I'm gonna overflow

Emperor! Gojo takes a bath with all his women, when you decide to join the bathhouse after quite a long time without one, your mind drifting to the boy you loved when you were forced to leave your home. You remember your kisses, your promises, and the moment you got sent away here, with a man who's currently being fed grapes in the clear bath waters by many women. They're giggling, touching him, and you barely see him as your attendant helps you undress.

Emperor! Gojo has brilliant blue eyes that catch you across the enormous, steamy bathhouse then - he's pausing as he sees you, just wearing a thin white slip of material, curious just who you are. You take some of the soap you've brought, and your attendant washes your hair while he can't take his eyes off you, your curves in that thin material, the way the smooth skin of your thighs is lit up but the lanterns above. You're so beautiful he must know who you are.

Emperor! Gojo feels his mouth go dry when you step into those waters now, standing a bit so that he sees the full outline of your breasts, making his cock twitch under the water, he can't focus on anything but how those droplets of water fall from your skin as you methodically wash yourself. You peer at him just a bit, before lowering your lashes, when he can't help but look at one of his favorite girls, asking - 'who is she?'

Emperor! Gojo doesn't get an answer, no one knows what you look like yet, so he assumes you must be one of the new girls in a position to become a concubine. and fuck if he wouldn't love that opportunity, imagining fucking a baby into you ruins him then. One of his major duties is to have as many babies as he can, to strengthen the empire of course. Yet he tends to be a little apprehensive, he dares to admit he doesn't cum in any of the concubines yet, he doesn't know if he wants children right away. He's young, but of course the pressure is there, and he knows it will be soon, especially with him having to marry. He shoves that annoying thought away.

Emperor! Gojo was supposed to meet his wife today, should he feel bad? maybe. Does he? no, he does not. He steps away and walks across the water, giving you a good look at him then, his chiseled body, narrow torso, pale skin glimmering under the warmth of the room. The stream rises as you look slowly up his body, carved like a statue, then finally make it to his face, truly beautiful. He does look like his mother, those white locks with just a hint of lavender, the beautiful blue eyes even more intense than hers, his body glistening as he walks closer, plump vermilion lips curved in a smile as he murmurs a - 'hello, there, are you new here?'

Emperor! Gojo has a reputation of being kind and fair, though on the battlefield he was ruthless, tales of him were regaled worldwide, and you knew of his military prowess of course. You tremble just a bit as he gets closer, his eyes slipping down your body like a caress. 'I am new here, your majesty' he smiles now. 'No need to be so formal,' the emperor brushes a hand across your hair, marveling in the silkiness now. 'Are you here to be a concubine? I assure you, I have a position opening very soon' he acts as if that's a compliment, as if you should be thrilled your husband to be is willing to fuck a stranger while he ignores your meeting. But you smile, shaking your head. 'ah, you're mysterious, hmm?'

Emperor! Gojo is enamored when he touches you under the water, big hand on the small of your back, taking it over as he steps closer, so tall and imposing in the water. Your breasts brush against his abdomen, as your breaths quicken, a mix of irritation and something more you don't want to admit. 'You know who I am?' you nod a bit, biting your lip when he leans down, pressing you along the warmth of the hard wall behind you. one of his long thighs presses against your heat, and you hate how your body reacts, it feels like such a betrayal of the one you loved, and for a man who doesn't want to even know you? You bite back a sigh when he leans down, an arm on either side of you.

Emperor! Gojo murmurs the words - 'so fucking pretty, god,' and earns your blush, he chuckles as he sees it, flushed color on your cheeks, when his lips hover over yours. 'Can you at least tell me your name, mysterious girl?' when you say it he immediately recognizes it, faltering and stepping back, eyes wide. You smile, meanly then, batting your lashes. 'was such a shame you couldn't meet me for tea, hmm? I see you were otherwise occupied' you eye the girls behind his shoulders, whispering to each other wildly, when you push him back, hands on his chest. 'It's rude not to even meet me after I got dragged on a five day journey on ship, you know.'

Emperor! Gojo sputters, eyeing your hands on his chest that he now pins there for a moment. 'You're my... you can't be... you...' a sigh escapes your lips, as you tug your hands back. 'Yes, I'm your betrothed, I suppose this is our first meeting. I'll leave you to your pretty concubines, I'm afraid I don't intend on becoming one,' you turn and climb up those steps, the slip forming to you like a goddess, as you turn him down. No one has ever turned Emperor Gojo down!? yet here you are, turning and giving him a little smile as your attendant hands you a towel. 'Perhaps you'll make it to the wedding, your majesty'

Emperor! Gojo is wracked with confusion, part of him doesn't even believe you, concubines were known for their beauty and assets, but wives were much different. They were always from some long line of weak women, usually only there for their duty, his own mother was quite an exception, but her and his father never loved each other. He hoped himself to never have to marry, but now he feels just the smallest twinge of guilt for not meeting you. Even for him it was quite the talk, he could hear the rumors of how he doesn't have interest in his bride to be as he walks through the corridors of his opulent estates.

Emperor! Gojo sees glimpses of you here and there that week, but you bow and say no words to him, avoiding him until it is your wedding day. And to say you were beautiful before, now it leaves him speechless, throat dry as you were those beautiful sky blue ceremonial juunihitoe, layers of blue and white, embossed with silver flowers just flowing from your body. He's wearing his thick dark blue sokutai, the robes altered to reveal far too much of his muscled chest, as Satoru liked to do. His heart hammers as you clutch your hands together, feeling the stoic eyes of so many on you. You focus on the tall, handsome man that clearly doesn't want this any more than you do, stepping closer and closer, until you're in front of him.

Emperor! Gojo is still reeling when you both sip on each of the three cups of sake, he places his lips on one end of the little dish, then hands it to you, eyeing the red painted on your lips. Your makeup has been done clearly, there's color under your eyes, blush along your precious cheeks. Precious, why did he think that? the thought irritates him, when you two continue the ceremony. Soon, it's night time, and he's prepared in just a thin Kimono, loosely tied, walking over to your chambers now and entering them, seeing you sitting in front of the vanity, your attendant brushing out your hair. 'You may go,' he orders her, the doors shutting with a loud echo as he inhales the sweetness of your scent, mixing with the incense you've lit.

Emperor! Gojo has a husky tone as he says your name, and you stand up now, wearing just a thin blue robe, he can see your breasts rising and falling with your breath, as the two of you stand across the room. 'The sooner I have a baby, the less you'll have to see me, or do this,' you say then, shocking him. His mouth opens, then closes as he smirks at you. 'And you think that you know how that's done?' you tilt your head just a bit, letting your robes fall then, covered in nothing, completely bare for his eyes. His breaths come far too quickly, heat rising on his cheeks. He's been with countless women, but nothing prepared him for this, for you, when you step up to him slowly, a hand on his chest. 'Should I prepare you, your majesty?'

Emperor! Gojo is furiously blushing now, annoyed you have whatever odd effect this is, he tries to save face, trembling as your fingers dance across the silk of his robe. 'you think you're adequate at it?' he says then, you smile just a bit. 'I've had instruction on how to please my future husband, there are many books that show it,' he laughs, trying to play it off, when he undoes his tie, and he's just in a fundoshi, showing his cock straining while his robes land on the floor. 'Let's see it, then,' he gasps when you're on your knees, glaring as he thinks that maybe you've done this before, and why should that bother him!?

Emperor! Gojo has his cock free then, slapping his stomach as it does, thick and already hard from just seeing you, you bite your lip as the cool stone floor hurts your knees, stroking him slowly, from the base where he has tufts of white hair, to his pink tip leaking milky drops. 'I thought I'd have to get you in this state? the books didn't mention it being ready...' he glares now, you're insulting him without even knowing it, calling out his desperation. He entangles a hand in your hair then, pulling it as you lap at his tip, almost making him cum from that. 'Let's see what you've learned, hmm?' you're stroking him then, little hand up and down in gentle twists, as you suck him into your mouth, deeper and deeper, his eyes roll back in his head as he fucks your hot mouth then.

Emperor! Gojo has never felt anything better even from the most practiced girls, your suction, the way your tongue swirls, as he fucks your throat deeper and deeper, moaning. But mostly, those eyes looking up at him. He's whispering filthy things - 'slutty fucking throat' - then sweet things - 'doing s'good, sweetheart...' a conundrum of a man. You feel your tummy clenching, something you didn't expect, snowy lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, while you taste him, hands pressing on his muscled thighs. He pulls you off him then, saliva dripping from your mouth. 'Was I not adequate?' he laughs without humor, standing you up now. 'Not adequate?' he is lifting you and slamming his lips on yours, tasting himself, before carrying you on your enormous bed, decorated in more blues, the color of the Gojo clan, the colors of his eyes.

Emperor! Gojo has elegant long fingers, they slip down your body as he feels it tremble, fingers touching your slick cunt then. You gasp as he kisses down one of your breasts, sucking a nipple in his mouth, moaning and rutting his cock on the silk blankets as you cry out. 'Your majesty, you don't need to do all of that, just... get it done,' your words make him pause, looking up and seeing you then, lips swollen from his kisses. He pauses and looks down your body, dying to be inside you, but your words fuck him then. All of the concubines wanted Satoru, and you were just 'doing your duty'. He pulls back then, raising a brow at you. 'Do I need to suck you more?' he shakes his head, clearing his throat then - 'tonight, we will not consummate the marriage' - the words hurt you deeply. 'did I displease you?'

Emperor! Gojo doesn't know what it is, but the thought of a woman not wanting him, especially you, infuriates him. He shoves you up the bed then, making you blink in confusion, when he kisses down your tummy, watching it tense as he dreams of making it bulge with his cock. 'Are you untouched?' he asks, you blush then. 'I have not lain with a man, no, but I'm not untouched.' Satoru's furious anyone saw your pretty body, but he makes no comment, he surely hates tradition and wouldn't care if you were or were not a virgin. In fact he prefers experience, but when he sees your pretty pussy, glistening and soaked, he moans softly, the prettiest one he's seen. 'Your majesty, that's not... in the books!? ah!'

Emperor! Gojo has his tongue slipping up your slit then, smirking against your cunt as your mouth is wide. 'Not everything is in your books, sweetheart,' he laps up your slit again, and you whine out, gripping his shoulders, your nails pressing in. 'I'll have you cum on my face tonight,' his words are now muffled as he buries his face in your sweetness, letting the juices drown him, moaning as he works your body. He feels you tense, feels your cunt pulsing around his tongue when he fucks into your tiny hole, holding your thighs apart. You're lost in how good it feels, you've cum before but never have you done this, felt this, so intense, so much pressure. You're screaming out, hips arching as he makes filthy sounds with your squelching cunt.

Emperor! Gojo almost cums from just this, he's never enjoyed this so much, he can't help but pay attention to every little thing. You yank on his hair, as if to tug him off, he clamps down then, sucking your twitchy little clit into his mouth. 'ah! y-your majesty!' he wants you to call him Satoru, he can't say it though, for now he just devours your pussy, until you shatter. There are no words, just filthy, messy sounds, slurping and squishing echoing in your brand new chambers, while you cum all over your new husband's face. You're shaking as you come down, as the orgasm leaves aftershocks, pulsing around nothing, pleasure making you dizzy, blinded. Satoru presses one more kiss on your pretty cunt, smirking down at you now, pressing a kiss to your lips, when you taste yourself you're a blushing mess. 'a lot of talk, I don't think you're ready f'me yet, sweetheart'

Emperor! Gojo is getting up then, as you catch your breath, sitting up and looking at the man you barely know, his eyes linger across your body as he swipes his chin, embarrassingly coated with your slick. 'And where will you go, your concubines to cum?' he chuckles then, leaning low, tilting your chin up as you look at him. 'would that bother you, sweetheart?' you shake your head, it can't bother you, it shouldn't, this will be your life now. 'Ah, you're not the best liar, that won't help you play the court, you know,' he turns and walks away then, leaving you alone, to contemplate it all.

Just who was Emperor! Gojo!?

hehe I hope ya'll enjoy I can't wait to finish up a couple stories and get to this (or be chaotic and do it anyway lmaoo)

Especially when you look so damn good. You visited a hair salon this morning to get the perfectly seductive curls, pinning them up into a high bun with rivets and wisps of curls cascading down from your up-do. It goes perfectly with your wine red cocktail dress–body-hugging, sexy, and has a high slit at the thigh. You paired it with some Loboutine heels and your favorite MAC lipstick. 

Perfect for seducing a certain vigilante. 

You press two fingers to your right ear, right against the tiny ear piece that could be mistaken for an earring stud. “Testing, testing, 1, 2,” you speak into the earpiece. “This is Nightowl about to enter the vicinity. Target not yet in sight.” 

There is a bit of fuzz and then a familiar voice belonging to one of your fellow agents. “Roger that, Nightowl. We’ll be in the building as soon as you give the signal. Target should be inside.” 

You feel that familiar stomach flip; the one you usually get before a mission that often vanishes by the time it begins. Nowadays, you don’t get nervous anymore having done this for years. You learn to adapt and to sneak, turning into someone else for the time being until the mission is complete. “Roger. Over and out.” 

You square your shoulders and slink into that seductive, secretive persona that you keep in your closet for missions like these. Any mission where you must seduce someone and take them off guard is when you pull her out–the mysterious, sly sex kitten that knows what she wants and how to get it. Nobody can resist her…not even a certain bat-based vigilante taking over Gotham City. 

With a strut in your step and a sway in your hips, you walk over to the museum and walk up the steps to the double doors. Every click of your Loboutine heels prepares you for tonight’s festivities. Everything that can and might happen. Everything that you either are or aren’t prepared for.

You love nights like these. You crave for them. You feel electric as you walk into the museum, smiling when you hand the host your invite. You notice the way he checks out the curve of your tits in your dress and the shape of your red lips. He barely checks your ticket because he’s too busy checking you out. 

You smile and bat your lashes, thanking him. This means your job should go easy tonight. 

When you fully step into the museum lobby converted into a party room, it is in full swing and brimming with luxury, excitement and the energy of the rich, nightlife crowd. The room is surrounded by glass cases of history on display: historical artifacts, old paintings, gems and jewels glittering with temptation. All for the taking. 

You would gladly snatch up all of them if you could, but you’re after just one in particular. 

It is shockingly easy for you to blend in, but then again, as a renowned agent and jewel thief, you know exactly how to do so. It makes it easy to slink past staff and security to the ‘Staff Only’ room and snatch a random employee tag. 

You pin it to your dress and slink back out to the party without anyone noticing, the weight of your secret weapons strapped to your thigh and in your purse grounding you. 

As soon as you walk back out into the party, you are bombarded by the sound of a live band playing and the aura of luxury. It is all around you—on the snack table where a crystal bowl of punch and champagne flutes sit; in the tasteful decorations; the conversations and laughs of the guests decked out in their best designer

You keep your clutch close to your side, your little Glock hidden beneath your switchblade shaped as a lipstick tube…and your lipstick. You can’t ever leave the house without your MAC. You press your fingers to your ear again, keeping your voice low. “Night Owl within the vicinity. Target not in sight yet.”

You begin to look around the room, scanning it to find the man of the hour. You studied his appearance for weeks before coming here. Though you have no idea what he’ll be wearing tonight, you know that once you see him, you’ll know that it’s him. 

And sure enough, you do. You find him sitting at the bar in a tailored black suit, all long legs and looking so tall and big even while sitting. He is nursing a club soda in his big hand as he reads off a pamphlet about the upcoming presentation tonight and tonight’s auctioned items, his blue eyes shifting as he reads. 

There he is: Nightwing, in the flesh. You feel your throat tighten and your heart pound against your ribcage. Your agency has been on this man’s tail for months the same way he has been on theirs, tracking down his real identity. When they finally found him, your boss slapped his manila folder on your desk and smiled at you. “We got him,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.” 

Nightwing has been a thorn in your boss’ side for months now, cracking down on his most skilled agents and traffickers. Every Gotham newspaper shows a new arrest on the front page, courtesy of Nightwing and his stupid tight spandex suit and charming grin. No one has ever seen him out of his mask or suit…except for now. And you are more than excited to expose him tonight. 

Smuggling is an art form itself. It requires much time and discipline. Being a spy is exactly the same, requiring a precise form and act that makes you your boss’ top spy at his underground agency. 

Which is why he chose you for the job. If anyone can get Nightwing on a silver platter, it’s you. You’re more than happy to do so. Anyone ruining your job and chances at getting your hands on some more pretty prizes is evil in your eyes. 

The plan is simple: get the man comfortable, perhaps get some drinks in him, seduce him enough to take your offer for privacy in the basement, and then bam! He gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you get your hands on the museum’s newest find: a diamond worth millions. One of history’s finest artifacts recently dug up and shipped here. Never before seen. 

With the taste of danger and another pretty thing in your roster on your tongue, you strut over to the undercover vigilante and take a seat next to him, catching his attention immediately. It’s almost comical. You give him a small smile of acknowledgement as you place your clutch on the polished bar. 

You then wave your manicured nails at the bartender, flashing the vigilante your glossy, red nails. “Bartender, a Brandy Alexander, please.” The woman in the white and black uniform nods, getting started on your drink. You sit in silence for a moment, both of you testing the other to make the first move. 

You glance at Nightwing, eyeing him curiously as he pretends to read the pamphlet sitting in his lap. His pants seem to stretch across his muscular thighs…not that you’re checking him out. “So are you gonna say something or just act like you’re not staring at me?” he asks without looking up at you. 

You blink at him, taken aback. “Sorry?” He finally turns to look at you, smirking, his blue eyes devastatingly pretty. Damn him. “Pardon the bluntness. I had a glass of champagne earlier. But I can feel your eyes.”

You raise your brow at him, feeling your own smirk curl onto your lips. “Oh, really? How do you know they were mine?” The vigilante shrugs, sipping his club soda. “I’ve been to parties like this before. Or rather, auctions for historical art pieces and valuables.”

“So have I,” you reply, nodding in thanks when your drink is given to you. The vigilante watches you take a sip, eyes zooming in on your red lips. “Hm. Well, you’re certainly dressed for the part. I notice the name tag. You work here, Ms. London?”

You damn near forget about the fake name on the tag you stole and nod, smiling. “That, I do, uh…” You pretend to look puzzled, pulling an annoyingly attractive chuckle out of him. “Satoru,” he replies. “Gojo.” So your agency’s research was correct. Nightwing and Satoru Gojo, a Gotham-based college thirty-something year old, are, in fact, the same person. 

Quelling the excitable flip in your gut, you shake his hand, ignoring how big and calloused it is. “Pleasure to meet you, Satoru. I’ve been working here for a year now, so dresses like this are the norm for auctions. I’m glad you like it.”

A small blush coats Satoru’s cheeks, making him slightly endearing. He has two sides to himself it seems…or three, counting Nightwing. “Heh. Well, I’m sure everyone does. It looks very…expensive.” You giggle, eyeing his clothes. “As does your suit.”

He quirks a brow at your compliment, happy with the praise. “Ya think so, huh? Guess that Bloomingdale’s employee wasn’t bullshittin’ me then.” He flashes you a white-toothed grin, dimples popping. He is so charming that it’s disarming, making you slightly uncomfortable. You’ve never felt this way about a target before. 

“I can’t say I’ve seen your face around here,” you say, still turning up the heat. After all, this is your job. “I would’ve recognized you as a regular.” You make sure to put a flirty tone in your voice to catch his attention. Sure enough, it does. 

“I’m a lover of the arts. Got an invite from the Gotham Art Museum as a member and took it. Plus, there’s a free bar, so why not?” He smirks, sipping his drink. “That’s usually what brings people in here,” you chuckle. “Unless you’re an art buff.” You sip your drink too, leaving a red stain on the glass. 

Satoru’s eyes flick from the rim to your face, your wicked ways working on him. “Oh, I am. Nothin’ like gettin’ your hands on somethin’ as valuable and precious as a piece of art. A painting, a sculpture. Even the finest jewel.” His tone is so sly; so seductive. He’s trying to work his charm too…but why?

“Oh?” you purr, hiding your suspensions. “How so? Is it the history that turns you on? F-For art, I mean.”

Satoru chuckles at your little intentionally unintentional innuendo, ducking his head in a way that is both boyish and sexy. “Yeah. Plus, they’re just so damn pretty. I mean, look at this necklace here!” He shows you a photo of one of the artifiacts–a gorgeous necklace from 1800 England dripping with sapphires. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks. 

You nod, struggling to not inhale his cologne as he leans in to show you the photo. “It is,” you hum. “There are plenty of more pieces I can show you, if you’re interested.” He eyes you then, his blue eyes like the purest oceans. “Very. Lead the way, Ms. London.” 

You smile as you finish your drink for that liquid confidence and stand. He presents you to his elbow and you take it, trying not to get too excited over how easy this is. It may seem that way, but you need to be on your toes. This could go very wrong in an instant. For example, falling victim to the vigilante’s charms as he smiles at you and leads you around the party. 

You show the items you’ve seen on the museum’s website, feeding him info you researched and bullshit you make up on the spot. He seems to eat it all up, sipping a glass of champagne, even getting one for you to clink his glass against. Satoru doesn’t seem bored by anything you tell him, nodding in interest and slipping in little jokes between your presentations to make you giggle. 

After about two hours of your “roleplay”, things start to accelerate when you’re on your second glass of champagne and back at the bar for a mocktail. You’ll need to at least be semi-sober for this next part. As you’re reaching into your clutch for some cash to pay for your mock martini with olives, someone beats you to it. 

An older gentleman with a horrible combover grins at you, not even trying to hide his lecherous eyes. “Here. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t buy her own drink.” 

He slips you a bill, standing a little bit closer to you than you’d like. “I appreciate that,” you giggle, taking the money from him just as the bartender returns with your drink. “How can I repay you for such a kind act?” 

The old man pretends to think, puckering his lips in a way that you’re sure is supposed to be sexy. “Just your number. I could make sure you don’t have to ruin those feet walkin’ around for your job anymore.” He nods down at your fresh pedicure and designer heels, licking his chapped lips. 

You swallow your repulsion, feeling Satoru’s presence sitting behind you at the bar. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t take numbers from married men.” With joy, you watch the old man’s smile fade and he slinks away, giving you the dirtiest look known to man. Satoru nods, impressed. “You got quite the eye.” You shrug, sipping your crisp mocktail. “When you work here long, you learn to catch on.” 

He reaches over, clinking your glass with his new drink: a Brandy Alexander this time. “I could’ve told ya he was married though,” he chuckles. His laugh is smooth and rich yet deep and lethal, like a shot of whiskey. 

You turn to him, raising a brow at him as you sip your martini. “And how would you know that?” you question. “He didn’t have a ring on his finger.” You only knew because you saw him with his wife when you came in. 

Satoru chortles again as if you’re some dumb little girl he needs to school. “Don’t have to. Rings can come off, ‘specially at events like these.” He takes a sip from his drink, eyeing you across the rim. “There’s plenty of pretty women like yourself swimmin’ around here for the pickin’.” 

His gaze is hot like fire licking across your exposed skin. The air that the old man left tense becomes even more so, but you straighten your neck and regard him with a smirk. “Like me?” you scoff. “I doubt he could’ve even been able to afford me.” 

You take another sip of your martini, leaving a red stain on the rim, before fishing out the toothpick rowed with olives. You pluck one off with your teeth, knowing that he is watching. ‘Just keep up the act. Hook, line, and sinker.’ 

“And how would one afford you?” he asks, curiously glistening in his eyes. “You merchandise? Up for grabs like these beauties here?” You swirl your tongue around in your mouth, sizing him up. You try not to think about how fun it is to flirt with him. To tease him. This is your job. “Depends on how much you’re willing to bet on me.” 

That’s what finally breaks the tension and Satoru’s smile grows rather lustful. “Maybe we can discuss somewhere more private,” he suggests. He slides his hand into yours and you allow it, ignoring how your heart pounds. “You got a room?” 

You take a sip of your drink, smirking. “Plenty,” you giggle. Satoru mirrors your smirk, eyeing you down into your stool. “Little spitfire, ain’t you?”

You laugh as he helps you out of your stool. You do your best to act like your knees aren’t weak and that his touch doesn’t send electric shocks through your body. You tell yourself that it’s just because your mission is going so well. Finally, you’ll get what you want. “So I’ve been told. I’ve got just the place for us though. Follow me before someone knows we left.” 

Satoru nods, his expression like molten fire as his eyes lay on your ass when you walk ahead of him, hand in hand, towards the elevator. The auction is underway so people are preoccupied, meaning it’s easy to sneak away with the vigilante to the basement. 

Minutes later, you’re getting pinned against the basement wall and Satoru’s lips are on yours. He showed surprising self control in the elevator, even when you felt the sexual tension building and his hand on your waist growing tight. The basement is quiet and empty, only filled with supplies and other museum artifacts moved for safe keeping. 

You moan against Satoru’s kiss, his soft lips just as heavy as the darkness descending upon you. The silvery moonlight is the only light cutting through the open window above, illuminating Satoru’s snow white hair and handsome features. His hands cup your face as you grasp his shoulders, welcoming his big frame pressed against yours. 

You’ve kissed many targets before. You’ve even slept with some. Not that you’re proud of it, but it’s the name of the game. However, with Satoru, this doesn’t feel like a simple roleplay or job. His lips are soft and chaste of champagne, making you drunk. It’s so dangerous. You need to stop this now. 

Luckily, the glittering of an object catches both of your eyes, causing you to stop kissing. Satoru keeps his roaming hands on you as he gazes at the glass case of a gorgeous diamond glistening with all kinds of yellows, pinks, and lavenders. “Wait…is that the newest diamond?” he questions. “The one found in a cave in the Himalayas?" 

You nod, slinking your arms around him as you gaze at the diamond. “Yeah,” you purr. “They brought it in a month ago to present tonight.” And if anyone touches it, it will start an alarm. You know from sneaking in here weeks ago for a tour of the museum, committing every room to memory. 

With your eyes trained on Satoru, you give him a lustful stare, body tingling in anticipation. “Now shut up and take off your clothes. Step back a bit for me so I can undress.” Satoru grins and begins to do just that, reaching for his tie as he blindly steps back, the glass case right behind you. 

Click.

You freeze when you feel the cold barrel of a gun in your back, making your muscles tense. “Hold it right there,” an unfamiliar voice croons. “Move one inch and you won’t like what happens next.” You do as he says, not moving, while Satoru glares at the stranger over your head. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hisses. 

The stranger chuckles, his voice deeper yet softer than Satoru’s. “Now is that anyway to greet your friendly neighborhood vigilante?” he jokes. “‘Specially since I could’ve just left your dumb ass here.” The gun cocks, making you gulp. “Turn around,” he orders. 

Slowly, you turn and sure enough, you’re staring at yet another Gotham vigilante that’s been bugging your boss: Red Hood, in the flesh. Dressed in his red and black uniform, muscles outlined in his suit, his long, black hair cascading down his shoulders and back. A white streak shoots through one lock in his face, right over his indigo eyes peeking over the red mask covering his mouth and nose. 

Satoru glares at the vigilante that seems to be flipped around from the same coin, just a different side. “Seriously, Suguru? You stealin’ my target from me now?”

Target? 

“Don’t use my real name,” Suguru aka Red Hood growls from behind his mask. “And you were ready to fuck my target, Nightwing. Don’t you realize this woman is tryin’ to play you? She wants someone to take the fall while she steals the diamond.” 

Slowly, you turn to stare at Satoru, hoping that you aren’t this stupid. Sure enough, the white-haired man rolls his blue eyes. “Why else would I have come down here so willingly? I’m not that much of a whore, asshole.” 

He turns to you with a smile, popping open his top to reveal the black suit with a big blue bat symbol stuck on his chest. “Pleasure to meet you by the way, Night Owl.” You gape at the bat symbol then at his face. You can’t believe it! You’ve been had! “You…you tricked me,” you hiss. 

Satoru doesn’t even look the least bit apologetic, but why would he? “Sorry, but I couldn’t have you tossin’ me to the cops. I know you ain’t gonna flap your gums about my secret identity…unless you want people to know who you are too.” 

Your eyes widen an inch, your stomach flipping with fear. He’s blackmailing you? “See, I’ve been after you for quite some time now,” he continues, giving you that stupid grin that you want to smack off of him. “You’re the most wanted jewel thief in Gotham. Frankly, I just wanted to see how far you’d think I’d fall for your plan.” 

“Fuck you,” you growl. “Neither one of you is gonna arrest me for this. The cops and Batman are all the same: fuckin’ idiots.” Suguru and Satoru share a look, silently deliberating. “Good thing they got us,” Satoru chuckles. “We’re not as dumb as you think we are, honey.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Suguru hums, the gun still cocked at your head. “You don’t give us superheroes as much credit.” You keep quiet, simpering with anger. How could you be so dumb? How could you be so reckless? So–

Crackle-crackle. “Night Owl!” your fellow agent yells into your ear. “Come in, Night Owl! There’s an initial target! It’s–”

“Tell your people that you know already,” Suguru says, close enough to hear the feedback of the "conspicuous" ear piece in your ear. “And tell them that we’re about to give you an ultimatum. All you have to do is surrender and–” 

POOF!  

The vigilante can’t finish his sentence because he’s getting a mouthful of the pink smoke bomb you slipped out of your bra. It is tiny yet lethal; a new weapon created by the tech department at your agency. It comes right in handy, creating a thick fog that fills the entire basement with pink smoke. “Goddamn!” Satoru coughs. “What the fuck was that?!”

Quickly, you turn around to knock the gun out of Suguru’s hand, the fog allowing you the perfect cover. Then you give him a swipe with your leg, tripping him backwards. Though he perfectly catches himself and kicks his legs back up to stand upright, you’re already pulling a tiny remote from your clutch and aiming it at the ceiling. 

“Sorry to cut this meeting short, fellas,” you chuckle. “But I’ve gotta run. Nice meeting you!” Then with one click, a rope with a hook at the end extends from the remote and punches a hole into the ceiling window. You zoom up right out of the building through the window before releasing and landing on the museum building’s rooftop.

Unfortunately, the fog is a little bit more potent than you realize. It explodes from the broken window, traveling up onto the rooftop. Right under your nose. You breathe it in without even realizing it and begin to cough, your throat and eyes stinging. Those fuck ass scientists! 

Quickly, you hurry to the edge of the building and stare across to a skyscraper. You could zip across that no problem. You could be out of here in just a….whoa. You suddenly feel light on your feet and your vision grows wavery, everything suddenly foggy and unfocused. 

“Oh, fuck,” you exhale before you feel yourself falling forward, about to hit the pavement…and you would’ve if Satoru didn’t catch you. He grunts as he grabs your arm and hugs you to him, positioning you so he’s carrying you bridal style.

You stare up into his blue eyes peaking out of his black mask before your vision is eaten up by darkness. “We’ve got you now, sweetie,” he whispers. “We’ll take good care of you. You’ll see.” 

“Wakey, wakey, babydoll. Let us know you’re still alive.”

Slowly, your eyes peel open and you’re staring into the ocean blues behind a black mask. The man attached to the mask wears a black and blue spandex suit with black gloves and boots. If it isn’t for the white hair and silky voice, you would not have recognized Satoru. “She lives!” he mockingly gasps. “Thank God. We thought you died on us, honey.” 

He grins at you, blinding you with his white teeth. You groan as you come to your senses, feeling achy and unbalanced. Slowly, you sit up, finding yourself on the floor in some secret room–it consists of a tiny cot bed, wooden boxes of food supplies, and a stool that Red Hood occupies. Suguru, you heard Satoru call him. He is still in his suit, but his mask is gone, revealing his handsome features and the snakebites embedded in his plump, pink bottom lip.

“W-Where am I?” you mutter. “Why do I feel so dizzy?” You place a hand on your head, still coming back to reality. You look around, seeing the towel under your head and your dress still intact. Did they…move you here? 

“You passed out after inhalin’ that smoke shit you blew at us,” Suguru explains from the stool, using a pocket knife to stab a hole in the drywall. He twists it to the right to the left, focusing hard on his movements. 

“I-I did?” you whisper. Then you panic, your memories flooding back. The smoke bomb. “Oh, no, no!” you gasp. “I have to get outta here! R-Right now!” Quickly, you try to rise to your feet only to slump back down, still dizzy. 

“Ah-ah, little miss,” Suguru tuts. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere right now.” He rises from his stool, arms crossed. His sleeves are rolled up to expose his muscular arms inked with tattoos but you ignore them…or you try to. “And who’s gonna stop me?” you growl at him, glaring up at him. 

Satoru glances at the both of you before rising to his feet, whistling. You watch him waltz over to a painting hanging up on the wall that you didn’t notice before and sloooowly moving it aside to reveal a tiny hole in the wall that Suguru surely made. “Well, them for one,” he replies, showing you a sliver of the museum lobby where you once were.

Only now, it’s surrounded by Gotham City cops. ‘Shit!’ you think. panicked. Someone called the cops?! What if Batman shows up too?! 

“And definitely not if you’re feelin’ weak,” Satoru adds, crossing his arms over his buff chest. “Whatever that sneak attack was is sneakin’ up on you too.”

You don’t answer, grabbing your clutch beside you and then feeling around your ear for… “My earpiece,” you gasp. “W-Where’s my earpiece?!” You begin to look around, searching the small room for the tiny black dot. “You’re what piece?” Satoru asks, confused. 

“That thing that her team was talkin’ in her ear with,” Suguru explains. “And don’t look at me. I don’t have it. Must’ve fallen out while you–”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish because you’re rising to your feet again only to stumble, falling into the wall. The two vigilantes quickly descend upon you, using their strong hands to help you out. “Hey, hey, relax,” Satoru gently says. “Sit down and take a breath.”

You watch them suspiciously as they sit you down on the edge of the bed, leaving you be once you’re off your feet. Why are they being so damn gentle with you? “Now explain,” Satoru firmly says, leaning against the wall. “Who are you? What’s the thing with robbin’ these museums?” 

Instead of answering, you keep quiet, stubborn and bratty. Satoru rolls his eyes at you like you’re a disobedient child. “Listen, we’re gonna be here for a while, so you may as well talk…unless you want us to alert one of these cops.” He picks up his fist and raps it quietly on the wall, making your heartbeat scatter.

Damn these damn vigilantes! Always one step ahead of you. “I’m a spy,” you begrudgingly confess. “I work for an underground organization that deals in jewel trafficking. I was tasked with stealing the diamond in the hopes of leading Batman to my boss.”

The two vigilantes share a look, silently talking to each other. Are they wondering what they'll do to you? How to torture you to make you talk? Will they use Suguru’s pocket knife to slice off your dress? Will they strip you down and spank you till you cry? Make you suck their big cocks until you’re begging for them to fuck you? Slide themselves inside of you and fill you up until you’re begging for them to stop?

You blink at the sudden onslaught of dirty, nasty thoughts and the images flashing across your brain. Where the fuck did that come from? 

And then you feel it: that warm flush that engulfs your body like you just stepped into a sauna. Then you feel your heartbeat accelerate, pumping hot blood until you can practically hear it throb. You press a hand to your forehead, finding it coated in sweat. What is happening to you?

The sound of Satoru’s silky voice doesn’t help your situation. If anything, it makes your body feel even weirder. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, sweetie. And for what it's worth, sorry to ruin your mission too.” He pauses, cocking his head to the side and squinting at you as if he’s just now seeing you. “You’re a lot prettier than that diamond though.”

The compliment comes out of nowhere and he looks just as perplexed as you feel from it. “What?” you and Suguru both ask. You blink, seeing how pink Satoru’s cheeks are, noticing how Suguru is pulling at the collar of his skin-tight suit. 

Then it hits you. “Oh, no…the bomb! It’s working on us!” you lament, instantly scooting as far across the room as you can. As you try to check for loose structure in the wall to knock down and escape, the vigilantes share a confused glance. “What do you mean?” Suguru demands. “What the hell was in that thing anyway? Jesus, are you two as hot as I am right now?”

You are–it feels like the room has grown to about 100 degrees and is quickly rising. “It was an aphrodisiac bomb,” you weakly explain. “It was made with bi-products to help distract my target and weaken their defenses by using arousal.” 

You don’t look at the vigilantes as you continue to tap against the wall, searching for a way out. But are you really searching or just pretending so you don’t succumb to the temptation of the two irresistible men standing behind you? 

“Wait, you used a fuckin’ aphrodisiac on us?” Satrou growls. “Is that why I’m so goddamn…” He pauses, letting out a broken exhale that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

“This shit is workin’ fast,” Suguru exhales, suddenly sounding a lot closer. You feelin’ it too?” He’s asking you, but you don’t answer. You don’t even turn around, too afraid of your loss of control. You can’t trust yourself anymore. 

“I-It doesn’t matter. We have to get out of here now.” You try to stand again, bracing your hands on the wall, but your knees buckle, loose like jelly. “Oh, no!” you whimper, tears springing into your eyes. 

“Hey, hey,” Satoru coos. His hands are on you, gentle and supportive, helping you stand upright. “Relax, doll. You’re okay.” Not the pet names. God, no, anything but those! 

“You don’t understand,” you whisper, trying to wrangle yourself out of his hold. He feels too good, his broad chest pressed into your back. If this continues, you don’t know what will happen and that scares you. You’re supposed to be finishing this mission! 

“What don’t I understand?” he murmurs. “Tell me.” But you can’t. You can’t focus on anything except his strong, gloved hands on your waist and his silky voice in your ear. Slowly, he turns you around to face him and you’re staring deep into his sapphire eyes glistening at you from beneath his mask. 

“Your eyes are really pretty,” you hear yourself softly admit. His lips curl into a proud smile, all dimples and charm. “Thank you, baby. Yours ain’t too bad either.” 

And then suddenly, you’re kissing. You don’t know if you lean in or if he does, but at some point, the tension that the aphrodisiacs caused reach a boiling point, steaming and overflowing. Satoru’s lips are just as soft as they were earlier in the basement, but this time, his kiss is slow and seductive, taking his time to taste you. It feels so, so fucking good. 

“No,” you whimper against his lips, some of your common sense still lingering. “T-This is all wrong.” Even so, your hands feel up his chest, indulging in how big his pecs are beneath the spandex. 

Before Satoru can protest or argue, the thud of footsteps behind you stops him short. Suguru’s hand caresses your hair, brushing it away from your neck. “Only thing that’s wrong here is me not bein’ included,” he rasps. You begin to tremble, sandwiched between their big, hard bodies, each of them towering over you. You’ve never been so intimidated in your life. 

Satoru chuckles, soft and sexy, as his thumb strokes your cheek. Though he’s speaking to Suguru, his eyes stay planted firmly on you. “Join in if ya want. There's plenty of this bad girl to go around.” His fingers trail down to your chin, tilting your head up to stare up at him. “You deserve some punishment for pullin’ that little stunt on us, don’t you?”

Suguru hums in agreement, his fingers tangled in your hair. You can’t think, too distracted by the mingling scents of their cologne and your own arousal. “I-I don’t…” You dig your teeth into your bottom lip as Suguru toys with your dress zipper, making your skin tingle. “You don’t what?” the vigilante pushes, a teasing smile in his voice. “You don’t know? Oh, we think you know quite well, little lady.” 

“Y/N,” you murmur. “My name is Y/N.” Not that you hate the petnames, but it’s also because you want to hear them utter your name. Satoru smiles, pleased. “Pretty name. Better than that London shit you were goin’ with.” He is teasing you and it’s working its magic on you, totally hooking you to your targets.

Their kisses don’t make shit any better for you. They each share you one after the other, snatching you away if one of them is taking too long with your lips. Satoru’s kiss is more possessive and sloppy while Suguru is slow and seductive. However, their lips are soft and their tongues are tantalizing, drawing soft moans out of you as they push against you, trapping you between them.

You can’t get enough of their tastes; their tongues sliding against yours. Their big hands are roaming your body. Suguru sucking on your bottom lip while Satory caresses your neck, soft sighs and moans traveling between you. It is electric. It is magic. It is perfection. 

Your limbs feel loose like jelly. If it isn’t for the vigilantes holding you up, you’d definitely crumble to the floor. They have made you weak. Satoru chuckles as if sensing this, teasingly licking a stripe across your throat. “Poor baby. All she needed was a little attention.” He takes your hand and places it on his very hard, very throbbing dick. “And maybe a little dick too,” he pants. 

“Definitely not little over here,” Suguru teases. Oh, you can feel it. He is just as big and just as stiff as Satoru, pushing into your backside. You are sweating at this point, your pussy throbbing impatiently at the feeling of their bulges packed tight in their suits. “Don’t know about you though, Satoru,” Suguru smirkingly says.

Satoru tsks, rolling his eyes. “Liar. You know all about the weapon I’m carryin’, don’t you, baby boy?” Suddenly, he’s reaching over to grip Suguru’s arm and yanking him in for a sloppy kiss. You stare, shocked and aroused, their soft moans drifting through the air as their lounges slip against each other.

You weren’t expecting some hot shit like this…but you ain’t complaining either. Your body responds immediately: hard nipples, flushed cheeks, and a very wet pussy that drips down your thighs. Satoru’s blue eyes tick over to you and he pulls away, smirking. “Oooo, baby girl’s gettin’ turned on from seein’ her guys kiss, hm?” he chuckles. “What’s the matter, honey? Can’t take it?” 

Both vigilantes stare at you, their teasing making you shy. “N-No,” you stammer. Suguru raises a brow, not convinced. “Oh, no? Then prove it.” 

Suddenly, you’re indulging in your first three-way kiss. All soft lips, tongues, and moans that travel straight to your core, making it warm and fuzzy. Your pussy drips slick down your inner thighs as Satoru grinds against your front while Suguru rubs his cock against you from the back, making you feel every inch of them. The taste of champagne coming off of their tongues is intoxicating, making you drunker than any alcohol could.

Satoru pulls away, pulling his fat, pink tongue away from you. “Bet these lips would feel real good around my cock,” he whispers. You shiver at the dirty statement, biting your bottom lip. 

Suguru agrees with a hum. “Absolutely. How ‘bout it, mama? It’s okay to need a nice, fat dick in here, right?” His thumb swipes your bottom lip, making you tingle all throughout your body. 

His smile fades as he watches you watch him, his gaze molten hot and lustful. You have no choice but to watch him unbuckle his pants with one hand and unzip the front of his suit, pulling his cock out. Your eyes widen at inch at his long, thick, pulsing shaft protruding from a nest of black curls. Especially at the glistening silver ball at his bulbous head.

Red Hood has a dick piercing.  

“Suck that dick f’me,” he demands, his tone firm and serious. “It’s the least you can do for the trouble you caused.” You feel your eyes watering and your lips quivering. Everything in you is screaming at you not to comply…but there is one part nesting in the deepest, darkest depths of your being that is interested and curious. You’ve always wondered how Red Hood and Nightwing looked and tasted…and now, you’re about to find out. 

But as you kneel on the bed before Suguru, facing his thick cock, you start to gulp. He smirks, cocky, dick bobbing in your face without him even using his hands. “Too big, mama? Don’t worry. You can try on this.” He then glides his gun out of his bat belt and holds it out to you, making your eyes widen and your heart pump. “Suck, slutty girl. Let’s see whatcha got.” 

And to your utter surprise, you wrap your lips around the gun and suck. You stare into Suguru’s eyes as you blow the pistol in your face, its cold metal warmed by your soft, lush lips. Satoru watches, just as astonished and aroused as Suguru is, as your throat sinks lower down the barrel. “Mmm, no gag reflex? That’s my kinda girl.” 

Suguru’s violet eyes grow dark with lust as you bob up and down the gun, hollowing your cheeks. “Mine too. Keep those eyes up here, mama. Let me see that pretty face.” He reels you in like a fish on a hook with those eyes, hooded and piercing, drinking in the way you suck off his gun. Your spit coats the cold metal, your lips quivering when you catch his finger on the trigger. 

You can only hope that it’s unloaded, but to your surprise, you don’t feel fear; only a thrill. But you get a thrill like no other once Suguru has had enough of the foreplay and decides to finally feed you his big dick. “Time to show me what that mouth can do…other than talk back.” 

You stare at the thick cock in front of you, the silver balls teasingly glinting at you. Swallowing your pride, you start by kissing and licking along Suguru’s shaft, introducing yourself to his dick. He softly groans and hums in enjoyment at your ministrations, pushing his hips forward.

He does so in a way that makes his cock slip between your lips and in your mouth without your permission. You gasp as his thick cock passes the threshold of your mouth, the taste of him all over your tongue. “Mmm, that’s a good girl,” he moans, using one hand to grab the back of your head. 

His deep thrusts cause your hair to loosen from its updo, your curls falling down. Quickly, they are swept up by a fist, held up out of your face so you can focus on swallowing the dick down your throat. “Allow me,” Satoru hums. “Can’t suck good dick if your hair is in the way.” 

He then pushes you forward onto Suguru’s dick, making you take him deeper. You force yourself to open your throat and to breathe through your nostrils in an effort not to choke. “Shit,” Suguru groans, watching as your lush lips stretch around his dick, taking him to the hilt. “You’re so good at this, angel. You make me wanna fuckin’ cu–” 

“My turn. You’re takin’ too fuckin’ long,” Satoru quips, tearing you off of Suguru’s cock. The long-haired vigilante glares daggers at the Nightwing as he takes his place, smirking down at you. “Be prepared for some greatness, sweetie.” 

Zzzzip. Satoru smirks as he unzips his pants and slides his dick right out for you to behold. He is just as thick as Suguru but lightly curved, leaning with a hook. He is all smooth skin and muscle, not a stitch of hair coating his pelvis except for his thighs. “Like whatcha see, naughty girl? That sneak attack made me so hard f’you.”

He bites his lip as he wraps a hand around his cock, stroking it oh-so slowly in your face. The little beads of pre-cum at the head drizzle down his shaft like the droplets of an ice cream cone. 

He hisses as his thumb strokes the sensitive underside of his head, his bottom lip quivering. “A-Ah–catch it, babes. Don’t let me go to waste now.”

You don’t know what possesses you to stick your tongue out to lick up the salty droplets. Maybe the drug or how hot he looks so desperate for you. Either way, you lick up his pre-cum and then suck on his cock like you mean it, hollowing your cheeks to take him easier. Suguru watches close by in both envy and arousal, stroking his fat dick as his eyes flick between you on your knees and Satoru fucking your throat.

Satoru lets out a loud, throaty groan, one hand tangled in your hair. “That’s it, cutie pie,” he groans. “Take that fuckin’ cock. Y’know, you’re almost better at this than ya are fightin’.” He pushes in deeper, making you gag and nearly triggering that button in the back of your throat, making you gag. Satoru loudly groans at the feeling of your throat flexing around him. “You should think about changin’ occupations…bein’ a little cocksucker is way more fittin’ for ya, pardon the vulgarity.” 

He begins to fuck your face now, slowly at first, but he is still brutal and rough. You have to force yourself to keep breathing to avoid throwing up all over his dick. “You could be my little cock slut,” he growls. “My baby. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” 

Yes. 

You gurgle and gag in response, your throat forced to flex around his cock interrupting its natural state. You feel as if your throat and mouth are being molded into his personal fleshlight with the way he fucks your face, grunting and groaning like a desperate man. His balls slap against your chin, filling your nose with the scent of his cologne and his dick, making for an extra arousing aroma. 

“Time’s up,” Suguru says, his voice rasped with need. “You’re either sharin’ or you’re not, Satoru. Don’t be greedy.” He practically shoves the Nightwing out of the way, making Satoru roll his eyes. “Well, sorry,” he snorts. “I didn’t realize you were feenin’ for her mouth, Red Hood. Just look at all that pre-cum!” 

Sure enough, Suguru is dripping pre down his fist, oozing down to his heavy balls. Satoru smirks as the Red Hood taps his cock against your plush lips, softly moaning. “You gonna drink it all up for him, baby?” he coos. “Be a good girl and lick it aaaalll up for us.” 

You do so, licking up Suguru’s pre-cum before he pushes in and uses your mouth again. And then passes you off to Satoru. They allow you to stroke both of their dicks in time with your sucking, alternating between each one in your face, throbbing hard. Their groans and whimpers egg you on, making you ignore the ache in your jaw and how your mascara drips just to hear more of their pleasure. 

You’ve never been used in such a way. You are being resorted to nothing but a toy. A hole for the vigilantes’ own use. Saliva drips from your chin and down onto your tits, making you slick and pussy like another part of you between your thighs. The more they fuck, the more your cunt throbs and pulses in anticipation for it to be fucked the same way. 

What is wrong with you? You can only ask yourself this question with every passing moment that your mouth is used like a fleshlight, blowing each dick like it’s your job. Soon, the vigilantes have had their fill though they haven’t cum yet. “Not bad, cutie,” Satoru pants, cheeks flushed. “Now we gotta give our girl a reward, don’t we, Sugu?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Suguru hums, stroking loose hairs out of your face. “Need to make sure you’re ready for us later.”

Excitedly, your eyes tick down to their throbbing dicks again, your pussy throbbing impatiently for either one…or both. Then you catch the glint of Satoru’s handcuffs dangling from his belt. He smirks, taking them out for you. “Oh, you want these?” he teases, dangling the cuffs in your face. “Can’t say I ain’t been wantin’ to cuff your ass all night. I think it’s fittin’ for a naughty girl like you.” 

He crooks his finger at you, causing you to stand on wobbly legs. You softly gasp when he suddenly forces you to turn around, facing the bed post. “Hands behind your back, pretty. Let’s hike up this dress too.” You swallow as you obey his sultry command, allowing Satoru to carefully cuff your hands behind your back.

Meanwhile, Suguru kneels down to hike up your dress over your hips. As he does, their groans of arousal at the sight of your plump ass in your lace panties make you gush in your panties. Before you know it, you’re getting bent over the edge of the bed, presenting your ass to the both of them. “Good, baby?” Satoru murmurs, thoughtfully stroking your ass. You nod, unable to speak.  

SMACK!

You gasp as his palm connects with your ass, hard, making tears spring into your eyes. “What was that?” Satoru asks. The fiery sting makes you flinch, but your pussy has never been wetter. You’re feening at this point, needing dick like you need water to drink. You look over your shoulder at Satoru, drowning in his molten hot gaze. “Yes, I’m okay, sir,” you whisper. 

Satoru and Suguru share a praiseful smile, cooing at your obedience. “So polite! Why weren’t you this sweet earlier, hm?” Satoru hums, pressing a kiss to your ass. But then Suguru tugs on your wrists, making you grunt. “Such a little brat,” he growls. “Lucky for you, mama, I love me some bratty girls.”

Satoru hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to your panties, making you whimper. “Me too…so just what should we do to a bratty pussy like yours?” His bottom lip drags over your ass, his fat tongue licking down, down to your inner thighs. Suguru kneels with him, teasing you with his soft lips and cool tongue piercing, bathing your skin in his spit.

Your body feels unbalanced and your legs are wobbly. To some degree, you’re thankful for the bedside to hold you up as you feel Suguru’s big hands glide down your ass and thighs. Then, suddenly, you feel his breath caressing your asscheeks and something cool on your skin. 

You realize what it is when you feel your wet panties slice off of your body. A knife. “Don’t fret, mama. This is just to get these panties off…but if you want, I can use it on the dress too.” He presses the cool metal of the knife into your thigh, making you feel the jagged edges. 

“You can be a good girl for us, can’t you?” he whispers, a wicked smile in his voice. He doesn’t give you the chance to answer before lightly licking you against your slit. You gasp, your wrists straining against the cuffs. His big hands glide up to force your hips back, causing your ass to jut into his face. “F-Fuck!” you stammer, gasping as sparks of pleasure explode through your core. You can’t even grip anything because of your cuffed wrists, so you resort to curling your toes in your heels.

“Don’t leave me outta this,” Satoru purrs. “I want a lick too.” You feel him give your ass a wet, open-mouthed kiss, making you moan as Suguru slides his fat tongue up to tease your clit. “You can handle both of us, can’t you, babydoll? A tough girl like you?” 

Neither of them give you a chance to answer. Instead, your pitiful moans and slutty whimpers answer for them, filling the small room along with the soft, wet sloshing of their tongues caressing your dripping pussy. They hum enjoyment, licking and sucking away at your pussy that seems to grow wetter with every ministration of their tongues. 

“O-Oh, shit,” you whimper. “Mmm, fuck!” You try to hold back your moans, but you can’t. Plus, the knife against your thigh doesn’t allow you. One wrong move or something that Suguru doesn’t like, and that knife could be cutting your skin…and that turns you on like you’ve never been in your life. 

So let them do as they please. But you don’t really have a choice either. All you can do is shake and shudder as Sugruu sucks on your ass and Satoru swirls his tongue around your clit before he dips the muscle inside of you, moaning at your taste. Your mouth falls open on a loud moan, his soft lips cushioning your clit. 

Satoru lightly pulls on your pussy lips, earning a whimper from you. “Isn’t this so much better than fightin’ us, baby?” he asks before French kissing your cunt once again. He kisses you sloppily and messily, his tongue licking and sliding this way and that. 

At some point, you hear him and Suguru making out with your pussy between them, their soft moans and hot pants fanning across each sensitive part of your pussy, making you a panting, overstimulated mess. You push your ass into their faces, riding their tongues, desperation blooming in your core along with the familiar warm, budding sensation of an oncoming orgasm. 

“Please!” you whine. “A-Ah…oh, fuck, please!”

Satoru smiles, still licking and sucking your pussy with all of the vigor of a hungered man. “I like you beggin’,” he replies. “Do it again for us, nice and pretty.” You have no choice when he continues on slurping on your cunt and fucking your hole, his nose swiping against your clit. 

“Please, please, please!” you sob. “Please let me cum!” Your begging must satisfy the vigilantes because their tongues move a little faster, their pace causing your body to quake against the restrictions of the cuffs. Their hot, wet mouths cause your orgasm to wash over you quickly yet powerfully, controlling every part of your body. You let out a whine of pleasure as your cum explodes in their mouths, drenching their lips in your juices. 

While you’re still cumming, Suguru, ever the sadist, presses his thumb against your clit as his knife skates up to press against your pussy lips, the cold metal making you whine. “Cum more for us, baby,” he coos. “You can do it.” Then Satoru is shoving his tongue up inside of you, making you damn near scream. Fuck!” you explode as your orgasm peaks, making your eyes roll back and your legs shake. 

You don’t even realize that you’re squirting until you hear the vigilantes exclaim in surprise, catching every drop in their mouths. “Oh, shit, she’s a squirter!” he says with glee. “That’s too fuckin’ sexy.” 

Your eyes roll back as your hips buck and your pussy quivers, more and more of your honey exploding onto the vigilantes’ tongues until you are absolutely spent. Even when you slump against the bed, exhausted, Suguru stands behind you, dick up and ready to blow. Pla-pla-plap goes his cock slapping against your sensitive clit, making you hiss. 

“We ain’t done yet so you’d better get it together,” he softly demands, his big hands gripping your ass. Instantly, your stomach grows fluttery with butterflies and your core grows warm. You know exactly what is coming next. You can’t stop. You can’t avoid it. And more frighteningly, you’re not even sure if you don’t want it. 

Especially when Suguru finally slides that big, thick, long cock inside of you. Slick and open from your orgasm, he makes his home between your velvety walls, making you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt in your life. He groans into your ear while your mouth falls agape on a silent moan. “God, you’re tight!” he hisses, already bumping his hips back and forth against your ass. Slow and deep. 

You think you’re already feeling pleasure until Satoru gets involved, still kneeling behind you. He hooks one of your legs up and Suguru takes control, keeping your leg hiked up as the Nightwing tilts his chin up to face your pussy getting stretched out on some dick. “C’mere, you two,” he pants. “I wanna hear you both scream.” Then his fat tongue is caressing your clit and Suguru’s balls as the vigilante pounds you from behind. 

You are a moaning, whining mess, damn near drooling in pleasure. Suguru digs his nails into the fleshy part where your ass meets your hip, his fingers indulging in your body. “Fuck, baby!” he grunts into your ear, panting hotly. Even he can’t get a grip on himself. Your pussy feels too good wrapped around him, stroking him of all he’s worth. 

“Take it,” he demands. “Take that fuckin’ dick. You know you need it.” His other hand grips your neck, keeping a strong grip on your throat as he fucks into your wet heat. “So let me give it to you,” he huffs. “Lemme give you everything that pussy needs!” 

His hips hammer harder and faster into your ass, making it quiver and recoil. Your moans are loud and high-pitched, unable to be silenced due to his pistoning thrusts. He fucks you like a machine, pumping in and out, out and in, his cock pulsing inside of you. “F-Fuck!” you stammer. “Wait, S-Sugu! You’re going t-too fast!” 

Your pussy feels like it’s going into overload, being stuffed too much and too quickly. Satoru’s tongue doesn’t make things any better; he is a master with his tongue, giving you sloppy licks and sucks as his partner fills you up again and again. Tears spring into your eyes as Suguru grips your throat tighter, cutting off your air for just a moment. “Oh, but you can take it, can’t you, tough girl?” he chuckles. “You’re bein’ so good already.” 

Short moans and gasps leave your lips as he continues to squeeze, still fucking you dumb. Your knees buckle and your head feels fuzzy from the overstimulation and the grip on your throat. The pleasure somehow mounts to astronomical heights, leaving you a dumb, mindless mess. 

You’re about to cum. Your target is going to make you burst all over his big, fat cock as if you’re his lover and he’s deserving of all of it. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” you warn. “Please, please let me cum, sir! I can’t take it!” You grip the cuffs for dear life as he fucks and fucks and fucks you. Your knuckles go pale, an indication of the pleasure you’re experiencing. 

Satoru chuckles, enjoying your torture, staring up at your bouncing tits above him. “Aww, but the fun just started, baby,” he condescendingly coos. “You gonna cum already? Is that vigilante dick just too good?” You whimper in response, your eyes fluttering closed. 

SMACK! 

Satoru slaps your clit hard, making it sting. “I don’t hear an answer,” he growls. You sob, tears threatening to drip down your cheeks. “Yes! Yes, it feels so fucking good!” you babble. You can feel yourself careening closer to orgasm, your head going blank as you get closer to the edge…

And then Suguru slows his pace, putting an end to your euphoria. “Then we’ll need to make it feel extra good,” Satoru cackles, his blue eyes glittering with wickedness. “I wanna fuck her too, Suguru. Don’t be greedy now.” He stands up, his hand on his fat, hard dick pulsing for you. 

Suguru looks between you and Satoru, raising an eyebrow. “So you wanna steal her other pretty hole? Is that it?” You blink, the gears in your brain turning, processing what your “other pretty hole” means. They can’t possibly mean–

“W-Wait, wait,” you protest as Suguru maneuvers your body, turning you around so he’s holding you up. You squeak, staring at a wall of broad chest and tattoos inking his pecs. “I-I’m not–”

“Ready?” Satoru finishes, smirking as he gets behind you, one leg hiked up to expose your dripping pussy to the both of them. “Don’t worry, babycakes! We’ve got you. That’s what these fat tongues are here for.”

Again, you’re bent over the bed and the vigilantes’ are sharing your hole again. Only this time it’s your asshole. They spit and slobber into your puckered hole, your asscheeks pried apart in their gloved hands. All you can do is moan and whine as they lick and suckle on your asshole, even using their fingers to gently fuck you there until you’re good and open. 

“Oooo, look at that gape!” Satoru cackles, grinning at the way you’re so stretched and open now for some dick. “You’re nice and ready for me now, cutie pie. You’re gonna look so beautiful stuffed with our dicks.” 

You whimper, your body burning with need and arousal. You’ve never been this horny in your life. You suspect that Batman will come at any minute to toss you in a mental facility because of how diabolically, deviously horny you are for his protégé. “Let’s get these cuffs off of you,” Suguru murmurs, taking Satoru’s key to unshackle you.

Once you’re uncuffed, you’re sandwiched between the vigilantes again, a prisoner in two walls of muscle. You are facing Suguru again, your arms around his neck, moaning as he gives you a slow, sloppy kiss, while Satoru is behind you. 

He rubs his cock against your asshole, making you whimper at the feeling of something so hot and hard trying to enter you there. “Don’t you wanna be a big girl for us?” he coos. “Don’t you wanna prove how tough you are?” You feel his tip lightly brush your entrance and flinch, nails digging into Suguru’s chest. “T-Toru,” you stammer. “Please…”

Satoru shushes you, peppering your neck in minty, champagne-spiked kisses. “S’okay, doll, we’ve gotchu. Nice and slow now…” He nods at Suguru and together, they hold you up by your leg and sink deeeeep inside of your holes.

You gasp, your eyes widening as you see twinkling stars. There is a slight burn as Satoru shoves himself in your asshole, but it is numbed by Suguru in your pussy, pleasure and pain mixing into one. After some slow, gentle strokes, they go harder, deeper, faster. Skin against skin. Moans in your ear. 

You feel stretched. You feel full. You feel used. And you feel absolutely, positively amazing. 

“Ah, fuck, baby, yes!” Satoru moans into your ear, pawing at your tits and ass like you’ll vanish if he doesn’t. “God, you–ngh, feel so fuckin’ good!” 

Suguru locks a hand around your throat and presses his lips to your ear, his lip ring cool against the shell. “A pussy like this would make me ditch the cape. Make me rob a fuckin’ bank for you.” 

He loosens his hold on your neck, allowing you time to breathe. But you can’t breathe. You can’t even speak. Your mind is full of cock, unable to focus on anything but Satoru’s big thighs slapping against yours and Suguru’s handsome, flushed face, their dicks pummeling into you. Their thrusts grow quick and brutal, turning your pussy and asshole into mush, making your clit sing and your brain fall right out of your noggin. You are gone. And so are the vigilantes. 

“Ngh–Goddamn, you feel so good,” Satoru groans, gripping your ass so hard that he’ll leave fingerprints. “How are you this fuckin’ tight?” His hand comes around to toy with your lips, his long fingers prying them apart so you can suck on his digits. 

“You’ve got me so c-close,” Suguru grunts in your ear, stammering out his words. “N-Need…oh, fuck, I need to go harder.” Harsh pants and heavy breaths leave his lush lips as he fucks you faster, his balls slapping against your clit. “You want that too, mama? Do you want us to make you cum again?”

You bounce on their cocks between them, leaving crescent marks in Suguru’s shoulders as you dig your nails into his skin. “Ah, yes, yes, please! Make me cum again!” The two vigilantes slow their thrusts for a moment to share a look, silently telling each other the same thing: let’s slut this girl out.

Suddenly, you’re posted on your back with Satoru underneath you and Suguru on top, forcing you into semi-mating press with Suguru holding your legs open for his partner. Your moans and whines of pleasure bounce off of the walls as Suguru taps his dick against your pussy, ready to give you deep-dicking like you never had. “Ready, baby?” he whispers against your lips. “Beg for it.”

“Suguru–”

SMACK!

This time, both vigilantes spank you, on your pussy and your ass, the double assault making you yelp. “Beg,” Satoru growls in your ear, gripping your throat. His cock is nestled deep in your ass, not moving, just there, driving you to the brink of insanity. You can’t think. You can only feel. 

“Please fuck me,” you whimper out. “Make me cum again, sirs. Please.” 

And so they do. They fuck you until you’re seeing stars and forgetting all about your stupid mission. They fuck you with all the mercy of sinners, drilling your holes. They fuck you into the rickety little bed until it rocks and squeaks, fuck whoever hears. Satoru fucks up into your ass while Suguru rams your pussy, the push and pull of their thrusts pulling your soul right out of you. 

It doesn’t take long for that knot in your core to snap. “Oh, fuck!” you whine, damn near screaming for all to hear as you cum hard around Suguru’s cock. You don’t have time to warn them–it just happens, exploding out of you. Suguru moans as you tighten around him, drawing his cum right out of him. “Cum for me,” he groans. “Shit–c’cmon, baby, cum! Give it to me!” 

Your orgasm hits you hard and intensely, sending you on a trip as you thrash in the vigilantes’ hands. Your pussy and ass grip their dicks tighter than a vice as you cream onto Suguru’s cock, coating them both from cockhead to balls in your juices. They share a slutty moan in pleasure by how tight you’ve grown, gripping and stroking them until they have no choice but to cum. 

Satoru’s thrusts grow sloppy as your asshole massages the spunk out of his dick, making him whine in pleasure. “Gonna cum!” he whines. “F-Fuck, I’mma cum for you, baby!” 

“Me too,” Suguru groans, eyes squeezed tight from how tight you are. How velvety and wet you feel. “Take it all…all of it! It’s all for you.” 

You gasp as you feel two hot loads of cum shoot deep into your holes, making you gasp. The moans of release that escape the men are fit for a porno, their thrusts growing sloppier and erratic as they chase their orgasms inside of you. But that isn’t enough for them. Slowly, still hard as rocks, they pull out and have you on your knees so they can pump the rest onto you. 

Their moans, gasps, and grunts fill the room as warm spunk hits your face, dripping down your cheeks, lips, neck, and juicy tits, making your skin sobbing wet and sticky with him. Your breath comes out in short puffs of air as you recover from the vigorous fucking, completely spent. You kneel there, body aching, pussy and ass sore from being stretched. 

You feel perfect. Even when the effects of the bomb begin to wear off, you still feel that addictive satisfaction that comes after some good sex. Even when the vigilantes recover and that awkwardness grows in the room, you feel no regrets. You can’t help but wonder what it means. 

After a while, still in the bed with each other, Satoru is the first one to speak. “Well, uh…that was unexpected.” He clears his throat, cheeks flushed pink. Even Suguru looks shy now, his muscles glinting in sweat. You don’t say anything, too afraid to do so. You aren’t too sure what to say anyhow. You desperately want to say something to cure this horrible silence, but Satoru beats you to it. “So…what do we do now?”

Suguru, tying his hair up in a long, sexy ponytail, looks around for a solution. “Guess find a way to get out of here without alertin’ the cops. What do you think?” He looks at you now, expectantly. 

You feel hot with their eyes on you now, a lump growing in your throat. “U-Uh…well, sure. But it might be awhile before the side effects of the bomb wear off.” The words are out before you can stop them. What exactly are you implying? That you want them to stay? That you want more? 

You open your mouth to try and take it back, but Suguru is already agreeing: “She’s right. We’ll definitely need to recuperate.” You gape at him, surprised, and see the little wink he shoots you. Satoru yawns, stretching his muscular arms high over his head. “Sounds like a plan. I think that bomb had a sleep potion too!”

You feel those damn butterflies return, realizing that tonight isn’t over. “But there’s only one bed though,” you state, looking at the small, rickety bed you’re sitting on. The vigilantes just smirk at each other and then at you, making you burn. 

“Then I guess we’ll have to share,” Suguru coos, raising an expectant eyebrow at you. That won’t be a problem though, will it?” 

You don’t dare tell him that it isn’t. You just let them sandwich you between them in the bed, limbs tangled and the afterglow engulfing you the same way your vigilantes do. You can’t hide the satisfied smile that grows on your lips as silence descends upon you again…but this time, it’s nothing but bliss. 

“We should be safe to depart here,” Suguru murmurs, coaxing you to walk up the small staircase to the rooftop first. 

You do so, your high heels clicking across the gravel as you sneak into the night air. The vigilantes follow right after, now in their super suits and masks. After some recovery and after-sex cuddling, Suguru passed you a towel to sob up the cum from your skin and Satoru found your clothes.

After slipping your dress back on like nothing happened, you snuck out of the room with the vigilantes through a loose floorboard that dropped you into the basement. From there, you went out the back of the museum and up the fire escape to the rooftop, figuring that escaping by air would be better than risking being seen by a cop. 

The side effects of the bomb have since worn off, but the feelings of lust are still there. After such amazing sex with the two heroes, it is impossible to not crave more. You stand before them now in the night air, the starry sky the perfect backdrop for them. Satoru clears his throat, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, uh…this was fun. Pretty interestin’ night, I’d say.” 

“Yeah,” you awkwardly say, your heart pummeling in your chest. You stare at both of them, trying to get a sense of where their heads are at from their eyes. “So you guys gonna go back to the batcave to discuss this or–” 

Beep, beep, beep!

“Night Owl? Come in, Night Owl. What's happening over there?!” The panicked voice of your boss comes from in your clutch. You gasp, unzipping it and fishing out your earpiece. You had it this entire time?! 

The vigilantes look just as shook as you feel when you clear your throat, already sensing the inevitable. “Night Owl is present, boss,” you say as firmly as you can into your ear piece. “I’m alive. Um…just out of curiosity, how much of that did you hear?”

You desperately hope that your boss is clueless as to what you’re talking about, but you know you won’t be that lucky. Judging by his awkward pause, you guess he heard everything. “Uh…just enough. Did you find the targets?” 

You try to think of something professional to say while also letting the vigilantes off the hook, but Satoru speaks for you. “Oh, she did!” he chirps with a grin. “And now she’s about to make us talk with some extra torture device. Thanks for checkin’ in!” 

Quickly, you end the call and toss the ear piece back into your clutch. “I’m so totally fired,” you sigh. Satoru shrugs, placing a hand on your shoulder, making your skin tingle. “You could always come work with us. Wouldn’t mind havin’ you around for some Gotham bullshit.” His smirk is sexy yet genuine. Not a hint of humor in it. He’s serious. 

You cock your head at him, sizing him up with your eyes. You did your best to fix the makeup that the cum wiped off, including your pretty eyeshadow and mascara. “I thought you work alone,” you tease with a hand on your hip. “Especially you, Red Hood.”

You nod at the tall, long-haired vigilante who has been checking you out for all the minutes you were chatting with Satoru. “I do…but you’ve got some potential.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, eyeing you up and down. “You’d definitely need to be trained to be my trusted sidekick though.” 

Your body zings at the flirty banter between you, so natural and easy as if you’d been doing it for years. “I’m nobody’s sidekick,” you scoff, eyeing the superheroes down. “But I’ll give it some thought.” Satoru rolls his eyes like you’re playing so hard to get while Suguru chuckles. “Fine. In the meantime, you keep your hands to yourself.”

The Nightwing puts his hand out for a shake. After some time sizing up his intentions, you take it, shaking his head, only to gasp when he pulls you into his body. His lips are suddenly at your ear, his voice low and hushed. “Unless you want another personal visit,” he purrs in your ear. 

Lucky for you, you know how to play the game of seduction. Plus, the idea of toying with the sexy vigilantes of Gotham, making them lose their cool, doesn’t seem too unexciting. “Hm. I may just take you up on that,” you hum into Satoru’s ear, gently kissing his cheek and leaving a ring of gloss there.

You do the same to Suguru, standing up on your tip toes to give him a kiss. You feel his body stiffen as you leave a sticky print there, marking him up. Then you take a step back, smiling coyly. “Thanks for the fun tonight, boys,” you purr to them. “And for the souvenirs.” 

Their dreamy expressions turn to confusion, brows scowled. Your smile widens as you flash them the diamond in your clutch before quickly getting out your rope gun and hitting the button. 

Before either of them can yank you back, you’re soaring through the air across the rooftop and landing perfectly in your heels on the rooftop across from the museum. You turn back to them staring at you in awe, but they are smiling. “You little sneak!” Satoru yells across the night at you. “We’ll get you back for that, Night Owl!”

You blow each of them a kiss, winking. “Lookin’ forward to it!” you giggle. “Farewell, batbrains!” 

And then you strut off into the night, feeling like a new woman. 

THE END.

Pornstar Satoru stops listening when he sees you enter the room, completely out of place at the coke filled, booze filled party, wearing a pair of black glasses that cover half of your pretty face, and a little nervous look as you stand there, in a cute white pleated skirt and a big oversized sweater. Satoru smacks Suguru on the shoulder then and he coughs up smoke. 'Shit what is it?' Satoru looks back at you, when you're handed a drink, some guy flirting as you look down shyly. 'Who's she?' Suguru blinks a bit curiously. 'I don't know, she's pretty though'

Pornstar Satoru scowls at Suguru who snorts in laughter then. 'Satoru we don't have 'girlfriends' and she... looks like a good girl' your eyes catch his then, across the room, like something shifts as you smile sweetly, before peering at your phone, biting your lip in concentration. 'I'm talking to her' Suguru chuckles as he watches his friend, and Satoru feels his heart race when he comes too close to you, something he can't say he's felt, even pleasing countless beauties, nothing has quite altered him as your sweet turn of lips, as you look down at your converse, so out of place you're fucking adorable. 'Hey sweetheart... Satoru Gojo' he says, introducing himself with ease, expecting you to maybe notice him, get starstruck, fuck women get wet just near him, but you simply grin, and your name whispers through his mind when it spills from your lips.

Pornstar Satoru has you sitting with him later, you fall into easy conversation, you're a little gamer nerd, you love science and the environment, he just bets you were head of your ecology club in college, which you quickly confirm, all while you're in awe of just how beautiful this man is. He's sweet, he's sexy... you feel he shouldn't even be talking to you. You're pretty but... he's experienced so clearly, by every way he moves, he's worldly, so confident, and you've never really left this little part of LA, but the two of you can't stop talking, to the point you forget what brought you here.

Pornstar Satoru laughs with you, as you're sitting side by side, and he lights up a blunt, leaning back on the burgundy couch on the outskirts of the party, inhaling it deep into his lungs. 'Want a hit, sweets?' he murmurs, you take it nervously, putting it to your lips and inhaling a bit, before coughing, covering your mouth. Satoru chuckles, 'you're cute' earning your cheeks heating up. 'Can you tell I don't do this?' you're nervously tapping your leg now. 'Yeah, what does bring you here, doesn't seem your...' 'my scene?' he nods then. 'yeah, that.'

Pornstar Satoru watches avidly as you sip on your drink, wincing at the strong liquor. 'Well, my friend invited me over, but she's running late' Satoru grins now. 'Party time is different, everyone comes late, that's on time. About fifteen minutes late' 'oh no I came early!' you smack your own forehead, giggling along with him. 'Are you like... a model, or an actor?' you ask, eyeing him and his baby blues, the cheekbones so perfect, those lips that wrap the blunt again. 'You could say I'm a bit of both,' he muses, then spits out his drink when you ask 'what are you in!?'

Pornstar Satoru coughs just a bit, he's never been ashamed of what he does, but he's nervous for some reason to tell you. Why, he doesn't know. 'I'm... into some indie flicks' you brighten up then. 'Oh, let me know, I love lowkey films! I bet you're great' Satoru sighs, gulping down the rest of his drink and eyeing your cup. 'Want more?' you frown now, maybe you're asking too much, or offending this actor that you don't recognize him!? You nod, the amount of people around you making you press against this friendly, pretty white haired stranger just a little more.

Pornstar Satoru has another drink, eyeing the sea of bodies undulating in the extravagant mansion, and soon the two of you are dancing together you're cute and so awkward, Satoru's enjoying this far, far too much. He has plenty of costars and fans come up to the two of you, but he's too interested in showing you how to move your hips to pay them any mind, when finally your friend comes. Satoru instantly recognizes her, she's a pretty famous co star he's collabed with on her Onlyfans not long ago. When she sees you giggling and enjoying yourself so much, she damn near drags you away, making Satoru curse.

Pornstar Satoru eyes you when your friend whispers in your ear- 'you really don't recognize him!?' you blink curiously, looking at him more closely. 'Should I?' she sighs then, eyeing Satoru up and down. 'He was in my OF videos, we collabed' you heat up furiously then. 'I never watched your videos! I just subbed to be supportive!' she giggles. 'You're so cute, I thought you at least watched some?' you shake your head nervously. 'I don't really watch, is he... like an OnlyFans guy?' Satoru is back over with Suguru now, while you sip your drink, feeling your body warm up. 'He's the top pornstar there is, the collab was like a dream. He's really sweet but you should know is all, you're kinda...' you glare. 'kinda what?' she giggles again. 'you're just... sweet, emotional, is all'

Pornstar Satoru expects you to be done with him once you find out, after all you just seem innocent, uncorrupted for this city, not the kind of girl to be at this party where lines are being snorted off bodies, and people are naked and jumping in the pools, a heady, wild atmosphere. But you smile at him, as you murmur - 'he's sweet?' to your friend. She nods then. 'He is, but just know... he doesn't date so, it'd only be physical' you frown at that now, that's not something you think you can do, you're about as demisexual as it gets, hence your very limited experience. 'He doesn't date at all?' Your friend gently touches your shoulder. 'No, love, I'd hate to see you hurt'

Pornstar Satoru catches you before you leave later that night, when you are just feeling too out of place, his big hand wrapped around your delicate wrist, earning you looking up at him. He can't stop thinking how pretty your eyes would look rolled back, how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock, as you relax a bit, turning and looking up. 'Headed out already?' he asks softly, you flush as you remember just what he does for a living, your friend had just described his cock in far too vivid detail. 'It's not really my thing, but I'm glad we met, Gojo' you smile so cute then, leaning up and pecking him on the cheek, his arm wraps your waist as he leans down, inhaling that sweet vanilla scent cloying to your skin.

Pornstar Satoru pulls you in closer, blue eyes staring under snowy lashes. 'Can I... get your number?' Satoru has never asked for a number a day in his life, but he delights in watching you shift nervously, nodding as you tuck your hair behind your ear. 'Yeah, I'd like that' he exchanges numbers, tilting your chin up then, watching the way your eyes dilate, the color spread on your pretty cheeks. 'She told you?' you clear your throat, nodding a bit, still being captured by his fingers. 'I don't judge at all, Gojo, I'd still like to be... friends...' your whisper is met with the most subtle kiss on your lips, shooting desire hot and heavy until Satoru releases you, plump lips smirking- 'sure, sweets, we can be friends'

Pornstar Satoru can't get you off his mind, the feel of your skin on his, the sweet sigh against his lips. He is on a big shoot and - the Satoru Gojo that never gets soft - is having trouble keeping it up, to the amusement of his costar Pornstar Sukuna. Satoru scowls at his comments, just picturing your sweet lips against his for that brief moment. A man who just fucks and fucks, and doesn't feel, is hung up just on some fucking kiss. He has to take a break after pleasing his costar with his fingers, she's cumming so much she doesn't notice, but the directors wonder why he's off. He's in his own dressing room, eyeing the phone, hands shaking as he decides to type a message - 'could you give me a picture, sweets, to save as your caller id?'

Pornstar Satoru finds his cock is right back on hard when you send one quickly, just a cute selfie with a little peace sign, but he sees your glossy fucking lips, the teeth indentations he aches to rub the tip of his cock on, along with just a hint of your breasts. Your nipples press against the thin material of your little tee shirt- Pokemon, he notices, smiling- his cock throbbing. 'Can I get one too?' you're biting that lower lip nervously as you ask, getting a picture of him shirtless then, doing nothing to stifle the curiosity in your mind, your heart racing as you seee his body. 'You at a shoot?' you ask in the messages, he hesitates before answering - 'yes' - and somehow you feel jealous of whoever his costar is. You message a - kill it, Gojo! - despite the feeling in your tummy, little do you know you're drowning his fucking mind when he performs later, feeling the star squirting all over his latex covered cock.

Pornstar Satoru can't stop texting you that week, he can't even get hard if he doesn't look at that picture, and you can't stop your curiosity, when you friend mentions he's doing a live stream. Since Satoru can hardly perform, he's decided to masturbate on live cam, in minutes making more than he'd make in a shoot, all while having your picture propped up. People are chatting, watching, dollars by the hundreds being tipped every moment, fuck he's making way more than he usually would, and he can think of you. He laughs softly, abs flexing as he hits the right angle, reading the comments, making you dripping wet, this isn't what you do!?

Pornstar Satoru is stroking his wet, slick cock that's glistening, up and down with his huge hand, and you feel your pussy clench, breath coming faster, unsure whether to look away or keep staring, meanwhile he's picturing you in all sorts of positions, on your knees, a fucking mating press. He's shutting his eyes for a moment, grinning as the viewers go crazy. 'I know, it's pretty, huh?' he spits right on that long, veiny cock of his, pinching his pink tip and whining, white lashes fluttering open right when he sees a familiar name enter the chat.

Your name.

Pornstar Sukuna hcs here // Pornstar Suguru hcs here // Onlyfans Nanami hcs here

Gojo might have flowers delivered to your door and fuck you when he wormed his way into spending the night with the excuse of helping on the night shift with Umi, but he hadn't been there before.

Not for half your appointments. Not for your labor.

God, if it hadn't been for Geto, he would've missed her birth.

He had been the one you met first. The one you knew better before his best friend went and knocked you up. The entire reason you even showed up to that party, chasing a stupid crush you were sure wouldn’t even notice you.

But he wasn’t the one you ended up sleeping with - or the one whose name was on the birth certificate.

"You deserve a night for yourself," Geto coaxed, and you knew that he was right. That you couldn't be there for her if you couldn't take care of yourself. Or let someone else help you do it.

Besides, wasn't it half Gojo's fault she existed anyway?

Maybe he’d worn the wrong condom size, but you were the one too stubborn to ask him to pay for a Plan B after it broke, clinging to your stupid pride. Too embarrassed to even face him after you hooked up until you absolutely had to, showing up to his frat house expecting him to shoo you away to get an abortion and slam the door in your face.

Perhaps if he had, you wouldn't feel the hints of guilt creeping in that you were sitting across from his second-in-command now, letting him say your name in that suave voice of his and tell you how pretty you looked in a dress that didn't quite fit your tits anymore.

Not that Geto seemed to mind, judging by the way you caught his stare drifting down to them no matter how chivalrous he was attempting to present himself tonight.

"It's just weird being away from her for this long," you shrugged your shoulders self-consciously, pulling back your hand to pick at the paint on your nails that was already flaking off despite the fact you'd done it only a few hours before your date.

You dropped Umi off with Gojo earlier, but he'd never watched her this long on his own either.

Would it start to become a more common thing? Afternoons or nights you swapped her so the other could go out and date around?

Despite Gojo swearing he only wanted to make this work with you, you had an incredibly difficult time picturing the campus's favorite playboy not pouring body shots on pretty girls all those Friday evenings he attended parties for his 'frat duties'.

You were sure that was just code for fucking other sorority girls and playing condom roulette to see if your daughter would get a half-sibling.

"She'll be okay," Geto reassured you, deliberately avoiding broaching who, exactly, was watching her right now.

That was the one topic the two of you tended not to discuss.

You wondered if it bothered him at all. Made him feel like shit when he held Umi and decided he'd rather be the stepdad instead of a supportive uncle figure.

Truthfully, you still couldn't understand why he decided you were worth fracturing his friendship with Gojo for.

If he had been courting you a year and a half ago, you probably would’ve been over the fucking moon. Thrilled that someone like him wanted you, but you simply weren’t the same girl.

It hadn’t slipped past you that all of Gojo's friends suddenly seemed to want you after he had you.

"Geto," you swallowed, unsure how to broach any of the thousand worries floating through your head as you worked up the nerve to bring up what had been looping through your head since he first started carving his own spot in your life for him. "You know Gojo will be pissed if he knows what we're doing right now."

"You didn't tell him?" He asked, amusement glinting in his dark eyes as you flitted your stare down to the tiny print on the menu below.

"You don't care?" You returned the question, sighing as you reluctantly looked back up at him.

"Do you want to be with him?" Suguru pressed, but you could tell be the curve of his smirk that he thought he already knew the answer, he just wanted to hear you say it.

Being with Gojo had never been a part of your previously well-thought out life plan. You had him pegged from the moment you saw him at a frat party your friend dragged you to during your first year here, surrounded by beautiful women and yes men, alcohol being poured in his pretty mouth. The kind of spoiled, stuck-up prick who breezed through life like they were used to winning first place just for existing. Handed the world on a silver platter.

And now he thought you were a prize he deserved simply because he got you pregnant.

But still, you weren't about to just make it easy for Geto either.

Not when you didn't even know if he really liked you, or the idea of stealing something from under Gojo's nose.

"Why do you want to be with me?" You returned his question rather than answering it, arching up an eyebrow and waiting for his response.

Even though you appreciated his help, it wasn't like you needed your support system of frat bros hanging around if all they wanted was to get in your panties.

Before he could reply though, a baby began to cry, and your head snapped up, scanning the restaurant as if it could somehow be yours, the ache in your breasts returning with a vengeance, a lot fucking harder to ignore when your tits were already confined in the tight dress you'd chosen tonight.

Maybe it was just how much you were missing her, your brain playing tricks on your ears, but it really did sound like her too, your heart squeezing and wrung dry as you glanced from table to table trying to spot where the baby was.

Wincing as you tried to readjust the strap of your dress, swallowing hard and cursing yourself for not bringing a pump or expressing the milk before you left your apartment, knowing that you'd probably have a clogged duct to deal with later. But before you could spot the baby, your waitress was returning, a practiced smile plastered on her face as she looked directly at Geto instead of you.

Probably sizing up the fact that a guy like him was a bit out of your league, or that this was a first date as she leaned over to his side and grinned at him, "Have we made up our minds?"

"I think we'll just get our food to-go," Suguru returned a polite smile to her, and a surge of panic spiked in your chest until his palm slid over yours with silent reassurance, his eyes narrowing as he slyly stole a peek at your chest like he knew why you were squirming before clearing his throat. "Baby's waiting for us back home."

The waitress's face deflated almost instantly.

Wrongly assuming that the two of you were more than just something casual. Thinking that the baby belonged to him.

"Oh, sure," she nodded numbly, regaining her composure. "What will it be?"

He ordered for both of you, and you just shuffled in your seat, caught somewhere between relief that he was freeing you from an hour and a half of discomfort and disappointment that your date would be ending like this.

But perhaps it was for the better.

Maybe it was a sign that this wasn't going to go anywhere.

And when she walked away with reassurances that she'd bring it out as soon as possible, you were about to apologize, but he just squeezed your hand as you started to softly say his name, "Geto-"

"How many times have I asked you to call me Suguru?"

You wished he didn't disarm you so effortlessly. Stalling your excuses with just a single look, with a simple motion of his thumb over your knuckle as he treated you like you were his girlfriend.

"Once the food comes out, I can go take care of you," he promised, and it wasn't until you were walking out to the car that it struck you how serious he was about that.

"You know, you don't have to-" You started, glancing down at the way he was still holding your hand in the parking lot, his fingers tightly gripping your hand and keeping you glued to his side as you tried to sound more collected than you really were. "I can just pump at home or-"

"I thought you liked it when I helped," he slyly said, teasing you in that soft voice of his, mouth curling up when your face flushed.

So what if maybe you let him get rid of your clogged ducts a couple times when Gojo was busy with work or class?

His big hands were good at it, thick fingers massaging and working the breast tissue as his lips latched on to you.

Besides, you liked the way Geto looked at you, even if it sort of scared you. The intensity in his stare, how he studied you like he was interested in every detail. How he spoke to you like you were something soft to be cradled, not just sloppy seconds or someone’s leftovers. The way he listened, his head tilted to the side as he nodded along with patience you’d never really received before.

You didn't need anyone.

Not Gojo. Not Geto.

Not even Sukuna, even if he was debatably the best when it came to helping with her or soothing her when she started to wail.

You could do it on your own.

But something about Suguru made you feel like it might be okay to be taken care of too.

“You know you can find someone better,” you bluntly blurted out as he held the car door open for you. He stopped, squinting down at you as you slid into the passenger seat.

Someone without stretch marks or, y’know, an entire baby with another man. Someone who would have all the time in the world to worship him without wanting or needing all the things you did.

“We need to work on your self-esteem,” he remarked, arching up an eyebrow with a sigh as he nodded towards your seatbelt to remind you to buckle up.

And before you could retort back that he hadn’t disagreed, he was shutting the door and walking back around to his side.

Like he could somehow anticipate what you were preparing to say, his mouth had already parted when he got in too, “If you want me to tell you how much I like you, all you have to do is ask.”

Suguru knew exactly how to shut you up.

And five minutes later, he had your dress pulled down, both breasts freed and exposed as he groped and squeezed and sucked you dry. Thick fingers dimpling your skin as he sank them in deep, his lips wrapped around your sensitive nipple and greedily drinking up every ounce of milk you leaked out.

Tongue dragging back over the peaked buds whenever any escaped, your fingers lacing through his dark hair as you tilted your head back and scrunched your eyes shut. Trying not to moan at the way he was holding you, one arm slipped around your back to pull you closer as he leaned across the center console to suck on your swollen breasts.

The to-go boxes half-forgotten in the backseat, the radio playing some slow, soft song as he groaned into your nipple, his sharp teeth grazing over it to send a sharp shudder through your body.

Glancing up at you with delight glimmering in his stare, possessively pulling you in as he popped off your chest.

“You’re wasted on Satoru."

And even though he didn’t say it, you could feel it.

Geto thought it should’ve been him.

ꕤꕤꕤ

Gojo wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel until the air bag went off.

Maybe if it broke his nose, he could get enough sympathy points from you that you’d stop seeing Suguru. And he’d never have to see his best friend sucking on your breasts from across the parking lot.

Umi was asleep in her car seat in the back, leaving him to his own embarrassing thoughts as he forced himself to turn the key in the ignition. To start the car after he completely and utterly failed the mission he should've never gone on in the first place.

You'd maim him if you knew he was spying on you with Suguru. Maybe accuse him of being a creep and somehow think even less of him than you already did.

And despite how much it fucking sucked, he forced himself to pull out of the parking lot and leave you there with your tit in Suguru's mouth, feeling like a moron for thinking tonight would ever end any differently.

Suguru was a good guy.

Didn't have the reputation he did. Was quiet where he was loud, soothing where he was brash. Wouldn't make you wonder where he was or what he was doing or who he'd been with before.

Of course, you'd choose him.

Gojo guessed he should just be grateful you'd have to at least spend the next eighteen years co-parenting with him. Attending parent-teacher conferences and planning birthdays and holidays.

But even when he made it back to your place, warming up a bottle to feed Umi, watching her big blue eyes sleepily blink up at him as her chubby little fingers still tried to grab it, he couldn't fucking imagine having to share her with Suguru.

Seeing her look up at his best friend and babble dada to him, at the apparently growing possibility he might miss her first steps, her first words, her first everything and Suguru might get them instead.

Spiraling long after he put her back down in her crib, laying flat on your couch and staring at the ceiling to count the seconds until you came back.

God, since when had he gotten so pathetic?

Why couldn't he just figure it out and fix this? What would it take for you to give him a try?

Did you want him to grow out his hair? Start watching pretentious foreign films?

He still didn't have a clue by the time he heard your key in the lock, sitting up straight and smoothing out the wrinkles and spit-up stain on his shirt as he automatically started walking towards the entrance, nearly running into you when you walked in.

"Hey," he muttered, running his hands through his hair and pretending he didn't notice how your lip gloss had smeared, or how stray strands of your hair were sticking out as you peeled your purse off your shoulder and hung it up by the door.

"Hey," you murmured, wiping the back of your mouth just to stumble a little trying to slip off your heels.

And even though he knew you didn't need his help, he was still holding out his arm for you to hold onto him and steady yourself while you took them off.

"Enjoy your dinner?" He murmured, and you cringed a little, looking up at him with the slightest hints of apology in your smile as you held up a to-go box in your other hand.

"Who told you?" You asked, even though he could see it in your stare that you already suspected the answer.

"Sukuna mentioned it," he admitted.

"I should've said something," you cleared your throat, the closest you could probably come to a sorry.

"It's fine," he lied, no matter how far he really was from it.

"Do you want the rest?" You offered, as if your leftovers were some olive branch.

One he'd gladly take it.

"Sure," he shrugged, grabbing it as you let go of his arm. "So, are you guys, like a thing, or-"

"It's not like you're not seeing other women," you defensively muttered instead of actually answering, scowling at him as he went slack-jawed.

"I'm not," Gojo huffed, unsure what the hell he had to do to get you to understand that.

Wear a fucking cock cage and give you the only key?

"Gojo," you said his last name, bottom lip pushed out all pretty, and he wished he could make you believe how badly he wanted to make it yours too. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

He actually thought you were incredibly smart.

Gojo would give up everything just to breathe in the scent of your soft skin every day and listen to your voice as you talked about your studies as he stroked your hair and nuzzled his nose against your neck.

But instead, all that came out was a stuttered, "N-no?"

"You're at frat parties every weekend," you pointed out, holding your nose up high as you exhaled, walking past him like you had come to your conclusion.

"B-but only as the president, I'm not-"

"You don't speak to the pretty girls that come up to feel your muscles and offer to play stepmom?" You sarcastically asked, and Gojo wished you could look a little less gorgeous when you were glaring at him.

"I mean, I only talk to them," he tried to explain, but he knew that was the wrong thing to say when you just scoffed and shook your head.

"Me and Suguru just talked then," you huffed, and Gojo hated how you said his name. Loathed that he probably got to hear it while he was still relegated to Gojo.

Especially when he had seen first hand what you meant by talking.

His mouth opened, but it never seemed to be able to form the right words to get you to see him.

"I'm going to bed," you stubbornly insisted, padding barefoot back to your room while he hopelessly stared at your shrinking figure.

What would it take to be the one you wanted to go to sleep with?

And how the hell could he make sure that Suguru never got the chance?

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He was the most selfish man you had ever met. He was so insane, so crazy, that he was almost free. He was wanted everywhere he went; everything he touched turned to blood or death. He had no love to offer and no empathy whatsoever.

He was wanted for everything under the sun and more. This man had cannibalism on his list, so it was no surprise to see any crimes he committed.

He just did not care. No fucks are given. He was 23 when you two met, and you were just turning 20. Life has been harsh and unkind to you. With nobody to understand and no friends to count on, you were slowly losing it.

The bullying from school, the family dysfunction, the emotional absence of your parents—what broke the camel's back was when your mother's boyfriend tried to assault you, and she kicked you out for seducing her husband. She had always been jealous of you and everything you had done. She had picked a strange man over her own daughter.

You saw the empty warehouse, and it was tall enough that you wouldn't survive and become even more of a pain in the ass by being paralyzed or something like that. So, on the third night of being homeless, you have had enough. The winter was harsh, and you had seen everything by now.

Death would be rest; it would be a comfort compared to this.

Standing on the edge and looking down, the wind was stronger here, and it was so cold too. If the height did not kill you, the winter would do the job.

You didn't even have anyone to text "I love you" or "thank you" to. That was how pathetic you were. Letting the last tear drop to your cheek and closing your eyes, you let go.

But then there was a hand.

Someone pulled you backward.

God? Had he finally answered your call?

No, it was actually the devil himself.

As you lay on the ground, looking up at him, he sneered, “What a silly little girl you are,” and blew smoke in your face.

You lay on the cold ground, staring up at Sukuna, who stood over you with a disdainful look.

“What… dude, what is your problem?” You asked, your voice trembling.

Sukuna's expression remained unchanged. “Look here, if you want to kill yourself, do it somewhere else. I don’t want any trouble here, you hear me?”

His words were as harsh as the winter wind. There was no hint of sympathy, only a blunt demand for you to leave. The lack of compassion stung almost as much as the cold. You realized, in that moment, that his concern was not for your well-being but for his own convenience.

You looked at Sukuna, feeling a bitter mix of frustration and resignation. You can't even die in peace, you thought, but you nodded in defeat. “Fine,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“You see that building over there?" He pointed to the tallest building. "It’s taller. Trust me, you wouldn’t survive that one, so do it there.”

The harsh reality of his words cut deep, but there was a grim sense of finality in them. Sukuna’s indifference was almost a relief compared to the constant emotional turmoil you’d been through. You turned to leave, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders.

“Wait, little girl, come here,” Sukuna’s voice cut through the frigid air. You turned to see him sitting on a broken air conditioner, smoke curling from his cigarette. He was shrouded in a dark hood, his face was partially obscured, but his imposing figure was unmistakable. At well over 6'5", he was a mountain of muscle, dressed head-to-toe in black.

“Do you need a job?” he asked, his tone nonchalant as he took another drag of his cigarette.

Confusion etched on your face, you hesitated. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” he replied, unfazed by your surprise. “I have a job if you want it. Are you good with numbers?”

The offer came out of nowhere, and you weren’t sure if it was some cruel joke or a genuine opportunity.

“Yeah, I’m good with numbers…” you replied, your voice trailing off.

“Good, good,” Sukuna said, his tone almost indifferent. “You see, I need someone who can count money—lots of money—make sure it’s real, and handle drug calculations. You think you can do that?”

You thought about it for a moment. Considering you were on the brink of death and your situation couldn’t possibly get any worse, why not? What did you have to lose?

“Yeah, I can. When can I start?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “You won’t even ask how much you’ll make?”

“I don’t care if it’s more than ten bucks,” you said, your desperation clear.

Sukuna’s smirk widened slightly. “Alright then. I’ll give you the details later. For now, just stick around.” He tossed a key and some cash at you. “From now on, you’ll live here. This place has a bed and a bathroom. I’ll get you whatever you need. Rest for today, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You caught the key and the cash, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty. It wasn’t the kind of opportunity you had ever imagined, but in the face of imminent despair, it was something—an unexpected chance to pull yourself out of the abyss.

“Thanks,” you muttered, though you weren’t sure what you were truly thankful for. The promise of a bed and some semblance of stability, however tenuous, was a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil.

<^>

That was how it all began. The empire you and Sukuna would build, and in just a little over four years, you both were millionaires with so many properties and so many things ahead of you.

The empire was built on the bodies of people who were your enemies or were just in the way. You were the brains, while Sukuna handled everything else. You handled the drugs and money laundering while others managed other parts, but you brought in more money than any of them combined.

Of course, you had gotten into trouble before, or there were some spies within the ranks, but you both could overcome anything.

Over the years you had known Sukuna, you and he had gotten to know each other on a deeper level. People may not believe it or choose not to believe it, but there was no sexual relationship for the first four years of your friendship.

He had surprised you in so many ways, and you owed him your life, even if he didn't care.

You realized that he indeed had many undiagnosed issues, but you were not there to solve or figure him out, and that is what he liked about you. You weren't fixing or changing him; it was actually the other way around. He was doing the fixing.

He loved how easy it was to be with you. You just knew when to do or say things. No one could read Sukuna like you. No words were needed for you both to understand each other. Some people found it weird and disturbing, but he did not give a shit.

He never felt judged when it came to you. He could talk about the most outrageous things, and even if you did not agree with his ideas, you would listen and understand his thought process. No one had done that for Sukuna before.

He did not realize it, but he had come to depend on you in many ways, both emotionally and for business. He trusted no one and talked to no one except himself or you. This man could not trust his own shadow but trusted you with his money and where he had hidden it. Sometimes he even gave you some to hide for him.

One night while he was high, he told you about his crimes, and you asked many questions, all of which he answered correctly. You knew this man was and is evil and will continue to be his way. He would not change or be fixed. He told you that was why he did not like women too much.

"They all try to fix me. I don't need to be fixed, Y/N. You know that, right?"

Of course, you did. You nodded, rolling his joint. He told you what the business future would be and how it would move forward. Sometimes he told you about his long-lost twin brother, Sukuna, who was kicked out after his first kill. He had not seen him for a long time.

"Did you miss him?" He was now lying on your lap. You were both in bed. He had come to your house in the dead of night to talk. He liked to touch your skin—nothing sexual but just to cuddle you naked. That was when you saw his never-ending tattoos. He was like an art museum in a person. He was an art.

"I don't know. We were never close. He was a good person, and I cared for him. When we were hungry, I cooked for him, cleaned him, and was a big brother to him, even though we were the same age. He needed someone to look after him. Grandpa was getting old and was busy. I knew him in the womb; I should have eaten him there. I remember I was hungry…"

Things he said didn't make sense sometimes. He saw dreams and felt things that made no sense, but he saw and felt them.

The longer you two knew each other, the clingier Sukuna became. He slowly moved in with you. It took a year, but now he is here all the time. He slept in the same bed as you, but with his body and height, you had to upgrade the bed and quality. He even slowly started taking showers with you. Seeing each other naked was no surprise to you both.

He was not aroused, and you weren't either, but he had this constant need to touch you in some way and be closer to you. You two became inseparable. You two were slowly becoming one person.

It took a while for you to open up to Sukuna, but slowly you did. You two would sit in a bath and talk about your life, your trauma, your thoughts, and your dreams. You told him one day you wanted to go to art school and do something with that. The next day, he got you a notebook and hired someone to teach you art.

You came to realize Sukuna was selfish, an asshole, a psychopath, and all of the above, but he had a side to him, like the moon. There was an unseen and dark part of him that was so vulnerable and caring in his own twisted way. In his own way, cannibalism was love. Just like kissing, when he loved someone, he wanted to give himself wholly to others but also take the other person as a whole.

Not many people could handle that and match his intensity like you did. Sometimes you were more intense, and he got surprised by the things you said, like your opinions on current politics or the meaning of life, souls, human patterns, even as useless as celebrity gossip.

<^>

The first time he kissed you was on your 24th birthday, and after that, everything spiraled out of control. Your whole life, you had never been in a relationship or even wanted one. In this business, there were many men who tried things with you, but they got turned down quickly. It wasn't because you had someone in mind; you just weren't interested. Your view on relationships was shaped by your parents' marriage, and if that was what marriage looked like, you wanted no part of it. In a way, it was a trauma response, but who gives a shit.

He kissed you in bed after you had taken a shower and finished everything in your very dark house. He just got up and kissed you. The kiss was exactly how you imagined Sukuna's kiss would be. He might as well have sucked your soul out. You tried to get away, but he held the back of your neck tightly. You tried to hit his chest or push him away, but that just made him pull you even closer. Your lungs were burning, and the way he tasted made you feel fuzzy and dizzy. After the shower, he didn't bother putting anything on, and that just added to the strangeness of it all.

He had never shown any attraction to you unless you count the fact that he can't, in fact, live without you. He had seen every part of your soul and body. Yes, your relationship with him was strange and unique. At some point, you gave up and let him kiss you, your hand on his heart, and you could hear it. He was on another planet.

The kiss lingered, turning from something forceful into something almost tender. His grip on your neck softened, and his other hand moved to cradle your face. You could feel his breath mixing with yours, and the heat of his body against your skin. The room seemed to close in around you, with only the two of you existing in that moment.

When he finally pulled back, he looked at you with an intensity that was both frightening and mesmerizing. His eyes seemed to pierce right through you, as if he was seeing into the deepest parts of your soul.

“Why did you do that?” You whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Sukuna smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Because I wanted to,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

You wanted to argue, to demand more of an explanation, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you just stared at him, searching for something in his expression that might give you a clue to his thoughts. But as always, Sukuna was an enigma.

From that moment on, things changed between you. The line between friends and something more became increasingly blurred.

Everything was the same, yet nothing was the same. The main difference was that Sukuna now had to kiss and suck your face for at least 10 minutes every hour. He seemed insatiable, constantly craving the taste and feel of you. His kisses were rough and intense, leaving your lips swollen and bruised. He loved to bite and suck your blood when he kissed you, a mix of pain and pleasure that made your head spin.

You tried to push him away at times, but this gigantic man wouldn’t budge an inch. He held you firmly, his strength overwhelming, and you had no choice but to surrender to his passionate advances. Despite the roughness, there was an undeniable heat between you, a magnetic pull that made it impossible to resist him.

Sukuna’s need to be close to you, to touch and taste you, became a constant in your life. He was possessive, always wanting you near, wanting to touch you, wanting your attention on him 25/8.

One night, you were both high and making out. He had started to kiss your neck, leaving hickeys. It was all going too fast, but he stopped himself, surprising both of you. When he met you the next day, he never talked about it.

Two months later, it happened again. This time, he did not stop himself. He looked into your eyes to see if you didn’t want it, but he saw nothing. He took you to his car and went to a secluded area, saying nothing, just caressing your thigh. What you two did was not sex or a fuck. It felt like you exchanged souls—some sort of ritual. It was dark and intense, and you were certain you saw Sukuna’s eyes become even redder and saw his eyes double.

It was your first time, and he knew it. It was slow; he bit and sucked your blood more than you could count. The drug in your system, with him being inside you and constantly blowing smoke on your face, made you just crumble. Your body was red and purple by the time he was done with you.

No one could touch you but him. You were his to keep and use.

You did not go out the whole week after that, and when you did, he told you that if any man or woman tried to touch you, he would kill them.

When you saw his eyes, you realized he was serious.

You had slept with a man with many issues and a dark past. He had no soul, no empathy, no nothing. His pleasure was yours. You lived to serve him.

Sukuna never made it official. He was an official liar and manipulator, but he had a soft spot for you. As long as he was not denying you, you did not care what others thought or said.

<^>

2 years later/present day

"How are you related to Sukuna Ryomen?"

"I am his wife."

"Do you have a marriage certificate to prove that?"

"Yes, but I do not have it with me now."

"How is your relationship with Sukuna?"

"I just told you." The black sunglasses you were wearing made it difficult to see your true emotions, but it was clear that he would not get any information out of you.

"Look, ma'am, we just want to help you, okay? If you could testify against your husband, trust me, you would not have any sentencing. You are the key here. You knew he was a monster and a killer. If you can just tell us what you know…"

"Look, officer, all I know and all I have ever known is that Sukuna is my husband. I do not know what kind of job he did or his business. Frankly, I do not care. And I will not testify against my husband."

The officer sighed, frustration evident in his eyes. He leaned forward, his voice taking on a more urgent tone. "Ma'am, you have to understand the gravity of the situation. Sukuna Ryomen is not just any criminal. He's involved in some of the most heinous crimes imaginable. If you don't cooperate, you'll be seen as an accomplice."

"I understand what you're saying, but Sukuna is my husband. I made my choice, and I will stand by him."

The officer leaned back, his frustration written all over his face. He wasn't getting anywhere with you, and he knew it. "Alright, ma'am," he said, standing up and gathering his papers. "We'll continue this tomorrow."

As he left, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Meeting with at least three officers a day was exhausting, but you had to stay strong. This was their plan—to wear you down until you slip up. But you wouldn't fall for it.

You understood their motives. Each officer wanted to be the hero who brought down the infamous Sukuna Ryomen, and you were the key to their success. What they didn't realize was that you had meticulously changed your identity, scrubbing your past clean. To the outside world, you were simply the mysterious and beautiful wife of Lord Sukuna. No one knew anything about your true background except Sukuna himself.

Sukuna had always been cautious, eliminating anyone who got too close to the two of you every two years. "People shouldn't know too much about us," he would say. "The less they see and know, the better."

You replayed the events that led to this moment in your mind. Sukuna had made just one mistake, a single misstep that had triggered this entire mess. It was a minor slip-up, but in his world, even the smallest mistake could have catastrophic consequences.

It had happened a few weeks ago. Sukuna had been working on a major deal, one that would have secured his empire's future. Everything had been meticulously planned, but an unforeseen variable—a mole within his ranks—had thrown everything into chaos. The mole had been planted by law enforcement, and their information had led to a raid on one of Sukuna's most important operations.

Despite his best efforts, Sukuna couldn't cover up the evidence. The raid had resulted in several arrests, and those arrested had quickly turned informants, pointing fingers at Sukuna. The authorities had pieced together enough evidence to launch a full-scale investigation, leading to your current predicament.

Sukuna had anticipated this and had made arrangements for your safety. "If they catch me," he had said, "you must deny everything. Stay strong. We have contingencies in place."

And so, here you were, facing daily interrogations, holding firm to your story. You would protect Sukuna, just as he had protected you. No matter the cost, you were determined to see this through.

Your marriage to Sukuna happened only a year ago, and it was the happiest moment of your life. You had hoped it was the same for Sukuna. The ceremony was simple and secret, just the two of you in the middle of the night. He had spent the entire day exhausting you with sex and kisses, and in a haze of intimacy, he had casually asked if you would marry him.

That was it. No grand gestures, no witnesses, just the two of you.

No one even knew you were in a relationship, let alone married.

After the marriage, Sukuna had insisted you quit working. He wanted to give you a normal life, one where you could do anything and meet anyone—as long as it was approved by him. Yes, he was beyond controlling and jealous, possessive, and exhibited every red flag in the book, but somehow, it worked. The relationship and the marriage worked.

You had always wanted to be on autopilot, to let someone else take the reins, and Sukuna was the ultimate control freak.

In his world, control was everything. He dictated the terms, and you followed, finding a strange comfort in his dominance. The life he gave you was one of luxury and protection, albeit with the caveat of his stringent rules. He monitored your interactions, vetted your acquaintances, and kept a tight grip on every aspect of your life.

Despite the constraints, there was a deep, undeniable connection between you. Sukuna’s intensity, his fierce protectiveness, and the raw passion he had for you made you feel alive in ways you had never experienced before. The way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the world that mattered, made all the control and possessiveness worth it.

Your days were filled with a mixture of lavish experiences and quiet moments of intimacy. Sukuna showered you with gifts and affection, but it was the private moments that you cherished the most. The way he would hold you, his touch, both gentle and commanding, made you feel safe and loved.

The secrecy of your relationship added an element of excitement and danger. It was like living a double life, one where the outside world saw you as a mysterious figure, while only you and Sukuna knew the truth of your bond.

Now, as you faced the officers day after day, you clung to the memories of your life with Sukuna. The happiness, the passion, and the unwavering loyalty you had for each other were your anchors. You knew that no matter what they said or did, you would not betray him.

"Seventh round," he announces, like he's keeping score. "You lasted longer than I expected, I'll admit."

You make a sound that isn't words. He grins, sharp and delighted, and leans down to nose at your jaw, your throat, anywhere he can reach without committing to action.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asks. "Or did I?"

Your hand flops weakly toward his face. He catches it, presses a kiss to your palm, then bites the heel of your hand hard enough to sting.

"Feel that?" he murmurs, grinding his hips down so you feel how hard he still is through his pants. "That's your fault. I've been sitting here watching you breathe and I'm still hard for you. Unbelievable."

He finally moves, shoving his pants down just enough to free himself, and drags the head of his cock through your folds, teasing, coating your entrance with your own wetness, keeping himself right at the edge. "Don't worry," he says, his voice dropping to something filthy and warm. "I'll do the heavy lifting. You just lie there and look all fucked out for me."

He enters you slowly, deliberately theatrical, his hips rolling in a way that makes you feel every inch. His hands find your waist, your ribs, the underside of your knee as he hitches your leg higher over his shoulder, and he groans, deep and wrecked, at how you clench around him even now.

"Still so tight," he pants, his rhythm gaining a sharper edge. "Still taking me like you want it." He shifts, angling to hit deep, and you mewl, high and broken. "There? Mm. Yeah, I remember."

He builds fast, chasing his own high with single-minded focus, his thrusts becoming ragged, desperate. His hand slides between you, his thumb applying a heavy, steady friction right at your clit, working in tiny, agonizing circles that snap your spine taut against the sheets, that make you clench around him harder.

"Fuck, look at you," he gasps, his hips snapping forward, losing rhythm. "Taking it, taking everything—" He groans, burying himself to the hilt and stilling, his cock pulsing in thick, hot spurts of cum that fill you completely, marking you deep inside. He rides it out with helpless little jerks of his hips, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

For a moment he stays there, softening inside you, his breath ragged against your neck. Then he shifts, pulling out with a wet sound and settling between your thighs, his mouth finding your clit with sudden, ravenous hunger.

"Satoru—" you gasp, oversensitive, twitching.

"Uh-uh," he murmurs against you, his tongue broad and unrelenting, his fingers sliding back into you to work his spend deeper, curling to find that spot that makes you wail. "My mess. My turn to clean it up."

He doesn't let you recover. He licks and sucks with focused hunger, his fingers working you with the same precision he brings to everything, until you're sobbing, your hips bucking against his hold, climbing again despite the oversensitivity. The pressure builds impossibly, his tongue circling your clit while his fingers drag against that sweet spot inside you, relentless, perfect.

"That's it," he breathes against your thigh, his eyes dark and blown wide when he looks up at you. "Let go. I want to feel you squirt for me."

You do, crying out, your back arching off the sofa as you gush all over him, violent and sudden, soaking his chin, his mouth, spilling over his fingers and down his hand. He groans like you've personally destroyed him, lapping at you through it with devastating thoroughness, his tongue working you through the aftershocks until you're pushing weakly at his shoulders, whimpering, blabbering.

He finally rises, his face flushed and wet, his chin dripping with your release, his hand glistening where it rests on your hip. His hair sticks to his forehead in white-blonde clumps, his Six Eyes blown wide and dark with the reflection of city lights. He settles back on his heels, watching you twitch and gasp with an expression caught between triumph and something softer.

"Next time," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your bruised knee, "I'm tying you up. See how lazy you are then."

You close your eyes and smile, every inch of you aching in the best way. "Looking forward to it."

He laughs, warm, tender and real, while he pulls you closer. "Yeah. Yeah, me too."

Geto Suguru.

The temple is quiet in the late evening, the air thick with incense and the distant hum of cicadas. You hear his footsteps before you see him, soft against the wooden floor, and you don't bother opening your eyes. The futon dips as he kneels beside you, and you feel the cool edge of a cup press against your lower lip.

"Open," Suguru murmurs.

You obey, letting him tip water into your mouth, swallowing gratefully. He watches you with that soft focus he keeps for these moments, the fanaticism stripped away, something almost tender underneath. When you've had enough, you turn your head away, and he sets the cup aside, his hand finding your hair, stroking slow and hypnotic.

"Better?"

"Mm," you breathe, already sinking back into the mattress, your body still humming from before.

He doesn't let you rest long. His hand trails down your throat, your chest, your stomach, slipping between your thighs to find you still completely drenched inside, still sensitive from earlier. His fingers part your folds with practiced ease, and you gasp, arching into his touch as he sinks two fingers into you, slow and deep.

"Warm," he murmurs, his thumb circling around your sopping hole — never quite entering — with devastating patience. "And still so open for me. Did I ruin you that thoroughly?"

You can't answer. His mouth finds your hip, your inner thigh, his teeth grazing your skin while his fingers curl inside you, pressing against that spot that makes your vision spark. He builds you with reverent precision, unhurried, relentless, his tongue tracing patterns on your thigh while his fingers work you deeper, harder.

"Please," you whimper, your hips bucking against his hand. "Suguru, I'm close—"

He withdraws his fingers suddenly, leaving you empty, clenching around nothing. You make a sound like a wounded thing, your hands reaching for him, and he catches your wrist, presses a kiss to your palm.

"Fuck you," you mumble, desperate, still half-drifting.

He stills. Then, softly, almost amused: "In due time, love."

Something shifts in his expression when you open your eyes, something hungry and reverent all at once. He settles between your thighs, his shoulders pressing your legs wider, and his mouth pinning that hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves with devastating hunger. His fingers slide back into you, curling, pressing, and he sucks you with religious devotion, his tongue circling around your clit, his fingers dragging against that sweet spot inside you with perfect, devastating coordination.

"That's it," he breathes against you, his eyes dark when he glances up, watching your face. "Let go. I'm right here."

You come with a cry, your back arching off the futon, your cunt milking his fingers in tight, involuntary clamps. He groans like you've given him communion, lapping at you through it with devastating patience, his tongue gentling as you shudder, your thighs twitching around his head, your hands fisting in the futon beneath you until the sensation edges toward pain.

He rises over you, his face flushed, his chin wet with your release, his eyes wild and dark. He doesn't wipe it away. He positions himself with one hand, the other bracing beside your head, and enters you in one smooth, relentless thrust.

You gasp at the sudden fullness, still sensitive, still twitching, and he groans your name with something like relief. He sets a hard, driving pace immediately, each thrust deep and purposeful, his hands gripping your hips with possessive intensity. "Look at you," he pants, his rhythm steady, devastating. "Weeping for me, wrecked for me, still gripping me like you'll never let go."

He shifts, angling his hips, and the pressure changes, becomes too much, becomes exactly enough. His hand slides between you, rolling his thumb over your throbbing, swollen clit while his cock drags against your sweet, sweet spot with every thrust.

"Right here?" he asks, breath hot against your ear.

"Yes," you whisper, and your voice breaks, "right there, don't stop, please don't—"

He doesn't. He keeps that exact pressure, that exact depth, unhurried and relentless, his hips working in tight, devastating circles. The pleasure builds differently now, deeper, overwhelming, warmth pooling and spreading until you feel like you're drowning in it.

"Let go," he breathes, his fingers pressing harder, his hips snapping forward with more force. "I want to feel you. Give me everything."

You do. You squirt, violent and sudden, gushing around him, soaking his cock, his thighs, the futon beneath you. He groans like you've personally destroyed him, fucking you through it with desperate, uncontrolled thrusts, his rhythm shattering as he chases the sensation of you tightening around him, wet and helpless and his.

"Fuck," he gasps, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his hips stuttering, losing rhythm entirely. "Love, I'm—" and then he's shuddering, spilling inside you with a sound like prayer, his cock pulsing in dense, breathless spasms as he grinds deep, marking you completely.

He collapses over you, his face buried in your neck, his breath coming in ragged, worshipful bursts against your skin. For a long moment he stays there, twitching inside you, his arms trembling where they bracket your shoulders. He doesn't pull out, keeps you full, his hand sliding down to press flat against your stomach like he can feel himself there, like he wants to keep it.

"Still here?" he murmurs, voice rough, checking, always checking.

You hum, your consciousness slipping, your fingers finding his hand. "Still yours,"

His chest thrums with a low noise, a cross between a groan and a lifelong promise, as he secures you against his frame.

Nanami Kento.

Your shared apartment is dark, the only light from the streetlamp outside throwing his shadow long across the wall. You're sprawled on the bed, one leg dangling off the edge, your hair fanned across the pillow in tangled disarray. The sheets are kicked down around your ankles. You hear him enter, his footsteps soft, but you don't open your eyes.

The mattress dips. His hand finds your hip, warm and steady.

"Still with me?" he asks, his voice low.

You make a sound that isn't words. He hums, his thumb tracing the bruise he left earlier, and shifts you gently onto your back. His mouth finds your hip, your inner thigh, the hollow behind your knee — everywhere except where you're still sensitive, still spasming from before. He works upward slow, his stubble rough against your skin, his teeth grazing the bruise he left earlier, until he's pressing kisses to your collarbone, your jaw, the hollow of your throat.

"Too much?" he asks against your jaw.

You shake your head, barely. He takes that as permission and settles back between your thighs, his hands spreading you open with the same care he uses for everything. His mouth finds you slow, deliberate, his tongue tracing patterns like he's reading Braille, learning you by touch alone.

Your hand flops toward him. He catches it, threads his fingers through yours, and keeps working you with lips and tongue and the occasional scrape of teeth, unhurried, relentless, until you're arching despite yourself, your breathing stuttering into tiny, ruined sounds.

"Here?" he rasps, his voice vibrating against you.

You weep, high and helpless. He breathes against your skin, pleased, and slides two fingers testing your depth, hooking tight and pressing hard, his mouth never leaving your clit. He builds you with mechanical precision, watching your face, adjusting his angle, his pressure, his pace, until you're panting, your back bowing off the mattress.

"Close?" he asks, his lips wet against your thigh.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely there.

He doesn't make you wait. He keeps that exact rhythm, his fingers dragging against your front wall, his tongue circling with devastating coordination, until you come with a cry that sounds like his name, your cunt clamping around him, pulling him deeper with every involuntary throb. He gentles you through it, his mouth softening, his fingers stilling, until you’re a trembling mess, pushing at his frame just to catch your breath.

He rises, his face flushed, his eyes dark, and strips off his clothes with economical movements. He positions himself with one hand, the other bracing beside your head, and enters you slowly, carefully, watching your face for any flicker of discomfort.

"Still okay?" he breathes, his hips settling against yours, his cock filling you deep.

You purr, drifting, your legs wrapping around his waist weakly. He takes that as yes and sets a pace that's steady, relentless, his hips snapping forward with controlled force, each thrust dragging against your sensitive walls. His free hand finds your waist, your ribs, mapping your body like he's committing it to memory, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"You're still dripping," he pants, his rhythm faltering slightly, his control cracking at the edges. "Still stretching so beautifully for me. I can feel you clamping down again."

You whine, small and helpless, your nails digging into his back without strength. He groans, low and reverent, his hips stuttering as he follows you over, spilling inside you with a sound like breaking, his cock pouring into your depth in dense, involuntary surges as he grinds deep.

He collapses over you, his face buried in your neck, his breath ragged. Then he shifts, pulling out gently, and settles beside you, his hand finding your hip, drawing you close.

"Better, love?" he murmurs, checking, always checking.

You hum, already half-asleep. He sighs into your hair, a sound that carries the weight of a vow, and pulls you flush against him.

Choso Kamo.

You're already full of him, his hips settled heavy between your thighs, his cock buried deep where he finished minutes ago. He hasn't pulled out. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his breath still ragged, his body trembling slightly where he holds himself over you.

"Stay right here with me, sweetheart. Don't drift away." he murmurs, his voice rough.

You hum, boneless, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. He shifts, just a little, and you feel him twitch inside you, still hard, impossibly still hard.

"Sorry," he breathes, though he doesn't sound sorry, his hips rolling in a slow, testing circle that makes you gasp. "I just... can't stop. Not yet."

He moves properly then, his thrusts careful, restrained, his hands gripping your hips with that hesitant strength he always carries, like he's afraid he might break you. His mouth finds your jaw, your throat, pressing apologetic kisses to your skin even as his hips snap forward with increasing urgency.

"Tell me if you need a breath," he rasps against your neck, his rhythm fracturing into something sharper. "Tell me and I'll stop, I'll—"

"Don't stop," you choke out, locking your legs around his waist to anchor him deep inside you. "Please, Cho. I need you."

He pants, rough and breaking, and his control cracks further, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, his cock scraping against that sensitive ridge with a heavy, deliberate heat. His hand slides between you, his thumb brushing the very crown of your heat with trembling fingers, circling in tight, desperate strokes.

"You're still so wet," he gasps, his rhythm faltering, his hips stuttering. "Still taking me, still gripping me so tight—"

He shifts, angling his hips, and the pressure changes, becomes too much, becomes exactly enough. His mouth finds your breast, his teeth grazing your nipple, his tongue circling your nipple while his fingers work you between your bodies, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust.

"Close?" he asks, his voice breaking, his lips wet against your skin.

"Yes," you whine, your nails digging into his back. "Cho, please, I'm going to—"

"Let go," he breathes, his fingers pressing harder, his hips snapping forward with more force. "I've got you. Let go."

But you feel him cracking further, his thrusts becoming ragged, uncontrolled, his grip on your hips almost bruising. "Can't," he gasps, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Can't hold back, I'm sorry, I'm—"

"Let go," you breathe again, your hand finding his hair, pulling him up to meet your eyes. "I want you to. I can take it."

Something snaps. He snarls, his expression wild, and fucks you with abandon, his thrusts becoming hard, desperate, violent, his hips snapping forward with force that makes you cry out, that drives the air from your lungs. His hand finds your hip, your waist, his grip possessive and claiming, his cock dragging against your front wall with every thrust, hitting that sweet spot inside you with devastating, relentless precision.

"Fuck," he pants, his rhythm faltering, his eyes blown wide and dark. "I'm close, I'm going to—"

"Come inside me," you gasp, your back arching, your cunt weeping around him. "Please, Cho, I want to feel you, I want—"

He sobs, broken and helpless, his hips snapping into yours in frantic, uneven thrusts as he spills inside you in deep, shuddering ripples, his cock pulsing against your walls like he can't stop, like he never wants to stop, engraving himself onto your soul with shaking, reverent intensity.

He doesn't stop. He works you through it with desperate, focused intensity, his fingers never leaving your clit, his hips rolling in tight, grinding circles until you're sobbing, your hands pushing weakly at his shoulders, oversensitive and trembling.

"Cho," you gasp, "too much, I can't—"

"I've got you," he breathes, gentling, his touch softening, his hips stilling. "I've got you, love, I've got you."

He collapses over you finally, his face buried in your neck, his breath ragged and warm against your skin. For a long moment he stays there, twitching inside you, his arms trembling where they bracket your shoulders. Then he shifts, pulling out with careful, trembling gentleness, and settles beside you, his hand finding your waist, drawing you close against his chest.

"Did I hurt you?" he murmurs, his voice rough, checking, always checking. His thumb traces your hip, your ribs, mapping you for damage.

You breathed, your mind hazing over, your fingers finding his hair. "No, that was perfect,"

He makes a sound, something between a groan and a vow, and holds you tighter, his grip almost desperate, his face pressed against your shoulder like he's afraid you might disappear.

Toji Fushiguro.

You're half-asleep, your face mashed into a pillow that smells like cheap detergent and him, when he suddenly rolls over beside you. The mattress shifts under his sudden, heavy movement—not gentle, but a clumsy roll like he just dropped his full weight back down and couldn't be bothered to cushion the landing.

"You're kidding me," Toji mutters, his voice rough with sleep. "Now?"

You make a sound, half-whine, half-need, your hand flopping toward him in the dark. He catches it, his grip calloused and warm, and presses it to his chest. You feel his heart hammering there, then his mouth finds your neck, his teeth sinking in hard enough to bruise, to mark.

"Fuckin' hell," he sighs against your skin, but he's already moving, shoving the sheet down with his free hand, his body heat radiating against your back as he settles behind you. "You couldn't wait 'til morning?"

You shake your head, barely, pressing back against him. He's hard, has been, probably since you started shifting around, whining in your sleep. He groans, low and irritated, his hips rolling forward to drag his cock through your folds, painting your slick over your entrance, refusing to slide in yet.

"Lazy," he accuses, his mouth finding your shoulder, your jaw, his stubble rough against your skin. "Can't even get y'rself off, gotta wake me up for it."

His hand slides down your stomach, his thumb working the swollen knot of your clit with rough, sleep-clumsy precision, circling in tight, impatient strokes. Your breath hitches, your spine curving off the mattress, and he hums against your neck, pleased despite himself.

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, his hips still rolling, teasing, his cock sliding through your folds but not entering. "I got you. Stop squirming."

He positions himself with one hand, the other still working your clit, and enters you in a single, deep thrust that drives the air from your lungs. He groans, long and unguarded, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"Still so fuckin' tight," he pants, his hips driving forward in slow, heavy, rolling thrusts. "Still swallowing me like you need it."

You whimper, your hand finding his hair, pulling him closer. He huffs, something almost like a laugh, and shifts his angle, his cock dragging against your g-spot with devastating precision.

"That?" he asks, his voice rough, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "That what you woke me up for?"

"Yes," you gasp, your nails digging into his arm. "Please, Toji, I need you to move."

He does, setting a pace that's steady, relentless, his hips snapping forward with controlled force, each thrust deep and purposeful. His hand never leaves your clit, his fingers working you with rough, efficient strokes, building you fast, impatient to get back to sleep.

"Close?" he asks, his breath hot against your ear.

"Yes," you whimper, your back arching. "Please, I'm going to-"

"Then come," he breathes, his fingers pressing harder, his hips snapping forward with more force. "Come so I can go back to sleep."

You do, crying out, your cunt clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make him groan, his rhythm faltering, his grip tightening on your hip. He keeps moving, fucking you through it with lazy, powerful thrusts, his hand gentling on your clit as you twitch and gasp.

"Good?" he asks, his voice rough, checking despite his impatience.

You hum, boneless, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm. He huffs, something almost tender, and shifts you onto your stomach, his weight settling over you, his cock still hard, still moving.

"My turn," he mutters, his mouth finding your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin. "You woke me up, you can take it."

He sets a harder pace, his thrusts becoming ragged, desperate, his hips snapping forward with force that drives the air from your lungs. His hand finds your hair, pulling your head back, his mouth finding your neck again, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

"Fuck," he pants, his rhythm faltering. "I'm close, I'm gonna—"

"Inside me," you gasp, your cunt clenching around him. "Please, Toji, I want to feel you—"

He groans, throaty and rough, his hips stuttering forward, grinding deep as he spends himself in heavy, unraveled surges, his cock pulsing inside you, stamping his presence deep into your heat. He collapses over you, his face buried in your neck, his breath ragged and warm against your skin.

For a long moment he stays there, twitching inside you, his weight heavy and warm. Then he shifts, pulling out with a soft, squelching sigh, and settles beside you, his arm thrown over your waist, drawing you close.

"Next time," he mutters, his voice already thick with sleep, "wait 'til morning."

You smile, drifting, your fingers finding his hand. "No promises."

He huffs, something almost like a laugh, and pulls you tighter against him. "Yeah. Figured."

Ryomen Sukuna.

You're sprawled on his chest, your ear pressed to the thunder of his heartbeat, his skin furnace-warm beneath your cheek. Two of his arms are heavy around your waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. The other two are braced above you, caging you in, his strength coiled and waiting.

"You awake?" he rumbles, his voice vibrating through his chest, through the mouth on his stomach that opens and closes with his words.

You hum, noncommittal. His fingers still, then tighten, almost warning.

"Answer me," he says, and there's an edge there. The mouth on his stomach opens wider, tongue flicking out, tasting the air between you.

"Mm," you try, and his lower hands slide down, sudden and brutal, his fingers shoving into you without warning. You gasp, your hips bucking violently, and he laughs, low and cruel, the mouth on his stomach laughing too, wet and hungry.

"There you are," he murmurs, his fingers curling inside you, dragging against your spongy spot. His other cock is hard against your thigh, already wet at the tip. "Thought I'd lost you."

"Too tired," you whimper, though your body is already responding.

"Too tired," he repeats, mocking, and rolls you onto your stomach in one violent movement, his weight slamming down over you, his knee shoving your thighs apart. Two of his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, while the other two shove your face into the mattress. "For me?"

You wail, your hands finding the sheets. The mouth on his stomach opens against your spine, tongue dragging wet and hungry up your vertebrae, teeth grazing your skin. He grinds both his hips down, both cocks hard and heavy against you.

"You'll take both," he says, not a question, his teeth sinking into your shoulder while the mouth on your spine bites at your waist. "You'll take them because I want to give them to you."

"Yes," you breathe, your hips tilting up.

He hums, pleased, and enters your cunt in a single, relentless thrust, the head of his second cock pressing against your ass, demanding entry. You scream, your back arching, and he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"Still so fucking tight," he pants, his hips snapping forward with brutal force, both cocks working you open, stretching you impossibly wide. "Still gripping me like you need it."

He sets a punishing pace, his thrusts deep and violent, his hands tightening in your hair, on your shoulder, your hip, your throat. His mouth finds your neck, his teeth grazing hard enough to bruise, while the mouth on his stomach bites everywhere it can reach.

"Look at me," he commands, wrenching you up with his lower hands, forcing your eyes to his. "Good. Keep them open. I want to see you break."

His free hands slide under you, sweeping his thumb relentlessly over your clit with rough, cruel precision, the other squeezing your throat just enough to remind you he could crush you if he wanted. He laughs, low and cruel, both cocks dragging against your walls with devastating force.

"Close?" he mocks, his fingers pressing harder. "Already?"

"Please," you whimper. "Sukuna, please, I'm going to—"

"Not yet," he breathes, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. "Beg me."

"Please," you gasp, your voice breaking. "I need you, I need to—"

"More," he demands, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, the mouth on your stomach biting your waist. "Tell me what you are."

"Yours," you sob, clenching around him. "I'm yours, please, Sukuna, I'm—"

"Good girl," he breathes, his hand returning to your clit, working you with cruel precision, his hips snapping forward with force that makes you scream. "Now come. Come for me."

You body listens to his command, crying out, both holes clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make him groan, his grip tightening everywhere. He keeps fucking you through it, his thrusts ragged, desperate, both cocks dragging against your oversensitive walls.

"Again," he commands, his fingers never leaving your clit. "I didn't say stop."

"I can't," you sob, trembling, your hands pushing weakly at the mattress. "Sukuna, I can't—"

"You can," he breathes, his mouth at your ear, the mouth on his stomach licking at your spine. "You will. For me."

He works you through it with devastating focus, his fingers circling tight and fast, his hips rolling in grinding circles, both cocks filling you completely, until you're sobbing, your back arching, gushing sudden and violent, soaking him, overflowing.

He groans, long and broken, his rhythm shattering. "Fuck," he pants, the mouth on his stomach gasping wet against your skin. "Fuck, you're perfect, you're—"

He comes with a ragged grunt, his hips stuttering forward, grinding deep as he spills inside you in rich, warm throbs, both cocks pulsing, carving his name into your skin, filling you until you're dripping. He keeps moving, his thrusts slowing, gentling, his hands softening to a caress, his thumb tracing your jaw.

For a long moment he stays there, twitching inside you. Then he shifts, pulling out with a wet pop! that makes you whimper, and settles beside you, two arms thrown over your waist, the other two stroking your hair, your hip, possessive and claiming.

"Still tired?" he murmurs, his voice rough, almost gentle. The mouth on his stomach opens, tongue flicking out to taste your shoulder, tender now.

You hum, boneless, your fingers finding his hand. "Still yours."

He laughs, low and warm, his teeth grazing your shoulder one last time. The mouth on his stomach hums too, satisfied, closing slowly. "Yeah. Don't forget it."

A/N. this took WAY too long!! i hope u guys enjoyed HIHI 💗💗

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for months it ran perfectly. fast when you needed speed. quiet when the room felt too loud at night. the rgb lights shifted through soft pastel colors when you wanted the space to feel less empty. it survived long evenings with too many tabs open and your headphones on and your hand between your legs because getting up to find your vibrator felt like too much effort. but now it is dying at the worst possible moments and you are taking it personally, like the universe is laughing at you every time the screen goes dark right when you need it most.

you sit on the floor in front of your desk in an old oversized t-shirt that barely reaches the tops of your thighs, knees drawn up to your chest, staring at the dark monitor like it has betrayed you on purpose. the rgb lights on the tower keep cycling through gentle pastels like nothing is wrong. the fans have gone quiet. the only sounds in the room are the low hum of your mini fridge and the distant noise of someone laughing too loud in the hallway outside.

you have already tried everything. 

restarting it over and over until your finger hurts from pressing the button. updating drivers. running every diagnostic tool you could find. even following some shady forum post that told you to delete random system files that probably would have bricked the whole thing if you had actually gone through with it. nothing works. and you cannot exactly carry a full desktop tower across campus to the it helpdesk without looking ridiculous, especially not when you live on the third floor and the elevator has been broken for weeks and you would have to walk through the student union with this giant machine in your arms like some kind of walk of shame.

which leaves you with one option you really do not want to take.

satoru gojo.

you do not know him. not really. he is just the tall guy who sits two rows ahead of you in your coding class and always seems to have the right answer before anyone else has finished processing the question. he wears the same black hoodies and grey sweatpants like they are a uniform and smiles like he knows something the rest of the world is still figuring out. people go to him when their laptops die or when they need help with group projects. he builds custom pcs on the side too. you have seen the pictures in the class discord. clean cable management. beautiful builds. rgb setups that look expensive and intentional. people pay him good money for it and he always delivers.

you have never spoken to him one on one. only the occasional sarcastic reply in the group chat when he says something cocky or teasing. but you are desperate and your pc is currently a very expensive brick sitting on your desk doing nothing but glowing at you like it is mocking your frustration.

so you pick up your phone and type the message before you can overthink it into silence and regret.

hey! random question… you still fix pcs for people?

he answers fast. too fast. like he has been waiting for something to do with his evening and this is the most interesting thing that has happened to him all day.

satoru : depends. what’s wrong with it?

you take a picture of the blue screen and send it without letting yourself hesitate too long.

satoru : yeah that’s not great. you take it to the helpdesk yet?

i don’t want to wait in that line for two hours. also it’s a full desktop… kinda heavy. i live on the third floor

there is a longer pause this time. you watch the typing bubble appear and disappear twice before his next message comes through, and you can almost picture him sitting somewhere with that lazy smile on his face while he types.

satoru : so you want me to come to you?

your stomach flips at the way he phrases it. like you are asking him to come into your space on purpose. which you are. but reading it like that makes it feel more intimate than it should, like he is already in your room even though he is still somewhere else on campus.

only if you’re not busy ! i can pay you or something.

satoru : lmao send me your dorm and room number, i’ll be there in like thirty

lmao? you stare at the screen for a second too long before typing out your building and room number, then you put your phone down on the bed and immediately want to take the whole conversation back. thirty minutes. enough time to completely lose your mind and overthink every single thing that could go wrong when he gets here.

you spend the first ten minutes trying to make your room look less like you have been fighting with exams and losing for three days straight. you throw the pile of clothes on your desk chair into the closet and kick your overflowing laundry basket behind the bed where it will not be immediately visible if he happens to look around. you make sure your vibrator is safely hidden in the drawer next to your bed where it always lives, tucked under a pile of old notebooks like a guilty secret. 

you even light one of your nicer candles even though you tell yourself it is just because the room smells like old takeout containers and not because you care what he thinks about your space or how you live. the thought of satoru gojo standing in your tiny dorm room makes your skin feel too tight and your stomach twist in a way you don’tt want to examine too closely. you have seen him around campus before. watched the way he moves through crowded hallways like he does not notice people staring at him. heard the way he laughs in class when someone makes a joke that lands. watched the way his hoodie sleeves always seem to be pushed up to his elbows like he is too warm or too comfortable in his own skin. 

but you have never been alone with him. and now he is coming here. while your very obvious and very organized porn folders sit on your desktop like they are waiting to be discovered and picked apart.

you change your shirt twice and end up back in the same oversized t-shirt you have been wearing all day because nothing else feels right against your skin. you run a brush through your hair even though you know it will not stay neat for long and check your reflection in the small mirror above your desk before immediately looking away. you look like someone who has been stressed and tired and more than a little pent up for three days straight. which you have been. your face is flushed from frustration and lack of sleep. your eyes look tired. your lips are chapped from biting them while you tried to fix the pc yourself. you look like a mess and there is nothing you can do about it in thirty minutes.

when the knock finally comes on your door you are still a mess of nerves and lowkey embarrassment and something else you don’t want to name yet.

you open it and there he is.

satoru stands in the hallway in a black hoodie that looks soft and worn from too many washes and grey sweatpants that sit low on his hips in a way that makes it hard not to notice how tall he is. his hair is messy like he has run his hands through it on the way over. he is holding a small black toolkit in one hand and when he smiles at you it’s bright and easy and way too confident for someone about to walk into a near-stranger’s dorm room at night. his eyes flick over you once, quick and casual, before settling on your face again.

“patient’s in critical condition?” he asks, voice light and teasing like this is the most normal thing in the world and he does house calls like this all the time.

you step aside to let him in and try not to stare at how tall he looks in your small space, how he seems to fill the doorway without even trying. “it’s on the desk.. hum, try not to judge the mess too hard.”

he walks in without hesitation, eyes moving over everything in the room with that same casual curiosity. the unmade bed with the comforter half hanging off the side. the led strips you stuck around the walls because the overhead light is ugly and yellow. the posters on the wall. the half-empty water bottle on your nightstand. the small pile of books that have nothing to do with coding. his gaze lingers for half a second on the pc tower before he sets his toolkit down on your desk and drops into your chair like he has sat there a hundred times before and it belongs to him.

“nice setup,” he whispers, already reaching for the power button. “shame it’s trying to die on you.”

you hover behind him while he works, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to notice the way his hoodie sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and how his forearms look when he moves. his fingers move fast and sure over your keyboard. he opens task manager, checks event logs, clicks through menus you did not even know existed. every now and then he mutters something under his breath; corrupted files, overheating, something about your storage being almost full and your cooling being inadequate for how hard you are pushing the machine. his voice is low when he speaks to himself. calm. focused. it is strangely attractive in a way you are not prepared to deal with right now, especially not when he is sitting in your chair and the room suddenly feels smaller than it had five minutes ago.

yes, the room feels smaller with him in it. he takes up space without even trying. long legs stretched out under your desk, broad shoulders under that oversized hoodie. every time he shifts in the chair the wheels roll softly on the cheap laminate floor and make a small sound that seems too loud in the quiet. you catch the faint clean scent of his detergent mixed with something sweet like whatever energy drink he has probably been drinking earlier. it’s warm in the room. or maybe that is just the way your face keeps flushing every time you look at his hands or the line of his neck where his hoodie has slipped down a little. you are so busy trying not to stare at the way his fingers move over your keyboard that you almost miss the moment everything changes.

he has been quiet for a minute, just clicking through things, when his fingers slow down. his head tilts slightly to the side. you see the way his posture shifts, just a fraction, like he has found something that caught his attention in a way the error logs had not. something that makes him pause.

“…huh.”

your stomach drops straight through the floor and keeps falling.

he clicks again. then again. the screen changes and you recognize the folder name that pops up even from where you are standing behind him. it’s one you meant to move or at least rename weeks ago but never got around to because you kept telling yourself you would do it later. now it sits there in your downloads folder like it wants to be seen. like it has been waiting for this exact moment to expose you.

satoru does not say anything right away. he just looks at it. scrolls slowly through the contents. clicks into a subfolder. you watch the way his shoulders move with each quiet breath he takes. the room suddenly feels too warm. your skin feels too tight. every small sound feels amplified. the click of your mouse. the soft whir of the pc fans kicking back on now that it is running again. the sound of him exhaling through his nose. the faint creak of the chair when he shifts his weight.

then he lets out a soft, amused breath.

“well,” he whispers, voice still light but lower now, something new underneath it that makes your pulse jump hard in your throat and your stomach twist in a way that is not entirely unpleasant, “that’s one way to fill up your storage.”

your face goes hot so fast it makes you dizzy. “don’t—”

“i’m not judging,” he says, but he is still clicking through files. his tone is casual, almost conversational, like he is commenting on something normal instead of scrolling through your very specific and very organized collection of porn and . “i’m just observing. you’ve got a whole system going on here. folders inside folders. very organized. i respect the dedication. most people just have random downloads they never sort. you actually have structure.”

you want to disappear. you want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. you want to throw something at the back of his stupid head and tell him to get out of your room. instead you stand there with your arms crossed tight over your chest and your face burning so hot you are sure he can feel the heat radiating off you even from where he is sitting.

“can you please just fix the pc,” you say, voice tight and embarrassed, “and pretend you didn’t see any of that.”

he hums like he is actually thinking about it. then he turns the chair around slowly to look at you. his expression is calm but his eyes are bright with something that makes your stomach twist low and tight. amusement. curiosity. something sharper that you cannot quite name yet but makes your thighs press together without your permission.

“depends,” he says, leaning back in your chair like he has all the time in the world and nowhere else he needs to be. “how bad do you want it fixed?”

you stare at him. at the way his hoodie has slipped down one shoulder a little and shows the line of his neck. at the way his hair falls into his eyes. at the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “what does that mean.”

“means i could make this blue screen problem disappear for good,” he says, still watching you with that same bright, teasing look in his eyes. “or i could leave a couple things just unstable enough that you might need me to come back. you know. if you want the company. if you don’t mind me seeing more of your… organizational skills.”

your brain short-circuits for a second. he is joking. he has to be joking. this is just how he is with everyone. annoying. teasing. pushing buttons because he can get away with it and people let him because he is tall and pretty and smart in that effortless way that makes it hard to stay mad at him.

right?

“you’re such an asshole,” you mutter, but it comes out weaker than you want it to, your voice thinner than usual.

he laughs under his breath, low and warm, and turns back to the screen. “relax. i’m fixing it. for now.”

the way he says for now makes something low in your stomach pull tight and hot. you cross your arms tighter over your chest and try to will your face to stop burning. it does not work. the room feels smaller. the air feels thicker. every time he shifts in the chair you are too aware of how close he is. how big he is in your small space. how his voice has dropped just a little when he talked about coming back. you can feel the heat in your face spreading down your neck and into your chest. you can feel the way your thighs are pressed together. you can feel the way your breathing has gone shallow without you meaning for it to.

he keeps working. you keep standing there. the silence stretches between you but it is not empty. every few seconds he makes some small comment. about your cable management being surprisingly decent for someone who clearly does not care about that kind of thing. about how you have way too many chrome tabs open in the background and it is probably contributing to the overheating. about one of the error logs that makes him go “interesting” in a tone that does not sound like it is only about the pc anymore. you are so focused on not combusting that you do not notice he has opened your browser history until he speaks again.

“damn,” he says, almost to himself. “you really don’t clear this thing, huh.”

your heart stops beating for a full second.

he is not even trying to hide it now. he is scrolling through days of searches. videos you watched when you were half-asleep and horny and not thinking about anyone ever seeing them. sites you visited late at night when you could not sleep and your hand was already between your legs and your breath was coming too fast. things that make your thighs press together without your permission. things that make your face burn with a fresh wave of humiliation and something hotter underneath that you do not want to name out loud.

satoru glances over his shoulder at you again. his smile is smaller this time. softer around the edges. but his eyes are darker. more focused. like he is seeing something he had not expected to see and he is taking his time with it.

“you’ve got good taste,” he says quietly. “some of this stuff is really specific. i’m learning a lot about you right now.”

you cannot speak. your mouth has gone completely dry. your hands are clenched into fists at your sides. your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it even over the sound of the pc fans. you can feel every beat of it in your throat and in your wrists and between your legs where you are suddenly too aware of how empty you feel and how badly you want something you cannot have right now.

he turns back to the screen and keeps working like nothing has happened, but the damage is already done. the air in the room feels thicker. your skin feels too sensitive. every time he shifts in the chair you are hyper aware of how close he is. how big he is. how his voice has dropped just a little when he spoke about the things he is seeing on your screen. you can feel the heat in your face spreading down your neck. you can feel the way your thighs are pressed together so tightly it almost hurts. you can feel the way your breathing has gone shallow and fast without you meaning for it to. you can feel the way your underwear is starting to stick to you in a way that makes you want to die of embarrassment.

after another ten minutes he leans back and stretches, arms going over his head. the hoodie rides up and you catch a flash of pale skin above the waistband of his sweatpants before you look away fast, like you have been caught doing something you should not have been doing. your face burns even hotter.

“should be good for now,” he says, standing up. the chair rolls back a little on the floor. “i cleared out the corrupted files and updated some drivers. your cooling’s still shit though. that’s probably why it keeps crashing when you put it under stress. you know. when you’re really… using it.”

you want to throw something at him. you also want to crawl under your bed and never come out again. you also want to pull him back down into the chair and ask him what else he has seen and what he thinks about it and whether he is going to keep teasing you like this every time he looks at you now.

he picks up his toolkit and heads for the door, but he pauses with his hand on the knob. when he looks back at you the teasing is still there in his expression, but it has settled into something heavier. something that makes your pulse jump hard in your throat and your stomach twist in a way that is not entirely unpleasant. something that makes you feel seen in a way that is terrifying and exciting at the same time.

“by the way,” he says, almost casual, like he is commenting on the weather instead of everything that has just happened between you, “you should really password protect those folders. or at least name them something that doesn’t scream ‘this is where i keep all my porn.’ just a friendly suggestion. wouldn’t want anyone else finding out what you like when you’re alone in here.”

your face burns all over again. you are pretty sure you are never going to recover from this night. you are pretty sure you are going to think about the way he looked at you and the way he said those words for days. you are pretty sure you are going to hate him a little for making you feel this exposed and want him a little more for the same reason.

he grins, bright and sharp and way too pleased with himself. “text me if it crashes again. i don’t mind coming back. seriously. any time.”

and then he is gone.

the door clicks shut behind him and you stand in the middle of your room for a long time, staring at your now-working pc like it has personally set you up and betrayed you in the worst and best way possible. the rgb lights keep cycling through their soft pastel colors. innocent. oblivious. like they have not just exposed every filthy thing you have ever searched for at two in the morning when you were lonely and needy and not thinking about anyone ever finding out. like they have not just shown him exactly what kind of things make you press your thighs together and bite your lip and forget how to breathe for a little while.

your phone buzzes on the desk where you have left it earlier.

if it crashes again tonight just text me. i don’t mind coming back. seriously. any time you need me.

you stare at the messages until the screen goes dark again.

you do not answer.

but you also do not delete them.

and when you finally climb into bed an hour later, the room still smells faintly like whatever clean detergent he used and the candle you lit earlier and something else that might have just been your own embarrassment and want mixing together in the warm air. you cannot stop thinking about the way he looked at you when he said he was learning a lot about you. or the way his voice dropped when he talked about your search history. or the way he said for now like it was a promise instead of a joke. or the fact that he now knows exactly what kind of things you watch when you are alone in this room with the lights off and your hand between your legs and your breath coming too fast and your body aching for something you cannot have right then.

your pc stays on all night without crashing once.

you do not know if that makes you feel better or worse.

you lie there in the dark with your phone on your chest and replay every moment in your head until the details start to blur together. the way he took up space in your room like he belonged there. the way his fingers moved over your keyboard like he knew exactly what he was doing. the way he looked over his shoulder at you with that small, knowing smile when he found the folders. the way he said i’m learning a lot about you right now like it was the most interesting thing he had discovered all week. the way his hoodie rode up when he stretched and you saw that flash of skin you were not supposed to see and your stomach flipped so hard it made you dizzy. the way he looked at you before he left like he was already thinking about the next time he might see you.

you press your thighs together under the blanket and tell yourself to stop. tell yourself it is just embarrassment. tell yourself you are reading too much into it. tell yourself he is just being his usual teasing self and you are the one making it weird because you are already worked up from three days of failed attempts to get off without your pc crashing in the middle of it and leaving you frustrated and aching and unable to finish what you started.

but when you finally fall asleep, you dream of long fingers on a keyboard and a low voice saying i’m learning a lot about you right now and hands on your skin and a smile that knows too much, and you wake up with your heart racing and your underwear damp and your pc still glowing softly in the corner of the room like it knows exactly what it has done and exactly what it has started.