’s the whole point of everything.”

he laughs soft, warm, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. he pulls back just enough to look at you properly, then leans in and kisses you slow and messy, tongue sliding against yours like he’s tasting the idea itself.

“maybe,” he murmurs against your lips, hips giving one lazy roll that makes you whimper. “maybe this is the meaning of life. you and me. souls fucking. bodies fucking. all of it.”

he starts moving again, every thrust punctuated by another soft kiss to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“or maybe,” he whispers, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a filthy grind, “the meaning is just… making you giggle while i’m balls deep inside you.”

you burst into giggles, the sound turning into a moan when he hits that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. “takuma ohmygod that’s so cheesy”

“cheesy and true,” he says, grinning wider. he stops moving entirely, buried to the hilt, and just holds there letting you feel every thick inch while he kisses you again, slow and sweet and silly.

“think about it,” he mumbles between kisses. “big bang? maybe that was just two souls meeting for the first time and going ‘oh fuck yes, let’s do this forever.’”

you’re laughing so hard your whole body shakes, pussy fluttering around him and he groans at the sensation.

“stop stop making me laugh while you’re inside me!” you whine, but you’re still giggling, hips squirming.

“can’t help it,” he pants, starting to move again faster now, deeper. “you’re too cute. too perfect. gotta philosophize while i fuck you stupid.”

he keeps going thrusting hard and steady stopping every few strokes just to lean down and kiss you again, whispering dumb, beautiful nonsense against your mouth.

“maybe enlightenment is cumming so hard you forget your own name,” he groans, one hand sliding between you to rub messy circles over your clit. “maybe nirvana is your pussy squeezing me like this.”

you’re moaning and laughing at the same time now, tears of pleasure and amusement pricking your lashes.

“takuma, takuma please”

“yeah?” he pants, hips snapping faster. “gonna cum for me, baby? gonna let our souls high five while you cream all over my cock?”

that does it. you shatter around him clenching tight, crying out in broken giggles and moans, orgasm ripping through you like fireworks. he follows right after with a low, wrecked groan, burying himself deep and spilling inside you, hips grinding slow and filthy through the aftershocks.

when he finally collapses half on top of you, both of you panting and sweaty and still tangled together, he presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“so,” he whispers, voice hoarse and happy, “meaning of life achieved?”

you giggle weakly, nuzzling into his neck. “achieved. multiple times.”

•●HIROMI HIGURUMA●•

higuruma has you bent over his heavy oak desk in the quiet home office, the single desk lamp casting warm shadows across scattered legal briefs while he stands behind you, tie loose, sleeves rolled to his elbows, cock sliding into your dripping pussy with slow, measured strokes that make the wood creak softly.

his voice stays low and precise, that same courtroom cadence rolling over you like a verdict.

“you’re taking every inch so obediently,” he says quietly, each word calm and authoritative. “such a good girl for me, even after a long day.”

you’re whimpering, nails digging into the papers, trying to focus on the deep stretch—until he speaks again in that rich, commanding tone, and your brain completely pivots.

“hiromi,” you gasp out, pushing back against him just enough to make him pause. “your voice… it’s so sexy when you talk like that. like you’re in court. can you… can you sentence me? sentence me to more dick? please?”

higuruma stills. cock buried deep, but motionless.

he exhales slowly through his nos, the sound of a man who has heard every absurd claim and is now hearing one mid fuck.

“…sentence you,” he repeats, voice flat and dry. “to more dick.”

you nod fast, cheeks flushed, clenching around him. “yes! like… ‘the court finds you guilty of being too needy… sentence: hard fucking until you cry sparkly tears.’ please? use the voice.”

he pauses a long second, dark eyes unreadable behind his glasses, then the tiniest twitch pulls at his mouth.

“very well,” he says, voice dropping to that exact domain expansion timbre, smooth and unyielding. “the court has considered the evidence. the defendant is found guilty of chronic distraction, excessive prettiness, and criminal cock teasing.”

he pulls back slow, agonizingly slow, then slams forward in one hard thrust that makes your palms slide across the desk and a sharp cry spill from your lips.

“sentence,” he continues, hips snapping in a steady, brutal rhythm that rocks the desk, “is immediate execution by deep, relentless fucking until the defendant is a sobbing, sparkly wreck. no parole.”

you moan brokenly, thighs shaking, tears already welling up as he pins you with one hand on your lower back.

“look at this filthy little slut,” he murmurs, still in that perfect courtroom tone while pounding harder. “taking her punishment so eagerly. the court approves.”

every word lands heavy and resonant, vibrating through youuntil you’re dripping around him, mascara streaking, lip gloss smeared.

“hiro-hiromi please-”

“silence,” he orders softly, leaning over you, one hand circling your clit with precise pressure. “the defendant will come when instructed. not before.”

you sob, sparkly tears spilling freely now and clench so tight he finally falters, a low curse slipping out as he fucks you faster.

“good girl,” he praises, voice rougher at the edges. “crying so prettily while you serve your sentence. highly satisfactory.”

the desk rattles, papers scatter, and you shatter, clenching hard, screaming his name in teary sobs. he follows with a restrained groan, burying deep and spilling inside you, grinding slow to push every drop where it belongs.

he stays inside you after, breathing steady against your neck, thumb gently wiping a tear from your cheek.

“sentence served,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “court adjourned.”

you sniffle-giggle, still trembling. “retrial tomorrow?”

higuruma sighs, fond and adoring and kisses your temple. “denied. but supplementary sessions are… encouraged.”

you melt against the desk, still full of him.

•●RYOMEN SUKUNA●•

you’re sprawled across the massive silk sheets in sukuna’s private chambers, legs spread wide, tiny little yukata barely clinging to your shoulders while he’s got you pinned beneath him. four strong arms hold you in place, two gripping your wrists above your head, one wrapped around your throat just tight enough to make your head spin and the last one digging bruises into your hip as he fucks into you with brutal, punishing thrusts.

his cock is thick and merciless, stretching you open every time he slams home, making your sparkly nails claw at the sheets and your glossy lips part in broken little whimpers. “s-sukuna ohmygod!! too deep-”

“quiet,” he growls, voice low and dangerous, crimson eyes narrowed down at you. “you take what i give you, little thing. every inch.”

he’s relentless, hips snapping hard, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room until your hazy gaze drifts past his shoulder to the doorway.

one of the younger male servants is standing there, frozen, tray of sake still in his hands. he’s pretty. soft features, dark hair falling into wide eyes and he’s staring right at you, cheeks flushed, clearly unable to look away from the way your tits bounce with every brutal thrust.

you blink slowly, brain all fuzzy and pleasure drunk, and without thinking you whisper, “he’s… kinda cute…”

sukuna stops. completely.

the air in the room turns thick, heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks.

his hand tightens around your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who owns you. his other three arms flex, muscles rippling as he slowly turns his head toward the servant.

the poor boy drops the tray. sake shatters across the floor. he stammers something incoherent and starts backing away, but sukuna’s voice cuts through like a blade.

“leave. now. or i’ll rip your spine out through your mouth.”

the servant flees so fast he nearly trips over his own feet.

sukuna’s gaze snaps back to you, dark, dangerous, burning with something possessive and furious. his lips curl into a wicked, predatory smile that shows every sharp tooth.

“cute?” he repeats, voice dangerously soft. “you think he’s cute?”

you whimper, trying to squirm under him, but he holds you pinned. “i-i didn’t mean-”

“oh, you meant it,” he snarls, suddenly yanking your hips up higher so he can drive into you even deeper and harder, making your back arch off the bed with a sharp cry. “my little dumb slut, getting distracted by some worthless insect while i’m fucking you stupid.”

he starts pounding into you with punishing force, each thrust slamming you up the bed, making your tits bounce wildly, your sparkly tears smudging your mascara. one of his hands slides down to rub rough circles over your clit, too much sensation all at once.

“look at me,” he commands, gripping your chin so hard your lips pout. “eyes on your king. not some pathetic servant who wouldn’t last a second in your tight little cunt.”

you nod frantically, sobbing with pleasure and overstimulation. “s-sukuna please- i’m sorry!”

“sorry?” he laughs, dark and cruel. “you’ll be sorry when i fuck every thought of him out of that empty head.”

he flips you over in one brutal motion, face down, ass up, then slams back inside you from behind, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head back so you’re forced to look at him over your shoulder.

“say it,” he growls, hips snapping so hard the whole bedframe groans. “say who you belong to.”

“y-you sukuna, only you-”

“louder.”

“only you! only sukuna, fuck please-”

he curses under his breath, pace turning feral and rough, animalisti until you’re screaming his name, clenching around him so hard he snarls and spills deep inside you with a guttural groan, filling you until it’s dripping down your thighs.

when he finally pulls out, you collapse onto the sheets, trembling and dazed. he rolls you onto your back with surprising gentleness, looming over you, four hands stroking over your skin like he’s claiming every inch.

“next time you look at anyone but me,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous against your ear, “i’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week. understood?”

you nod weakly, all floaty and happy despite the ache between your legs. “yes, sukuna…”

he smirks, pressing a rare soft kiss to your swollen lips.

“good girl.”

•●TOJI FUSHIGURO●•

toji has you folded in half on the bed, knees shoved up to your chest in a tight mating press, ankles hooked over his broad shoulders while he rails into you with slow, punishing thrusts that make the headboard smack the wall every time he bottoms out. your clothes long gone, panties shredded somewhere on the floor, and you're clawing uselessly at his scarred forearms as he pins you down with his weight, scarred lips curled in that lazy, dangerous smirk.

“fuck, doll… this pussy’s takin’ me like it was made for it,” he rasps, voice rough and smug, hips snapping forward hard enough to punch a high whimper out of you. “still so tight even after all the times i’ve stretched you stupid.”

you’re moaning, head thrown back and tears of pleasure pricking your lashes when your hazy eyes catch on the faint gray at his temples, the deep lines around his eyes when he grins, the way his muscles flex like he’s still got everything to prove. the thought slips out before you can stop it, all sweet and oblivious while your hips still buck up to meet every brutal slam.

“toji… you’re so old,” you gasp between moans, voice breathy and innocent like you’re just noticing the weather. “are your knees gonna give out? like… a-are you gonna collapse mid thrust? do old guys get tired faster? should i be on top s-so you don’t hurt yourself?”

toji freezes. cock buried balls deep, throbbing angrily inside your fluttering cunt but he doesn’t move an inch. then he lets out a low, dark chuckle that vibrates through your whole body and makes your pussy clench involuntarily.

“old, huh?” he repeats, voice dangerously soft, scarred lips brushing your ear. “you think this old man’s gonna tap out while he’s balls deep in your greedy little hole?”

before you can answer he yanks your legs higher, folding you even tighter until your knees are practically by your ears and slams back in with one brutal thrust that makes your eyes roll back and a sharp cry rip from your throat.

“keep talkin’ shit about my age, doll,” he growls, hips pistoning faster now, harder, every snap of his waist driving him deeper than before. “tell me again how old i am while i breed this tight cunt full. go on. see if my knees give out before i make you scream.”

you whimper, trying to form words but only managing broken moans as he pounds you into the mattress, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and filthy, your poor pussy stretched wide around his thick length.

“toji- toji you’re… you’re so strong for an old guy-!”

he laughs meanly again and shifts his grip, one big hand wrapping around your throat just enough to tilt your head back while the other pins your hip down so you can’t squirm away from the relentless pounding.

“that’s right,” he snarls against your mouth, teeth grazing your bottom lip. “old enough to know exactly how to fuck a bratty little thing like you stupid. old enough to fill this pussy up until it’s leakin’ me for days. now cum, cum while you’re beggin’ this old man not to stop.”

the angle’s merciless, he’s hitting that spot over and over, cock dragging against every sensitive inch and the filthy words combined with the brutal rhythm send you over the edge. you shatter around him, clenching so hard your vision whites out, screaming his name in teary, broken sobs as your orgasm rips through you.

toji follows right after with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling thick and hot inside you, hips grinding deep like he’s trying to make sure every drop stays where it belongs.

when he finally stills, he doesn’t pull out. just keeps you folded beneath him, breathing hard against your neck, scarred lips brushing your temple in a soft kiss.

“still think my knees are gonna give out, doll?” he mutters, voice gruff and satisfied.

you giggle weakly through the aftershocks, nuzzling into his neck. “no, you’re perfect. even if you’re ancient.”

he huffs a rough laugh, nipping your earlobe hard enough to make you squeak.

“keep talkin’ like that and this ancient cock’s gonna breed you again. right now.”

•●SHIU KONG●•

shiu relaxes on the worn leather couch in his dimly lit living room, legs spread, cigarette glowing between his lips as you straddle his lap sideways, skirt shoved up around your hips. his hand is between your thighs, two fingers sliding slow and deep into your soaked pussy while his thumb grazes lazy circles over your clit.

“look at you, princess,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. “already dripping down my fingers clenching like you’re scared i’ll stop.”

you’re whimpering, head tipped back against his shoulder, nails digging into his forearm until the sharp scent of tobacco hits you again and your brain latches on.

“shiu,” you gasp out, thighs shaking around his wrist even as you squirm in his lap. “smoking is so bad for you… like, really really bad. your lungs are probably all black and gross inside. you’re gonna get sick and then who’s gonna finger me like this? you have to quit, okay? promise me-”

shiu doesn’t stop moving. his fingers keep stroking that perfect spot inside you, pressing harder now while he takes a long, deep drag from the cigarette without breaking eye contact.

he exhales slowly through his nose first, then leans in close, lips brushing yours.

“open,” he says quietly, voice calm but edged with that dry amusement he saves just for your lectures.

you part your lips automatically, because when he uses that tone you always obey, and he blows the smoke directly into your mouth, thick and warm, filling your lungs until you cough softly, eyes watering and cheeks flushing hotter.

“there,” he murmurs, thumb pressing firmer on your clit while his fingers crook harder against your gspot, rubbing in tight, relentless circles. “now you’ve got a taste of how bad it is. still wanna keep preaching, princess?”

you try to answer, you really do, but the smoke and the pressure inside you turn your words into a broken whimper. your hips jerk in his lap, pussy fluttering around his fingers, slick dripping down his wrist and soaking the front of his pants.

“sh-shiu! please-”

he chuckles low, taking another drag then leans in again, this time blowing the smoke slower, letting it curl between your lips while his fingers fuck faster, deeper, hitting that spot over and over until your thighs start to shake violently against his.

“you gonna keep talking?” he whispers against your mouth, voice low and dark. “or are you gonna cum like a good girl and squirt all over my hand?”

the combination, the smoke in your lungs, the filthy words, the perfect pressure on your gspot snaps something inside you.

your back arches in his lap with a high, shattered cry, pussy clenching hard around his fingers as you cum hard, squirting messily over his hand and wrist soaking the sleeve of his shirt and the couch beneath you both. your whole body shakes, tears of pleasure spilling down your cheeks, sparkly mascara streaking while you sob his name in broken little gasps.

shiu doesn’t stop right away. he keeps stroking through it, slower now, drawing out every tremor until you’re whimpering from overstimulation, thighs quivering in his hold.

only then does he ease his fingers out, slick and glistening, and brings them to your lips.

“clean them,” he says softly, still holding the cigarette between two fingers of his other hand. “taste how good you came for me, even while you were lecturing.”

you part your lips again, obedient as always, and suck his fingers clean, tongue swirling around them while he watches with that lazy, satisfied smirk.

he finally stubs the cigarette out in the nearby ashtray, pulls you closer against his chest and presses a slow kiss to your temple.

“still think i should quit?” he murmurs against your hair, voice gruff and fond.

you nod weakly against his shoulder, still catching your breath.

“yes… but maybe after you make me squirt again.”

he chuckles low, already sliding his hand back between your thighs. “deal, princess.”

•●NAOYA ZEN'IN●•

naoya has you bent over the long mahogany table in the dining hall of the zenin estate, skirt shoved up to your waist, panties yanked to the side while he fucks you from behind with sharp, arrogant thrusts that rattle the crystal decanter sitting nearby. one hand fists your hair to keep your cheek pressed to the polished surface, the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise, rings digging in with every punishing snap of his hips.

“fuckin’ take it,” he sneers, voice low and smug. “bent over my family table like the desperate little slut you are. should be honored i’m even touching this sloppy cunt.”

you’re moaning, tears streaking down your cheeks, ass bouncing back to meet him until your glassy eyes drift across the room and land on the ugly mustard yellow drapes, the chipped lacquer on the antique chairs, the dusty tapestry that looks like it’s been hanging there since the sengoku period. your brain completely derails.

“naoya…” you gasp between moans, hips still rocking back greedily even as you twist your head to glance around. “this room looks so bad… like really ugly. those curtains are awful and everything’s so dark and old. i’m gonna have to change it all soon… maybe some pink and white? or cute little fairy lights? we can’t keep living with this decor, it’s depressing-”

naoya stops dead. cock buried balls deep, throbbing angrily inside your fluttering pussy, but he doesn’t pull out. the hall goes dangerously quiet except for your panting and the faint creak of the table under your palms.

then he lets out a slow, mocking laugh, cold and sharp, the kind that makes your stomach flip.

“the decor,” he repeats, voice dripping disdain. “you’re getting railed on my ancestral table and you’re critiquing the fucking curtains?”

before you can answer he yanks your head back harder by the hair, forcing your spine to arch until your tits press flat to the wood.

“stupid little girl,” he growls against your ear, free hand sliding around to pinch your clit meanly. “thinking about redecorating while i’m splitting your cunt open. you think you get to decide what happens in this house?”

he starts fucking you again harder, faster, punishing each thrust slamming you into the table so hard the crystal decanter rattles dangerously. the portraits on the walls seem to glare harder, but you can barely see them through the tears and the way your vision blurs every time he bottoms out.

“keep talkin’ about the curtains,” he snarls, hips snapping with brutal precision. “tell me how much you hate the drapes while i breed this worthless pussy full. maybe if you’re lucky i’ll let you pick new ones… after i’ve fucked every thought of pink fairy lights out of your empty head.”

you sob high and broken pussy clenching around him like a vice as the mean words and relentless pounding send you spiraling. your orgasm hits like a slap shattering through you, squirting messily down his cock and thighs while you scream his name into the mahogany.

naoya follows with a low, arrogant groan burying himself deep and spilling thick ropes inside you, hips grinding like he wants to carve his claim into your womb.

when he finally pulls out he spins you around, lifts you onto the table so your ass is perched on the edge, legs dangling, cum already leaking out of you onto the polished wood. he steps between your thighs, grabs your chin, and forces you to look at the ugly yellow drapes across the room.

“next time you get distracted by my family’s decor mid fuck,” he murmurs, thumb smearing your tears and gloss across your cheek, “i’ll bend you over every ugly piece of furniture in this house until you forget what color you wanted to paint the walls. understood?”

you nod shakily, still trembling, a dazed little smile on your tear streaked face.

“yes, naoya… but the curtains really are hideous…”

he smirks, pressing a mocking kiss to your forehead. “good girl. we’ll burn them tomorrow.”

you waltzed into his life like you owned the planet. lip gloss shining, hair bouncing, perfume floating behind you like some expensive dream. you always had a new story, a new bruise on your heart from whatever guy was disappointing you that week, a new question to ask him with those soft, confused eyes he’d been in love with since the moment he first met you.

and he listened every time.

every single time.

like an idiot.

"toru," you said one night, walking next to him under the neon signs, heels clicking on the pavement, "do you think he meant it?"

satoru didn’t ask who "he" was. there was always a he. some guy who didn’t deserve you, some guy who had the emotional complexity of drywall, some guy who looked at you and saw a toy instead of a universe.

he shoved his hands in his pockets, exhaling a sigh that tasted like defeat. "no," he said gently. "i don’t think he meant it."

you pouted, god, that pout, and leaned your head against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. like you didn’t feel the way his pulse jumped. like you had no idea what you did to him.

"why doesn’t anyone want me?" you whispered.

he nearly laughed. not because it was funny, no, it hurt so bad he felt it behind his ribs. but because the idea was so ridiculous he didn’t know how else to process it.

"you’re… you," he said, voice a little tight. "you’re everything."

you didn’t hear the tremor. you never did.

you just sighed again, dramatic and sad, lips glossy and eyes shiny under the city lights. "i just want someone who, like… actually likes me."

satoru swallowed hard.

"i know," he whispered.

and he did know. he knew exactly what you wanted. he knew exactly what you deserved. he knew exactly how he felt. but he also knew the truth that haunted him on nights like this, when you walked so close beside him he could smell the vanilla on your skin.

you didn’t see him.

not like that.

you saw him the way pretty girls see good men, safe, reliable, comfortable. someone to run to after the heartbreak, not someone to fall for before it.

you stopped walking suddenly, grabbing his sleeve with those delicate fingers he’d never held in the way he wanted.

"i think i’m gonna call him," you said.

satoru closed his eyes, just for a second. just long enough to shove every feeling he had for you into a locked box inside his chest.

"yeah?" he said, forcing a smile. "go for it."

you lit up like it was hope. like it was a chance. like it wasn’t another wound waiting to happen.

"toru, you’re the best," you said, rising on your toes to kiss his cheek before you ran off down the street, phone already in hand.

he stood there long after you disappeared.

long after the neon lights buzzed and the night swallowed your figure and the weight of what he’d never be settled back over his shoulders.

he didn’t chase you. he never did.

because pretty girls don’t notice the men who worship them.

and satoru gojo worshipped you more than anything he’d ever believed in.

•●SUGURU GETO●•

geto always thought he understood people. their patterns, their selfishness, the way they clung to whatever made them feel less alone for even a second. he understood desire in others the way a scholar understands text, academically, distantly, never personally. and then he met you.

you weren’t supposed to matter. you weren’t supposed to linger in the edges of his mind like sunlight leaking through paper walls.

but you did and it ruined him a little.

you showed up in his life like a warm breeze, all lip gloss smiles and soft sweaters and the kind of bright, gentle sincerity that made him painfully aware of every violent thought he’d ever had. you waved at him the first time you met, a small, silly flutter of your fingers, like you were greeting a friend and not a stranger whose entire worldview was a funeral home full of bad memories.

and he should’ve ignored you. he should’ve stayed distant. he should’ve protected you from himself.

but instead he found himself watching, always watching, from the corner of whatever room you were in. there was something about your laugh, the way your face lit up like a lantern when someone said your name, the softness in your eyes when you talked about even the smallest things. he pretended he didn’t care, but he learned every version of your smile like scripture.

the problem was that you never smiled like that at him. not the way he wanted.

you liked the wrong boys, that was your curse.

you liked boys who didn’t text back, who took you out when it was convenient, who made you feel small in the ways that left bruises on the inside. and geto hated them. not out of jealousy, but out of something darker, something protective and consuming that curled under his ribs like smoke.

he saw you standing outside the school one evening, hugging yourself against the cold, mascara smudging at the corners of your eyes. the boy you’d been excited about, the one you’d talked to him about for a week straight, had just left with someone else. he’d brushed past you without even looking back and geto watched you break without making a sound.

"hey," he called softly, walking over like he hadn’t been observing from a distance like a ghost, "you okay?"

your smile was fragile. "oh hey, suguru. yeah, i’m fine. i’m just… stupid."

his stomach twisted. "don’t say that."

"it’s true," you mumbled, rubbing at your cheeks. "i always pick the wrong people."

he wanted to tell you that he would never do that to you, never leave you waiting, never treat you like an afterthought, never make you doubt the light you carried in your bones. he wanted to say that he noticed everything about you, how kind you were, how thoughtful, how you held your pain like something to be ashamed of instead of something that proved you survived.

but he said none of it.

instead he shrugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. "it’s cold," he murmured, "you shouldn’t stand out here alone."

you blinked up at him with those soft, wet eyes and something in his chest cracked straight down the middle.

"thanks," you whispered, pulling the fabric close. "you’re always so nice to me."

nice.

he almost laughed. if only you knew.

if only you knew how he clenched his fists when someone spoke to you with anything less than tenderness. if only you knew how every shitty boy you fell for made him want to set the whole world on fire just to give you somewhere safer to stand. if only you knew how many times he’d imagined telling you the truth, that you were too good, too warm, too golden for any of them.

you leaned into him without thinking, cheek pressed to his shoulder, seeking warmth and comfort from someone you didn’t know was breaking inside.

"don’t worry," you sighed, trying to laugh it off, "i’ll get over him. i always do."

and geto closed his eyes.

because you would. you would get over him and then you’d fall for someone else who wouldn’t deserve you.

and geto would be there, steady, loyal, constant, silently stitching himself shut every time you handed your heart to the wrong hands.

"you deserve better," he said finally, voice low, steady, betraying more than it should.

you smiled up at him, soft and grateful and painfully oblivious.

"you always say things like that," you teased gently.

"i say them because they’re true."

you nudged him lightly, missing every aching thing behind his tone. "suguru, you’re such a good friend."

friend.

the word landed like a knife.

he forced a smile. "yeah," he whispered, looking away so you wouldn’t see the truth in his eyes, "something like that."

and as you slipped your arm through his and walked home beside him, warm in his coat and unaware of the storm inside him, suguru thought, he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to notice, or if he was terrified of what would happen if you did.

•●KENTO NANAMI●•

nanami has always been the kind of man who keeps his feelings folded neatly inside himself, tucked away like pressed paper inside a book, quiet and private and impossible to read unless you already know what you’re looking for. and you, loud, sweet, soft in a way the world never deserved, never looked closely enough to see how every small thing you did carved him open gently, like a knife wrapped in silk.

you weren’t trying to hurt him, he knew that. you never even realized what you were doing.

like tonight, standing outside that little restaurant near your apartment, shivering a little in the evening air while you checked your lipstick in your phone camera, shoulders pulled back and chest lifted like you were trying so, so hard to look confident for a man who didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you.

nanami leaned against the wall beside you, hands in his pockets, pretending not to watch you in the reflection of the window. pretending his heart wasn’t twisting itself into quiet knots every time you sighed out, almost under your breath, "i hope he likes my outfit…"

nanami liked your outfit, he liked everything on you. he’d like you wrapped in velvet or lace or bubble wrap or newspaper. he’d like you in anything as long as you were standing in front of him, alive and real and still trusting him enough to confide in him like he was someone who could handle it.

the man you were waiting for wasn’t worth the effort. nanami knew it, you didn’t. that was the problem.

"do you think he’ll think i look cute?" you asked suddenly, turning toward him with eyes too hopeful to belong to someone being strung along by a man who barely texted you back.

nanami forced himself to nod, even though it felt like chewing glass. "you look very lovely," he said, voice steady and warm and collected, the way he always sounded when he was breaking a little on the inside.

your smile was small and shy, the kind of smile he knew you didn’t give to just anyone. but you gave it to him like it meant nothing, like it was casual. like it didn’t ruin him every single time.

"you’re sweet, nanami," you told him, bumping your shoulder gently against his. "if i didn’t want this guy so bad, i’d totally date someone like you."

someone like you.

he swallowed.

you had no idea those words were a knife. you didn’t even see the wound.

you were checking your phone again when nanami finally asked, "are you sure he’s treating you well? it seems like he cancels on you quite often."

"yeah, but he’s just busy," you said quickly, too quickly, like you’d practiced the excuse. "guys like him have options, you know? i have to be patient."

nanami looked at you, really looked, at the way your fingers fidgeted with your bracelet, at the way you kept glancing at every car that passed like you were afraid he might not show up, at the way you kept smoothing your hair even though it was already perfect.

you deserved someone who worshipped the ground you walked on.

someone who would walk through fire just to make you smile.

someone who wasn’t too much of a coward to say your name like it meant something.

someone who wasn’t him.

because he knew you didn’t see him that way. he knew you’d never look at him with that breathless, trembling hope in your eyes. he knew he would always be the man standing beside you while you waited for someone else.

a car finally pulled up and nanami watched your face light up. it killed him.

"that’s him!" you whispered, fixing your lip gloss in the reflection of the window again. "wish me luck."

nanami did the only thing he could do. he touched your shoulder gently, steady, warm.

"you don’t need luck," he murmured, "you need someone who recognizes your worth."

you didn’t understand what he meant, he could see it in the confused little tilt of your head, but you smiled anyway, bright and hopeful, and before he could say anything else, you hurried off toward a man who didn’t deserve you, didn’t see you, didn’t know he was holding something golden and fragile in careless hands.

you didn’t look back.

nanami did.

he watched until your silhouette disappeared inside the car, until the taillights faded into the night, until it was just him and the quiet hum of the city around him, alone with all the words he would never say.

you were too good for him. and he would love you quietly for as long as he had to.

even if you never noticed.

•●CHOSO KAMO●•

choso doesn’t understand a lot of human things yet. not the way you move or glow or drift through rooms like you’re made of something warmer than everyone else, not the way his chest tightens painfully whenever you laugh at someone else’s joke, not the way jealousy coils in him like instinct, sharp and ancient, whenever you talk about some new guy who "might be nice this time." he doesn’t get any of it. he just knows it hurts.

he sits on the couch with yuji, staring blankly at the wall while you blow past them in a rush of perfume and lip gloss and that soft little "wish me luck!" you always toss over your shoulder when you’re going out to see someone who isn’t him. yuji gives him a look, the kind that’s way too knowing for a seventeen year old, and choso tries to school his face into something neutral, but he knows he’s failing because yuji sighs like this is the hundredth time they’ve done this.

"you gotta stop torturing yourself," yuji mutters, nudging his shoulder. choso doesn’t move. his eyes are still locked on the empty doorway you disappeared through. "she’s… she’s not gonna see it. you know that, right?"

choso swallows. "i don’t want her to see anything." he pauses. "i only want her to be safe."

yuji gives him a flat look. "safe? dude, you’re in love with her."

choso opens his mouth, closes it, tries again. "i don’t… understand that word the way you mean it."

"you don’t have to understand it," yuji says gently, "you just have to admit it."

choso doesn’t. he can’t. it feels wrong to name something so big and terrifying. love in the tongue of curses was possession, hunger, devotion, none of which he wants to lay at your feet. you deserve someone soft, someone who knows how to speak gently instead of staring too long and struggling to breathe when you smile at him.

you come home late. you look tired. your makeup is smudged, your heels dangle from your fingers, and yuji immediately brightens at the sight of you, but choso feels the air leave his lungs because you look like you’ve been crying. not a lot, not loudly, just that faint redness around your eyes that says you tried really hard not to.

"did it go badly?" yuji asks softly.

you shrug like it doesn’t matter. "he wasn’t… nice," you say, and it’s so quiet choso feels it like a bruise forming in his chest. "i thought maybe this one would be different. i don’t know why i keep trying."

yuji shoots choso another look, the kind that screams say something, but choso sits motionless, hands clenched so tightly they ache. he wants to ask who hurt you, he wants to rip out the problem by the root, he wants to tell you that you’re soft and warm and good and any man who speaks to you without reverence should be dragged into the dirt.

but all he manages is a strained, "you deserve better."

you smile, small and tired. "thank you, choso."

you disappear into your room, closing the door softly behind you, and the apartment feels too quiet. yuji stares at him, exasperated.

"i’m serious," yuji says. "you can’t keep doing this. she doesn’t see you like that."

choso lowers his head, presses his palms together like he’s praying to something that doesn’t listen. "i know."

"then let it go."

choso’s breath hitches in a way he hopes yuji doesn’t catch. "i can’t."

and he truly can’t. he doesn’t know how to stop wanting you, how to stop being drawn to you like a compass needle pointing north. he doesn’t understand how humans turn off feelings, how they pull roots from soil without shredding everything inside them. every time you smile at him, something blooms. every time you talk about another man, something breaks.

he sits there long after yuji goes to bed, staring at your closed door, listening to the quiet rustle of you moving around your room, maybe changing into pajamas, maybe wiping your tears, maybe wondering why the world keeps handing your heart to people who don’t deserve it.

choso presses a hand to his sternum, right over the ache he still doesn’t understand.

he can’t move on. not when it’s you. not when the sound of your voice feels like gravity. not when he’s half human, half curse, and somehow entirely yours without you ever realizing.

he’ll never say it, he’ll never ask. he’ll never take more than you give.

but gods, it hurts. and he doesn’t know how to stop wanting you anyway.

•●TAKUMA INO●•

takuma had been stupidly, embarrassingly, violently in love with you for months. maybe longer, if he was being honest with himself, but he wasn’t, because if he ever admitted the full extent of it out loud, he’d probably fold in half like a dying roomba.

you weren’t even doing anything special. you were just… standing there. in that tiny outfit you claimed was "business casual," sipping a pink drink like it contained the secrets of the universe, adjusting your little hair bow with the concentration of someone disarming a bomb.

and takuma was absolutely losing his shit.

he kept stealing glances at you across the room, quick little looks that he pretended were accidental, like oh wow how did my eyes end up directly on her again? what a mystery. someone call a detective. but everyone knew, even nanami knew. nanami had stared at him once in pure disappointment.

and still, you remained blissfully, painfully unaware.

you should’ve noticed by now, anyone else would’ve. he wasn’t exactly subtle. when you said you were hungry, he showed up ten minutes later with three separate meals "just in case." when you said you liked his hair, he spent thirty minutes in the bathroom trying to replicate the exact shape it made when you complimented him. when you said you were cold, he wrapped you in his jacket, tripped over a chair, fell down, stood up, and then pretended nothing happened.

you thought he was "silly."

takuma thought about walking into traffic.

but the real problem wasn’t the way he looked at you like you hung the stars, or the way he flinched whenever you smiled at someone else, or the way he tried so hard to impress you that he nearly dislocated his shoulder attempting to lift something way too heavy, no, the real problem was the way you talked about other guys.

specifically guys who didn’t deserve you if you gift wrapped yourself and hand delivered your own heart in a sparkly envelope.

you’d sigh, twirling your hair, pouting. "he hasn’t texted me back…"

takuma would feel his soul leave his body.

"i think i might like him…"

takuma would internally combust.

"but he said i’m kinda dumb."

takuma would black out entirely.

and the worst part?

you said these things to him. directly to him.

like he was your emotional support golden retriever.

he nodded along, offered advice through gritted teeth, tried not to cry when you said things like "you’re such a good friend, taku," because friendly fire was still fire, and god, it burned.

he kept hoping, stupidly, delusionally, that one day you’d look at him and see it. the way he hovered around you like a planet stuck in your orbit. the way he lit up like a kid at christmas every time you said his name. the way he’d drop everything, mission, paycheck, dignity, if you so much as hinted you needed him.

instead, you kept chasing men who treated you like an afterthought.

one day, after a particularly soul crushing rant about some guy who ghosted you (takuma had memorized his name so he could manifest the opportunity to fight him in a back alley at 3am), something cracked a little inside him.

you were seated beside him on the couch, kicking your legs idly, sipping something fruity through a bendy straw, completely oblivious to the way he was staring at you like he’d die if you left the room. your head rested on his shoulder, your perfume sweet and soft, filling his lungs, short circuiting his brain.

"taku?" you asked gently, pulling back just enough to look at him. "are you listening?"

he was. unfortunately.

"yeah," he said, a little too fast, a little too breathless, "i’m- yeah. totally."

you smiled, that bright, guileless smile that made him want to kneel. "you’re always so nice to me. guys never are. they just… take what they want and then leave."

his jaw clenched. "they’re idiots."

"mm," you hummed, leaning back against his arm. "sometimes i wish i liked nice guys."

his heart stopped. literally stopped. then restarted wrong.

nice guys.

he was right there.

he waited for you to say it, to look at him, to finally catch on, to realize he’d been offering you the world on a platter made of his crushed pride and undying devotion. but you just smiled at your drink.

"i think i’m gonna text him again."

takuma turned to stone.

you didn’t see it.

of course you didn’t.

you just tapped away on your phone, humming softly, a little pout on your lips as you typed a message you’d regret, while he sat beside you, shoulders tense, eyes dimming, heart caving in on itself.

you didn’t notice the way he looked at the floor like it was the only thing holding him together.

you didn’t hear the way he exhaled, quiet, sharp, pained.

you didn’t know that he’d fallen for you so fast he couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t already halfway gone.

you didn’t know that you were too good for him, too bright, too soft, too heartbreakingly oblivious.

you didn’t know that the man sitting beside you, the one who brought you food, carried your bags, laughed at your jokes, and stared at you like you were moonlight, would’ve loved you better than anyone ever had.

you didn’t notice.

and takuma?

he realized, with a sinking, bitter little twist of his heart, that you never would.

•●HAJIME KASHIMO●•

hajime had lived long enough to understand lightning, war, death, and the quiet boredom of empty centuries. but absolutely nothing in his long, brutal life prepared him for you.

you, with your soft voice and pretty eyes and the way you smiled at men who didn’t deserve the dirt under your shoes. you, who leaned in close when you talked, who smelled like perfume and sugar, who always touched his arm when you laughed like you didn’t know it was the closest thing to a prayer he’d ever had.

and you never noticed what you did to him. not once.

you called him "kashimo," not "hajime," like everyone else and he hated how much that mattered. you waved to him across rooms, beamed at him when he entered, told him he "looked cool" in that airy, distracted way you complimented everyone.

and he pretended it didn’t make lightning crackle under his skin.

the truth was simple and humiliating.

you were the first thing since sukuna that made him feel alive.

and yet… you talked about other men in front of him.

you twirled your hair while telling him about a guy you liked, one who didn’t call you back, one who stood you up, one who couldn’t care less. you sat beside hajime with your knees touching his, sighing dramatically about how "maybe he lost his phone or something," and hajime had to clench his fists to stop from summoning a thunderbolt strong enough to vaporize the man on the spot.

sometimes he wondered if you could hear the electricity buzzing beneath his skin, the low hum of jealousy, the dangerous static that rose whenever you said another man’s name.

you never noticed.

of course you didn’t.

one night, you knocked on his door with mascara smudged and your voice small and cracked, whispering, "do you think there’s something wrong with me? i’m… i’m never anyone’s first choice."

and that nearly killed him.

hajime had walked through battlefield after battlefield without flinching, but the sight of you crying on his doorstep? that shattered something ancient in him.

"there is nothing wrong with you," he said, voice low, steady, too controlled for the storm inside him. "you are… extraordinary."

you blinked up at him with glossy eyes, completely missing the way he was looking at you like he wanted to carve your name into his bones.

and then you asked the question that nearly made him lose control.

"then why doesn’t he want me?"

lightning flickered down his forearms.

"because he is blind," hajime said, too fast, too harsh, too honest. "because he is unworthy."

you smiled at him, soft and fragile, completely unaware that he would’ve razed the entire city if you asked him to.

"you’re sweet, kashimo."

sweet. no one had ever called him that, he didn’t know what to do with it.

you hugged him then, quick, warm, innocent, arms around his middle, cheek pressed to his chest.

his hands hovered, unsure, terrified of touching you wrong and making you pull away. you didn’t feel the way he trembled as he forced himself to be still.

you pulled back and wiped your eyes. "thanks for listening."

he nodded like a soldier receiving orders. you left with a little wave.

he stood in the doorway long after you disappeared down the hall, staring at the place where you’d been, lightning sparking along his fingertips in tiny, desperate bursts.

you would never know, you couldn’t, that kashimo hajime, a man who had spent centuries seeking nothing but battle, would’ve given up every fight he ever lived for if you only turned around and said his name differently.

and you never did.

•●HIROMI HIGURUMA●•

higuruma had always known you were too soft for this world.

not stupid, not naive, just soft in a way he used to think no one had the right to be, not after everything the world does to people. but somehow you managed, walking through life with that gentle smile and those hopeful eyes and that stubborn belief that there were still good men somewhere.

just… not him.

you’d met through mutual friends, one of those accidental connections that shouldn’t have mattered but did, because you laughed at his dry jokes and listened when he spoke and remembered the little details he mentioned once, in passing, like they were important. you brought him coffee when he worked late, checked in when he went quiet for too long, texted him that you hoped court went well today.

and he had the nerve to think that maybe, just maybe, the universe had given him something gentle on purpose.

until you introduced him to your new boyfriend.

a man who smiled too widely, touched you too possessively, interrupted you mid sentence like you were a background noise instead of a person. a man who didn’t listen to a single thing you said, but you clung to him because you wanted so badly for someone to stay that you convinced yourself he was better than nothing.

"he’s good to me," you said softly, like you were trying to reassure yourself more than him.

higuruma just hummed, polite, neutral, unreadable, even though something inside him wound painfully tight.

because he could see it already. the small flinches you didn’t even know you made, the way your smile dimmed when your boyfriend wasn’t looking, the embarrassment on your face when the man told a story about you that wasn’t funny at all.

you deserved flowers and soft words and someone who understood the way your heart worked. instead, you settled for a man who didn’t even notice when you went quiet.

and when you excused yourself to the bathroom, your boyfriend leaned back in his seat and said,

"she’s a little emotional, but she’s cute, right? she’ll grow out of it."

higuruma just stared at him. long, silent, unblinking.

the man didn’t even notice the danger.

when you returned, smiling like you were trying your best, higuruma felt something heavy settle in his chest, something like grief, something like longing, something like regret pressed under too many years of trying to be good.

"you okay?" he asked quietly when your boyfriend wasn’t paying attention.

you nodded, that soft, helpless little nod that always meant no, but i don’t want to bother anyone.

he wished, god, he wished, he had met you first. or met you before life taught you to settle. before you convinced yourself he couldn’t possibly be someone who stayed.

but he said nothing.

because you deserved honesty, and care, and stability, and he was a man who carried too much guilt and too much blood and too many regrets. and you didn’t need someone like him.

so he walked you both home, polite to a fault, said goodnight, watched you disappear inside, listened to your boyfriend complain about the stairs like a man who had accomplished something enormous just by existing.

and when he finally reached his own apartment, he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor with that hollow kind of silence that comes from wanting something he had no right to want.

you weren’t his.

but you should have been with someone who cared.

and he wished, for the first time in years, that he were a worse man. someone selfish, someone who would take you by the wrist and say come with me instead.

but he wasn’t. so he let you go.

quietly and slowly and achingly.

and the next time he saw you, weeks later, you smiled at him, small, tired, grateful, and he realized you were still with that man.

and he realized he would go on pretending it didn’t break something inside him.

•●RYOMEN SUKUNA●•

you kept choosing the wrong men, but sukuna would never admit out loud that every time you came crying to him about another heartbreak, another disappointment, another man who treated you like you were disposable, he felt something acidic coil under his ribs. jealousy, rage, entitlement, disgust, need, all tangled into one rotten, ancient knot.

he told himself he didn’t care. he told you he didn’t care. he told everyone he didn’t care.

but the truth was carved into the way he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention, that sharp, hungry glint like you were the last bright, delicate thing in a world full of filth and he hated that you didn’t know it.

"he said i was too much," you whispered one night, sitting on the temple steps with mascara smudged and lip gloss worn off in the corners. "and like, maybe i am too much. like… emotionally? and also vocally? because i do talk a lot. and sometimes i cry over cupcakes."

sukuna sat beside you, arms resting over his knees, jaw tight enough to crack stone. "you aren’t too much," he said, voice low, controlled. "he was too little."

you sniffed, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. "that’s… really nice. are you dying?"

he clicked his tongue. "idiot girl. i’m simply stating facts."

but really, it burned him from the inside out, the knowledge that you kept giving your heart to men who couldn’t hold it without dropping it like clumsy children. the knowledge that he would have worshipped you, if he let himself. the knowledge that he would have ruined kingdoms to keep you happy, if he let himself. the knowledge that he could have been everything to you, if he let himself.

but instead he just sat beside you, silent. watching you bruise and break and pretend not to care.

you had no idea how many times he had almost stepped in. almost intervened. almost ripped someone apart but stopped himself, not because he pitied them, but because he pitied himself.

because getting involved meant admitting something he’d rather die than say.

that he wanted you. that he needed you. that he hated how small he was becoming in your orbit.

"is something wrong with me?" you asked, soft and small in a way that made him want to shatter the world. "because it’s like… a pattern now. and maybe i’m stupid."

he turned to you slowly, eyes glowing faintly in the dusk. "you are stupid," he said, entirely serious, "but not in the way that matters."

you blinked up at him. "oh."

"you’re soft," he continued. "too soft. too bright. too trusting. too giving. you walk into a den of starving animals and expect them to treasure you instead of tearing you apart. that isn’t stupidity, it’s naivety."

you frowned. "that’s like… a big word."

"i know."

you whined softly, leaning against his shoulder without thinking. he went rigid, literally stiff as stone, because you never realized what you were doing to him. how close you sat, how warm you were, how your perfume stuck to his clothes for hours afterward, how you let him see every broken piece of your heart and never once wondered if maybe he was breaking too.

"am i ever gonna find someone good?" you asked quietly.

he swallowed, the movement sharp.

good.

he wasn’t good. he had never been good. he would never be good.

but he wanted you, in a way he’d never wanted anything living, and the wanting made him feel sick.

"probably not," he said casually.

you gasped. "why not!"

he shrugged. "you have terrible taste."

"hey!"

"prove me wrong."

"I will," you said, jabbing a finger at him. "next time i’m gonna pick someone who treats me sooo good you’re gonna be, like, shocked."

he huffed a laugh. "we’ll see."

but you didn’t.

you picked another disappointment three weeks later.

then another.

then another.

and every time, sukuna watched with a kind of quiet, poisonous satisfaction, because each failure brought you back to him, and he hated that it pleased him. he hated how he felt when you curled into him while crying. he hated how he spoke softly only for you. he hated how he wasn’t allowed to touch you the way he wanted. he hated that you kept choosing men beneath him when he lived centuries above them all.

mostly, he hated that you didn’t even consider him an option.

one afternoon, after another breakup with another forgettable man, you curled into the crook of his arm and said, "you’re like… the only constant guy in my life, aren’t you?"

he exhaled slowly. "unfortunately."

"hey."

"what?"

you hesitated. "why do you stay? people leave me all the time. but you never do. not even when i’m annoying."

that was when he nearly told you the truth. that was when he almost said the words. that was when his mouth opened before his mind could stop it-

"because-" but then you looked up at him with that dumb, soft, trusting little smile, and he swallowed the confession like poison.

he didn’t say because i want you. he didn’t say because i can’t stand the idea of anyone else having you. he didn’t say because when you look at me, i remember what desire used to feel like.

instead he said, "because you’d die without me."

you pouted. "that’s rude."

"it’s realistic."

you giggled and nuzzled closer, and sukuna closed his eyes, hating how much peace you brought him. hating that he couldn’t touch you the way he wanted. hating that he cared.

because you would never pick him. not with how you saw him. not with the softness he had let you see. not with the vulnerability he hated giving you.

but he stayed, he always stayed. because you didn’t need a good man.

you needed one who wouldn’t leave.

and he never would.

even if it hurt.

even if it ruined him.

even if it meant watching you break over and over in the arms of lesser men. because if you ever chose someone truly worthy, he didn’t know if he could stop himself from tearing the world apart.

so he held you while you cried. called you stupid when you blamed yourself. told your exes to fuck off when they tried crawling back. glared at every man who looked at you too long. and pretended not to care when you told him you’d find someone better someday.

you wouldn’t.

and he would wait.

forever, if he had to.

because you were soft. and stupid. and beautiful. and kind. and his.

even if you didn’t know it.

•●TOJI FUSHIGURO●•

toji knows he has no right to feel anything at all. not when he’s spent his entire life breaking things that were softer than him, not when every relationship he’s ever touched has rotted in his hands, not when he’s fully aware that he’s cut from the exact same cloth as all the men who’ve used you, bruised you, lied to you, left you. he hears you talk about them sometimes, voice airy and exhausted, like you’re tired of the cycle but too sweet to ever say it out loud, and every time, something ugly twists in his stomach because he recognizes himself in every complaint you make.

he never answers my texts.

he said i was too much.

he likes when i’m quiet.

i just want someone nice for once…

toji sits there, arms folded, jaw clenching so hard it ticks, because he knows he fits every single category you should avoid. selfish, inconsistent, sharp edged in all the wrong places. he’s not gentle, not soft, not kind. he was never meant to hold something as delicate as you without cracking it.

and yet he keeps showing up.

and you keep letting him.

you flop onto his couch without knocking, kicking your legs in the air and rambling about some guy who ghosted you, again, and toji grunts like he isn’t memorizing every word, cataloguing every detail, hating every faceless man he imagines in your stories.

"i think there’s something wrong with me," you whine dramatically, rolling onto your stomach, chin cupped in your hands. "maybe i just attract… bad guys."

toji huffs a laugh, bitter and heavy. you don’t attract bad guys, he thinks. you just don’t think you deserve better. and he hates that more than anything, hates that the world has convinced you that softness equals stupidity, that kindness equals weakness, that your sweetness is something to be mined instead of protected.

you glance up at him, eyes wide and glossy, the way they always are. "you think i’m too much, toji?"

he freezes.

the worst part is that you mean it. you’re genuinely asking. you think his opinion matters.

his throat goes tight.

"nah," he mutters, turning away like your gaze physically harms him. "not too much."

you brighten instantly, the way you always do at the tiniest crumbs of affection, and it makes something in him ache with a violent kind of tenderness he refuses to name.

you ramble on, kicking your feet, babbling about the stupid guy who ditched you mid date, and toji listens with his head propped on his hand, pretending he’s bored, pretending he isn’t carving that man’s name into the part of his brain where grudges go to rot.

you don’t notice when his eyes linger on you too long. you never do. you’re lying sideways now, lips glossy, lashes fluttering, every careless shift revealing more of your thigh, and toji forces himself to look away because he won’t be like them. he won’t take advantage of your softness, your trust, your open, foolish heart.

you deserve better. and he knows damn well he isn’t better.

but you don’t know that, because you look at him with that same bright, guileless smile and say, "you’re nice to me, toji," like it’s the simplest truth.

he almost laughs.

nice?

he’s not nice. he’s just… trying. failing. trying again. pretending his chest doesn’t tighten when you fall asleep on his shoulder. pretending he doesn’t wait up when you go out. pretending he doesn’t listen for your knock every night even though he swears he doesn’t care.

"dunno about nice," he mutters, brushing a crumb of pastry off your cheek because you somehow always get crumbs on you, "but I ain’t them."

you smile softly.

you don’t understand what he means. he’s grateful you don’t.

you lay your head on his thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you tell him in your dreamy little voice that you hope one day you’ll find someone who isn’t like the others, someone who actually wants you, someone loyal, someone who won’t flinch at how soft you are.

toji feels something inside him split clean down the middle.

"yeah," he says quietly, fingertips brushing the ends of your hair before he can stop himself. "maybe you will."

maybe you will.

maybe you won’t.

he doesn’t say anything else. he doesn’t confess, doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t let the words he wants to say escape, because they aren’t his to give and you aren’t his to claim.

he just sits there, watching you drift to sleep against him, knowing he’s no good for you, knowing he’ll ruin whatever he touches, knowing he’ll never be what you deserve, but still letting himself sit here for just one more night because it’s the only thing that keeps him breathing.

you fall asleep thinking toji isn’t like the others and he sits awake thinking he’s exactly like them.

the difference is he wishes he wasn’t.

•●SHIU KONG●•

shiu had always been decent at pretending things didn’t bother him. there was an art to it, really. that cool, disinterested little half smirk he kept tucked at the corner of his mouth, the lazy eyes, the bored tone, the casual posture that made people think he didn’t care about anything. but the truth was that you were the one thing he couldn’t fake indifference about, no matter how hard he tried. and he did try. god, he tried.

you were leaning against the bar that night, all glossy lips and soft perfume, laughing at something stupid one of your friends said, and shiu felt that familiar ache settle into the pit of his stomach, the one that reminded him he wasn’t supposed to want you like this. not someone like you. not someone soft and bright and warm. not someone who should’ve been loved by a man better than him, someone gentler, someone who didn’t have blood under his nails and a job that required him to be a ghost.

he watched you from the corner of the room, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t keeping track of every man whose gaze lingered on you too long. he pretended he didn’t care when one of them approached you, buying you a drink and smiling too wide, leaning too close, trying too hard. he told himself it wasn’t his business. you weren’t his, you’d never be his, and he didn’t deserve to even think about you like that, but it still stung when you smiled politely, that sweet little smile that he secretly collected like stolen treasures in his memory.

he didn’t mean to stare, but you made it impossible not to. every time your hair fell over your shoulder he swore the air shifted. every time you giggled into your drink his jaw tightened without him telling it to. he wasn’t jealous, or at least he wouldn’t admit it, but he felt something sharp twist inside him when that same guy touched your arm like he had a right to.

you didn’t pull away, you were too nice for that. too gentle. too… unaware.

that was the part that killed him, really. you had no idea how the world looked at you, no idea how easily men wanted to take advantage of that softness. and you definitely had no idea how fast shiu would put a blade through someone’s ribs if they dared to do more than try.

your friend tugged you away before the guy could get any bolder, leading you toward the back door for air, and shiu finally let himself breathe when you disappeared from the man’s immediate reach. he didn’t even realize he’d been watching every movement of that interaction with a trained eye, all instinct and calculation, marking escape routes and pressure points, making a mental list of exactly where to grab the guy if he needed to.

he hated how automatic it was.

he hated how much it had to do with you.

you were outside for a while, leaning against the cold brick wall, eyes closed like you were trying to steady yourself. your friend had gone back inside for something, leaving you alone, and shiu stepped out a few seconds later, not because he was following you, of course not, that would imply he cared too much, he just "happened" to need air as well.

you looked up at him the second he walked out.

"oh," you said softly, smiling in that way that made the world feel like it tilted, "hey shiu."

he tried not to choke on how pretty you looked under the streetlamp. "hey."

you fidgeted with the straw in your drink, looking embarrassed. "that guy inside was… um. weird."

shiu almost laughed. "just weird?"

your nose scrunched. "okay, creepy. i didn’t wanna be mean, though."

"you wouldn’t know how to be mean if someone paid you," he muttered before he could stop himself.

"is that a bad thing?" you asked, tilting your head.

"no," he said, voice dropping without meaning to, "it’s why people love you."

you blinked, startled. "love me?"

shit.

he looked away, jaw tense. "figure of speech."

it wasn’t. you knew it wasn’t.

you stepped closer, shoulders brushing his, totally unaware of what you did to him. you always were. that was the thing, you never noticed the way his breath hitched when you touched him, or how his eyes lingered on your mouth a second too long, or how he always positioned himself between you and anyone who might even mildly annoy you.

"you’re sweet," you said suddenly, so gently he almost forgot how to stand. "people don’t give you enough credit."

he huffed a soft laugh, because if you knew even half of who he really was, you’d probably run. "you shouldn’t say things like that."

"why not?"

because i’ll believe you.

because i already do.

because it’s you.

because i can’t want you like this.

"because," he said instead, quieter than he meant to, "i’m not someone worth saying it to."

you frowned, confused, and your hand brushed his, an accident, probably, but it felt like you’d taken a match to him.

"but i like being around you," you said honestly, leaning your head on his shoulder for just a second, "you make me feel safe."

safe.

he swallowed hard.

shiu didn’t touch you back, he couldn’t, but he stood perfectly still and let the moment settle into his bones, deep and heavy and addictive. you had no idea he would burn the world down just to keep you feeling that way. you had no idea he already watched you with the kind of hunger he tried to hide behind lazy smirks and bored eyes. you had no idea you were the one thing in his life that made him want to be better, even though he knew he wasn’t.

and you had absolutely no idea that as you pulled away and smiled at him again, softly, gratefully, lovingly in that oblivious way of yours, shiu kong was already ruined.

•●NAOYA ZEN'IN●•

naoya had always assumed that when you finally gave up on love, it would be because you realized men were beneath you, because you realized everyone was beneath you, not because some crusty, barely relevant clan heir with the personality of a brick proposed to you like you were a business deal he was signing off on.

yet there you were, sitting stiffly in the zenin estate’s quiet room, hands folded in your lap, lashes lowered as you murmured something soft and resigned about how "maybe… maybe this is just how life goes," and naoya felt something ugly, hot, and humiliating snap behind his ribs.

"you accepted him?" he asked, voice too thin, too strained.

you nodded slowly, the motion gentle and heartbreaking in a way that made his pulse spike. "he’s… nice enough, i guess. and i don’t really have the energy to, um… fight anymore. maybe i’ll be a good wife if i try really hard."

the words nice enough nearly made him blackout.

naoya scoffed before he could help it, stepping closer with a sneer that didn’t match the frantic, furious pounding of his heartbeat. "nice enough? that man can barely form a sentence without drooling on himself."

you blinked up at him, wide eyed, head tilting the way it always did when you were trying to understand him. "well… he said he wants me to be his maid and, um… child carrier. isn’t that what men want?"

naoya almost grabbed you.

almost.

the only thing that stopped him was how sad your voice sounded, small, exhausted, defeated in a way he hated more than anything his clan had ever done to him.

"you think that’s all you’re good for?" he snapped, immediately regretting the sharpness when you flinched, your lashes fluttering like you were about to apologize for existing.

"i dunno…" you whispered, playing with the hem of your skirt. "isn’t that what wives do? and he won’t… like… yell at me, i think. he doesn’t care what i do as long as i look pretty. that’s easy."

easy.

naoya’s jaw tightened so hard his teeth clicked.

you weren’t supposed to settle. you weren’t supposed to fold yourself into nothing. you weren’t supposed to go quiet and small and compliant because some useless clan son offered you the bare minimum.

you were supposed to shine, you were supposed to be adored, you were supposed to be impossible to touch unless someone earned it.

he forced a breath through his nose, forced his voice flat, forced himself not to show how deeply you were cutting him open without even knowing.

"you’re really going to marry that waste of oxygen?"

you shrugged, shoulders drooping in a way that made his stomach twist. "i just… don’t want to disappoint anyone anymore."

for the first time in his life, naoya had no insult ready.

no sneer. no smug smirk. no superiority.

just the sickening, burning understanding that you truly had no idea how precious you were, and that someone else, someone unworthy, someone lesser, someone who didn’t deserve to look at you, would get to keep you simply because you were too tired to believe there was anything better.

you stood up slowly, smoothing your skirt, giving him that soft little smile you always gave him, the one he pretended he didn’t crave.

"i should go tell him i accept for real," you said quietly. "i think he’ll be happy."

naoya swallowed hard, looking away so you wouldn’t see the way his expression twisted.

"yeah," he muttered, voice low and strained, "i bet he will."

you waved at him, cheerful and oblivious and heartbreakingly sweet.

"thanks for listening, naoya! you’re always so honest with me."

he didn’t answer.

because for the first time in his life, honesty tasted like poison. and losing you, not to someone better, but to someone beneath you, was the cruelest thing he had ever felt.

satoru froze mid sentence, halfway through bragging about some mission, one hand motioning wildly, the other holding an unopened bag of chips he had been meaning to eat for twenty minutes but kept forgetting existed. his head snapped toward you like someone had yanked his soul out by the collar.

you blinked up at him, innocent and sparkly and completely unaware of the emotional devastation you’d just caused.

“mmh?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head, lips glossy from the chapstick you’d applied seven times since you got here. “did you say something?”

he did not say something. he couldn’t.

his entire body felt like someone had unplugged him from reality and jammed the cord back in sideways.

your stretch had been cute enough, arms over your head, shirt lifting just a little, eyes fluttering shut, but the sound you made? that soft, broken, honey dripping little moan that escaped from your throat like you’d been touched somewhere sinful?

yeah. satoru was done for.

completely, irreparably done for.

“baby,” he said slowly, voice cracking in a way it absolutely should not crack, “did you… did you just make that sound on purpose?”

you blinked even wider. “huh? what sound?”

he stared at you like you were holding a weapon to his chest.

“that sound,” he said, and his voice dipped low, too low, “the one that made me almost throw the chips across the room.”

your face scrunched. “i didn’t do anythingggg,” you whined, pouting as you flopped sideways onto the couch next to him. “my back just did that thing! you knowww, the thing where it goes ‘krk!’ and then my mouth just went ‘ohhh.’ it wasn’t like, sexy or whatever.”

it was absolutely sexy or whatever.

violently so.

satoru dragged a hand down his face. “okay, sweetheart,” he said, voice thin. “i need you to understand something very important right now.”

“mmkay,” you said, kicking your feet cutely.

“you can’t,” he said, pointing at you like you were a fire hazard, “just make sounds like that around me. like. casually.”

“why not?” you asked, genuinely confused, which somehow made it worse. “it’s just a noise. like sneezing.”

“it’s not like sneezing,” he said, horrified. “if sneezing sounded like that, people would have to be arrested.”

you giggled. “you’re being dramatic.”

“am i?” he said, leaning closer, eyes wide and a little wild. “am i being dramatic? because you made that sound and i blacked out for like two seconds.”

you tilted your head, curls bouncing. “really?”

“yes, really,” he said, leaning even closer, his knee bumping yours, his voice dropping into something dangerously low. “sweetheart, that noise was… illegal. spiritually. emotionally. physically.”

your cheeks went warm. “oh.”

satoru’s breath hitched. “please don’t say ‘oh’ like that.”

“like what?” you asked innocently, biting your lip because you were confused, and that tiny movement nearly snapped the last thread of his sanity.

he inhaled sharply. “like THAT.”

you blinked. “this?”

“yes,” he choked. “that.”

your lips parted. “…this?”

“baby,” he said, and his voice sounded like he was restraining himself with actual divine power, “i’m begging you. please stop.”

you frowned softly. “but i wasn’t doing anything.”

“you never think you’re doing anything,” satoru groaned, head tilting back like he needed to pray to a higher being. “and that’s the problem.”

you scooted closer, placing a hand on his thigh because you wanted to comfort him, and he made a noise he definitely did not mean to make.

you gasped. “satoru! you just did it too!”

“that wasn’t-” he tried, but his voice cracked again, “i- baby- no-”

you brightened instantly. “oh my god you did!”

and then, like the final nail in his coffin, you leaned in, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, practically purring, “was your moan sexy or like sneezing?”

he didn’t answer, he couldn’t.

because the look on his face said he was about two seconds away from ruining both of your night’s plans in ways that definitely crossed the line into filthy, and you, still oblivious and sparkly as ever, just smiled at him sweetly.

and satoru realized, with a kind of religious clarity, that you were going to kill him one day. accidentally, with a sound.

•●SUGURU GETO●•

there you were, sitting cross legged on his couch in one of his shirts, because you said it smelled "warm and safe", absentmindedly eating a popsicle while reading something on your phone.

you weren’t trying to be sexy, not even a little.

which was the problem.

because the second suguru walked into the room, he saw you drag your tongue slowly up the side of the damn thing, swirl it around the tip like you were tasting something delicate, then hollow your cheeks just slightly as you sucked on it.

and his brain just… shut off. completely.

"sugu?" you looked up, lips glossy and stained pink, mouth wrapped around the popsicle before you popped it free with an innocent little slip. "you okay? you’re staring."

he wasn’t staring. he was in crisis.

"i-" he cleared his throat, which suddenly felt too tight. "didn’t know you were… eating something."

"oh yeah," you nodded cheerfully, licking a stray drip off your thumb. "it was melting, so i had to, like, get it fast."

his jaw clenched so hard it could’ve cut diamonds.

"fast," he echoed, voice low in a way that was absolutely not appropriate for what should have been a normal sentence.

you didn’t notice, just took another long, slow pull from the popsicle, brows furrowing adorably as you concentrated on not letting it drip onto his shirt.

suguru rubbed a hand over his mouth, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to conjure enlightenment.

"sweetheart," he said carefully, stepping closer, "do you normally eat it like that?"

you blinked. "like what?"

he swallowed. you blinked again.

and then, because you were you, you demonstrated.

"like this?" you asked, sliding it into your mouth again, lips closing around it as you sucked softly, head tilted in curiosity.

suguru closed his eyes for a long moment as if in prayer.

when he opened them, he was already on the edge.

"yes," he said hoarsely. "exactly like that."

"is it weird?" you mumbled around the popsicle, voice muffled, cheeks a little puffed. "you’re looking at me funny."

"no," he said, too fast. "not weird. just… surprising."

you brightened. "oh! want a bite?"

he actually choked. you held it out to him, inches from his lips, oblivious to the absolute weapon you were handing him.

"go on," you said sweetly. "i’ll share."

he leaned in… slowly… deliberately… until his mouth closed around the very same spot yours had just been, tongue brushing the faint imprint of your lips still cold on the surface.

your breath caught.

and that, that tiny, surprised inhale, nearly undid him.

he pulled back, licking sticky sweetness from his thumb, eyes dark in a way that made your stomach flip.

"thank you," he murmured, voice low enough to be considered dangerous.

you blinked again. "for what?"

he smiled, soft but heavy with something you didn’t quite recognize. "for unintentionally ruining my night," he answered.

you frowned, confused. "did i… do something wrong?"

he shook his head slowly.

"no," he said, brushing a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze to his, "you just have no idea what you do to me."

your lips parted.

the popsicle finally dripped onto his shirt.

neither of you noticed.

•●KENTO NANAMI●•

nanami prided himself on being composed, steady, measured in every sense of the word, whether it was work, emotion, or the way he held himself around you, because someone had to be rational between the two of you and he accepted that responsibility the same way he accepted everything else. quietly, dutifully, with a deep breath and a sense of impending doom.

but tonight tested him.

because tonight you walked into his office after hours, hair slightly mussed from the wind, lips glossy in that distracted way you did whenever you were thinking too hard, wearing one of those soft little tops that looked innocent until you moved and nanami’s bloodstream caught fire like someone lit a match inside him.

you were just here to "keep him company," you said, because you were bored and missed him, which would’ve been adorable and sweet if you hadn’t chosen to sit on the edge of his desk with one knee bent up, your heel dangling from your toes, absentmindedly tracing circles on your thigh with the back of your pen while he pretended to read a spreadsheet he couldn’t even see anymore.

"you work too much," you murmured, leaning forward just a little, the pen tapping gently against your skin in a way you had absolutely no awareness of. "you’re gonna get wrinkles."

nanami swallowed hard enough that it was audible.

"i appreciate the concern," he said, keeping his voice steady with every ounce of discipline he’d ever cultivated. "but i’m nearly done."

you hummed, sweet and soft, and stretched your arms above your head in a slow, sleepy arch, your shirt riding up just barely, exposing the faintest sliver of warm skin above your waistband. you didn’t even realize you were doing it. nanami realized for both of you.

his jaw tensed.

you blinked at him, swinging your foot lazily. "are you okay? you look… red."

"i’m-" he cleared his throat, adjusting his tie even though it didn’t need adjusting. "i’m fine."

you scooted closer on the desk, turning so your legs brushed his shoulder, and nanami’s vision flickered. you were just trying to see his papers, completely oblivious to the way your perfume wrapped around him, how your breath brushed his cheek when you leaned in.

"you work so hard," you murmured, your voice warm and sincere as your fingers ghosted, just barely, over the back of his hand. "i don’t like seeing you tired."

nanami froze.

your touch was light, innocent, unthinking.

his reaction was not.

he exhaled through his nose like a man on the verge of breaking every rule he’d ever given himself. "it’s… alright," he managed quietly, "you make it easier."

you brightened at that, the softest smile blooming across your face as you picked up his tie between your fingers, absentminded, curious, twisting the silk slowly while you talked about absolutely nothing, like you didn’t realize you were holding the front of his composure between your hands.

"this is soft," you said, running your thumb over the fabric, gaze fixed on the weave as you leaned closer. "you always look so handsome in these."

nanami shut his eyes for a moment, because the warmth of your voice, the softness in your fingers, and the way you said handsome like it was a confession, you had no idea what it did to him.

"thank you," he said, a little too quietly.

and when you tugged him by the tie, just gently, just enough to pull him a few inches closer so you could straighten the knot, nanami’s breath faltered completely.

you were inches from him, unaware of the tension radiating off him in waves, unaware of the way his hand curled tightly around the arm of his chair to stop himself from touching your waist the way he desperately wanted to.

"there," you whispered, smoothing the fabric over his chest with both palms. "perfect."

nanami looked at you, soft, unaware, glowing in the warm lamplight of his office, and something in him gave.

"you really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?" he murmured, voice low, warm, dangerous in the gentlest way.

you blinked innocently. "doing what?"

he didn’t answer, he didn’t trust his voice.

instead, he stood, slowly, your hands still resting on his chest, your eyes widening as he stepped between your legs where you sat on the desk. his fingers brushed your jaw, barely there, his breathing calm but strained.

"you should go home with me," he said softly, firmly, as if stating a fact rather than offering a choice. "before i stop being responsible."

your lips parted. "are you… sure?"

nanami nodded once, the restraint in his expression cracking at the edges, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he couldn’t help himself.

"i’ve never been more sure of anything."

and the moment you smiled, sweet, trusting, radiant, nanami let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his forehead resting against yours for a second that felt like surrender.

"come on," he whispered, voice warm enough to melt steel. "let’s go before you undo what’s left of my self control."

and you did, completely unaware that he’d had none the moment you touched his tie.

•●CHOSO KAMO●•

choso had never been good at… people.

he could fight, and survive, and protect the ones he loved with an intensity that bordered on feral, but the whole "understanding normal human behavior" part? yeah. no. total blank space. and honestly, he’d been doing fine with that, drifting around you like a big, silent, protective shadow, until today.

today was different.

today, you did something so innocent, so casual, so hot that it short circuited every neuron he had left.

it started because you wanted dessert.

and choso, who would give you the moon if you asked, bought you a mochi ice cream and sat with you on the floor of your apartment like it was the most natural thing in the world. he liked being near you, he liked watching you exist. it made something warm and heavy pull inside his chest.

you opened the mochi, took one bite, and sighed dreamily. "choso… this tastes like a cloud made of happiness."

he swallowed hard. "yeah?"

you nodded, smiling so bright he thought he might actually die. "try some."

before he could answer, you held the mochi out toward him, but your grip slipped, and the mochi smeared across his knuckles in a slow, sticky streak of cream.

"oops," you giggled, "sorry, cho."

he opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he didn’t get a single word out, because instead of wiping it off with a napkin like a normal human, you just… leaned forward and licked it off. slowly.

soft tongue dragging across his skin, warm breath ghosting over his hand, lips brushing the base of his thumb as you sucked a little spot clean like it was the most casual thing anyone had ever done.

choso’s entire nervous system exploded.

he froze completely, muscles locked, air trapped in his throat as heat crawled up his neck and into his ears. "w-wait-"

"mmm," you hummed, tasting the mochi from your finger before going back for another unnoticed smear on his knuckle, "it’s melting. i didn’t wanna waste it."

you said it like you were talking about the weather.

he was seconds from collapse.

you popped his finger into your mouth, gently, just to get the last bit of cream, and then released him with a soft "there."

his pulse was pounding so violently that he swore you could hear it.

you blinked up at him, wide eyed and sweet and absolutely oblivious. "what’s wrong? did i miss some?"

he shook his head too quickly. "n-no. you- you got it."

you smiled, proud of yourself. "yay."

he stared.

he tried to breathe.

he failed.

because all he could think about, all he could feel, was the ghost of your tongue on his skin, the warmth of your mouth around his finger, the way his name sounded when you said it with that soft, airy voice.

"you’re acting weird," you said, tilting your head. "are you getting sick? do curses get sick?"

"i’m fine," he said, except he sounded strangled, wrecked, barely holding it together.

you scooted closer, worried. "do you need water?"

no. he needed you to stop licking him like that unless he was allowed to do something about it.

you reached for another mochi without even looking at him. "we can share this one too!"

and choso, still staring at his damp knuckles, still replaying the moment in his mind like a broken tape loop, realized something with terrifying clarity.

if you ever did that again, on purpose or not, he was going to lose every ounce of self control he had.

but you just sat there, swinging your feet, smiling like this was the calmest, sweetest, most innocent moment in the world, while choso tried to remember how to exist.

"cho?" you asked softly. "you’re staring."

he swallowed hard. "sorry."

"it’s okay!" you beamed. "you can stare at me whenever you want."

and that, that right there, was the moment choso knew he was doomed in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain.

•●TAKUMA INO●•

it honestly wasn’t your fault. you were just trying to grab something you dropped.

takuma was already staring at you like you were the sun dripping honey, leaning against the doorway with that lazy, hungry smirk he only ever got around you, when you bent over without warning to pick up the lip balm that slipped out of your pocket.

and your skirt… lifted.

not a lot. just enough.

just enough for him to see the tiniest flash of soft lace, a pastel bow, and the curve of your ass framed like a gift specially prepared to ruin his entire day.

his breath stopped so violently he almost gave himself whiplash.

your panties were pink.

pink with a tiny heart charm dangling from the bow.

pink and delicate and stupidly pretty, exactly the kind he’d fantasized about you wearing.

you straightened up like nothing happened, twirling the lip balm between your fingers, totally unaware you had just spiritually body checked your boyfriend into the void.

"takuuu," you whined playfully, "look! i found it!" you waved the little tube around proudly.

he didn’t answer, he was too busy fighting for his life.

you noticed him staring, tilting your head in that sparkly, innocent way that always made him break a little. "are you okay? you’re, like… breathing weird."

he dragged a hand down his face, biting hard on the inside of his cheek to ground himself. "sweetheart," he said, voice wrecked and low, "you can’t just- you can’t bend over like that in front of me."

you looked confused. adorable. devastating. "like what?"

"like-" he gestured helplessly. "like you’re trying to send me to the ER."

you blinked, eyes round and glossy. "did i do something wrong?"

he stepped closer, hands sliding around your waist, voice dropping into something dark and trembling with restraint. "no. god, no. you didn’t do anything wrong. you just… you don’t know what you do to me."

you giggled, leaning into him, fingers playing with the zipper on his jacket. "you’re being dramatic."

"am i?" he asked, tugging you impossibly closer until your chest pressed to his. "because you just bent over and i saw your cute little panties and now i can’t think about anything except getting on my knees and tasting you through them."

your breath hitched, "taku…"

he smirked, lips brushing your ear. "yeah? you like when i talk to you like that?"

you nodded, cheeks warm, thighs squeezing together instinctively.

his eyes flicked down.

oh, that ruined him.

"sweetheart," he murmured, "if you keep looking at me like that i’m gonna forget every moral i’ve ever tried to have."

you wriggled a little in his hold, and the movement made your skirt lift again.

he groaned. openly, painfully.

"baby," he warned, "don’t test me. i’m trying so hard not to do something stupid."

you grinned up at him, the cutest, sunniest grin on earth, and said the sentence that completely fried his remaining brain cells, "it’s okay, taku… i’m stretchy."

he made a noise that definitely wasn’t human.

your smile grew wider, proud of yourself for saying something you thought sounded sexy.

he grabbed your hips like he was seconds away from falling apart. "yeah," he said, voice shaking, "i know you are."

and then he kissed you, deep, slow, hot enough to melt his own bones, his hands sliding down just far enough to brush the lace he shouldn’t have seen, and he whispered against your lips, "you’re gonna kill me someday, you know that?"

you just giggled, tugging him closer. "but like… in a cute way, right?"

and he was gone.

completely, hopelessly gone.

•●HAJIME KASHIMO●•

hajime honestly didn’t understand why you insisted on sitting on him sometimes, especially when there were perfectly good chairs right next to him. but you had this habit of climbing into his space with the same mindless confidence as a kitten and he never stopped you, partly because he liked the warmth, partly because he was hundreds of years old and had long since given up pretending he didn’t crave softness, and partly because telling you "no" always made you pout at him like he’d just deprived you of sunlight.

he should have stopped you today. he really should have.

you were meant to be watching a movie, but you ended up perched sideways across his lap, your arms loosely around his shoulders, your cheek resting against him while you rambled about how "smug the villain looked," and he was managing it fine, controlled breathing, relaxed posture, zero inappropriate thoughts, until you suddenly gasped at a jumpscare on screen and did the one thing his ancient self was absolutely not prepared for. you bounced.

not a polite shift. not a subtle wiggle. you bounced in his lap, soft thighs sinking onto him, weight settling right where he already struggled to keep himself calm, and hajime made a sound he didn’t mean to make, something low, sharp, bitten off like he’d been hit, and you, being you, didn’t even notice.

you just bounced again.

"oh my god, hajime, that scared me," you breathed, doing another excited little hop that landed directly against the thick outline in his pants.

his entire soul left his body.

his hands shot to your hips like he needed to hold you still or he would die on the spot, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing at the ceiling because he could not look at you while you were unknowingly grinding yourself onto him like some kind of adorable menace sent from the heavens specifically to ruin his self control.

"don’t," he said, voice low, dangerous, strained in a way you’d never heard.

you blinked up at him. "don’t what?"

and then you bounced again.

a full, innocent, cheerful little bounce.

hajime’s breath stuttered out of him like he’d been electrocuted from the inside, his back going rigid, fingers digging into the softness of your hips with a restraint that physically hurt him.

"you need to stop," he managed, every syllable tight.

your lips parted. "oh! am i too heavy? i’m sorry, i-"

"that’s not-" he hissed through his teeth, head dropping back against the couch like he was begging some higher power for mercy, "-that’s not the problem."

you tilted your head, clueless and sweet. "then what’s wrong?"

your weight shifted again, unintentionally rolling against him, and hajime’s hand flew up so fast he nearly slapped a palm over your mouth just to stop the little surprised sound that escaped you, because if you made one more noise like that he genuinely didn’t know what he’d do.

he swallowed hard, eyes half lidded, breath trembling against your cheek as he leaned forward just enough for you to feel the heat of him and hear exactly how ruined his voice had become.

"if you move again," he murmured, each word slow and deliberate like he was holding himself back with chains, "i’m going to stop pretending i don’t want you."

your eyes widened, heartbeat tripping. "oh…"

his fingers squeezed your thighs, slow, reverent, possessive, hot.

"yeah," he whispered, forehead pressing to your jaw as he exhaled shakily, "oh."

you didn’t bounce again.

…but only because the moment you tried to adjust, hajime dragged you perfectly still in his lap with a low warning growl that told you exactly what would happen the second you did.

and for the rest of the movie, he didn’t take his hands off you once

•●HIROMI HIGURUMA●•

higuruma had always told himself he was immune to temptation. years of detached logic, barricaded emotion, and a legal career built on discipline and restraint leaving him with the firm belief that he simply wasn’t the type of man who lost his composure. he had lived entire decades in grayscale, untouched by impulse.

and then he met you.

you, who had somehow slipped color into his life without even meaning to. you, whose laugh softened the edges of his mind. you, who kissed him slow like he deserved warmth. you, who still didn’t understand the power you had over him.

which was why tonight felt like some kind of cosmic joke, because he truly wasn’t prepared for something as simple, as innocent, as devastatingly erotic as you kneeling at his feet.

it happened so casually he almost missed it.

he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, half dressed for your quiet date night, rolling his sleeves and thinking about which bottle of wine he should get when you padded over in your little lounge shorts and pastel top, all soft and sweet and completely unaware that he was already trying not to stare at the shape of your thighs in the low lamp light.

"baby?" you said, tilting your head. "your shoe’s untied."

"i’ll get it," he murmured automatically, already reaching down. but you were faster.

you pressed a gentle hand to his knee and lowered yourself to the floor in front of him, kneeling between his legs like it was the most natural thing in the world, your body settling into the space where his breath immediately hitched.

you didn’t notice. you never did.

you just smiled up at him, god, that soft smile, and then bent your head, gathering the laces with careful fingers.

and higuruma’s world detonated.

because all he could see was you on your knees, right between his thighs, head bowed like you were about to worship him, and it hit him so hard he actually had to plant both hands on the mattress to steady himself. a slow heat burned up his neck, spreading across his chest, pooling low in his stomach with an intensity that almost scared him.

you tugged the lace gently. "see? you always double knot them wrong. it gets messy."

he swallowed. the sound was audible.

"is something wrong?" you asked, looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes that made him feel like he was losing every remaining fragment of sanity.

your hands were still on his shoe. you were still kneeling between his legs. you were still too sweet to understand what he was imagining, your mouth on him instead of the laces, your lips parting around him so prettily, his hands in your hair, guiding your head just like-

he exhaled sharply. "nothing’s wrong," he lied, voice strained enough to crack.

you brightened, returning to tying the laces. "okay! i’ll fix it, then."

your fingers brushed his ankle and he nearly groaned.

you didn’t look up this time. "you’re breathing weird," you muttered softly, brows drawn in concentration. "do you need water?"

"no," he said too quickly, gripping the edge of the bed harder, knuckles whitening.

"oh. are you hot? you look hot."

he was. unbearably so.

"sweetheart," he managed, voice dropping in a way he didn’t mean to let slip, "do you… have any idea what this looks like?"

you blinked up at him. "me tying your shoes?"

he stared.

you truly didn’t know. you genuinely didn’t see it. and that innocence, god, it ruined him.

you got up on your knees a little straighter, closer between his legs, hands resting on his thigh for balance, and higuruma felt every last shred of control snap like a weak thread.

"i’m just helping," you whispered, tilting your head. "why are you looking at me like that?"

because he wanted you. because he always wanted you. because seeing you kneeling between his legs made his mind fill with images he couldn’t say out loud without losing what was left of his dignity.

he leaned forward, cupping your jaw, brushing his thumb along your lips before he even realized he was doing it. "sweetheart," he murmured, low and rough, "if you keep kneeling in front of me like this, i’m not going to survive the night."

your breath caught, eyes widening as understanding finally flickered across your expression, slow, dawning, devastatingly adorable.

"o-oh," you whispered. "you mean… like… um…"

he smiled, warm and dangerous. "yes. exactly like that."

a soft, breathy sound escaped your mouth.

he leaned down further, lips brushing your forehead. "come up here," he said gently, tugging you into his lap, "before i forget every decision i’ve ever made."

and you climbed into his arms with that same innocent trust, your legs folding over his, your hands finding his shoulders, your heartbeat fluttering against his chest, completely oblivious to just how close he had come to losing all restraint the moment you touched the floor.

he kissed you slow, deep, lingering, his hands sliding around your waist like he was anchoring himself.

"next time," he whispered against your lips, "tell me before you get on your knees."

you blinked up at him, cheeks warm. "why?"

he laughed softly, brushing his nose against yours. "because i want to be ready for you."

•●RYOMEN SUKUNA●•

it started because you were being sweet again, which was always a problem, because sweetness around a man like sukuna worked the same way blood did around a starving animal. you wandered into his throne room like you had every right to be there, hair messy from sleep, robe slipping off one shoulder in a way that was so innocent it should’ve been illegal, carrying a tray of tea you insisted on making because "you wanted to try the fancy leaves."

the guards froze the moment you appeared. no one brought the king tea, no one walked right up the steps of his dais without permission, no one acted like sukuna was someone who could be approached at all.

except you.

you walked straight to him, barefoot, humming, a ribbon falling out of your hair, and he felt his jaw tense because you genuinely had no idea what you did to him. you set the tray down beside him and bowed in that clumsy little way you always did, the neckline of your robe dipping again, and his eyes dragged over every inch of you with slow, dangerous interest.

"i made it for you," you said, smiling like you hadn’t just walked into a monster’s den. "it smells really good, see?"

and then you made a mistake.

you leaned in.

close. too close. your hand rested on his thigh for balance, thoughtless, innocent, soft, and you lifted the cup toward him, letting him smell the steam rising from it. you didn’t notice how the silk of your robe brushed against him. you didn’t notice how the warmth of your breath landed on his neck. you didn’t notice how every single guard dropped their gaze in terror because they could practically feel the air around their king shift.

but sukuna noticed everything.

his pulse throbbed once, hard enough that even he felt it. your hand on his leg was warm and oblivious, your body leaning into his like it belonged there, and he didn’t even bother hiding the way his eyes dragged down the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, the way your robe threatened to slip further with every breath you took.

"careful," he murmured, voice like gravel dragged across stone, "you’re getting awfully close to kneeling for me."

you blinked, confused in a way that made his teeth clench. "oh- i didn’t wanna spill it! i always spill stuff if i don’t get close."

you adjusted your grip on the cup and somehow, somehow, you managed to lean in even closer. your knee brushed his, he exhaled slowly, like a man genuinely trying not to destroy something fragile.

the teacup trembled slightly in your hand and you laughed softly, lifting your other hand to steady it, which meant you braced your palm even more firmly on his thigh, fingers curling just barely, unaware that you were digging your nails in like a lover marking territory. your breath ghosted over the skin of his throat this time, warm, soft, trusting in a way nobody had ever trusted sukuna in a thousand years.

"see?" you whispered. "it smells so nice."

and he snapped.

not violently, no.

just inwardly.

something low and primal clawed up the back of his spine, something hot and territorial and ugly that wanted to drag you fully into his lap and make sure no one ever saw you like this again. his hand shot up to your chin, fingers gripping with enough strength to make you gasp, but not enough to hurt, just enough to make you freeze, wide eyed, staring at him like you couldn’t understand why he looked like he wanted to devour you whole.

"you walk in here half dressed," he growled quietly, "put your hands on me. breathe on me. lean over me like you’re begging to be ruined… and have no idea what you’re doing. do you?"

you blinked again, lips parted, genuinely confused. "i just wanted you to try the tea."

god, you were going to kill him.

his thumb dragged slowly across your lower lip, and you shivered, not because you knew what it meant, but because the touch was warm and possessive in the way that always flustered you.

"you’re lucky," he murmured, voice dropping lower, "that i like the way you taste on my hands."

you swallowed.

he smirked, because he felt it.

"and you’re lucky," he continued, leaning in so close your noses nearly brushed, "that i haven’t decided yet whether i should send every guard out of this room or make them watch what happens when you crawl into my space like this."

you whispered, barely audible, "i just… wanted you to like the tea…"

he laughed, low, dark, pleased, and let his forehead rest against yours for a single, dangerous second.

"oh, little mouse," he said softly, "i like far more than the tea."

your heart hammered. your knees wobbled. you were entirely unaware of what you’d done to him, how close he was to pulling you onto his throne and making a spectacle of you, but you felt the heat of his breath on your lips when he added, "next time you want to serve your king…"

his fingers curled under your chin again, tilting your face up. "…don’t come in here dressed like you’re offering yourself."

you stammered, "i- i wasn’t- i didn’t-"

he smirked.

"that," he murmured, "is exactly why you’re dangerous."

•●TOJI FUSHIGURO●•

you weren’t trying to be sexy, not even a little bit. you were just standing in his kitchen in one of his shirts that barely covered your ass, humming something sparkly and brainless while making breakfast like it was the cutest domestic morning in the entire world. your hair was messy, your lip gloss was half faded, and you were holding a frying pan with two fingers like it weighed a hundred pounds.

and toji… toji was losing his goddamn mind.

he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, staring at the way the hem of his shirt lifted every time you moved, flashes of soft, perfect skin teasing him until something dark and hungry started crawling up his spine. he wasn’t subtle about it either. the man was staring at you like a wolf in a fairy tale, tracking every sway of your hips while you tried to figure out if pancakes were supposed to bubble this much.

"tojiiii," you whined, poking the sizzling batter with a spatula like it wronged you personally, "why is it doing that? is it mad at me?"

his voice came out low, rough, almost feral. "it’s not mad, doll. it’s just cooking."

"oh," you said, blinking slowly. "i thought it was like… protesting."

he took a slow breath, knuckles whitening where his arms crossed, because you sounded so sweet and clueless and his, and it didn’t help that your thighs were peeking every time you shifted.

you flipped the pancake (badly), and the shirt lifted again.

and that was it. he snapped.

the next second his hands were already on your waist, big palms wrapping around you and dragging you back into him, his chest against your back, his breath hot at your ear. you squeaked, more delighted than scared, melting instantly into his hands like you were made to be held there.

"toji?" you breathed, voice all soft and sugary.

"you’re killin’ me," he muttered, one hand sliding down your waist, fingers digging into the curve of your hip like he needed to anchor himself. "walkin’ around my kitchen wearin’ my shirt, makin’ me breakfast like you’re my little wife."

your cheeks went warm. "i like makin’ you breakfast…"

"yeah?" he murmured, his lips brushing your neck, just a graze, just enough to make your knees buckle. "that why you’re bein’ so good this morning?"

"i’m always good," you said proudly.

he laughed, low and sinful. "sweetheart, you have no idea."

your fingers tightened around the spatula when his other hand slid down, gripping the underside of your ass through the thin fabric, pulling a tiny gasp out of you, one so pretty and soft he exhaled like he’d been punched.

you didn’t even fight the way he bent you over the counter. your hands flattened against the cool surface, breath catching when he pressed his body flush to yours, his grip firm and possessive on your hips. his voice dropped to something dark and hungry, the kind of tone that dragged a shiver up your spine.

"breakfast can wait," he said against your ear. "needed to touch you the second i saw you."

you wriggled back against him, teasing without realizing you were teasing, and his fingers tightened so sharply you let out a soft surprised whimper, one that made his entire body go rigid behind you.

"toji-"

"don’t start," he growled gently, one hand sliding up your spine, the other still cupping your ass like he owned every inch of you. "you bend over this counter in my shirt and expect me to be calm?"

"i wasn’t expecting anything…" you mumbled, a little breathless.

"yeah, well," he whispered, lips grazing your jaw, "i’m expectin’ a lot."

his thumb stroked the dip of your waist, slow and deliberate, and the air between you went hot, thick, charged, the kind of tension that made your thighs rub together on instinct.

he smirked against your skin.

"careful, doll," he murmured. "you keep makin’ those little noises and i’m gonna forget this is supposed to stay pg 13."

you gasped. "this is pg 13?"

"for now."

and the way he said it made your whole body warm.

•●SHIU KONG●•

shiu really didn’t ask for this. he didn’t ask to be sitting on the edge of his couch polishing a gun, trying to remember every reason he had for keeping his life clean and precise and free of distractions, while you stood in front of the mirror in nothing but one of his shirts, half buttoned, half not, leaning in close with your mouth gently parted as you applied a fresh coat of lipgloss like you were performing a sacred ritual.

it was a stupid lipgloss. pink, sparkly, the type that tasted like candy and trouble, and he had never cared about anything less in his entire life… until you popped the wand back into the tube with this tiny little sound and smacked your lips together like you were practicing kissing someone.

he froze. completely.

he didn’t even blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. the entire room suddenly felt too hot, too small, too filled with the sweet artificial strawberry scent radiating off your mouth.

"shinuuu," you whined softly, dragging out his name like it was made of sugar, turning around with your glossy lips shining in the light. "do you think this color is cute? or does it make my mouth look… i dunno… too much?"

too much?

he was going to die.

the shirt you were wearing hit mid thigh in a way that made his jaw lock. your glossed lips parted slightly as you waited for his answer, and he genuinely forgot how sentences worked.

"you look…" he swallowed hard, watching you take the gloss back out just to add another layer, slowly, carefully, dragging the wand over your bottom lip while looking at him through the mirror like you had absolutely no idea what you were doing to him. "you look good."

you giggled, smearing a little extra shine on the corner of your mouth. "only good?"

he stood up so quickly it startled you, gun forgotten on the couch, his expression sharp in that dangerous, unreadable way that always meant your brain should be worried but your body was definitely not.

he walked toward you slowly, like a predator humoring its own restraint, eyes locked on your mouth.

"come here," he murmured.

you didn’t even have time to giggle again before his hand slipped around your jaw, tilting your head up gently but firmly, his thumb brushing the edge of your bottom lip and coming away sticky with glittering gloss.

his voice dropped low, rough, almost strained. "you have no idea what that does to me."

your breath hitched, your lips parting instinctively under his touch.

and that was all he needed.

he kissed you, slow at first, like he was tasting the gloss off your lips, then deeper, hungrier, pulling you in by the waist until you were pressed against him, your fingers curling in his shirt as his mouth moved over yours with the kind of heat that made your knees weak.

the gloss smeared between you, sweet and warm and messy, and he didn’t seem to care at all, in fact, he kissed you harder for it, like he wanted every trace of shine transferred to him.

when he finally pulled back, you were breathless and glossy all over again, lips glistening, eyes wide.

he wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb and brought it to his own lips, tasting the gloss you left on him.

"now," he said, voice low and dangerous, "ask me again if it’s ‘too much.’"

your cheeks flushed pink.

"…no," you whispered, flustered, "i think it’s just right…"

he smirked, leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time, softer, still intoxicating, still possessive.

"yeah," he murmured against your lips, "me too."

•●NAOYA ZEN'IN●•

naoya really wasn’t planning on bringing you to the clan dinner. in fact, he swore he wouldn’t. mostly because his relatives were vultures, but also because every time you walked into a room he immediately forgot how to speak like a normal, functioning adult male, which was embarrassing and he refused to admit it.

but you’d shown up in his doorway wearing the prettiest little outfit he’d ever seen on a human woman, soft pink dress, bows in your hair, perfume like sugared peachesm and you’d said, "nao-chan, can i come with you? i’ll sit quietly like a lady~" while twirling your lip gloss between two fingers.

and that was it. decision made. he was doomed.

so now he was sitting at a long tatami table with several stern zen’in men discussing business, while you sat across the room with a cup of tea, legs tucked to the side, humming softly as you scrolled through your phone, completely unaware that every curve, every sway, every tilt of your head was slowly murdering him.

he kept pretending to listen to whoever was talking, nodding politely, but his eyes kept drifting back to you. the way your glossed lips pursed slightly when you read something funny, the way your hair caught the lantern light, the way your sweet little dress rode up your thighs when you shifted on the cushion.

one of his cousins leaned in. "zen’in… you keep staring. what’s the deal with that girl, anyway?"

naoya didn’t even try to hide the smug smile curling on his lips. "that girl," he said slowly, savoring the words, "is mine."

his cousin snorted. "yeah, but why her? she looks like she doesn’t know the difference between a curse tool and a hairbrush."

naoya turned his head so sharply the table creaked.

"she doesn’t need to know," he said, voice dangerously low, "because she’s beautiful, obedient, and perfect. something none of you idiots are capable of finding."

his cousin opened his mouth to argue, but naoya kept talking, suddenly emboldened, leaning back like the world’s most entitled aristocrat.

"and she cooks," he added, ticking it off with a finger. "and she cleans." another finger. "and she looks pretty doing absolutely nothing," the last one, said with a smirk that made several other zen’ins tense.

"watch this," he murmured, chin lifting proudly.

across the room, you noticed naoya looking at you and you waved at him with both hands, smiling so sweetly it was almost cartoonish.

"hi baby!" you said, loudly, in front of everyone.

naoya’s ears went red.

his cousin choked on his drink. "holy shit, zen’in, she’s actually into you?"

naoya smirked like he had just won the national championship in every existing category.

"into me?" he repeated. "she adores me."

you stood up and floated over to him, dress swaying, perfume trailing, and naoya, the man who thought women should be silent ornaments, nearly stopped breathing as you knelt beside him to whisper, "my tea’s cold… can i sit on your lap while i drink yours?"

his cousin gagged.

naoya didn’t even blink. "yes," he said instantly, the easiest yes of his life.

you climbed into his lap without hesitation, skirts bunching up, thighs soft and warm against him, and naoya felt his entire body tighten with immediate, humiliating need. you didn’t notice, of course, you just leaned back against his chest, sipping his tea with a happy little sigh.

the table of men stared.

naoya tilted his head toward them, a deadly, satisfied smile stretching slow across his face.

"see?" he said quietly. "perfect."

and then, with absolutely no warning, you giggled softly, wiggling in his lap to get comfortable, your soft little ass pressing directly into him, and naoya had to grip your hip to keep himself from groaning like he’d been hit by a truck.

his cousin muttered, "zen’in, you’re so whipped it’s pathetic."

naoya didn’t deny it.

he didn’t care.

because you shifted again, batting your pretty lashes up at him, completely oblivious to what you were doing to him, and naoya felt heat flood all the way down his spine.

"baby?" you whispered sweetly. "are you okay?"

he swallowed hard. "i’m perfect," he managed.

his family looked horrified.

naoya looked like he had just achieved nirvana.

and you?

you just took another sip of tea, still curled up in his lap like his own personal, devastating little dream, unaware that every man in the room now knew one undeniable truth.

naoya zen’in would burn the entire clan to the ground if you asked him to.