soobiary

and that's why, every weekend, when your pack is running low, toji's the one you text saying you need to re-up. he always responds quickly, asking how much and when he can come by. and you'll tell him the usual: a quad of whatever his favorite strain is at the time, and that he can come by whenever.

you don't even need to wait for his "here" text. you can hear his clunky car from down the street, engine revving loud, like it's fighting for its life just to keep the piece of shit moving at 30 mph. and that's when you slide on your slippers and head outside, because he never gets out. no, he makes you get in the vehicle, with stained cloth seats and a million black-ice car fresheners hanging from the mirror which do nothing to cover the smell of fast food and weed.

"can't turn this baby off, might not start up again, y'know?" he'd said. you just shrugged and got in.

and you quickly learned then that toji isn't just a loser, but he's also a perv. nothing crazy, but he's the kind of porn-addicted fratboy that's always sneaking a hand on your thigh when you sit down in the passenger seat, leaning too close when he talks to you, eyes lingering shamelessly on your chest when you wear a tank top.

and tonight, when you get in his car, it's no different. he's quick to slide a hand over the plush of your thigh, squeezing lightly as he mutters a, "hey doll."

you pick his hand up and drop it back on his lap, rolling your eyes. "hi toji. you got my weed?"

he just chuckles at you, "of course. you got my money?"

"of course." you hand him the bills and wait while he counts.

"you're short $10."

you shoot him a skeptical glance— you're sure it was all there. "i gave you $45, count again."

he does, in front of you, and lo and behold, there's only $35. you're about to apologize and tell him you can run up inside to get another $10 for him when he opens his mouth again.

"you can pay me another way, if ya want," he drawls lazily, a grimy smirk on his face.

you honestly should have known he'd say something stupid like that, but still, your mouth falls open in disbelief at the sheer audacity. "shut up, toji. i have another $10 inside."

he clicks his tongue at you, a whisper of irritation seeping through his facade. "whatever, it's cool. just throw that in next time."

"alright," you mutter as you grab the weed and reach for the rickety door handle.

when you get back inside, you grab the bong, open your baggie and get to work packing a fresh bowl. you light it, inhaling, exhaling the familiar musky taste. a soft haze settles over you already as you get ready to light your second hit. yeah, toji has good weed.

30 minutes later, you're still on the couch, futurama playing in the background on the tv but you're not really watching. your thoughts have strayed back to your dealer. you can't stop thinking about him, which unfortunately happens a lot when you get high.

he's weird, and you'd never date him— he isn't 'boyfriend material.' he has no direction in his life, not even toward the bathroom it seems, since he always smells strong of body odor under the scent of smoke and axe body spray. and he didn't dress well, always in sweats, hoodie pulled up over his greasy hair. but still… there was something about him. maybe it was the way he carried himself. or the fact that beneath the patchy facial hair and oily skin he had sharp features, the kind that make you do a double take when you pass by him. and his voice, the baritone, the teasing lilt that never leaves it—

you shake your head, trying to expel every last thought inside it.

you do not think toji fushiguro is hot. he's sleazy and gross and definitely not someone you want to get involved with any more than you are now.

next week, like clockwork, you text him. for weed of course. and an hour later you hear his car, slide on your slippers, and grab the cash off the counter. you can see his eyes on you as you get close, trailing up and down your figure, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as you open the door and slip into your seat.

"lookin' good, doll." his hand finds its perch on your knee, thumb rubbing half of a circle before you swat it away.

"in your dreams, toji."

"then give me the money so i can get home and go to sleep."

that pulls a soft laugh from you as you hand the $55 over. he counts it, then looks up at your with a disapproving look.

"tryin' to short me again?"

"i literally counted it twice before i came out here," you refute in disbelief.

"you're missin' the money from last week," he says, counting for you again. and unfortunately, he's right, and the bills only add up to $45.

"how's that possible?"

he just shrugs. "so you gonna pay next week? or… you wanna make it up to me now?"

"you're so stupid," you scoff, "i'll get it next week."

he flashes you a cocky grin, "sure, sweetheart."

with a huff, you get out and shut the door behind you.

you're bouncing your knee as you smoke, trying to get rid of the tingling sensation in it that won't go away, as you mull over your recent interactions with toji. it doesn't make sense— you're certain this time that you had the right amount.

maybe a bill fell from your hands on the way to the car? it's unlikely. other than that, you only have one theory.

the following week, you triple check the money before you leave the house. and still, when you get in the car and hand it over, toji claims you're missing the extra $10.

"check again. i know i gave it to you."

so he counts again, showing you the money, and it only adds up to $45. you're feeling more confident about your theory now.

"empty your pockets."

he hesitates for a split second. "why?"

"i know you took my fuckin' money."

there's another beat of hesitation, like he's weighing whether or not he can still get away with it. but finally, he just sighs, pulling a crumpled bill out of his pocket and handing it back to you. you're not sure why it's coming as a shock, knowing him, but still. he stole from you, lied about it, made you feel crazy for two weeks, and all for what? because he wanted some pussy.

you narrow your eyes at him, lips pursed. "you're a fucking perv, y'know that?" you poke your finger into his chest, voice raising, "i'm not going to fuck you. get that through your thick skull. you're a disgusting thief, and a liar, and—"

—and while you're scolding him he has the audacity to stare at your tits, the corners of his lips tugging into a sly smile, the apex of his boxers starting to rise. you snatch your hand away like he burned you, anger morphing back into disbelief. he is completely and utterly shameless. without another word you grab the weed and get out, slamming the door behind you.

later that night, you sit on the couch and open the baggie, body moving on autopilot as you pack the bong, beginning your weekend ritual. and like every other time, your thoughts stray away from whatever show you threw on the tv. and like every other time, they drift to your dealer.

unbelievable. that's what toji was. he probably thought he was real clever too, swiping your money to try and get what he really wants from you, thinking you'd never find out. you scoff, muttering to yourself about his ministrations, how much you dislike him, how much, despite all that, you still can't stop fucking thinking about him.

it's not a big deal, you reason with yourself. it's normal to think about him a lot, considering you see him every week. and you're smoking his weed, so it's like a constant reminder. that's all it is.

it's also definitely normal and not a big deal when you head to your room because the longer you think about him and his infuriating face, the size of the tent in his pants, the more your core starts to burn. there's an unwelcome wetness pooling between your thighs, and you tried to ignore it, really, but you can't anymore.

you're not sure when exactly you stopped seeing him as the greasy bum who just sells you good weed, but when you picture him now, it's not his stained clothes or unwashed hair, but his crooked grin, deep green eyes as he looks at you. your hand drifts to your thigh, eyes sliding shut as you envision that it's not your hand, no, it's the weight of his— a weight you know all too well. fingertips dancing along your skin, your touch drifts higher, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts. you tug aside your panties, the way you imagine he would, and you slip two fingers into your aching cunt with ease.

the next few weeks go by relatively smoothly. you spend your time busy with homework, hanging with friends, ignoring any thoughts about toji, or masturbating, or how you think about toji whenever you masturbate now.

and toji's still forward as ever, which doesn't help. but at least he isn't stealing from you. still, each time you try to hand him your money he stops you first, the hand on your thigh giving you a soft squeeze, fingers splaying out.

"you can still pay another way, y'know," he says, quirking an eyebrow at you, teasing.

the glint in his eyes brings a heat to your face, a swirling sense of shame to your stomach. he's a gross pervert, you remind yourself. but then what did that make you? since you're the one fingering yourself in the darkness of your room, all alone, hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your moans as you picture him touching you.

"so you've told me. have a good night, toji."

"be safe, doll."

you try to hide the minuscule upturn of the corners of your lips as you turn to head back inside. he always uses that stupid nickname, and it's annoying, but damn does it roll off of his tongue nicely.

next week, you text toji. he's there an hour later. you slide on your slippers, and head outside. but when you open door to his car you pause.

gone are the baggy hoodies, instead replaced with a tight compression shirt. it's bunched up around his abdomen, giving you a clear view of his waist, the hem of his briefs showing from under his grey sweatpants. he's still got one arm up gripping the steering wheel, bulging muscles flexing. your eyes trail the veins in his hand up his arm as you gingerly slide into the passenger seat.

you had theorized that he was probably hiding some muscles under all the layers, but this was far from what you expected. he was ripped. to put it lightly. you shut the door behind you, trapping you inside the car with him, and he's much too close. you can smell him, the intoxicating scent of sweat, weed, and mint gum overpowering you.

"you uh…" you trail off, not exactly sure where the sentence was even going.

toji's looking at you expectantly. "hm?"

"…you changed."

he huffs out a laugh, "just came from the gym."

"o-oh, nice."

he's smirking now, the hand that was on the wheel coming to sit behind your headrest as he turns toward you. you can smell him stronger now, the odor filling your nose and clouding your thoughts.

"you got my money?"

you're not sure what possessed you when you slip a five from your hand back into your pocket before handing the bills to him— but you're going to blame pheromones or some shit, considering the effect he's having on you right now.

toji thumbs through the change before his eyes cut up to yours. "you're missin' $5."

"am i?"

"yeah. so…" he leans in over the center console, head tilting to the side as his eyes roam over your figure. "gonna pay me next week? or tonight?"

you don't answer with words this time. instead, your hands move to grip the edge of your tank top, pulling it up to your chin, and letting your breasts fall out.

and for the first time ever, toji shuts up. he's got this stupid look on his face, mouth opening and closing like a fish, eyes slightly wide, and you can tell he was not expecting you to do that. but he recovers quickly, expression morphing into one of amusement.

"damn, sweetheart, you got a nice rack."

ever the gentleman.

toji uses the headrest to pull himself closer, free hand reaching forward and resting on your hip. his tongue slides out, swiping along his lower lip and your eyes can't help but trace his movements. toji rubs his thumb against your skin, fingertips digging slightly into your flesh as he drags your hips towards him. his gaze flickers between your lips, your eyes, your tits, like he can't decide which part of your body deserves his attention.

your hands move slowly, crossing the short distance between the two of you, and resting on his nape. you push any lingering feelings of hesitation out of your mind and tug him towards you. toji's lips meet yours hungrily, moving in sync, tongue already pressing its way between your lips. you part for him, opening your mouth for the slick muscle to meet yours.

the hand on your seat moves to your chest to palm at your tits. rough fingertips pinch your nipples, tweaking and tugging gently, making you moan into toji's mouth. the heat in the car between you is stifling, suffocating, as you lose yourself in him. the smell of his musk is overwhelming, his hair is still damp with sweat from the gym, and you can taste the last joint he smoked on his tongue. his hands roam, pawing at you with desperation, like he's been waiting months just to touch you (he has). toji grabs at your thighs, your waist, your neck, but he always returns to your tits.

toji's hands splay out across your chest as he pushes you back until you're resting against the door and he's leaning over you and the center console. his mouth moves to your jaw and down to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake as he presses a series of sloppy kisses to your skin.

you let your head rest against the window, eyes sliding shut so you can focus on him. the way his wet kisses feel against your pulse point, the way his breath is fanning against you, and his hands are groping at you. your breathing gets heavier, fading into panting as your fingers card through his hair, your hips bucking up into nothing, until a hand comes down to cup your sex. he's palming at you through your shorts, letting you grind against him, and he can feel your heat, the way the flimsy fabric is already damp.

"fuckin' wet already," he mumbles against your skin as soft, wet lips latch onto one of your nipples, a stark contrast to the calloused hand playing with the other.

you moan softly in response, the sound sweet as honey when it reaches toji's ears.

"so hot," he rasps. his fingers hook into your shorts, into your panties, tugging them harshly to the side, "damn shorts in the way."

a breathy laugh falls from your lips, but it's cut off by a moan when he slides two thick fingers into your cunt without warning.

"a-ah, toji!"

"mmm?" he hums around your nipple, mouth already back on your tits, tongue swirling around each bud.

he pumps his fingers in and out of your wet cunt slowly, curling each time he pushes them back in, pressing against the soft spot inside you that makes you keen. you're rolling your hips, trying to get more from him, and he's happy to give you everything.

your breath gets caught in your throat when he presses the heel of his palm against you, finally giving you something to grind down on again. each movement nudges your aching clit against his rough skin, leaving you panting, clamping down around his fingers.

"thaaat's it," toji groans, pulling back.

he drinks in the sight of you, flushed and sweaty, bare chest heaving, now covered in purple blotches, as your glistening pussy swallows his fingers.

"c'mon," he grunts, moving faster. he's fingering you sloppy, messy, your arousal coating his fingers, dripping onto his knuckles. "go on n' soak the seat, doll."

"toji, toji, f-fuck—," you're babbling, like each thrust of his fingers is punching the words right out of your throat before you can form a coherent sentence.

"so fuckin' loud. does it feel that good?" he asks, mockingly, pinching your nipple and making you yelp.

"f-feels sooo good," you mewl, looking up at him with desperate, eyes.

"always actin' like you didn't want me. thought you were a prude or somethin'," he muses, talking more to himself than you, "except now you're humping my hand like a needy slut," he chuckles, deep and low in his chest. "shoulda known."

"'m not a—aah- a slut," you whimper, but it just makes him laugh harder. because despite your weak protest you're grinding down harder, chasing your release as you feel the fire in your core burning brighter— toji's touches, his words, acting like kindling.

"sure, doll."

when you finally cum it's loud, a symphony of curses and moans bubbling up from your chest. it's harsh, your back arching off the car door and hands flying to toji's biceps, nails digging into his skin. and it's wet. your cum leaking down, dribbling onto the hem of your shorts and the already stained cloth of the seat beneath you.

"there ya go…," toji groans, "god, i've been wantin' to see that."

"fuck," you breathe as toji pulls his hand out of you with a slick sound that makes him smirk and you roll your eyes. he wipes his hand quickly on his sweats before palming at his bulge, shamelessly adjusting his hard-on.

you follow his motions with tired eyes, to the tent in his pants. if you squint, you think you might be able to literally see it throbbing underneath the fabric. his hand comes back up to his face, rubbing his chin with a look of feigned contemplation, then moving to slowly scratch at his patchy mustache. you hear a soft sniff under the sound of chief keef playing through his blown-out speakers. he lingers a moment, his own gaze trailing over you one more time before he speaks.

"so uhh, you gonna invite me up, or what?"

that earns him a deadpan look.

"no, i think i'm good." you say, shaking your head lightly as you grab the weed and exit the car before he can utter another chivalrous word.

when you get inside you don't even turn on the tv, packing the bowl in silence, needing to just smoke and go to bed. you had enough action for the night. there's a faint pang of embarrassment in your chest as you lay on the couch. you'd let toji, of all people, finger you in his car, of all places. it wasn't exactly the type of thing you wanted to go around advertising, but at the same time… did it really matter that much?

it's not like anyone had to know about it. none of your friends talk to him, so unless you told them they wouldn't find out. you don't think they'd really care, but it would save you an awkward conversation, since they've heard you complain about him more times than once.

as your haze settles over your head like a thick cloud, you find it hard to keep contemplating your dilemma, your feelings being pulled toward a zone of indifference. and over the following week, those feelings about the situation with toji start to solidify, taking root and giving you more confidence about giving in to the side of you that wants to see him again.

so when the weekend rolls around, you text him, saying you need a re-up. you clean your room while you wait for him to reply, which is actually just throwing dirty laundry in the closet and making your bed, and then you hear your phone buzz.

it's toji's contact.

sure. car's in the shop, can u pick up?

you're honestly surprised his car has gone this long without needing to be in the shop. so you tell him it's fine, he's delivered more times than you can count anyways, and never nags about gas money.

i'm at a sig, u can park in the back. lmk when ur here

he's never mentioned before that he's in a frat. but then again, it's not like you two are friends, you don't even talk when you're not buying.

you touch up your makeup quickly before changing into another set of pajamas. a fitted tank top and a soft pair of shorts that barely cover your ass and ride up when you walk, and a new lacy pair of panties— just in case. you throw on a sweatshirt over it all before grabbing your purse and heading out the door.

you're waiting in the parking lot for a few minutes before the back door is pushed open, light spilling into the lot, toji's figure making its way towards you. rolling down the window as he approaches, cold air from outside flows in, making you shiver through your thin layers.

he rests a hand on top of the car, bending down to look at you through the window. his eyes glide down your body, lingering on where your bare thighs are pressed together, then back up to meet your steady gaze.

he nods his head back toward the house. "weed's in my room. c'mon, doll."

you turn off the car, jogging lightly to catch up with toji, who already turned back to head inside. and once you step through the doorway, every instinct inside your body tells you to turn and run. the outside is cute, an old vintage home that the university had converted into a house for greek life. the inside is a different story. a combination of chipped paint on the walls and heartbreakingly stained hardwood floors, a pile of red solo cups in the corner and a broken beer-pong table. not to mention it smells like there's a leaking pipe somewhere that no one cares to get fixed.

you move on autopilot, eyes taking in your surroundings as you follow toji deeper into the house, up a flight of creaking stairs. you can hear a muffled kevin gates song playing from behind the door at the top of the stairs, and for a split second you find yourself hoping that's not toji's room. it's not. he leads you down the hall to the room at the end, and when he pushes the door open you think you know where the source of the leak is.

you're hit with an odor wall of smoke and mildew, clothes are spilling out of the closet and there's a singular lamp in the corner of the room next to a bean bag and a safe. his bed is across the room, a mattress on the floor, no bed frame, but at least he has sheets you rationalize. toji flops down in the bean bag before telling you to 'make yourself at home' which earns him a side eye as you sit on the mattress. you're watching him closely as he opens the safe, pulling out a big bag of weed, a box of small baggies, and a scale.

"is this, like, all you do?"

"sell weed?" he asks, shooting you a glance. "because i do more than that, sweetheart."

you ignore the way your stomach flips, just like you ignore the stale smell of his sheets when you move to lay on your stomach. "doesn't seem like it. you always text back right away when i message you."

"that's cause i have my phone on me."

"but then you always come over right after," you muse, "doesn't seem like you're very busy."

his eyes flicker up to yours again. "never too busy for you, sweetheart."

you scoff, like that didn't make your stomach turn again. "bet you say that to every girl you sell to."

"i'm sayin' it to you now, though," he says lowly, tossing the newly weighed baggie of weed aside and crossing the room.

"whatever," you mumble.

toji's in front of you now, towering over you. you move again to sit up on your knees as his hand comes to your chin, gripping it between his thumb and index finger. he tilts your head back for you to look up at him, and your tongue darts out to wet your lips, pulling his gaze down.

he drags his thumb across your lips, "gonna pay me another way, tonight?" he breathes. and open your mouth, ever so slightly— an answer for him, which he responds to by pushing his thumb slowly between your teeth.

his own mouth is parted, soft pants falling from it that become heavier when you close your lips around his thumb, sucking on the digit as he presses down on your tongue.

"fuck," toji groans softly, "that's a good girl."

he pushes his thumb back deeper before pulling it all the way out with a soft pop! he smears your saliva around your lips and tugs the bottom one down gently.

the look in your eyes as your gaze up at him, so desperate, the feeling of your hot mouth around his thumb— he's already hard, cock aching between his legs as he imagines your mouth around it instead. your hands reach for his waistband and he lets you tug his pants down, leaving him in his boxers. you palm at his bulge through the fabric, slow and teasing. he feels big. but ever the impatient one, toji's hand comes to rest on the back of your head with a low groan from him.

"go on, it doesn't bite."

"you're so fucking annoying." you glare at him but he just laughs.

"i'm also really fucking hard right now, so…"

your eyes narrow further but you bite back your retort. instead, you pull his boxers down, finally freeing his stiff cock— and being met with it now is doing nothing to ease your nerves. it's as big as you'd imagined, maybe thicker, riddled with veins, and an angry red tip that's oozing drops of translucent precum. you swallow loudly as you size it up, a hand coming to wrap around the base before letting your tongue loll out and licking a long, slow stripe up the shaft. your hand follows your mouth up to the tip, squeezing tighter under the head as you lap at the salty pre dribbling out from his slit.

"quit teasin'," toji grunts above you, the hand on your head pressing harder, urging you to take him into your mouth.

you pull back, giving him a warning look for pressuring you. "so impatient," you scold as you move to strip off your sweatshirt.

the crease in his brows irons out as he watches you discard the baggy piece of clothing, leaving you in a thin top, with no bra on. he can see right down your cleavage, ogling shamelessly as you press your tits together when you bring both hands back to his dick this time. saliva pools in your mouth and you let a thick glob of it drip down onto his tip, watching as it slides slowly down the shaft and onto your fingers.

toji's panting heavy, green eyes locked on your figure as you stroke him slowly, hands twisting and squeezing together. he brings a hand to his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes, the other returning to its spot on the back of your scalp. he grips lightly, careful not to push you again.

"suck it f'me, lemme feel your throat, baby," he rasps, patting your head gently.

you part your lips, hands coming to rest at his base as you take the tip into your mouth. tongue flicking against the frenulum, you suck gently, earning a deep groan from toji.

"keep goin'."

you listen, pushing further, letting him stretch out your mouth. veins dragging along your flat tongue as you take him, inch by inch, deeper into your throat until you gag when he hits the back.

"too big?" he coos, but it's not sincere, since he's back holding your head down, choking you on his dick.

your hands move to his thighs, fingernails digging into the skin but not pushing away— you're determined to take him, to train your throat until you can fit every bit of his length inside your hot mouth. breathing through your nose, tears prick your eyes as you look up at toji through your lashes and fuck, he could cum down your pretty throat right now. mascara starting to smudge in your waterline, eyes red and wet, his cock shoved between your lips.

"think you look best like this," he mutters, hand pulling you slowly back off of him as you cough and sputter, "with my dick fillin' that slutty mouth."

you don't give him the chance to push you back down— the minute you feel the soft mushroom tip on your tongue, you're sinking onto him once more. you take him faster, bobbing your head, up and down. you're gagging each time he bruises the back of your throat, and there's a lewd suction sound each time you hollow your cheeks.

"fuuuck— ngh- just like that," toji groans loudly, letting you work him over. "baby, you're a pro."

his eyes slide shut, head falling back as he lets a series of grunts and curses fall from him. he's wanted to feel your bratty mouth on his cock for so fucking long and it's so much better than he imagined. all those times he jacked off, stiff cock in hand, pumping himself as he watched some video of another dude getting sucked off— he imagined it was you, licking him, stroking him. but nothing, nothing, compared to this right now.

slippery tongue swirling around the tip each time you pull up before flattening, gliding back down, licking along the vein on the underside of his shaft. hollow cheeks sucking him tight. the sloppy sounds coming from you are obscene and he doesn't have to watch to know there's drool trickling out the corners of your mouth— messy bitch.

and then you take it away. mouth sliding off of him completely as you sit there for a moment, panting, staring up at him with teary eyes. there's a tick in his jaw, head snapping forward to look back down at you again, stoic expression on his face.

"why'd you stop?"

"my jaw hurts," you pout, wiping at some of the mascara that's starting to smudge under your eyes.

"and? my dick hurts. you're blue ballin' me," he complains, hands coming to fold across his broad chest.

you roll your eyes, "that's a myth."

"nah i saw people talkin' about it on reddit— plus it hurts right now."

"shut up," you say flatly, as you tug off your tank top since you know he won't listen to your words. but he's finally quiet as you let your breasts fall out, giving him another look at them.

"there's those perfect tits." he brings a hand back to stroke your head affectionately. "you should let me fuck 'em," he laughs.

he's honestly half expecting you to say no with the way you're looking at him, he can tell he's pushing your limits. but then your hands come to cup your chest, pushing your tits together for him.

"attagirl."

he spits in his hand and pumps his cock a few times, though it's already so wet he didn't even need to, and then he's lining himself up between your cleavage. he thrusts gently at first, testing the waters, and when he feels the soft, plush tissue wrapped around his length he can't hold back. your pressing tighter around him, snug and warm as he fucks himself up between your tits.

you gather your spit in your mouth once more, looking down at where his cockhead is poking out each time he pushes his hips forward, and you spit down. the spit lands on its target, coating the tip and your skin around it, mixing with your old saliva and his precum that's been smeared around his dick already.

"god, you're so—fuck- fuckin' hot."

toji can feel his cock aching, throbbing, with your tits around him. it feels so good, you look so good, he wants to cum so badly. but if he does he knows he won't make it another round and he needs to feel your pussy tonight too. so he keeps fucking into your chest, over and over, all grunts and groans until he's at that edge, at the point where he really doesn't want to stop— no, he wants to see what you look like with his cum painting your tits and your neck. would it get on your face too? your lips? fuck— he wants to know so bad, but he can't.

instead he slides out entirely. chest heaving, jaw locked and tense as he rips himself away from his high.

"shit. that was close," he pants. "almost came."

you let your tits fall, looking up at him once more as he tries to regain his composure at least a little bit. you shift in your seat, rubbing your knees together. your panties are clinging to your sex, already drenched with your arousal to the point where it's uncomfortable.

"tojiii," you whine.

"yeah, yeah, i know." he brushes you off. "turn around."

you shuffle on your knees until you're facing the wall behind you, propped up on all fours. two large hands come to grip your ass, squeezing tightly. he grabs your shorts, bunching them together and tugging them taut against your cunt, the motion pushing you forward slightly. a soft gasp falls from your lips as he rocks your hips backs and forth lightly, underwear and shorts rubbing tight against your clit.

"actually," he muses, "you look better like this— on your hands and knees f'me."

"toji, please," you mewl, swaying your hips.

"needy slut," he mocks, bringing a hand down sharply against the swell of your ass. you yelp, a dull stinging spreading across your skin and a tingling low in your stomach.

but finally, he's sliding your shorts and panties over your hips and down your thighs before tugging them off your legs and throwing them across the room. a hand smooths up your spine and pressed your head harshly into the mattress, forcing a deep arch.

you can feel the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance, the shaft sliding between your puffy folds.

"god, are you always this wet? or you just love sucking my dick that much?"

"condom, toj—aah!" he cuts you off, slipping just the head inside your leaking pussy.

"doesn't feel as good. you on birth control?"

"y-yeah, but—"

"so it's all good," he reasons, pushing himself further. the stretch stings deliciously, clouding your mind as another moan is pulled from your sore throat. "doesn't that feel good, baby?"

"'s sooo good," you whimper, hands balling into fists in the sheets.

he pulls his hips back, his shaft dragging slowly along your slick, gummy walls, and fuck, it feels like you're trying to not let him go.

"fuckin' relax," he grits out, jaw clenched. "gonna make me cum."

"'m trying," you whine, but you only clench harder when his hands dig into the flesh on your ass again.

"so tight," he snaps his hips forward, sheathing himself in one thrust. you cry out, muffled as he pushes your face deeper into the mattress.

and then he's relentless. drilling in and out of you without warning, your body sliding forward and backward each time he buries himself to the hilt and then pulls himself back out of you. fingernails digging into your supple skin, he's dragging your hips back to meet each cruel thrust.

"fuck! toji—" you cry out, "i can't, toji, i can't."

he's practically splitting you open. each time he shoves his length back inside your tight, warm cunt it feels like you're taking him for the first time again.

"quit bitchin' and take it. know you can, doll," he grunts.

"'s too much…" you whine, tears forming again in your eyes, mascara starting to stain your cheeks and the sheets under your face, as they fall. "toji, more, i c-can't—" you babble, making less and less sense as he ruts into you.

"poor thing, fucked stupid aah-already?" he pants, delivering a hard smack to your ass. "'s okay, sluts don' need to think— fuck, baby, you're tight."

you can feel the coil in your core winding tighter, the arch letting his cock bully that sweet spot inside you over, and over again, and his words are only taking you higher. no one's fucked you like this before— you weren't prepared for it, for someone who was such a loser to be so good at fucking you senseless. but here you are, ass stinging, face wet from drool and tears, reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess that can't form a coherent thought— a mess that'll let him do and say whatever he wants as long as he keeps going.

"d-don't stop! fuck!" each word's a broken sob as you feel yourself about to snap.

"wasn't goin' to— holy shit— fuckin' stranglin' me, you gonna cum?"

"yes! fuck— 'm cumming, 'm cumming—" you ramble, slurring a string of nonsense as your orgasm finally crashes over you. your legs are shaking, eyes screwed shut, as your cunt gushes around toji, creamy, white slick spreading along his shaft, pooling at the base as he keeps fucking into you, chasing his own release.

and the minute your cunt stops fluttering around him, he's pushing you off him, hand coming to grip his length and pumping himself quickly, harshly, so he doesn't lose his high. you're in a daze, feeling a hand still holding your hips up as hot spurts of cum coat your lower back, toji groaning loud and low behind you.

"god damn," he breathes, patting your ass. "lemme get a rag."

you finally let your legs fall, laying limp on the mattress as you wait for toji, who just picks up the first shirt he finds on the ground and uses it to clean you up. grumbling, you roll over to find your phone and check the time. it's definitely time for you to get home.

"pass me my shit," you mumble lazily. moments later you're hit in the face with your clothes, a little snicker coming from beside you. "thanks."

when you're both dressed again, he tosses you the weed and you catch it easily, following him as he starts leading you back out. the bedroom door unlocks with a soft click, creaking as he pulls it open. the kevin gates is gone, the hallway doused in silence instead, and the bedroom door that the music was coming from is cracked open, light spilling out.

as you get close, a head peeks out briefly before a large man swings the door open entirely. he's huge. bigger than toji even, his figure filling the space in the doorframe. he's got tattoos littering his face, which has a smug expression on it— you know enough to know it's ryomen sukuna, someone else you definitely wouldn't want to get involved with.

"what's up," toji calls out casually.

"you finally fuck her?" he drawls, "this is the one you've been talkin' about right?"

your mouth hangs open. you thought toji was bad, but he might honestly be worse.

"yeah man, was like a hot dog in a hallway." never mind. toji's worse.

and now they're both laughing, low and condescending, like they're the funniest people in the world. you have half a mind to slap them both across the face but, unfortunately, you like consistently good weed more than the satisfaction of one good hit.

"right…" you start slowly, burning glare drifting between the two simpletons. "what happened to," your voice drops, "nghhh so tight, baby," you exaggerate, copying toji.

sukuna's wheezing now, gripping his stomach as toji finally shuts up. he's silent for a few moments before he turns and starts heading down the stairs, mumbling a little, "i don't sound like that," which just makes you and sukuna share a quick glance.

likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡

a/n: hope yall liked my fuck ass snapchat banner that took me an hour and a half to make and looks like shit LMAO

“D-don’t get the wrong idea, ya lecher-” You’re squawking at his reply- or perhaps at the way his sage, half-lidded eyes seemed to be boring right through you. And your shrill is loud enough that it attracts the attention of a few bar-goers around you- the rambunctious singing faltering, peaking over in nosy curiosity at the fact that the sheriff’s daughter was spotted going down to the saloon. And right up to the talk of the town, Toji Fushiguro, no less. 

You could already imagine the gossip that was starting to simmer. And do your very best to push down the incredulity in your tone, clearing your throat. “M-my apologies for the outburst. What I mean is, I need someone to sit with me through dinner with the folks. And I was wondering…”

“I don’t reckon you’re hurting for any suitors, doll.” Toji cocks his head, pushing aside his local whiskey to lean in close. Real close. “What’s your game?”

To which you twist your fingers into the expensive fabrics of your full-length gown. “I need…” Dipping your volume so that the old drunkards inching in couldn’t hear. And Toji dutifully helps you- by craning his head just so that his airish breath hits your face. A few gasps sound. “I need someone to give my parents a proper fright tonight- show them they don’t have to be so protective all the time.”

He lets the words sink in.

He blinks.

He looks at you.

Before Toji bursts into a hoarse, boyish gust of laughter that seemed to take you both by surprise. Head tipping backwards until you could catch the bob of his prominent Adam’s apple, “Cheers ta that, pretty lady.” He takes a deep swig of his whiskey, finishing it off. “And you’re sayin’ I’m just the feller to scare off the sheriff, eh?”

You narrow your eyes, how you’d give anything to have your parents ease up just a mite. To loosen their leash on you just so that you might be able to live like the other unwed residents of the town your age. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if one of his law enforcement spies was here looking out for you already. And so it was the perfect plan- to scare them, just a bit. “Well now, you got any manners?”

“Ain’t said ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ since I first learned ‘em.” He grins.

“Got a respectable job?”

“I go where that damn broom-tail horse takes me.”

“You know how to handle a lady properly?”

“Oh, I can handle ‘em alright.” You swear the music of the bar lowers just to hear this conversation. And as you gape, his scar-decorated lips curl up sinfully. Yeah, you really did understand why both married and unmarried women were frenzied at the mere sight of him.

Because Toji was devilishly handsome. 

Shaggy black hair. Sharp features. It was a face that should grace the silver screen. Sprawled over the dingy counter, he was towering more than the town’s most accomplished cowboys. Each side of his tightly-fitted leather vest full, you could practically count the rippling muscles through his pushed up long-sleeve shirt. And you had to will yourself not to flick your gaze down at his sturdy denim trousers when he manspreads, hips slightly bucking. 

One dark brow of his raises, “But that’ll cost ya. And don’t think it’ll be cheap- n’ no kissing, m’not part of a hookhouse-”

“I’m good without those services, good sir-”

“Ya sure?”

“But if you reckon the price’ll be too steep…” With an over-dramatic swoon, you shake your head as you turn - as if the price really was too significant. And he watches you go, smile growing until you tilt your head towards him and bring up a hand to flash a pretty note from the town bank.

A letter of credit from your father’s considerable depositing account, so much gold as earned as the sheriff that he couldn’t possibly spend it all. It could be considered a check, and just as expected- Toji’s eyes bulge at the sheer amount written on it. 

“Now- now hold on there, pretty lady.” Before you know it, there’s suddenly a firm rope thrown over your waist. And tugged. You’re realizing with a gasp that Toji had lassoed you to him, to boisterous, drunken cheers from around the saloon.

He doesn’t rest until he’s pulled you right back to him, your front to his muscular one. Chin tilted down to look at you, “I love the way ya think, doll.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

.

.

.

The clock ticked.

The cicadas outside howled.

And your father hasn’t taken a bite of dinner since you entered through those very doors - with Toji Fushiguro in tow. His face darkened as he recognized the hooligan from town, his fingers trembling when Toji had his arm around the back of your chair permanently.

Your mother sighs for the nth time tonight, dabbing the edges of her mouth with the dainty serviette. “So…the weather-”

“Why, I can’t think of better skies for horse-back riding, burning the breeze, and-” Toji cuts in, seated next to you, right opposite your parents. He nudges you with his bulky shoulder, purposefully lingering the contact. “-late-night rendezvous.”

Your father’s plate cracks- and you look over to see that he’d cut right through the ceramic with his knife. 

“Ah, you’ve got a bit o’ something there-” You hear Toji croon, before you can get out a word. And then he’s leaning even closer - if that was even possible - to smear away a smudge of mashed potato that’d splattered over from your father’s untouched plate. 

With the back of his roughened thumb, he’s just barely grazing your lips. Reeling it back up to his mouth and licking it off of his fingerpad with his eyes locked on yours- fuck, you feel thrills go down your spine.

He turns back to your mother as if nothing had ever happened, “The potato’s mighty fine, ma’am.”

“Wh-why thank you-” And your mother can’t help but fan herself ever-so-slightly- you fault her. You felt like doing the same.

Though, your father clearly felt anything but. And he cuts into some of the vegetables on his dish with much more vicious pleasure than needed. “So, Fushiguro-”

“Toji.”

“Toji, and what do you do fer a living?”

“Travel. Whatever suits.” Toji has the audacity to wink at you, and you have to stifle a laugh. “Got a few more in mind, but ‘twouldn’t be proper talk at the table, you know what I mean?”

“How long do you plan on stayin’?”

You sigh, “Father, he’s fine. Honest.”

Toji counters, “However long my gal wants me ta stay.”

“And how do you plan to take care of my daughter-”

“Oh, I can take care of ‘er alright-”

“You little-”

“Father.” You warn, “Be polite, he’s a guest.”

Reluctantly, he’s settling back down- and your mother stretches her mouth into a plastic smile. “Mr. Toji, so you ah- you certainly have all the townsfolk chattin’, I hear.”

“Oh I hear, alright.” Your father cuts in before Toji can say anything, “Word travels fast ‘round these parts boy. And as sheriff s’my duty to know who’s walking in an’ out of this town- and I heard you’re nothin’ but trouble. Some folks tell me yer an outlaw.” It felt more like an interrogation than anything, the yolky lamp light above the table flickers slightly. “Is that true?”

The raven-haired man stares him down - he certainly looked the part. Rough. Rugged. Handsome in that roguish way that made most respectable elders of the town concerned. “Depends on who’s askin’.”

Your father shoots up from the dinner table, and so do you- ready to hold him back from a scuffle if needed. He might be the sheriff, but Toji was younger, bigger and stronger, and you wanted him to shed his overprotectiveness, but that didn’t mean you wanted broken bones. “Father- don’t you lay a hand on him-”

“He’s a scoundrel.” He’s spitting, fingers jabbing. “I heard the talk o’ town. He’s a lazy, good-for-nothing-”

“Oi, I’m good at one thing- ain’t that right, pretty lady?” 

You think your father nearly pops a blood vessel. At least two once you’re pitching out, lower lip jutting out in a pout- “But father, I love him-”

“Love ya, too, doll.” Toji looks right at the other man, broad back rested against the chair still, without a care in the world. “We’re fixin’ for a wedding come spring- or we might just skip town and tie the knot, who’s to say?”

You take a peak at the revered town sheriff, sensible, never letting go of his guard on you - and he looks as if he might just buckle to his knees. Hands coming up almost as if it were for prayer, and your mother quickly holds onto his side, helping him slouch back down into his seat. 

He whispers to himself, gawking- “A wedding- a wedding- grandkids?”

She gently looks up at you, plastering a smile onto her face. “Perhaps you ought to go to your room now, until your father cools off.”

Nodding, you then turn to head towards the stairway to your bedroom- and so does Toji.

“And where’d you reckon you’re goin’?”

“To my gal’s quarters.” He answers your father, breezily following behind you. Almost stomping up the lacquered wooden floor as if to emphasize his ascent.

And he grumbles, “I can fight, boy.”

Toji peaks his head in just before he’s disappearing up to the second floor, verdant eyes crinkling at the very end. “And I can kill, sir.” It doesn’t sound entirely like a joke. And you don’t care to ask.

As you both head to your bedroom, you could hear your father starting to rant already—something about Toji’s ‘good-for-nothing manner’, the rumors, and the worries that you were rebelling. Ah, so they were on that topic already, this plan really was going better than you’d thought.

Toji snickers as you swing open the door to your room; taking in the single bed, the plush stuffies you still loved, and that framed picture of your family by your bedside table. It was customary to remain with your parents despite being of age, the only problem was that your room didn’t seem to have changed almost a single bit. He puffs out, “Cute.”

“Shut up.” Closing the door behind you, it hits you immediately that this was the first time ever that the two of you have been truly alone. Despite what facade you’d shown your parents—ever since the saloon, greeting him at the doorway, the dinner. Your small room feels even smaller with him inside. 

And particularly when Toji sweeps his prickling gaze down your body, all dolled-up tonight in your best silk skirts and petticoats. Almost naturally, almost like he doesn’t even realize- he steps in. 

“Keen on knowing how to really rile up yer Pa?” He asks of you, something smoky seeping into his deep baritone. And Toji’s voice was already attractive without him inadvertently sounding ruined. Sounding gone. Parched. “How to really, reeeeeally rile him up, doll?”

You gulp before you ask, “H-how?”

His eyes flick to your bed. Toji only grins.

.

.

.

“Mmm, like- like this—” Press after press. Kiss after kiss–every time Toji’s pecking your swollen cunt, it releases the loudest squelches. 

And you’re whimpering, he’d dragged down your panties easily, slipping his handsome head immediately under. Toji then puckers his lips to let his scar trace your teary slope, and it departs a clammy wad of slick that glues to his throat n’ leaves his tone all husky. “Never said no ta kissing these lips- shoot, who could pass that up?”

Words shaking, voice warbling against your pussy.

He feels you gettin’ lewdly wetter at the vibrations and smacks the side of your thigh. Letting all that cute wetness weep out of your hole and leave his chin polished. “Heh, fuck- who woulda thought you were hiding the sweeetest pretty pussy underneath all those skirts, pretty lady?”

“D-don’t spank me…” You’re babbling out, more so because your flustered brain couldn’t think of anything else to say. More so because you wanted to speak- and oh, you didn’t think he wouldn’t realize, did you?

Because you swear you feel the line of his sleazy smirk grow—plastered against the puffy front of your core. “Oh, sooooooorry.” He’s dragging out, the honed tips of his fingers tracing up your legs.

They were all cute n’ trembling now; even more so when Toji reaches for the outer part of your pussy and swats you there. Making you whine- “Fuh-fuck.” Just when he soothes his ridged tongue over where he struck, where it was stinging. 

“Jus’ got a lil’ excited, ya see?” He’s crooning out from your under half, scorched breaths wafting over like a fan. And it’s just making your spine thrill, your hips bucking into the touch- “I’ve been hankerin’ for something sweet after dinner- ah, no offense, ma’am.”

“Wh-what…” Mouth dropping stupidly, you’re helpless as one of his long, beefy arms reach over for the family photograph on your bedside table. 

Slowly, he’s putting it face-down before nosing down your wettened slit once more. Before puckering his mean lips and spitting—thwack! It splatters across your folds like a spray, and drip-drip-driiiiips down, “What? Jealous? Want me to spit in those pretty lips, too?”

You’d forgotten to close your mouth after that last time- “Y-yes.” You pant.

And his eyes slightly widen. His jaw unhinges, and before you know it, he lurches his sculptured body from where he was kneeled by the edge of the bed. “Here-” A glittering glob of spittle lands between your mouth, splattering just to the side- even though Toji Fushiguro had perfect aim, he just needed to see you all slicked and messy for him.

“Always the good girls.”

He barely even bothers to wipe it all up before shuffling back down - finally, finally for what he’s been hungering for for so long. For ages. 

Toji’s rude left set of fingers slap back down on your pussy, and it makes your legs smear apart just enough for him to shove his face nose-deep and kiss. The hottest, most open-mouthed kiss.

Immediately, his lengthy tongue is probin’ out and sticking between your flooded folds. He’s leading his tastebuds right to your orifice and swirlin’ it all around. Tasting you. Lavishing you. Like a man thirsting for water for eons, he doesn’t let even the slightest slick-filled ounce of juice escape. “Fuck- fuck. You’re so darn sweet.”

“T-Tooooji—” Your syrupy pussy was stuck to his lips, sucking just on your swollen pussy. His lips move to capture your throbbing clit and you swear you’re seeing stars—never having felt anything like this before. “F-fuck! It feels so good, ngh.”

“Yeeeah, does it?” Those noises you were making were just so loud, echoing across your walls- and he almost worries. Almost. “Then how’s this- hah, suit ya?”

Before you can formulate a second thought, his spongy tongue is then sinking inside of your cunt. Just past the tight rim of your hole, he’s thrusting his tongue in n’ out like he’s attempting to swab into every geysering crevice.

Like he’s plastering his textured tastebuds to the softest parts of your walls and feeling you mold around him - in and out in and out.

The sheer primal stretch makes your head throw back- enough so that you don’t even realize when he creeps his right hand up to latch onto your thighs. Teasingly edging the round tips of his digits to your entrance, “Hold ‘er wiiiide open f’me, doll- yeah- yeah, like that.”

“L-like this?” You’re questioning, spreading your legs apart until you feel like such a slut. But you can’t help but heed his every word, and your pussy throbs ravenously at the scrape of his thick fingers.

They were just so big. And even from this distance they looked so long n’ perfectly calloused enough so that it’d drive you wild, from all those long days out riding. Toji’s palm plants another wet slap on your cunt and he groans, “Have you- fuck- so wet.” Glazing his fingers - all the way down to his wrists - with all your sweetened sap. “How far have those cute fingers reached, pretty lady?”

“My fingers…” Your heart thumps in your chest- and between your legs as you think of all those lonely nights. And you admit, “Not that far.”

“Fuck.” Just the mere sultry confession makes Toji dry hump his hips against the springy mattress, and it sings out just as you do. 

An animal act - like he didn’t even mean to do it. Like he couldn’t even control himself when he’s shutting your mouth up with another thorough push of his maw. Unfastening until the pointed edge of his chin strikes the base of your pussy, Toji swerves apart your folds until he could see that glistening hole of yours properly.

“Fuck that-” Yet again slapping the tip-top button of your clit till you’re keening. “Ya deserved that.” He lodges his firm middle finger against your entrance and snickers. “Now, reckon I oughta show ya how it’s done, proper-like.”

“Proper-like?” You gasp, feeling the stinging stretch of his middle n’ ring finger slithering inside. “Two of ‘em?”

“Mhmmm. Doll, you’ll need four before you can think of fitting me.” They felt so large n’ slimy with all your clumps of slick, pushing and pushing because you were just clenching. And the worst - more like the carnally best - part of it all was the way that Toji had moved over one of his thick, silver rings so that it was on his middle finger.

Scrapin’ around into your gummy walls, he’s hitting a few tender orifices and making you moan. Pumping in solid, bashing strikes that fill out every mass of space inside. “Gooood, huh?”

You claw onto the dampening bedsheets, the headboard, his scalp- “Yes- yes, Toooji—”

“Yeah, that’s right. Let yer Toji teach you how to finger this- hck! pretty pussy.” And just as you think he can’t make your heady mind spin any faster, he’s gluin’ another finger to the rim of your cunt.

You feel it- the circumference of his index perfectly spreading apart your bloated lips. He’s slipping it in-between his sloppy drags, just barely hooking inside and thrusting n’ thrusting. You’re completely stupid on his prolonged fingers, feeling them reach up into spots you didn’t even know existed.

And considering Toji’s size, you can’t help but arch your hips up as he keeps on tryin’ to fit in. Again and again. Lifting your spine off of the blankets like you were unsure whether you wanted to run away or—

“Ah ah, hold your horses, heh.” Only for him to stop your pursuit with his free hand gripping onto your hips. With one flex of his arms, he’s pulling you straight back down- mazing his rovering fingertips completely inside. 

Toji looks down at the way your pussylips were kissing his knuckles, leaving behind a slime trail of your juices. And he sounds admiring, almost…loving. “Didn’t think I’d skimp out on such a preeeetty pussy now, did you?” Again, spitting on your cunt since he couldn’t smack it right now. “Mm-mm, this lady ‘ere deserves some loooove. And I’m gonna give it to her.”

And he does.

Oh, he does.

He doesn’t stop for even a second before twisting his flexible fingers inside you and ravaging your channel raw. Smack after smack of his mountainous knuckles slamming your core, Toji pokes his ringed fingers into the roof of your cunt and you whimper.

Tearily, “Oh, please- I don’t think I’d be able to- ngh, do it like this.” Because he was just so rough.

Just salivating over where your clit was perked up, Toji’s feral canines come n’ bite down playfully on your nub. “Pay attention now.” Smack! Yet another swat that sends specks of slick splattering across his face, his tongue was working overtime to probe into wherever you were leaking. “Because m’not gonna be nice, doll.”

And then, before you know it, Toji has his mouth wrapped over your clit—suctioning. High cheekbones hollowed out. His dexterous tongue coming out to roll over n’ over. “S’like thiiiiis and- like- hah—” The flared edges of his joint were pushin’ apart your walls with slurps, harder. “-and thiiiiis.”

Probin’ push after push, sticking into the sweetest spots of your pussy. Stretching you out- and his body moves before his mind for each rut after rut.

Just eating you out all sloppily like this was driving him insane.

He was pounding his throbbing erection into the pool of sheets below him as if it was you- as if he was wishing it was you. Hoarsely puffing out- “And then…”

Toji didn’t even have to finish his sentence before he curls his massive fingers just so to press into your g-spot. Precisely. Accurately. And oh-so-hardly.

You see stars behind your lids at the sensation running through you once he does. Arching upwards with a cry- “There- oh, there- please!”

“Oh, hellllll yeah, pretty lady.” He’s spitting between his clenched teeth- fuck, he needs to up the anté. If it could get you to act so needy like this- “You like that, huh? Feels good?”

“Yes- yes, I do, ngh, more.” You’re babbling out, your mouth starting to spray out a fountain of sploshing saliva onto the pillow underneath you. But you couldn’t help it. Every serious swerve of his digits, they were glissading across your walls and puncturing your g-spot juuuust right. 

Once. Twice. Thrice. You get the distinct feeling that if his fingers could scour towards your cervix then he would. 

Scarred lips unhinging further open- he’s primally flickering his tongue everywhere and anywhere he could reach. Scraping from your clit n’ all the way down to circle your hole, Toji grins when he feels the way your slick-filled cunt flutters around his fingers.

“More?” He then smacks your pussy once more, getting you to arch into him once again. Taking on an airish tone, “More- then why don’tcha ride my fingers, huh?”

Babbling away, “R-ride?” Then he’s creeping his left hand from your waist to underneath your ass. Making sure to take a good grope before actually manhandling your hips down n’ down, like tiny grinds that have you riding his face in this position. “Oh my god- oh, heavens- you sure you’re not from a ngh- hookshop-”

“Shut up and ride my face- my fingers- nghhh—” His loooong tongue flops out and elongates, trying to reach for any inch of your treacly pussy. Slotting between your pussylips and teasin’ your clit, “Yeah- yeah yeah yeah, tha’s it- sweetest fuckin’ thing.”

You’re sure your g-spot was swollen up by now, clinging onto his fingers with your sweet cloying walls. The break creaks as you gyrate upwards, “Toji, it feel s-so…”

There was a sparking in your lower belly, white-hot pleasure shooting straight up from your cunt. And you were just so sensitive each time his mouth was creeping across your clit. “Oho? Describe it.”

“Toji—” You whine, knowing just how much he was enjoying teasing you endlessly. And as he snickers with numerous slams of his maw, you somehow manage. “Feels like- ngh! something’s building up, like s’gonna- snap- fuck.”

“And how does this feel?”

“Oh—” His tongue decides to rover all over your clit again, making your legs shake at the pleasure. Slurp after slurp. He’s tuggin’ greedily on your nub like it’s gum, like he was starved for it and couldn’t even move his head backwards. “Like- like m’getting close.”

Couldn’t last a single second without his jaw unlocked to further suck you in. “Fuck-” His lips glue together with your slick, and he’s smacking them apart. Cock throbbing. Hips aching for friction. “What a sweeeeeet fuckin’ pussy, listening t’me. And a sweeter gal.”

Faster. 

Just in time, Toji’s fingerpads push into your g-spot when he’s nibbling on your clit. And he moans hoarsely at the feeling of you leaking in arousal. Harder. Pump after pump, he’s stretchin’ out tiny crannies of your innards that leave you reeling. “Fuck-” He rasps, “I’d die to have ya cum on my tongue, pretty lady.” Gulping at your cunt. Rawly. “I’d- fuck, die.”

Almost like an animal, he’s moving at a more accelerated pace. Sticking his elongated tongue into every splotchy area around your pussy, trying for all his life to wriggle his way inside—

“Oh- oh my god-” Your aged bed frame is damn near screaming, and so are you. With your eardrums ringing, you turn your head in the direction of the door. Locked shut. 

And Toji notices in a split-second- he’s slapping his fingers down your damp pussy to steal back all your attention. Bucking. “Worried about those ol’ folks, are ya? Don’t worry, doll, Toji’s got you.” 

Spitting down your slit to make it easier for his tongue to glide into every spot, hitting your poor fragile spot so hard that you think he might just be leaving a permanent bruise. This was nothing like when you’d claw your fingers inside, Toji was accurate and rapid with his bashes- and he didn’t care if he was too noisy. If your pussy was like a damn waterfall right now.

With a lecherous sluuuuurp, he’s pulling out all three of his fingers until the knobbly end bits were just as your entrance. Stretchin’ out your tight hole, “Your Toji’s aaaalways got you, pretty lady.” Hissing through clenched teeth, he could barely even breathe at this point.

And you have half the mind to wonder whether Toji’s sharp jaw isn’t aching, plastered across your thighs. Whether his wrist doesn’t ache—but all n’ any thoughts are properly fucked out of your mind when he ends off with a final, tunneling smash of three fingers onto your g-spot. “ So cum, doll.”

You can’t stop yourself from taking his probin’ touches with your hands running through his clammy bangs, head thrown back as you topple over the edge. 

Toji feels you clamping and clamping down wildly around him and pounds your pussy through each peak of your high. “P-please- ngh, don’t stop.” You wail out in whimpers, one of your hands detaching and going to your mouth in an attempt to keep yourself quiet.

And it might have been effective - if it wasn’t for the fact that he was then holding onto your shaky hands and bringing them down to him. 

Pinning them down so that his burning ears could be graced with all your sing-song whines. It didn’t matter if you were loud. All that mattered was the fact that he was timing his pumping fingers precisely to the peaks of your orgasm. High after high, squelch after squelch of his rovering mouth.

His two scarred lips pinch your clit between his maw and suck, just to make your toes curl cutely even further. Thrashing at the feeling- “Ngh- ngh, yeah, fuck, m’so sensitive.”

“Awww, so sensitive.” Toji mocks- but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop. That doesn’t even mean he’s going to slow down. In fact, he’s unfastening his jaw to further flick his tongue over your cunt, even as your wave of euphoria crashes-

Nothing more than a few tingles now that make your hips bucks. “Mhmmm—f-fuck, you’re still-”

“Told ya I’ve been hankerin’ for something sweet- m’not done just yet, doll.” Pinning you down with both of his strong elbows settling down on your thighs. Plopping you open and rendering you practically immobile.

Desperately, you’re attempting to cling onto his silky black hair and push him upwards- for breath, if anything. “You- oh, fuck.” 

But Toji doesn’t move a single inch. He doesn’t stop until you’re left all stupid and absent of your slicked mess, he polishes you alllllll clean with his tongue before removing himself from your quivering pussylips with a wettened plop!

And it’s everywhere.

Oh, he’d made a mess of himself just as much as he’d made a mess of you. From the daps of your juices down his throat, to the way it had formed a sheen all the way up to his cheekbones. He was drenched, dangling off of him like a syrupy adhesive. Like a medal. 

Toji pushes himself up onto his knees, spread wide on top of your slick-glazed comforter. 

“Such a naughty pussy.” He drawls, wiping clean the layers sploshed onto his face with his thumb. Looking you straight in the eye, he then sucks it off his fingerpad. “Curious how she’d handle my cock…”

Just then, the rest of all your silky layers and skirts are being thrown off, hitting your humble wooden floor with a few dull thumps. 

Toji wastes no time letting his heavy coats hit the ground, too - he’d never admit it, but he’d worn his very best for tonight’s dinner. Scaring your sheriff father off or not. And before long, you’re staring at his toned upper physique.

It was clear that so many years out riding n’ travelling had naturally chiselled his front. All plush, bulging pecs and biceps that made you want to take a lecherous bite out of them. Toji’s abs flex when he tears off his cotton shirts, and you gulp.

You weren’t ready for him to take off his denim and boxers. 

Especially not once he tucks a thumb into the elastic band of his underwear and pushes down- finding that his thin boxers were stuck to his strong thighs with a sheen of nothing but cum. Heated and formulating a darkened splotch on the fabric.

You gape, “Did you…”

He’d cum just from eating you out. 

“Well, I’ll be—” Toji himself seems shocked. Pulling down his underwear to find it soaked through with wiry ribbons of cum, dribbling down each leg. As he’s taking it off, he’s snarling amusedly up at you. “And who’d fault me for it?”

“Certainly not I-”

“Certainly you.” Oh, you don’t know where to look now. “And that sweet lil’ pussy o’ yours.”

A slight line of curly black hair runs down the middle of Toji’s washboard abs, somewhat unruly where it hits the base of his cock. And oh- oh, he was just so big. Even in all the stories you’d heard, they never ever seemed to match the sheer size that Toji was boasting right about now.

Long. 

Hard. 

Ruby-red at the tip, gleaming with the remnant of his pre n’ cum- he gradiates into the prettiest shade of pink along his veiny shaft. Each vein puffing up until you could damn well count each throb, the direction of his upright cock swervin’ slightly leftwards in curve.

Your jaw drops as you take him in, and before you know it- your feet anchor onto the mattress. And you’re attempting to move away in primal intimidation-

“Hooooold on now-” One of his hands easily holds onto your throat, tugging you backwards with a pull of his toned biceps. He was so big n’ beefy, holding onto you like he didn’t even have to break a sweat to keep you from running. And he didn’t.

Toji ruthlessly slaps the bulbous edge of his shaft down your teary slope, drenching himself in the dripping wetness. “Where in tarnation do you think you’re goin’?”

“I-it’s-”

“Mhmm—?”

“How in blazes am I supposed to fit that?” You’re letting off a wailing whimper, your breath catching in the back of your throat as Toji simply pins you down to the bedsprings and ruts and ruts. Sandwiching his thick length between your swollen folds, he lets his flared slit just teasingly run across your clit.

Making your legs weakly open, making you moan.

And Toji snickers as he hears the lewd noise, the curved crown of his cock fitting at your orifice. “Seeee? Jus’ got to get this pretty pussy used to it- hah.” 

Then he’s easing in. 

And the first squeeze of your soft, velvety cunt has him gasping. His sage eyes fluttering, nearly bulging- and Toji damn near drools at the feeling of your pretty wet pussy being wrapped all around him. “See? See? Gotta get ‘er used to it and hngh, she’s gonna be suuuucking me up like- like…”

Fuck, he couldn’t even speak.

At this point, you didn’t even know who was more drunk on the smacking motions of your hips. His prominent v-line crushing your thighs, he was rutting.

He was half-thrusting, he was thumbing aside your puckered folds just to make that hole of yours gape wider. Toji was just so big that it was taking him aaaages to secure merely his mushroomy tip inside, “P-please-” You’re shifting your hips to and fro, and Toji moves along with you. You’re keeping him hostage with your weeping cunt. 

He can’t help it. He’s swabbing his thick cockhead inside and watching as your eyes roll all the way to the back of your skull. “Heh, she’s got me.”

“F-fuck, more like you’ve got, mm, me.” You’re prattling out through gusts of breath. Every time you inhale, he’s rearing his hips forwards. Carnally opening you up so wide that your snug hole struggles to even clench, “It’s so big, ngh—”

“Yeah? But yer suckin’ it up so well, doll.” Grunting, Toji’s tip angles just to the side n’ makes your dewy wet walls bulge with his size. 

With a hand placed on top of your stomach, he holds your hips still so he can accurately edge in. Push after push, he’s probin’ around with his orifice to find that one sweet spot all over again. “In fact…” The scarred edge of his mouth quirks up in a grin, and he leans in real close. “Why don’t we count it?”

You’re gulping, “C-count?”

Before all five of his roughened fingertips slap down on your cunt, smearin’ around the honeyed mess. “Wrong, tha’s about…” He tilts his head, looking through his bangs, “-two?”

Oh- inches. He was counting how many inches were being shuffled inside your pussy in great, mazing strokes. Toji wasn’t just pounding you with his solid length, he was holding you down so that you can take it. 

No matter how much pressure was being pressed down on your lower half, he’s clawing on. And you feel his swollen tip stick against a new unopened crevice inside of you, panting out- “Th-three!” 

“Theeere we have it, atta girl—” He drags his words out in a husky tone, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so drunk. Not even when he was sipping the whiskey of your town’s saloon. Pump after pump that has the coiled bedsprings creaking, and Toji gasping. “Count it- count-”

“Four–fuck!” 

“Mhmmm—?”

You’re seeing stars being the depths of your eyelids, and your mouth dangles open cartoonishly at the grave strikes he was pounding your pussy with. Not even fully inside- but he still had your legs flailing around his muscular hips. “Th-that’s five?” Your entrance catches on one of his prying nerves- not only was Toji long, he was oh-so-veiny, too.

Just covered in bumpy lines that zig-zagged across your walls, he’s slimily making his way near the splotchy area of your g-spot and you whine. “Six- s-sev…what’s that for?”

“Oh, this?” In your cockdrunken haze, you’d barely even noticed that he’d managed to slip his hand up n’ up your tummy. Crawling it with the sloppy cadence of his length, his thickened thumb rests somewhere halfway up your body.

And he then presses dooooown - hard. It makes you bite back a yelp as he feels for exactly where his pointed cockhead was rovering. “Just a lil’ hah- target, pretty lady.”

“A target?” Your eyes widen.

“A target m’gonna hit—” Fuck—he was pinpointing right over the expanse of your womb, and after each thrust it had him burrowing even deeper. “Now keep countin’.”

Until tears were beading at the ends of your eyes, until your tongue was flopping out of your slobbery mouth. “But I- I don’t know if I can- ngh, take any more inches-”

“Fuck it-” It’s the last thing you hear before your positively seeing white- before you’re feeling such an intense stretch that sends shockwaves all throughout your body that you think you might just explode. You’re blinking your eyes open with a sob; coming to find that Toji had thrown your trembly legs over his shoulders as if they weighed nothing, he’d immediately beeeeeent his hulking body down until you were bowed in half. 

He’d pushed you into the meanest mating press possible- his forehead against yours, his mouth panting open. Toji bottoms out. “N-nine.”

Nine entire inches- and you could feel it, too. He was pushin’ aside your gooey walls with his girth, directly hitting the back of your cervix with his globular tip. Scrape-scrape-scraping the bottom just to mark his territory—

“N-nine?” You’re blabbering out, craning up your head just to make sure that it was true. And it really was. 

He had your pussylips kissin’ the curly black hairs at the bottom of his hilt, leaving a cute ring of glittering slick. Toji’s lengthy cock stuffed all the way to the base, all the way until he was striking your very womb. “Silly giiiirl, can’t even count ta, mmm, nine inches.”

You try to bawl out something answering to his musing observation - perhaps to snap back, perhaps to disagree.

But the only thing leaving your mouth is a few nonsensical whimpers once he starts up a harrowing pace, spearheading from the deepest depths of your cunt to the very end. A few slick ribbons of pre drip out of him, n’ he’s smearing the entire lot all over your pussylips- “S’alright, don’t trouble yer head about a thing, doll. Let your dear ol’ Toji hah! take care of it all.” And then over your gaping mouth. “You just sit right n’ t-take it, yeah?”

And now that he had you restrained like this, Toji can give your cunt a fat spank without you trying to run.

Letting slick dribble all down his wrist, he’s toyin’ your clit with one hand while the other tap-taps at the bullseye of your womb. “Let me do it- mmmm.” Hit after hit, he was just too thorough with his primal strokes. They were knocking into every hidden cranny and stretching out your walls until you felt dizzy. “Yeah- yeah yeah, let me do it allllll, pretty lady.”

“Please- Toji- I- oh.” You manage to string together - and it makes no sense. Your spine arches into his incredibly flexed core, feeling each chiselled ab and muscle underneath your touch. 

“Chehhh…” His mouth departs a sudden gasp, hot n’ heavy. He’s suddenly taking in the way your dilated pupils kept on crossing, just how out of control you seemed to be of your actions, your words. It’s hitting him that you’ve been completely dumbified, and the realization makes his rock-hard cock twitch. Flinching.

Spurting out wet wads of pre that latch onto every inch of your walls. Almost giggling- his tone hitches, he sounds almost delirious. “S-so stupid on my cock without even finding the g-spot yet.” Another spank on your cunt, though you feel the ends of his digits tremble. Shattered. “You really are a naughty girl- wanna h-help me, mmm, make her even stupider on my cock?”

“Who are you- oh.” Talking to your pussy. 

He’s got his greedy gaze permanently attached to your suctioning cunt, each swab of his length leaving it fluttering. “C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon-”

And then he isn’t just fucking you furiously- he’s stirring his plump, veined cock around. Letting the prolonged shaft bump into your every nook in slight circles, he’s gyrating just to make sure that he doesn’t leave a single spot unturned.

“C’moooooon, doll–” Toji sputters, a thin line of sweat falling down the side of his face. And oh, he’s so focused, it’s unintentionally sexy. The way he’s managing to map out every inch inside you- “Where- is- fuck. Was right here, ain’t that right?”

Then he presses his thumb down on the line of his mazing cock, pressurizing his length inside of you. “Y-yes!”

“Mhmm—” Every second means three precise swats inside of you, the cherry-red globe of his girth hungry to find your favorite area. “Then where- is- fuck!”

You clench. You clench Toji’s aching hot cock so hard that he’s throwing his head back with a groan, his entire muscular body pressing into yours. The weight of his lower half rests on your cunt, and he’s fucking smirking as he realizes just what that means. “Found it.”

You feel the slick-flooded divot at the very end of his cock run up n’ down your g-spot for a few seconds. Just feeling. Just teasing. 

Before he properly smashes that cute bundle of nerves in- “O-oh!” You’re babbling away, your hands start to dig into his back and claw at his clammy flesh. “Oh yeah, more- more-”

“Keep doing that- ohhhh, keep doing that.” Toji hisses through his pearly white canines- he’s moving so animalistically. Long, hard strokes from the weepy red end of his cock all the way to the bulky base. Almost as if he wasn’t even the one in control. Almost as if he was fucking you on pure feral instinct. “Feels t-tooooo fucking good- hah, reckon that feels good for you, too, huh?”

“Yes- yes—” And it did- enough so that you’re flattening your heels on the mattress and springing up to meet his sloppy staccato. 

“Yeah? Then let’s see if you can spell my name, pretty lady.”

Your eyes bulge at his sultry suggestion, looking at the sweat n’ slick-soaked sheets around you in confusion. “S-spell it- but how?”

“M’serious, hah.” Manhandling you. Toji then swiftly slides one of his mean palms underneath your papping hips, only needing to use one hand to push you slightly up n’ down.

Like this, he’s controlling the grinding motions of your body. Deltoids flexing as he does, veins popping all over his muscles. He manages to grope your ass, slightly swervin’ your cunt around so that your hips spell- “See- that’s a ‘T’- fuck, again, doll-”

“Oh my god- fuck-” You can only attempt to lean your strength back down on your lower half and attempt to follow his directions. Follow the way that he was moving you.

Toji’s sharp teeth peek out as he’s stirring your hips, and the angular movements just feel so good with his girthy cock being lodged inside you. The looooong circular pattern of spelling out an ‘O’ letting his bulbous tip bludgeon your cervix expertly. “Yeahhhh, that’s an ‘O’- ngh, yeah. Want a biiig ‘O’ f’me-”

“Then- then it’s…”

“Mhmmm—” He laughs in a husky way, the straight line of his nosebridge crinkling ever-so-slightly at the way you’re struggling to put together the spelling of his name with your fuzzy brain. 

Sweat starts beading down his arms at the exertion, and by now you’re starting to see that the muscles on Toji’s pelvis were starting to burn bright red at the impacts. The constant beating. He strains to thoroughly push his drivelling divot up against your g-spot, and moves your hips ‘round. “That’s a ‘J-’ and an ‘I’...”

That last one ended up being just the most plump, puckered push of his entire length - all the way from tip to hilt. 

But of course that’s the one he’s dragging out the most. Mockingly furrowing his dark brows, and looking down at you with a tut. “Now now, pretty lady- reckon we can do better than, mmm, that.”

“I-I’m trying for- fuck!” Your chin stomps your chest, and you’re being bent in half. Doing your very, very best to keep up with Toji’s ruthless pace. 

He’s making fun of you for being unable to properly follow his directions- to properly drag out that ‘I’ when you don’t think you can even breathe. You can’t even talk.

You can’t do anything but melt like putty in his hands, whining when his rough right thumb slides down your slope. He squeezes between your folds and presses down on that cute lil’ clit like a button, “C’mon- do one better fer me, doll. I know you can.”

“B-but-”

And even harder.

“Wha’s that?”

And you don’t manage to get out a word—you don’t even try. Because you only hike your clawing hands up to Toji’s buff deltoids, holding him in place so that you can perk your hips off the bed and slam them down onto his.

Making the bedroom ring with the stinging sound of skin-on-skin, he then holds you in place with his pulsing cockhead pushing deeeep into your cervix.

Leaving you squirming, Toji’s glued his hips to yours for a few seconds before huffing out- “‘I-I’ Tha’s the name, pretty lady. Pleasure ta meet ya—” 

With a sudden bang, he has one hand thumped down on your headboard above you. And he’s got his length banging into you wildly, not leaving a single spongy surface untouched, not letting off a single thrust where his puffy veins don’t graze your g-spot.

The zaps of pleasure bubbling in your veins feel so good that you’re practically sobbing, holding onto his sculptured body for dear life. “Yer getting close, huh?” Toji suddenly seethes, “Aren’tcha? Sooo close- Can feel it-”

He could feel each throb.

He could feel each clench.

And he could feel each bead of slick that sprayed out of you like you were about to explode, “Can feel it in this cute cunt and- nghhh, she jus’ wants to cum.” His rude lips lean over and kiss away your streaming tears, whispering into your heated skin,  “S’okay—you can c-cum f’me, pretty lady- I’ll help you.”

His thumb was fully stuck between your pussylips and rolling over your clit at a ruthless pace. Faster. Harder. Sloppier.

He was fucking you like he needed you to cream on his cock. Not just want - need.

It was driving your vocals into a frenzy each time he drew a gluttonous lil’ heart on top of the perked nub. “Cum, doll.” As you buck your hips wildly, Toji spits. “Cum all o-over my cock—-” And you nearly remember what he told you about his manners. But he still utters- “-please?”

And you do - white-hot sparks startling your vision, tears glistening down your cheeks. And Toji fucks you through it with honed jackhammers, he’s driving your high through each part of your body like a madman.

Spark after spark. Hit after hit. 

Your toes curl at the feeling, it’s better than any other orgasm that you could’ve given yourself. “Please- please-” And your ears pop with the pressure, with the tingling feeling of his veins swabbing your every orifice. 

“Mhmm— what manners, whaddya want, doll?” He puffs out into your agape maw, fully elongating your orgasm. Even once the highest of your peaks have begun to face, Toji’s drilling you through it. Push after push. “Tell me- fuck, anything, ngh-”

“Wan’ it inside, Toji.” You’re babbling out, fluttering your lashes. “Please?”

“Oh, fuck…”

And it’s the last thing you hear him echo- the last time you think you even hear him breathe before his pants suddenly catch, before he throws his head back and cums. Sparks of his high splattering out in wads of seed, he’s filling you up like he’s spraying out a jetstream.

Thick, webbed clumps of sap that stick either side of your walls together. You squirm as he’s stuffing you full, feeling the mess splosh ‘round inside of you.

Cumming just from that - fuck, he has to convince himself that it’s because of the oversensitivity, because of the- oh, who’s he kidding. It’s all because of you.

“T-Toji- mmpf-”

And then it’s happening - then he’s kissing you. Gasping in a sudden breath as if he was just as surprised at you at the romantic gesture. It just feels so perfect, his soft lips slotted over yours, his lungs grunting out after each thrust.

It’s just everywhere.

Sheening down your sugary walls, bulging out of every orifice inside. And it’s drawin’ the rawest, most sloppy ring around his base, dribbling milky white sap down his shaking thighs. You moan as you feel it create a puddle underneath you, sticking to every inch of skin like glazed glue. 

Toji’s creamy, split-ended tip pushes aside the dollops of his cum and hits the end of your cervix and he throws his head back. Fucking it deep into you- “Toji’s here, Toji’s got you, Toji’s- f-fuck—”

“Please-” Melting into the hot, open-mouthed kiss. He kisses you and he kisses you. His palm tightens on top of the headboard at the mere sound of your pretty whining voice. 

Splintering. 

Cracking. 

It makes the both of you snap your heads up in unison, gasping. You both broke the bed. “Reckon we- fuck, taught ‘em a lesson they won’t soon forget, huh?” Toji manages to gurgle out, still not stopping the never-ending dab of his cockhead.

Sopping wet and bruising your cunt now. Raw. Red.

He weeps out a final few overstimulated swabs, letting your clingy walls suck out whatever was left of his cum. “Mhmm— sure do r-reckon.”

“Well now…” And oh- you knew that tone. That tone was what had you bent like this in the first place, getting pounded until you were dizzy. Toji blinks his teary eyes and gives you a final, innocent peck. Grinning against your mouth- “-ever wanted to shut up those busybody neighbors o’ yours?”

Then his cock plunges—straight from your starting rim, to whack the bottom of your overspilling pussy once more.

“O-oh.”

.

.

.

“So…”

Toji raises a brow at the barkeeper, Shiu, and the way he’d been repeating that same conversation starter just about five times tonight. As if hoping for something. 

Gruffly, he slams his empty shot glass down. “For fuck’s sake, if ya got somethin’ ta say then say it t’me straight.” It was late evening by now, and the saloon was in full swing- so it wouldn’t matter if there was a scene or two, really. It was natural.

Shiu throws down a dirty rag, “Now don’t go playin’ the fool- care to explain what ruckus you stirred with the sheriff’s daughter before?” As Toji gapes his mouth ever-so-slightly, “It’s all folks ‘ave been talking about in the saloon- nay, the whole town.”

“Meddlin’ townsfolk.” He only grunts. 

Shiu snorts, “Yeah? Won’t be ‘round these parts any longer then, I reckon?”

“Actually…” The other man doesn’t know what makes him stall more - the slight, tentative seriousness in Toji’s voice, or the way that you’re walking in through those dusty swinging doors right this very second. Capturing the attention of the drunkards, the staff, and most of all—Toji. “I’ve been ridin’ long, lately I’ve been looking for a place to lay my hat.”

“To settle?”

“To settle. Here.”

“Well, I’ll be…” Shiu whistles, at both his confession and the way you’re striding towards them. Not fast enough, apparently, because in a split-second Toji has his rope out to lasso you to his side, seating you down on his lap snugly. 

He swears the entire saloon balks. Singing withering, pints frozen in midair, bar fights halted just to stare. 

You swat at Toji’s toned chest playfully, “Didn’t I warn you? My father’s sure to bust a conniption.”

“Worth it.”

“What ruckus have you gone an’ actually stirred?” Shiu repeats his question from before, more serious this time - and somewhat bemused, too. 

And Toji takes over smoothly, “Aye, let me introduce ya. Pretty lady, this is Shiu—worst barkeep ya ever will meet.” And as Shiu shakes your hand, and lets Toji rattle off your name–“-my fiancée.”

He drops a glass. “F-fiancée?”

Someone in the saloon flips a table, whether by accident or because they were all eavesdropping, they’ll never know.

But Toji only nods proudly, a smug smile on his handsome face. “My fiancée. We’re fixin’ for a wedding come spring- if ‘er old man agrees that is.” He rolls his verdant eyes, “If not, we’ll just skip town and tie the knot, heh.”

“We will get his blessing.” You insist. 

The noise in the saloon resumes - though, this time it’s the chatter of folks discussing this newest piece of gossip, the thumps on Toji’s back in congratulations, the occasional sob, and the debates on baby names. It was in uproar. Louder than before. 

Shiu himself has to sit down.

The town’s sheriff feels much the same.

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week!

firefighter!sukuna who sizes up the tree, muttering under his breath about how he’s a damn firefighter, not a fucking cat whisperer, but he moves anyway, muscles flexing under his tight black t-shirt as he sets it against the trunk.

“bet you five bucks that thing scratches his face,” toji says, exhaling smoke through his nose.

“ten says it pisses on him,” suguru adds, grinning now. “he’s got the kind of face cats hate.”

firefighter!sukuna who climbs up with this cocky attitude, like he’s done this a thousand times and it’s nothing. the branches scrape at his arms, but he doesn’t flinch, just keeps his eyes on that dumb cat who’s meowing like it’s auditioning for a horror movie.

“c’mere, you little shit,” he grumbles, reaching out, and mochi hisses like he’s the devil himself.

you’re down below, yelling encouragement, “you got this! she’s just scared!”

he shoots you a look, one eyebrow raised, like—‘i put out fires for a living, i can handle a fucking cat.’—but he’s grinning, just a little, because your voice is kinda cute, all worried and soft.

“jeez. a match made in heaven,” suguru calls out lightly. “you’re both loud and stubborn.”

sukuna glares down at him. “you wanna climb the fucking tree? be my fuckin’ guest, geto.”

“nah,” suguru says with a shrug, “i’ve got the better view down here.”

sukuna grunts, continuing to climb.

“if he falls, i’m not catching him,” toji mutters, crossing his arms.

“no one asked you to, old man,” sukuna bites back from the tree.

firefighter!sukuna who finally snags mochi by the scruff, tucking her under his arm like she’s a fat football, and climbs down one-handed, his biceps bulging in a way that makes you stare a little too long. he hands her over, and your fingers brush his—warm, calloused, steady—and you mumble a quick “thank you,” cheeks hot.

mochi’s purring now, the traitor, rubbing her face all over sukuna’s chest like she didn’t just try to claw his eyes out.

“looks like she likes him now,” suguru murmurs, watching mochi curl up against sukuna like she belongs there.

“doubt it. she’s plotting,” toji says. “gonna piss in his boots next chance she gets.”

firefighter!sukuna who doesn’t leave right away, leaning against his truck with his arms crossed, watching you cuddle mochi like she’s your whole world.

“she do this a lot?” he asks, jerking his chin at the cat.

you laugh, a little embarrassed, and say, “yeah, she thinks she’s a damn acrobat, but then she gets stuck and cries like a baby.”

he chuckles, low and rough, and it does something to your stomach, makes it flip in a way that’s not just gratitude. “you owe me a coffee or something,” he says, half-joking, but his eyes are locked on yours, sharp and dark, like he’s testing you.

you bite your lip, bold for once, and go, “how about dinner instead? my place. i make a mean stir-fry.”

toji whistles from the passenger window. “damn. he didn’t even have to flex the hose.”

“she's asking you out?” suguru says with a lilt, eyes widening in fake shock. “you didn’t even smile once, man.”

sukuna grunts, ignoring them, but the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth betrays him.

“remember, she offered dinner, not marriage." toji teases. "don’t scare her off yet.”

“he’s gonna show up with flowers,” suguru adds. “bet you he googles ‘how to act normal on a date’ on the way there.”

“keep talkin’, i’ll torch both your cars,” sukuna mutters.

"yeah, yeah. whatever, romeo." toji retorts.

firefighter!sukuna who looks back at you, still surprised but not mad about it, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “you've got a deal,” he says.

you give him your number, trying not to fumble as he saves it in his phone with a grunt of, “better not be feeding me shitty takeout.”

firefighter!sukuna who shows up at your apartment a couple nights later, out of his uniform but still looking like he could bench press a car. he’s in a black hoodie and jeans that hug his thighs just right, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of how your leggings and oversized tee aren’t exactly glamorous.

“nice place,” he says, glancing around your cozy living room, mochi already weaving between his legs like she’s claimed him.

“traitor,” you mutter at her, and he laughs, kicking off his boots by the door. dinner’s good—steaming plates of stir-fry with just enough spice to make him nod approvingly.

“not bad,” he says between bites, “didn’t think you’d actually cook.”

you roll your eyes, nudging his foot under the table. “what, you thought i’d order take-out and call it a day?”

he grins, all teeth, and says, “wouldn’t have complained, but this is better.”

the way he looks at you across the table, like he’s already thinking about dessert, makes your pulse race.

firefighter!sukuna who doesn’t waste time after dinner, helping you clear the plates but crowding your space in the kitchen, his chest brushing your back as he reaches around you to put a dish in the sink.

“thank you…for tonight” he murmurs, voice low, breath hot against your ear.

you turn, trapped between him and the counter, and he’s so close you can smell the faint cedar of his cologne, fittingly mixed with smoke.

“you’re thanking me? you’re the one who climbed a tree for my cat,” you say back, but your voice is shaky, and he notices.

"just doin' my job, sweetheart."

firefighter!sukuna who doesn’t ask for permission, just leans in, lips brushing yours like he’s testing the waters. you kiss him back, harder than you mean to, hands fisting in his hoodie as he presses himself closer, all heat and muscle.

“fuck,” he mutters against your mouth, “you’re gonna make me lose my damn mind.”

firefighter!sukuna who doesn’t stop at kissing, hands roaming under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your waist, making you shiver.

“bedroom, please,” you gasp, and he doesn’t need to be told twice, scooping you up like you weigh nothing and carrying you down the hall.

mochi darts out of the way, tail flicking, as sukuna kicks the door shut behind him. he drops you on the bed, eyes dark and hungry, and you’re already tugging at his hoodie, desperate to get it off.

“real eager, huh?” he teases, but his voice is rough. like he’s just as wrecked. the hoodie hits the floor, and holy shit, his body is a fucking masterpiece—broad shoulders, chiseled abs, black ink that only makes him hotter. you’re practically drooling, and he catches it, smirking as he climbs over you.

“like what you see?” he drawls, and you nod, too turned on to be shy.

“good, ‘cause i’m gonna fuck the shit out of you tonight.”

firefighter!sukuna who makes good on that promise, peeling off your leggings and panties in one go, his fingers finding you already wet and ready, practically dripping

“shit, look at you,” he mutters, sliding two fingers inside you, slow and deep, making you moan so loud you’re glad your neighbors aren’t home. he’s not going easy on you, curling his fingers just right, thumb circling your clit until you’re clawing at his shoulders, begging for more.

“use your words, sweetheart,” he says, voice like gravel.

you gasp out, “please, sukuna, just—fuck me already.”

he laughs, low and dirty, and shucks his jeans, his massive cock springing free. you’re almost intimidated, but he’s already nudging at your entrance, teasing you with the tip, rubbing it on your pussy.

“relax for me,” he murmurs, kissing you sloppy and deep as he pushes in, stretching you so good it’s all you can do to grip the sheets and moan his name.

firefighter!sukuna who fucks you like he’s got something to prove, every thrust hard and deliberate, hitting spots you didn’t even know you had. the headboard slams against the wall, and you’re sure mochi’s hiding under the couch by now, but you don’t care because sukuna’s got you pinned, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding down to rub tight circles on your clit.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—makes you clench around him, earning a hissed “shit” from his lips.

you’re loud, too loud, begging him to go harder, faster, and he does, pounding into you until you’re seeing stars, your nails digging into his back.

“that’s it,” he growls, “cum for me, baby, make a mess all over my dick.”

you do, hard, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it, your walls clamping down repeatedly on him, until he’s groaning too, pulling out at the last second to spill across your stomach, hot and messy.

firefighter!sukuna who doesn’t just roll over and sleep, but grabs a towel from your bathroom, cleaning you up with surprising care for someone who just railed you into next week. he flops back onto the bed, pulling you against his chest, still breathing heavy.

mochi creeps back into the room, little shit using her paws to open the door, jumping onto the bed like nothing happened, curling up against sukuna’s leg.

“looks like i saved your cat twice now,” he says, scratching her behind the ears.

you roll your eyes but snuggle closer, already wondering when he’s coming back.

firefighter!sukuna who leaves in the morning with a kiss that’s too hot for goodbye, promising to text you later.

and when later comes, it's with a picture of him at work.

© j3llyc4kes

:3 please check out my other works! here’s the master list! <3

a/n again: goodmorning my pookies, something while i finish up huntsman sukuna! heh also tried something new in terms of writing, enjoyyy 🙂‍↕️ and thank you to my love @lisafrankgojo for proofreading this for me, giving me advice I LOVE U AND IM GONNA KISS YOU

“Wow, you’ve grown up so beautifully.”

“Thank you,” accompanied by a respectful bow.

“How are your parents? Are they here tonight?”

“Yes, they are.” An excuse for an escape, “I’m actually looking for them now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I haven’t seen you since you were thiis small.”

“It has been a long time,” they saw you no less than six months ago at the last clan gathering, but you offer a small smile anyway.

These questions were tamer in comparison to the,

“And have you found a suitor yet?” No

“Are you planning on settling down soon?” Definitely not

“You shouldn’t be taking all those solo missions, don’t you get lonely?” Not really no

Every question pricked under your skin like a tiny wooden splinter, just irritating enough to be difficult to dismiss, forcing you to hold your expression steady and tight and spit out some diplomatic yet vague answer. 

Everything had always been decided for you from when you were young. When your clan discovered you had cursed energy during your adolescence, a switch had flipped, and suddenly the world felt like it was heavier around your small shoulders. The same sentiment followed through your teenage to young adult years, which led to where you found yourself now, running away to any extended assignments available to sorcerers of your level, anything that would relieve the feeling of being under the l/n clan’s thumb.

You hadn’t realized the tightness in your shoulders or the pursing of your lips until you found reprieve in the landing above the ballroom, shoulders dropping back and facial muscles relaxing. You lean against the carved railing, breathing out a slow, measured sigh as you watch the whirl of movement below, the taste of unspoken words sitting on your tongue. It felt heavy to be back in this room, the weight of familial pressure laid on your shoulders, and you were already looking forward to another assignment that would hopefully take up a decent amount of your time. The hall shimmered beneath you, full of laughter and calculated smiles. The exhaustion of being amongst the clan members hung over you like a dark cloud, but from up on the staircase landing, it felt easier to pretend this was all just a painting–flat, harmless, and far away. 

A flicker of white catches your eye, and you glance over to your left. Six–maybe ten feet away– stood Gojo Satoru in a similar position, leaning over the railing. He raises his left hand in a lazy wave, barely flicking his wrist for the movement. You rest your cheek on your own shoulder and sigh, lifting your own hand back with hardly any energy. Social exhaustion had already set in, and you certainly didn’t have the energy to entertain Gojo Satoru at this moment. As if he can sense that fact, he saunters over in about three long steps. 

“Madam l/n,” he drawls, grin crooked and voice teasing. You glance up at him as he occupies the space by your side, head tilting in mock formality, “Escaping your familial duties already?”

Your patience–already worn thin from the bombardment of personal questions in the hall below you–began to fray more than it already was. You purse your lips, “Don’t you have more important things to do, Gojo?” Your tone a bit more biting than you had initially intended.

If he noticed, he did nothing to show it, already tilting his head downwards at you, bright blue eyes glancing over the edge of his dark sunglasses frames. His grin widened, curling at the edge of his lips as he was ready to toss something flippant back until a shrill, familiar voice cut through the low hum of the crowd below.

“Oh! Is that my dear Y/N?”

You stiffened, turning halfway. Your aunt beams at you, rapidly approaching with a tall man at her side who is already moving towards Gojo. He claps a strong hand on the sorcerer’s shoulder that would have made you flinch but Gojo remains still, offering a warm smile to your aunt and to who you presume to be his relative. The man announces himself as a distant uncle to him and earnestly shakes your hand.

“What an unexpected–but lovely–couple!” his low voice booms. 

You blink. The implication regarding just how unexpected your pairing would be almost makes you roll your eyes because you presume it has absolutely nothing to do with Gojo so much as it has everything to do with you. 

A man chooses not to be involved in a relationship and throws himself into his work, he’s seen as an independent leader who’s focused on his career but when you do it, you’re a reckless, immature girl who’s probably gonna die alone, or even worse, won’t pass on inherited clan techniques. 

Your aunt clasps her hands together, nodding along eagerly, ”Truly, what a beautiful couple!” Then, in a lower tone as she leans into you, “Posture, dear.”

The urge to roll your eyes comes back along with a sharp snap of irritation that burns your throat–which you swallow down and will your shoulders back and your spine straight– until you realize the context of the conversation. Couple. Your first instinct is to vehemently deny until a thought pops up in your head.

From the corner of your eye, Gojo lifts both hands in an easy denial, fingertips pointed toward the coffered ceiling and a respectful smile on his mouth, uttering the words, “Oh, no, you’ve got the wrong ide-”

Before he could finish, your arm shoots out, looping through the crook of his arm and taking just the smallest step closer to his body. An unnaturally wide and tight smile on your face as you chirp, “Thank you!” You will your eyes forward and glance between both his uncle and your aunt, who have a pleasantly surprised expression on their faces. “It’s … um … a new development?” Your voice cracking against your will. 

You risk a glance over and up at him and find that he’s already peering down at you behind his sunglasses. You look up at him with almost pleading eyes, still tightly attached to the crook of his arm and stiff as ever. You almost miss the way his stiff smile fades, his expression faltering before a wide grin finds its way on his face easily, delight glinting in his gaze. 

He effortlessly pulls you just the tiniest bit closer, “Thank you, Miss L/N, Uncle,” he says smoothly, “We haven’t had the chance to properly come out as a couple yet, so tonight seemed perfect, didn’t it?” 

Your pulse stutters at the sudden closeness, the heat from his arm searing into the hand you had wrapped around his bicep. Gojo easily steers the conversation, laughing with his uncle and trading polite quips with your aunt, who briefly places a hand on his arm while laughing at a joke he made. For once, you’ve found yourself quiet, watching how they were both so easily charmed by his confidence and relaxed demeanor. 

It’s not until your aunt pats your arm, cooing at you both, that you realize you’ve tuned out the entire conversation. “It was so nice to see you both,” she smiles and reaches to pinch your cheeks and you begrudgingly let her, “especially together,” she tacks on with a sly wink at you. 

You blinked, a beat too late, before chirping back, “Nice to see you both as well!” As your aunt and his uncle drift back and blend into the crowd, you hesitantly turn your head up towards the sorcerer to your right. Gojo is already looking at you with a crooked grin and blue eyes glinting with mischief. A beat. You immediately move to untangle your arm from his like he was on fire, heat prickling your face. 

“Wooww,” he draws out, voice teasing, “Who knew little Miss L/N has been secretly in love with me this whole time?” 

You huff in response, smoothing down the material of your sleeve as if brushing off the contact and returning to your usual posture. You’ve known Satoru your entire life but you could hardly count him as a family friend or even someone you grew up with. You saw him at the occasional clan gathering, similar to the one tonight, and it became less and less frequent as the two of you got older. Your training got more and more intensive, especially once you started reaching your teenage years and from what you heard, he was shipped off to Tokyo to study at a specialized Jujutsu school. But, on the rare occasion when you did see him, he was nothing short of the worst migraine you’ve ever experienced. 

Gojo leans back against the railing again, clearly unbothered, tucking his hands into the wide sleeves of his haori. “Y’know,” he starts and the urge to roll your eyes comes back. You should really stop that. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I’m not really on the market for a wife right now,” he pauses to look down to make eye contact with you, grin curling a bit wider, “And, trust me, I get it and I’m sure you’re devastated right now which, in all fairness, makes sense. I mean, I’m tall, the strongest sorcerer, strikingly handsome, charming—“ 

You wrinkle your nose, scrunching up your face in disgust. “Ew, be serious,” you mutter, allowing yourself to roll your eyes for the first time tonight. “I just needed them to leave me alone.” You cross your arms over your chest despite the restraint from your kimono. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in, your shoulders relaxing with the exhale. 

A beat.

“Thank you,” you say a little quietly, struggling to make eye contact with Gojo. 

He blinks at you, presumably a bit surprised by the sudden change in your rather tense attitude. “You’re welcome.”

-

Soft sunlight peeks through the blinds of your Tokyo apartment as the violent buzzing of your phone vibrating against the nightstand pulls you from your sleep. After a long night of fighting a rather difficult curse, it would be nice to be allowed to sleep in. Your eye is already twitching from irritation as you groggily fumble for your phone. You squint at the brightly glowing screen, tapping the answer button before pressing it into your ear. 

“Hello?” Your voice rasped, thick with sleep. Squinting again, you pull it from your ear to double-check the caller ID when the sound of your mother’s voice blaring through the phone speaker shocked you. 

“Y/N!” 

You wince at the sound, jerking the phone further from your ear. You peel some hair stuck to your cheek from sleep as her words begin to blur together in a tirade far too fast-paced for your still half-dreaming brain to comprehend. You rub your free hand over your face again, attempting to rub the sleep away so you can at least try to make sense of the noise. It sounds like a jumble of nonsense to your half awake consciousness, something about your father and the clan, something else about—

“—seeing Gojo Satoru—“

And that causes your eyes to snap open. You’re fully awake and shoot up in bed, blanket slipping from your shoulders onto your lap. “What?” you ask almost incredulously. You’re simultaneously shocked and confused, unsure of where she could’ve heard something so outrageous. “I’m not—“

Oh. Oh.

You think of the chandelier-lit ballroom, your aunt’s shrill voice and his uncle’s booming laugh. You had honestly only planned to use Gojo as some sort of scapegoat, an out to the otherwise nagging conversation you would have had with your aunt. It was such a ridiculous conversation that you had honestly completely disregarded the entire situation the second you walked away rather awkwardly.  And now it’s all coming back to bite you in the ass. 

You press the phone mic to your shoulder to cover your childlike tantrum as much as you could while you groaned and kicked the blanket off your body. You look at the time. 8:12 am. Definitely too early for you to deal with all of this right now. 

“Y/N, are you listening?” your mom’s voice snaps, drawing your attention back to the conversation, utter disbelief in her tone, “I just cannot believe you didn’t tell us you were seeing Gojo Satoru out of all people!”

“Yeah, Mom,” you clear your throat, trying to will the rasp from sleep away. “I- um- it’s really nothing serious. I don’t even know if you could call it … seeing each other.” 

Which, technically, wasn’t a lie. You definitely couldn’t call it seeing each other. 

“Don’t be silly, y/n,” your mother shot back immediately. You start to tune her out again while she rattles off. Something about settling down, finding a suitor, having an heir, passing on the clan’s cursed technique. You stare at the space on your wall, mostly focused on how you’re planning on handling the Gojo situation while your mom continues on about clan politics sandwiched between personal criticism. 

You sigh, breaking her lecture, “Okay, mom, I have to go.” Your fingers absentmindedly rub your temples as they threaten to split open. 

“Alright, sweetie. Bye, love you! Don’t forget!”

You blinked. “…Forget what?”

“Dinner with the Gojos!”

The line went dead before you could protest. You fall backwards onto the bed, dropping your arm with the heavy weight of the phone onto the bed, both arms fully extended. You comb your fingers through your hair in an attempt to tame the mess that sat on top of your head, letting out a deep exhale. You stare at the ceiling as if it would offer some sort of divine intervention and at this point, you really hope the sky would open up and swallow you whole. 

Dinner. With the Gojos.

You sit up again as an almost outrageous idea came to you. Not quite divine intervention, but you’ll take it.

-

The cafe was overstimulating to say the least. The pastel colored walls, decorated with hand-painted fruit, were enough to give you a headache, but paired with the little white lace doilies under the plates, it was all a bit overwhelming. The display case near the register was littered with intricately decorated cakes, and the smell of sickeningly sweet desserts clung thick in the air. Yet somehow, you were not surprised that this was Gojo Satoru’s meeting spot of choice.

You sit across from him at a small heart-shaped table that hardly has enough leg room for you, let alone a six-foot-three freak. You look at the plate in front of Gojo, a white and baby blue elaborately frosted cake slice, adorned with sliced strawberries. He’s already got a fork in hand. You glance down at the drink in front of you, colorful swirls and whipped cream stacked high in one of those warped, wavy milkshake cups. You absentmindedly begin to use the plastic straw to swirl the drink around, mixing the bright colors into something muddy. 

You blink at Gojo across from you. “You like this place?” you mutter, unable to hide the genuine surprise behind your voice. He’s practically beaming at the slice of cake in front of him, and you watch as he moves the piece of cake on the fork to his mouth. He lets out a dramatic hum of pure enjoyment and you can tell his eyes are shut behind his sunglasses.

“Oh yeah,” he manages to get out between chews, nodding as he’s still chewing. “Had a girl take me here once.” 

You want to roll your eyes. Of course, he had. You could practically see her now–head over heels and hopeful, probably so excited to take him to what was likely one of her favorite cafes in Tokyo just for him to eventually dump her. And then, in typical Gojo fashion, he stole it from her and claimed it as his own. That poor girl probably never set foot in here again, nursing her wounded pride every time she unfortunately had to pass this street corner. All because the cafe was forever branded with his name now. Like a man would. You feel bad for the girl.

You watch as he shovels another bite of cake into his mouth, blissfully unbothered, and let out a sigh. “Word got out that we’re dating,” you lower your voice, raising your fingers to do air quotations, “Which, by the way, was probably from your uncle.” That just gets you a nonchalant shrug from Gojo. “Anyways, I was just thinking-”

“Ooh, dangerous,” he teases, mischief glinting in his eyes over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Look,” you continue, ignoring his comment and crossing your arms over your chest, “And please don’t let this go to your head but I feel like this may work.” He sets his fork down with a soft clink, one eyebrow tipped upwards. “I just,” you glance around the cafe, refusing to make eye contact, “It just gets a little exhausting, y’know? Everyone’s so focused on clan politics and passing on cursed techniques. I just kinda want everyone off my back and it worked in that conversation with my aunt so maybe if we just.. I don’t know,” you take a sharp inhale, “pretend to date–just for a little while–they’ll back off.” 

You purse your lips as he looks at you, expression almost unreadable, nodding silently while you talk. You start fidgeting in your seat a little, hands toying with the lace doily placed under your slowly melting drink. “And only for a short amount of time. And then we can have some crazy natural-disaster-level breakup and they’ll never bother us again.” You add the last part for drama.

Surprisingly, he listens without interrupting and you almost want to make a comment but decide to bite your tongue. He leans back in his chair, relaxed and shrugs, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

You blink, a little caught off guard, fully expecting some theatrics from him. “That’s it…?”

“Mm,” he hums, shrugging and draping an arm over the back of his chair. “Simple enough.”

“It’s not simple.” You scoff, a little defensive.

“Isn’t it?” He suggests easily, eyebrows raised in mock curiosity.

Something about his response causes irritation to prick under your skin. You tighten your crossed arms around yourself, “Well, no, it’s not. There’s… um,” you purse your lips again, glancing down at the table before making eye contact with him again, “I have terms and conditions.”

A lopsided grin finds its way onto his mouth, “Okay. Shoot.”

“No touching,” you state firmly.

He hums again, tilting his head to the side a bit, finger tapping his chin as if he were in deep thought about a world-shattering problem. “Kinda hard to be fake dating if we can’t touch.”

You open your mouth, and then close. You hadn’t thought about that. Frankly, you hadn’t really put much thought into any details about this entire situation. “...Fine. But don’t go getting any ideas.” You narrow your eyes at him accusingly.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn't.” He practically drawls his words mockingly and the irritation is back. You almost want to snap at him, asking what he meant by that, but instead you choose to roll your eyes, which, unfortunately, gets a chuckle out of him.

“And we only appear at clan-related events together. No extra stuff.”

“Okay,” he replies easily, too easily, that same playful smile tugging at his mouth.

“…And I get to break up with you.”

That earns a real laugh out of him, bright and unrestrained. “Is that really realistic? C’mon.”

You scoff, refusing to even dignify that with a response and take an angry sip from your straw.

“Alright, alright,” he lifts both hands in mock defense, fingertips pointed to the ceiling, “I suppose you can break up with me.”

“Okay,” you say, chin tilted high, satisfaction curling in your chest for some reason.

“Alright.”

“Okay.”

“Do you always need to have the last word?” he asks in that same teasing tone that you’re really starting to hate.

“Yes.”

-

The first time you and Gojo play couple is at your family home in Kyoto, a month after your scheme. You’ve honestly been trying to figure out how to get out of it for weeks but to no avail so there you find yourself sitting beside Gojo at the long, low table on a zabuton cushion. The shoji screens had been pushed open to reveal the carefully manicured gardens outside, allowing a welcome breeze to enter the room. Every elder, clan higher-up, even distant relatives with any sort of valuable opinion sit lining the table, stiff posture furthering the heaviness of formality in the air.

You sit on your knees, hands placed in your lap, twiddling your fingernails to anchor yourself somehow. Meanwhile, beside you, Satoru is fully lounging, long legs stretched out comfortably under the table and one elbow propped up lazily on the edge, supporting his chin. His sunglasses catch the warm glow of the lantern light, hiding his eyes but you can practically feel his stare. The first course comes out, a clear soup with vegetables, and you accept it graciously, hoping that it gives your nervous hands something to do. As you raise the soup spoon up, the voice of an elder cuts through the quiet clinking of porcelain.

“y/n, didn’t you grow up with Satoru?” he questions. Technically, you had but you would hardly consider each other acquaintances. Even now, as you sit practically shoulder to shoulder with him, you wonder if you could even call yourselves acquaintances. “What brought you two together so suddenly?”

You pause, lowering the bowl back to the table. Your brain is scrambling for anything even remotely acceptable to say. “Uh,” you manage to squeak out, “It was pretty sudden for me too. I guess, when you know, you know?” You glance over at Gojo who still has a lazy tilt to his head, hoping for rescue from your weak answer.

“Mm,” Gojo hums, tipping his head back like he was considering the question seriously, “I like to think she’s had a crush on me since we were kids, but it took her until now to come to terms with the fact that she’s been in love with me this whole time.” 

Your pulse spikes and you whip your head toward him. He has nothing to offer you but a lazy, playful grin. You give the elders a tight-lipped smile in agreement and return to your bowl. You hear some soft murmurs echo around the table and you’re unsure what the general consensus is.

You’re nearly finished with your soup by the time another elder speaks up, “Do you think your kids will inherit limitless like Gojo or the l/n clan’s technique?” 

The question about kids has you almost choking on your soup but Gojo answers smoothly, “We’ll be happy with either one.” You nod along, not trusting your voice after nearly swallowing a carrot.

By the time the second course arrives, the conversation has drifted from you and Gojo and there’s now the low hum of everyone engaged in their own private conversations. The servers bring out a new set of plates with slices of sashimi. You reach for your chopsticks and unfortunately, make the mistake of making eye contact with Gojo next to you. He’s already got a happy smile on his face, chopsticks in one hand. 

“Open up, my sweet princess,” he commands, far too loudly. Your eyes widen in surprise as he begins to lift a piece, moving it towards you with exaggeration. You worriedly glance around the table where all eyes are now locked on the two of you, silence falling on the room. You can feel the heat pricking at the back of your neck, rising to your ears, a nervous smile twitching your lips. More murmurs are going around the table. You hesitantly allow him to feed you the piece of sashimi, pursing your lips as you chew. You can hear your mother’s delighted aww from a few seats down but you’re more focused on the rather disapproving look on the elders’ faces.

You pinch his leg under the table, hard. He doesn’t flinch.

As conversation begins to pick back up around the room and the elders return to discussing training reports and cursed technique theory, the room begins to buzz again with low, polite chatter. You lean into Gojo, eyes darting around the room, voice low and sharp, “What are you doing?” You grit out.

“Getting them to disapprove,” he murmurs back, chewing happily. What a glutton. You frown. “Working great though, don’t you think?” You figure it’s a decent plan. If the elders think the two of you are inappropriate and disapprove, it’d be a much easier out than staging some elaborate breakup. Gojo gives you no time to respond before he’s curling up his thumb and pointer finger to pinch your cheek. He coos at you loudly, which earns more stares from everyone seated at the table. You jerk back, eyebrows furrowing at him which only earns you an obnoxious laugh.

You settle back into your seat and go back to eating the meal in front of you, a little frustrated. You really feel like he’s enjoying himself far too much and suspect he may be having more fun messing with you than actually following through with his plans.

The third course comes out and at this point, you’re more focused on what outrageous scheme Gojo may have planned next rather than the actual food. The next plate of food is placed in front of you and as you’re leaning in to take your first bite, Gojo leans over and places a wet, sloppy kiss on your cheek, paired with an obnoxious smooch noise. And there it is, he is definitely having too much fun with this. 

But you figure it must’ve done its job because the table immediately ripples with scandalized murmurs and you’re sure you hear the word “improper” being thrown around somewhere. You throw him something of a fake smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and you know he understands the sentiment behind it when he flashes back a crooked smile, teeth showing. 

Once the table had been cleared, both you and Gojo seemed to be under the impression that you had acted just the perfect amount of provocatively to stir some troubling thoughts with the clan elders in both of your families. That is, until you’re approached by an elder bearing a bright smile, “I have never seen a couple so perfectly balanced.” Your smile fades. You shoot Gojo a look. “How sweet of you to feed her, Satoru. Usually it’s the woman who cares more about the man but it’s clear that it goes both ways. You really are the yin to her yang.”

Your smile is fixed, tight, and as respectful as you can make it, until the elder rejoins the crowd. You’re surprised to be approached by several others who are practically singing your praises. 

You ground him. He’s so attentive, feeding you and fussing over you. He brings out your responsible side. Your love feels so authentic and natural. How promising a match you two are. How wonderful a union between the two clans must be. Everyone is so hopeful for an heir from your union.

You turn to face Gojo once the dinner guests stop approaching the two of you. He has the audacity to look rather pleased with himself meanwhile your pulse is thrumming in your ears. You let out a slow exhale through your nose, forcing your shoulders to relax. You’re a bit more than mildly annoyed that Gojo’s plan backfired, which is really your fault for listening to him in the first place.

But… maybe this would be better. If everyone really thought you were this dazzling couple then hopefully the “breakup” would be so devastating and messy that your family would be kept at bay for years.

-

The Zenin estate is ornate and maybe even gaudy to say the least, with polished stone walls and a courtyard garden with gravel raked into harsh, perfect lines that brought you more anxiety than peace. If your family home seems to be suffocating with expectations, the Zenin home would have asphyxiated you. A few weeks following the Gojo and l/n clan dinner, the Zenins are hosting their own banquet of sorts. You slip into the estate, peering at the guests who have already begun mingling. You’re hardly a few steps in before a porcelain sake cup is handed to you, giving you something to do with your hands. You down the drink the second it’s in your hand. You need something in your system if you’re planning on getting through tonight.

You’re lingering near the edge of the room, nursing your second beverage, eyes glancing around the room. The hum of conversation fills the room, everyone speaking in low voices and you can’t seem to tell if they’re just pleasantries or complicated clan politics. You feel the shift in the air before you hear the voice.

“y/n.”

You turn to find Naoya Zenin approaching, unhurried steps and a sharp smile. Almost fox-like.

“Naoya,” you acknowledge, lips curving into the most polite smile you could manage. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You’ve really grown into yourself,” he says. You feel his gaze sweeping over you and you suddenly feel exposed. Gross. Your eyes glance over to the exit, wanting to leave. “Beautiful, really. I almost didn’t recognize you at first.” 

You purse your lips as he takes a step closer. You resist the urge to take a step back to put some space between the two of you. His posture is casual, relaxed, but the way his gaze lingers, floating on your figure makes your skin crawl. An attendee passing by replaces your empty cup with a new one. You sip on it awkwardly.

“Strange, isn’t it?” he speaks smoothly, “You’re here alone–er, with me rather and Gojo is nowhere to be found.” You curse Gojo for his habit of always being late. You awkwardly shift your weight on your feet, watching as his smile deepens. 

Before you’re able to respond, he lets out a low chuckle. “So sudden though, you and him.” He leans in a little closer. “Wouldn’t you say?” Your body stiffens and you’re scrambling to find something–anything to say in response when a familiar voice cuts clean through the air from behind you.

“Sorry, I’m a bit late.”

Relief slams through your body and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Gojo’s presence left the room significantly quieter than before as you watch him approaching you and Naoya, moving through the crowd as though everyone bends around his existence. He slides into place beside you effortlessly, as if he just belonged. His arm finds its way around the small of your back, his hand resting firmly on your waist, steady and grounding. You don’t think you’ve ever been so relieved to see him before.

He looks down at you from behind his dark sunglasses, peeking over them. His eyes, pale blue and warm, were almost a comfort after your rather agonizing experience with Naoya.

“You look stunning,” His voice softens, gaze locking with yours. His thumb rubs against your waist. “Did you wait long?” Your pulse stumbles, for some strange reason. You’re hoping the dim lamp lighting would do a good enough job at concealing the heat rushing to your neck and ears before you could steel it. You open your mouth but nothing comes out so you just shake your head, dumbly. 

He finally averts his gaze ahead of you, a small grin present on his face. “Naoya.” 

“Satoru.” Naoya acknowledges, his smile shrinking and his eyes narrowing just slightly.

“I really hope you weren’t saying anything untoward to y/n.” Gojo’s tone comes off as easy, almost playful and you wouldn’t have thought anything of it if it wasn’t for his hand tightening on your waist just the slightest bit, still gentle but did not go unnoticed by Naoya if his eyes flickering downwards meant anything.

Naoya lets out an easy chuckle, low and dismissive. “Of course not, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The silence that follows is deafeningly loud. A clash of ego, sharp and invisible, their gazes are locked in a battle of wills that makes the air feel taut. You could practically cut the tension with a knife. You clear your throat, unsure of what to do and settle on shifting awkwardly where you stood.

Gojo breaks the silence with a light pat of his free hand to Naoya’s shoulder, casual grin returning to his face. “Good talk, bud. y/n and I have a few more people to check in with.” His hand still firm at your waist, he steers you away, effectively tucking you into his side like it was your assigned spot. His touch is practically a searing heat through the layers of fabric of your clothing. With your pulse hammering, you down your second drink. You’ll definitely need more of these with the way the night was going so far. You take another drink from a passing by attendee and tip your head back, ignoring the sting of the sake in your throat as you let Gojo lead you into the crowd.

The two of you were making easy small talk with passing clan members, which you will attribute to Gojo. As much as you hate to admit it, he actually could be very charismatic despite his arrogance and his tendency to make everything a joke. A majority of the questions revolve around both of your latest missions, inquiries about your relationship with Gojo, those ones mostly you handle because you don’t trust him after what happened last time, and updates on your family. You try to give as vague and polite answers while Gojo keeps the conversation light, throwing in quips here and there and you notice that everyone seems to find him quite charming. The stiff conversations begin to feel a bit suffocating so you find yourself sipping at sake simply to relieve some tension. 

“Slow down,” he whispers, teasingly, leaning down so close you can feel the ghost of his breath against your ear. You stiffen, heat crawling up your neck that you write off as a result of the alcohol. You nudge him with your elbow, hearing him hum at your lack of response, and turn your attention back to the conversation at hand. 

The sun set outside some time ago and while the alcohol is doing its purpose in making you feel somewhat lighter in the stuffy environment, your shoes are currently pinching at your feet, causing painful, grating steps as you become tense from the repetitive conversations. 

“C’mon,” Gojo murmurs, tilting his head toward the garden just beyond the open shoji screens. You let him lead you outside, hand still floating on your waist. You’re grateful he noticed your discomfort. The cool night air feels heavenly against your flushed skin, the gentle breeze more than welcome. 

You both step off the veranda into the soft grass of the garden. You slip out of your shoes, leaving them abandoned in the grass beside you. Instant relief floods your feet and you’re too happy to feel your toes in the grass. You reach over, lifting a foot to rub at your arches.

“Here,” Gojo says, extending an arm out to you.

You grab on automatically, using him to steady yourself as you knead at your foot. “Thanks,” you respond, glancing up at him briefly, “for this. And for saving me. Again.” 

He throws back a grin, tilting his head up to the sky as a light breeze passes by, “All in a day’s work of a fake boyfriend.” He shrugs casually. A laugh slips out of you, looser and freer than you normally would be sober. You watch his grin grow a bit wider at the sound of your laugh.

You remove your hold of his arm, satisfied with the work you’ve put into relieving the aching soles of your feet. As you straighten to place both feet on the grass, you nearly lose your balance, whether it’s from the alcohol or the uneven ground.

Gojo’s hand is instantly at the small of your back, steadying you, his touch warm and firm. Your breath catches and you freeze, looking up at him. His warm hand felt like it was practically burning a hole into your already flushed skin. 

A beat.

“You can… let go of me now,” you speak softly, voice lacking the usual bite that comes with speaking to him.

His eyes widen for a second before he retracts his hand. He recovers with a teasing grin, “So clumsy, I thought I told you to slow down on the sake.”

You huff in response, feigning annoyance but the rapid heartbeat in your chest is betraying you. You make a vow to never drink around him again if this is how you’re going to be around him under the influence. Your eyes wander over to the hall, glinting brightly into the night through the open screens where you notice a few groups of clan members looking out into the garden at you and Gojo. 

Gojo’s eyes follow your gaze and he takes a step closer to you, hands on your hips, urging you forward. He pulls you into him, just enough that your bodies are nearly brushing, the sudden movement has you bracing against him, both palms resting flat on his chest. You ignore the firm muscle you feel under your hands and focus instead on the steady thrum of his heartbeat. That doesn’t help.

“They’re watching,” he murmurs to you, voice pitched low. Your eyes are on him now and even in the darkness, you can still see his bright blue eyes. You nod in response, a bit breathless. From the alcohol, you tell yourself.

One of his hands remains on your hip, anchoring you there while the other lifts to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek. You’re certain you must be absolutely flushed and you’re more than thankful it’s so dark outside.

“I- The rules- No touching!” you barely manage to squeak out. This earns you a chuckle from him, low and warm.

“Okay,” he responds easily, dropping his hand from your cheek to your hip. But he doesn’t make any movements to remove his hands from your hip.

You flick your gaze sideways, back towards the hall where there are still watching eyes. Naoya is among them, his stare sharp and smug, watching from the shadows. You think of the audacity he has to insinuate that you and Satoru were lying about your relationship, regardless of how true his assumption was. You also think of his disgusting, lustful gaze, objectifying you like you were a piece of meat. The thought makes your blood boil again, the memory of his smug smirk burned into your mind and hot in your chest, judgment clouded by liquor and pride.

“Kiss me.”

Gojo blinks. “What?” he asks, incredulously.

“Don’t make me say it again,” you mumble, lifting your chin stubbornly.

You use your grip on the fabric on his chest to gently tug him down, closing the distance by getting on the tip of your toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. It’s all very clumsy and maybe even a bit awkward. Since you pulled him into it, your lips aren’t quite aligned and you almost fall into him but he steadies you, both hands tightening their hold on your hips. Once he has you steadied, he leans down into the kiss and deepens it, one hand traveling from your hip to the small of your back where he splays out his hand to press your body to his. Your hands slide up his chest to loop around his neck and you almost want to open your eyes to take a peek into the estate to see if there were still any prying eyes. 

You finally pull back, settling back flat on your feet and suddenly you’re no longer feeling the effects of the alcohol. You clear your throat, afraid to make eye contact so you avert your gaze over to the hall where everyone has seemingly scattered from where they were gathered, watching the two of you. 

“They’re gone now.”

-

The inside of your Tokyo apartment is currently in a state of disarray but you choose to blame it on the back to back missions you’ve been getting, which has also been affecting your sleep. You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, half-heartedly packing clothes. You know that you should have started packing sooner but you’ve been running on fumes for the last two weeks and to be quite honest, you didn’t even feel like thinking about the onsen trip your mom sprung on you. 

You will admit you regret procrastinating especially because—you glance at the clock, it reads 8:02am—Gojo is supposed to be here any minute now. You can also admit that another reason you’ve been burying the trip in the back of your mind is because you and Gojo left off on a rather awkward note—at least for you. You had kissed. You could only be thankful that he acted so nonchalant about it after that it diffused some of the tension. Besides, it was your idea and it made sense in the grand scheme of things. That along with the fact that it was nearly two months ago brought you some semblance of peace.

You fold a set of pajamas into your bag. Aside from the kiss, you aren’t absolutely dreading having Satoru there like how you’re dreading a family trip. He can be funny sometimes, despite annoying you the other half of the time. Even though he’s a headache, he’s been making these clan events a lot easier on you. People like him and that means he took up a lot of attention in a room, which meant less of it smothering you. 

Your familiar ringtone goes off from the living room so you trudge over there, barely having the energy to make it. Gojo Satoru. Of course he’s someone who would rather call than text. 

“Hello?” You pick up your phone, holding it to your ear. 

“Your chariot awaits!” Gojo’s voice blares through the phone. You’re too tired to berate him about yelling so early in the morning. 

“The chariot will have to keep waiting,” you sigh into the phone, moving towards the bathroom with the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder. “I’m still packing.”

“And you say I’m not punctual,” he teases. 

“You can wait inside,” you suggest, before adding, “if you want.” You hear some shuffling in the background that you ignore, turning your attention to packing your toiletries into a pouch. 

There’s a knock on the door that you hear echo through your phone. You pad over to the door, swinging it open to find Satoru leaning casually against the door frame. You end the call and slide your phone into the pockets of your sweats, stepping aside so he can come in. He toes off his shoes at the door. 

“I’m almost done, I’ll be quick.” you state, “You can, um, have a seat on the couch.” And then shuffle over to your bedroom. Again, inviting him in was technically your idea but something about having him in your apartment felt so unexpectedly… intimate. 

He sat on your couch, sprawled out, taking up the entire space with his long legs stretched out beneath your coffee table. You glance at him as you’re moving around your apartment, gathering everything you’ll need to pack for the weekend. It seems like he’s playing Temple Run or something similar, volume up so you’re able to hear the theme music. He would play games with his volume up. 

You mentally go over your packing list, making sure you weren’t forgetting anything before you’re lugging the duffel out into the living room from your phone. When you finally zip it out and start moving towards the door, Gojo pops up easily to follow you. You shut the door behind the two of you and start fumbling with your keys to lock the door, duffel weighing heavy on one shoulder. He plucks the bag from your arm, swinging it over his own shoulder. 

“Thanks,” you say automatically, locking the door and pocketing the key. You realize the word is so familiar now, that you’ve been saying it a lot around him. It’s almost replaced your urge to roll your eyes around him all the time. 

Downstairs, the morning air is still crisp and the sun is getting a bit higher. The city moves loudly around the two of you. You watch as he sets your duffle bag into the trunk beside his as you slide into the passenger seat. 

“Thanks for driving,” you offer as you reach over to buckle your seatbelt. “You really didn’t have to.”

“And what kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?” he shoots back, grinning at you as he takes his place in the driver’s seat. You snort, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. 

The first half hour goes back fairly quickly. The hum of traffic mixing with whatever playlist Gojo has playing in the background keeps the the time flowing and by then, you’re ready to catch up on some much needed sleep. You have your chin resting on your fist and your head leaned against the window. The city is now melted into stretches of highway and the sun is higher in the sky now, warming the car through the window and your eyes begin to feel heavy. 

You swear your eyes were only closed for a second before—

“Let’s play a game.”

Your eyes snap open. There’s that urge to roll your eyes again. You lift your head from the window and turn it the slightest bit, just enough that you’re able to glare at him from the corner of your eyes. “I’m tired, Satoru.”

“You can have your rest and relaxation at the onsen,” he responds cheerfully. For some reason you highly doubt that to be true. “The game is: name all the things you like about me.” 

A laugh rips through you, bursting out before you could even try to stop it. “Oh, you cannot be serious.” 

“Go on,” he encourages, tilting his head towards you. “I’ll even start the list if you need help—number one, devastatingly handsome.”

That gets another laugh out of you and this time you do roll your eyes at him. “Hmm,” you pretend to think. “I like when you’re quiet,” you tease, settling your head back against window and closing your eyes. 

He barks out a laugh in response and you peek your eyes at him. “That’s never happened before, you can only say things that are hard, true facts.” You make a mental note that means he thinks that being “devastatingly handsome” is a hard, true fact. 

-

The rest of the car ride goes by fairly quickly once Gojo decides to focus instead on the playlist he has playing. The quiet ryokan lobby smells like polished wood. The woman behind the counter smiles politely as you approach the desk. She slides a lacquered key across the counter after you give her the reservation details your mom had sent you earlier. You murmur a thank-you, slipping the key into your palm. You turn to walk towards the rooms and you can feel Gojo’s presence behind you, duffle bags slung over each shoulder. He walks behind you, his slow long strides making up for your fast smaller ones.

“I can carry it myself, y’know,” you mutter, glancing back at him. He’s very committed to this boyfriend bit.

“I know.”

The hallway stretches out, long and quiet, with sliding doors on either side. You can feel the warmth from the faint steam curling from somewhere deeper in the inn. You find your room number and slide the door open, stepping onto the tatami. You toe off your shoes and leave them by the door. A low table sits in the middle of the room, a teapot resting between two teacups, and two cushions below the table. Gojo leaves the duffels near the cabinets and starts to circle around the room.

You kneel next to your duffel, fishing for your toiletries bag, while Gojo starts opening up every drawer and cabinet in the hotel room. Once you’ve found the bag, you pad over to the bathroom, sliding the doors open. You hear the sound of the veranda doors sliding open.

“Ooo–look, we get our own onsen,” you hear Gojo calling from just outside the doors.

“Nice,” you call over your shoulder absentmindedly, distracted by unpacking your toiletries bag. Once you place your toothbrush and shower products in their respective areas, you peek out from the bathroom to see what he was talking about. You see steam rising from a private stone bath from behind the doors. You blink. The image of sharing the onsen with him flashes through your mind. 

“Don’t go getting any ideas.” 

You disappear behind the bathroom door to get ready for the planned dinner banquet that your mother had told you about. You tie yourself into the pale green yukata that was provided, sash snug across your waist. Once you think you look presentable enough for your prickly family members, you slide the door open, smoothing down the folds in your yukata. 

You’re met with Gojo on the other side of the door, facing the other way so he can adjust the sleeve of his matching dark blue yukata. He tugs on it lazily, collar gaping just enough to show his collarbones. A grin twitches on his face the second he turns to see you.

“Cute.”

You shoot him a flat look. “Don’t.”

You move around him, stuffing your feet into the provided sandals. You see him grab the room key from the corner of your eye before shutting the door behind the two of you. You make your way through the polished hallway with him following closely behind. As you approach the banquet hall you pause, mostly to collect yourself but when you look up at him, he extends his elbow toward you. You blink and take his arm, feeling grateful to have him here to calm your nerves.

The room is buzzing with conversation as the two of you step past the open shoji doors. The low long tables stretch across the room, porcelain bowls with broth placed at every seat. The smell of incense mixed with food fills the air and you don’t realize you’re actually starving until your stomach growls as a reaction. You take a seat on one of the cushions, Gojo sliding into the one next to you. You smooth your yukata over your knees to give your hands something to do. 

Your aunt from across the table leans forward, “How was your last assignment, y/n?” She offers you and Gojo a small smile.

You blink, expecting a question with a little more bite. “Oh, um, fine,” you’re careful with your response because you’re a bit caught off guard. 

“That’s good,” her eyes soften as she glances between you and Gojo. “I’m glad you’re keeping busy.” While you’re sitting stiffly, Gojo is beside you, nonchalantly picking up a piece of food with his chopsticks. “And you, Gojo? Keeping yourself busy?

“Oh yeah,” he nods, leaning back easily. He sets his chopsticks down on the rest. “Lots of exorcisms, paperwork, and now I get dragged along to family trips.” He grins, teeth flashing, and puts his free hand over the one you had resting on the table, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. For some reason, this felt more intimate than the kiss even. You look up at him but his eyes aren’t on yours; they’re looking around the room, holding eye contact as he’s engaged in conversation.

The meal unfolds with a rhythm that you aren’t used to–calm, almost pleasant. The constant questions regarding your relationship have dwindled; no one is reprimanding you for not settling down, for constantly going on long missions, it was–for the first time ever–not stressful.

After the dinner ends, you and Gojo shuffle back to your room, bidding everyone a good night. He slides the shoji door shut softly behind him, muffling the chatter of your family members down the hall. The room is quiet now, dark since the sun has long set so the lanterns cast warm, glowing light against the tatami and pushed-together futon. You blink when you see it, one large blanket spread across the whole thing. 

“Cozy,” Gojo says from behind you, his tone teasing. You turn sharply and you’re unsure what the look you give him holds but he follows with, “Uh–I can sleep on the tatami mat if you want.”

You huff at the suggestion. “It’s fine,” you start tugging your pajama set from your bag, “We’re both adults.” Once you free your pajamas from the duffle and start moving toward the bathroom, you glance over your shoulder, “No touching!” You warn, narrowing your eyes at him as you slide the bathroom door shut.

“Don’t worry,” you hear his low voice come from some distance behind the door, paired with a chuckle, low and soft, the kind that curls around your ribs for some reason. “I wouldn’t.” You roll your eyes at that.

You take your time in the shower, letting the steam fill the small space and the hot water melts some of the stiffness from your muscles. You have your hair pulled back with a fluffy headband as you step out of the shower, wrapping yourself in the ryokan’s soft towel. You step to the mirror to do your skincare, applying the moisturizer to your skin when you figure it would be a shame not to use the private onsen. 

You peek past the bathroom doors once the towel is secure around you, “Gojo?” you call out softly. The room is empty, the futons remaining untouched.

Silence.

He probably left to grab some sweets since there weren’t any desserts at the dinner. That glutton. You pad over across the tatami, pushing aside the door to the veranda letting steam drift into the room. You look down and see him, leaning against the stone edge of the bath, facing you. His white hair was damp, curling lightly at the ends, and you watch as a droplet falls from his hair and cascades down the sharp plane of his shoulder. It looks soft.

You blink. “Hey–I was gonna use it.” You tighten your grip on your towel instinctively.

He looks up at you, his nonchalant demeanor seeping through his words, “Well, I got here first.” You’re sure he just enjoys messing with you at this point.

“Okay.” You respond, glancing around the veranda. You choose to focus your vision on the bamboo wall built to close off the onsen from the rest of the inn. “Get out.”

“Wow, harsh,” he chuckles, as if truly surprised you were being so demanding. He leans back further against the stone edge, “We’re both adults, right?” His tone is playful, like he’s looking to get a rise out of you by using your words against you. You refuse.

You press your lips together in a thin line, “Fine.” You close the sliding door behind you and take step further near the onsen. “But close your eyes.”

He sighs dramatically. “Yes, ma’am.” For once, he’s not wearing his sunglasses and you watch as he raises his hands to place them over his eyes. “See? Perfect gentleman.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you and you place your towel to the side, heart pounding in your ears as the cool night air kisses your bare skin. You slip into the steaming water, grimacing as the heat wraps around you. You sink down, allowing the heat to rise up to your chest and shoulders, soothing your muscles. The surface of the water laps at your collarbones as your move into the onsen, finding a seat across from Gojo.

“You can look now,” you mumble, grumpily, once you’re sure the water is fully covering your body. You fold your arms across your front for extra security.

A chuckle comes from him before he drops his hands lazily from his face. The dim lamplight cast shadows along the planes of his chest and shoulders and even worse, his pale blue eyes seem almost different beneath the light. You feel your stomach twist. You shift against the stone edge, tearing your eyes away from him and towards to surface of the water, like you’re suddenly very interested in the ripples. 

After a moment, you swallow hard and drag your gaze back up, willing yourself to stare off into the distance, admiring the greenery. 

The steam curls around the two of you in lazy ribbons, softening the lantern light as the sound of cicadas fill the night. Your body is lowered, tucking your knees to your chest and the water is grazing just below your knees. You rest your chin on your knees, glancing at Gojo from across the bath. He’s sprawled wide, both arms outstretched resting on the edge and his damp hair sticking up in all directions, defying gravity. 

“Hey,” you say, voice low, “when I asked you to fake date me—“

Gojo’s face snaps into a sly grin instantly, “Oh, you mean when you begged and pleaded and cried for my hand in marriage?”

You snort, rolling your eyes and you move your knees from your chest to splash water at him. “No, you freak.” Laughter bubbles out of you, slipping before you can contain it. He shifts to dodge the splash of water. 

The smile on your face settles a bit and you lean by against the stone again, looking up into the sky, “Why did you agree so easily?”

His grin softens, he’s silent for a second before, “To be honest? I don’t know.” You give him a deadpan look. “I guess…” he starts tapping his fingers lightly on the stone where his arm rests, “You just seemed so—serious about it. And it’s really no sweat off my back to help you out.”

You feel your chest tightening and you hum, breaking eye contact with Gojo to trace mindless patterns on the stone. “Yeah,” you breathe out, “it just gets really exhausting sometimes?” You can’t seem to look him in the eyes, “Just feels like there’s so much pressure to settle down, produce an heir–it’s all just so… old-fashioned. It feels like I’m just my ability first, someone to maintain the gene pool, a sorcerer second, and… myself, last.” Your voice cracks so you look away again.

Your words hang heavy in the mist. For a while, the only sound is the faint ripple of water between you. You wonder if you just overshared, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.

When you finally glance back at him, his eyes are already on you, soft and unguarded.

“I get that.” And it sounds sincere.

You clear your throat, still feeling a little awkward. “Anyways,” you splash at the water, trying to clear up the tension, “Enough trauma dumping.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Gojo grins, “At least you weren’t crying on my strong, broad shoulder.” You snort and flick water at him. You look down at your hands and see that the skin at your fingertips is starting to wrinkle.

“I’m gonna start getting ready for bed,” you start moving towards the edge of the bath, “No peeking.” You narrow your eyes at him pointedly. He grins and puts his hands up in mock defense then goes to cover his eyes. You climb out of the onsen, unable to hide the smile creeping up on your face. 

By the time you step out of the bathroom, fully dressed in your pajama set, Gojo is already moving around the room, towel hanging loosely around his neck. He uses to towel to rub at his damp hair. You stand there, arms limp by your side, lifting up one foot to rub at the other ankle. You pad over to the side of the futon furthest from the door and start shuffling under the covers, laying flat on your back, tucking the fluffy blanket under both arms.

You hear him snort from across the room, “You sleep like a vampire.”

“I just haven’t gotten comfortable yet,” you shoot back defensively. You hear some shuffling, the towel hitting the tatami flooring as he drops it onto the floor in a careless heap, and then he’s sliding under the covers beside you. You’re a little nervous to make eye contact so you keep your focus on the ceiling. You feel him stretching beside you, extending his limbs out obnoxiously before he tucks himself in with a long, content sigh.

For a while, it’s quiet aside from the sound of cicadas humming outside. 

“Sooo,” Gojo drawls, “you ever fake break up with someone before?”

You don’t turn your head, just huff through your nose in amusement, lip twitching. “What kind of question is that?”

“I’m just saying,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “If we’re doing this right, we should go all out. Something really dramatic, like in public, tears, maybe I should throw myself on my knees.”

You snort, “Such a performer, you’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’d be such a good fake ex too,” you can feel him nodding, the rustle of his damp hair against the pillow, “The best, actually. You’d definitely come crawling back.” 

You let out a small laugh at his confidence. “Yeah right, you wish.”

You hear the futon rustling beside you as he shifts positions. “I’d get flowers delivered to your house everyday, huge, ridiculous bouquets. Everyone would think I was obsessed with you.”

“Yeah and obnoxious,” you add. “They’d probably wonder how horrible of a boyfriend you were to me too.”

He squawks at that, defensive, “Fake news. I’m the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“You’re the only fake boyfriend I’ve ever had, Satoru.”

“See? The bar is mine to set.” he says in response. That gets him a laugh, one that bubbles out from your chest. 

There’s another moment of silence, only the sound of his gentle breathing filling the air. “Y’know,” you start, “I used to think you were really annoying.”

“Oh yeah?” 

You nod in response, “We barely saw each other and everytime we did, you would always mess with me.”

“Hey! You used to steal my Digimon cards, you were just jealous.” he sneers, teasing you.

You laugh again, “That was only once! And it was only because you stole my kikufuku.”

He hums beside you, probably thinking about how delicious your stolen dessert was. “And what about now?”

You pretend to think about it, humming, “Still pretty annoying.”

He lets out a laugh from his belly and you can feel his shoulders shaking with his laugh. 

Another beat of comfortable silence. You shuffle a bit to get comfortable, pulling the blanket over your shoulder and roll over to your side, only to find him already facing you. Your eyes widen for a second. His pale hair is tussled, falling haphazardly across his forehead and even in the dark, it seems like his eyes are glowing.

You blink. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispers back, voice low.

He’s so handsome like this, in the low light of the night. He looks so soft like there’s no Gojo reputation here, no expectation of being the strongest, just Satoru. He looks almost boy-like.

Your mind flickers, against your will, to the younger version of him. The boy who you only saw every so often but would tease you relentlessly, annoy you with his arrogance from across the room. Such a pest.

And he’s still doing it. Your thoughts are interrupted when his long fingers reach out and pinch at your cheek.

“Hey!” You protest, jerking your face away simultaneously as you shove his arm away, “I said no touching!”

You angrily jab a finger into his cheek. “You said no touching!” he moves to swat your hand away and you push him again in retaliation, hoisting your body up on your elbow for leverage. He shoves you again, using his entire upper body for momentum, laughing in your face obnoxiously as you fall backwards. You rise so you’re balancing on your knees, eye level with him again and place both arms on his shoulders to shove. His hand grabs onto your elbow for support and you’re falling forward with him. You catch yourself from toppling over him against the futon, grinning in victory once you have him pinned down.

He’s looking up at you, eyes widening a bit in surprise, messy hair falling onto his forehead and the pillow below him. You have your knees caging him in at either side of his hips, arms on either side of his head. Your breath stutters and you push yourself up so you’re in a seated position, sliding back a bit until you feel something beneath you.

“I-uh,” you stammer, eyes wide to match his. You’re in a very compromising position and you try to ignore the heaviness beneat you. “Sorry.” You breath out and you’re almost frozen in place. You both stare at each other for a second, chests heaving and you’re not sure if it’s from the fighting or from where you’ve both found yourselves. 

His hands raise to your hips and he pushes himself upwards, capturing your lips with his. Your body stiffens for a second, heart racing and you wonder if he can feel it when you both fall back, your fronts pressed together. His lips are warm and soft. The sheer intent in the way he’s kissing you is enough to make your head spin. He tilts his head, his hands tightening their grip on your waist as he deepens the kiss. Your hands curl at his chest, gripping onto the fabric of his t-shirt like it’s a life line.

The kiss is hot and insistent, messy in a way that makes your stomach lurch and you’re clinging onto him desperately. The futon shuffles as he moves beneath you and as your hips sink flush against his, you feel him. You rock against him without thinking about it, mostly because you’re a little curious and his hands on your hips encourage the movement. His tongue slides against your lips and you tilt your head, allowing him in. He hums into the kiss, clearly pleased, and the sound shoots straight through you to your core. One hand leaves your waist and slides up to the small of your back, fingers splaying to press you closer to him, your bodies flush.

You roll your hips again, purely experimentally and it suddenly makes sense why he acts the way he does when you feel him, hard under the thin layers of fabric separating you. The friction is almost blinding. A broken sound comes from your throat and he swallows the sound eagerly. His hands travel down until they’re over the plush of your ass and you feel him squeeze, groaning into your mouth, the sound raw and unrestrained. 

Your head gets a little bigger with the thought that Satoru Gojo, probably one of the hottest people you’ve ever seen, is getting this worked up over you. His hands are everywhere, squeezing gently at your thighs before moving up over your ass and up your back. 

Your pulse is roaring in your ears. He sits up a bit, moving you with him as you continue moving your lips against his. He moves the two of you until you’ve got your back pressed against the futon. He pulls away, breaking the kiss, foreheads knocking together clumsily as your breaths hit each others face, warm and rapid. His eyes, blown wide and vibrant blue, search yours for a second. He pulls back a bit further, watching you now splayed out underneath him, your chest heaving as you’re still trying to catch your breath. 

You only give yourself a few more second to breath before your arms are looping around his neck, pulling him back down to catch his mouth in another kiss. 

He starts dragging his lips along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of wet kisses. The air feels cold on your flushed skin as he moves along your neck. Each kiss he leaves sends a shockwave of heat, sparking low in your stomach. One of his hands rest on your thigh while the other slips under your shirt and higher, skimming along your ribs and wrapping around, right under your tit. 

He groans, the low sound vibrates against your skin. Your back arches into him as he kisses and nips at the exposed line of your collarbone, lips travelling down the edge of your pajama neckline. Heat shoots through you.

You move your hands down from his neck, palms sliding against the expanse of his back, feeling the solid muscle moving under thin cotton, then up past his defined biceps to his broad shoulders, the fabric bunching with every shift. He’s a lot more muscular than you had thought, strong muscle hidden under his usual baggy clothes. You feel the need to feel him without the layer of fabric in your way. 

“Satoru,” you barely manage to get out, voice quiet and breathy, tugging at the hemline of his shirt, “Take it off.”

You hear the mischievous grin before you see it, feeling the edges of his lips curling against your skin and he stills for a second, “Oooh bossy,” he lifts his head from your chest, “Kinda hot.”

You roll your eyes and almost say something snarky in response but he sits back on his heels, the air nipping at your skin where your bodies were flush, and in one smooth motion, peels his shirt over his head. The fabric drops forgotten to the floor and he’s bare above you, hard muscles illuminated by the low light from outside the room window.

Your breath catches. Long lines of muscle cut sharp and you watch as the hard planes of his chest rise and fall steadily with his breathing. You swallow, eyes dragging over him before you could stop yourself. You force yourself to tear your eyes away, leaning your body upright to tug the thin fabric of your sleep shirt over your head and you toss it to the side. 

Gojo’s gaze drops instantly and you feel the heat rising up your neck. “My eyes are up here,” you say as dryly as you can muster.

He hums in response, his strikingly azure eyes drag up slowly, “Don’t worry, I like those too.”

You don’t have time to come up with a snarky retort because his mouth is back on you, your words catching in your throat. The both of you fall backwards onto the futon, his hand pinned beneath your back and the futon since he had tried to soften your fall. 

His mouth travels down again, leaving hot and wet kisses in its wake, to the swell of your chest, teeth nipping lightly at the skin. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, causing you to arch your back into his body. His free hand slides higher, palm cupping firmly around your breast, thumb brushing over the nub. Each flick of his tongue sends sparks shooting through you as you clutch helplessly at the strong lines of his back, feeling the flex of muscle under your fingertips. 

His hand slips lower, dragging down your bare stomach, past the waistband of your pajama shorts. Your breath hitches as he pushes aside the fabric of your panties, calloused fingers spreading you open. Your entire body jolts when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, delibrate circles. His thumb drags from your opening and then back up to your clit. “Fuck,” he groans against your tit, teeth grazing on the sensitive skin as his thumb works you lazily, “you’re so wet.”

You writhe beneath him, “More,” you gasp into the air, hips curling up to meet his hand.

“So demanding,” he pulls back from your chest just enough to glance up, lazy grin on his face, “Maybe ask nicely.”

You groan at that, jerking your hips again, “You’re really gonna make me ask?” 

His thumb slows until it’s barely moving, the sharp absence makes you whine, head tipping back against the pillow. You want to strangle him. He’d probably like that, masochistic bastard.

“Fuck–” you groan again, “I hate you.” You squeeze your eyes shut, “Please, Satoru.”

“Please, what?” he teases, tone smug with delight. He starts moving his thumb again, painfully slowly.

“Please, more,” you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t currently completely overcome by the agonizing need to cum right now. “Please make me cum.”

He hums in response, grin widening against your skin and his hand shifts lower, one long finger presses inside you, sliding out at an easy pace. The stretch is delicious. You let out another whine, arching into him. His mouth returns to yours, catching your whine in a deep, hungry kiss, drinking in the sound. You moan into the kiss as he curls his finger, dragging against the spot inside you that makes your thighs clench. His thumb circles your clit, moving faster, more deliberate than before.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, his voice rough and shaky. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.” His words go straight to our core and you whimper, digging your nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped imprints in his smooth skin as you grind down against his hand. He slides a second finger into you and you welcome the stretch as he quickens his pace, thumb rubbing stars at your clit. You openly moan, unable to hold back, and he swallows the sounds you make. Your body trembles against his as his body covers yours wholly.

“Satoru,” you breathe out, “I’m gonna–”

“Yeah?” he pants into your mouth, kissing you harder, lips moving against yours. “Let me feel you, baby.”

Your back bows from the futon, toes curling as pleasure rips through you. Your legs threaten to clamp shut, he uses his other arm to curl under your leg, pinning it where it is. You break the kiss, head tipping back, eyes screwed shut as your orgasm tears through your chest and down your spine. He slows down as your body shudders against him, your death grip on his shoulders loosening. 

He slides his fingers out and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. Your vision is still coming back when he brings his hand up to you, two fingers glistening with your release. He has that lopsided grin on again.

“Open.”

You mindlessly do so, his fingers slide past your lips, and your tongue swirls around them instinctively, tasting yourself. Your cheeks heat under his gaze. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, satisfied smile on your face when he finds they’re now clean. Your chest is heaving as you look at him–really look at him, lips swollen, pupils blown wide, hair sticking up in all directions, he looks so desperate for you and it’s really doing something for your ego. 

“Satoru,” you pant, “I need you, now.” He freezes for a second, eyes widening before he moves quickly, fumbling with the waistband of his pajama pants, nearly falling over in his haste. Meanwhile, you’re faring no better as you shimmy out of your shorts as fast as your trembling body allows, pulling your panties down with them. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest as he falls forward above you again, bracing himself on his elbows, the warm skin of his body pressing on yours. Your gaze drops helplessly, your breath catching as he pumps himself, thick and heavy in his hand. Oh. Suddenly every cocky, arrogant joke he’s ever made makes complete sense.

He drags himself along your slit, groaning lowly as he collects your slick to coat himself. Your entire body shudders as his tip catches along your clit and you bite your lip to keep from releasing a sound. He pushes slowly into you, the stretch welcome but has you gripping onto his bicep regardless. Your thighs tighten instinctively around his hips as you continue to adjust to his size. He presses a kiss to your shoulder then another behind your ear as he pushes himself in slowly, hips flush to the inside of your thighs.

“Fuck,” his mouth brushes against your ear and you feel his teeth catching, “you feel so good.” The stretch eases until it fades into the feeling of fullness, the burn turning into a pulsing heat. He starts to pull back, slow at first, dragging it out and groaning as he pushes back in. 

His pace begins to pick up as his hips start snapping faster into yours, your broken moans spilling out shamelessly. Each thrust hits deeper, sharper, sending you spiraling further into the heat curling low in your belly. You hook your ankles around his waist, pulling him deeper as each drag of his body pressed flush against yours. 

“Fuck,” he moans against your kiss-bitten lips, “You’re so–fuck–pretty like this for me.” He pants against your mouth, kissing you rough and wet between his words. Even during sex, he still couldn’t stop talking. You want to tease him but instead, you whimper into the kiss, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You’re clinging onto his sculpted muscles, every single nerve ending in your body is lit up, your entire body still sensitive from your last orgasm. You throw your head back, vision hazy as you let out small cries with each movement of his body against yours. Your head lolled back, eyes hazy, your cries echoing off the paper walls. 

His arm loops under one of your legs, hoisting it up so it rests on his shoulder. The stretch from the new angle has you seeing stars. “Oh my god,” you manage to get out, “Sa-Satoru.”  You feel him grinning against your mouth again.

And then, his mouth is back by your ear, voice breaking between ragged breaths. “You have no idea–” he grunts, pace faltering for a second, “how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” He punctuates his words with sharpened, faster, harder thrusts.

His words catch you off guard and it takes your brain a second to register his words through the roar of blood in your ears but your eyes fly open when you do. The drag of his cock hitting deep has your back bowing off the futon again and you can barely manage a broken, “W-what–?” but you’re interrupted by your body clenching around him, his warm breath at your ear.

He shifts a bit, pulling back just enough to slide his strong hand on the underside of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest. The new angle is doing absolutely sinful things to your brain as he hovers over you, watching himself sink back into you. His grip tightens on the backs of your thighs, pinning you open beneath him. At this point, all you can manage to say between moans and cries is his name. 

Heat shoots down your spine as he lets out a guttural groan, moaning your name, voice ragged. Each thrust drives into you further, relentless and all you can do is claw at the futon beneath as your body jolts underneath him, your hands searching for purchase. He’s digging into you, the feeling overwhelming, toe-curling, every nerve sparking.

“Fuck,” he curses, “I’m about to cum.”

You slip your hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. You draw little stars against it, fingers quick and desperate, trying to keep up with his pace. The added friction sends a broken moan spilling from your lips. You watch as his eyes snap to where your fingers are moving where you’re both connected, jaw clenching. He curses again, voice cracking as sweat beads at his temples.

He picks up his pace again, rhythm faltering, rougher, sharper. You feel yourself fluttering, tightening around him, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with each slap of his hips against your thighs. 

“Satoru–” you gasp, voice cracking, “I’m about to–”

“Fuck, wait–” he manages to choke out, hips stuttering, “Are you on birth control?”

You nod, frantically, eyes squeezed shut. A groan tears from his throat, raw and wrecked, and your second orgasm rips through you, body clenching hard around him, vision blurring around the edges. Your back moves to arch but he’s still got your trembling thighs in his grip, keeping you pinned down to the futon. You bite your lip in an attempt to hold back your broken cries, drawing blood. 

The sight of you cumming beneat him along with the feeling of you fluttering around him is enough to push him over the edge, his rhythm faltering then breaking. “Fuck,” he curses again, hips jerking, each thrust desperate and uneven until he slowly stills, pulsing as he releases inside of you. He balances above you for a moment, the room silent aside from the sound of your ragged breaths. You feel him pushing in and out of you again, shallowly, fucking his cum back into you before he’s pulling out. You whimper at the feeling. 

He’s still got his hands pressing your knees to your chest though his grip is looser, using his hold on you to gently push him back up onto his knees and he’s watching the mixture of both of your fluids slowly leak out of you. He uses his pointer finger and middle finger to push it back into you and the corner of his lip quirks a bit.“Maybe we should give them an heir.”

because he saw it on the explore page between a cat compilation and a five-minute meal that would make his grandmother cry, because the copy said “find out if you and your partner are 100% soulmates!” with confetti emojis, because he’s a cocky genius but also an idiot with other things that involve feelings, because he wanted the number to be a crown. that’s all. not obsessive. not desperate. just a small, ridiculous wish poured into a quiz that was poorly coded with bubblegum and superstition.

he expects 100. he expects 120, if the math is done correctly (which it won’t be; he can already see the javascript struggling). he expects to get the kind of answer that confirms what his body already knows every time you laugh at him and then climb him like furniture.

instead the screen says 62% in a font he wants to handcuff and drown.

“sixty-two,” he mouths without making a sound; he likes you asleep and unbothered, and there is a funny, horrid sink in his stomach, a trapdoor opening under his ribs, because—what? because an app that asked if his “ideal vacation” was a cabin in the woods or a beach with margaritas decided he’s not aligned with the girl who currently smells like strawberry shampoo and clean sweat and satoru?

the banner under the number says not quite soulmates, but maybe a strong match! and he has to swipe it away like a bug because the words scrape against his teeth.

a strong match. as if he hasn’t memorized your heartbeat through a t-shirt, as if he didn’t hitch you up around his hips and worship you until you went quiet in the sweet, confused way that makes his chest feel like it’s going to break open and let birds out. he swipes harder than necessary and the phone somehow does not file a complaint.

he scrolls back through the questions, which is masochistic but also crucial because there is obviously a mistake. question 3: what’s your perfect friday night? his answer: late-night editing binge + takeout (truth; he likes watching your mouth chew noodles while your bare foot touches his calf for no reason except everything). your answer, which he answered for you because you’re asleep and he is you-certified: blankets + movies + kissing until the credits. that… aligns.

question 5: do you believe in fate? him: yes (he'd say it's gross, but true, in that he believes in the statistical anomaly of you, in the way your existence keeps breaking his models). you (as submitted by your deranged representative): not really, but kind of for us (he put that because it sounded like you, practical and tender, an oxymoron wearing lip gloss). question 8: love language? he typed words of affirmation and also all of them, which might have penalized him. you got acts of service because he watches you suffer from joy when he brings you cut fruit and a hoodie that smells like him.

and still: 62. the app hates love. the app is jealous. the app is coded by someone who’s never had to kiss someone’s nose because their face made an emergency expression.

he feels the spiral approach like weather, like recognition. this feeling he gets when he can’t be cocky enough to hide the way his lungs forget how to do the easy job. the ceiling fan, which is off, looks smug.

statistically, he knows this is nonsense. he knows about sampling error, knows about garbage in, garbage out, knows that a dozen poorly weighted items cannot measure the architecture of a life.

he literally took your sock to work last week by accident because he had it clenched in his hand when he left. all of that because you’d been laughing at him for losing the lid to the peanut butter and he had stopped listening because your mouth had gloss on it. so he drove around for an hour with your sock in his lap like a talisman because you had a dentist appointment and he didn’t like the way you sounded brave about not wearing socks at all. he knows the output of an app cannot hold a candle to that.

still his brain is an engine that calculates even when the math is stupid, so it starts composing a table: things we do differently vs things that mean everything.

in the first column: he likes having eight different chargers within reach, you let your phone die three times a day and then look at him like he should be proud; he eats cereal at midnight, you insist that breakfast is not that important; he refuses to skip song intros, you fast-forward to your favorite line because life is short and he is long.

in the second column: the way you always pick out the strawberry candies because he says they taste like you and he just loves the way you wrinkle your nose and pretend to hate it; that’s why he keeps saying it. the way your fingers find his wrist under blankets and hold on like you’re checking facts, the way you tuck your laughing into his neck after you roast him, like he is your gravity and you want to be obedient to physics today.

sixty-two. the number sits like gum on the sole of his heart.

you move. it’s very small. the lazy flex of your toes against his shin, a long inhale that flares your nose in a way he catalogs because he catalogs everything on autopilot, that one faint pinch line when you’re about to wake, that slow blink that says you’re deciding if the world is worth it.

he stills like prey, thumb flattening over the volume rocker to mute the world he’s currently losing to. your leg is thrown over him in that thoughtless way people drape coats over chairs; your thigh is heavy and warm; your panties cut a gentle line he wants to lick back into place.

his brain, unfairly, notes that the quiz did not ask do you know the exact place your lover’s pulse jumps in their neck when they’re about to laugh? or would you sell a kidney to keep the small smile on her face from ever disappearing? or have you already memorized the lie she tells with her eyebrows when she says she doesn’t mind being the little spoon tonight but actually she wants to be on top of you because your chest is the right kind of annoying? and he thinks: add those and then come back with sixty-two.

he should sleep. he should put the phone down, lick the salt from your shoulder where it dried, bury his mouth behind your ear and say something nonsensical in apology for performing spiritual infidelity with an algorithm, like hey, if you were a dataset i’d violate every nondisclosure to keep you (you’d laugh, he’d survive with a teasing grin, then die happy).

instead he opens a second compatibility test in a new tab and hates himself immediately (just to compare; replication matters; good science). this one has pastel gradients and a series of sliders. he touches nothing, tries to be honest honest, and your foot slides down his shin, your skin remembered him.

question one asks if he is clingy. the slider pings 5/5 before he can blink.

question two asks about jealousy. he swallows because the word makes him feel primitive and stupid and true, and he keeps the slider at 2/5 because he is not jealous of people, he is jealous of concepts—of time he can’t bend, of obligations that look like thieves, little things that keep you away from his affection. okay, he is jealous of your hoodie sometimes when you wear the blue one you got from a thrift store instead of the black one he “accidentally” left in your bag.

question three asks about belief in soulmates and he thinks about you in his hallway glaring at the stubborn groceries bag like it insulted your degree, about the way you put the milk away wrong and he quietly comes behind you to put it away “right” and you catch him and kiss him for being obsessive, about the morning you had a bad dream and he brought you toast with jam cut into star shapes because your eyes looked too wet; he drags the slider to yes so hard it probably punctures the UI.

compatibility score: 64%. the phone vibrates with celebratory confetti. he wants to bite it.

“stop,” he tells the rectangle like it can learn.

“hm?” you breathe, not awake but not not.

his panic is a bird that tries to hide under the bed. “nothing.” his voice, to its credit, remembers the low setting, the one he uses when he wants you to keep sleeping because you get mean when you’re tired and he loves it but he also wants to protect the tiny vein in your temple that throbs when you push yourself too hard.

you roll closer, and the glue between your bodies makes that soft kissy sound. after all, sweat and shower and sex make a human slip-n-slide, and he has to close his eyes because he feels your stomach on his ribs and it’s like being forgiven in a language he never learned.

he should not wake you because he does not want to make this your job. he is a grown man with a credit score and a phone subscription. he can manage his own monsters. he touches his lower lip with his thumb in that absent way he has when he is about to mock someone or about to code for eight hours; you always bite that thumb away from his mouth because you say it’s “whiny.”

the phone wobbles slightly in his hand, betraying the tremor in his wrist. satoru’s supposed to be untouchable, a genius with unshakeable confidence and a girlfriend currently sleeping half-naked beside him. after absolutely ruining you for three rounds. it’s not that serious. it’s a quiz, not destiny. he knows that. he knows that. still, his chest feels tight in that stupid way, like he’s thirteen again and being told he’s “a little much.”

and his brain can’t live without flashbacks at the worst moments: the first time you slept over without sex. the way he panicked about where to put your hair tie like it was a diplomatic gift, the exact relief when you used his chest like a mattress topper and drooled. the next morning you called him a “human heating pad with ego issues” and kissed his collarbone so sweet he almost apologized to a every person he’s made sure he had the last word with. where in any of these histories does 62% fit? show your work.

he should close the app and think like the rational man he is, think about the proofs he knows for sure; how you laugh with your shoulders first; you say “whatever” when you mean “please keep trying”; you put the knife in the dishwasher blade-up and he's going to die someday because of it and then kiss you until you make the high noise and forgive him for being like that.

instead he breathes wrong, louder than he thinks; he’s bad at stealth breathing, and you wake like a tide, slow then sudden, pupils thick, mouth soft, confusion and affection wrestling with the same ribbon.

“satoru?” gravely, sweet. that morning voice that makes him want to put his head under your shirt and petition your heart for leniency.

he locks his phone on instinct, guilty like you caught him cheating . “hey,” he says, aiming for normal. misses.

you blink, try to focus on his face in the dark, blink again. one exhale and your body syncs its interest with your brain; your thigh flexes over his hips like a test. “why are you making that face.”

“i wasn’t making a face, what,” he lies, and you smile so softly his spine turns into a ladder he wants to climb. "what do you mean,"

your gaze drifts to the sliver of phone under his palm. you tilt your head trying to reach for the small device—lazy, unthreatening; he flinches like you’re the tax man. you pause, eyebrows up. the face that says oh?

“what’d you do.” not accusatory. delighted. you always get delighted when he is stupid. it makes him worse, he wants to swallow the phone.

“research.” he regrets the second syllable.

your mouth curves. “at one in the morning? after we had sex? while i’m naked and defenseless?” you are not defenseless; you are a weapon; you are blunt force trauma with a bow.

“don’t say it like that,” he mutters, because his genius brain is still cheap when it comes to you and will throw the car into thirst if he lets it. “you’ll—”

“what.” your lips ghost his jaw tenderly, a hit-and-run kiss that knocks the stress right out of him, and his lungs draw in a little more oxygen, “make you be honest?” you tsk in sympathy. “poor little research boy.”

you sit up on an elbow, the sheet sliding to your waist. his pupils flick down. quick. hungry. his hands jerk in the smallest twitch before he disciplines them. he doesn’t touch you. he’s pretending he’s not affected. it’s ridiculous. you trail your hand down, not even teasing, just mapping him. sternum, the knot of muscle under the left rib where he gets sore after a long day, the light ladder of abs you kissed twenty minutes ago when he was going soft and you were stubborn. his stomach tightens. you keep going until your fingers rest just above the sheet line. he burns under your palm.

he groans, low and rough, before dropping his face into the curve of your shoulder, words muffled against your skin as if he’s confessing to the fabric of you instead of daring to look you in the eye. his breath warms there, lips brushing without meaning to, and finally he says it with a voice half-swallowed by your skin, “it was a compatibility thing.”

you snort softly, pressing your hand over your mouth, like you can’t believe it. and then you laugh. muffled giggles, warm and incredulous, bubbling into the quiet. “oh my god. you did. you actually—satoru.” you shove his shoulder lightly, and it's more affection than mockery. “you incredible idiot.”

“i wanted us to get a good grade,” he confesses, vein in his neck doing drums. “like an A-plus. i know it’s not—I know.” his hand flaps, a damp sparrow. “i just thought it’d be funny if it came back saying we're soulmates, i thought maybe it would be nice to see the universe admit i’m right.”

you are quiet, and quiet with you is always tenderness dressed as suspense. then you tap his temple with the pad of your finger. “and?”

he exhales. draws the number with the tip of his tongue against your shoulder like it can hide in there. “sixty-two.”

you do not laugh. even though he expected laughter, braced for it; he would have deserved it; he would have been fine. you make a small soft noise instead—something between a hum and a you poor thing, and then you put your hand in his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp in the exact little curve that turns his thoughts into oatmeal. his eyes sting.

okay, maybe you laugh a little bit.

“sixty-two?! we didn’t even pass?! oh my god, babe—”

“don’t—” he groans, flopping back against the pillows. “don’t laugh. it’s serious.”

“serious?” you wheeze. “we literally just had sex and you’re worried about percentages?”

“you don’t get it,” he insists, a little wild-eyed. “we’re supposed to be perfect. like, destined. the chosen ones. and some dumb app thinks we’re… roommates.”

you lift your head, still grinning. “so we're roommates who fuck.”

“fine, laugh all you want,” he grumbles, the words rough and sulky, dragged out like they cost him something. he shifts with a huff, rolling onto his side so that all you get now is the wide stretch of his back, muscle shifting under skin, shoulder blades tugging tight like he’s trying to make a wall of himself. the line of him feels deliberate—spine, shoulders, the tense set of his neck—all turned away from you, a silent little punishment, even though you can still hear the faint exhale he can’t stop giving you.

“oh my god, fineee. come here,” you say, which is funny because he is already here, he is all here, but he still comes, shifting until your chests line up and your breath lands on his mouth like you’re lending it out. your knee slides along the outside of his thigh, your calf tucks under his. the phone is irrelevant now, so he flings it somewhere near the pillow pile without looking and doesn’t care when it thunks because his hands are busy learning you again, mapping the same place a new way.

“you know it doesn’t matter,” you whisper, no scolding, just offering, like a glass of water you hold to his mouth. “you know that, right?”

“yes, of course,” he says, too fast with a shrug, because he is a liar with a diploma. he grimaces, then catches the truth like a fly. “who do you think I am, i don't give a fuck about it. it just says we’re not a great match. ”

“oh no,” you deadpan again. he squints at you. you keep your face still. you lean in. you press your mouth to the edge of his ear, warm breath kissing the skin there. his fingers twist in the sheet. he doesn’t move, but he does, tiny, the way a rabbit freezes while every muscle shivers.

“mmhm.” he tries to sound unbothered, fails so hard you almost crouch on his chest and giggle. he clears his throat, performs bored. “anyway. not a big thing.”

“you’re spiraling,” you say softly. you let the words fall onto his skin. he twitches, and you notice how his nostrils flare. his eyes flick to you, to your mouth, to your shoulder. he wants to argue and also kiss you. his brain stutters between so many options. he picks option three, denial.

“nope.” he looks at the ceiling again. his left foot flexes under the sheet, the tendon going sharp. his right hand closes into a fist, opens, closes. he adds, extra airy, “i’m very normal.”

you grin. “yeah. super normal.” you tap his chest twice with your fingertips, then press your hand flat. his ribcage nudges your palm when he inhales.

“you know, statistically,” he begins, and you laugh, because of course, “online compatibility testing has a replicability crisis, and i already feel foolish for even letting my thumb land on it, but the questions—” he glances at you, then away. “they made me think.”

you go quiet as you adjust your cheek on his arm. his skin is warm, a little damp, smelling of you, of him, of sex ground into pores. the scent makes your lungs do weird things, and you can feel your belly flip. the softness in you turns a shade firmer. you lift your head and rest your chin on his chest, right over his heart. your thumbs anchor on either side of his sternum. you look up at him through your lashes. he looks down, and for a second something unclenches in his face. it’s relief, almost fragile. then the worry slides back.

“about what,” you ask, and you make sure you pitch it gentle. he blinks, staring at a point above you and answers to the ceiling.

“about whether i—” he stops. you wait. he swallows, the vein at his temple pulses. his hands curl again and don’t relax this time. “whether i’m… enough.” the last word is barely sound. it sits there, naked and hot, between you. your chest hurts. not bad hurt. heavy, swollen hurt. you stare at his mouth because you’ll cry if you stare at his beautiful eyes, those eyes that look like shards of sky stolen before dawn, too bright, too cold, too endless to belong in a human face. .

you drag your nails lightly down his ribs until he hisses and the dimple shows up at the corner of his mouth. he tries to kill it, but fails like most of the time. “enough for what,” you press. your voice doesn’t shake. you're proud of that. he breathes out slow, counting again.

“for you,” he says, and it’s unadorned. “for… this.” his gaze drops to your mouth again, then lower, to the wet glow on your sternum, to the line of your belly. his ears go pink. his pupils kick and bloom. his voice drops. “for us.”

oh. there it is. the dumb quiz is just a hook. the meat is his old habit—looking for proof, for a number, for a metric he can beat to death until it lays still and looks like truth. the boy who memorized everything so no one could tell him he didn’t deserve it. the man who has you spread on him and still needs an app to say yes.

“satoru.” you lift a hand to his face and take his glasses off. you do it slow, careful with the hinge, because you’ve broken two pairs during sex and he keeps pretending that was the manufacturers’ fault. he blinks at you once his eyes are bare. the nakedness of his gaze is too much, sometimes, it hits straight in your gut. you put the glasses on the nightstand, on top of your phone.

you tuck a fingertip under his chin. the faint scratch of stubble kisses your pad. “you just put a condom on, then took it off because i asked, then put it back on because i huffed at you, then took it off again because i begged, then came inside me and told me to keep it there.” you pause. his breath trips on the memory. his eyes dip to your navel. “do you think i’d be doing that with someone i’m not… enough with.”

he stares at you in a stupid, heartstruck way that you would clown him for later. his mouth opens. closes. opens again. he’s so blown his neural network is firing in random directions. he ends up on a different topic, too honest to be strategic.

“but that’s because you can’t resist me,” he says, smug as ever, laughter curling right behind the words. he even throws in the ridiculous little eyebrow wiggle, like he knows exactly how stupid it looks and how it still gets to you anyway. there it is—the cocky version of him resurfacing fast, snapping back into place like a rubber band. no hesitation, no pause to let the moment settle; he dives straight into it, wasting no time reclaiming that familiar role, the one where he’s untouchable and insufferably sure of himself, the one that makes you want to roll your eyes and kiss him in the same breath.

you nod like that’s allowed, but you can't bite back the sarcasm. “yes, because you're so irresistible.”

“just kidding." he whispers softly, "you know you can fix everything,” he says, which is unsustainable and you both know it; he says it anyway because it feels like kneeling on a rug he bought himself. “i hate that i want you to.”

“okay,” you continue, nuzzling his cheek, “do you want to hear my compatibility quiz? it has one question.”

“mm.” he wants anything you have. he would take a receipt. he would take a grocery list if it had his name like eggs, bananas, satoru.

“question,” you murmur, slow, because you know how to pour words over him until he stops rattling. “when i am tired and unkind and i hate the way my body feels and the day took me apart and used me wrong, who do i want? a cabin? a margarita? or your ridiculous chest and the exact way you complain about movie trailers because they give away too much?”

his laugh comes up from the place that had the trapdoor. “my chest is ridiculous?”

“it’s so smug,” you say primly. “i hate how it works on me.”

“works?”

you hum. lean down and kiss the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, “yeah, works.”

“okay,” he gives, soft. “what’s the right answer to your one question.”

“you,” you say, like a shrug. “always you.”

his hands clench in your waist like he’s falling from something and catching something at the same time. he thinks: if fate is a real thing (and he has voted yes), then maybe this is it—this tiny, silly test in your voice; this gift of an answer that isn’t a number; this certainty he can fold into and live.

“second,” you say, mouth moving to the corner of his lips in the slow path he now associates with we are going to stop you from drowning, hold still, “i should probably demonstrate our compatibility in a way your stupid grammar of a brain can’t argue with.”

“like a proof?” he whispers, because the voice is back to low; because you are in the part of the night that makes honesty heavy; because he loves when you speak math to him like foreplay.

“like a proof,” you agree. and then you kiss him.

it is not the frantic kind you did earlier, the oh god oh god i missed you even though you were here kiss where teeth are negotiable and his hands forgot about edges. this one is the opposite; nothing to prove except that you choose this, slow enough he can feel individual fan beats from your lashes against his skin, deep enough to make his brain do that funny soft reboot where names fade and only geometry remains. the complex soft geometry of mouths, tongues, the way your hand fits behind his ear like it was made with a measuring spoon.

he tries to keep his hands good, he does; he tries to keep them on your waist and in your hair like a gentleman scientist; they slide. they always slide. down the curve of your back because your spine is rude and insists on being touched, around to your hip where the elastic has done that twist again. when he fixes it gently; you sigh into his mouth like he rescued a kitten, well he's rescued your pussy, that's a lot. then his hand slide to the tops of your thighs where the heat collects, where your skin gets a little sticky and all the nerves gather to gossip.

your weight settles heavier across his stomach, hips dragging a lazy figure-eight that is not sex, not really, just the flirtation of friction, the he knows what you want and he's giving it to you like a treat motion he does when he wants to make you soft. when his breath breaks; yours answers. he can feel the line of you through the thin cotton of your panties, the damp warmth that says your body remembers him even if that damn quiz pretended not to.

“say we’re compatible,” he mumbles against your mouth, half-joking, mostly not, ugly in need, beautiful in need, and your answering sound is so fond it makes him angry at everything that ever made him feel un-wantable.

“we’re—” you roll your hips, deliberate, and his eyes close—“compatible.” again, slower. “we’re—” the smallest grind, your lower lip catching on his, “molded.” and then, like a mercy, “we’re inevitable.”

he chokes on a laugh, a whine, something between a prayer and a threat. “you’re perfect.”

“mm.” you kiss the corner of his smile. “you complete me to make me perfect. because you like me perfect.”

he does, he likes you everything. he likes you when you put your foot on his thigh and ask for lotion like a queen demanding tribute; he likes you when you snap the light off with unnecessary flourish like you just defeated the sun; he likes you when you pin his wrists because you want to see him pretend to struggle and then give up because there's no way you could beat him. he likes you now, heavy and patient and sweetly cruel, feeding him the slow drug.

his hands slide under you without permission. he palms the underside of your thigh, squeezes, apologizes into your mouth with a little sound because you have the softest skin and his fingers are greedy. you make a noise that means approved and he smiles into it, awful and happy.

“more proof,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at him, and he’s struck again by the unscientific violence of how pretty you are when you’re soft and determined—eyes shiny in the dark, brows knitting in concentration like you’re about to perform surgery with your mouth. “or will that overwhelm the data set.”

“ruin me,” he says, reverent, immediate.

you don’t ruin him (not fully; that’s for mornings). you do, however, grind down once, slow as a sermon, and keep your mouth on his as if the oxygen contract was renegotiated and you signed for both of you. the friction lights up his spine. his chest tries to be bigger to hold all the feelings and fails. somewhere, low, your breath breaks on a noise that makes his hands tremble. he swallows it like medicine.

after a while (minutes? hours? all of time newly small), you ease off, hover, ghost-kiss his cheek, his nose, the ridiculous chest, the throat. your voice is the favorite blanket. “do you believe me?”

“don't ask ridiculous questions.” no hesitation; it falls out of him. “yes.”

“good.” you nudge his jaw with your nose, a soft animal. “i want to keep kissing you, but i also want you to sleep so you don’t go feral at someone tomorrow.”

“is it my fault if most people can't keep up with my perfect aura,” he protests, indignant, and you laugh in the dark—low, sweet, your body doing that full-body crinkle—and he feels the laugh on his ribs and thinks, aggressively: this. this is the metric. this is the only test that matters.

you slide back down to where you were, thigh over his, hand finding the rhythm at his wrist. he feels the slow settle of you, your muscles untying, your breath easing into that pattern he knows like a favorite song. he stares at the ceiling for a second to make sure no more storms are coming. they are not. you turned them away at the door with one question and a kiss.

still, because he is dramatic he asks; “if we took it together tomorrow, would you lie on the answers so we get 100.”

“absolutely,” you say without a pause, smug and tender. “i would destroy the scientific method for you and laugh.”

he groans happily. “marry me.”

you poke his side. “ask again when i’m wearing something.”

he finds your hand under the blanket, threads fingers. “you don't find it romantic? a proposal while naked?”

you tilt your head, interested. “satoru, don't make me regret all the sweet things i said.”

“fine,” he huffs, sighing. “I'll try not dream about it.”

“you’re my 100, okay?” you say after a while, it could be corny; it isn’t. you say it like you’re recording a fact for a file you’ll open in an emergency. “on the scale and off the scale. if we ever fight, if we ever get weird, if your brain makes monsters—remember that. still 100. maybe even more.”

"continue and i will marry you naked." he chuckles quietly, his fingers skimming your skin in small tickles.

and because he is satoru, because he is dense and brilliant and yours, he leans in and kisses you like he’s signing a binding agreement that was already in effect the first time he saw you. your mouth signs back. the air signs. the day moves forward, smug with its proof.

no charts required.

toji didn’t know how mean it was, but he started paying attention to his son’s rants just recently, only because nine times out of ten, he’ll mention his homeroom teacher. the one that called him in earlier in this year after megumi got into a fight.

it was bothersome. kids fight. for heavens sake, that’s his job, however, when megumi came back with a note insisting that his parents come speak to her, and not an assistant or nanny, is when toji dragged his ass from the gym to his sons little middle school. toji never really bothered with megumi’s school life, occasionally asking if his grades were up and listening when the boy rants a couple times about his idiot friends.

toji wasn’t negligent, he obviously cares deeply about his son, hell, his son is the only thing he cares about. so of course as his only provider, he needs to take care of him, give him the best life he could ask for, especially knowing how toji grew up, he only ever wants the very best for his only child. in other words, he doesn’t have much time to visit his son’s school all that much because of his very demanding career.

anyways, megumi was waiting by the front of the school, as toji walked up. sitting beside him was the same pink-haired kid that was always over at his house. his eyes brightened when he saw the fighter.

“hi mr. toji!” yuuji was definitely toji’s biggest fan.

“kid.” the acknowledgment was enough for yuuji to smile even brighter. “where am i supposed to go?” toji’s hands were deep in his pockets. he didn’t even bother changing out of his sweaty gym clothes, and he still had some bandaids wrapped around his knuckles.

megumi glanced up, eyes narrow. “did you even shower?”

“you said 3:30.”

“it’s 4 now.”

toji stared blankly. “show me the way or I’m leaving.” megumi stood up, yuuji bouncing up to follow too.

“hey mr. toji, you should’ve showered,” yuuji says walking backwards, his hands behind his head. toji raises a brow at his smug attitude. yuuji shrugs, continuing on. “ms. l/n likes things that smell good,” he says raising a finger. “like flowers, and chocolates and candy and maybe the ocean, and she’s really pretty, so if you smell sweaty then she’ll probably be upset.”

idiots, toji rolls his eyes. “well it’s too late now.” yuuji shrugs, looking at megumi who shrugs as well. this peaks toji’s sudden suspicion. since when was megumi aware of things like that?

toji watches as megumi and yuuji skip up to the door labeled 6C. they peak through the door window before swinging it open.

“hi ms. l/n!” yuuji shouts.

there’s a distant laugh, as toji follows the kids inside. “what’re you still doing here?”

oh shit.

toji felt like time stopped, and a wave of pink and fuzzy flowers hit him.

you were sitting cross legged at the desk as yuuji leaned over the table, and megumi leaned against the board beside you. both boys so naturally in their element it almost felt like you knew them better than he did. which might be true.

his eyes rack up, not really knowing what to say. he’d met megumi’s teachers in elementary school, but none of them looked like this. he didn’t say anything for a moment, until your eyes perk up catching him standing by the door.

“oh, you must be megumi’s dad,” you quickly stand up, your dress naturally falling perfectly, as you extend a hand out for him. “it’s great to finally meet you.”

your eyes were as bright as your voice, looking directly into his dark emerald eyes, it threw him for a loop. he glanced down at your hand before gently grasping it, his hand easily dwarfing yours.

when he touched your hand, there were noticeable callouses on his palm and fingers. you knew who he was, but you also knew that it was your job to take care of these kids. he studied your skin for a moment, noticing how smooth it was. he tried to keep his touch light somehow hyper aware now of how clammy his hands are, and that he probably stinks.

“likewise.” he replies, his voice deep and a bit raspy, matching his appearance.

you turn to look at megumi and yuuji by your desk, it gave you a momentary chance to catch your breath as you feel how warm your cheeks are. “okay boys, go wait outside, I need to talk to your dad alone.”

yuuji sighs dramatically, but the two hum walking away, but megumi briefly stops beside you, his eyes saying just enough for you to understand. toji raises a brow, but megumi ignores him, disappearing outside. brat.

you motion toji to sit at one of the desks in front which he obliges. the material of his black sweats stretch over his thighs as he sits. why the hell are you even taking note of that! this is harder than you expected.

you sit at your chair, your dress rests right above your knees, it wasn’t the kind of dress he sees on the women at his matches. it was an adorable little sun dress that fit a middle school teacher, yet it was still tight around the waist and breasts, hugging you so well he so desperately wanted to press a hand right on your tummy to see how big his palm was compared to you and yet he found himself getting irked that he definitely smells bad. fucking brats were right, he should’ve showered.

“megumi is a sweet boy. he’s very smart and soft-spoken,” you praise, “however, he also doesn’t seem to understand that we should keep our hands to ourselves. especially at school.” toji nods along, thankful he can keep his mind distracted from his son’s surprisingly attractive school teacher, “I think I wrote on the note, but he got into a fight with the upperclassman boys during lunch and he gave them both black eyes. we’re lucky he didn’t break their noses.”

his arms are crossed over his chest, his black compression shirt stretching around his large biceps, your mind blanking for a moment as you see the thick veins. you should have dress codes for these meeting because his arms were so beautifully structured, definitely for fighting and for—

toji nods at your comment. he knew megumi had a habit of getting into fights with older kids, but maybe having him as a father was rubbing off on him in the wrong way.

“I can imagine gumi was defending himself. he usually gets into fights when they’re messing with him.”

“I understand defending yourself, but causing these upperclassmen to bleed from their mouths and noses and sending them to the hospital is highly unacceptable,” your brows pinch as you speak. you’ve heard comments from the other teachers about megumi’s father. his whole life is about fighting, but you had to get through to him about his eleven year old son. “I understand things may be different at home, but megumi should learn that this isn’t the right way to solve problems.”

your eyes were so big and adorable. he leans back in his seat slightly, he had a hard time thinking anything else other than the adorable expression on your face. you were determined to get your point across, and the way your brows scrunched slightly had him reeling.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” he hums, voice low. He didn’t like being told what to do, especially when it came to megumi, but he’ll concede. just this once.

your eyes seem to light up immediately. you definitely expected that to be much harder than it was. his other teachers have said they’ve tried tooth and nail to get meetings with megumi’s dad but failed.

“that’s great!” you laugh lightly. “I was expecting a little more of a fight.” you confess.

he raised a brow, tilting his head slightly — fuck that was hot. “and why would you think that?”

“most parents get defensive,” you stand up, fixing your dress again, his eyes glance over your figure again.

“well I’m glad I’m not like most parents,” he leans forward. he’s seen his fair share of women, but this time it felt wrong. ogling at your figure and seeing your slightly low neckline felt like it was forbidden territory. who was he kidding, you were his son’s teacher and you definitely look much younger than the other teachers around here. “how do you like teaching?”

you tilt your head in surprise, gaze slowly wandering around the classroom walls. “it’s nice.” you smile to yourself. “i never took myself seriously, and would’ve never thought I’d be teaching middle schoolers, but now that i am it’s nice.” your eyes find his again, blushing slightly when you realize he never took his eyes off you.

“I wouldn’t have expected a pretty young girl teaching a bunch of bratty middle schoolers though.”

your cheeks flush at the compliment, laughing lightly. “most of them are not so bad.”

“most of them,” he raises a brow, making you laugh a little louder. his heart souring at the sound.

“they can be pretty mean sometimes,” you confess with a laugh, almost like you’re talking to a friend now. he lets out a low chuckle, leaning back in the chair, stretching out his muscular legs as he relaxed. normally he hated parent-teacher meetings, but this was much more comfortable than he expected, especially since it was you in front of him and not some old lady nagging him about his son’s behavior.

“I don’t doubt that.” he said with a slight nod, “I’ve gotten my fair share of glares and insults from gumi.”

your eyes widen. “megumi? really?”

he quirks a brow, “is it that shocking?”

“yes!” you’re pressed against the front of the desk, leaning forward as you hold the edge of your desk now, shocked. “i mean he gets into fights with some of the kids, but he’s always so respectful to the teachers.”

he raises his brow, “he might be respectful, but that could just be because it’s you.” his eyes follow the way your expression softens, fixing yourself on the desk. every little move you make catches his attention. it was addicting just watching you be you. no wonder those two brats were all over you. it should be criminal for a woman like you to be stuck as a teacher. “I can’t imagine anyone being mean to you.”

it was so easy pulling a smile from you, and yet he felt like he was the only one that should see the way your eyes dart away from his, pretending like you weren’t affected by his compliments. you were trying to stay professional, which made the idea of getting you flustered more appealing.

“you’d think,” you manage to respond. “middle schoolers are moody kids. they’ve definitely made some other teachers cry.”

he chuckled again, making you flush a little hotter just by the sound. it was so low, and you hate to sound like a stupid girl, but it was manly. you’ve seen your fair share of attractive parents, but there was just something about this man in particular that set your heart racing, but he’s also a very well known athlete, even though you haven’t seen any of his matches. everyone probably reacts the same considering he’s basically a celebrity.

“and have they made you cry?”

his dark green eyes were intense, and you met them with a light hearted smile, resisting the urge to absolutely melt. “no.”

he let out an amused sound at your answer. “not even once?” he teased, his smirk widening slightly. “not a single kid has ever been able to make you cry?”

you lean back on the desk, absolutely letting every single guard down as your dress rises a couple inches up your thigh. it felt so natural speaking to him. maybe subconsciously knowing exactly how he’s looking at you right now gave you more confidence.

“maybe I’m lucky, or I’m just not sensitive.” you glance up at the ceiling for a moment. his jaw clenched slightly, his eyes taking in the fat of your thighs just imagining the thought of pushing his body between your legs, hands grabbing at the flesh as you lay flat on your desk. do school teachers wear shorts or only panties underneath…

your eyes suddenly light up. “one kid a couple weeks ago got mad at me for giving him detention and he said i only did that because I’m not married so I have no reason to go home. that hurt my pride a bit.” you laugh.

“damnn, that’s pretty cruel.” but he doesn’t miss a second to add. “not married, really?” he hums. “no husband waiting at home for you?”

you laugh shaking your head. “no, definitely not. I’m just a baby.”

and he couldn’t help but feel relieved hearing you say that, the idea of someone else coming home to you didn’t sit right with him. “boyfriend then?” he asked, eyes burning into you. he wanted to know that no one else was there. he honestly didn’t know why he needed to know so badly, it would’ve been better if you did have someone, that way he could control himself. and yet just the thought of that made him nauseous. if there was someone else hearing your laughs in private, making you smile, kissing your lips, touching your soft skin—

“nope, just me.”

thank god!

“that’s hard to believe.”

you roll your eyes at the flattery. “no seriously. maybe that’s why I’m okay with this job taking up all my time.” you laugh, trying to mask the slight embarrassment, because you don’t exactly know if you’re being judged right now. you’re still in your early twenties, it’s not that hard to believe that you’re single—

“if it was up to me, I wouldn’t let you teach all these kids if you were single,” he’s looking at you intently.

your cheeks feel warm as you watch him sit straight, but you egg him on. “why?”

he looks at you as if you’d just asked a stupid question. “nothing,” he stood up. you were beautiful, sweet, and speaking to you right now, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t think other students dads were thinking the same lewd thoughts he was having right now. the teacher their students love is an absolute catch and she doesn’t seem to like being a teacher that much anyways.

so many taboo lines could be crossed. “so your dream is to teach kids?”

your lips part in shock. you hesitate. “no. but it’s not bad.” you feel slightly offended, almost getting defensive right now. does it show that you’d rather have a different occupation? you love these kids but…

he raises a brow, stepping in front of the desk, hands deep in his pockets. even though you were leaning against the desk, having him standing in front of you just made the height difference even more obvious. “then what is your dream, sweetheart.”

you bite your cheek, heart beating a little quicker, not even fully processing what he called you. he smirked when you accepted it, too focused on his question—

“how much longer!?” the loud yell startled you both. you stand up straight as you look over at megumi and yuuji by the open door. toji nearly forgot they were waiting. almost wishing the brats were kidnapped. his eyes dart away from you, a scowl forming on his face.

“we have practice, dad”.

he let out a light huff, his eyes darting back over to you for a moment before focusing his gaze on the two kids.

“go wait in the hallway,” he huffs, he wanted to hear what you had to say.

“it’s fine. we’re finished.” you hop off the desk, smiling gently at toji as you resume your role as his son’s teacher. he resisted the urge to push back because the way you were looking at him immediately had him submitting. “it was great finally meeting you, and thank you for coming in today, mr. fushiguro.“

he gave a slight nod, the eye contact overwhelming, so much so that you had to look away.

“now i already spoke to you megumi, and you’re gonna listen, right?” your sweet voice was absolutely mouth watering.

megumi grimaced, biting his cheek as he avoided your gaze until a rough hand landed on his head. “he better, I’ll make sure of it, teach.”

toji’s wink sent a flustered swarm breaking inside you. your cheeks stinging as your eyes go wide. a glint sparked in his gaze at your reaction.

yuuji lunged as well, wrapping his arm around megumi’s shoulder. “don’t worry ms. l/n, I’ll keep megumi in check!” his loud boisterous laugh made you laugh, especially when megumi elbowed him, grumbling about how he always needs to take care of yuuji, not the other way around.

toji let out a scoff as the two boys playfully argued with each other, megumi always seemed annoyed by yuuji, but they both knew how much they cared about each other. so instead, toji grabbed them both by the collar, dragging them to the door. the two boys were kicking each other, but the weight of the two twelve year old boys was nothing to toji, and you couldn’t help but laugh as a small heat spread across your cheeks as his large form retreated away from you.

“till next time. and ya better have an answer then,” his eyes bore into yours, the sounds of the boys looking up and asking what answer repeatedly didn’t stop you from humming, a little more energetic than you should be. he somehow had a way of breaking past your walls in a single conversation. hopefully that doesn’t make you seem easy…

“that’s if I ever you come again,” the small tease had a smirk pulling at his lips. somehow the idea of not seeing you again actually bothered him more than he realized.

“we’ll see about that.”

and with that he left. dragging the two boys who continued bickering and grabbing at the man, asking what that whole exchange meant. especially megumi who was wondering if he was in trouble or not.

however the second he left your sight, you were covering your face. your face beyond hot as your mind spun. never before had a parent had this sort of affect on you.

the way he looked at you.

the way he spoke.

he was so attractive, he was so big, his biceps were the size of your face. so beyond different from every other parent you ever spoke to. he could probably pick you up with one arm.

his presence alone was enough to have you feeling dizzy. and when he shook your hand, the way his wrapped effortlessly around yours, the calloused palm rubbing against you, his scent invading your nose.

and if that wasn’t as bad as it already was, the way he called you sweetheart had you absolutely melting between your legs!

but you have to get over it. you do.

however, unlike you, toji sits on the bench on the soccer field, only thinking about how he’ll see you again. when is parent teacher conferences, do they still have parents night in middle school? is there a talent show megumi has that he can force him to do so he can come and see you??

—

the following week, megumi stands frozen by the door. “what’re you doing?”

toji looks up, shoes tied. “dropping you off.”

“why?”

“because.”

“because why?”

“because—because—“ toji’s stuttering was ticking him off as he meets megumi’s very skeptical expression. “you’re a kid, you don’t ask questions.”

“I only ask questions,” megumi grabs his bag, watching his father intently as he looks over his surprisingly clean dress pants, along with the casual lose buttons on his dress shirt and rolled up sleeves. “i thought you were gonna be at the gym all day?”

“i am.” toji pauses, megumi’s brow is raised high. “I have a meeting before.”

“since when?”

toji’s nerve throbs, grabbing megumi’s bag and pulling him out of the house. “you ask too many fucking questions.”

the moment toji pulls up in front of the school, his eyes scan the entire lot in seconds. his hands immediately turning.

“what? what’re you doing?! Im gonna be late,” megumi shouts as toji drives around the entire school again.

“zip it kid, i had an arm spasm.” megumi glares at his dad, slouching in the passenger seat. the loop around takes another five minutes until they pull up again.

and toji will definitely lie and say it’s fate and not him purposely driving slow, because walking up the pavement is the only person he’s been thinking about for the entire week.

“finally,” megumi grumbles as he yanks the door handle swinging it open. toji being the fein he is barks a loud.

“no fights alright!”

megumi flinches.

why did he yell that?! and why now?! all the kids around start snickering and staring as they walk past them, getting a look at his dad as well, which gets a few more murmurs out.

megumi slams the door shut, pissed as he glares at his father. but that’s when a certain young teacher comes along, toji’s eyes lighting up.

“good morning, megumi,” your sweet delicate voice had megumi flushing with embarrassment. you definitely came over because you heard his dad shouting like a crazy person, and not because all those little middle school girls were ogling at megumi’s father…

“good mornin, teach.”

the low rumble of his voice had you glancing up. there was no harm in coming to say good morning. you just met with him last week, it would be impolite if you ignored that.

“mr. fushiguro,” you acknowledge, and that definitely made the man’s entire day. megumi licks his teeth in annoyance. “it looks like you both talked.” you glance at megumi with a gentle smile causing the boy to smile up at you. toji snickers. practically leaning over the passenger seat to speak to you. he knew that he was being ridiculous, but he could care less.

his smile widened as you looked up at him, his eyes staring intently, fuck he missed those eyes. “we did. gave him a good talking to, he won’t get into any fights — unless they start them.”

he leaned over the wheel, his arms resting against it, causing his shirt to tighten around his biceps. he looked good, you felt your face heat up. you should leave, and yet you find yourself staying a little longer.

fantasizing about him was one thing, but seeing him again here was making your heart race.

“i hope you guys weren’t late to megumi’s practice the other week.”

megumi is about to answer until toji cuts him off, ignoring megumi’s annoyed glare. “we weren’t, don’t worry. megumi and the other kid—“

“yuuji.” megumi mutters.

“they’re always late on their own.”

you laugh under your breath, your hand falling gently on top of megumi’s head. “are you sure it’s not because you’re taking them there?”

he huffed leaning back, “positive, besides the meeting we had was important”.

you hum, “it was.” toji smiles, eyes lighting up as he draws you closer to the passenger window as you both continue speaking not even realizing megumi has slipped away and into the school.

toji loved the way you easily spoke, the way your sweet voice filled his ears. he somehow managed to have you walk around the car to his side, so he can show you something on his phone.

your smile lights up when he shows you a picture of a three year old megumi sitting on his shoulders after he won his first title in light-heavyweight.

“oh my god, is that megumi, he’s so cute.”

toji snickers. “ya it was before he turned into an annoying brat.”

“don’t say that,” you laugh. toji’s arm was propped on the windowsill, your scent flooding his senses as you leaned close, looking at the picture. he could practically feel your soft skin touch his arm, the heat radiating off your body. if he only knew his son’s teacher was a seductress. “you look so young too.”

he chuckled again, “this was probably around 10 years ago. do i look that old now?”

you shake your head, turning to look at him. “no, you don’t. I don’t see any grey hairs.”

“is that the only indicator?” he tilts his head, staring at you so intently that you can’t break eye contact either. the green eyes were so deep and overwhelming, you felt your stomach flutter with butterflies. you feel the heat crawling up your neck because you can see that he looks older and more mature here than in the picture. but he still has a youth about him that makes your skin hot.

his eyes are still as beautiful as they are in the picture.

“you think my eyes are beautiful?”

your eyes go wide. “wha—“ you feel like a schoolgirl now, your face feeling so unbelievably hot especially when he leans a little closer, still leaning his arm on the window. now staring right up at you with his face so close to yours.

“i just…” never before have you been so tongue tied. your eyes so big as they glance everywhere in the car, heat flooding your ears.

his laugh fills your ear as he leans back into his seat, his palm gently coming up to fix your hair, thumb brushing your cheekbone only to get your attention back to him. “don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t tease you too much.”

whaaaat?!

you were dumbstruck. did he just say that?

your skin feels so hot as you fiddle with your necklace trying to cool down. “how kind of you.” you sarcastically remark, trying to save some face as you feel his hand continue caressing your cheek.

if any parent or teacher saw what was happening you have no idea how you would explain yourself, but you didn’t even have time to think about it because toji’s phone suddenly went off.

you notice his jaw clenching, making you somehow swell with pride, but also relief because he turns his attention away from you to his phone, answering.

he stares up at you, hand not leaving your cheek as he listens to the shouting on the other end.

where the fuck are you! you were supposed to be here at six! you’re not on a bender right—

“I was dropping megumi at school—“

doesn’t he take the bus?!!!

“he asked. I’ll be there —“

NOW!!

“alright!” toji hangs up aggressively, and notices that you’ve stepped back, a smile pulling at your lips.

he tsks, upset he’s no longer feeling your warm skin. “our conversations are always interrupted.”

you don’t know why him looking dejected makes you dance inside. you’re definitely reading too much into it.

you hum, “they are.” you laugh lightly, which somehow makes him want to descend into the heavens. “I should also head inside, the bells about to ring.” toji is left speechless as you fix your bag on your shoulder, offering him the most precious smile ever. “I’ll see you later.”

he just sat there and nodded, watching you walk into the school. he let out a long breath when you disappeared through the doors. his heart was hammering in his chest and his ears were hot.

this woman was going to be the death of him.

what followed after was no surprise. toji was dropping megumi off and picking him up every. single. day.

megumi definitely grew to despise it because all anyone would talk about in school now was how they saw his dad this morning, or how he came an hour early to pick him up. what made things worse is that they told their parents, and some would drop their kids off just to catch a glimpse of the famous A-list athlete. some even having the gall to ask for a photo or autograph.

what toji didn’t realize though is that he’s not going to see you every time. sometimes he’d wait a little longer in the car line to see if you were coming up, but most of the time he’d get yelled at by another teacher to keep the line moving. megumi would often rush him after school to get him and yuuji to practice. it was frustrating. especially when toji was also getting an ear full when he’d come to the gym late.

but when he would see you, he’d flirt talk to you. and just learning more about you like these were little dates to him so that you occupied his mind every single second of every hour. he finally learned your age after pushing you to answer when you graduated high school. and then some more about your favorite food. but all these conversations would last less than five minutes because you’d have to run back inside and he’s have to head back to the gym to train.

that was all before his golden ticket came in with his son.

“a field trip?”

megumi hums sitting on the bench at the gym. “ya, just sign it for me. yuuji wants to find some turtles at the beach near there.”

“ya its gonna be so much fun!” yuuji jumps beside him. both kids not bothering to talk about the history behind the location of their school trip or any of the important stuff—

toji’s eyes widen. “it says they need chaperones for the boys.”

megumi looks up, brow raised. “ya so?”

“is your dad chaperoning yuuji?”

megumi feels a weird energy surround his dad, his eyes almost look manic as yuuji shakes his head still playing on megumi’s Nintendo. “nah he’s taking choso to look at colleges.”

toji feels jittery, and nothing is stopping him now.

—

your hand was struggling in your bag as you looked around for your keys. it was getting a little late and you didn’t like staying at the school after sundown. you push the doors open. a large figure comes at you making you scream.

“It’s just me!” toji laughs, you hit him with your bag. hard. “ow!” he laughs harder.

“what the fuck, that scared me to death.” you gasp, catching your breath. toji whistles, making you glance up, annoyed.

he has to hold in a laugh. “aw come on, it was an accident.” a smirk slowly forms on his lips as you huff out a sigh, reluctantly easing up. you were so damn cute right now.

“you should know not to sneak up on women at night,” you huff feeling how hot your cheeks are, slightly embarrassed about your reaction, but still annoyed.

he smirked, watching the way you tried to fix your hair.

“sorry sweetheart,” he said in a low mumble. he could see your flushed cheeks, it made you look just so adorable right now and he almost wanted to make you more flustered.

your body tensed as he knelt down in front of you. his shoulder brushed against your leg making your cheeks flood pink. his hair looked damp, and unkept, he probably took a shower before coming here. you got a whiff as he passed down. fuck he smelled so good, but you almost missed his raw scent the first time you met.

toji could practically feel the heat radiating off your body as he picked up your keys. you must’ve dropped them when he came outta nowhere. he stood back up, towering over you, his eyes never leaving your face. he felt his smirk widen, he leaned down, your faces now a few inches apart. he felt your hands shake as he placed it back into your small palm.

“thanks,” you mutter. It was like he was stealing each breath out of you. you weren’t even registering the questions you should be asking, because you couldn’t stop looking at his face. his deep green eyes, the hypnotizing scar on his lip. he was so addicting to look at. you wanted to know what it feels like to kiss him.

he liked the way you mumbled, your voice sounding so incredibly soft. he felt his body grow hot. something slowly building up inside him, because damnit you were so unbelievably cute right now. he had to resist the urge to pull you closer, to press your body against his, he wanted to—

the door suddenly clicked behind you, making you both jump back for a second. it was just one of the janitors, you smile politely bidding him goodnight as you turn back to toji.

“sorry um—“

cursing inwardly at the disruption, he took out the paper from his pocket and handed it to you.

“megumi’s field trip.”

“oh,” you take the paper, “you could’ve waited until tomorrow and megumi could’ve brought it in.”

he shrugged, his eyes practically burning into yours right now. “maybe I just wanted a reason to talk to you.”

you freeze momentarily, well that was blunt. you rub your cheek, laughing lightly. that’s when you notice the additional document attached to the note.

“wait this is just for…”

“chaperone’s.”

you look up.

oh fuck me.

the days following were absolute chaos. well only for you. every night you went to sleep all you thought about was the fact that toji fushiguro was coming on a school trip with you. when you were in the shower you thought about him, when you walked to the grocery store you thought about him. when you were packing your bag, you thought about him!

then it finally came.

DAY 1

the entire seventh grade was going on the trip. it was also your first time chaperoning on an overnight trip so you did your best to follow your superiors leads. every teacher was assigned one parent chaperone to help on the 4 hour bus ride and then…

“I’ll go with ms. l/n,” toji didn’t even wait for himself to be assigned. your eyes go wide. you don’t notice some of the other teachers were looking at you. one of the older teacher’s who was about to read the assigned list pauses…

“oh mr. fushiguro, we had you assigned with—“

“I’d rather stay with my son’s bus. is that a problem?”

you bite your cheek. it definitely would be a problem since the contract he signed stated that he’ll be assigned the group given to him, but that is also if you’re not a celebrity as big as him.

he knew damn well that he was breaking a rule, but he couldn’t have cared less. he wanted to sit with you, he wanted to be near you, he needed to be near you. and if that meant he had to be a bit of a dick, then that’s what he had to do. he sat down on the bus, a smirk forming on his lips as he watched you place your bag on the seat beside him across the aisle.

you stood at the front of the bus as you clapped your hands twice and the students mimicked you, well not all, but most.

“okay guys, I’m just gonna say one more time. We’re gonna have 4 stops for bathrooms, so please use them when you have the chance so we don’t have a delay. okay?”

he watched you intently as you spoke to the students, his eyes not once leaving your face. you looked beautiful and he had to force himself to stop staring at you. but he couldn’t, not when you were so close to him, he could also smell your flowery fragrance that made him slightly dizzy.

“I’m going to do roll call one more time, raise your hand and answer when I call you,” you start reading your list. once all the students respond, the bus starts up and you take your seat. you couldn’t ignore him either, so you turned to toji. “I’m sure you read the email, mr. fushiguro, but I’ll just go over some really quick things with you since we have the time—“

“toji.” he blurts. you pause for a moment but then nod. you begin going over procedures for the students in case of an emergency, also how he should keep his ringer on in case a student needs to get in contact.

however the more you speak the less and less he cares about these formalities and just wants to know more about you.

“so we’ll be together for most of the time?” he asks.

you pause, your lips part for a moment. before you hum, “yes, but that’s if the students have all successfully made an itinerary with their group, since the purpose of this trip is to give them responsibility and just complete the assignments throughout these 3 days.”

“then shouldn’t we make our own itinerary?”

you laugh shaking your head, “no I don’t think so. we’ll tag along with groups here and there.”

he pouts slightly, his smirk slowly disappearing from his face when you chuckle at his idea. and you find it slightly flustering to see him upset at your response. did he seriously come on this trip to be around you? there’s no way?

he hums, shifting in his seat once more. “but the students will be all broken up into groups, isn’t that right? I’ll find something to do.”

you didn’t know what he meant by that, but the bus ride continued. it was quite enjoyable, minus the screaming that you had to continuously go back to silence. megumi came up a couple times asking for chips from his dad, and Yuuji would always come up to the front, until they just decided to sit up with you and some of the other kids came and joined as you all laughed and played. it was funny playing mafia with a bunch of middle schoolers. toji never played it before so it was amusing hearing nobara, one of the other girls, and megumi explain it to him.

“let’s just start playing!” yuuji whines, growing impatient.

toji raises a confused brow in your direction and you stifle a laugh, shrugging.

it was funny hearing nobara narrate the story, and it was even more funny when toji and you opened your eyes. he gave you a confused look.

‘we are the killers’ you mouth trying not to make a sound to not give yourself away.

and still he managed to give himself away since the first person he killed in the game wasn’t his son and it was common knowledge among the students that you either make megumi a killer, or doctor, if not you kill him right away because he always manages to end the game in two rounds because he guesses who everyone is. which was exactly what happened. toji was voted off easily and you in the next. it was impressive.

the students continued playing, they had a lot of energy, toji was even more impressed how fast you were keeping up with all of them. you also were getting some work done of your own. answering texts from other teachers.

“Okay guys, last bathroom break!” the students all file out, pushing past you as they run to the bathrooms, some heading to the little convenience store. “calmly guys!” you shout after them. you put your hands on your hips, your eyes scanning the desolate rest stop.

toji comes up behind you, “are we first or last?”

you look over your shoulder, “last, mrs. tanaka said they were able to miss the traffic we hit.” you frown scrolling through your phone as you check the messages that most of the buses already arrived at the hotel.

toji leans down, his presence overwhelming as you feel him reading your messages.

“are you worried?”

“what? no,” you close your phone, forcing out a smile as you pat his arm. woah! your cheeks flush feeling his large biceps. your hand retracts when you realize your hand actually stayed on his arm.

his tongue pokes his cheek, trying hard not to smile, because he can already feel how hot his cheeks are. “you can keep your hands on me, I don’t mind.”

your face burns. “i—I’m gonna use the bathroom.” you quickly scurry off, glancing back watching toji lean back on his heels stuffing his big hands into his pocket as he smiles back at you. fuck!

the students bring you back to reality as they fool around in the rest stop. you call the ones in the store as they load up the bus. “toji?”

he looks up at you, his green eyes so attentive you wanted to pat his head. you flush at the thought, patting a grown man’s head, as if he isn’t older than you and has a child. “can you check the boys bathroom? we’re missing two.”

toji hums, his hands come out of his pockets as he walks to the bathroom. your eyes track his large figure as he walks away. the expanse of his shoulders made your cheeks flush, imagining what he’d look like shirtless, muscles moving under your palm as he rails into you.

ahh stop it! you cover your face.

“ms. l/n, are you okay?” nobara is staring at you with a weird look.

“wha-yea im fine, hope on the bus,” you gently push her towards the bus which she immediately skips onto. you follow suite doing another head count before two other boys run onto the bus followed by toji.

he sighs, “one of them was throwing up.” your eyes grow wide, “he’s fine, i think he’s just sick of the long ride.”

you immediately move to the back of the bus to speak to the student, he allows you to bring him to the front of the bus so the motion sickness isn’t as bad. eventually the bus continues, the students fall silent. the traffic horrendous, most of you end of falling asleep, and that includes you.

only a few students were awake, but as for the rest they were dead silent. the seats were slightly uncomfortable, but toji turned to look at you.

he notices the way your head bangs against the bus window, his eyes squinting as he grows more and more concerned you’ll get a concussion, that’s a little dramatic, but still, how could you blame him, you looked so delicate. he gently moves the bag in the seat beside you and sits down. he carefully lifts the arm rest and moves his hand to cup your head. he’s careful not to disturb your sleep when he puts his coat between the window and you.

well that is until you shift your body to rest your head on his shoulder.

toji feels your body relax, sleeping peacefully on his strong shoulder. your soft breaths like music to his ears, as he rests his head back. sleep not coming easy for him he stays awake, and watches over the bus in your stead.

another hour passes until the bus comes to halt. the day now night as the kids start to wake up. you’re still fast asleep, and toji couldn’t help the swell in his chest seeing how heavy of a sleeper you are. but he should probably wake you up, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when he’s seeing your calm features resting so adorably.

“we’re here!” yuuji’s loud yell like a morning alarm.

toji flinched, suppressing an angry bark when you stirred awake from the call. you sigh softly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you wake up.

a low whistle has you blinking. the first thing you see is toji looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite read, and then standing around is some kids as they simultaneously ooo and laugh.

“teach was sleeping on mr. fushiguro!”

“teach and mister sitting on a treeee K I S—“

the taunting kids make you roll your eyes as you sit up.

“everyone back to your seats!” you huff, shooing them as you stand up, only to see the large coat slip down. he catches it, eyes boring up at you.

“sleep well?” he smiles, and it absolutely breaks your heart, this man!! you internally scream, his green eyes and the twitch of his scar, the dark black hair over his eyes had you meltinggg. and the way he’s looking up at you, an immediate blush takes over your entire body.

“mhm,” you reply softly, and his eyes glint with something you have to turn away from.

you do another roll call before getting off the bus. the kids flood into the hotel and luckily some other teachers waited for you and helped with rooms for the kids. everyone was sent on their way and you felt a relief once you unlocked the key to your room, closing it behind you—

“teach.”

you whip around to see toji standing at the doorway, holding the door open with his strong hand.

“yes?”

toji’s eyes fell to your lips, back to your eyes, pretending like you didn’t see that, but you did. “you left this on the table,” he says, extending your packet of the schedule. you really must be tired.

“oh! thank you, oh my god, that would’ve been sooo bad if I lost that,” you laugh, taking the packet. but he doesn’t let go. your brows crease adorably as you look up at him. and he’s looking at you with that look again. “mr. fus—“

“if you need anything else, let me know. okay?” his firm request sent flutters breaking inside you. you nod, and he lets go. “good night, sweetheart.”

“g-good night.”

you watch the door close, until you feel your hand reaching out and then your body is coming out as you call him. he barely took a few steps as he turns at your voice. “i uh…” what’re you doing? why did you even call him? but you’re hypnotized by his presence, you almost didn’t want him to go. what’re you talking about? you’ll see him in the morning—

“gonna finish your sentence, honey?”

you mentally slap yourself. “it slipped my mind. nevermind. goodnight.” you disappear back to your room, missing the smirk that splits the fighters face. fucking adorable. it was on the tip of your tongue.

the next morning was packed, the students came down for breakfast, they were placed in their groups and the entire class went to mandatory orientation, then to a museum as they filled out packets, before lunch came and it was finally free time. the students all splitting into their groups and exploring the small historical town. yuuji led megumi, nobara, and junpei to the beach he’s been waiting to see.

“how’re you holding up?” toji appears beside you. you slump, sighing heavily.

“I didn’t know school trips were this exhausting when I was in school,” you complain just a little. toji chuckles, his hand coming up, carefully fixing the hair from your cheek. his eyes glance down at your lips again, then back into your eyes. “it’s just day one,” he teases.

“yay,” you fake enthusiasm, as he laughs with you, still brushing your cheek with his thumb. “we should check with some of the kids.”

“shouldn’t they be figuring out that shit themselves?” toji doesn’t let you escape. “ya, but what else—“ toji’s hand slips down to yours and takes it as he leads you in a direction. “where are we going?”

“I don’t know, let’s explore,” he pulls you closer to him and if anyone looked over they would think you were a couple, and to be honest, you loved that thought. your hand didn’t even try to break away from his, embracing how he basically engulfs your small palm in his. you mindlessly follow him around until something catches your eye and you go there then there, pointing and explaining random facts.

“how do you know that?”

“oh i studied architecture and art history,” you explain as you’re standing at a shrine. toji has a hand on your lower back as he leans over looking at the statue you’re pointing at. you’ve gotten used to smelling his cologne, but with the long day his natural musk is mixed in making you dizzy. he’s gently stroking a thumb on your lower back, almost like he always wants you to be conscious of his touch.

ding ding ding

you check your phone. on the chat, yuuji sent multiple photos of his group by the water on the beach, along with the turtles they found. your eyes widen, “yuuji actually found them.”

“we’re close by them,” toji looks over, and he immediately takes your hand and you both head to the beach. when you arrive most of the groups came, everyone having the same idea. it wouldn’t be bad for toji, that is until you retract your hand. your eyes flicker over his, a silent apology.

you don’t necessarily know what you’re apologizing about, but still. the rest of the day was spent with the kids playing with the turtles. you and a few teachers explaining the wild life here, along with the turtles. then you conclude with a circle on the beach with each group presenting what they learned today and so on.

dinner came at a perfect time. the kids all filing into the hotel restaurant, taking their seats and of course toji sitting with you and a few other teachers.

honestly, looking at himself, toji thought he was a good sport. entertaining these other teachers and chaperons even after the kids went back to their rooms to sleep and you all stayed for a few light drinks. they asked him questions he definitely hated answering, but when your sole attention was on him, he made due with it.

“are ya thinkin of retiring anytime?” one of the other dads asked, fully invested in toji.

toji licked his teeth, clearly annoyed as the questions got a little more intrusive. “we’ll see,” his clipped reply almost only seemed to clock in on your part as you sensed his mood shift. especially as the questions got more intimidate asking if megumi takes after him, or if he’ll allow him to start fighting early.

that’s when you decided to stand up, covering your mouth with a fake yawn. “It’s getting pretty late. I’m gonna knock out.” you speak to the table, but give toji a brief glance, inviting him to take the out, which he immediately does.

“I’m knocking in too then,” he stands up, easily leading you both out of the restaurant, unbothered by the looks the adults give him.

“fuck, they’re nosy as shit,” he mutters to you as you both step out and into the elevators.

“yea, sorry,” you cringe, but he shakes it off.

“no need for you to apologize,” he shrugs, rubbing his nose. you glance over at him, smiling as you rest a hand on his forearm.

“thank you again for volunteering. honestly, it’s premature since we still have two more days, but you’ve been a big help so far,” you say, and toji can’t help cracking a smile.

“it’s my pleasure. spending time with you doesn’t feel like work,” he coolly replies, allowing you to look him over with your adorable eyes.

“of course that’s not what I meant,” you mutter, he can see you trying not to smile.

“don’t tell me the best part of the day wasn’t walking with me?” he leans closer to you. “do you hold hands with every student’s dad?”

“no.”

“so am I special?” he pushes, hand gently playing with your hand.

the elevator stops on your floor. you sigh as you bring a hand up to his chest.

“our floor.”

“our room?”

“no,” you brush him as he follows you with a smirk. hands deep in his pockets as he looks at you from behind.

“you can have the extra key to my room,” he waves it to you as he walks you to your room.

“and why would I take it?” your smirk widens, glancing up at him.

“of course for safety. in case you feel like you need a strong man to protect the model teacher who’s all alone at night in an unknown town,” he smiles, hand against your door caging you in.

“yeah?” your tone was low and breathy, only luring him down to your eye level, humming deep in his chest. “but then I won’t be comfortable sleepin’,” you pull him in with your words.

his voice drops, taking the bait, “and why’s that?”

“well because I sleep with a t-shirt,” you pause, “only.”

Toji’s smile cracks, heat flooding his ears as he drops his gaze to your lips. “that’s not a problem for me.”

you can’t believe you’re actually flirting with a student’s dad. you didn’t feel like a teacher, no, you really felt like a girl in her twenties (which you well are) easily teasing a man into bed.

“having a stranger so close to me in bed?” you whisper, smiling when his lips hovers so close to you. “that’s scary.”

“nah, it’s for safety,” he leans in, breath fanning against your face.

unfortunately, when his lips hovered over yours, the booming footsteps and shouting immediately pulled you apart. toji pulled away as you both looked over to your right seeing four boys racing through the hotel floor.

“hey, boys!” you whisper shout, sliding by toji as you speed walk to the boys. all but leaving the six foot-five fighter pressing his face into the door.

after sending the boys back to their rooms with a heavy lecture, you walk back to your room slightly disappointed when toji wasn’t there. it was a long day, you didn’t blame him for going to bed early. but when you saw his room card in front of your door when you stepped inside you couldn’t contain you the heat that spread across your cheeks.

… DAY 2 …

most women found toji attractive. hell even men were jealous of his physique and face card. but does any of that excuse the slight annoyance you felt going through the aquarium and seeing the workers near the starfish flirt with toji as the kids in your group stuck their hands in the tank to pet the starfish and other aquatic creatures. probably not, but fuck it.

the small disgusting twist in your gut that came up when you saw toji smile and let out a laugh almost had you rolling your eyes. so being the pity twenty-four year old, you decided to open your mouth.

“toji,” you call his name before you can think twice about it. you force a smile when he turns to look at you. “can you come help me over here,” you call out from across the tank.

“oh, I can help you miss,” another worker at aquarium pops next to you making you jump from the surprise.

toji continues looking at you and he notices the way you shake your head. “oh sorry, it’s has to do with the students…paperwork…I mean,” you clear your throat nodding your head as the worker gives you an odd look that you can immediately note was a ‘she’s weird’. but at least you don’t catch the way toji is biting back a smirk as you call him again.

he easily struts over, his black t-shirt and black cargos, hugging his frame so when he stood beside you you were almost thankful that he blocked your view from the workers.

“yes, teach?” you can hear the smug smile in his voice before you even look at him.

“well,” you start, subtly glancing around for some lie you can make up, but toji crossing his big muscular arms showing off his veins and giving you a look you don’t even want to begin to decipher, wasn’t fucking helping. “just stay here. I forgot what I needed, but if I need something…just be near me,” you clear your throat looking up at him with confidence. “that’s your job…as a parent chaperon, okay?”

“okay,” he says with the biggest smile.

maybe you should’ve just let him talk to the workers, but you’d never admit that it made you jealous that this thirty-something year old man was focused on something that isn’t you. even when you both were walking behind the students on a hike to some shrines in the mountains, you were glad as fuck that he stayed right beside you and not upfront with the guides.

“you could’ve just said you didn’t want me talking to other girls and I would’ve listened,” Toji’s voice slips on the air as he walks beside you.

you scoff, “well that’d be ridiculous to say, especially because that wasn’t why I said it. if you remember, it said on the parent slip it that chaperons are the teachers assistants, basically.” you glance confidently at toji and he’s kissing his teeth as he holds back a smirk. you were a fucking brat. he definitely would’ve lost that bet. “so just stay near me.”

“I was near you at the aquarium,” he pushes, because shit, he’ll always tease the bait.

“you were distracted, that’s not being present, and it’s against the rules,” you roll your eyes, moving to tie your hair up the longer up the mountain you’re going. you loved a good hike, but the heat was a death sentence, so was this windbreaker.

“i was just asking the sweet worker about the starfish…to educate the kids of course,” his choice of words was definitely on purpose.

the group makes it to the shrine as they all scramble to look around.

you turn on your heel looking up at toji. “it didn’t look like that.” you try to hold back your criticism, not realizing that he’s trying to get a rise out of you because this revelation he’s discovered is definitely not something he’s gonna let go of.

“what did it look like then, hm?” he leans in, crossing his arms as he pushes his hair back, the sweat from the heat making his hair shine and his muscles constrict in his tight shirt. “did it look like i was flirting with her?”

you deadpan, “yeah, it did.”

“is that an issue?” he pushes.

“if it’s when you’re working, then yes it is,” your words are clipped, he was almost getting a hard-on with your attitude.

“so if it’s not in front of you or the kids?” he muses.

“yes.”

“because you’ll get jealous then,” his words once again make a vein unironically bulge from your forehead. you cup your cheeks.

“that’s not why—I just said why,” you exhale, and he finds it hilarious how well you control your emotions with your students but when it’s with him, you have to take some deep breaths. “I’m not jealous.” you state. “it’s professionalism.”

“so us holding hands is?—“

your eyes narrow.

“I’m not complaining, I just don’t know if I should also be holding Mrs. Takada’s hand too?” he doesn’t loose eye contact as you stare into his soul. “tell me what I can and can’t do, teach, I’m a good listener, I just need to be told what do to.” you were frustrated because you couldn’t tell if his choice of words were purposely submissive, especially with that smug look on his face as you tried hard to read him.

“you can’t hold anyone else’s hand,” you finally mutter, not before rubbing your cheek as you turn to look at the other students circling the guide as the other teachers tell them to quiet up and listen. “you’re my assistant, so that’s the reason.”

“understood,” his reply is punctuated by a step towards you, his lips ghosting you ear as his other hand sneaks around your waist. “I’ll keep my hands on you, so I don’t get you all mad at me again.” his cool voice went straight into your core as you felt your face burn red.

“I wasn’t mad,” you push his hand off you; finally distancing yourself from the shameless man.

however, toji listened. he was polite with the other teachers, curt and short with the female guide that tried to talk to him more when the students were roaming around the shrine, but it was pretty easy for him to side-step her and follow megumi and his friends as the huddled around a lizard they found.

“woahh is he gonna shapeshift?” Yuuji reaches out for the lizard only for it to run away. toji stays around the kids especially when they continue their hike up to another shrine at the top of the mountain. of course, it was fun hanging out with his son and his friends. but it also made your attitude more obvious the longer the hike went on.

especially when there was a broken step and toji was helping the kids up, only for your turn to come and you telling him you can go up yourself.

he had to bite back a scoff, he almost forgot you were basically straight out of college, and definitely stubborn as shit. but still his hand hovered behind you as you climbed up and you didn’t look back once. it was almost making him want to rub himself because of how fucking bratty you’re being. but still he continued to flirt with you, because why else did he come on this trip.

“dad?“

toji looks behind him to see megumi and yuuji still by the shrine while the rest of the group is already heading back down the mountain.

“yeah?” tojj raises a brow for megumi to continue. that’s when yuuji interrupts with your name.

“she went looking for nobara, but they’re not back yet,” yuuji shakes his head like a dramatic eleven year old. “I told nobara there’s no bathrooms behind the shrine, but she just went anyways.”

toji concerned now glances behind him to see the group now fully gone and the sun setting. now that he thinks back, he hasn’t seen you since they entered the shrine for a tour. “when did the girl leave?”

“like awhile ago,” yuuji sighs again dramatically, not fully grasping that that’s not a very helpful answer.

toji looks at megumi.

“it was around twenty minutes ago, when teacher followed after her,” megumi answers.

“you’re just repeating what I said,” yuuji narrows his eyes at megumi who brushes him off as he looks up at his dad who’s glancing around the empty shrine. the stand was already closed and it was getting dark.

“stay with me, kay, hold my hand,” toji extends his left hand for megumi to take, while yuuji held onto megumi’s hand. toji quickly pulled out his phone to text the WhatsApp chat with the other chaperons and teachers letting them know he was with two other students and will be down. right after he called you. with one ring it immediately went to voicemail. “are you fuckin’ with me right now?”

he walks around the shrine with megumi and yuuji in tow as he called again and same thing. your phone was definitely dead because you always answered your phone. that or—

now with the sun completely set, toji pulled out the flashlight from megumi’s bag as he went deeper into the woods behind the shrine. yuuji was clutching megumi’s arm as megumi held on his dad’s shirt. toji called your name, a little louder the deeper they went in.

“dad?” megumi glances up to, but toji ignores his worries as he continues shouting your name and yuuji easily mimics toji’s concern as he shouts for nobara.

“nobara!!”

after another fifteen minutes in the woods, toji receives a call from one of the teachers and immediately answers.

“hello, just checking if you guys are still up there?” she asks, and includes if you and nobara are with him because your phone had died the moment you arrived at the shrine.

“I have megumi and yuuji, but we’re looking for the other two,” toji’s voice was strained. he really should’ve listened to you and stayed by your side then this wouldn’t have happened. it makes it worse when the teacher on the line starts panicking. toji can overhear the tour guide speaking to the teacher saying they’ll send someone back up, but it’ll take them thirty minutes to walk back up.

“mr. fushiguro you should come back down the mountain so you and the boys don’t get lost-“

toji hangs up.

“mr. tojj i heard something,” yuuji yelps, suddenly clutching toji’s other arm and going on a rant from the nerves. “megumi was talking about the spirits and how they’re hiding in places where no one lives anymore and-and we passed by those broken shacks on the way up.”

toji’s jaw clenches, eye shutting as he exhales. “I told you not to watch that shit horror movie ‘gumi.”

megumi cringes, “I didn’t—“

“we did last night—AH!” the sudden crack behind them sends yuuji flying ten feet in the air and megumi clutching his dad even tighter almost pissing his pants.

toji turns abruptly at the noise, holding onto yuuji who’s basically on top of his shoulders and megumi wrapped under his arm, face smushed into his side clutching his shirt.

“toji?”

the familiar voice sends a flood of relief rushing through toji as he immediately moves forward as two black blobs turn into you and megumi’s friend. yuuji and megumi’s are still holding onto toji like they might die, but he’s still able to make it over to you, his hand coming up to cheek as he shines his flashlight on your face making you hiss pushing it away.

“shut up, I’m seein’ if you’re hurt,” he grunts pushing your hand away.

“I’m fine, just forgot my phone died when I went after nobara,” you say, but still letting toji examine your face before he kneels down to check on the girl.

“you still don’t fucking go off by yourself,” he grunts brushing the girls cheek as she crosses her arms.

“why can megumi’s dad say fuck, but I get in trouble, miss?” nobara snaps, making you frown down at her,

“because I’m not a little girl that ran off into the woods by herself and almost got lost,” toji clips back, having a harsh stare off with the girl who frowns even more, but eventually averts her gaze.

“I had to use the bathroom,” she mutters.

“I told you there was no bathroom!” yuuji points at nobara suddenly interrupting as he still holds on toji,

“you’ve never been here, how the heck would you know??” nobara scoffs.

“because I know everything, I told you that,” yuuji tsks.

“you’re an idiot,” nobara frowns, annoyed and already embarrassed about getting lost.

you sigh stepping in, “okay, enough guys. we don’t call each other names, we’re not in elementary school.” you gently tap toji’s shoulder and he stands up. the flashlight was pointed at the ground, but the shadows that contrasted his face made him look even more handsome. “let’s head down,” you look away, “you remember the way?”

“course.”

maybe toji should’ve called the teachers the second he found you and nobara, but it slipped his mind since he had to lead you and the three kids back down the mountain. especially with how scared yuuji and megumi were after watching that horror movie in the hotel room last night. nobara on the other hand was picking on them to make herself feel better about causing this whole mess. and you, you did your best to keep them close to toji, because even you were holding onto him to keep yourself from tripping on the unbalanced steps made over six centuries ago. but at least all that masked the underlying tension between you and your students father, especially when you held onto his arm a little longer after his arm wrapped around your waist before you tripped on a large tree root.

“thanks,” you sigh, catching your breath.

“I can pick you up if you’re tired,” he leans close, and you would say he’s teasing, but the way he’s looking at you even in the dark, you knew it wasn’t a joke.

“funny,” you say, but still hold his arm as you continue walking. the three kids right in front of you both.

“oh I see the gate!” yuuji jumps, grasping onto both nobara and megumi.

easy to say, once you arrived back at the hotel and the kids all filed into the hotel restaurant for dinner, you received an ear full privately from two of the teachers. you couldn’t really pinpoint what you’d done wrong, you went after Nobara the second you counted your kids again to see she wasn’t there then to hear from yuuji and megumi that she went off alone. maybe you should’ve told another teacher, hell toji first, and had a charged phone before going, that would’ve been smart.

okay, you deserved the lecture.

afterwards, you decided to head to your room. you weren’t that hungry anymore, and the other teachers would send the kids off to bed.

the second day was brutal. the early morning walk, then the aquarium, and then the shrine visits, then getting lost in the woods—

“fuck,” you groan, growing exhausted from just thinking about the day as you crawl into the covers after a much needed shower. unfortunately for you a loud knock hits your hotel door.

you want to ignore it, give an excuse in the morning that you’d already fallen asleep, but there’s another knock and it’s followed by a deep voice calling your name. it almost sent shivers down your spine as you stood up and walked to open the door.

“you didn’t eat?” his eyes fixate on your cute face, eyes half blinking with exhaustion, but then he lets his eyes roam further down. shamelessly checking you out.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you answer, leaning against the door as you hold it partially open, aware of any other teacher or parent that could pass by and see you in your old university shirt and skims boy shorts. “is everyone else heading back up?”

“most of the kids finished eating and went to bed. gonna check on megs and yuu to make sure they’re not watching another r rated movie,” toji says, still looking at you like you’re made of sin, though it’s not far off from the truth. “you normally let parents see ya like this?”

you try not to let the heat in your core take over, especially with the way that he’s eyeing your lips and leaning against the doorframe. his hand reaches out, holding the hem of your shirt, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. he says the name of your university. “when did you graduate?”

you’re desperately trying not to show how flustered his casual demeanor is making you, but feeling his knuckles skim over your exposed skin. he was towering over you, still in his cargo and tshirt from earlier. his shoulders were even more sculpted and because you showered, you can smell his musk even clearer. you’ve always had a sensitive nose, but something about how manly he smelled, the mix of his worn cologne and natural woody smell made you blush.

“you’re exhausted,” he interrupts, making you blink up at him. he chuckles lightly, and you’re beyond thankful that he didn’t realize you were thinking about something completely different. especially when his hand lets go of your shirt to take a step back. you’re almost surprised he’s the one putting space between you both, and you almost feel like you’re being rejected right now. you didn’t even stop to think if he was bothered with your attitude today. were you crossing a line? “goodnight, sweetheart.” he gives you one last smile, turning around.

“toji?” you stop him.

“hmm?” he turns. his undivided attention on you.

“thank you for today. with me and Nobara in the woods, we definitely would’ve been lost if you didn’t come looking for us,” your voice was light, and soft. he almost found it amusing how you’re a sweet girl one second and the other you’re giving him attitude. but still he lets a smile take over his face and you almost have to look away because the dimples that appear on his cheeks was too hypnotizing you could feel your face catch on fire.

“stop thanking me. plus I should’ve stayed by you like you said, then you wouldn’t have gotten lost.”

you frown, “it was my fault.”

toji smiles, “goodnight, ma.”

you flush at the new nickname. fuck, why are you so easy to please. especially when he’s walking away and waves his room key over his shoulder.

“Room 322, no need to knock.”

Unfortunately for you. you immediately crashed into bed once you closed your door. the exhausting day easily luring you into a deep sleep.

…DAY 3…

the multiple meetings you had with the teachers this month leading up to the trip all warned about day 3. it was going to be the longest day. not only were you guys going to an interactive zoo, you also had another hike near the lake with kayaking, and a final nighttime hike from a short astronomy lesson.

“everyone head down for breakfast,” you knock on all the hotel doors. some kids luckily already awake as they immediately popped out and started heading down with their backpacks.

you hesitated, but eventually knocked on toji’s door. no reply. biting your lip, you knock again, and that’s when the door wings open, and you’re met with a bare naked toji—

well he had a towel wrapped very loosely around his waist, he was basically naked. especially with your reaction that you had no way of controlling. your eyes couldn’t not follow the multiple water droplets that ran down his huge pecs, down to his very sculpted and ripped torso, and even further down his pelvis. his happy trail glistened from the water as the hairs grew thicker the lower—

a low whistle suddenly had your eyes snapping up. staring back at you was the very handsome man with the most shit eating smirk as his looked down at you.

“you wanna come in?” he teases, but his own ears turn red when you just stare into his eyes like you were actually considering what he’d just said.

“y-“ you clear your throat, coming back to your senses as you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes still scanning down his body, especially with the way his body filled the entire door frame. his huge veiny hand lazily holding the front of the towel so it doesn’t fall…it was so loose, he hurried out of the shower when he heard the door. “were you on a run again?” you could’ve easily ended this heated interaction by getting straight to the point, but the dumb twenty four year old part of your brain couldn’t help, but talk to the hot parent that’s basically been flirting with you non-stop for the last few months. especially when he looked like this right now.

“ya, can’t loose myself on this trip or my team will have my fuckin’ head,” toji thinks about how much arguing and convincing he had to do with his best friend/coach sukuna to let him chaperone this trip.

“pretty strict, do you not get any vacations?” your curious, and you lean against the doorframe, pretending like you don’t notice the way toji is holding back a smile.

“no I get vacations, but if there’s a match in a few months then it’s training 24/7. even during trips,” he answers, “you ever been to a match?”

your lips part, “no. I’ve watched some on tv. mainly in high school since my dad is a huge fan.”

“and you’re not a fan?” his teasing is intrusive, maybe because he wants you to admit to liking him, even if it’s just his image first—

“I’d have to see a match first before saying anything,” the light shrugged you had only made him even more attracted to you.

he raises a brow, “you can just tell me you want to come to my game. no need to tip toe around it.”

your cheeks flush, “that’s not—“ your cheeks blow up as toji breaks out laughing, leaning forward to meet you at the level. his huge body towering over you, his eyes scanning over your face.

“I’ll get you vip seats, but I have’ta get somethin’ in return.”

your chin tips out just a little so you can lock eyes, raising a brow, telling him to go on then.

you were killing him, without even realizing it, his fist clenched around his towel, feeling his blood filling up his dick, he had to refrain from making it show.

“a date.”

oh.

your lips part. you didn’t know why you were shocked. maybe because he’s been flirting with you for months, you probably thought deep down inside he wasn’t the type to take women out on dates. maybe it was just a bar and a fuck, not that you were complaining if that was the case. but still, his answer seemed to make your face even hotter than before, and you felt little stupid.

“i don’t know if that’s appropriate…” you mutter, almost defeated, his eyes glanced over yours as you looked away.

“you’re not gonna be megumi’s teacher forever. just another two months until school’s out,” his voice was deep, you hadn’t realized he’d been bending closer. your back pressed against the doorframe as his hand came up, firmly caressing your waist. “one date when we get back. let me treat you, you’d like that?”

you bite your cheek, back arched against the doorframe as you glance back at him. his hooded eyes and deep face, his handsome features practically seducing you.

“one date,” you repeat.

“and more if you like me so much,” he smirks, face inches from yours.

your voice is breathy, heart racing because he smells so good, so clean, “f-fine,” your cheeks flush at the stutter but he only smiles. his hand travels up to cup your cheek.

“you flustered?” his canines are hard to hide when he’s smiling like that.

“no-“ you push his hand away, pressing a hand to his chest to push him back. “g-get changed or you won’t have time for breakfast,” you huff, stepping away and speed walking away from him.

toji licks his teeth, shutting the door once you disappear. he’ll just grab an apple before leaving, because now he has to handle this mess. he clenches his jaw as he drops his towel, firm hand grabbing the base of his hard cock. “fuck.”

—

similar to the aquarium, at the zoo you had to keep an eye on your students while the zoo workers gave the lessons to the groups. they lead you to different sections, giving brief lessons on the different species so the kids can fill out their packets.

on the other hand, you were enjoying how close toji was. always an arm length away. the only time you separated is when one of the zookeepers asked if you wanted to feed the giraffe to give a demonstration to the students before it was their turn.

your face lit up as you stepped up.

“Up here, sweeetheart,” the zookeeper easily flirts as he helps you up on the platform, a hand resting on your lower back as he takes your palm with food over his. “Now you’re just gonna extend it out, and he’ll come right to you,” he smiles as you hum.

little did you know that toji was practically seething. his jaw set tight, muscles tensing at the way this shitkeeper was drooling over you. anyone would fucking drool over a hot school teacher, especially if they looked like you.

“here he comes,” the zookeeper points, all the students ooo as the giraffe leans down, then eats from your hand. you gasp at the odd feeling, backing into the zookeeper on accident, pressing yourself against him.

“sorry—“ you chirp, still afraid of the giraffe as he tries to lean in for more.

the zookeeper laughs, “it’s alright,” his arm holds your waist, and toji is rolling his eyes so hard.

“give me a break,” he mutters.

megumi standing in front of him looks up. “what?”

toji doesn’t spare him a glance, his eyes zeroed in on you feeding the giraffe again, totally fine with the zookeeper all over you, literally.

“what the fuck,” his nails dig into his bicep, the expression on his face was not subtle at all that even yuuji is cackling.

“mr. toji are you jealous? do you wanna feed the giraffe too?” yuuji blurts, making nobara beside him turn and cackle too, pointing at megumi’s dad. a few of the other students in your group laugh at toji.

toji glares down at the children, not catching the subtle way you’re shifting on the platform, hand over the zookeepers wrist as you step away. “okay, I think that’s it,” you say, the hairs on your body standing up the second the zookeeper kept himself pressed against you when you bumped into him.

“you can feed him so more-“-

“no I’m good—Toji!” you blurt, cutting the conversation quick because toji’s head snaps back up to you. “i need some help getting down.”

any command that slips your mouth is so easily executed, his body moving and standing in front of you as your kneel down, his hands grabbing. your waist as yours goes on your shoulders and easily carries you down. his brow quirks up at you.

“fucking keeper is a freak,” you mutter to him. and though internally toji is ecstatic about that, another part is seething at the fact that the keeper puts his hands all over you and made you very uncomfortable that you had to call toji to pick you up even though the latter was right beside you.

you stood beside toji arms crossed as two students went up the platform at a time to feed the giraffes.

“I can have a word with him,” toji leans down, his hand on your lower back, rubbing gentle circles.

you barely give a laugh, “I’d rather not cause a scene.”

“it would be a word.”

you shake your head, “it’s fine.” toji licks his teeth nodding.

but when you went to the next section. and the zookeeper wasn’t following you or toji, you already knew what must’ve happened when another keeper came to your group.

“I said it was fine,” you tell him.

“well I wasn’t fine,” he shrugs easily, his eyes glancing down at you, ready to brush your jeep before realizing where the fuck he is.

the rest of the day was hell.

pure hell.

the zoo was long, lunch only energized the kids for the two hour hike. it was a great view, but there was another bathroom problem and the kids had to take turns going in the woods. then the last thing before lunch was kayaking.

everyone was excited, a few kids sat out with another teacher since they were too scared even if they were given a life vest. but everyone else was way to excited to head into the water. maybe that’s why most if not all the kids ended up tipping into the water.

“everyone grab onto your kayaks,” the tour guide exclamined, but the kids were laughing and splashing. some bopping up and down in their life vests.

you were almost thankful for yours not tipping until it did. the students were laughing their asses off even more.

“miss.l/n fell into the water!!” they all laugh.

everyone but toji, because when everyone makes it back to shore. they’re drenched head to toe. including toji who jumped in after a student who said they knew how to swim but didn’t.

but what wasn’t funny was seeing your t-shirt stuck to your chest, showcasing your figure for all the parent chaperones. fuck.

“I hate wet jeans,” you grumble, as you squeeze the ends of your baggy jeans as the water pools down. you clip your wet hair up as you hold onto toji’s arm. “thanks for getting tyler, he should’ve taken a life vest.”

toji hums.

“is everything okay?” you stand up straight now. and that’s when you notice toji eyeing your chest. you flush, but also scoff.

“there’s other people looking,” he huffs.

“jus you.”

“not jus’ me, others,” he eyes the other parents helping the kids dry off before loading back on the bus to get dinner then go on the night hike back at the hotel.

“yeah yeah,” you wave him off, walking away. but toji remains guarding you. he didn’t calm down until you got changed before dinner. your modest skirt, tight cleavage covering top, and cardigan. it was adorable.

“mrs. jackson and mr. white said they’re getting us drinks after the hike,” one of the other teachers, ally, cheers to you as you’re on the night hike. Mrs. jackson and Mr.white are the oldest of the teachers and usually offer up drinks to celebrate a successful hard working field trip.

“oh really?” your eyes are wide.

Ally nods enthusiastic, “this was such a fun field trip, but I’ve been dying for a drink.” she’s practically buzzing, even though she’s a very happily married and in her mid thirties, you don’t fully regret what you’re about to say until you do.

“I think I’ll pass,” you starts.

“what?”

“I’ve never been a fan of drinking,” you admit, toji overhearing a few paces behind you with another parent chaperon.

“what?! you’re the youngest here, though!” Ally is unbelievably put off by your response that you have to salvage it, until she adds. “we’ll at least have one drink with us.it was your first field trip as one of the teachers here, and we just want to celebrate. you don’t even need to get another drink. okay? Okay.”

you bite your cheek nodding.

“yay!!”

and that’s how you ended up here. sitting at the center of the ten seat table with all the young teachers and parent chaperons. completely fucking drunk.

“this w-was such a fuuun trip,” you hiccup as the table is laughing and drinking. you were all laughing. “I’m like so happy—“

the table is cackling and toji seated beside you is realizing in seconds. “you’re a fuckin’ light weight,” he clocks. the other teachers laugh noting that as well.

“nuh-uh, I-i can drink another,” you hiccup again, taking his drink and gulping another few sips until he’s clicking his tongue.

“Christ,” he slides a water to you, “drink.”

and the night went on with you tipsy and the others getting unbelievably drunk into the night. even toji was getting tipsy with the parents asking question that he had to take the edge off before his fist collided with one of their faces. but when you went to grab the drinks from the bar for the table, slipping to the floor, toji realized maybe it was time to calm it night.

“what? but we’re still having fun,” you whine as toji lifts you up, arm wrapped around you waist, your cardigan slipping off your shoulder.

“fun until you’re puking if you drink more,” toji stubbles himself. not realizing he’s just as drunk until he’s tapping your key into door, easily dragging you to your bed. “get some rest,” he sighs, lips coming to plant a kiss on your forehead. your eyes are bright, almost too bright as you watch him trudge out.

fuck he’s glad he can at least walk back to his room.

which left you peeling your clothes off and pressing your face into the bed as you rolled around in your pajamas. you weren’t tired. not at all. today was long and exhausting, you were completely exhausted during dinner, but now. now you’re feeling alone…

you turned your head on the pillow, when you caught something on your nightstand.

toji’s room key.

he laid back on his bed, hand pressed to his face, he felt good, but he knew in the morning the headache will come and his moves will be lazy. fuck, he really should’ve cut it after his third drink, but the only reason he kept going was because you were still there.

even though he’d got what he wanted. you agreed on a date. he still couldn’t bare to rip himself away from you. especially when he saw how adorable and talkative you get when you’re drunk. you already had a sweet teacher things going, plus the bratty attitude underneath, but you drunk was all of that plus a little more unfiltered shit that he just couldn’t miss.

and when you leaned against him because you were laughing. fuck he almost flipped a table when one of the parents kept eyeing your chest. even though you couldn’t see any skin on the shirt, it was so tight hugging your breasts—that’s when he heard his door click.

his brow raised, as he sat up.

the light poured in from the hallway, but the wall still covered who was at the door.

the door slowly creaked shut, and toji was about to sit up even more when—

“toji?”

shit.

“teach?” toji responds.

that’s when your face peaks out as you step further into the room so the wall couldn’t hide you. toji’s eyes immediately scan your figure, eyes locking in on your bare thighs in those skims boyshorts and university tee.

“I thought you were crashing for the night?” toji rubs his face because he’s unsure now. unsure if you or him are sober enough for this. even when you slowly kneel at the foot of the bed.

you hum, “wasn’t tired. and I got lonely and…scared,” you exhale crawling up, until you stopped right at his bent feet, his back reclined against the stack of pillow, arm behind his head as he watched you. “I used you key.”

“I can see that,” toji stretched out his legs only dressed in loose black sweats, he pants his lap. “come’ere.”

and you fucking now.

a slow crawl up his lap, until you’re straddling him and pressing your hands on his stomach.

“scared?” he starts, hand hesitating, before easing it onto your bare thigh. and just that contact with your smooth skin, made his cock start to ache. “i thought you said you don’t get scared sleeping alone.”

you shrug, cute soft hands still feeling the ridges of his abs, your cheeks flush as you hum. “does it matter why i came?”

“not really. I’d just like to know, would you mind telling me?”

your lips purse as you glance at him and his cheeky smile, “i was lonely…and i saw your key and i thought of you so I came to see you. there, full truth.”

he raised a brow, hand easing up under your shirt to hold your waist, thumb caressing absentmindedly. “there’s something else.”

you lean down shaking your head. breath hot against his face.

“we can’t,” toji speaks lowly, your faces so close he has to stop his hips from adjusting underneath you.

“why not?”

“you’re drunk, sweetheart,” he continues to feel your body. definitely not listening to himself especially when your arching your back to press your chest against his, hands all over his shoulders.

you shake your head, “I’m not.”

“you are, because if you weren’t, you definitely wouldn’t be here,” he gives your side a squeeze, desperately holding back. “crawlin’ on one of your students’ parents’ lap, in thin shorts and a tee…”

“they’re my pajamas,” you sigh flawlessly with a delicate tilt to your head and your lashes half lidded as you gazed at him.

his son’s teacher was a natural slut.

you were definitely acting like your age now. the back talk, the way you’re trying to seduce him, it all came like second nature to you, even if you didn’t fully notice it, toji definitely does. he’s been the victim to many women batting their lashes and flaunting themselves, but you stood out.

toji bites back a groan.

“you’re drunk too, toji,” you lean in, eyes heavy.

he hums, struggling to conceal his smile as your lips hover over his.

“do you not wanna kiss me anymore?” you whisper, feigning rejection.

he exhales laughing, “anymore?”

you hum, sliding just a little further up his lap, so your face was hovering over his. your hair slides gently to one side, concealing this taboo interaction with a private curtain so the only thing toji was seeing was you.

his skin was hot, and his big hands holding your torso wasn’t stabilizing him when you were looking at him like that.

“you’ve been wanting to kiss me every night…and this morning,” you reveal, because of course you caught his hints. you were playing with him. “it was inappropriate.”

“and this isn’t?” he cautiously puts one hand back on your thigh, massaging the bare flesh. your skin was so smooth, so soft, he’d been craving you, thinking about you in the most inappropriate ways, so to have you so easily throwing yourself onto him.

you shake your head. “ it is…but…” your lips skim over his again, breathing heavily. “tonight…I can’t go to sleep without a reward.”

toji snorts, “reward?”

you nod, letting a small whine escape before swallowing it. “I’ve been holding myself back, taking the high road, being responsible, n-now…now I want a kiss, that’s it.” fuck, this is exactly why toji was a fucking whore when he was younger. the age group you’re in right now switched from bratty attitude to spoiled brat in seconds. never choosing between dominant or submissive and it’s so fucking hot.

“you want me to praise you?” toji leans up, his hand squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh electing the softest whine from the back of your throat. you nod, desperate. “want me to tell you how much of a god girl you’ve been not caving in?l he smiles, you nod again.

“please.”

fuck.

“you’re so spoiled,” he licks his scar, and you feel his tongue skim yours briefly, you’re so close.

“mmm!” toji grunts as you finally crash your lips against his.

he holds back a vicious laugh, because you’re so unbelievably desperate with this kiss he has to hold the back of your head to guide you. your whine came automatic, feeling his tongue push your lips open, allowing it to slip in your mouth.

he dominated the kiss, his grip on the back of your head tightened ever so slightly. in this moment, he had you completely at his mercy. and you let him.

he almost couldn't believe that this was the same woman who taught his son. the one who kept avoiding his very obvious advances and get flustered whenever he insinuated something vulgar. but now here she was, sitting on his lap and whimpering for more. it almost made his head spin.

you pull away briefly, catching your breath, your spit collects on your lip as toji glances over your flushed face.

this is wrong. you’re drunk.

but your arms lazily wrap around his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him again. this time longer, messier. your back arches, hope rolling against the his bulge making you moan into his mouth. your tongue selfish as you fought with his, the alcohol on his breath mixed with yours. finger tangling in his dark locks as you scratch his nape making him shiver.

“taste good,” you sigh with a lazy smile, and he can’t help but chuckle. low and deep, chest shaking making you flush. he’s so hot. his scent overflows and overwhelms. you kiss his scar, tongue running over it. “how’d you get this?” you kiss it again and again, moaning so gently, sending shivers down his spine.

“it’ll ruin the mood,” he says, hands grounding your hips down, grunting just a bit when you really start rocking on his fat bulge. his fingers digging into your flesh, sighing once your lips continue to trail down his neck, hands exploring his chest again.

“i’s okay,” you mutter, sucking gentle kisses on his nape, moving to his Adam’s apple, as he snorts.

there’s a beat before— “my old man did it.”

your eyes flick up. you pull away. your eyes suddenly less hazy and he can tell, because his lip curls into a smirk. “told ya it’d ruin the mood—“

his breath hitched.

your thumb gently touching his scar, eyes swimming with something he can’t recognize.

“how old were you?”

his grip on your hips tighten, subconsciously grounding himself.

“twelve,” he answers. eyes falling to your lips then back up to your eyes and the way your brows gently knit together was something he’ll never forget. “it was a long time ago.” he tries to ease your concerns because he was not passing up on this opportunity because the mood was ruined by his shitty childhood.

“i’m sorry,” your words are soft, not an apology he’s heard before, or at least when it came from you, it felt genuine. even if it was a long time ago and he’s long put that behind, he can’t help the sudden flutter deep in his chest.

you lean down, pecking his scar. not like before more gentle, “i thought it was because of a fight or training or somethin’,” you admit.

toji cracks a smile, “ya, that’s what everyone thinks,” he easily strokes your hips. “how ‘bout I get another kiss from ya’. make me feel better.”

unlike his previous flirtatious remarks that earn him a flustered look on your face. you embrace it, gently holding his jaw, maintaining eye contact that he doesn’t break from, his deep green orbs syncing with yours as you control the kiss. tilting his head and meeting his lips with yours meet. tongues colliding, back arching as you dominate and lead the kiss.

the room fills with sounds of your lips smacking. your spit connecting with his as your tongue runs across his bottom lip. you tongue his scar again, making his grip tighten on your waist, heat crawling up his neck. this was a much more passionate kiss than before. your heart was pounding as you continued with the deep sensual make-out.

you started rocking back against his bulge feeling it grow bigger between your legs. your heart was pounding as you pressed down, not fully grasping the consequences of said action because toji pulled away briefly as a deep husky groan escaped his lips.

you weren’t wearing any panties. the shorts clung to your wet folds like thin cloth.

“you’re killin’ me,” he grunts, hands sliding down from your waist to your full ass. his touch once cautious, easily turns desperate as he grabs a handful of your ass, grunting even more when the pads of his fingers spreads your cheeks up, feeling your folds spread behind your shorts, his hips bucking to grind you back down.

you whine, eyes fluttering as you grip his shoulder, nails digging in as you rock against him.

“I should stop…,” your voice was slightly hoarse from the kissing and toji had to contain the sudden urge to lose every ounce of self-control he’s holding. your concern was mixed with your own hazy and needy twenties side. your lips hover over his, and he can feel the heat coming from you, because he also doesn’t want to lose this proximity to you.

“your call, sweetheart,” toji licks his lips, large hands grounded on your ass permanently. your eyes flick over his face, landing on his lip-bitten lips, and you know you couldn’t stop. you didn’t want to.

your tongues clashed once again, and that bratty side of you came out again, but slightly more dominating as you pressed your fingers into his jaw, so your lips can trail down his neck.

“shit—“ toji grunts, hips bucking in surprise when you palm his bulge.

“more,” you whisper against his lips, the need just itching out.

toji slides his hand up to grab your face. a deep husky chuckle escapes him as he looks over your face. you were far from a respectable adorable middle school teacher. your lust filled expression was everything and more.

“you want a parent’s cock in y’r pussy?” his vulgar question sent a unknown heat break deep in your chest.

you glance away, embarrassed.

“don’t put it like that.”

“am i wrong?” his loud boisterous chuckle has you flushing beyond belief.

“shut up! I’m—I just,” you break into a whine, burying your face in his shoulder.

“am i embarrassing you?” he teases further.

you grunt in response.

“is this the brattiude again? aren’t’ch you a teacher, use your big girl words, or did we forget how?” his teasing was infinite.

“brattiude? I don’t have whatever that is,” you scoff.

“you do, it comes out when you get like this,” he eyes you up and down, and finds it even more amusing when you quirk a questioning, albeit annoyed, look. so he elaborates. “when you don’t get what you want…you get all snappy, and self-centered…just like a bratty girl.”

“I’ve never caught an attitude,” you gasp, staring incredulously at him.

he hums, sarcastically, “sure.”

you frown, but he could tell easily that it was just your brattiude, because you were still all up on his lap, squirming even more because even he could feel your the puddle you’re making on his lap.

his hand finds your jaw again, turning your face back to him. his pupils dilate at the flushed look on your face. would you cry if he teases you further? what if he bullies his fat cock in over and over—

“did i hurt your feelings, teach?” he coos so softly it was obvious he was teasing but you tsk, like an annoyed brat. “would you feel better if i touch you down here?”

the gasp was enough of a reaction for him to see just how much you wanted him. the simple touch of his hand cupping you over your shorts and pressing his palm against your clit had your eyes fluttering.

toji curses under his breath, letting another exhale, as he continues rubbing you, “these shorts are all ruined, and you looked so fuckin’ cute in ‘em,” he chuckles when you bite a whimper back.

but your patience for your students isn’t something that extends beyond that, because now your pawing his waistband eager for more, and impatience making you shaky.

he tsks, grabbing your wrist and pulling it up to his face.

“what’re ya thinking?”

“i want it…” the frown plus the whine isn’t a sight for any man that would easily buckle and fuck you stupid.

his jaw clenches, holding back. “let me take a look first.”

your brows pinch, “what do you mean—wha!” you squeak, your world tipping over in seconds, now laying on your back with your legs pushed up. toji swiftly and skillfully pulls your shorts off in one go. your heart is racing, preparing yourself, until toji pushes your thighs up and apart, kneeling his face close to your heated puckering core, eyes staring like saucers.

“what’re you doing?!” you immediately cover yourself, face bright and hot.

“taking a look,” he pushes your hand out of the way, his thumbs slipping into your folds before pulling them apart, “you’re soaked.” his pupils dilate at the sight of your sticky arousal, slipping out.

“toji—“ you push his shoulder, trying to get his face away, but he only leans his face closer, like your pussy was some hypnosis, and his tongue falls right on the mess, licking a bold wet strip up. your juices collect on his tongue as you flood his taste buds. “angh—“ you whine out, head tipping back and back arching, because fuck, you really did miss getting your pussy eaten.

“fuck, you’re so sweet,” toji groans, lapping the mess you made before tonguing the source. your eyes were on him the entire time, his back muscles moving as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, dipping his head again to suck and clean all your juices, before sucking your little bundle of nerves.

your eyes bulge once he starts giving your clit some attention, hand curling in his raven hair as your thighs twitching as he sucks.

his own body reacting to every mewl and whimper you let out, eyes flicking up to see the way you were gasping. his free hand came up, pushing your university tee up, hand flat on your stomach before your tits came into view, and he nearly came.

your eyelids flutter as you stare at him, chest heaving, you can feel how hot you’re body is getting as he feels your stomach.

“fuck me,” his body sits ups slowly, hovering over you, your legs slip around his torso as he dips his head to your tits. you wonder if he can feel how fast your heart is beating when his tongue lulls out and takes a wet lap of your nipple. his rough palm gropes your boob, squeezing the flesh making you react just the way he’d imagine.

your back arching and a stifled moan coming out.

“i don’t think teachers should be this slutty,” he licks his lips, tonguing your nipple again before he admittedly starts sucking.

“toji,” you moan, hand pressing into his nape as he hums around you. his fingers pinch and twist your other nipple making you gasp, letting out a higher pitched moan. you can feel his smirk, but you don’t have time to comment because he presses a finger against your hole.

“let’s see how much i needa stretch y’out,” his face is flushed, your reactions were enough to get him off.

your eyes glance down as he slips two thick veiny fingers into your core.

“shit,” toji exhales.

you whine, gasping when he pumps his fingers in to get them deep.

“you’re unbelievable,” his comment leaves you feeling bright pink. “when was the last time you had sex, baby?”

his question was confusing to you until he adds on.

“or are you still a virgin?”

“I’m not a virgin!” you gasp, offended, even though it wouldn’t have been embarrassing if it was a true. but still. you were flustered, especially when he leans his face close to yours.

“you sure?” he snarks, “because this pussy—“ he puts emphasis with a sharp thrust of his fingers making your head fall back. “is too fuckin’ tight,” he groans as you squeeze around him.

“I’ve had sex, like—five months ago,” you confess.

“five months,” he repeats, eyes narrowing when you glance away, and that’s when the light bulb goes off and he has to hold back a snort, because it was sweet. “and why five months?” he teases.

you hold back, too stubborn to expose your reasons, but he doesn’t make it easy when he starts sucking your neck, taking his time learning your body, until he finds the spot that makes you moan just a bit more uncontrolled and his fingers pick up speed. “does it have to do with me?”

his fingers piston into you and an unrelenting pace that he slips in another finger, groaning at the squelching that fills the air, your face pressing into his arm that rests beside your head. “cmon,” he slowly his pace, electing a cute whine from you. “you’re really acting kinda spoiled. expecting me to please you without anything in return.”

the guilt trip had your dumb brain glancing widely at him.

“I’m not—we’re gonna have sex now,” your face is bright with heat, eyes just a bit glassy from the pleasure.

“you think an old man like me gets off on just pussy?” though that was a big chunk of it, it still elected a cute reaction from you. “you needa to talk to me.”

your eyes are wide, almost like this was inconceivable to you, but nonetheless your lips part. “you’re not that old,” you comment with a slight snark.

he snorts, “you being cute?”

you shrug, squirming when he rubs his palm against your clit. “just a little,” you maintain eye contact. and he has to hold back a snort. his lips hover over yours, his hot breath fanning against your face, you instinctively lean up to kiss him but he easily dodges it, tucking his face into your side, lips ghosting over your ear.

“just tell me you didn’t let anyone near this pussy after our meeting,” his words sent a shiver running down your spine. “admit it.”

“it was coincidental,” you admit, whining when he curls his fingers inside, your legs closing around his hand but he only pushes both legs up, you squeal when he starts fingering you at an unrelenting pace, your face pressed to the side, gasping as you feel your orgasm taking over your body.

“coincident my fuckin’ ass,” he tsks, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he slips them out and puts them up to his mouth sucking them dry. your chest is uneven as you stare up at him. he moves to pull your shirt off, leaving you completely naked while he’s still in his sweats. “you’re gonna have’ta make it up to me.”

“why?” you snap back. his brow raises, it was intimidating. the look of an annoyed adult, but it had your core clenching around nothing.

“you’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on ya,” he chides, his palm cups your pussy, making you shiver. “I should shut you up for good,” he palms himself.

you nod, the blush and smile giving yourself away.

he can’t help but snort, “you wanna be punished?”

you flush, “I didn’t say that,” you mutter.

he leans over you again, hand caressing your face, it was slightly rough, thumb playing your lips, eyes honed in on how wet and kiss bitten they are. “you said you wanted your mouth to be shut,” he smirks. “this little pussy would make you pass out if I put my dick in.”

your brows furrow as you frown, “you don’t know that,” you argue.

“you could barely take three fingers,” he coos, but that only seems to make your dumb cock filled head more upset.

“but I did, you don’t know anything,” you scoff, “you don’t know what I can handle.”

“you telling me you a slut?”

“that’s not what I said,” you flush, “I can take you, that’s what I’m telling you,” you huff, but it turns into a pout, one that has him chuckling. especially when he moves off the bed. you watch him standing beside the bed as you sit up.

his fingers hook around his sweats and easily slips them down, letting them pool on the floor before kicking it aside.

to say you felt your heart drop to your ass was an understatement. your entire body burned red.

the dark happy trail that led down to his base was not enough of a warning for the sight of his large and thick cock. the tip already shiny from the pre that spread everywhere. his hand came down, squeezing the base, groaning lowly at the sight of you sitting up on the bed staring wide-eyed. he could fuck your pretty face and have no complaints. your lips were parted in frozen terror.

toji put a knee on the mattress, biting his lip in calculated self-control. he couldn’t react yet, not when his son’s poor little teacher was still grappling with the fact that she said she could take his fat cock not knowing what she got herself into.

“I—“ your voice cracks, lips parting at the sight of his weighty length in his palm. he lazily grips the base.

“you’re acting real fuckin’ cute,” toji groans, leaning down and kissing your lips. not realizing that that comment sent you spiraling. he was still standing, so you were leaning slightly up, as you tilt your head. “it’s okay, I won’t tease ya’ about your comments earlier,” he chuckles, taking your hand in his gently. “just be a good girl, and I’ll be gentle,” he sighs, guiding your hand to wrap around his cock. “fuck.”

his head tipped to rest on your shoulder, his hand rubbed your thigh. your grip on his cock grew tighter as you continued jerking him off, you couldn’t believe how big it was in your palm. your mind was overheating just thinking about how this thing could fit in you. that’s until you felt your back hit the mattress, again. your body immediately pulled to the edge of the bed as he hoisted your legs around his waist.

“can’t wait any longer,” he grunts, laying his fat cock on your stomach. his eyes dilating at the sight of how far he’d reach you.

“w-wait—“ you press a hand to his sweaty pec, eyes slightly wide as you swallow thickly. “I don’t think—I know what I said—“

however, toji break out into a loud laugh. one that has your skin heating up again, and your lips parting in shock. “t-toji!” you scold.

“sorry, sorry,” he laughs, leaning over as he kisses a cute gentle kiss on your cheek that once again leaves you speechless. you would’ve never expected him to be so gentle in the bedroom. “I can teach you how to take a big dick like this,” he starts moving his hips, sliding his length throw your folds, a low grunt escaping as your juices coat him.

“you’re getting cocky,” you mutter, the confidence you once head, just hanging by a thread now.

he snorts, “just a little. haveta make sure I’m just as good of a teacher as you are,” his angled his tip to press against your clit, smiling when your body jolts. your fingers lazily digging into his biceps. “plus, it’s not everyday i get to take a teachers virginity.”

you flush, “I’m not a virgin!”

toji smirks, “you are when it comes to me,” he rubs his cock head against your puckering hole, “gonna stretch you out real good, every other dick that’s been in ‘ere will be gone from your memory.”

you tense up as you feel the first push in. your eyes flying open as your jaw goes slack.

“easy, baby,” he coos, all cocky, and it only seems to make you even more turned on as you clench around him. “shit.”

his grip on the sheets tighten, jaw clenched. “don’t squeeze me like that.”

“not my fault,” you whimper, his hand pushing you thigh higher as he sinks himself deeper. your breath catches, nails digging into his shoulder. “too much—angh!”

your whining and moaning, fails to deter toji from the task at hand. his cheeks are flushed, muscles tense as he controls his strength. unlike you, he really hasn’t had sex with anyone in awhile. it seemed to only be a yearly ritual for him. so having someone he’s been chasing for months now, someone he definitely developed a strong attraction for squeezing him to absolute heaven definitely wasn’t making it any easier on him.

“you’re so—fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, pulling out and thrusting back in. your back arched, hips raised off the bed as he put on knee on the bed , groaning as he pushes more of himself in. your eyes bulge even more, tears squeezing at the corner of your eyes. “still got more.”

“what?!” you shriek, eyes bulging as he snaps more of his chubby girth inside your gummy walls. your pussy weeping, gasping for air as he starts picking up the pace.

“don’t be so dumb,” toji coos, “you saw how much i was gonna shove in,” he emphasis it with a hand pressed to your belly button. “you’ll know you’re full when you feel it right here.”

to say you get dumb on dick is an understatement.

by the time he’s fucking his full length inside you, you’re a completely different person.

“angh, you’re so fuckin’ good,” toji grunts, his hips snapping, he has one foot planted on the mattress, drilling his cock inside you hitting your cervix until your crying out. “good fuckin’ pussy,” his hand comes down your ass.

“toji—gun’ gunna come—ahh-!”

“again?” he snorts, but his own composure breaks when you’re drooling, his thumb collecting it and putting it back in your mouth as you suck. your back arches as his cock slides against your gummy walls pressing against your sweet spot making you see stars. his veins bulge from his arms, watching your eyes rolls back and moan around his thumb.

fuck, he wasn’t gonna cum just yet.

once you’d come undone, you pressed a hand to his chest.

“tapping out.”

you shake your head. “I’m on top.”

you sit up, pushing him back until he’s slipping out. and it was a sight.

his chest covered in a layer of sweat, your juices coated his heavy hanging cock and dark hair at his base. toji chuckled darkly as you grabbed his wrist pulling him back on the bed, laying him against the headboard. his hand lifted up, you easily took it as you stood up and slowly lowered yourself on his abs. pussy easily settling on the hard ridges making him groan.

“gonna teach me a lesson?” he bites his lip, watching you closely.

you laugh lightly, almost like he couldn’t feel the way your pussy clenched when he said that. your lips hovering over his. “teasing me every second and now you wanna learn something,” you kiss his jaw, a low hum escaping his lips. finding himself back in the same position you both started at, but this time you definitely weren’t holding back. his hands easily came to your ass, until you sat up. “no touching.”

his brow raised.

“I thought you wanted a lesson,” you test, his eyes boring into yours.

with an amused exhale, he raises both his hands in defeat, easily tucking them behind his head, muscles flexing casually.

“now,” you start, turning around so your ass was on full display facing him, a low whistle slips past his lips. your feet press over his pelvis while one hand was positioned on the mattered for balance, your hair sliding to one side, you look over your shoulder and it was fucking beautiful.

toji flushed as he saw the arch of your back, his eyes traveling down your spine until he noticed it. “because you called me a virgin,” you raise your hips, your free hand coming to press his wet cock against your twitching hole. “I’ll give you a little show,” you slide back down on his dick. his breath hitching as you take him in one go, no whining or crying like the rounds before. even though you clenched around him when he bottomed out, his jaw ticking, you still persevered.

you lean forward, arching your back as you raise your hips, only his tip still inside as you slam down again. the bulging ridges of his fat cock sliding against your walls had you drooling.

“christ,” he grunts. abs clenching as he watches the sticky cum from earlier start to create little wet strings that attach to his pelvis and your ass.

“angh fuck, toji,” your moans are breathier and needier. It was the fact that you weren’t facing a him that made it easier for you to let go and enjoy the sex all the more, especially when you’re putting on a show for him with the way you’re riding his dick.

“shit—ngh, i take back what i said,” he grunts, biting another groan because he was desperately trying to see how this plays out by keeping his hands behind him. but you were really riding him like a cock drunken slut. “wanted to shake y’r ass for me—mmm this whole time.”

he subtly slides his muscular thighs apart, angling his hips just a bit knowing that this angle was much better for you. and of course your dumb little brain didn’t even notice but your eyes flutter as does your pussy. “angh toji—“ it was quite endearing the way your actions and voice didn’t line up, the sluttiest thing he’s received and yet he’s hearing the sweetest voice chanting his name over and over.

“taking me so well, ya like riding this cock, hmm?” he bites his cheek, preventing a pathetic noise from slipping out when he watches the way your pussy stretches around him.

“so big, toji—fuck—angh fee’—good, hngh ahh—“

“Mmm, shit just like that, dirty fuckin’ pussy,” the messy squelching and breathy moans you were letting out was messing with his head.

and he couldn’t help it when you leaned forward even more, grasping the sheets and getting more air to bounce faster. picking up the pace which immediately had him exhaling loudly and reaching out a hand, unable to stop himself, because you definitely would make him cum. “should’ve told me how desperate this pussy was for a big cock,” he groans as you let out a loud whine. a snort escaping, “fuck.”

his palm slid across your ass, all the way to the fucking tramp stamp he hadn’t noticed until you’d turned around for him. his cock twitched when your back arched on instinct when he pressed a finger against the tattoo.

“fuck fuh—angh i said no touchin—“ you whine, it felt so good bouncing on such a big cock. you’d never had something so big inside you, and you couldn’t hold back.

“wanted to tell ya how much I’m lovin’ this fuckin’ lesson from you teach,” he groans, the low rumble from his chest has you angling your hips so you were only taking his tip. “shiit—“ his jaw went slack.

“it’s ah—a punishment,” you pant as you bounce only on the few inches of his tip, letting your juices drizzle down his creamy messy base. his eyes were like saucers seeing your hole take him and he could feel himself getting closer, his grip tightening on your waists

“cmon baby,” he lets out a noise that you could only think was a whine, if it wasn’t for your own moans and loud squelching.

god why did it feel good being tortured like this. his cock was going to burst, but you were edging him like crazy like this.

“d-don’t baby me—“ you bite your lip, but he clearly hears your whimper. your shoulders shaking. you were close. “I’m—I’m in charge.”

his neck rolled back, lashes fluttering. your pussy felt so good, riding his cock until he bursts inside you, and yet, “is that usually how it is?” he slides both hands to hold your torso.

“what do you m—angh!! toji!”

his hands grasp your waist, and with no hesitation, he plants both feet on the mattress and thrusts up. your eyes bulge, finding yourself laying against his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder as he bites at your neck, thrusting up at an unrelenting pace.

“I’m not gonna let a pretty girl like you do all the work,” he grunts, hand falling to your clit, rubbing tight circles, making your legs shake as tears form immediately. “there we go—ngh squeeze my dick like a good girl.”

you were definitely going to loose consciousness, the pleasure overwhelming. “toji,” your moans were getting loud.

“are ya only gonna moan my name?” he teased, mimicking your gasps as if he wasn’t desperately keeping the pace fighting your own bucks to pick up the pace because he wasn’t right on the edge. “shiit—baby,” he presses his face to your side, his instincts couldn’t stop him from absolutely wrecking you.

maybe that’s why when he had you back on your hands and knees, shaking and whining that he didn’t stop thrusting until he felt you cum again, but this time with a messier gush.

“shit—“ he groans, being forced out as you squirt on his cock. “you’re full of surprises, princess.”

you were absolutely delirious, tilting your head, arms stretching out grasping the sheets. “cu-cum in me.”

his jaw clenches, his brain frying as you look at him with those big glassy eyes. all pleading and fucked out.

“don’t,” he thrusts into you, it was getting sloppy, your hand was stretching back for him.

“want y-you to—ah ha—cum in me—please ngh please—“ you desperately match him, thrusting back against him, making him groan.

“don’t say that,” he brings a hand down on your ass, it was as hard, but enough to make you whine even more.

“want you to make me feel full, toji,” you plead, hand rubbing your tummy feeling the bulge he was creating. his cock threatening to burst with the way you’re acting. he leans forward, hands planted beside your head, as he drives his cock harder and faster.

“fuck, should’ve known you’d be a fuckin’ slut,” he grunts with each thrust, you were whining, face pressed against the mattress as you reached back to hold his head, his face coming close to yours.

“want it—I’m—I’m good,” you slur, the gasps and moans coming out. his muscles flexing as he felt his legs begin to shake and your own body squeezing him, clearly on the edge yourself.

“want me to breed this pussy on our first fuck,” he clearly already made his choice as his thrusts grew sloppier. his breathing getting uneven and louder as he drilled his pulsing cock into your warm gooey walls.

“yes-want it all—“ you gasp, his lips crash into yours. and the deep rumble of him moaning into your mouth immediately sent you over the edge again and him following after.

he hissed, his balls clenching as he shot ropes of warm cum into your walls. you were clenching him nails digging into his nape, as he continued thrusting deep and holding as more cum shot into his son’s hot middle school teacher.

you were whining, especially when his hand wouldn’t leave your clit, making you squirt more. he pulled out, biting his lip as he saw the mess he created, and selfishly, he pulled you back on your knees, spreading your pussy apart to get a better look. and you were too fucked out to feel embarrassed.

“should’ve gotten a warning that you were this dirty,” he teases, slipping a middle finger into the mess and his cum oozing out of your puffy overstimulated pussy hole. he slowly thrusts his fingers in, and your hips reluctantly try to move away. “Look at’cha,” he sighs, mesmerized when you start crying and shaking as you squirt.

he didn’t stop, until you were rolling to your side, pushing his hands away. “c-angh toji,” your cheek is pressed against the mattress, eyes glossy and pleading.

“had enough, pretty girl?” he coos.

you nod, completely exhausted.

“you sure you don’t wanna give me more,” he gently soothes a hand across your ass as he leans down to press a kiss to your lower back. “is that enough for my bratty girl?”

you nod again. eyes doting up at him as if that wasn’t both the cutest and filthiest sight he’s ever seen. he trails soft kissed up your spine, gently rolling you to your back, brushing the messy hair from your beautiful face.

your body weak, but still responsive, brushes a hand across his jaw. eyeing his scarred lips, he leans forward, hovering over yours as you sigh blissfully.

“my dream…” you whisper. “is dumb.”

his emerald eyes widen slightly before settling. hand caressing the top of your head, thumb rubbing your forehead as he remains close, the intimacy was unlike anything you’d ever felt. fucks absolutely stupid that this closeness has dropped all your walls.

especially when this man who’s been following you for three days and stopped to talk you almost every morning after dropping off his son. you felt it was okay to be a little insecure.

“I’m definitely not someone to judge if something’s dumb or not, pretty,” his voice was just above a whisper, matching your tone. a gentle smirk pulling at his lips as he reassures you.

and for once, you don’t look away. you maintain eye contact, voicing your dumb dreams to the man that asked you a few months ago.

“I wanted to write…for awhile,” you hesitate for a moment. “still do…but I—don’t tell people.”

“like books?”

you shake your head. finger lazily stroking his jaw tracing his features mindlessly. “no,” you whisper, “shows…I went to school for that…film and yv, graduated with a BFA,” you glance at his lips, touching his scar again.

toji remains silent, but his caresses don’t stop. gently reassuring you to continue talking, it was similar to the way he talks to megumi, giving him gentle reminders that’s it’s safe to talk. it took him awhile to understand what it means to sit and listen, but he likes to think he’s gotten better, especially when sigh gently.

“but it’s been two years since I graduated…and writing jobs are difficult,” your thumb trails back to his neck, “like really hard,” you mutter.

“you still apply to things?” his tone was identical to yours, not wanting to think he’s pushing. and you nod, licking your glossy bitten lips.

“ya, applied for a few writing programs a few weeks ago for the summer…” you trail off. “…it’s…just embarrassing,” your voice is much lower. you take a deep breath, your exhale is slightly shaky and your little smile was almost heartbreaking as his brows furrow.

“teaching isn’t bad…still gives me time to write, and make my portfolio more appealing,” you confess. you sigh and glancing back into his inviting eyes. a small smile appears on your face. “that’s it.”

toji couldn’t describe the way his chest tightened up. It made him feel like he couldn’t say the right thing but his lips parted.

“when I had megumi,” he starts, speaking just as soft. “i wasn’t in a good place. i was nineteen,” he clears his throat. “i can’t even remember his mom…i was pretty sleazy back then,” he confesses, making you crack an amused smile. “but i had no goals or job or money, so when megumi was thrown at my doorstep I couldn’t throw him out.” he itches his jaw, you could tell it was difficult for him to speak about this. but he quickly go to the point. “it took me awhile to get my shit together, and I made a fuck ton of mistakes, but eventually thing began to work. I forced myself to believe they’ll work out because of gumi.”

toji exhales as he brushes your forehead again. it felt like he could see through you.

“you’re a baby,” he whispers. “two years isn’t a long time, you have a goal, and you haven’t given up, right?”

you shake your head which he makes him crack a wider smirk.

“don’t be embarrassed,” he soothes, “most people would be jealous, I certainly am.” you scoff, and he raises a brow. “you think I’m lyin’?”

“no,” you mutter. “but like—“

“but nothing,” he grabs your jaw, angling you head up, eyes meeting. “it’ll happen. that’s it, okay?”

you bite your cheek, and his heart clenched even more when your eyes filled with tears. your bottom lip pouting just a bit, trying to hold them back from slipping.

“okay?” his voice more gentle.

and your response is just as sweet as you are, with a gentle tilt forward, your lips pressing against his. eyes closing with exhaustion and some slight ounce of comfort for your worries you hum against his lips. “okay.”

toji caresses your jaw as your worries slip into the night, letting this man kiss you to sleep.

—

the nights events afterwards was a blur, all you could feel when you woke the next moment was the full body ache and slight weight off your chest. you had almost thought it was all a dream, because your body that was covered in the post-sex mess was completely clean, and as were the sheets. but the bruises and bite marks that littered your body was a tell sign and the fact that you, along with the large man sleeping peacefully beside you were still fully naked.

his back rose and fell evenly, he looked peaceful as he slept beside you. the early morning sunrise casting a gentle orange glow across his features, softening him.

you were in awe.

he was so beautiful, it was hard to believe he’s a total sadist in bed, but even that mind blowing sex couldn’t make you forget how gentle he was afterwards. his teasing was something you doubt you’ve ever come across, and maybe it was because he was older, but his words made you feel more reassured.

your eyes followed the deep scratches that littered his biceps, nape and shoulders that your own face began to burn slightly. “ow,” you mutter.

“taking in the view?” his rasp voice had your eyes snapping back to his face. his eyes now half lidded gazed tiredly at you.

“I didn’t mean too,” you gently rub over the scratches on his shoulder, your own voice slightly hoarse from the crying and moaning from last night. toji glances at his biceps not even reacting to the marks, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“I doubt that,” he scoffs.

your eyes widen, “honest! I don’t—leave marks like this,” you flush, glancing at him with pleading eyes.

he chuckles, rolling to his side inviting you to come closer, but he doesn’t give you a chance as he pulls you with his strong arm. pressing his face into your shoulder as he exhales. “it’s hot, so shut up.”

“they look like they hurt,” you mutter into his shoulder.

“they do sting.”

you pull away with even wider eyes full of concern now that he can’t help but break out into a boisterous full body laugh. his chest shaking making you roll your eyes. “you’re joking.”

“nope, they do sting.”

“toji,” your cute brows a pinched together that he laughs even more.

“do ya always scrunch that face when you’re worried,” he squishes your cheek. “it’s cute, feels like ya do it on purpose.”

“I’m literally just upset,” you pout because he was squishing your cheeks where it was slightly hard to talk. “does it actually sting—like a lot?” your eyes have a little mischief.

“Mmm, makes me hard thinkin’ back to how they got there,” he cracks a smirk as you stutter, hand coming to his face.

“shut up,” you roll your eyes.

“does anyone else know about this slutty tattoo?” he puts emphasis with his hand splayed on your lower back, rubbing the spot. “that their teacher actually rides cock like a certified slut.”

“you can’t say that,” you huff, more embarrassed than you’d like to admit because he was pulling your closer to him as his hand grabbed a handful of your ass.

“just did—am i gonna get punished again,” he throws your words back at, and it only helped to get you even more speechless. “i confess, i would love to get punished again,” he spreads your ass making you arch into his chest. his lips hovering over your ear. “you were moaning like a little slut.” his lips part as he mimics your moans, “toji angh—“ you slap his chest, making him laugh.

you sit up holding the blanket to your chest as you glare down at him. clearly getting embarrassed, which serves to entertain the older man. he smirks up at you, hand caressing your smaller wrist.

“stop talking about last night,” you deadpan.

“how can i not, you surprised me,” he confesses making you glare at him.

“what did you expect?” you raise a skeptical brow. that attitude of yours was definitely something that had him holding back a whimper. god, your immaturity coming out around him made him hard.

“expected you to be a little vanilla. not that I would’ve minded, I’d get you to do other stuff, but the way you wanted to take me yourself, just to show me your pussy—“ toji had no shame being vulgar with his words. Especially when you pressed a hand to his mouth, flushed beyond belief.

“stop talking!” you press your face to his shoulder. he doesn’t though, instead he pulls your hand away easily and looks up.

“and your messy pussy gushing everywhere, were ya’ always a squirter?” he chuckles because he’d successfully fried your brain where your jaw was slack. your hands came to yours cheeks because you needed to cool down. the blanket slipping to reveal your breasts just a bit.

“you can’t ask me that,” you whine softly, head down.

he leans up, hand pressed on the mattress beside your thigh, his face popping up in front of tilting his head with a knowing smirk. “show me some confidence, pretty girl,” he teases, and earns a hand on his face pushing him away.

“you’re making fun of me!” you huff, face burning.

“I’m complimenting you,” he laughs.

“well stop laughing, then,” you snap.

he snorts, laughing still, “can’t help it. just like you can’t help spraying on my dick.”

“toji!”

he laughs again, as you shove his shoulder back making him fall back on the mattress. he pulls your wrist so you’re falling over him. his hand holding your nape. it took less than five seconds for you both to start making out. his gruff voice coming into small grunts as you hum in pleasure.

“I haveta get back to my room before everyone wakes up,” you say between kisses.

“Mmm,” toji continues kissing, “in a few.” he’s seating against the headboard, holding your face as you continue making out. it was messy and sloppy, but that’s all you would do, your hand holding his wrist that attempted to sneak into your pussy from behind. “a pretty girl should cum every morning.”

“not when she’s working,” you mutter, licking his tongue, salvia mixing with his as he groans. his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers.

his hands continued to wander, allowing him to grope your boobs, twisting your nipple as you sigh in pleasure—

the loud thumping at the door has you pulling away.

“who’s that?” you whisper, glancing at the clock. it was still two hours before everyone needed to wake up.

toji shrugs, unsure too as he pulls you back to his lips. “keep kissing me, pretty.” you follow his pull, lips coming together again until the knocks get louder followed by—

“dad! are you awake!” megumi’s little voice yells on the other side. now both you and toji are frozen, you more panicky than him, as he keeps you on his lap when you try to get off. “dad!”

“mr. toji!” Yuuji’s voice chimes in only adding to your confusion and slight corner you’re stuck in now.

but that’s when the light bulb goes off in toji’s head, “oh.”

“what?” you whisper.

“promised them I’d take them on my run in the morning,” he glances at the clock, “didn’t think gumi would actually get up though.”

you get a little more panicky, but toji easily chuckles. “get in the bathroom, I’ll tell them I just needa change first.”

you nod, sliding off his lap. he slips his sweats on fixing himself in his boxers as you slip on his tshirt and rush into the bathroom earning a gentle tap on the ass by toji as he tries to squeeze when he walks past you to the door. “stop,” you squeal, running away and finally closing the bathroom shut.

he licks his lips, biting a groan before swinging the door open, mind you the knocking didn’t stop.

“what took you so long?” megumi frowns up at him. both boys wearing their shorts, megumi opting for a navy t shirt and yuuji with his bright red tank top.

“it took forever to wake megumi up! but you were the one that woke up late so we get the ten dollars, you promised, you promised!” Yuuji blurts.

toji scratches his hair. “yeah yeah, let me change quickly and I’ll meet you boys in your room—“

“we’ll just wait with you,” megumi easily slips inside his dad’s room followed by yuuji who skips to the large windows.

“woahhh your view is better than ours,” he presses his face to the glass. “And it’s ten dollars each, not together!”

toji licks his teeth, glancing at the bathroom.

“okay stay put, im gonna take piss and come out,” toji subtly pics up your clothes from the floor along with his own change of clothes before slipping into the bathroom.

his brows raise when he sees an empty room. he quietly whispers your name, walking up the shower and pulling the curtains back to see you sitting. “they’re still here?” you mouth. he chuckles, nodding.

“I’ll leave with them and then you can slip back to your room after,” he pets your head all cocky, making you slap his hand away with a huff, to which he laughs and walks to the toilet.

you patiently wait in the bathroom until he finishes changing and grabs your jaw, planting a wet kiss against your lips. you hum in shock, whining when he skillfully plays with your tongue groaning. “we’re still going on that date when we get back,” he says licking his lips and you can just nod.

he gives you one last wink before slipping out.

fuck.

unfortunately for you, sleeping with a student’s parent is exactly how you’d picture it going. him teasing you every chance he gets under his breath. subtle touches when no one is looking, and of course, gentle reminders of last nights events when you’re sitting on the buses back to the school.

“you need to behave yourself,” you scold him, getting up and sitting in the other side of the aisle. he frowns rolling his eyes.

however things weren’t fully realized until you got to the last rest stop. and all the kids flooded out all needing to use the bathroom. toji and you being the first to finish and waiting at the bus when toji decided to corner you against the bus.

his hand gently caressing your waist over your top, while the other tilted your chin to the side.

“you did a good job covering this up,” he rubs the spot where he remembers leaving a dark hickey. “I can leave another one down here,” he drops his hand to the front of your top, pulling the fabric down just a bit.

“toji,” you say sternly, as if you aren’t beyond flustered.

he cracks a smile, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to you, “kidding…so give me a kiss,” he whispers against your lips. “before the kids comes.”

you flush. he’s so needy. it was a pleasant surprise, but also messed with your stomach.

“just a kiss,” he softly coos, eyes half lidded, hands caressing you like you were all he needed to continue another two hours on this god forsaken bus. so you grant him it.

the kiss was soft, innocent, his hand pulling you flush against his body, “so sweet,” he sighs, slipping his tongue in, as he does, you’ve come to realize—

“WHAT!” a loud shout has you and toji flinching and whipping to look at the source and of course it’s the mischievous little Nobara. “you were kissing Miss. L/N!!” she shouts so loudly as more of the kids flooded out of the bathrooms.

yuuji who was standing behind her has his jaw permanently on the ground.

“nobara,” you laugh nervously, trying to defuse the situation, but she’s already chanting you and Mr.toji sitting in a tree. and the other kids follow suite.

yuuji is still sat on the bus with his jaw slack, megumi in a similar state but more of a glare as they surround you both on the seats. toji raises a brow at his kid, almost testing his glare. “have somethin’ to say—“

but yuuji immediately stands up, pointing at you. “why would mr. toji kiss you! you don’t like stinky things and mr. toji is SO STINKY!” Yuuji’s cry has you flushing eyes wide.

“Yuuji,” you start, but nobara is laughing.

“they’re in loveeee don’t doesn’t matter,” she chuckles and this leaves you and toji stunned.

“in love?!” Megumi now shouts. “Miss is super sweet and my dad is—“ he looks back at his dad frowning. toji puzzled raises a brow.

“your dad is what?” he texts him.

your sweating, laughing, “okay guys, this isn’t the time—“

“my dad is grumpy and not sweet,” megumi frowns, not scared at standing up to his dad.

the sixth graders all listening and enjoying the show, ooo at the same time. some were on nobara’s side of gushing over their sweet lovely teacher with a strong man like toji who they’ve spent most of the trip with. and the other side was on yuuji and megumi’s who are in disbelief that their sweet teacher like you could be with a grumpy fighter like toji.

“I’m not sweet?” toji cocks his head.

megumi hums and yuuji agrees along with a few other boys.

“so when I drive you to school? or take care of ya when y’r sick and whining, or drive you both to practice, or go on runs with you slow-pokes, or buy ya sweets, or take care of you—what’s all that then?” toji has the entire bus silent.

megumi and yuuji frown, embarrassed.

“ya that’s what I thought,” toji rubs more salt in the wound and your chest clenches as you look at the boys.

“toji was a big help with all of you guys, and he’s very sweet for volunteering to come along,” you try to reason with your class who all pout while others gush. “and uh—“ you look at the boys who are all upset. “you kids are obviously the sweetest,” a few of them blink up at you. kids love praise. “you all made this year amazing and toji agrees with me too. you all brought us all together and definitely were better than the other classes,” you put a finger to your lips. “but don’t tell them I said that.”

the kids all laugh together nodding.

“I told you we were the better class,” yuuji cheers, stunning his tongue out. “it’s because of your class president,” he slaps his chest. megumi laughs, especially when Nobara starts arguing with him.

“no it’s because I’m CO-President!” she huffs and the two go back n forth immediately changing the subject for the rest of the bus ride.

and once you settle back into your seat toji gives you smirk. you raise a brow.

he shrugs.

you tilt your head. weird.

but all toji was doing was admiring you. simple.

a/n: this was longer than I intended, but hopefully you guys enjoyed it. I definitely spent months coming in and out of this story, haven’t written smut in a few months so I had to find my style again lol!

you held out the tupperware container filled to the brim with recently baked chocolate chips—the sweet, warm scent wafting through the plastic. "i did, yes. though i wasn't sure if you had any allergies, so don't feel any pressure to eat them or anything. i just thought it'd be rude to come over without bringing anything."

oh great. less than five minutes into this conversation and you were already rambling.

suguru took the container of baked goods from your hands with a wary look, bringing it up to his nose. "you're not a serial killer by any chance, are you?"

you blinked. "if i was, wouldn't it defeat the purpose of telling you now?" not very reassuring.

regardless, he gestured for you to come inside. you stepped inside the apartment and slid your shoes off at the door, taking in the sight of his living room.

the space was bathed in a dark red light accompanied by sonder’s one night only playing in the background and a couple candles flickering from the coffee table—the warm richness of sandalwood permeating through the air.

“you.. uh.. you really planned this out, huh?” why couldn’t you just have said it looked nice and moved on?

now it was just plain awkward.

well, awkward-er.

sure, you knew the concept of sex and how it was supposed to work, but what every hookup guide always forgot to cover was the before. even if you'd talked before this, the two of you were just strangers. what were you supposed to talk about with him?

how were you supposed to skip this part and go to where you were riding him like a pony?

suguru shrugged, padding over to the kitchen to leave the container of cookies on the counter. “did i do too much?”

“it’s just your apartment and all, but the lights seem a little.. excessive.” that was putting it as nicely as possible.

he took the criticism in stride, grabbing a remote from the counter and turning them off before flicking a lamp on, painting the room in a dim orange light. the room was immediately much more warm and welcoming than what’d you first walked into.

you stood at the door, taking a look at the little bits of decoration that you could now see more clearly. a couple figurines, expensive, if you had to guess, a couple books strewn around his coffee table, and a cat tree perched up near the window.

you remembered the small bag in your pocket. digging it out of your pocket, you held it up in between your fingers. “i saw your cat on that one thirst trap,” he didn’t bother protesting—it was a thirst trap, “so i got some treats on the way here. i hope you don’t mind.”

either you were a psychic or you just naturally had a knack for this sort of thing. “they’re her favorite, thanks. take a seat, we don’t bite.”

the previous girls that came over to his apartment usually just gave the cat a little coo or downright ignored her, but you seemed like you wanted to get to know her more than you did him.

suguru wasn't sure if he was amused or if his ego was slightly bruised. (hint: both.)

you took a seat on the black leather couch like you owned the place, patting your lap. “what’s your cat’s name?” you questioned, the cat peering up from her paw at the noise before going back to grooming herself.

“that’s sage.”

you lightly shook the bag of treats, trying to beckon the very uninterested cat with the promise of food and an unconvincing baby voice. your efforts were working. somewhat.

sage lazily trotted her way down from the top of the cat tree before making her way over to you, sitting at your feet. her eyes were calculating, analyzing if you were worth her time. you didn't dare move a muscle when she leaned in to sniff at your socked feet and legs.

just when you were convinced that you'd gotten a big fat F on her evaluation, sage seemed to decide that you were harmless enough. she hopped up on your lap and settled down like the self proclaimed royalty she was, nudging her head against your hand in demand for head pats. you complied.

your fingers ran through the soft black fur while the cat purred like a lawn mower underneath your touch.

"she normally doesn't like strangers," suguru noted, plopping down on the couch cushion next to you.

"do you use that line on everybody that steps foot in here?" well.... yes!

and it usually worked like a charm, thank you very much.

"wait, what, really?" the last girl he'd brought over to his apartment remarked, the very same girl that signed him up for lifelong scientology visits and the army two weeks later after he failed to respond within five minutes, staring at him like he'd hung up the moon and the stars.

"yeah." the cat in question, looked at him with as much disdain as her little body could muster. suguru made a mental promise to reward the cat with catnip and treats for helping him spit out the first bullshit that came to his mind. the girl seemed too happily convinced, going as far as calling herself sage’s step mom.

needless to say, the cat hadn't been all too happy about getting squeezed and cradled around like a baby by a woman she'd never seen before and never saw again after. her displeasure was obvious if the broken flower vases and scratches on his leather furniture were anything to go by.

he'd stopped using that line. or so he thought.

"...no."

you raised a brow, gaze full of suspicion as you stared at him. barely applying any pressure. and just like a rubber band, he ended up snapping within seconds, “…yes, fine, i have. but it’s the first time i’ve meant it.”

you weren't sure if he was full of shit. but the cat seemed to like you decently enough, starting her own biscuit factory on the fabric of your jeans with each ear rub. “how’d you end up getting her?”

suguru looked over to see you and his cat getting along decently well, finding himself a little lost in the scene when your question finally registered and you were staring at him.

“i found her locked up in a cage close to home. her owners called her a devil and all kinds of names, their own negligence, really,” he rolled his eyes, reaching out to pet her chin, “anyways, they were all too happy having someone to hand off the cat to.”

the two of you sat in a comfortable silence after a few questions from one another, getting to know each other a bit better apart from late night conversations. only the sounds of sage’s purring and the outside world filled the apartment.

that was until, "c'mere." suguru lazily spread his legs on the sofa, patting his lap.

“you do realize i’m not your cat right?” as if proving your point, sage got up from her spot on your lap over to his.

“fine, can you please come here?” he gave the cat one last scratch before setting her down on the floor, asking a little nicer. you got up from your spot, standing in between his legs before you lowered yourself onto his lap.

"hi," he murmured once you settled onto his lap, his hands instinctively moving down to your hips.

"hi." you braced your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance, suddenly feeling the reality of the situation crashing down on you. the pretty man underneath you wanted to have sex with you. you were going to have sex tonight.

sex and your first kiss, apparently. (you refused to count the time you'd gotten kissed as a dare in middle school.)

and as if he could read your mind, suguru took a hold of your chin and gently tilted your head up to face him, "can i kiss you?" you didn't miss the way his gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips every .5 seconds.

you met him halfway, pressing your lips against his own. trying to go with the flow as many people said (what flow? you weren't completely sure yourself).

"close your eyes, i can feel you staring at my soul.” he pulled away, whispering the words against your lips and leaving you chasing behind his.

you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss slowly. even going as far as tilting your head a little so you wouldn’t— “ow!” — do exactly what you just did. bump your nose straight into his.

you opened them back up to see suguru was more amused than hurt, a stupid smile on his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “try closing them when you’re already leaned in, hm?”

rolling your eyes, you shifted a bit on his lap before giving it one last go. one of your hands came up to cradle his soft cheek, leaning in and shutting your eyes at the last second. he tasted like mint and something else you couldn’t decipher.

his lips molded against your own in a languid kiss, each touch an experiment to know your body better. suguru’s hands moved down your body, each one resting on your ass like he wanted, no needed, you all that much closer. the exchange grew heavier, sloppier, messier.

everything was heightened—you could feel every single little thing. from the slight hitch of his breath when you captured his lip in between your teeth to your own traitorous heart thumping underneath your rib cage.

his lips moved from your own to the corner, down to your jaw, until he finally reached your neck. then that’s where he went ham. sucking, licking, kissing on whatever inch of skin was at his disposal all while taking note which spots had you shivering and squeezing your thighs together.

latching onto the sensitive skin of your collarbone, suguru placed a kiss out of reverence before he started to suck. he was practically in bliss all without taking his clothes off. if he were a weaker man, he would’ve shot his load the minute you’d settled onto his lap and got a whiff of your sweet, sweet perfume.

his hands moved up from your ass up your back, probably going to take your shirt off before his phone got the bright idea to interrupt the moment: want a break from the ads?

suguru had never regretted not investing into spotify premium as much as he did in this moment.

is your girlfriend unsatisfied in the bedroom? your stamina not being what it once was? if these symptoms sound familiar, you might suffering from erectile dysfunction. ask your doctor about levitra—

that was enough to get him up to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen counter in three strides. suguru quickly got his phone from the counter before the ad could continue, deciding that the ambiance was ruined and shutting the music off.

"do these symptoms sound familiar to you?" you teased, resting your cheek on your palm as you watched the scene with mild amusement.

"you could come to my room and find out." not nearly as smooth as he usually was, but good job suguru!

"are you really getting me into your bed with an erectile dysfunction ad?"

suguru tilted his head, "is it working?"

and you really wished it wasn't, but it was. you were quick to get up on your feet, padding over to where he stood and reaching your hand out. "let's go find out then."

his bedroom was much like the living room—a minimalistic design with a couple pictures hung up on the walls. his friends, if you had to guess. he led you over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

not nearly enough bed-pouncing as you were expecting.

suguru spoke up, his hands resting on his lap, "you're allowed to change your mind, don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do. i’m here to please you.”

“i want this,” you responded, moving up the bed to rest against the headboard. he followed, keeping a reasonable distance between you two, “i want to have sex with you, suguru. let’s just take it slow.”

closing the distance, you straddled yourself over his lap, each of your legs next to his own. you lowered yourself down and placed your hands on his shoulders under the guise you knew what you were doing. and then, you started to rock and gyrate your hips against his clothed leg.

you rubbed and grinded your hips harder, faster against his leg in an attempt to feel something other than the friction of his sweats rubbing against your shorts—unsure of what to do other than rut yourself against him like a dog. maybe he was liking this?

should you start moaning?

“o-oh fuck.” a, what you hoped was realistic, moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders to really sell the point. suguru looked at you, wondering if he really looked that stupid.

you weren't sure what you were doing—that much was obvious. you were humping his leg, your rhythm too quick to be pleasurable for either one of you at this point.

"have you ever done this before?" were you really that obvious?

the question had your hips stilling their movement, your gaze falling down to his face. when you shook your head, suguru let out a small tut, holding your chin between his fingers, "that's okay, baby. we'll take it nice and slow, just follow me."

his hands splayed on your hips, slightly moving you up his lap before he started to guide your movements. and oh, now you felt it. his cock strained against the material of his sweats, each ridge rubbing against your warm heat.

well, at least now you knew the ad wasn't meant for him.

"oh yeah, that feels better huh?" he cooed in your ear, his cock twitching in his pants just by feeling how wet you were getting already.

you were dripping, slick stringing and sticking to your panties with each roll of your hips. he wasn’t much better—cock prodding against your entrance like it was begging to be released. “uh huh, better,” a breathy whisper left you, your back arching against his fingertips.

when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft and gentle like he’d been at first. no, he’d tested the waters already.

now he was kissing you like he needed you, like he needed air to breathe. each breath grew labored like he couldn’t bare being apart. his tongue moved in a synchronized dance with yours, tasting and absorbing everything you had to give.

your lips moved with the same desperation, fingers gripping against the material of his shirt. trying to take it off before he seemed to catch onto your unspoken hint. he reluctantly pulled away before sliding his shirt off in one fluid motion, letting it fall onto the mattress beneath. and… wow. beautiful was an understatement when it came to him.

you let your fingers trail down his abdomen, the muscles tensing underneath your featherlight touch. tracing and poking whatever little beauty marks you found on your way down. he was just so.. pretty.

“you really think so?” his voice brought you out of your reverie, and oh shit, you’d said it out loud?

“like you don’t know it already,” you retorted, trying to downplay the situation.

suguru shrugged, watching your fingers intently as you traced and gently scratched down his pecs, “i like when you call me pretty.”

you rolled your eyes but gave in anyways, “you’re very pretty, suguru geto.” you felt his cock twitch underneath at the compliment. leading his fingers towards the hem of your own shirt, you guided him into taking off the flimsy article. he seemed all too eager to revere your body the same way you had his.

mumbled compliments of you’re so beautiful and so soft left his lips until he looked up at you, his hands gliding up and down your hips, "do you want me to keep going or do you wanna stop here?"

you grabbed his hands, bringing them up to your chest. “i want this, suguru. i want to go all the way with you, i promise.” his fingers tweaked and squeezed at your perked nipples, his lips ghosting above the left before he swirled his tongue around it. latching his mouth onto the sensitive flesh and sucking, working the other with his fingers.

strings of saliva connected his lips to your tits when he finally pulled away—deeming that he’d given them enough attention for now. suguru flipped the two of you over, hovering above you before slowly kissing his way down.

peck. your collarbone.

peck. your tits.

peck. your navel.

peck. the waistband of your shorts.

“you can take it off,” you assured him before he even had the chance to ask the question. suguru didn’t hesitate once he got the thumbs up, hooking his fingers onto your belt loops before sliding your shorts down your legs and shaking them off.

you could’ve sworn you caught a hint of drool once you were all exposed for him.

suguru kissed his way up your leg, each one leaving behind a slippery trail behind him. “so pretty,” he mumbled, sucking onto your calf before moving further up to your knee, “so perfect laid out for me.” each one sounded like a quiet admission to himself.

despite how desperate he seemed, suguru took his time when it came to finally undressing you. his teeth sunk into the lace of your underwear, your hips lifted when he moved down the offending material at the pace of molasses. trying to savor as much as he could.

he let them fall onto the pile of clothes next to you before admiring his meal. your cunt clenched around nothing when a slight breeze came in the room, your slick glistening against your folds, clit practically throbbing his name out in morse code.

but suguru prided himself on having some semblance of patience. thinly veiled patience, but patience nonetheless. he wedged himself in between your legs, his lips hovering dangerously close to your entrance before moving down to your inner thigh. repeating what he'd done earlier on your leg.

he pressed featherlight kiss after another onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, occasionally biting hard enough to leave behind a nice lil' memory for tomorrow. your legs instinctively spread, every sensation sending your body through a livewire and yet.. you were lost in thought.

you wondered how many people he'd had in this room, how long this would take, what'd you eat for breakfast tomorrow, and—"focus on me, pretty girl."

immediately broken out of your endless string of questions, you looked down to see suguru already peering up at you. "talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"

you shook your head, "just got lost in thought, i guess."

"then we'll just have to make it to where you can only focus on me, angel."

and then he dove in like he was a man starving.

his big hands gripped your legs and spread you apart like a feast, tongue flicking out to taste the slick dripping down your folds and thighs. "taste so good, thank you, thank you," he babbled, swiping his tongue up and down your folds before flicking it inside of your pussy.

your cunt gushed like an open sink against his mouth and chin, the man practically nose deep as he thrusted his tongue in and out of your sopping pussy. his jaw went slack, sucking and tracing your folds with the tip of his tongue before going back to eating you out.

soon, two of his fingers took place of his mouth. two long and thick fingers. your juices ran down to his knuckles while he spread you open, his fingers curling and hitting that one spot inside of you with ease. "fuck, it feels so good," you whined, bucking your hips up to meet his fingers.

"i knoww baby, just needed suguru to take care of you." he didn't let up, much too starved himself to even think about doing so. his lips latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit and sucked lightly onto the nerves. your grip on his hair tightened, a broken moan leaving from his lips.

"just like that," he hissed out, his hips rutting into the mattress underneath. you noticed a dark patch growing in the front of his sweats. "take what you want from me, y'know how to do it." your hips swiveled and thrusted against his eager mouth, spit and slick drenching his chin and dripping down to the mattress.

it was hard to think about anything other than him, you had to admit that much.

your legs shook with each thrust of his fingers, with each swipe of his tongue. just as you were about to press your legs together, suguru pried them apart once more with ease. "don't interrupt my meal, i'm not done eating." and how could he say that when he already sounded so drunk off you?

his tongue swirled against your clit, the tip drawing circles around the sensitive nub. "f-fuck, gonna cum, keep going," you whined out, nails digging into his scalp. the sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers was all you could hear, and yet, all you were focused on was chasing your own orgasm.

it was so close, you felt a knot building up in your lower tummy. "fu-fuck fuck fuck," broken babbles left your lips, your toes curling and legs shaking the more you felt that pressure increase. with one final thrust of his fingers, you came. the knot unraveled all at once, your release washing over you (and his fingers) like a tidal wave.

he'd never been such at bliss before.

each breath felt like it was splitting your lungs open, your chest heaving as suguru slowly pulled his dripping fingers out of you. he didn't mind staring you in the eye when he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them off as if no drop could go to waste. "mm, wanna taste you forever." his eyes practically rolled back, his tongue swirling against the two digits.

once you finally regained your bearings, you sat up and asked, "do you want me to return the favor?"

suguru let out an indignant scoff like you'd just insulted his very existence. and in a way, you had. "i did that because i wanted to, because i needed to taste you," he retorted, shaking his head like he wasn't reevaluating his degree in munchology, "not because i was expecting anything out of you."

getting up from your spot on the bed, you padded over to where he was sitting and situated yourself right in between his legs. absentmindedly running your fingers up up up the thin material of his sweats, barely grazing your fingertips against the growing tent between his legs. before you pulled away altogether.

you looked up at him like you were sin incarnate, lashes fluttering against your cheek, "what if i really really want to suck you off?"

suguru swore his soul left his body for a minute. he'd gladly let you keep it if you wanted it at this rate.

“then by all means, go for it.”

that was all you needed to slide the flimsy material of his sweatpants onto the floor, his cock slapping up against his stomach once it was released. now it was your turn to nearly drool. you couldn't have imagined that a dick could be this pretty.

a nice tan color at the base with a hint of red at the tip, a curve settling to the right and precum dripping down his shaft just from having you in his mouth. it was fairly long and thick—as thick as your forearm, you could assume.

all the fanfiction you had saved in your bookmarks couldn't have prepared you for the sight of the twitching cock in front of you.

you stared at his dick like it was something out of an anatomy textbook, trying to figure out the best approach to go about this before ultimately deciding to throw it out the window and just try it out.

"a-ah fuck." suguru practically turned into putty the moment you took him in your mouth, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. not pushing, never that; he'd never risk making you uncomfortable.

thick globs of spit dribbled down to your chin and down his shaft from the corners of your lips. "just like that, yeah, please." suguru wasn't afraid to be loud—letting you know what you were doing right. one of your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers tightening around the base before you started to jerk your hand up and down.

you could hardly take him in fully—your cheeks hollowing out to make more space and it still wasn't nearly enough. "soo good, please don't stop," suguru’s voice drawled out when you tried taking more of his cock in your mouth.

you could feel tears pricking up at the edge of your waterline, blinking them back quickly. his cock was barely a couple inches in your mouth and the tip was already starting to hit your uvula, your saliva coating around the shaft to mix with the precum spurting out. once you were able to, you started bobbing your head up and down his length.

suguru’s fingers dug into the sheets beside him, his chest starting to feel like he’d run a marathon. your tongue, your mouth, just you, everything felt too stimulating, too good. the hand you’d been jerking him off with moved down to his heavy sack, your fingers rolling around his balls.

and just like that, suguru was a goner. he swore he saw the flickering of a white light above. you felt them tighten up underneath your fingertips, growing heavier and heavier with cum. you looked up to see him completely disheveled, mouth agape to let out shaky gasps and broken moans. and right before you swore you almost felt him cum, he pulled you off.

“did i do something wrong?” your question came out innocent, like you hadn’t nearly sucked the soul out of his body.

suguru let out a disbelieving laugh, pulling you up to your feet before feverishly leaning into kiss you. not seeming to care that he could taste himself on your tongue. “just need to cum inside you, can i do that, please? you still want this?”

he sounded completely and utterly ruined. but you nodded into the kiss, your fingers pressing into his shoulders. “i need you, sugu, need you so bad. please fuck me, please.”

he moved at the speed of light, setting you down onto the comfort of his mattress before he settled himself on top of you. his cock throbbed and twitched at the mere contact with your bare pussy, his fingers wrapping around the base as he swiped the tip through your folds. “you sure you want this?”

just one more time to confirm. you nodded.

“c’mon, use your words for me, pretty,” he whispered, rubbing the tip against your swollen lil’ clit. your throat bobbed as you swallowed back an embarrassing moan.

“i want this, suguru, i’m sure.”

"okay, take a deep breath in for me." you complied, filling your lungs with air before letting it out in a deep exhale. he slowly pushed his cock in, your walls tightening and clenching involuntarily against his shaft.

"there we go, that's it baby. takin' me so well." suguru's voice came out akin to a purr he didn't mention how he'd barely pushed an inch in. once he was certain it was okay, he pushed another and another in.

a choked gasp left your lips when he finally seemed to bottom out, feeling like your body had just been split in half. and maybe, just maybe it was, you wouldn’t necessarily doubt it.

suguru wiped away a couple tears that streamed down your cheeks, standing still while you got used to the intrusion. it was hard, he had to admit, when you felt so warm and wet around him. but anything for your comfort, he wouldn’t risk that.

“you can move, suguru,” you spoke up, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. his fingers grasped your own, placing your hand on top of your head before he slowly pulled out and thrusted back in one swift motion. your pussy drenched his shaft each time he pushed back in, each thrust smoother and faster.

suguru leaned down to kiss you, hair falling like a waterfall and covering his face completely before he ever got the chance to get close. you bit down on your lip, trying to keep yourself from laughing in his (hair covered) face before reaching out and moving his hair out the way.

so goes the super suave geto suguru.

a small giggle left your lips at the gesture, slowly starting to feel more and more comfortable being around him. (well how much more comfortable could you really get after having him inside you?) suguru let out a small huff, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance before handing over a hair tie.

you managed to make the world’s messiest ponytail in twenty seconds. go you!

“i’m glad my embarrassment’s amusing, but you okay?” he asked quietly, treating you as if you were a delicate piece of glass. long fingers trailed up your sides like he was admiring a piece of art, not at all like the strangers that you were supposed to be.

“i’m fine,” you assured, wiggling your hips and trying to thrust back into him, “you can go faster, though, please?”

suguru didn’t hesitate to follow that command, hips snapping into you almost immediately. your cunt sucked him in with each thrust, squelching with how much you’d drenched his shaft. his heavy balls smacked against your ass TWACK TWACK TWACK!

your legs wrapped around his waist like you were physically trying to intertwine your body as close as you could to him. “ah ah fuck, sugu, faster, faster!” your moans sounded like the best kind of melody to his ears, and well, who was he really to deny?

suguru hoisted a leg up on the bed for a better angle, hitting that spot inside of you with each quick thrust. your walls clenched around him like a vice, like you wanted to keep him trapped while you gushed and soaked around him.

“pussy’s so good, i’m never letting you go,” he babbled, his other hand gripping your hip to move you up and down his shaft as he pleased.

his middle finger rubbed desperate little circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back from just how good you felt. the hair tie was long since forgotten, hair falling onto his face as he leaned forward to capture your lips in what could only be described as a tangle of tongue and teeth.

everything about him screamed desperate and unhinged—and you weren’t any different.

“make me cum, make me cum, please,” you moaned out against his lips, your chest heaving and your breaths coming out in short pants. suguru nodded like it was his only mission in life, pushing his cock in and out sloppier and messier than he was at first. practically gliding with how wet you were.

your orgasm built up more intense this time, your nails digging into the sheets below as the coil in your tummy began tightening. “please please please,” for what were you begging for? you didn’t know. a scream that would probably wake up his neighbors left your lips as you came, dripping and soaking his shaft in your wake.

“so messy, my messy girl, that’s ittt.” he was a broken pussy-drunk babbling mess. suguru continued to rut into you, chasing his own orgasm while working you through your own. his hips moved desperately, balls twacking against you with each sloppy sloppy thrust until he finally choked out,

“w-where do you hic want it?”

you didn’t give it much thought, “my face, sugu. wanna taste you, come for me, need you.” that was all it took for the last bit to snap, barely managing to pull out in time before he was spurting out drops of cum onto your face and your open mouth.

you swallowed every last drop that landed on your tongue, your features contorting into a slight grimace once the taste settled on your taste buds. and just like you'd come out of a damn porno and his wet dreams, you stuck your tongue out.

"fuck, you're gonna kill me." a breathless laugh left his lips. he made sure to push his hair back this time around before he leaned into kiss you again, his tongue prodding into your mouth.

one time fucking awkward and slightly offputting girl pussy and he was ready to get your finger measurements to buy the most expensive ring he could find at the jewelers. maybe he'd start with just a date once he came back to his senses.

suguru plopped down on the mattress next to you, rubbing a drop off cum off your cheek with the pad of his thumb before bringing it up to his own lips. "was that okay? you need anything—water, a bath, your dignity?"

you let out an amused scoff, turning your head to face him. admiring his features in the post sex glow. you had to admit—to yourself mostly—he looked good worn out and panting. "my dignity's still intact, thank you. but some water and a rag would be nice."

he cracked open the water bottle and left it on the nightstand next to you before disappearing into the bathroom. you could briefly hear the sound of water running before he emerged once more, a wet rag in hand.

each swipe of the rag in between your legs was a gentle one, treating you with the utmost care in the world. “you don’t have to leave right away, if you don’t want to. i can make some mean scrambled eggs.”

“how inviting,” you teased, taking a sip of the water as you mulled it over. how bad would it be to stay the night if he’d already been inside of you? “but sure, i’ll stay. if only for the scrambled eggs.”

you weren’t sure how long the two of you spent up talking about nothing and everything in between, from what you did for school to how you got into baking. it was.. refreshing, in a sense.

you could picture yourself doing this kind of routine with him almost too easily. the last thing you remember before succumbing to sleep was his arms wrapped around your stomach.

holding you like he never quite wanted to let go.

loud knocking woke up suguru at ass o'clock in the morning, long before the sun even started to peek its head from the horizon. a groan left his lips as he forced himself to untangle his limbs from your own and get up.

you didn't seem to notice his absence, in fact, you almost seemed to enjoy it. a little too much, if you asked him. you laid in the middle of the bed, sprawling your arms and legs out like a starfish.

the knocking on the door grew more insistent—determined to get an answer one way or another.

"hi, good morning. i'm from the church of scientology." this time they'd sent a middle aged man to stand at his door and spit out the same spiel he'd heard for the past five months in a row, greeting him with a smile that suguru deemed unnatural this early in the morning.

a smile that quickly seemed to fade once the man took notice of the blossoming hickey on his neck, the scratches that ran down his abdomen.

the man grasped his copy of dianetics like he was clutching his pearls.

suguru would have to eat you out later just for this reaction.

the man cleared his throat, eyes averting down to the book in his hands, before he cracked it open to the first page he could find. suguru wondered how long it'd take the man to figure out the book was upside down.

"i'm here because you signed up to receive visits every weekend. for just the small price of ¥73,300, you could learn all about the church and how to reach enlightenment—" the more that the man rambled, the more that suguru was more inclined to start his own cult than join this one.

but regardless, he let the man finish his spiel before he tapped his chin in faux thought. “to join a cult or not to join a cult, decisions decisions…”

the man raised a finger to protest, pushing up the thick rim of his glasses up his nose, "well actually, we're not a cult, we're a religious group focu-"

the man was left rambling to the front door about the difference between a 'religious group' and a 'cult.'

but he relented, suguru had to give him that at least. the man remained at the doorstep, bringing his fist up to the door but never making contact. probably regretting coming over in the first place.

"who was at the door?" you were barely awake yourself, rubbing at your eyes as the bright morning light peered in through the windows.

suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a small groan, "would you believe me if i said scientology?"

"who'd you piss off?" you questioned, standing by the kitchen with your arms folded.

this time, another groan. though he sounded more whiny than anything, “why does everyone always assume i did something?”

"am i wrong though?" you countered.

you’ve been bleeding this discord mod dry for exactly seven days now, and the rush hasn’t dimmed. if anything, it’s gotten sharper. more intoxicating. there’s something delicious about the way he hangs on your every word, the way his messages light up with barely contained excitement whenever you deign to respond.

you’d started this as a simple cash grab—find some lonely loser, play girlfriend for a few weeks, disappear with whatever you could get—but satoru gojo is turning out to be so much more entertaining than anticipated.

satoru: good morning beautiful ♡ i hope you slept well 

satoru: i got us matching keycaps for our keyboards, yours should arrive today 

satoru: also transferred money for that graphics card you wanted

the messages come in rapid succession, each one making your lips curl upward in something that isn’t quite a smile. you let them sit for a few minutes—never respond immediately, that’s amateur hour—while you examine your nails and bask in the knowledge that somewhere across the city, he’s probably staring at his phone waiting for those three dots to appear.

pathetic. beautiful, profitable pathetic.

why_en: aww satoru you’re so sweet 🥺 you really don’t have to keep spending money on me

the lie tastes like honey on your tongue. you absolutely want him to keep spending money on you. the thrill isn’t even about the cash anymore—it’s about the power. the way he throws his apparently endless bank account at you like he’s trying to buy your affection, not knowing he already has it in the most twisted way possible. not love, never love, but something hungrier and more selfish. 

you wonder what he looks like when he reads your messages. does he smile that dopey, grateful smile you can hear in his voice? does he screenshot them like the lovesick fool he’s proven himself to be? the mental image makes warmth pool low in your stomach, not arousal but something more intoxicating—pure, undiluted control.

satoru: i want to!! seeing you happy makes everything worth it 

satoru: you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me

there it is. that desperate, clinging gratitude that makes your pulse quicken with something that definitely isn’t guilt. you screenshot his message, adding it to the collection you’ve been building—a gallery of his devotion that you scroll through when you need a reminder of your own power. each declaration of love, each promise of eternal devotion, each pathetic attempt to prove his worth to someone who sees him as nothing more than a particularly generous wallet with feelings.

the gaming setup around you is a shrine to his devotion. the monitor he bought you—curved, 4k, some ridiculous size that takes up half your desk. the headset with noise cancellation so good you feel isolated from the world. the chair that cost more than your rent, ergonomic and perfect because you’d complained once about your back hurting. he’s building you a temple to worship in, and you’re the cruel goddess who accepts his offerings without giving anything real in return.

why_en: wanna hop on the game? i miss you

another lie wrapped in enough truth to taste sweet. you don’t miss him exactly, but you miss the way he makes you feel. like you’re the center of someone’s universe. like you matter more than anything else in existence. it’s addictive in the way that power always is—once you’ve tasted being someone’s everything, settling for being anyone’s something feels like starvation.

within seconds, your discord pings with an incoming call. you let it ring twice—can’t seem too eager—before accepting.

“hey gorgeous.” his voice comes through your headset, soft and warm and tinged with that barely contained excitement that makes your pulse quicken. there’s something about his voice that doesn’t match the image you have in your head—too smooth, too rich. you’ve been picturing some stereotypical basement dweller, but he sounds like he could be reading poetry or ordering wine at expensive restaurants.

not that it matters. attractive or not, wealthy or not, he’s still just another mark. just one who’s proving to be more generous and entertaining than most.

“hi satoru,” you let your voice go soft and affectionate, the way you know drives him crazy. “how was your day?”

“better now that i’m talking to you.” the sincerity in his tone makes your chest tighten—not with emotion, but with satisfaction. he means it completely, and that level of devotion should be frightening but instead it’s intoxicating. “did your package arrive?”

you glance at the unopened box on your desk, designer keycaps that probably cost more than most people’s cars. you’ve been letting it sit there, unopened, because there’s something delicious about making him wait for your gratitude. about knowing he’s probably been checking his phone all day for a thank you message that you haven’t sent.

“you spoil me too much,” you say instead of answering directly, voice pitched to sound guilty and grateful rather than calculating.

“impossible.” there’s a smile in his voice, genuine and warm. “nothing’s too much for you.”

nothing’s too much. the words settle into your chest like warm poison, feeding something hungry and dark that’s been growing stronger every day. you’ve had men spend money on you before, but never like this. never with this level of worship, this certainty that you deserve everything he can give and more.

the game loads and you fall into your routine—comfortable banter, shared objectives, him carrying you through content while you provide commentary and attention. he’s good at this, stupidly good, and you find yourself actually enjoying the gameplay instead of just enduring it. 

“you’re incredible at this,” you breathe out after he pulls off some complicated combo that saves your virtual life. the praise isn’t entirely fake—he is skilled, precise in a way that speaks to countless hours of practice. but you layer your voice with breathless admiration that you know will make him melt.

“i’ve been playing since beta,” he says, and there’s pride there but also something else. something that sounds almost vulnerable. “most people think it’s a waste of time.”

“most people are idiots.” the response comes out more vehement than you intended, protective in a way that surprises you. where did that come from? you’re not protective of him—you’re protective of the source of your entertainment, your income, your daily dose of worship. “they’re just jealous they don’t have your talent.”

silence stretches between you for a moment, and you can hear his breathing through the headset. when he speaks again, his voice is rougher around the edges.

“you always know exactly what to say.”

do you? or have you just gotten good at reading the hunger in his responses, learned to feed the need you can hear lurking beneath every word he speaks? you’ve turned manipulation into an art form, and he’s your willing canvas.

“maybe i just really believe in you,” you say softly, and listen to the sharp intake of breath on the other end. hook, line, sinker. every. single. time.

the session stretches longer than usual—three hours of shared gameplay punctuated by increasingly intimate conversation. he tells you about his day, his work (something with coding that pays obscenely well), his thoughts on everything from philosophy to his favorite foods. you file away every detail, building a psychological profile that you’ll use to maximize your impact on his wallet and his heart.

but somewhere in the third hour, something shifts. his voice goes quieter, more vulnerable, and you find yourself leaning closer to the headset despite yourself.

“can i tell you something?” he asks.

“always.”

“i’ve never... i mean, i don’t usually connect with people like this.” there’s a pause, and you can hear him adjusting what sounds like glasses. “you’re different. special.”

special. the word hits different than all his other praise, settles deeper. you are special, aren’t you? special enough to have ensnared someone who sounds like he doesn’t fall easily, someone who’s probably had plenty of options but chose to fixate on you.

“you’re special too,” you say, and for the first time in seven days, you’re not entirely sure if you’re lying.

the thought should disturb you. instead, it sends heat rushing through your veins like recognition, like coming home to something dark and familiar.

by the time you log off, it’s past midnight and your head is swimming with more than just the late hour. there’s something happening here, something beyond the simple con you’d planned. satoru gojo is getting under your skin in ways you hadn’t anticipated, and the smart thing would be to extract whatever you can and disappear before it gets complicated.

but you’ve never been particularly smart about walking away from things that make you feel powerful.

your phone buzzes.

satoru: thank you for tonight 

satoru: talking to you is the best part of my day 

satoru: sweet dreams, beautiful

you stare at the messages until your vision blurs, that hungry warmth in your chest growing stronger. tomorrow you’ll push a little harder, ask for a little more, see just how far his devotion extends. tomorrow you’ll test the boundaries of his worship and bask in the results.

tonight, you fall asleep to the sound of notification after notification, each one a small prayer offered at the altar of your manufactured perfection.

the second week is when you truly hit your stride.

you’ve learned his patterns now—when he wakes up (6 AM sharp), when he takes lunch (12:30, always at his desk), when he’s most vulnerable to suggestion (late evening, after he’s been working all day and craving human connection). you time your messages accordingly, each one calculated for maximum impact.

why_en: i had the weirdest dream about you last night...

sent at 6:15 AM, just late enough that he’s had time to check his phone and early enough to derail his entire morning routine.

satoru: tell me everything

the response comes within thirty seconds, and you can practically feel his desperation bleeding through the screen. you let him wait fifteen minutes before responding.

why_en: it’s kind of embarrassing... 

why_en: we were together, like really together 

why_en: you made me feel so safe

three messages, perfectly spaced to build anticipation and plant ideas. you’re not just selling him fantasy anymore—you’re selling him dreams, literal dreams where he’s your protector and lover and everything he wants to be.

his response is immediate and exactly what you expected.

satoru: i want to make you feel safe 

satoru: i want to be everything you need 

satoru: god, i wish i could hold you right now

perfect. absolutely perfect. you screenshot the conversation and add it to your collection, your gallery of psychological victories. there’s something deeply satisfying about watching someone unravel themselves for you, about knowing exactly which strings to pull to get the response you want.

why_en: maybe someday we can make that dream real

the maybe is crucial—never promise anything concrete, always leave room for interpretation. let him build the fantasy himself while you provide just enough encouragement to keep him invested.

satoru: someday soon, i hope 

satoru: i’m falling for you 

satoru: is that crazy?

is that crazy? you almost laugh out loud at the question. of course it’s crazy. he’s falling for someone who doesn’t exist, someone you’ve constructed specifically to exploit his weaknesses and extract his resources. but crazy is profitable, and his particular brand of crazy is more entertaining than anything you’ve experienced in years.

why_en: not crazy at all 

why_en: i’m falling too

another lie that tastes suspiciously like truth. not falling in love—you’re not capable of that kind of clean emotion—but falling into something. falling into the rhythm of his worship, the daily hit of being someone’s everything, the intoxicating knowledge that you’ve become necessary to his happiness.

the week continues like this, each day bringing new messages, new gifts, new declarations of devotion. your bank account swells like a tumor, fed by his desperate need to prove his worth through material offerings. but it’s not just about the money anymore, hasn’t been for days.

it’s about the control. the way he asks permission before making plans, the way he checks in constantly to make sure you’re happy, the way his entire emotional state seems to revolve around your approval. you’ve become the sun in his solar system, and the gravitational pull of that much influence is addictive.

satoru: i’ve been thinking 

satoru: we should meet

the message arrives on a wednesday afternoon, and you stare at it for a full minute before responding. you’d known this was coming—it always comes—but you’ve been living in this perfect bubble where he existed only as a voice in your headset and numbers in your bank account.

meeting means risk. means maintaining the facade in real time, with no delete button, no time to craft the perfect response. means looking into the eyes of someone whose life you’ve systematically infiltrated and pretending to care about what you see there.

but it also means seeing the devotion made flesh. means watching his face light up when he sees you, means being the physical manifestation of his digital goddess made real. the thought sends heat coursing through your veins, anticipation mixed with something darker.

why_en: meet?

play dumb. make him work for it, explain why he needs this, needs you. make him convince you even though you’ve already decided.

satoru: i know we said we’d take it slow but i can’t stop thinking about you 

satoru: i need to see you

need. not want, need. the desperation in that word choice makes your pulse spike with satisfaction. you’ve done this to him, created this need, built yourself into something essential to his existence.

why_en: i want to see you too 

why_en: but what if...

satoru: what if what, beautiful?

why_en: what if i’m not what you’re expecting? 

why_en: what if you’re disappointed?

it’s a calculated vulnerability, designed to make him rush to reassure you, to pile on more worship and devotion. but underneath the calculation, there’s a tiny seed of something that might be genuine anxiety. not about your appearance—you know you’re attractive enough to maintain the illusion—but about everything else. about keeping up the performance, about being worthy of the pedestal he’s built for you.

satoru: impossible 

satoru: you’re perfect 

satoru: nothing could disappoint me about you

perfect. there’s that word again, the one that sits heavy in your chest like a promise and a threat. he’s built you up so high that the only direction left is down, and some twisted part of you is curious to see what happens when the inevitable fall comes.

satoru: tomorrow? i’ll pick you up

and because the alternative is admitting that this has all been an elaborate lie, because you’re in too deep to back out now, because some twisted part of you wants to see the devotion in his eyes when he looks at you—

why_en: okay 

why_en: i can’t wait

you spend the night in a state of restless energy. trying on outfits, practicing expressions in the mirror, rehearsing conversations. you need to be the girl from the game tomorrow, the one who thinks his jokes are hilarious and his interests are fascinating. the one who’s falling just as hard as he is.

but more than that, you need to be perfect. need to live up to the impossible standard you’ve set, need to be worth every dollar he’s spent and every prayer he’s offered at the altar of your digital presence.

your phone buzzes at exactly 2 PM.

satoru: here

you check your reflection one more time—carefully applied makeup that looks effortless, outfit chosen to hit the sweet spot between approachable and untouchable, smile practiced until it looks natural—and head downstairs.

the car waiting outside is not what you expected. sleek, expensive, the kind of vehicle that whispers wealth instead of shouting it. and behind the wheel—

oh.

oh fuck.

satoru gojo is not the basement dweller of your imagination. he’s tall, unfairly tall, unfolding from the driver’s seat like he’s been poured into existence by some artist with a preference for impossible proportions. white hair that catches the sunlight and holds it, pale skin that should look sickly but instead looks ethereal, and—

glasses. wire-rimmed and slightly askew, like he’s pushed them up his nose a thousand times while concentrating on code or game mechanics or whatever it is that’s made him wealthy enough to treat you like a luxury purchase.

but it’s his eyes that stop your breath. blue like winter sky, like deep water, like something beautiful and dangerous. and the way he’s looking at you—

like you’re a miracle he’s not quite sure he deserves.

for a moment, just a moment, your carefully constructed confidence wavers. he’s beautiful in a way that makes your chest tight, beautiful enough that you understand why he has options, why he could choose anyone. and he’s chosen to fixate on you, chosen to pour his attention and resources into someone who’s been systematically deceiving him for two weeks.

the thought should make you feel guilty. instead, it makes you feel powerful.

“you’re—” his voice catches, and he pushes his glasses up with one long finger. “you’re so beautiful.”

the reverence in his tone makes your chest constrict with satisfaction. you’ve been complimented before, but never like this. never like you’re something precious and fragile and worth protecting. never by someone who looks like a fallen angel asking for permission to worship at your feet.

“hi satoru.” you duck your head, letting manufactured shyness bleed into your expression because you can see how it affects him. the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers tighten on the car keys. he’s even more responsive in person, every micro-expression a testament to your power over him.

“hi.” he’s smiling now, soft and genuine and so different from what you’d imagined. “ready?”

the date—because that’s what this is, even though neither of you have called it that—unfolds like a fever dream. he takes you to places that exist in a different tax bracket than your usual haunts. art galleries where the price tags make your eyes water, restaurants where the waiters treat him like royalty and you like his precious companion.

and he’s... charming. actually charming, not just wealthy enough to fake it. he tells stories that make you laugh despite yourself, asks questions that suggest he actually listens to your answers, touches your hand across restaurant tables with a reverence that makes your skin burn.

but more than charming, he’s generous. not just financially—though the black card that appears every time a check arrives is certainly impressive—but emotionally. he gives you his complete attention, hangs on your every word like you’re delivering divine revelation, treats every opinion you offer like it’s the most insightful thing he’s ever heard.

it’s intoxicating. addictive in a way you hadn’t anticipated. you’ve had men try to impress you before, but this feels different. this feels like worship, and you’re discovering that being worshipped is a high unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

“tell me about your childhood,” he says over appetizers that cost more than your weekly groceries, chin propped on his hand as he gazes at you with those impossible blue eyes.

the question should panic you—you haven’t prepared a backstory, haven’t thought about how to make your real life sound interesting enough to hold his attention. instead, you find yourself telling him the truth. or at least, a version of it.

“not much to tell,” you say, twirling expensive pasta around your fork. “grew up middle class, normal family, normal problems. nothing as interesting as your life, i’m sure.”

“everything about you is interesting to me.” the response is immediate and sincere, and you have to hide your smile behind your wine glass. he means it completely, and that level of fascination is better than any drug you’ve ever tried.

“what about you?” you turn the conversation back to him, partly because you’re genuinely curious and partly because you know he’ll love having your undivided attention. “what made you so successful so young?”

his smile turns self-deprecating, and he pushes his glasses up again. “luck, mostly. right place, right time, right skill set for what the market needed. nothing special.”

but the way he talks about his work—the passion in his voice when he describes complex problems and elegant solutions—suggests otherwise. he’s brilliant, genuinely brilliant, and probably used to being the smartest person in any room. the fact that he’s choosing to spend his time and attention on you feels like a victory worth savoring.

“i think you’re being modest,” you say, reaching across the table to touch his hand. his fingers are long and elegant, surprisingly soft for someone who spends his days typing code. “success like yours doesn’t happen by accident.”

the touch is calculated—skin contact always is, with men like him—but the warmth that spreads up your arm when he turns his hand to capture your fingers is entirely unexpected. his thumb traces across your knuckles, and you have to fight the urge to shiver.

“you give me too much credit.” but he’s looking at your joined hands like they’re something precious, something worth protecting. “honestly, work used to be everything. before you.”

before you. two words that carry the weight of complete life reorganization, of someone who’s restructured their priorities around your existence. the power of it is dizzying.

“before me?” you pitch your voice to sound curious rather than satisfied.

“before you, i worked sixteen hour days because i didn’t have anything else worth coming home to. now...” he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles that makes your breath catch. “now i leave the office at five because i can’t stand being away from you any longer than necessary.”

the gesture should feel possessive, controlling. instead, it feels like devotion made flesh, like being precious enough to reorganize someone’s entire world around. you’re drunk on it, higher than you’ve ever been on any substance.

“satoru,” you whisper, and watch his pupils dilate at the sound of his name from your lips.

“i know it’s crazy,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “i know it’s too much too fast, but i can’t help it. you do something to me.”

you do something to him. the admission sends heat racing through your veins, confirms what you’ve suspected for days—that your power over him goes beyond simple attraction or even infatuation. you’ve gotten into his head, rewired his brain chemistry, made yourself essential to his happiness.

it’s the most intoxicating feeling in the world.

“you do something to me too,” you admit, and it’s not entirely a lie. he does do something to you—makes you feel powerful and desired and important in ways you’ve never experienced before. makes you want to be worthy of the pedestal he’s built, even as you’re consciously manipulating your way to the top of it.

the rest of dinner passes in a haze of intimate conversation and lingering touches. he tells you things that feel like secrets—about his loneliness before you, his fears about not being good enough, his dreams for the future that all seem to center around making you happy. you file away every confession, every vulnerability, adding them to your arsenal for future use.

but somewhere between the main course and dessert, something shifts. maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the way he keeps looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, maybe it’s the sheer overwhelming force of his attention—but you start to lose track of what’s performance and what’s real.

when he reaches across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your breath catches without any conscious decision to make it do so. when he smiles at something you say, warmth blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with strategy. when he asks about your dreams for the future, you find yourself giving answers you hadn’t planned, hadn’t practiced.

“what do you want most in the world?” he asks over dessert that’s more art than food.

the question hangs between you like a challenge. what do you want most in the world? money? security? power? all of those things seemed like complete answers a few weeks ago, but sitting across from someone who’s offering them all freely, they feel insufficient.

“to matter,” you say finally, the words escaping before you can stop them. “to be important to someone.”

it’s more honest than you meant to be, more vulnerable than your carefully constructed persona allows. but the way his eyes soften, the way he reaches for your hand again like it’s instinctive—

“you matter to me,” he says simply. “you’re the most important thing in my world.”

and god help you, you believe him. more than that, you want it to be true. want to be his most important thing, want to be worthy of the devotion he’s offering, want to deserve the life he’s clearly planning to build around you.

the realization should terrify you. instead, it feels like coming home.

he drives you back to your apartment as the sun sets, expensive car purring through streets that look different when viewed through the lens of his attention. everything seems prettier, more significant, like you’re seeing your own life through the eyes of someone who thinks you’re worth this level of effort.

“can i see you again?” he asks as he walks you to your door, and there’s vulnerability in the question that sits strangely on someone who looks like he’s never been denied anything in his life.

“try to stop me,” you say, and watch his face light up like sunrise.

he kisses your forehead before he leaves—chaste and sweet and completely at odds with the heat in his eyes—and you spend the evening replaying every moment, every touch, every look. your phone buzzes constantly with messages from him, each one a small prayer of gratitude for your existence.

satoru: thank you for today 

satoru: you’re even more incredible in person 

satoru: i can’t stop thinking about you 

satoru: sweet dreams, beautiful

you stare at the messages until your vision blurs, some emotion you can’t name clawing at your chest. tomorrow you’ll go back to the performance, back to being the perfect girlfriend he’s constructed in his mind. but tonight—

tonight you let yourself wonder what it would be like if this was real. if you were really the person he thinks you are, really worthy of the life he’s offering to build around you.

your reflection stares back at you from your darkened phone screen, and for a moment you don’t recognize the face looking back. there’s something soft there, something vulnerable that has no place in your carefully constructed armor.

you push the feeling down, bury it beneath layers of calculation and strategy. this is a job, a con, a means to an end. the fact that your mark happens to be beautiful and generous and completely devoted doesn’t change what this is.

but as you fall asleep to the sound of your phone buzzing with message after message, each one a small offering at the altar of your manufactured perfection, you can’t quite shake the feeling that you’re lying to yourself about more than just your feelings for him.

the second date becomes a third, then a fourth. he integrates himself into your life with the persistence of water finding cracks, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. your gaming sessions become longer, more intimate. your days start to revolve around his messages, his calls, his presence.

and the gifts keep coming. not just expensive things anymore, but thoughtful ones. a book by an author you mentioned liking, tea from a shop you walked past together, a playlist of songs that remind him of you. he’s building a detailed map of your preferences, real and performed, and using it to craft a reality where you’re the center of everything.

it should be suffocating. it should trigger every alarm bell you have about controlling men and possessive behavior. instead, it’s intoxicating in ways you never anticipated.

“you don’t have to keep buying me things,” you tell him one evening, though you make no move to return the designer bracelet he’s just fastened around your wrist. the weight of it feels like ownership, like being marked as his in the most luxurious way possible.

“i want to.” his fingers linger on your pulse point, and you wonder if he can feel how your heartbeat spikes at his touch. “you deserve beautiful things.”

you deserve. not you want, not you like—you deserve. like your worth is something objective and measurable, like spoiling you is a moral imperative rather than a choice.

“what if i don’t?” the question slips out before you can stop it, vulnerability bleeding through your carefully maintained facade.

he goes still, fingers pausing in their gentle exploration of your wrist. when you look up at him, his expression is soft and serious and utterly convinced.

“impossible,” he says, and there’s no doubt in his voice whatsoever. “you’re perfect.”

perfect. that word again, the one that sits in your chest like a weight and a promise and a threat all at once. you want to be perfect for him, want to deserve the faith he’s placing in you, want to be worthy of the life he’s offering to build around your happiness.

but you also know, with crystal clarity, that you’re not. that everything he loves about you is a carefully constructed lie, that the person he’s falling for exists only in the digital space between truth and deception.

the contradiction should bother you more than it does.

instead, you lean into his touch and let him believe in your perfection a little longer.

you’re three weeks deep when the first crack appears.

it happens during a gaming session—some pvp match that’s going badly despite his usual skill. you can hear his frustration through the headset, sharp intakes of breath and muttered curses that sound nothing like the patient, adoring man you’ve come to know.

“look at this pathetic excuse for a human being,” he snarls after another failed engagement, and there’s venom in his voice that makes your stomach drop like a stone. “CurseGuzzlerSG—probably some mouth-breathing basement dweller who peaked in middle school and thinks button mashing counts as skill. bet his parents are ashamed they wasted eighteen years feeding this waste of oxygen.”

the transformation is jarring, like watching a mask slip off to reveal something predatory underneath. gone is the soft-spoken man who calls you beautiful every morning, replaced by someone whose voice drips with surgical cruelty.

you can hear the mechanical keyboard—the one he bought to match with you—being punished under his fingers, each keystroke sharp and violent. then there’s a crash, the sound of something being swept off his desk, followed by his ragged breathing.

“and this fucking reject with the anime profile picture,” he continues, his voice getting more unhinged with each word. “probably jerks off to cartoon children and wonders why he’s never felt a woman’s touch. look at his gear, look at his rotation—his brain must be smoother than a marble, absolutely no higher cognitive function happening in that empty skull—”

the specific, personal nature of his attacks makes ice form in your veins. these aren’t just frustrated gamer insults. this is calculated character assassination of people he’s never met, detailed psychological profiles built from usernames and gameplay footage.

“hey,” you say softly, trying to recapture the gentle dynamic you’ve built, trying to ignore the way your fight-or-flight response is screaming at you to hang up, to run. “it’s just a game—”

“don’t.” 

the word cuts through your platitude like a blade, so sharp and cold you actually flinch away from your headset. the silence that follows is suffocating—you can hear him breathing heavily, each exhale controlled but violent, like he’s physically restraining himself from something worse.

ten seconds of silence. twenty. thirty.

when he speaks again, his voice has that careful control that’s somehow more terrifying than his rage.

“don’t diminish this. you know how much time i’ve put into perfecting my builds, my rotations, my team compositions. these... people... are ruining something i care about.”

people. the way he says it makes it clear they’re barely that in his mind.

there’s another stretch of silence, punctuated only by his measured breathing. you can picture him behind his setup—probably pushing his glasses up, running his hands through his white hair, recalibrating his mask.

“satoru—”

“i would never talk to you like that.” his voice is soft now, gentle, but there’s something underneath it that makes your skin crawl. “you’re different. you’re special. you understand quality, you appreciate effort, you have standards. unlike these degenerates who probably can’t even tie their own shoes without their mothers helping them.”

the implication hangs in the air like smoke: this is how he talks about people who aren’t special to him. this is the venom he reserves for anyone who doesn’t meet his standards, who doesn’t earn his carefully rationed respect.

“you’re the only person worth my patience,” he continues, and you can hear his smile through the words. “the only person who deserves my best self.”

your hands are shaking. you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

“i could be raid leading for a world-first guild,” he continues, and you can hear him pacing now, his breathing heavy through the microphone. “i could be making guides that actually matter, teaching people who deserve to learn. instead i’m stuck carrying these worthless—”

“satoru.” you interrupt, your voice firm enough to cut through his spiral. “breathe.”

silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable. when he speaks again, his voice is different—smaller, almost frightened.

“sorry. i didn’t mean to... you’re the only good thing in my life, i shouldn’t take my frustration out on—”

“it’s okay,” you say quickly, but something cold has settled in your stomach. the only good thing in his life. not one of the good things, the only thing. the weight of that responsibility sits on your chest like lead, and you’re starting to understand why he treats you like something that might disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

the session ends early, with him apologizing repeatedly—too much, too frantically—and you reassuring him that everything’s fine. but after you hang up, you sit in the darkness of your room and wonder what you’ve built here. what kind of devotion requires this level of emotional maintenance. what kind of man puts all his happiness in one person and then expects that person to carry it gracefully.

your phone buzzes immediately.

satoru: i’m sorry for earlier 

satoru: you bring out the best in me and i never want to be anything less than perfect for you 

satoru: let me make it up to you 

satoru: please don’t be upset with me 

satoru: i can’t stand the thought of disappointing you 

satoru: you’re everything to me

the messages come in rapid succession, each one more desperate than the last. you can picture him on the other end, probably pacing his apartment, pushing his glasses up his nose over and over while anxiety eats him alive. the image should make you feel powerful—and part of it does—but mostly it just makes you tired.

why_en: it’s really okay satoru, we all have bad days

satoru: not around you 

satoru: never around you 

satoru: you deserve perfect

the next morning, there’s a package at your door. jewelry this time, delicate and expensive and exactly your taste. the note attached is written in his careful handwriting, and you can see places where he pressed too hard with the pen, where his hand probably shook: for the most perfect woman in the world. i’m sorry i’m not worthy of you yet.

not worthy yet. like his worthiness is something he can achieve through enough gifts, enough attention, enough complete subsumation of his identity into the idea of pleasing you.

you should feel guilty. you should feel something approaching shame for the way you’ve constructed this relationship on a foundation of performance and manipulation. instead, you feel hungry. greedy. more addicted than ever to the way he sees you as something precious and irreplaceable.

but the cracks keep appearing, spreading like spider webs through the perfect facade he’s built.

it happens at a coffee shop two days later. you’re waiting in line together, his hand possessive on the small of your back, when the barista—young, pretty, probably a college student—smiles at him while taking his order.

“what can i get started for you?” she asks, all customer service brightness and innocent friendliness.

you feel satoru’s hand tighten against your back. when he speaks, his voice is clipped, cold in a way you’ve never heard directed at a stranger.

“large americano. black.” no please, no thank you, just barely controlled hostility toward someone whose only crime was existing while female in his presence.

the girl’s smile falters slightly. “and for you?” she asks, turning to you with visible relief.

“i’ll have a—”

“she’ll have a vanilla latte with oat milk,” satoru interrupts, his voice still sharp. “and make sure the temperature is exactly 140 degrees. she has a sensitive palate.”

you stare at him. you’ve never mentioned having a sensitive palate. you don’t even particularly like vanilla lattes, but you’d ordered one once weeks ago and he’d apparently catalogued it as your permanent preference.

“uh, actually—” you start.

“that’s what you always get,” he says, looking at you with those too-blue eyes. there’s something desperate in his gaze, like your coffee order is a test of his devotion and getting it wrong would shatter something fundamental in his worldview.

“right,” you say weakly, watching the barista’s expression grow more uncomfortable by the second.

“anything else?” she asks, clearly wanting this interaction to end.

satoru’s eyes narrow, scanning her name tag. “no, suzuru. just make sure you get it right. my girlfriend deserves the best service.”

the way he says ‘girlfriend’ makes your skin crawl—possessive, territorial, like he’s marking territory. suzuru nods quickly and moves to start the drinks, probably counting the minutes until her shift ends.

“you didn’t have to be rude to her,” you say quietly as you move to wait for your order.

“rude?” satoru looks genuinely confused. “i was protecting your experience. did you see the way she was looking at me? completely inappropriate when i’m obviously with someone.”

you glance back at suzuru, who’s focused intently on the espresso machine and definitely not looking at anyone. “she was just doing her job, satoru.”

“was she?” his voice drops to a whisper, but there’s venom in it. “or was she trying to get my attention? women like that are always testing boundaries, seeing if they can break up happy couples.”

women like that. you want to ask what he means exactly—college students? service workers? people who dare to exist in his vicinity while female?—but something in his expression warns you off. there’s a paranoid intensity in his eyes that makes you think of conspiracy theorists and reddit manifestos.

“maybe you’re reading too much into—”

“i notice things other people miss,” he interrupts, straightening his glasses with sharp, jerky movements. “i see patterns. the way she tilted her head, the way she leaned forward when she talked to me, the way her voice got softer. classic manipulation tactics.”

your blood runs cold. classic manipulation tactics. you wonder if he’s catalogued your own behavior the same way, if he has mental files on every smile, every laugh, every carefully crafted moment of vulnerability you’ve shown him.

“large americano and vanilla latte!” suzuru calls, setting the cups on the counter with obvious relief.

satoru inspects both drinks before accepting them, checking the foam art on your latte with the intensity of a forensic investigator. “temperature?” he asks.

“140 degrees,” suzuru confirms, already turning away to help the next customer.

as you leave the coffee shop, satoru’s demeanor transforms back to the devoted boyfriend you know. he opens the door for you, asks if your drink is perfect, tells you how beautiful you look in the morning sunlight. but you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at that barista, like she was a threat to be neutralized.

“you’re quiet,” he observes as you walk to his car.

“just thinking.”

“about what?” there’s an edge of anxiety in the question, like he’s afraid you might be thinking about something—or someone—other than him.

“nothing important,” you lie, and watch his shoulders relax slightly.

but it is important. the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that his devotion comes with a price: the complete elimination of any other people from your life. friends who text you less because you’re always busy with satoru. coworkers who’ve stopped inviting you to after-work drinks because you always decline. family members who’ve started asking if you’re okay because you only talk about your boyfriend now.

the isolation happened so gradually you barely noticed it. satoru never explicitly told you to stop seeing other people—he’s too smart for that. instead, he made himself irresistible.

why go out for mediocre drinks with friends when you could stay in with someone who treats you like a goddess? why maintain friendships that require effort when you have someone who gives you everything you want without asking for anything in return?

except he is asking for something in return. he’s asking for everything. your time, your attention, your entire existence reorganized around the maintenance of his happiness.

the revelation should horrify you. instead, as you settle into the passenger seat of his expensive car and let him fuss over your seatbelt, your comfort, your everything, you find yourself wondering why it feels so much like coming home.

a week later, you’re having dinner at another expensive restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters know his name and treat you like visiting royalty. you’ve learned to navigate these spaces now, learned to let him order wine that costs more than your monthly rent, learned to smile graciously when he explains the menu items like you’re a child who needs guidance.

the conversation flows easily—it always does now, you’ve learned to navigate his interests and opinions like a native speaker—until he mentions something that makes your blood freeze.

“i’ve been thinking about taking a vacation,” he says, cutting into his steak with precise, almost surgical movements. “somewhere tropical, just the two of us. i found this perfect resort in the maldives—private villa, completely isolated from everything. just paradise.”

isolated. the word echoes in your head like a warning bell. 

“that sounds amazing,” you say automatically, but your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears.

“i already booked it,” he continues, and there’s excitement in his voice, genuine happiness that makes your stomach twist with guilt and terror in equal measure. “two weeks, starting next month. i know you’ll have to request time off work, but i figured we could say it’s a family emergency or something. i don’t want your boss asking too many questions about where we’re going.”

the casual suggestion of lying to your employer sits wrong in your chest, but it’s the other part that makes your pulse quicken with alarm.

“you booked it?” the words come out sharper than intended, and you see his expression shift slightly, like a mask slipping. “without asking me?”

for just a moment, something flickers across his face—surprise, irritation, the look of someone who’s been questioned when they expected gratitude. but it’s gone so quickly you almost think you imagined it.

“i wanted to surprise you.” his tone is still gentle, but there’s something underneath it now. something watchful, calculating. “you mentioned wanting to travel, and i thought... i wanted to give you something special. something no one else has ever given you.”

he’s right, of course. you had mentioned wanting to travel, weeks ago, back when you were still thinking of him as a mark instead of... whatever he is now. but the way he’s twisted that casual comment into justification for making major decisions about your life without consulting you feels like a trap closing around your throat.

“i can’t just disappear for two weeks, satoru. i have responsibilities, commitments—”

“what commitments?” the question is quiet, but there’s an edge to it that makes your pulse quicken. his blue eyes are studying you with uncomfortable intensity, like he’s dissecting your objections in real time. “your job that makes you miserable? friends who barely text you anymore? family who only call when they need something?”

the accuracy of the statement hits like cold water. when was the last time you made plans that didn’t involve him? when did your world become so small that he fills every corner of it? and more importantly—when did he become so intimately familiar with the deterioration of all your other relationships?

“that’s not the point,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction and you both know it. “you can’t just... decide things for me.”

his hand reaches across the table to cover yours, warm and possessive, and you notice the way his fingers completely engulf your smaller ones. “i’m not deciding for you, beautiful. i’m trying to give you everything you deserve. when was the last time you did something just because it made you happy?”

the question lodges in your throat like a stone. when was the last time? before him, certainly. before this performance became so consuming that you forgot what happiness felt like when it wasn’t reflected in his adoring gaze.

“this is making me happy,” you whisper, and it’s not entirely a lie. this—his attention, his devotion, the way he treats you like something precious—does make you happy. but it’s a hollow kind of happiness, built on a foundation that’s starting to crack under its own weight.

“then what’s the problem?” his thumb traces across your knuckles, a gesture that should be comforting but feels like a shackle. there’s something in his voice now, a careful patience that reminds you of someone talking to a frightened animal. “let me take care of you. let me give you the life you deserve.”

the life you deserve. not the life you want, not the life you choose, but the life he’s decided you deserve based on his careful observation of your preferences and weaknesses. the distinction sits heavy in your chest as you look at him across the table—beautiful, devoted, dangerous in his certainty that he knows what’s best for you.

“two weeks is a long time,” you say weakly, grasping for some kind of compromise that won’t shatter the careful dynamic you’ve built.

“exactly.” his smile could power cities, bright and genuine and full of love that feels more like ownership with each passing day. “two weeks where you don’t have to think about anything except being happy. no work stress, no social obligations, no one else’s needs to consider. just you and me and paradise.”

just you and me. the phrase echoes in your head with the weight of inevitability. no one else to perform for, no escape routes, no witnesses to whatever he becomes when he has you completely to himself.

“okay,” you say finally, because the alternative is a confrontation you’re not ready for, because part of you wants to see what happens when you stop running from this thing you’ve created. “okay, we can go.”

his smile could power cities, bright and genuine and full of love. “you’re incredible,” he says, lifting your hand to his lips. his kiss is soft, reverent, and completely at odds with the triumph gleaming in his eyes. “i can’t wait to have you all to myself.”

all to himself. the phrase echoes in your head as he pays the check without looking at the total, as he drives you home through streets that feel increasingly like a maze with no exit, as he kisses you goodnight with reverent tenderness that feels more like a brand than affection.

that night, alone in your apartment, you sit on your bathroom floor with your back against the locked door, trying to process what just happened.

the fear sits in your stomach like ice water, sharp and immediate. you’ve seen behind his mask now, witnessed the calculating precision with which he’s been mapping your life. every conversation you thought was casual bonding was actually reconnaissance. every detail you thought you were sharing naturally was being filed away, catalogued, weaponized.

but underneath the fear is something else, something that makes you feel sick with self-recognition. you’re impressed. 

the thoroughness of it, the dedication, the sheer amount of effort he’s put into knowing every facet of your existence—it’s horrifying and flattering in equal measure. when was the last time someone paid attention to you with this level of intensity? when was the last time you felt this important to another person?

he knows your coworkers’ names, your salary, your daily frustrations. he’s been building a detailed psychological profile while you thought you were playing him. the realization that you’ve been outmaneuvered by someone you considered a mark should terrify you.

instead, it makes you feel... special.

not just the object of desire, but the subject of obsession. worthy of this level of investigation, this depth of surveillance. he doesn’t just want to possess you—he wants to understand you completely, to anticipate your needs before you voice them, to become essential to your happiness.

your phone buzzes with a text, and you don’t even need to look to know who it’s from.

satoru: thank you for saying yes to the trip 

satoru: i know it’s a big decision 

satoru: i promise i’ll make it perfect for you 

satoru: everything i do is for you 

satoru: you’re my whole world

his whole world. not part of his world, not an important piece of it, but the entire thing. the weight of being someone’s everything sits on your chest like lead, but underneath the pressure is something that feels suspiciously like pride.

you type and delete a dozen responses before settling on something that feels true enough to pass for honesty:

why_en: i trust you

and you do trust him, in a way that’s probably more dangerous than fear. you trust him to worship you, to structure his entire existence around your comfort and happiness. you trust him to protect what he sees as his with the same vicious intensity he showed that night gaming, the same paranoid vigilance he demonstrated with the coffee shop barista.

you trust him to love you the way a collector loves their most precious acquisition—completely, obsessively, possessively.

the maldives trip looms like a beautiful nightmare on the horizon. two weeks alone with him, no escape routes, no distractions, no witnesses to whatever you become when you stop pretending this isn’t exactly what you want.

tomorrow you’ll put on the mask again. tomorrow you’ll be his perfect girlfriend, grateful for his attention and excited about your romantic getaway. tomorrow you’ll feed the monster you’ve created and pretend you don’t see your own reflection in his hungry eyes.

but tonight, in the darkness of your apartment, you let yourself grieve for the person you used to be before you learned to love the feeling of being devoured.

your phone lights up again.

satoru: goodnight, beautiful 

satoru: sweet dreams 

satoru: i love you more than anything in this world

the words sit on your screen like a confession and a threat and a promise all at once. more than anything in this world—not anyone, anything. like you’re not a person to him but a concept, an ideal, a perfect thing to be protected and possessed and worshipped from a distance that’s growing smaller every day.

why_en: i love you too

and in the silence that follows, you finally understand that some hungers can only be satisfied by being consumed completely. the question isn’t whether you’re ready for that consumption—it’s whether you’re brave enough to admit how much you want it.

the villa is perfect, of course it is. satoru doesn’t do anything halfway, especially when it comes to you. glass walls that dissolve the boundary between inside and outside, infinity pool that bleeds into the ocean horizon, bed the size of your entire apartment back home draped in white silk that catches the tropical breeze.

the air hums with salt and jasmine, the scent clinging to your skin, curling into your senses like a lover’s breath. the teak furniture, carved with razor-sharp precision, glows under the low light, each piece a silent testament to his control, his need to make this space an extension of his will—and of you.

you’ve been here a week and you can feel yourself dissolving.

his presence is relentless: mornings with breakfast on a tray—mangoes sliced so thin they’re translucent, their juice dripping down his fingers as he presses a piece to your lips, watching your tongue dart out to taste it, coffee brewed to the exact temperature you mentioned once, its bitter warmth coating your throat as he studies your reaction with narrowed eyes and a faint smirk.

afternoons on the deck with the sun searing your skin, his fingers tracing slow circles on your thigh, each touch pulling a hitch in your breath, a flush across your chest. nights where he watches you pretend to sleep, his gaze heavy, peeling back your defenses until you’re raw, exposed, your pulse quickening under the weight of his scrutiny.

“you’re so beautiful when you think no one’s watching,” he murmurs now, and you realize your pretense has failed again. his voice comes from too close, and when you open your eyes he’s propped on his elbow beside you, studying your face with those winter-blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses that have become as familiar as your own reflection. 

the sun has set while you dozed, painting the water in shades of amber and rose. the villa’s lighting system has activated automatically, casting everything in a warm glow that makes his white hair look spun from gold, makes his pale skin seem to glow from within. the light catches his glasses, glinting like a predator’s eyes, and the ocean outside hums, a low murmur that fades against the pulse hammering in your ears.

“i wasn’t sleeping,” you lie, stretching like a cat under his gaze. the movement makes the silk camisole—another gift, chosen perfectly for the climate and your coloring—ride up, exposing the soft curve of your hip, and you watch his eyes darken as they track the exposed skin with predatory focus. the fabric clings to your breasts, outlining your nipples as they harden under his stare, and his jaw tightens, a muscle flickering as his pupils dilate.

“i know.” his fingers ghost over your hip bone, light as butterfly wings but searing, tracing a slow arc that sends a shiver through you. “you get this little crease between your eyebrows when you’re really asleep. right here.” he touches the spot with his index finger, gentle but possessive, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch, your lips part in a soft gasp. “and your breathing changes. gets deeper. more trusting.” 

the casual observation makes your stomach flip. he’s catalogued even your unconscious expressions, studied you with the dedication of a scientist documenting a new species. seven days of constant observation, constant attention, and he’s mapped every detail of your existence with the precision of a cartographer claiming new territory.

“you’re staring too hard,” you whisper, but there’s no real complaint in it. you’ve grown addicted to the weight of his attention, the way he looks at you like you’re art in a museum—something precious and irreplaceable that he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to possess. 

“can’t help it.” his hand slides higher, palm flat against your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through silk so thin it might as well not exist. the contact is deliberate, his thumb circling slowly, coaxing your nipple to peak harder, sending a jolt straight to your core. “especially in that. it’s like you were designed specifically to drive me insane.” 

the camisole was waiting on the bed when you arrived, along with an entire wardrobe he’d selected with meticulous care. sundresses that tie at the shoulder with single ribbons that beg to be pulled, bikinis that somehow stay on despite being mostly string and wishful thinking, lingerie that makes you feel like something wrapped for his consumption. everything easy access, everything designed to come off at the slightest provocation. 

“you have good taste,” you manage, voice catching as his thumb traces the curve of your breast, feeling your nipple harden through the silk. the sound makes him smile, sharp and satisfied, his eyes glinting with triumph, his jaw tightening as he watches your lips part.

“i have you,” he says simply, leaning down to press his lips to your collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste your skin. his tongue is warm, wet, tracing a slow path along your collarbone, and the contact burns, soft yet laced with something feral, his teeth grazing lightly. “that’s all the good taste i need.”

his breath is hot against your skin, his lips parting slightly as he lingers, savoring the salt of your sweat, the faint pulse under your skin. the kiss burns, soft and reverent but there’s something darker lurking beneath the surface. something that’s been growing stronger the longer you’re isolated together, the longer he has you completely to himself with no interruptions, no witnesses, no escape routes.

his mouth moves lower, teeth scraping against your pulse point, and you can’t suppress the small gasp that escapes. the sound flips something in him—his grip tightens on your ribs, fingers digging in just shy of painful, his nails biting into your skin, leaving faint crescents. his eyes flicker with dark satisfaction, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he feels you tremble.

“satoru,” you breathe, and his name comes out needier than intended, almost broken, your voice trembling as your core aches with want.

“what do you want, beautiful?” his lips move against your throat, voice gone rough around the edges, a low growl that vibrates against your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point again. “tell me exactly what you want and maybe i’ll give it to you.” 

it’s a loaded question wrapped in silk, isn’t it? what you want versus what you think you should want versus what he wants you to want. the lines have blurred beyond recognition, especially here in this paradise where the outside world feels like a half-remembered dream. the villa is a cage of glass and silk, the air thick with heat and desire, and every touch of his lips, every scrape of his teeth, pulls you deeper into his orbit.

“you,” you say, and it’s the truest thing you’ve said in weeks. not the performance version of want, not the careful calculation of what will keep him devoted, just pure need that’s been building like pressure behind glass. “i want you.” 

something shifts in his expression, the careful mask of gentle devotion cracking to show the ravenous hunger underneath. his hand moves higher, cupping your breast properly now, thumb circling your nipple through silk with enough pressure to make you arch against him.

his fingers knead the soft flesh, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, slow and deliberate, sending jolts straight to your core. his eyes darken, pupils dilating as he watches your face contort, your lips part in a soft moan, a flush spreading across your chest.

“how much of me?” his voice is lower, darker, a growl vibrating in his chest as he leans closer, his lips hovering over yours, his breath hot against your skin. “because i want to give you everything, but i need to know you can handle it. need to know you won’t break.” 

the question makes your pulse stutter because there’s something in his tone you’ve caught glimpses of before—in game chats when other players frustrate him, in the way his jaw tightens when men look at you too long, in the casual possessiveness that’s grown stronger each day—but never this concentrated, never this focused entirely on you.

“everything,” you whisper, because retreat isn’t an option anymore. you’ve come too far, fallen too deep, let yourself get too addicted to the way he makes you feel like the center of the universe. “i can handle everything.” 

his lips curl, sharp and beautiful and completely unlike the gentle adoration you’re used to. it’s hungry, satisfied, like you’ve just given him permission for something he’s been craving.

“careful what you promise,” he murmurs, but his hands are already moving, fingers finding the silk ribbons at your shoulders. he unties them slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping the most precious gift he’s ever received, his fingers steady but his eyes flickering with hunger, his jaw tight as he watches the fabric fall.

the camisole falls away and you’re bare to his gaze, nipples hardening in the warm air as he looks at you like he’s seeing something that belongs entirely to him. the silk pools at your waist, and his eyes rake over your breasts, your nipples peaking harder under his stare, a flush spreading across your chest.

“perfect,” he breathes, and there’s something almost clinical in how thoroughly he studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly, cataloguing every curve, every freckle, every flush. his palms cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples with maddening lightness, just enough pressure to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy. his fingers knead the soft flesh, rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, slow and deliberate, sending jolts straight to your core. “do you know what you do to me? walking around in those little outfits i picked out, looking at me like you trust me completely?” 

there’s something almost cruel in his tone, a darkness you’ve sensed but never seen fully unleashed, and it shouldn’t make you wetter but it does. the careful, worshipful lover is dissolving into something hungrier, more possessive, and your body is responding like it’s been waiting for this version of him all along, your core aching with want, slickness forming as your thighs shift.

“i do trust you,” you manage, even as his hands move lower, skimming over your ribs with deliberate slowness, fingertips trailing fire across your skin, each touch precise, his nails grazing lightly, leaving faint red lines that burn in the humid air.

“you shouldn’t.” his fingers hook in the waistband of your silk shorts, and he pauses, looking up at you with eyes that have gone dark behind his glasses, his lips curling into a faint, predatory smirk. “but god, i’m so fucking glad you do.”

the profanity sounds foreign in his mouth, rougher than his usual careful language, and it sends heat shooting straight to your core, making you clench with need. he pulls the fabric away with agonizing slowness, like he’s savoring every inch of skin revealed, and when you’re completely bare beneath him he just looks for a long moment.

his eyes rake over your body, lingering on the flush across your chest, the way your thighs quiver, the glistening slickness at your center, his jaw tightening, a muscle flickering as his pupils dilate. the intensity of his gaze makes you want to cover yourself and spread wider at the same time, your core aching with need.

he’s cataloguing every detail—the flush spreading across your chest, the way your breathing has gone shallow, how your thighs press together unconsciously, only to part again as your core clenches.

“beautiful,” he murmurs, hands sliding up your legs with reverent touches that feel possessive, his fingers digging into your thighs, leaving faint marks. “so fucking beautiful it makes me crazy. makes me want to do terrible things to you.” 

his thumbs brush the sensitive skin where your thighs meet your hips, not quite touching your center, just close enough to make you squirm, your hips lifting instinctively, seeking contact. “satoru, please—” your voice is raw, desperate, breaking on his name, your hips lifting again, your core aching with want.

“please what?” his voice has gone silky, dangerous, a purr that makes your core clench with need. his thumbs circle closer, grazing the edges of your slick folds, teasing your clit without touching it, and his eyes narrow, watching your face contort, your lips part in a soft moan. “use your words, beautiful. tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.” 

the command in his tone makes you clench around nothing, and you see him notice it, see the satisfied smile that curves his lips as he watches your body betray your need. “touch me,” you breathe, hips lifting unconsciously, seeking contact he’s deliberately withholding. “please, i need you to touch me.” 

“where?” he asks, and there’s something almost sadistic in how he’s drawing this out, like he’s savoring your desperation, his lips curling into a faint smirk, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. “here?” his fingers ghost over your hipbones, barely making contact, his nails grazing lightly, leaving faint red lines. “or here?” 

“you know where,” you gasp, frustration making your voice crack, your core aching with need, your thighs trembling. your eyes flutter, tears pricking at the corners, and your lips tremble, a soft whimper escaping as his fingers hover so close but refuse to touch.

“but i want to hear you say it.” he leans down, lips brushing your ear, and his voice drops to something dark and possessive, his breath hot against your skin, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “want to hear you beg for it like the needy little thing you really are. bet you’ve begged other men like this too, haven’t you?”

the question hits like a slap, unexpected and cruel, and you feel heat flood your cheeks. “satoru—” your voice trembles, raw with a mix of shame and arousal, your eyes wide with desperation, tears pricking at the corners.

“have you?” his fingers stop moving entirely, hovering just above your center, so close you can feel the warmth of them but not the relief you’re dying for, your clit throbbing with need. “answer me. how many others have seen you like this? how many others have you spread your legs for?” 

“that’s—that’s not fair,” you whisper, voice breaking on the words, tears spilling over as your core clenches with need, your lips trembling, your eyes wide with desperation.

“not fair?” he laughs, and the sound is sharp and mean, a blade slicing through the humid air, his eyes glinting with dark amusement, his jaw tightening as he watches your face contort. “what’s not fair is how you probably let them touch you, let them think they meant something. but they didn’t, did they? they were just practice for me.” 

his thumb finally brushes over your clit, just once, and the contact makes you cry out—a broken, desperate sound that echoes off the glass walls, your hips jerking upward, chasing more. he pulls back, watching you squirm with a smile that’s all teeth, his eyes glinting with satisfaction, his jaw tight as he savors your desperation.

“my clit,” you sob, beyond caring about dignity, tears spilling freely, your lips trembling, your eyes wide with need. “please touch my clit, please, i’ll tell you whatever you want—” your voice is raw, trembling, and your core clenches with need.

“good girl,” he purrs, but there’s something twisted in the praise, his eyes narrowing, a faint smirk curling his lips as he watches your face contort. “see how easy it is when you’re honest? when you stop pretending to be something you’re not?”

finally, finally his thumb presses against your clit properly, and the sensation makes you keen—a high, desperate sound that you don’t recognize as coming from your own throat. he starts with slow, deliberate circles, his thumb grinding against your swollen clit with cruel precision, dragging across the sensitive nerves, each motion sending jagged bolts of pleasure through your core.

his fingers tease your dripping pussy, sliding through your slick folds with a taunting drag, collecting your arousal as your hips jerk, desperate for more of his merciless touch.

“oh god,” you gasp, hips bucking against his hand involuntarily. the sound of your wetness is obscene in the quiet villa, slick and desperate, echoing off the glass walls. your cunt clenches, aching for him to fill it, as his thumb shifts to sharp, rapid taps, then slow, punishing drags that make your thighs quiver, your clit pulsing under his cruel attention.

“louder,” he commands, pressing harder on your clit, his thumb scraping across it with a vicious flick, sending a white-hot jolt through your body that makes you whimper, your breath catching in your throat. “want to hear every sound you make. want to memorize exactly how you break apart for me.”

but the touch is gone almost immediately, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing. he’s back to those maddening almost-touches, fingertips trailing through your soaked folds with clinical fascination, teasing your entrance with featherlight strokes that make your cunt ache for more, his movements slow and deliberately cruel.

“so wet already,” he observes, his voice a low, clinical murmur. “soaking my fingers and we’ve barely started. your body just gives you away, doesn’t it? doesn’t even wait for you to be awake to do what it’s made for. it knows who it belongs to, even when you don’t.”

before you can answer, he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with an obscene thoroughness that makes you whimper. his eyes never leave yours as his tongue laps at your slickness, swirling over each digit, savoring the taste of your pussy, and the sight is so filthy and intimate that your cunt clenches, a fresh wave of slickness dripping down your thighs.

“sweet,” he says after he’s licked them clean. “everything about you tastes perfect.”

his hand returns between your legs, fingers sliding through your drenched folds with devastating precision, parting your pussy lips with slow, deliberate drags. the wet sound fills the air, obscene and desperate. he finds your clit and circles it slowly, then switches to quick, vicious taps, building a rhythm that has you writhing beneath him, spine arching off the silk sheets as broken whimpers spill from your lips, your thighs trembling with the intensity of it.

your vision blurs at the edges, the room spinning as pleasure builds like pressure in your skull. you hear yourself making sounds you don’t recognize—breathless gasps, broken moans, words that might be his name or pleas. but every time you get close to the edge he backs off, switching to lighter, teasing strokes, his fingers grazing your cunt with cruel restraint, leaving you suspended in a limbo of need that feels like drowning.

“please,” you sob after the third time he brings you to the brink only to pull back, and your voice cracks on the word, raw and desperate. tears stream down your cheeks—when did you start crying? “please, satoru, i can’t take this, i can’t—”

“you can,” he says firmly, and there’s steel in his voice now, authority that brooks no argument. “you can take whatever i give you, can’t you? my perfect, patient girl.”

he slides one finger inside your aching cunt as he says it, and the intrusion makes you arch with a sharp gasp that echoes off the walls. your body clenches around him involuntarily, desperate for more, as he twists his finger with a vicious grind, dragging against your sensitive inner walls with a cruel, deliberate stroke that sends fire through your core.

the sensation is overwhelming—his finger twisting inside your pussy, grinding against that sensitive spot, while his thumb torments your clit with sharp flicks and slow, scraping drags, the dual stimulation shattering your thoughts. you can feel yourself dissolving, the careful walls you’ve built around who you’re supposed to be crumbling with each merciless movement of his hand.

“look at you,” he murmurs, adding a second finger, stretching your cunt with a slow, forceful thrust, then pulling back to stroke shallowly at your entrance before plunging deeper, making you keen—a sound you’ve never made before, high and broken and completely involuntary. “falling apart so beautifully. is this what you wanted when you started your little game? to end up spread out for me, begging?”

the question cuts through the haze of pleasure like a blade. your little game. he knows. of course he knows. but instead of stopping, instead of feeling shame, you just clench tighter around his fingers, chasing the sensation that’s making everything else fade to static.

“that’s what I thought,” he says, and there’s dark satisfaction in his voice as he works you methodically, building toward something that feels bigger than pleasure, something that feels like complete dissolution. “my perfect little schemer, so good at manipulating everyone else. but you can’t manipulate this, can you? can’t control how your body responds to me. so loud for me. what would people think if they heard my perfect little schemer now?”

the thought should mortify you—the villa is isolated but not soundproof—but instead it makes you moan louder, the idea of being heard, of being claimed so thoroughly that even strangers would know you belong to him.

“you like that idea,” he observes, and there’s dark satisfaction in his voice. “like the thought of people knowing you’re mine.”

he adds a third finger and you keen, back arching off the bed as he stretches your pussy wider than you’ve ever been, the sensation teetering between pleasure and pain, your body trembling as it struggles to take him.

he slides his fingers in deep, then pulls back to stroke shallowly, teasing your entrance with quick, brutal thrusts before plunging back in, grinding against your inner walls with a cruel twist.

“god, you’re so tight,” he says, a note of sharp amusement in his voice. “all those other cocks, and you still feel brand new. did they even count?” the wet sounds are obscene as he works his fingers deeper. “don’t worry. i’ll open you up properly. i’ll make sure you can take all of me, because you’ll have to. this is what you really are when you stop all that clever scheming, isn't it? just a perfect, greedy cunt made for me.”

tears stream down your cheeks freely now, but you can’t tell if they’re from the physical intensity or from something deeper—the way he’s seeing right through you, stripping away every pretense until there’s nothing left but raw need and the terrifying realization that you want this, you want him to see you like this.

your body feels hypersensitive, every nerve crackling with electricity, the silk beneath you damp with sweat, your skin flushed and burning despite the ocean breeze. when you try to close your legs instinctively he forces them apart with his free hand, grip firm and possessive, his nails biting into your thigh.

“ah, ah, ah,” he chides softly, cruel amusement in his tone. “don’t you dare hide from me. look at you—clenching around my fingers like you’re starving, and you think i’d let you shut those pretty thighs and keep your slutty cunt all to yourself?”

he presses you wider, spreading you obscenely open, his gaze devouring the sight of your soaked cunt wrapped tight around his hand. “be a good girl and let me see it. every twitch, every little spasm. i want to watch you disgrace yourself.”

the shame floods your chest hot and heavy, but the words only make your walls flutter tighter around him. his breath catches, a low, hungry laugh breaking from his throat. he’s still fully clothed while you’re splayed naked beneath him, and the imbalance feels deliberate—like a scientist dissecting his favorite specimen, like a god pulling apart something that belongs only to him.

“eyes on me,” he commands when your eyes start to flutter closed, overwhelmed by sensation. “don’t hide it. i want to see every filthy little expression you make.”

you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze as he works you closer to the edge with surgical precision. his glasses have slipped down his nose, eyes dark with hunger behind the lenses, and there’s something almost clinical in how he watches you—like he’s cataloguing every micro-expression, every broken sound that spills from your lips.

your thoughts feel scattered, fragmented. the careful persona you’ve built crumbles with each vicious twist and stroke of his fingers, each brutal tap and drag of his thumb. you can feel yourself breaking apart, but instead of fear there’s only relief—relief at finally being seen, at having someone strip away all your defenses and want what they find underneath.

"are you about to come?" he asks, his voice losing its heat and taking on a cooler, almost clinical curiosity. his head tilts slightly, glasses slipping just a fraction down his nose as he studies your face like a fascinating experiment.

you can only nod frantically, a pathetic gesture because words have abandoned you entirely. your body is wound so tight you feel like you might shatter, pleasure building like a storm in your core that threatens to sweep away everything you thought you were.

but just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he stops completely. he doesn't just pull his fingers out—he draws them back with agonizing slowness, leaving your cunt empty and desperately clenching around nothing as a sob tears from your throat. he holds his slick fingers up in the low light, examining them, and you, for a long moment, a faint, satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“no,” you cry, reaching for him with shaking hands. “please, don’t stop, i was so close—”

“i know,” he says, and the smirk widens into a smile that’s all sharp, beautiful teeth. there is no mercy in his eyes, only a bright, terrible amusement. “but you don’t get to come until i say you can. until i want to watch it happen. understand?”

you nod frantically, tears blurring his triumphant face, desperate to be good for him, to prove you can follow his rules. when his fingers return, they don’t plunge back in. they slide through your soaked pussy, tracing lazy, shallow circles at your entrance, a cruel tease that makes you bite your lip so hard you taste copper, trying to hold back the whimper that threatens to escape.

“good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise is a cold, condescending thing. he begins working you slowly again, building that familiar pressure, his thumb pressing lightly on your clit just to feel it pulse. “see how pretty you are when you listen?”

but his fingers are so skilled, grinding against that perfect spot inside your cunt with a vicious, practiced twist, and your body betrays you despite your best efforts. you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, muscles tensing, breathing growing ragged as he works you with relentless precision, his own breathing staying perfectly even. he’s not even close to losing control.

“not yet,” he warns, the words a low murmur, but his fingers don’t stop their devastating rhythm. his other hand comes up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “hold it. i want to see you try.”

you try—god, you try so hard to be perfect for him, clenching your jaw and fists, your whole body a taut wire of resistance against the rising tide of sensation. but he feels you failing. he knows your body better than you do. he shifts his angle just slightly, grinding his fingers with a cruel, knowing precision against that spot that makes you see stars, and your control shatters completely.

the orgasm crashes over you without permission, a violent, tearing wave that rips a raw scream from your throat. you feel yourself gush around his fingers, a hot, shameful flood of wetness soaking his hand, the silk sheets, your thighs, as your body convulses with a pleasure so intense it feels like a punishment. your cunt pulses wildly, desperately, trying to pull him impossibly deeper.

for a moment you can’t even think, only ride it out, mouth falling open on a strangled, broken cry as your body betrays you completely. your vision whites out, your thighs tremble and knock together, every nerve lit with an unbearable, agonizing release.

then, when it finally ebbs, the horror rushes in—icy, sharp, slicing through the haze. you see the mess, a dark stain on the pristine sheets, feel the way his fingers are still buried inside you, unmoving, and the shame is so thick it clogs your throat.

“oh,” you gasp, voice raw, trembling with a pathetic, panicked energy. “oh no, i—i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to—”

when you finally force yourself to look up at his face, the expression there makes your blood freeze. there’s no anger. it’s worse. it’s a mask of cold, theatrical disappointment, but underneath it, his eyes are glittering with a bright, terrible satisfaction. a tiny muscle is twitching in his jaw, not with rage, but with the effort of holding back a triumphant smile. he is enjoying this. he is feeding on it.

“what did i just tell you?” his voice is quiet, a deadly calm that feels louder than a shout. he doesn't move his fingers, just lets them rest inside you, a heavy, damning presence. “i gave you one, simple rule. what was it?”

“i tried,” you whisper, fresh tears of humiliation spilling over, hot against your skin. “i tried so hard, i promise—”

“clearly not hard enough.” he pulls his fingers out abruptly, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. he leaves your cunt clenching around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs onto the ruined silk. the sudden emptiness, the cold air on your wet skin, rips a whine from your throat before you can stop it, high and needy, shameful in its desperation.

he clicks his tongue, the sound sharp and deliberately condescending. “listen to you,” he drawls, his gaze dropping to the mess between your legs, then back to your face. “whining like a desperate slut the moment i stop touching you. you’ve gotten too comfortable, haven’t you? too used to me giving you everything you want, following your every whim like some pathetic puppy.”

the words cut deep because there’s truth in them—you have gotten used to his devotion, his willingness to spoil you, to treat you like something precious.

“that’s not—” you start, but he cuts you off with a look so cold it silences you.

“no?” his hand comes up to cup your face, his grip a little too tight, his thumb brushing away your tears with a mock tenderness that makes your skin crawl. “then why did you just disobey me? why did you take what i told you to wait for? you took it from me.”

you can’t answer because he’s right—you did take it, couldn’t stop yourself from falling over the edge he told you to avoid. your body feels hypersensitive, every nerve raw and exposed, the shame of your failure burning almost as hot as the lingering pleasure.

“spoiled little thing,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, almost gentle whisper that’s somehow more terrifying. he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “always so used to getting your way. but that’s my fault, isn’t it? i’ve been too lenient with you.”

his other hand returns between your legs, fingers sliding slowly, deliberately through the slickness you’ve made, spreading it over your throbbing flesh. you gasp at the sensitivity, your thighs trembling, trying to close them, but his grip on your jaw tightens. everything feels too much, too intense, but when you try to pull away his body just pins you more firmly.

“shh, no running,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively gentle, as if calming a frightened animal. “your body is just confused. it wants this, remember? you cried when i took it away from you.” he presses a soft kiss to your temple, a gesture completely at odds with the cruelty of his intentions. “you made a mess by losing control. the consequence is that i have to be in control for you now. just let me.”

he slides two fingers back inside your cunt and you cry out—a sharp, wounded sound. it’s too much too soon after your orgasm, pleasure bordering on a raw, abraded pain as he works you with a cold, clinical precision, grinding against your sensitive inner walls with cruel, deliberate strokes.

but even as you whimper and squirm, he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss that isn’t gentle at all. it’s a bruising, possessive claiming of your mouth, his teeth scraping your lip as he forces your head back into the pillows, his tongue sweeping inside to tangle with yours. he is kissing you to silence you, to own you from both ends at once.

“shh,” he murmurs against your mouth, his fingers twisting inside you with a particularly vicious grind. he feels you flinch. “i know it’s intense, baby. i know it hurts. but you need to learn.”

the contrast is dizzying—his fingers punishing and relentless, twisting inside your pussy until you see spots, while his mouth moves with a soft, sweet thoroughness against yours, tasting your tears and your panic. it’s cruel and loving and completely confusing, making your already fractured thoughts scatter further.

“please,” you sob against his lips, the word muffled and broken, not even sure what you’re begging for anymore.

“please what?” he asks, pulling his mouth away just enough to watch your face as he adds a third finger, stretching your cunt so painfully you keen, your back arching off the bed. his eyes are dark, hungry, fascinated by the tears welling up again. “please stop? please more? you need to be clearer, sweetheart.”

but you can’t be clearer because you don’t know what you want except for this feeling to never end, for him to keep kissing you while he takes you apart, for the terrible sweet contradiction of pain and pleasure and love all tangled together.

“you want to come?” he growls, his voice gone completely dark, the mask of disappointment replaced with raw, unveiled hunger. “then fucking take it. show me how completely you can lose yourself for me. let’s see you break.”

the orgasm slams into you like lightning, so intense that you actually scream, a high, thin sound of pure overwhelm. your body convulses around his fingers, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you, your cunt pulsing wildly, soaking his hand again and again. you’re dimly aware of sobbing, not quietly, but in huge, ugly, gulping breaths, tears streaming down your cheeks from the sheer intensity of it all.

but he doesn’t stop. his fingers keep moving, grinding that spot inside your pussy while your body tries to recover, the overstimulation so intense it borders on a sharp, burning pain, each new spasm a fresh agony of pleasure.

“too much,” you gasp, pushing at his wrist. he answers by bringing your own hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles even as his fingers inside you twist with a cruel, deliberate pressure.

“oh, but there is,” he whispers against your skin, his smile predatory and pleased. “there’s so much more to give you. i love it when you sound like this. you’re so pretty when you cry for me.”

and that one word—pretty—is the final, beautiful nail in the coffin. it takes the shame of your tears, the humiliation of your broken sobs, and transforms it into an offering.

it’s not a sign of your failure to control yourself—it’s a sign of your success at finally pleasing him in the purest way possible. the realization lands not with a crash, but with a quiet, devastating click of acceptance. and the worst part, the most damning truth of it all, is how much you like it. how right it feels to not just be seen in this state of utter ruin, but to be praised for it. to be completely, utterly undone, and to finally be called beautiful for it.

“one more for me,” he tells you, his voice a soft, instructional murmur as his hand shifts, adding a fourth finger that stretches your cunt so wide you can barely breathe, a sharp, burning tear of sensation that makes you gasp. “let’s see if we can get you past thinking. that’s where you’ll be prettiest, i know it. when it’s just pure feeling, and all of it is for me.”

the stretch is intense, almost painful, but your body adapts with a shocking, humiliating ease, your pussy gripping him tightly, slick and needy. like you really were made for this, made to take whatever he wants to give you.

“that’s it,” he praises, but the sound is less a compliment and more a satisfied confirmation as you adjust to the intrusion. he starts moving his fingers again, a slow, deep rhythm. “see how easy it is when you stop fighting your nature? you just needed someone to show you what you were really for. to be taken like this. to be mine.”

his thumb, slick with your wetness, finds your clit again and you’re already spiraling toward another orgasm, body wound so tight you can barely stand it, the sensation spreading through you like molten gold, your thighs trembling, your breath ragged.

“please,” you sob, the word a constant, broken refrain, not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. release, more pressure, for him to stop, for him to never stop—everything blurs together in a haze of sensation.

“please what?” he asks, his voice gone soft again, but it's a terrifying softness, a gentle tone despite the relentless, punishing grind of his fingers. he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “what do you need, beautiful?”

“you,” you gasp, the admission ripped from the deepest part of you. “need you inside me, need all of you, please—”

his groan is a physical thing, a crack in the careful facade he wears, and the sound vibrates right through you, a low, guttural note of surrender that feels like your victory. he pulls his fingers from your cunt and the loss is immediate, a sudden, shocking hollowness that makes you whimper, a small, pathetic sound in the quiet opulence of the villa.

your body, slick and oversensitive, clenches on nothing, a desperate, silent plea that feels humiliating in its intensity. your hips twitch, an involuntary motion, chasing the memory of his touch, of the pressure that was grounding you.

he sheds his clothes with a brutal efficiency that’s almost frightening, each movement precise and devoid of any wasted energy. it’s not seductive—it’s a preparation. he doesn’t look at you as he unbuttons his shirt, his eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance, as if unwrapping a tool for a specific, delicate job. you can only watch, transfixed, as he reveals himself.

his body is an exercise in contradictions—beautiful and terrible, all hard, lean lines and the kind of latent power that hums under the surface. and his cock… it’s a heavy, arrogant thing, jutting from his body with a slight upward curve, thicker than you’d let yourself imagine, the veins a stark roadmap across its length, a single, clear bead of precum glistening at the tip.

the sight of it, the sheer, solid fact of it, steals the air from your lungs and makes the ache between your legs sharpen into a painful throb.

he is finally, completely naked, and he turns his full attention to you. he looks at you, and it’s not with affection, not with the soft glow of romance.

it’s with the hungry, consuming patience of a collector who has finally acquired a priceless, one-of-a-kind piece and is now deciding exactly how to display it for maximum impact. your stomach twists, a nauseating, thrilling knot of want and a deep, primal fear. this is the point of no return.

“scared?” he asks, settling between your thighs. the mattress dips significantly under his weight, caging you, the movement slow and deliberate. his cock nudges against your slick folds, a heavy, promising pressure that makes a fresh wave of wetness leak from you, shamefully visible on the dark silk of the sheets.

“no,” you lie, but the word is a breathy, broken thing, lost in the space between you.

“liar,” he says, and the fondness in his voice is sharp, almost cruel, the indulgent tone one might use for a favorite, slightly stupid pet that has just performed a predictable trick. he positions himself, just the thick, crowned head of his cock, pressing into your entrance.

it’s a torturous hint of pressure, a question and a threat all at once, and you find yourself arching into him, a silent, desperate plea your body makes without your permission. “it’s okay to be scared,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that seems to travel from his chest to yours. “it’s okay to want it anyway.”

he pushes in. not with a thrust, but with a slow, inexorable pressure, a deliberate invasion. it’s an agonizingly slow claiming of territory. the initial stretch is a searing, electric burn that makes you gasp, your nails digging into the silk sheets beside you, twisting the expensive fabric in your fists.

he pauses, letting you feel it, letting your body adjust to the first shocking inch of him, his eyes locked on yours, watching the flicker of pain and pleasure in your expression. then he moves again, another slow, grinding inch, stretching you wider. you can feel your inner walls resisting, then yielding, a slow, hot melting around his impossible width.

it’s a process, a complete remaking of your insides to accommodate him, and by the time he sinks himself to the hilt, your breath is coming in ragged, sobbing gasps.

the feeling of him fully inside you is dizzying. a deep, stretching fullness that has finally settled past pain into a profound, grounding pleasure. he’s buried so deep you can feel the solid weight of him against your cervix, a constant, blunt pressure that seems to root you to the bed.

he shifts his hips, a small, grinding motion, and watches, fascinated, as his length creates a slight mound on your lower belly, a visible testament to his possession. his palm comes down to press on it, not hard, but with a firm, proprietary pressure that makes you keen, a high, broken sound. the feeling isn't just fullness anymore—it’s him, a tangible brand on your body, inside and out.

“fuck,” he breathes, the word a rough vibration against your skin as he lowers his weight onto you. “so tight. like you were designed just for me.” his hands find your hips, his grip bruisingly tight, pinning you to the mattress, anchoring you under him.

you can’t answer, can’t think. he starts to move, and the rhythm is a slow, grinding punishment—and with every deliberate, dragging thrust, his other hand grinds against that little mound on your belly.

the sensation is dizzying. you can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every pulse, amplified by that relentless, focused pressure from the outside. he’s fucking you from both sides at once, and it’s too much. he’s not just in your cunt—

he’s in your head, making you hyper-aware of your own body, of how he fills it, of how he is physically altering its shape.

“weren’t you?” he demands, his voice a low growl that seems to echo inside your bones. his thrusts get a fraction deeper, a fraction harder, his cockhead bumping insistently against your cervix.

“yes,” you gasp, the word torn from you on a sob that is equal parts pleasure and surrender. “made for you.”

that’s all it takes. something in him snaps. the slow, controlled rhythm is gone, replaced by a frantic, punishing pace that steals your breath and rattles your teeth. he fucks you like he’s trying to erase everything that isn’t him, his hand a constant, grounding pressure on your belly, a focal point in the beautiful, chaotic storm he’s creating.

a hot wire of sensation is pulled taut in your gut, and you feel yourself unraveling. his free hand slides down between your slick, colliding bodies, his fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. he doesn't caress it—he grinds his thumb into it with the same brutal rhythm as his thrusts, and the world dissolves into white static.

you come with a scream that feels ripped from your soul, your body convulsing around him, a hot gush of release soaking his cock and the sheets beneath you. he doesn't stop, doesn't even slow, just fucks you through the aftershocks with a relentless, punishing rhythm before finally pulling out.

your cunt is dripping, leaving you aching and empty, a ruin of sensation. but he gives you no time to recover. he grabs your arm, flipping you over with an efficient brutality that leaves your head spinning.

“there you go, beautiful. up on your hands and knees for me,” he coos, his voice soft and hypnotic. “you fell apart so perfectly just now… i think i need to watch it happen from behind. show me how good you can be for me.”

you scramble to obey, your body clumsy and boneless, limbs trembling. you push yourself up, ass high in the air, cunt leaking a mixture of your slickness and his seed onto the pristine silk sheets. the position is inherently degrading, a silent admission of submission.

he doesn't make you wait. he slams back into you from behind, and the angle is so much deeper, so much more raw. it feels like he’s trying to split you in two. your head hits the mattress with a soft thud, a cry of shock and pleasure torn from your throat. one hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back and to the side, forcing you to look at nothing, to feel everything.

his other hand slides down the curve of your spine, over your ass, and then his thumb presses deliberately against the tight, untouched pucker of your anus.

you flinch, your whole body going rigid. the touch is so alien, so invasive, it’s a jolt of pure shock to your system. it’s not sexual, not at first. it’s clinical. an assessment.

he leans in, his breath hot against your ear, his voice a low, filthy caress. “oh?” he murmurs, his tone laced with a dark, mocking amusement that makes your skin crawl as he notices the untouched pucker of your anus. “what’s this?”

his other hand, still slick with your cunt's juices from moments ago, slides from your hip and deliberately smears that wetness over your ass, making it easy for his thumb to glide over the sensitive skin. “a little bit of unexplored territory?” 

the feeling of your own juices being used to lubricate a place you've never associated with pleasure is a deeply humiliating, confusing thrill. “don't worry," he whispers, his thumb pressing lightly, insistently, against the tight ring of muscle, making you flinch. "at least you saved this little ass-pussy for me. we'll get to it later. i like knowing there's still a part of you i get to be the first to ruin."

the shame is a hot flush that floods your entire body, from your scalp to your toes. but it’s twisted with a sick, thrilling arousal that makes your cunt clench violently around his cock. he feels it, and his laugh becomes a low, cruel rumble against your back as he starts to fuck you in earnest.

his thumb doesn’t try to enter, just circles the sensitive opening, a constant, humiliating reminder of a boundary he could cross at any moment, of a part of you he has now seen and catalogued and commented on. it makes every thrust feel dirtier, more illicit. the sheer wrongness of the sensation, the slick glide of his thumb over a place you’ve never associated with pleasure, sends a confusing, short-circuiting signal to your brain.

your eyes well up with tears of humiliation and overstimulation. a single, hot tear escapes and traces a path down your temple into your hairline. he sees it. you feel the rhythm of his fucking change, becoming harder, faster, more desperate.

“oh, look at that,” he breathes, his voice thick with a strange, new excitement. his hand leaves your hair and comes around to cup your jaw, his thumb roughly wiping at the wet track on your skin. “a different kind of tear. this one’s from shame, isn’t it? it’s even prettier than the others. does it upset you, being treated like this? does it make you feel like the little slut you are? show me how much.”

he fucks you harder with each question, a brutal, punishing rhythm that drives the air from your lungs. the head of his cock slams into your cervix again and again, making you see spots, a dizzying, painful pleasure that’s already pushing you toward an edge you don’t want.

and all the while, his thumb continues its own separate, maddening torment at your rear. it’s no longer just circling—it presses, nudges, a deliberate, insistent question against the tight, untouched pucker of your asshole that sends confusing sparks of sensation through your overstimulated body.

a choked sob breaks from your lips, a sound of pure protest, your body trying to recoil from the sheer sensory overload. “satoru, please—”

“shh, i know,” he murmurs, his voice going deceptively soft, even as his hips continue their punishing rhythm. “it’s new, isn’t it? you’re not protesting the feeling, beautiful, you’re just scared of how much you’re going to like it. is that it? are you scared of the slut i’m about to make you?”

the raw angle, the punishing depth, and that strange, insistent pressure is too much. you come again, and it’s not a release; it’s a rupture. a messy, sobbing orgasm that feels dirtier, more debased than the last. your face is pressed into the silk sheets, the sound muffled to a pathetic, wet keening as your body convulses around his relentless invasion.

you feel him shudder behind you, a deep, guttural groan vibrating through his body into yours, his own pleasure clearly peaking in direct, parasitic response to your distress. he feeds on this.

he doesn’t stop. he doesn't even try to acknowledge your climax. he just keeps going, his pace never slowing, fucking you through the lingering, hypersensitive spasms and beyond. he’s pushing you past pleasure now, into something else, something raw and overstimulated where every nerve ending is screaming in a language you don’t understand. he refuses you any reprieve.

he pulls back just enough for his thumb to slide down, deliberately gathering the slickness that has gushed from you. you feel the wet, humiliating glide as he smears it over your ass, and your breath hitches on a fresh wave of shame. he's using your own arousal to prepare you for a new violation.

“so wet for me,” he murmurs, his thumb now circling the slick, sensitive ring of your asshole. “let’s put it to good use.”

he teases you, the tip of his thumb pressing against the tight entrance, then retreating, again and again. you squirm, a broken whimper escaping your lips. “no, please, don’t—”

“don’t what?” he whispers, his voice dropping into a silky, dangerous purr. “don’t make you feel good? don’t show you what you really want?”

he ignores your pleas. his thumb presses forward, insistent and slow. the shock of it is a white-hot flash behind your eyes. the tight, resisting muscle gives way to his invasion, a slick, intrusive pressure that feels utterly alien. he’s inside you in two places at once, stretching you, filling you, claiming you in a way that feels absolute and irreversible. a strangled gasp tears from your throat, your nails digging into the sheets.

he doesn’t just leave it there. he begins to move it, a slow, grinding rotation inside you that mirrors the relentless pumping of his cock. it’s a dual assault that makes your mind white out. you are nothing but a collection of violated holes, filled and used and stretched for his pleasure.

“god, you’re so perfect like this,” he whispers, his voice a raw, desperate plea against your ear, his breath hot against your tear-soaked skin. “so open for me, so completely broken. don’t you dare hold anything back now. let me have every last beautiful, shattered piece of you.”

and that’s when he pulls your head back again by a fistful of your hair, yanking you up from the sheets and forcing you to look at him over your shoulder.

his face is flushed a dark, mottled red, his pupils blown so wide and black behind his glasses that there’s no blue left at all. it’s an expression of ravenous, almost painful need, his jaw tight, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a faint snarl. he looks like he’s starving, and your tears, your pain, your complete and utter violation—this is the only thing that can feed him.

the sight is terrifying and deeply, addictively flattering. he wants your pain. he wants your surrender. he wants to ruin you.

and seeing that, seeing the raw, desperate hunger on his face that you, and only you, have caused… it flips a switch deep inside you. the fear doesn’t vanish—it alchemizes into a dark, roaring wave of excitement. this is power. making him look like this. a hot, coiling pressure builds low in your belly, sharp and urgent, a pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable. you can feel a different kind of climax building, something deeper and more catastrophic.

your sob changes, the note of protest gone, replaced by a raw, hungry need that matches his. “satoru…”

he sees it in your eyes. he sees the shift. a slow, triumphant, predatory smile spreads across his face. “that’s it,” he growls, his hips slamming into you harder, faster. “beg for it.”

he watches your eyes as he grinds his thumb deeper inside you, twisting it with a vicious skill that makes you cry out, a high, thin sound of pure overwhelm. he fucks into you with a new ferocity, chasing the feeling, chasing your breakdown. and as he hits you just right, your eyes locked with his triumphant, hungry gaze, your body unravels completely.

your orgasm is a deluge—a hot, uncontrollable gush of fluid bursts from you, soaking the sheets, his hand, his cock, the sound of it a shocking, obscene splash in the quiet room. your body convulses violently, a pure, physical capitulation that has nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with surrender.

he finally pulls out, and before you can fully collapse onto the bed, he’s hauling you up by your arms. you’re pliant, boneless in his grip, a doll for him to position. he drags you, stumbling, toward the wall of glass that overlooks the dark, endless ocean.

“turn around,” he orders, his voice flat, devoid of the passion of a moment ago. it’s a command.

you obey, your legs shaking so hard you can barely stand. you press your hands and forehead against the cool, smooth glass. the immediate chill is a shock against your overheated skin. the room behind you is warmly lit, turning the glass into a near-perfect, one-way mirror reflecting the debauched scene, while also offering a terrifyingly clear view into the vast, empty darkness outside.

it feels like being on a stage, lit for an audience that may or may not be there.

he enters you again from behind, one smooth, brutal thrust that has you crying out, your voice muffled against the glass, your palms slapping against the cool surface. he grabs your hips, pulling you back hard against him, and begins to fuck you against the wall. your breath fogs the surface in front of your face, obscuring your own reflection for a moment before it clears.

he leans in close, his voice a low growl by your ear, his words designed to dismantle you further. “anyone could be out there. a boat. someone on the beach of the next island. they’d see this perfect little picture. they’d see the lights of this pretty glass box, and they’d see you, bent over, taking my cock like a good girl.”

your face twists in the reflection, shame and heat colliding—eyes wet, brows drawn tight, your lips trembling around a broken moan you can’t hold back. your thighs clench, betraying the way your body seizes on his words, the humiliating pulse of pleasure sparking even harder at the thought of being seen.

behind you, his form is a powerful shadow, his expression unreadable, his movements relentless and efficient. he’s railing you, the motion hard, almost impersonal, using your body against the wall, the rhythmic, wet thud of your flesh a crude counterpoint to the gentle, indifferent sound of the waves outside. the sound is obscene, a wet, slapping noise that echoes slightly in the cavernous room.

“you love it,” he states, not a question. his hands leave your hips and slide up your stomach, his fingers spreading out possessively over your skin, a brief, almost tender touch before one hand moves down, his fingers dipping into the slickness between your legs. “love being my filthy little slut on display for the whole world.”

he’s not wrong. the thought of being seen, the sheer, terrifying exposure of it, is the most potent aphrodisiac yet. his fingers find your clit, and the touch is no longer teasing. it’s a harsh, demanding friction, a punishment and a reward all at once, perfectly synced to his ruthless thrusts.

“tell me,” he commands, his voice rough in your ear as he fucks you harder, faster, your reflection a chaotic blur of motion. “tell me what you are.”

“yours,” you sob, the word ripped from a place deep inside you, a place that has finally given up fighting. “i’m yours, i’m your slut, i love it, i love—”

you can’t finish. your final climax is upon you, a tidal wave that promises to drag you under for good. your entire world narrows to the feeling of his cock filling you, his fingers on your clit, your own debased reflection in the glass, and the vast, indifferent darkness beyond.

your orgasm feels like a dissolution, a complete coming apart at the seams. you scream into the glass as you come, a long, ragged sound of pure surrender that fogs the glass one last time.

you feel him follow you over the edge, his own guttural roar lost against your back as he floods you with his release, his body shuddering violently against yours, his fingers still tangled in your hair, keeping you pinned against the glass.

you collapse against the wall, boneless and shaking, held up only by his arms still wrapped around you, his cock still buried deep inside. for a long time, there’s only the sound of your ragged breaths, the distant wash of the ocean, and the slick, cooling feel of sweat and glass against your skin.

you try to remember who you were before this night, before him, but that person is a ghost, a stranger you barely recognize. the woman in the reflection, marked and claimed and utterly, irrevocably debauched, is the only real thing left.

“beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice soft now, almost reverent, as if observing a piece of art he has just finished creating. “utterly fucking perfect. look at you. finally looking like what you are. mine.”

he carries you back to the bed, settling you against the silk sheets with gentle hands that are completely at odds with how thoroughly he just took you apart. when he disappears into the bathroom you expect relief, a moment to collect yourself.

instead you feel hollow, incomplete without him inside you, filling you, claiming you. the emptiness where he used to be throbs like phantom pain, your body already mourning the loss of his possession.

he returns with a warm cloth, and the sight of him makes something desperate and pathetic unfurl in your chest. beautiful and terrible in the dim light, moving with the confident grace of someone who knows he owns everything he surveys—including you. his touch is reverent now as he cleans you, worshipful, but there’s ownership in every stroke of the cloth against your oversensitive skin.

“how do you feel?” he asks, settling beside you with that careful precision that never looks calculated but always is. his fingers find your pulse point, and you wonder if he’s measuring your heartbeat like he measures everything else about you—cataloguing, analyzing, filing away for future use.

“broken,” you whisper, and the word tastes like bitter recognition. broken because you built this trap yourself, baited it with lies and manipulation, then walked right into it. you created the monster that’s now devouring you, fed it exactly what it needed to grow strong enough to consume you completely.

the girl who started this con three weeks ago feels like a stranger now—someone so arrogant she thought she could control a man like satoru gojo and walk away unchanged. someone who deserved exactly what she got.

the tears start without warning, hot and shameful as they track down your cheeks. you’re crying for the person you used to be, the one who thought she was clever enough to play this game and win. crying for every choice that brought you here, every moment you chose the drug of his devotion over your own freedom. crying because you know, with crystal clarity, that given the chance to do it over, you’d make the same choices again.

“good broken or bad broken?” his fingers trace patterns on your skin, soothing and possessive, each touch a reminder that he’s mapped every inch of you now. claimed it all. there’s genuine curiosity in his voice, but underneath it something hungrier—the need to know he’s succeeded in rewriting you completely.

“i don’t know yet,” you admit through the tears, voice barely audible. and you don’t, because the person who would have known the difference—the person who started this con—feels like someone you murdered with your own greed.

his expression shifts as he watches you cry, and there’s something almost fond in the way he observes your breakdown. like a parent watching their child finally learn a difficult lesson.

“oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumb catching your tears with genuine tenderness that somehow makes it worse. “shh, it’s okay. let it all out.” his voice is pure comfort, warm honey that soothes even as it suffocates. “my beautiful girl, crying because you finally see how perfect this all is.”

the loving condescension makes you sob harder, ugly broken sounds that he seems to find endearing. he coos softly, gathering you closer against his chest like you’re something precious and fragile.

“there we go,” he whispers, pressing gentle kisses to your hairline. “just feel it, baby. feel how good it is to finally stop fighting what you were always meant to be.” his fingers stroke through your hair with infinite patience, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to break completely.

“you’re so pretty when you cry for me,” he continues, voice thick with adoration that makes your chest ache. “so honest. this is the real you, isn’t it? not the calculating little actress, just my sweet girl who needs to be taken care of.”

his words are a lullaby designed to lull you into surrender, each one wrapped in such genuine affection that you can’t help but lean into the comfort he’s offering.

he pulls you against his chest, arms wrapping around you like he’s trying to hold you together, and for a moment you just exist in the warm aftermath of your own destruction. but your mind feels scattered, thoughts fragmenting every time you try to focus on anything other than the feeling of being held, claimed, owned so completely by someone who saw through you from day one.

“you know,” he says after a while, voice casual but with an undertone that makes your pulse quicken, “we don’t have to go back.”

the words take a moment to penetrate the haze clouding your thoughts, your brain still drunk on the lingering echoes of pleasure and shame. when they do register, they hit like ice water, shocking you into something resembling alertness.

“what?” your voice comes out smaller than intended, already shrinking from the possibility of disappointing him with the wrong response.

“to the real world,” he clarifies, fingers still tracing those hypnotic patterns that make it so hard to think clearly. “we could stay here. in paradise. just you and me, no distractions, no responsibilities. wouldn’t that be perfect?”

there it is again—that word that’s become both promise and threat. perfect. the standard you’re expected to maintain, the role you’re required to perform for someone who’s been directing this entire play from the beginning.

the idea should terrify you—giving up everything, everyone, your entire life—but instead it sounds like relief. like finally stopping the exhausting performance of being a whole person when all you want is to be his perfect thing.

“stay here?” you repeat, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. as if speaking them makes them real, makes the possibility concrete rather than just another move in his elaborate chess game.

“forever,” he confirms, and there’s something dark and satisfied in his voice that makes your stomach clench with equal parts fear and arousal. “let me take care of you completely. let me give you everything you deserve. you’d never have to think about anything else again.”

never have to think. the offer is tempting in ways that terrify you, because thinking has become so difficult lately. every thought has to be weighed against his preferences, measured against his expectations, filtered through the lens of what will make him happy. it would be so much easier to just... stop.

“i...” you start, then stop, struggling to form coherent thoughts when his fingers are doing that thing again, tracing patterns that short-circuit your ability to focus on anything but him. “but i can’t just disappear. people will worry, my job—”

something flickers across his face, fast as lightning but unmistakable. the warmth drains from his expression like someone switching off a light, leaving his features cold and sharp. his hand stills against your skin completely, the loss of that gentle touch feeling like abandonment.

“people will worry?” he repeats, voice flat and emotionless in a way that makes your blood freeze. he’s not looking at you with love anymore—he’s looking at you like you’re a problem that needs solving. “what people? name one person who’s called you in the past two weeks. one person who’s actually noticed you’ve been busy.”

the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating, because you both know you can’t. the realization hits like a physical blow—you are completely alone, completely dependent on him, and he knows it.

“that’s what i thought,” he says, and there’s something cruel in his smile now. not the loving indulgence you’ve grown addicted to, but something sharp and dismissive. “you’re worried about a job that underpays you? an apartment that’s falling apart? a life so meaningless you had to create elaborate fantasies just to feel important?”

each word is designed to cut, delivered without the gentle cushioning of affection you’ve come to expect. you’re just another disappointment now, another person who’s failed to appreciate what he’s offering. the shift is so sudden, so complete, that you feel like you’re drowning.

“no,” you whisper, the word escaping before you can stop it. there’s still some tiny spark of defiance left, some piece of who you used to be that refuses to be completely erased. “no, i... i had a life. i had things that mattered—”

his laugh is soft and utterly without warmth. “did you? because from where i’m sitting, you spent your whole pathetic existence desperate for someone to notice you. to make you feel special. and the moment someone finally did, you clung to it like a drowning person clings to driftwood.”

the words hit like physical blows because they’re true, every devastating syllable. but that small flame of resistance flickers stubbornly in your chest, making you lift your chin even as tears stream down your face.

“maybe that’s true,” you manage, voice shaking but determined. “but it was still mine. my choice, my life, my—”

“yours?” he interrupts, and now there’s genuine amusement in his voice, the kind reserved for children saying foolish things. “sweetheart, nothing about you has been yours for weeks. your thoughts, your preferences, your daily routine—i’ve been shaping all of it. you just didn’t notice because i made you feel good about it.”

the casual dismissal, the complete absence of the devotion you’ve grown dependent on, sends panic racing through your system. this is what happens when you disappoint him—you stop being special, stop being precious, become just another annoyance to be managed.

“please,” the word falls from your lips like a prayer, desperate and broken. “i didn’t mean—i just—”

and just like that, the warmth returns to his eyes like sunrise after the longest night. his hand finds your cheek again, thumb brushing away tears with infinite gentleness, and the relief is so overwhelming you nearly sob with it.

“oh, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs, voice thick with love and understanding. “i know you’re scared. change is frightening, even when it’s good for you.” his touch is reverent now, worshipful, everything you’ve been craving. “but fighting me only makes it harder. you know that, don’t you?”

“i mean,” you nod quickly, voice getting smaller, more desperate to fix whatever you’ve broken, “maybe... maybe you’re right. maybe there’s nothing really worth going back to.”

“that’s my perfect girl,” he murmurs, his voice overflowing with genuine pride and adoration that makes warmth bloom in your chest despite everything. he’s looking at you like you’ve just given him the most precious gift in the world. “see? a beautiful thing isn’t meant to struggle so hard. you were made to be cherished, to be taken care of. it’s so much easier this way, isn’t it?”

“it is easy,” you whisper, the words feeling both foreign and terribly true at the same time. you lean into his touch, a silent plea for more of that warmth. “it’s so much easier than fighting.”

his breath hitches, and he gathers you closer, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your temple. “of course it is, beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ll always make it easy for you. that’s my only job now.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes shining. “we could extend our stay,” he continues, the idea sounding less like a question and more like a foregone conclusion. “just a few more weeks at first. see how it feels. and if it’s everything i know it will be…” he trails off, letting the implication hang in the air like smoke.

a small, panicked thought about your job, your apartment, your entire life, flickers and dies in your mind. it doesn't matter. nothing matters as much as keeping that coldness out of his eyes.

“if it would make you happy,” you hear yourself say, the words a perfect echo of the person he wants you to be. “then i want to stay.”

the effect is immediate and overwhelming. his entire expression softens into one of pure, unadulterated adoration. he looks completely undone by you. “oh, baby,” he breathes, his fingers tangling in your hair with a devotion that feels like worship. “you have no idea. hearing you say that… it’s all i’ve ever wanted.” he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “my sweet, perfect girl. you always know exactly what i need to hear.”

he pulls back, his fingers now carding through your hair with such tender devotion that you feel yourself melting into his touch, your body going pliant against his. “no more worrying about anything except being happy with me. doesn’t that sound wonderful, sweetheart?”

he’s asking for the final nail. the last little bit of surrender. he wants to hear you say that this gilded cage he’s offering is a paradise.

“yes,” you breathe, turning your face to press a kiss into the palm of his hand, a gesture of pure, instinctual submission. “it sounds wonderful.”

he closes his hand gently, as if capturing the kiss, and brings your knuckles to his lips. his smile is radiant, beautiful, and completely, utterly triumphant. “and i’ll make it perfect for you,” he promises, his voice a low, final vow against your skin. “always. i’ll take care of everything—canceling your flight, extending the villa, handling anything back home that needs handling. you don’t have to worry about any of it.”

handling anything back home. the phrase sends a chill down your spine even as relief floods through you. what exactly will he be handling? how much of your old life will still exist when you finally decide to return to it? but the questions feel distant, unimportant when weighed against the overwhelming comfort of not having to think, not having to make decisions, not having to be responsible for anything except existing in his orbit.

“just rest now,” he says, pulling the silk sheets up around you both with practiced ease. his movements are sure, confident, like he’s done this before—guided someone through the transition from person to possession with the patience of someone who genuinely loves the process. “tomorrow we’ll start planning our forever.”

forever. the word should sound romantic, should make your heart flutter with excitement. instead, it sounds like a life sentence, beautiful and inescapable. but even that thought feels distant, muffled by the warmth of his arms and the lingering understanding that you brought this on yourself.

as you drift toward sleep in his embrace, you can’t escape the recognition of what’s happening—that you’re disappearing, dissolving into his want until there’s nothing left of who you used to be. the girl who thought she could manipulate satoru gojo is gone, replaced by something smaller and more manageable, something that exists purely for his pleasure and entertainment.

you’re becoming his perfect thing, his ideal woman, his masterpiece. and the most terrifying part isn’t that it’s happening—it’s that you want it to. that the slow erasure of your identity feels like coming home rather than dying, like finally accepting what you were always meant to become.

outside, the ocean whispers its endless song, and you let it carry you deeper into paradise, deeper into the beautiful cage he’s built around your heart with such loving patience. somewhere in the distance, you can hear the sound of doors closing, bridges burning, escape routes disappearing one by one.

but you’re too tired to care, too drunk on his devotion to fight against the current pulling you under. tomorrow you’ll wake up a little less yourself and a little more his, and the day after that even more so, until there’s nothing left but the shape he’s carved out for you to fill.

you’re exactly where you belong, and the thought no longer terrifies you. it feels like accepting a truth you’ve been running from your entire life—that you were always meant to be owned, cherished, completely possessed by someone strong enough to see through your games and patient enough to let you destroy yourself.

you close your eyes and let yourself sink into his embrace, no longer pretending you don’t notice how the tide keeps pulling you further from shore. you built this prison yourself, brick by brick, lie by lie, and now you get to live in it forever.

tomorrow he’ll want you again, and you’ll give yourself over just as completely. the day after that too, and the day after that, until there’s nothing left of who you used to be except the vague memory of someone who thought she could play games with a god and win.

but tonight, in the darkness of paradise, you let yourself admit the truth you’ve been avoiding: you don’t want to escape.

you want to drown in the beautiful inevitability of what you’ve become.

the girl who started this con is dead, and you killed her yourself. what’s left is not a grifter or a goddess but a bird who forgot the sky. a creature born to fly, wings sharp and restless, who chose instead to fold herself neatly into the cage she built herself. because the cage is warm. because the cage is soft. because in spite of your nature, you will stay here forever, perfect and broken, as long as he keeps it comfortable enough.

“she can hear you,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. the heat of your cheeks feels like a sunburn.

“she’s the reason i’m alive, y’know.”

you groan. “don’t—”

“no, listen, this is important.” he leans forward between the seats, pointing toward the driver with all the sincerity of a man confessing to a priest. “you wanna know what’s tragic? to be the strongest, the most powerful, the most—” he lets his teeth snap together for emphasis, “—dangerous, and still be the stupidest man in tokyo, because you fell for someone who keeps you on your knees.”

you let your head thunk against the window. why did you let him drink so much? the city rolls past, smeared and gorgeous. you try to imagine yourself as a normal person, someone who can go out for drinks and not end up in an taxi with a clingy husband and a splitting headache. you can’t. “you’re embarrassing yourself,” you say, but it comes out softer than you mean.

“impossible,” satoru declares, and suddenly he’s pressed so close that his breath pools warmth into your ear. “you’re the only thing i’m good at ruining.” he squeezes you tighter, pressing a kiss to your temple so loud you can hear it.

you elbow him. gently. you’re not that mad. “stop bothering the driver.”

“bothering?” he gasps, theatric. “no, baby, i’m sharing joy. big difference.” then, he whispers because he’s about to tell the man state secrets “she makes eggs. the best eggs. like—perfectly runny yolk, toast just right. and she lets me have the crusts, ‘cause she knows i like ‘em.”

you groan, but your thumb still strokes over his knuckles. “you’re ridiculous.”

he rests his chin on top of your head, humming along. “you ever think about how wild it is that we get to do this?” he says quietly, as if waking from a sugar coma. “just—be here, together, in a car full of snacks, going home.”

there are no snacks. there’s only satoru, whose idea of a snack is you—words, attention, banter. he’s a one-man hunger strike against silence. still, you play along. “yeah,” you say, “real lucky.”

he nods solemnly, satisfied, and falls quiet for maybe four seconds before slumping down so far his knees collide with the seat ahead. dignity is a rumor with him.

his hand snakes slyly down your side and hunts for yours. he finds it, of course, and laces your fingers between his with a deliberate snugness, then sets your hands right in the open, atop your knee, as if the driver needs to witness the hard evidence of domestication.

every few seconds, he’s back at it—scattering tiny kisses across your face, nipping at your cheek or the tip of your nose before nuzzling into your ear with a happy little hum, like you’re his favorite place to be. you can’t stop giggling, cheeks aching, silently praying it’s dark enough that the driver can’t see how flushed you are.

the car ride ticks on, the windows weaving neon and murk into abstract painting. satoru’s head is heavy against your shoulder and for a rare few seconds he grows quiet, as if the movement of the city outside has hypnotized him into stillness.

then, just when you dare believe he might actually drift off and let you pretend to meditate, satoru squeezes your hand and murmurs, “baby, you’re not mad, right?”

you could say, “of course not,” or go for the easy lie, but the words won’t come. you watch buildings blurring in the window, each sign a burst of jagged color.

he shifts, wary in his own lopsided way. “is it because i told the story about the omelet?” he says it low, maybe worried the memory will make you bolt. “because you can’t take that from me. it’s a core part of my personality now.”

you snort, then pull yourself together with a practiced exhale. “i’m not mad about the eggs, idiot.”

“then what?”

you have to think about it, and that almost makes you laugh, because most people just get mad by reflex—like flicking a light switch. for you, it’s more like plugging in a lamp, finding the socket, being careful not to electrocute yourself.

“nothing,” you finally say, but his smile is skeptical.

“liar.” he sounds fond, and a little proud that he’s caught you in something.

you roll your head until your forehead thumps his cheekbone. “i just wish you’d stop embarrassing me in front of strangers.”

“strangers don’t count,” he says, automatic. “that’s the best time to embarrass you. judgment is temporary.”

that makes you laugh, and when it fades, you let your head rest against his. it doesn’t matter, really, what the driver thinks. satoru is impossible, and you love him for it. maybe because of it.

he squirms, one hand braced on your waist as his lips graze your ear, breath warm and teasing. “can i kiss you?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, but you manage to intercept his mouth with your palm, feeling the curve of his grin press against it.

“you want me to humiliate myself in front of the driver even more?” you hiss, voice low, but he just blinks, every ounce a pouty six-year-old denied a treat.

“it’s not humiliation. it’s romance.”

you nod toward the silent man up front. “he’s literally staring at us.”

satoru tilts his head, grinning. “not right now. he’s focusing on the road.”

“absolutely not,” you say, shifting away as much as the seat belt allows, which is about four centimeters. “i’ve still got lipstick on.”

he brightens. “i could ruin it for you.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, but the image—your mouth smeared red, satoru’s lips stained—nearly makes you squirm. “that’s not the incentive you think it is.”

satoru pulls a mock-offended face, then seizes your free hand and tries to steer it toward his own mouth. “just one kiss. i’ll be careful. i won’t even use tongue.”

“that is absolutely a lie,” you say, fighting a smile.

he grins, unrepentant. “i mean, you’d have to find out.”

“no.”

you press your hand to his face, holding it at a safe distance. he looks at you with such open, expectant delight, you almost cave, but dignity demands at least a gesture of resistance. “you’re like a dog who sees an open door and immediately bolts,” you hiss.

he just shrugs. “i like open doors. and you.”

“not happening,” you say, but there’s no heat in it. “sit still.”

he considers this, brows drawn in mock concentration, then abruptly straightens up. “fine. new idea.” he unsnaps his seatbelt—instant seatbelt chime, instant scowl from the driver—and pats his own lap, grinning. “climb up,” he invites, “it’ll be like a throne. you deserve the best.”

you groan so hard the sound practically curls around the headrest. “oh my god.”

“c’mon, just for a second. it’s not even illegal if we’re parked.”

“we're at a red light!”

he slumps dramatically, nearly melting off the seat. his head lands in your lap before you can dodge, face up, staring at you with those beautiful, blue eyes.

he waits, a human question mark.

you stare back.

he’s not moving. he has, in fact, gone limp as a puppet with cut strings.

you poke his cheek, your fingertip sinking into the soft skin. “what are you doing?”

“resting,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of your skirt. his arms tighten around your waist, holding you there as if you might move. “your lap is the best pillow.” he turns his face just enough to brush his nose against your stomach, testing how far he can push it before you swat him.

as a child, you’d always wondered at the women in love stories who let their men sleep in their laps without ever worrying about their legs falling asleep or a sudden need to pee. now, you understand. with satoru’s head in your lap, the awkwardness evaporates. you thread your fingers through his hair and scratch gently at his scalp.

he makes a noise so contented it almost embarrasses you.

the driver, professional as ever, doesn’t comment. but you don’t care anymore. you let your hand drift from satoru’s hair to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the faint pulse at his jaw. he looks so peaceful, eyes half-closed, mouth barely curved up.

“i love you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

you just smile softly, then stroke his hair, letting the city sweep past in blurred, electric silence, and try not to think about how much you need him.

the car slows, the gentle brake almost rocking satoru off your lap. he grips your thighs, holding on like a child refusing to be peeled away from a favorite toy.

“i’ll be quick,” he tries again with all the optimism of a drunk man convinced he can charm his way through a locked door. that door being your mouth. he’s already angling in closer, the top of his hair brushing your chin. “you can fix your lipstick when we get home. or just leave it. i’ll say it’s a new trend—”

you slap a hand over his mouth. “stop it.”

his mouth curves into a smirk against your hand, and then his tongue drags slowly across your palm—warm, damp, shameless—leaving a tingling trail in its wake. you yank your hand back with a yelp, and he’s grinning like a menace, leaning back against the seat. “you love me,” he sing-songs.

you roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the little smile tugging at your mouth. “unfortunately.”

by the time you’re halfway home, he’s leaned forward again, befriending the driver. “you married?”

“no, sir,” the man says cautiously.

“ohh, you gotta get you a her. best thing ever. ten outta ten. five stars. would marry again.”

you hide your laugh in his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your head like he’s sealing some unspoken vow. he’s warm and heavy and clinging to you like he could fall through the seat if he lets go. and when the driver confirms the address, he just murmurs, “don't care where we’re going. home's wherever you are,” you feel it all the way down to your bones.

by the last ten minutes of the ride, he’s convinced the driver to share his name (“takashi! that’s a strong name. we’re friends now.”) and is offering him life advice about love.

“listen, takashi, the trick is—just find someone whose laugh makes you feel like you’re cheating death. and then annoy them until they marry you.”

you give the driver a sheepish nod as satoru straightens up, wild hair waving at odd angles. he looks adorably dumbfounded, blinking like a baby owl. you reach up, tame the worst of his cowlick, and hope he can’t see the smile stuck to your face.

you tip the driver extra at drop-off—half as thanks, half as apology—because god knows he earned it, and haul your drunk, clingy husband out of the car. you thank him one last time while satoru waves like takashi’s driving him off to war.

“thank you, takashi! hope you have great luck at the horse races or whatever.”

the driver grunts—maybe in amusement, maybe in prayer for a better next fare—and peels off before you’ve started up the stairs.

you’ve barely made it through the apartment vestibule when satoru corners you against the elevator wall, hands bracketing your head. the click of your heels echoes up the shaft.

“you’re really not mad?” he asks, lips inches from yours, his hand still warm at the small of your back.

you shake your head. “just mortified.”

he grins, tipping his head to kiss your cheek, lingering just enough for the feeling to settle. “you’re cute when you’re mortified. it’s basically foreplay.” his thumb brushes over your hip as he leans back, eyes flicking down. “your heels aren’t killing you, right?”

you huff a little laugh. “not yet.”

“good,” he says, voice soft but smug, he’d carry you the rest of the way if you’d said otherwise.

you’re too tired to argue, too drunk on him and probably the residual cocktails in your bloodstream to resist. the elevator doors open with a soft ding, and satoru tugs you into the hallway, half-carrying, half-dragging you by the hand.

you barely make it inside before he’s hooking an arm under your knees and scooping you up, grinning at your squeak of surprise. “what? saves time,” he says, already heading for the bedroom because this man never heard of personal space.

So off you go, no shoes and no care simply wearing the pretty pink frilly Chanel house slip that Gojo bought for you last week.

Being outside for once is exhilarating and your tail flicks with excitement as you continue to run after the elusive blue jay that flits just out of reach.

When it lands on sign atop a tall fence, you don't even bother reading it as your eyes never leave the bird. Reeling back, you gear to pounce and in one hop you use the sign as leverage and hop over the fence. Your cute paws hitting the grass of Sukuna’s domain—not even registering the faint hum of the hazardous electric barrier behind you.

Caracal!Sukuna whose senses quickly is alert him to the intrusion. Initially he thinks he's being fed his dinner earlier than usual so he's very surprised to see another hybrid in his space.

Such a kept, pampered thing at that—it's clear you didn't have a clue where you were as you continue to give chase to the bluejay. Sukuna follows you with curiosity. He’s not even trying to hide his presence either, you are in his territory after all, so the fact you don't notice him after a few minutes?

Your ignorance is simply astounding to him.

It’s not until a flash of movement knocks you on your rear and scattered feathers flutter around you do you realize your bluejay friend is gone—and now register the presence of the huge, scarred hybrid now crouched in front of you.

Sukuna swallows and you cringe as you can see a lump you can only guess is Mr. Bluejay traveling down Sukuna’s throat.

Caracal!Sukuna whose imposing presence causes you to shiver in fear as he's starring you down like you’re his next meal.

Another vision blurring flash and Sukuna is right in front of you now.

With a squeaky yelp you scratch him, swiping at his nose on pure instinct—more startled by his quick movements than anything.

You’ve never seen this huge cat before. He’s scary. 

You didn’t mean to hurt him. You just want him to know you’re not happy at him eating your friend.

Still, it’s a big mistake but you can’t even manage to apologize as your voice is frozen in your throat.

Caracal!Sukuna who ears sweep back as he hisses teeth barred in a dangerous grin. Your cute manicured claws aren’t even enough to draw blood which confirms to him how utterly weak and useless you are as a feline. 

Enjoying watching you squirm in terror under his gaze, Sukuna savors your fear he can smell it in the air. 

“Run—I’ll give you to the count of 3 little kitty. If I catch you through—you die.”

You don’t need to be told twice and you’re off fast as your limbs can carry you.

Yet, you are an indoor cat and the chase you gave the bird had already depleted most of your energy. Huffing and puffing, everything from your breath to your clumsy run through the forest tells Sukuna exactly where you are. 

It was futile from the beginning but Sukuna likes to play with his prey circling you in wide arcs. Tsk, you don’t even sense him.

Sukuna takes pleasure in the fact knowing he could kill you at any second, rip that soft fur right off.  His claws are longer, sharper than yours and his muscles are well-honed—trained for a single bone-crushing leap.

Nevertheless, he still allows you to think there’s a chance for escape when truthfully—you’d been running deeper into his territory the entire time.

Caracal!Sukuna who watches you foolishly dart into a cave for shelter—his cave.

His home.

You realize this is Sukuna's lair far too late though when you see his makeshift bed pallet—a pile of bones only cushioned with various animal skins and furs. All in piecemeal as they had been his prey before as well.

Heart racing, you swallow hard as the inevitability of your fate settles over you. Your hormones surges as pure adrenaline triggers a strange molten feeling, leaving your skin hot, your breath shallow. A shiver of terror runs through you as Sukuna's shadow stretches across the lair, swallowing the light.

Blocking the entrance in two strides, Sukuna’s shoulders hunch, eyes fixed on you with something between fury and fascination—he’d killed other hybrids before but never before has he seen one pout in indignation as they were about to die, it's almost comical.

You were interesting. Appraising you once more from head to toe your soft body, even softer fur and pretty collar—you were clearly cared for. Something about knowing that and knowing he was sentenced to sleep in a cold dirty cave pisses him off more and his fierce hisses grow louder.

“Please, *sniff* mister big kitty I’m sworry, I scratched you—

Tears run down your flushed cheeks and as last resort you roll on your back in submission. Paws up and tail curled between your thick thighs, your slip falls back and exposing your plump bare ass to Sukuna.

Caracal!Sukuna who is unmoved by any appeals for mercy, still planning to lodge his claws into your pretty skin—until he senses it.

That smell of yours.

Hot, sweet—and utterly intoxicating that pricks at his senses. The blood in his veins boils red hot and every strand of fur stands up straight to attention.

Nostrils flaring from the assault, his gaze sharpens to the source—the thick slick that's started to wet your bottom and now the floor of his cave.

Fuck.

And in that very moment Sukuna decides your fate.

Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu who expect to see you at the door when they get home. You always greeted them, a sulky pout on your lips when they were gone too long claiming you were bored all day. You didn’t want to make friends with the domesticated other hybrids—you only wanted them. 

Initially, Gojo thinks you are simply hiding. Waiting to pounce on him so he can love on you and give you all the gifts he bought you when him and Suguru were out shopping. But after 10 minutes Gojo you are nowhere to be found.

The other hybrids don’t know either which prompts Geto to pull up your collar’s Airtag to see your location.

The blue dot shows up bright and clear beeping that you are close by—within a mile...

In Sukuna’s enclosure.

Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu who go into Sukuna’s domain armed—tranq darts, stun batons—and Geto even has a pistol hidden in his belt. 

Gojo is hopeful but Suguru is prepared for a bloodbath, knowing all too well the track record of Sukuna’s. 

But the scene inside the den is unexpected as both men freeze.

You're alive to be sure—on your back, legs bent in a vicious mating press, Sukuna’s thick cock drowning in your slick as he pummels into your swollen cunt over and over. 

If not for your coloring it be hard to tell where Sukuna ended and you began, you're both filthy—fur sticky with spit, cum, dirt and lord knows what else. Your expensive Chanel slip in tatters as your tail twitches helplessly under Sukuna's weight, damp and matted with fluids. Your nipples, engorged and leaking, are sore from the bounce back of relentless rutting. Drool glistens at the corner of your mouth, spilling over your bruised lips as your jaw slacks.

More animal than human at the moment, you’ve gone completely non-verbal. You mewl, purr and hiss from the various sensations Sukuna is ruthlessly delivering straight into your guts. 

Gojo thinks sometimes they could be a bit rough with you, but him and Suguru’s teasing nips, firm hands and playful wrestling had nothing on the beastly manner Sukuna was fucking you in. 

Gojo's eyes widen to see your belly is already distended, too full from the amount of seed Sukuna has already pumped into you. Yet it's still not nearly enough for Sukuna to be satisfied as he savagely fucks you, round after round atop his pile of bones and carcasses.

His heavy barbed length drags against every raw, creamy ridge inside you. Cock pulling primal sounds from your throat you didn’t even know you could make. 

Fluffy pampered house cat be damned—Sukuna fucks you like a wild animal.

Exhausted, your head lulls to the side and you finally see them—Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu.

Both stand stunned. Gojo, mouth open in shock sporting a half chub as Geto simply shakes his head and mutters something about installing a moat around Sukuna's perimeter.

You don't know how to feel though, a mix of emotions bubble up.

Perhaps 6 rounds ago you would have called out for your owners, begged them to rescue you from this wild beast ripping through your insides. That you wanted to be praised and petted gently, while given the strong slow strokes you were used to... 

Then it hits you—a high, delirious giggle bubbles up between your moans at the mere thought of it. 

You realize that nothing your owners have ever done compares to being fucked like this—like prey pinned and claimed until there’s no scent left on you but the fierce feline above you—whose name you still don't even know.

Every thrust of Sukuna’s is another brand, another mine-mine-mine! carved into your body. His knot swells full at your entrance, locking you in place while his broad hips keep pumping.

You didn’t know mating could be like this—hell, you didn’t know you even know what the word fully meant until now—to have a mate. But every time Sukuna’s fat round tip slams until your womb the word is seared that much deeper into your brain.

Mate...Mate...Mate! 

Caracal!Sukuna who doesn’t stop either when Gojo and Geto appear. Of course, he senses them way before you do—before they even entered the cave actually. He doesn't give a fuck though and won’t pay them any mind as he’s on a mission to drill a liter of his kittens into your pretty pussy that so brazeningly dared to enter his lair in a heat. 

Sukuna knows they won’t try to pull him off either—both men know enough about feline hybrids to recognize the risk of stopping a knotted wildcat mid-rut.

They would end up hurting you more than him, and Sukuna knew they wouldn't dare.

Fuck, you’re tight though—cunt gripping him harder and Sukuna has to clench his teeth to prevent his own eyes from rolling back into his skull and moaning like a lil bitch.

Sukuna's life up until now was fucking shit but your soft moist heat is so graciously swallowing him til' the hilt each time, squeezing his knot so obscenely as you purr so sweetly beneath him—giving him a true taste of whatever heaven must be like. Having been fed suppressants to temper his aggression all his life Sukuna has many a heat cycle to make up for in the slick confines of your tight cunt.

Caracal!Sukuna who keeps you in his den for 3 days while the worst of your heat passes. You remain glued to his side, his tail always looped possessively around you—your waist, your bicep, your ankle, keeping you tethered to him at all times. 

It’s not like you could leave even if you wanted to, the intense heat between your tender thighs threatening to devour your body whole unless Sukuna and his massive girth extinguished it. Ropes and ropes of his hot milky fluids the only thing in the world that could sate your greedy womb.  

Surprisingly though Sukuna isn’t half bad at aftercare. Grooming you as best he can by licking away your sweat, tears and cum when he’s not fucking you into another limp mewling heap of bones and fur.

Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu who cautiously return on the 4th day to find you naked, happily perched in Sukuna’s lap, licking his ears while he pretends not to thoroughly enjoy it. At their intrusion, Sukuna doesn’t move, doesn’t bare his teeth—just glares murderously at them over your head for having the nerve to interrupt him and his new mate.

You having some sort of attachment to Sukuna was expected, but Gojo and Geto didn’t anticipate you flat out refusing to return to the main house unless Sukuna can come with you—and like the utterly spoiled brat you are, you also refused to stay another night outside in a smelly dilapidated cave.

The feral haze of your heat had worn off and the realization that you had been romping around on carcasses and old bones disgusted you.

Sukuna smirks and holds onto you more posessively, not expecting his cute lil mate to defend him so intensely. You made promises you couldn't keep, saying Sukuna would be a “good kitty” as long as he could be with you.

That wasn’t completely a lie—Sukuna still felt aggression and the instinct to kill in his bones yet the intense gnawing had tapered off immensely since he’d been around you. 

You rubbing your fluffy lil' head underneath his chin could temper the worst of his moods—making him relatively docile as long as you were near. 

In a move that surprises everyone—it’s Geto to who agrees first.

On the condition that Sukuna behaves.

No biting, no scratching, no tearing up the house or harming any of the other animals or hybrids on the property.

“How could you Sugu!?”

Gojo feels betrayed. He wanted to play hardball, not wanting Sukuna anywhere near his precious Persian kitty.

But Geto, the far more practical of the two sees this as the opportunity it is to finally semi-domesticate the wild cat that had caused them so many problems, and so much money, up until now. 

Caracal!Sukuna who ends up moving in that very night—noteably uneventful, aside from the chaos of forcing the two of you into an actual water bath with soap.

The two of you reek.

All is calm until somewhere in the middle of the night, Gojo’s awoken by the shifting weight at the foot of his and Geto’s California king bed.

There’s two extra bodies now—you, curled across Sukuna’s chest, tail looped around his arm and Sukuna, one clawed hand kneading the fat of your hips in slow, possessive flexes.

You’re softly purring, grooming Sukuna with tiny micro licks under his jaw—the same licks you used to affectionately give Gojo when he’d brush you.

Sukuna’s ears twitch, but he doesn’t move, eyes fixed on Gojo with smug, unblinking triumph.

Gojo’s chest tightens. It’s not like there isn’t room—hell, you could fit five more bodies in this bed if you wanted to. But you’re curled up on Sukuna, purring so sweetly, lavishing all that soft, sweet attention on the mangey scarred stray that you should be giving him!

Caracal!Sukuna who, real talk, doesn’t even want to be in this fucking bed right now, he hates the stench of Gojo and Geto. Yet it's you, Housecat!Reader who insisted on sleeping at the foot of their bed on your first night back.

Sukuna sure as shit wasn’t about to let you sleep there alone either and have one of them touching you.

So when Gojo crawls over to pet your back, just to remind you he’s still here—Sukuna’s tail is quick to lash at him in sharp warning, a deep low hiss emanating from his slightly bared teeth. 

“Yeah, sure…” 

Gojo mutters under his breath, pouting.

“…just forget about the guy who bought you the fancy treats and collars, no big deal.”

Awake this entire time due to Gojo’s whining, Suguru cracks one eye open, sighs, and tugs Gojo back down to sleep. 

“Turf wars can wait until after coffee tomorrow—and maybe after we get them their own room.”

You only purr louder as Sukuna squeezes on your ass grow more lustful, utterly oblivious to what just went down between him and Gojo.

Sukuna tips his chin to nose at your hair—mouth curling in an evil grin.

You’re not their pretty lil' spoiled Persian any longer.

You're his.

an: hybrid cat sukuna oml *eyes roll back into head* jdfbchsdbhfcs. this was fun to write. thats all for now but maybe ill revisit in the future!