kai’s diary

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You’d been to yuji’s apartment a handful of times now, enough that it felt routine—kick off your shoes by the door, drop your bag on the couch, raid the fridge like you lived there. Choso was always in the background, quiet and awkward, offering nods instead of full sentences. You figured he was just like that. Protective older brother type. Harmless.

But the last few weeks had felt… off.

Little things at first. Your spare key still missing after you swore you’d replaced it. A hoodie you could’ve sworn was in the laundry suddenly smelling like someone else’s detergent. The way Choso’s eyes would linger on you during movie nights, too long, too intense, before he’d look away shyly. You brushed it off. College stress. Paranoia from too many late nights.

Until tonight.

You were supposed to be out until at least midnight. A group project wrap-up that turned into getting drinks at the nearest bar. But your stomach had been churning from bad sushi, so you bailed early, texting yuji a quick “heading home, catch you tomorrow” before trudging the three blocks back to your apartment. The hallway light flickered like always. You fumbled for your keys, the new one sliding into the lock with a soft click.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Choso.

Choso froze in the middle of your bedroom like a deer caught in headlights, one of your stolen black hoodies still clutched to his face, the fabric damp from his breath. His other hand was shoved deep inside his sweats, fingers wrapped around his cock, mid-stroke. His black hair hung messy around his shoulders, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with that same awkward, intense stare he always gave you at yuji’s apartment.

But this wasn’t Yuji’s apartment.

This was your place.

And he was inside it. Uninvited.

You stood in the doorway, keys still in hand, the bad sushi that had sent you home early now forgotten. “Choso…? What the actual fuck?”

He yanked his hand out of his pants like it burned. The hoodie dropped to the floor between you. the spare key—the one you’d replaced twice already sat on your nightstand.

“I… I was just—” His voice cracked, the quiet older-brother stammer turning into something raw and desperate. “You weren’t supposed to come back early. yuji said you’d be out late. I was making sure… everything was safe.”

“Safe?” You stepped inside, anger and disbelief rising fast. “You broke in. You stole my shit. You’re jerking off in my bed with my clothes. How long has this been going on?”

Choso’s mouth opened, closed. In his head this moment had played out a thousand times, always ending the same way: you pushing him down, growling that he was pathetic, that you’d known all along, that you’d fuck him raw while he cried and begged for more. But your face wasn’t dark with lust. It was twisted with disgust. Your voice wasn’t rough and commanding. It was sharp. Accusing.

You reached for your phone. “I’m calling yuji. This is fucked up, man. Get the hell out before—”

No.

The word detonated in Choso’s skull. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to want him. You were supposed to see how deep he’d fallen, how every stolen piece of you had been an offering. yuji’s friend. His friend. His.

He moved before thought could catch up.

One stride, then another. His hand clamped over your mouth, the other arm wrapping around your waist and yanking you against him. He spun you, slamming your back against the wall hard enough that a cheap picture frame rattled.

“Don’t,” he hissed against your ear, voice trembling but edged with something feral. “Please. You don’t understand. I’ve been waiting. Watching your window every night. Taking things so I could smell you when I couldn’t have you. You smiled at me. You sat next to me at Yuji’s place. That meant something.”

You thrashed, elbow driving into his ribs. He grunted but didn’t let go. Instead he pressed closer, grinding his still-hard cock against your thigh through his sweats. “Stop fighting. In my head you catch me and you take me. You pin me down and tell me I’m yours. You fuck me until I can’t think about anything else. But you’re not doing that. So I’ll… I’ll make it happen. I’ll fix it.”

Your muffled shout vibrated against his palm. He dragged you backward toward the bed, feet scrambling, you continue fighting against him. One hard shove and you both tumbled onto the mattress. him landing on his back, you on top of him exactly the way he’d fantasized a hundred times. Except in the fantasy you were willing. Here, your hands were already trying to shove him away.

Choso didn’t care anymore.

He hooked his legs around your waist, locking you against him, and yanked his own sweats down with one frantic hand. His cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, but he ignored it. What he needed was lower. He reached blindly for the small bottle of lube he’d hidden in your nightstand weeks ago. (just in case the fantasy ever became real) and shoved it into your hand.

“Fuck me,” he gasped, voice breaking. Not a plea. A demand wrapped in desperation. “Do it. Like in my head. I stole your key. I wore your hoodie. I humped your pillow thinking about you inside me. Now do it. Make it real.”

You stared down at him, stunned, phone still clutched in your other hand. “Choso—what the hell is wrong with you—”

He cut you off by grabbing your wrist and forcing the lube bottle open. With his free hand he reached down, spreading himself open, two fingers already pushing inside his own hole, slicking himself clumsily. “I’ve practiced,” he panted, cheeks burning with shame and arousal. “Every time I came here. Fingering myself on your bed, pretending it was you. I’m ready. Just… just take me. Please. I need you to want this too.”

When you still hesitated, something in him snapped.

Choso surged up, flipping your positions with surprising strength. He shoved you onto your back and straddled your hips, yanking your jeans open with trembling fingers. Your cock sprang out, half-hard from the adrenaline and unwanted friction. He stroked you roughly, spreading the lube he’d squeezed onto his palm, eyes wild.

“You don’t get to say no,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Not after everything. I’ve been yours since the first night. You just didn’t know it.”

He rose up on his knees, lined you up, and sank down in one desperate motion.

The stretch burned. A broken moan tore from his throat as your cock breached him, thick and hot, forcing him open. He didn’t go slow. He dropped all the way down until his ass was flush against your hips, taking every inch in a single thrust that left him shaking.

“Fuck—” His head fell back, black hair spilling over his shoulders. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, not from pain but from the overwhelming relief of finally having you inside him. “You’re bigger than I imagined… so deep…”

You groaned beneath him, hands instinctively gripping his thighs, whether to push him off or pull him closer, even you weren’t sure. Choso didn’t give you time to decide.

He started moving. Rolling his hips in messy, frantic circles at first, then lifting and dropping, riding you with raw, obsessive need. The wet sound of skin and lube filled the room. His cock bounced against his stomach, untouched and leaking steadily.

“This is how it was supposed to go,” he gasped, voice cracking with every downward thrust. “You catch me. You get angry. But then you fuck me anyway. You use me. You tell me I’m pathetic for breaking in… for stealing your things… for wanting you this bad.”

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on your chest, fucking himself harder on your cock. His hole clenched around you rhythmically, greedy and tight. “Say it,” he begged, eyes glassy. “Call me sick. Call me desperate. Tell me I’m yours now. Even if you hate me for making you do this.”

His pace grew brutal. The bed creaked loudly beneath you both. Every time he slammed down, your cock dragged against his prostate, forcing broken whimpers and moans from his lips. He looked wrecked, hair sticking to his sweat-damp forehead, mouth open, pupils blown wide with that dark, fractured obsession.

“I love you,” he confessed between gasps, the words spilling out like he couldn’t hold them back anymore. “Not like yuji’s friend. More. I’d do anything. Watch you from the alley. Take your clothes. Cum on your sheets and clean it up so you wouldn’t know. I’d kill for you. All of it… just to get here. To have you inside me.”

One of his hands wrapped around his own cock, stroking fast and sloppy in time with his riding. “Touch me,” he demanded, voice hoarse. “Grab my hips. Fuck up into me. Make it hurt if you have to. I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”

When your hands finally tightened on his waist—whether from anger, shock, or the overwhelming heat of his body swallowing you whole. Choso moaned like it was salvation. He rode you harder, ass slapping against your thighs, taking you deeper with every desperate roll of his hips.

“I’ll keep coming back,” he panted, leaning down until his forehead pressed to yours. “Every night. Whether you want me to or not. I’ll let myself in with the key. I’ll wait in your bed naked and ready. And you’ll fuck me again. You’ll fill me up until I’m leaking your cum when I sit across from you at my apartment, pretending everything’s normal.”

At this point you couldn’t register what he was saying.

His strokes on his cock sped up, hole fluttering around you as his orgasm built fast and violent. “Cum inside me,” he begged, voice breaking. “Please. Breed me. Make me yours. I need it—fuck, I need it so bad—”

He came first with a shattered cry, thick ropes of cum painting your stomach and chest in messy streaks. His hole clenched rhythmically around your cock, milking you hard. The feeling dragged you over the edge. You thrust up into him once, twice, and spilled deep inside his guts, flooding him with hot, pulsing cum.

Choso collapsed forward immediately, trembling, but he didn’t pull off.

Instead, he stayed right there. your cock still buried to the hilt inside him, softening slowly in the mess of cum and lube. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, pressing soft, delusional kisses along your jaw and up to your cheek.

“See?” he whispered, voice soft and cracked, heavy with that fractured affection. “It doesn’t have to match the fantasy exactly. I took matters into my own hands… and look where we are. You’re inside me. That means something. That means everything.”

He shifted slightly, a quiet, wet sound escaping as your cock twitched inside his used hole, but he only pressed closer, legs tangled with yours, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a possessive cuddle. His lips found yours. gentle at first, then deeper, kissing you with slow, obsessive tenderness like you were lovers already, acting like that violent mess that happened just moments before never happened.

“You feel so good still inside me,” he murmured against your mouth between kisses, hips giving a tiny, lazy roll that kept you buried deep. “Warm. I can feel your cum leaking a little…” he laughs a little.

Choso tucked his head under your chin, black hair spilling across your chest, body relaxing fully against yours. One hand stroked lazily up and down your side while the other stayed curled possessively around your neck.

“Shh, don’t worry,” he whispered, pressing another soft kiss to your collarbone, voice dreamy and completely delusional. “yuji doesn’t have to know anything. This is our secret. Every night from now on I’ll come here after he falls asleep. I’ll crawl into your bed just like this… and you’ll hold me.. I’ll wake up right next to you. Perfect.”

He smiled against your skin utterly convinced.

“You’ll learn to love this too,” he said quietly, cuddling even closer, legs tightening around you to keep you locked in place. “You already do. Your body knows. It gave me everything I needed. We’re together now. Really together.”

Choso let out a contented sigh, eyes drifting half-closed, content to stay right there,your cock still nestled deep inside his cum-filled hole, his body draped over yours.

He kissed you one more time, slow and sweet, murmuring against your lips.

You’d only been to yuji’s apartment once, but that single evening had carved itself into choso’s mind.

It was a random tuesday night, the kind where the air outside still carried the chill of early spring and the streetlights buzzed faintly overhead. yuji had texted you after a brutal study session at the campus library: “Dude come over, my place is like 10 mins away and my older brother always stocks snacks. You’ll like choso, he’s super chill even if he looks kinda scary lol.” You’d laughed at the message, shoulders aching from hours hunched over notes, and replied with a quick “bet” before shoving your laptop into your bag.

Choso had been in the kitchen when the two of you walked through the door. He was rinsing a mug, black hair loose and messy around his shoulders, wearing an oversized gray hoodie that swallowed his frame. The moment he heard your voice—low, easy, laced with that tired laugh, he froze. water ran over his hands, forgotten.

yuji kicked off his shoes. “Yo, bro! This is my friend I was telling you about. We’ve got that group project together.”

You stepped into the light of the living room, offering a casual wave and a smile that reached your eyes. “Hey, man. Nice to meet you. yuji talks about you like you’re some kind of plug or something.”

Choso’s throat tightened. He managed a nod, awkward and stiff, the way he always did around people who weren’t yuji. “…Hello.” His voice came out quieter than intended, almost hoarse. He couldn’t stop staring. The way your jacket hung open over a plain black t-shirt. The faint scent of rain and cheap cologne that clung to you. The easy slope of your shoulders, the way your hair fell when you ran a hand through it. Everything about you was too much for him right now.

You didn’t notice. Why would you? You were just yuji’s friend. Good friends. the kind who made snack runs at 2 a.m. and bitched about professors over cheap ramen. You dropped onto the couch like you belonged there, legs spread comfortably, and started arguing with yuji about which horror movie to put on while choso retreated to the kitchen to “grab snacks.”

He didn’t grab snacks right away. He stood behind the counter, gripping the edge until his knuckles went white, listening to your laugh echo through the thin walls. His heart hammered in a rhythm that felt foreign and addictive. When he finally brought over the bowl of chips and a couple of sodas, his fingers brushed yours as he handed you one. The contact lasted half a second. It burned.

That night was the spark. The obsession didn’t bloom slowly. it ignited in choso.

he’d always been the quiet older brother. The one who faded into the background, calm and reserved, content to watch over yuji with a fierce, protective loyalty that ran deeper than blood. Family was everything to him. But you… you weren’t family. Not yet.

He started with watching. It was easy enough. Your apartment was only three blocks away in that rundown off-campus complex with the flickering hallway bulb that never got fixed. yuji mentioned your schedule in passing once or twice—“My buddy’s got library nights on tuesdays and thursdays, dude always crashes hard after.” choso memorized it.

The first time he followed you home, he told himself it was nothing. Just making sure yuji’s friend got back safe. He kept his hood up, hands shoved deep in his pockets, blending into the shadows between the dumpsters and the chain-link fence across the street. Your window glowed on the second floor. He stood there for hours, unmoving, eyes fixed on the silhouette behind the cheap blinds. When your light finally clicked off around 1 a.m., he didn’t leave right away. He stayed until the sky started to pale, breathing in the cold air that still somehow carried traces of you.

Night after night, it became ritual. He learned the creak of the stairs in your building by listening from the alley. He learned the exact time you usually killed the lights. Sometimes he’d see your shadow pass the window,pacing while on a call, or slumped over your desk. Each glimpse fed the static in his veins until it felt like his whole body was vibrating with it.

He told himself it was protective. yuji cared about you. That made you important. Family-adjacent. The lie tasted sweet on his tongue.

But lies only hold for so long.

The stealing started a week later, on your second visit to their shared apartment.

You’d slung your backpack onto the couch without a second thought while you and yuji raided the fridge, arguing loudly over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Choso lingered in the doorway, pretending to scroll on his phone. His eyes flicked to the bag. The front pocket was half-open. Careless. Trusting.

His fingers moved before his brain caught up. He slipped them inside and closed around cool metal—a spare key on a plain ring. Not your main one, just the backup you kept for emergencies. He palmed it smoothly and retreated to his room before either of you noticed.

You blamed yourself later when you couldn’t find it. “Shit, I must’ve dropped it somewhere. Whatever, I’ll get a new one.”

Choso used it the very next afternoon while you were in class.

The key turned silently in the lock. His pulse thundered in his ears as he stepped inside your apartment for the first time. It smelled like you—faint sweat from gym clothes, that same cheap cologne, leftover takeout in the trash. The air felt thicker, warmer, alive with your absence.

He didn’t touch anything obvious at first. He wandered like a ghost through the small space. the tiny kitchen with dishes still in the sink, the living room with your gaming controller tossed on the couch, the bathroom where your towel hung damp from the morning shower.

Then he reached the bedroom.

Your bed was unmade, sheets rumpled from where you’d rolled out of them. Choso stood in the doorway for a long minute, just breathing it in. He crossed to the laundry basket in the corner. A black hoodie lay on top, the one you’d been wearing the night you first met. He picked it up with trembling hands and pressed the collar to his face. Your scent flooded his lungs. salt, fabric softener, something uniquely you. His cock twitched hard in his sweats, almost instantly.

He didn’t fight it.

Choso sat on the edge of your bed, knees weak, and shoved the hoodie against his nose with one hand while the other palmed himself through his clothes. The fantasy hit him full force for the first time, vivid and merciless.

In his head, you didn’t come home to an empty apartment. You came home early. You caught him there, standing guilty in your bedroom with your stolen hoodie in his hands. But instead of yelling or calling the cops, your expression shifted. Your eyes darkened with something raw and dangerous. You said his name—“Choso”—low and rough, the way you said it when you were tired but still smiling at yuji’s dumb jokes.

Then you stepped closer. No hesitation. You pushed him back onto the bed with one firm hand on his chest. Your body was heavier than his, solid muscle from whatever sports or training you did. You pinned his wrists above his head with one of your warm hands, leaning down until your breath ghosted his ear.

“You’re sick,” you’d growl, voice thick with mock disgust and real hunger. “Breaking into my place like a desperate little freak. You think I haven’t noticed you watching my window every night? You think I don’t know you took my key?”

Choso whimpered into the hoodie, hips jerking up into his own palm as the fantasy sharpened. In his mind, you didn’t stop at words. You shoved his sweats down roughly, freeing his aching cock. You stroked him once, twice—mean and dry at first—before spitting into your hand and doing it again, faster. “Look at you. Already leaking for me. Pathetic.”

He’d bite back a moan, but you’d force his mouth open with your thumb. “No hiding. Not anymore. You’re mine now. Every time yuji drags me over to your place, you’re gonna sit there acting normal while my cum is still dripping out of your ass from the night before.”

The fantasy crested hard. Choso came with a choked gasp, biting down on the sleeve of your hoodie to muffle the sound. Thick ropes of cum spilled over his fist and onto your sheets. He kept the fabric pressed to his face through the aftershocks, inhaling you like oxygen while his body trembled.

Afterward, shame flickered—but only faintly. He cleaned up meticulously, folding the hoodie exactly as he’d found it and tucking it back into the basket. He even smoothed your sheets, though the wet spot he’d left made his stomach twist with dark satisfaction. He took one more thing before leaving: a single black sock from the basket. The left one. You’d notice the pair being incomplete less than if both vanished.

He went back every few days after that.

The key became his lifeline. He’d slip in during your afternoon classes, heart racing every time the lock clicked. He learned the layout intimately. which floorboard creaked near the bed, how the shower curtain rings sounded when he tested them, the exact drawer where you kept your boxers. He started taking more. A half-used bottle of your body wash from the shower shelf—he’d pour a little into a small container he kept at home so he could smell like you when he showered. The sticky note you’d left on yujis fridge once that said “thanks for the answere, dude” in your messy handwriting. He kept that in a small box under his bed, running his thumb over the ink until the edges frayed.

Some days he’d crawl fully into your bed. He’d lie on his stomach, face buried in your pillow, and hump the mattress slowly while whispering your name like a broken prayer. “Please… just once… let me feel you…” His hips would grind down harder, imagining your weight pinning him, your cock stretching him open while you called him every filthy name he deserved. He’d come untouched sometimes, just from the scent and the fantasy, then lick the mess off your sheets with trembling shame and arousal twisting together.

The fantasies evolved, growing darker and more detailed with each visit.

Sometimes in his head you were angry—furious at the invasion. You’d slam him against the wall the second the door closed behind you, hand around his throat just tight enough to make stars burst behind his eyes. “You’ve been stalking me, haven’t you? Jerking off in my bed like a fucking animal.” You’d force him to his knees and make him suck you off right there in the entryway, tears streaming down his face while you fucked his throat and told him how disgusting he was. How he didn’t deserve it but you’d give it to him anyway because he was too pathetic to stop.

Other times the fantasy was slower, crueler in its tenderness. You’d catch him, but instead of rage you’d smirk like you’d known all along and had been waiting for him to slip up. You’d pull him into your lap on the couch, hands roaming under his hoodie while you whispered, “Been waiting for you to break, choso. always so quiet and proper. But you’re just a desperate slut for me, aren’t you?” You’d edge him for hours, stroking him slow and stopping every time he got close, until he was crying and begging. Only then would you finally fuck him deep, relentless thrusts that had him clawing at your back, moaning your name like it was the only word he knew.

He always came hardest to the versions where you claimed him completely. Where you bit his neck hard enough to bruise while pounding into him from behind, growling that he belonged to you now. That he couldn’t hide anymore. That every family dinner at his apartment would be torture because he’d be sitting there across from you, hole still sore and leaking, trying to act normal while you smiled innocently and asked him to pass the salt.

Back in reality, Choso remained the awkward older brother.

yuji still brought you over every couple of weeks. You’d show up with that same easy smile, bumping knees with Choso on the couch during movie nights, completely oblivious. “You good, man? You seem kinda zoned out tonight.” Your voice was casual, concerned in that friendly way that made Choso’s stomach flip.

He’d nod, forcing a small, tight smile. “Yeah. Just tired.” Under the table, his nails dug crescents into his own thigh to keep from shaking. The fantasy played on loop behind his eyes the entire time, you dragging him into the bathroom the second yuji stepped out for more drinks, bending him over the sink and covering his mouth while you fucked him quick and dirty. “Shut up. Don’t want your little brother hearing what a whore his big bro is for me.”

After you left, Choso would excuse himself to his room and jerk off again, sometimes twice, biting his own forearm so yuji wouldn’t hear the broken whimpers. He’d stare at the collection hidden in his drawer: your spare key, the sock, the empty body wash bottle now refilled with his own cum mixed with traces of yours, the sticky note. He’d press the fabric or paper to his lips and whisper, “Soon.”

He still hadn’t touched you. Not really. Not skin to skin beyond that accidental brush of fingers weeks ago.

But the obsession had gotten worse.

He knew your class schedule better than his own. He knew the friends you texted late at night from the glimpses he caught when you left your phone on the table at yuji’s . He even started following you on rare nights when you went out with the group. still keeping distance, always in the shadows, making sure no one got too close to what was his.

yuji remained unaware. “Choso’s been acting weirder than usual lately,” he’d joke to you once while Choso pretended not to listen from the kitchen. “But he’s harmless. Just a little.. uhrm.. protective, y’know?”

Protective. The word made Choso smile faintly to himself, small and fractured. If only yuji knew how deep that protection had twisted.

Choso waited in the dark now, more patient than ever. He had the key. He had the fantasies. He had pieces of you scattered through his life like talismans.

One day soon, the waiting would end. You’d come home to find him there. not hiding, not running. Maybe you’d finally see the hunger in his eyes that he’d buried under awkward silences and quiet nods. Maybe you’d push him down. Maybe you’d hate him for it. Maybe you’d want him just as badly.

Either way, Choso was ready.

He’d drop to his knees on your shitty apartment carpet without hesitation. He’d let you do whatever you wanted—use him, break him, claim him. Because in the quiet, obsessive corners of his mind, you already owned every piece of him.

You just didn’t know it yet.

Higuruma was mid-sentence the moment you spread his thighs.

“I’ve analyzed the clitoral network and the— mmh— the supposed G-spot sensitivity, but I highly doubt it’s going to—”

Your tongue licked a long, slow stripe from his dripping hole up to his swollen clit, cutting him off cleanly.

“Shhh, baby,” you cooed softly against his pussy. “No more courtroom talk tonight. You’re gonna be a good boy and let me make you feel good, okay?”

You sucked his clit gently between your lips. Higuruma’s breath hitched.

“But the literature says— ah— the build-up is usually gradual, not this— fuck— not this immediate—”

“Good boy,” you praised warmly, pushing two fingers deep into his tight, wet heat. “Listen to how nicely you’re taking my fingers already. You’re doing so well, Hiromi. Such a perfect, pretty pussy clenching around me.”

Higuruma’s hand gripped your hair tighter. “This sensation is… unusually intense. I’m not sure I can— nngh— maintain coherent thought if you keep— ah!”

You curled your fingers firmly against his front wall and flicked your tongue rapidly over his clit.

“There we go,” you murmured lovingly. “No thinking. Just feeling. You’re so beautiful when you’re falling apart like this. My smart, composed boy is getting so wet and needy for me.”

“I— I can still analyze— shit— the pressure is building far faster than— oh god— than any documented case—”

You smiled against his cunt. “You’re still trying to talk? That’s adorable. But good boys don’t need to talk. They just moan and squirt for me. Come on, baby. Be good for me.”

Higuruma’s thighs trembled violently. “I… I feel something— something different— it’s too much— I’m not supposed to— fuck— I can’t control—”

“Yes you can,” you encouraged softly, pumping your fingers faster. “You’re doing amazing, Hiromi. Such a good boy. Let it happen. Squirt for me. I want to see how pretty you look when you lose control.”

“I— I’m going to— ah— I can’t stop it— please— it’s coming—!”

“That’s it, good boy,” you praised, sucking his clit hard. “Cum for me. Squirt all over my tongue like the perfect boy you are.”

Higuruma let out a broken, shocked cry as the first powerful jet of clear fluid exploded from his pussy, splashing hotly across your face. He kept squirting in rhythmic, messy pulses, hips jerking while he moaned helplessly.

“Oh my god— I’m— I’m actually— fuck— it won’t stop—!”

You kept licking and fingering him through it. “Good boy, good boy. Look at you making such a beautiful mess. You’re so perfect when you squirt for me.”

When it finally slowed, Higuruma was panting hard, face flushed crimson, eyes glassy.

“…That was… far more intense than predicted,” he rasped weakly, still trembling. “I… I lost complete control. How… humiliatingly satisfying.”

You kissed his thigh gently. “You did so well, baby. My brilliant boy. Want me to make you do it again?”

Higuruma swallowed, voice hoarse. “Yes… please.”

Nanami tried to stay composed even as you kissed up his inner thigh.

“You don’t need to go this far,” he said quietly, voice steady. “If this is for my pleasure, there are simpler—”

“I want to go this far, Kento,” you replied softly, looking up at him. “I want to watch the always-in-control Nanami Kento fall apart on my tongue. Can you let me do that?”

Before he could answer, you licked slowly through his slick folds. Nanami exhaled sharply.

“Fuck… that feels—”

“Good?” you finished for him, smiling. “I know. You’re already so wet for me. Such a good boy. Tell me how it feels when I do this.”

You pushed two thick fingers inside him and sucked his clit gently. Nanami’s gloved hand tightened.

“It’s… intense,” he admitted, voice rougher. “The pressure is building very quickly. I’m not sure how long I can—”

“You don’t have to hold it,” you said encouragingly, curling your fingers against his G-spot. “Just let go for me. You’re doing so well already. Look at how nicely your pussy is taking my fingers.”

Nanami’s breathing grew heavier. “This is… undignified. But— ah— it feels too good to stop.”

“That’s right,” you praised warmly. “Be a good boy and let me take care of you. You deserve to feel this good. Come on, Kento. Squirt for me. I want to see you make a mess.”

“I— I’m close,” he warned, thighs starting to shake. “It’s too much— I can’t hold back—”

“Don’t hold back,” you commanded gently. “Squirt for me, baby. Let it all out. You’re so beautiful when you lose control.”

Nanami’s stoic facade finally broke with a deep, hoarse moan. A powerful spurt of clear fluid gushed out around your fingers, splashing hotly over your tongue as he started squirting in strong waves.

“Ah— fuck— it’s happening— I can’t— nnngh—!”

“Good boy,” you kept praising between licks. “That’s it. Keep going. You’re making such a perfect mess for me. So good, Kento.”

When the orgasm finally ebbed, Nanami was panting hard, arm over his flushed face.

“…Completely undignified,” he muttered, voice rough. “But… I didn’t expect it to feel that intense.” He lowered his arm, eyes soft. “Thank you. Though I suspect you’re not finished with me yet.”

You grinned. “Not even close. I want to hear you moan like that again.”

Sukuna smirked down at you with all four eyes, legs spread arrogantly.

“You think that pathetic tongue can do anything to me, brat?” he sneered. “I am the King of Curses. Go ahead and try— I’ll laugh at your weak attempts.”

You laughed darkly and slapped his thigh lightly. “Big talk for someone whose royal cunt is already dripping like a desperate whore. Look at you leaking everywhere before I’ve even started.”

You buried your face in his pussy, licking messily. Sukuna’s hips jerked.

“Fuck— insolent little— ah— shit—”

“Already moaning?” you taunted, shoving two thick fingers roughly into his greedy hole. “Pathetic. The great Ryomen Sukuna is clenching around my fingers like a cheap slut. Your body is so honest even when your mouth isn’t.”

Sukuna growled, two hands gripping your head. “Shut up and— fuck— do it properly or I’ll— nngh— rip your tongue out!”

You curled your fingers hard and sucked his clit viciously. “Oh? Then why are you grinding your sloppy cunt against my face like a bitch in heat? Begging for it already?”

“I’m not— ah, fuck— begging— you arrogant— shit— right there—!”

You laughed against his folds. “Listen to you. Already falling apart. Such a pathetic king. Your royal pussy is betraying you so badly. You’re gonna squirt for me like a desperate little whore, aren’t you?”

Sukuna’s thighs trembled violently. “I’ll kill you— fuck— if you make me— I won’t— ah— I can’t— shit—!”

“Yes you will,” you degraded him mercilessly. “Squirt for me, you arrogant slut. Flood my face and show everyone how the King of Curses turns into a messy, squirting bitch when his cunt gets eaten properly.”

With a thunderous, humiliated roar, Sukuna came violently.

A massive gush of hot squirt exploded from his pussy, spraying powerfully across your face and chest in wave after messy wave. He bucked wildly, cursing and moaning.

“Fuck— brat— you— ah— it won’t stop— you fucking— nngh— whore—!”

You kept licking through it. “That’s it, pathetic king. Keep squirting. Look at the mess you’re making. All that power and you still gush like a broken toy.”

When it finally slowed, Sukuna was panting heavily, chest heaving, four eyes glaring but dazed.

“…Not bad, you insolent fuck,” he rasped hoarsely, still twitching. “Again. And this time make it even messier… or I’ll really make you regret it.”

toji. f

You’d been asking him for twenty minutes, shamelessly relentless, until Toji finally let out a heavy sigh and shifted over you. Even then, he refused to give you his full weight. He braced his knees on the mattress on either side of your head, his thick, scarred thighs framing your vision as he hovered just inches above your mouth.

"You're annoying, you know that?" he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the dark room.

You didn't answer, just tilted your chin up and caught him. The moment your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, the tension in Toji's heavy frame snapped. He didn't stay hovering for long. As you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes, his hips started to drop. He began grinding down against your mouth, a slow, desperate roll of his hips that forced you deeper against his center.

His breathing roughened, turning into sharp, jagged hitches. He gripped the headboard, his knuckles turning white as he chased the friction. You added two fingers, sliding them inside and hooking upward. Toji's breath hitched violently. He was practically riding your face now, his heavy muscles twitching with every frantic thrust of his hips as he ground down onto your tongue.

Then, without warning, his entire body stiffened up.

Toji let out a sharp, breathless gasp. His back arched, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth and cheeks. It wasn't just a leak; he was actively squirting, his internal muscles pulsing frantically around your fingers as the sheer volume of it coated your lower face.

The room went dead silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

Toji froze completely. The strength gave out in his arms, and he dropped down, his knees taking his weight as he stared blindly at the wall. He looked down at you, his usually sharp green eyes blown wide in absolute, stunned disbelief. He was completely speechless, a dark flush rapidly climbing up his thick neck and spreading across his scarred chest. He just stared at the wet mess on your face, his mouth slightly parted, trying to process what his body had just done.

You pulled your fingers out slowly and swiped the back of your hand across your chin, catching the slick fluid. You looked up at his shocked, flushed face and smirked.

"Damn, Toji," you said, your voice low and cocky. "Didn't know I could work you out like that."

His jaw snapped shut. For a long, heavy second, he just stared at the wet mess covering your lower face. The deep red flush burned all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Shut up," he finally grated out, his voice a full octave lower than usual, completely raw. He dragged a heavy hand down his face, deliberately breaking eye contact. "Don't act like you did something special. I just... it's been a long week."

You didn't wipe the smirk off your face, letting your eyes drop meaningfully to where his thighs were still trembling against the mattress.

"Stop looking at me like that," he snapped, though the harshness of his tone was completely ruined by the way his breath caught at the end of the sentence. He shifted his weight, suddenly hyper-aware of his own body and the undeniable evidence he'd left all over you. He reached down, his large, calloused thumb aggressively wiping at your chin and cheek, trying to scrub away the proof. "Wipe your damn face. You look stupid grinning like that."

You chuckled, catching his wrist and leaning up to kiss the inside of his palm. He flinched, but he didn't pull his hand away.

"I'm serious," he warned, his chest still heaving as he finally forced himself to look back down at you. His green eyes were dark, defensive, but blown wide with lingering heat. "You utter a word of this to anyone, and I'm putting you through a wall. You just caught me off guard. Don't let it go to your head."

He let out a rough, shaky breath, trying to summon his usual intimidating aura, but he was still straddling you, completely laid bare and visibly shaken.

"Now are you gonna get up," he muttered, his voice dropping into a needy, impatient growl as his hips twitched involuntarily against you, "or are you just gonna lay there looking smug all night? Because I still have an ache you need to take care of."

You didn't argue. You just reached up, gripping the back of his thick neck, and pulled him down. He didn't resist, collapsing his heavy frame over yours. He caught your lips in a quick, rough kiss, tasting the salt and slick of himself on your mouth without a single complaint.

He broke the kiss just as fast, turning his head to bury his flushed face deep into the crook of your neck. He let out a long, heavy exhale, his massive chest expanding against yours as he snuggled closer, his solid weight pinning you to the mattress. He was still trembling slightly, his arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight, grounding hold.

"Just shut up and touch me," he mumbled into your skin, the last of his fight completely drained out of him.

satoru .g

The sheets were a tangled wreck underneath you both. You were twisted up in a breathless 69, Satoru’s ridiculously long legs straddling your shoulders while his face hovered right over your hips. He had your cock in his hand, his lips parted to finally take you in, but the second your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, his jaw just slacked.

He was far too distracted by what you were doing to his pussy to actually focus on sucking your dick. He tried, ducking his head down, but as you dragged your tongue right over his most sensitive spot, he let out a sharp gasp and lost his grip entirely. He ended up just panting hot air against your thighs, his long fingers abandoning their task to twist deeply into your hair instead.

"Hold on, let me—ah!" Satoru gasped, a breathless, exhilarated laugh bubbling out of him as he failed to focus for the third time. "You’re doing that on purpose. You’re not even letting me start."

You didn't let up. You gripped his thighs, holding him steady as you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes. Satoru was incredibly vocal, his hips rolling eagerly and shamelessly against your mouth as he completely surrendered to the sensation. The room was filled with the wet, heavy sounds of the friction and his ragged breathing.

He arched his lower back, pushing himself deeper against your face. You took the invitation, sliding two fingers deep inside him and hooking upward to hit that internal sweet spot, keeping a relentless, punishing pace with your tongue.

Satoru’s breath hitched violently. He completely abandoned the idea of the 69, his head dropping back against the mattress as he practically rode your face. His long frame arched completely off the bed, his thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks as the overstimulation built up higher and faster than he was ready for.

"Yeah, right there," he stuttered out, his voice pitching higher. "Don't stop, don't—fuck!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through his long frame as the last of his control completely broke.

Satoru let out a loud, sharp cry, his fingers pulling taut against your scalp. His hips buckled hard, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth, chin, and cheeks. He was shaking, his internal muscles clenching in frantic, wet waves around your fingers, completely coating your lower face.

He collapsed down onto your legs, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. For a split second, there was total silence in the room, except for the sound of the bed creaking.

Then, Satoru shot up. He pushed himself onto his hands, craning his neck to look down at your face. His bright blue eyes were blown incredibly wide, but there wasn't a single hint of embarrassment in them. Instead, a massive, thrilled grin broke out across his flushed face.

"Holy shit!" he laughed out loud, completely breathless and amazed. "Did I just do that?!"

You pulled your fingers out slowly, swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his wide, excited eyes and smirked, your tone perfectly cocky and satisfied.

"Damn, Satoru," you teased, your voice low. "Didn't know I could make you flood like that. Look at the mess you made."

"Are you kidding?! That was incredible!" he beamed, completely unashamed of the sheer volume of slick covering your face.

He shifted his long frame immediately, abandoning the 69 entirely to slide his legs down and fully straddle your waist. He leaned down over you, practically vibrating with lingering adrenaline, and didn't even hesitate before pressing a wet, messy kiss right to your lips. He tasted himself on you without a second thought, his tongue swiping lazily at the corner of your mouth.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his flush deepening but his grin turning distinctly teasing. He reached out, tapping a finger right on your slick chin.

"You look really good wearing me, by the way," he hummed, his tone playfully arrogant. He let out a happy, exhausted sigh and dropped his weight, snuggling his face right into the crook of your neck. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your chest, and his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.

"You're an absolute genius," he murmured happily against your collarbone, his hips still twitching involuntarily against you. "But now I have to clean up my mess. So lay back, because it's my turn to focus... and I'm going to take my sweet time draining you completely dry."

choso. k

You had him pulled right to the edge of the mattress, his back flat against the sheets while you knelt on the floor between his legs. It was an incredibly vulnerable position, and Choso was visibly hesitant. His hands were gripping tightly at the bedsheets, his knuckles turning stark white, and every time you leaned in even an inch, his thighs would reflexively try to snap shut against your sides.

"Wait," he breathed, his voice tight and nervous. A dark, heavy blush was already dusting his pale cheeks, spreading down his neck and over his collarbones. "It's... I'm already too sensitive right now. Maybe we should just—"

You didn't let him finish. You reached out, gently but firmly catching his wrists, prying his fingers away from the bunched-up fabric of the sheets and pinning his hands flat to the mattress by his sides. Then, you slid your arms under his knees, hooking his pale legs securely over your shoulders. It opened him up completely to your view, leaving him entirely exposed.

Choso let out a shaky, embarrassed whine, turning his head sharply to the side so he wouldn't have to look at you. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling in shallow, nervous hitches.

"Just relax for me," you murmured, leaning in close enough that your breath fanned over his slick skin.

The moment your tongue traced a long, slow, deliberate path right over his center, Choso let out a startled, high-pitched gasp. His entire body jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. He was so incredibly pent-up and sensitive that even the lightest, teasing pressure felt like a massive shock to his system. He tried to squirm backward, instinctively trying to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, but your grip on his hips kept him anchored right at the edge of the bed.

"It's too much," he whimpered, tears immediately welling in his dark eyes and spilling over the bridge of his nose. "Please, I can't... I can't take it, it's too much..."

He was pleading, shaking his head against the pillows, but his body was completely betraying him. Even as he cried out for you to stop, his hips were instinctively bucking upward, his breathing turning into wet, ragged gasps as he chased the very friction he claimed was too intense.

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, curling them upward to hit a steady, rhythmic pace while your tongue worked him over without a single ounce of mercy.

Choso became a complete wreck. He was sobbing openly now, sweet, musical sounds of pure sensory overload leaving his lips. His head thrashed against the pillows, his dark hair a tangled, sweat-dampened mess. His stomach muscles jumped and twitched with every stroke of your tongue, the overstimulation rapidly pushing him past the point of rational thought.

"Please!" he sobbed out, his voice cracking as his toes curled so tight they cramped. "Ah! I'm—I'm gonna—!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him as he finally shattered.

Choso let out a loud, ruined wail, his back arching off the mattress so hard he practically lifted himself into the air. A sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your face.

The heavy, intense rush of it left him completely drained. His body went limp, collapsing back onto the mattress with a heavy thud. His chest rose and fell in sharp, desperate gasps as the last of the tremors worked their way through his thighs.

All Choso could do was lay there and pant.

Then, Choso slowly opened his tear-filled eyes, peering down at you through his damp lashes, his chest still heaving. When he finally focused on your face—when he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your cheeks—his breath hitched violently in his throat.

He froze completely. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his pale features, his lips parting in silent horror. The red flush on his face that seemed to consume him entirely.

You pulled your fingers out with a soft, wet pop, slowly swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his horrified, flustered face, letting a slow, incredibly self-satisfied smirk cross your lips.

"And here you were begging me to wait," you teased, your voice low and perfectly cocky in the quiet room. "Look at the absolute mess you just made of my face. You must have really been dying for this."

A pathetic, utterly mortified squeak left his throat.

"I—I'm so sorry!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic, shame, and overwhelming embarrassment. He immediately scrambled upward, his shaking hands reaching out to frantically cup your jaw, his thumbs trying to wipe at your slick-covered cheeks. "I didn't mean to—I don't know what happened! I'm so sorry, you're covered in it, I ruined everything, I—"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy apologies. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting him up instantly.

Choso melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his blind panic instantly replaced by a heavy, adoration-filled heat that he couldn't hide.

Before he could find his voice to start apologizing all over again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the pillows to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, tear-stained face deep into the crook of your shoulder, absolutely desperate to hide from your cocky gaze.

"You're terrible," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs still trembling where they bracketed your waist. "Please don't look at me right now... just hold me for a second."

mahito

You had him hoisted up onto the edge of the heavy wooden desk, standing squarely between his legs. Mahito was leaning back on his hands, swinging his bare heels against the back of your thighs and giggling that manic, grating laugh of his. He was treating the whole thing like a game, his mismatched eyes bright with chaotic amusement as he looked down at you.

"Is this supposed to be intimidating?" he teased, a wide, stitched grin stretching across his face. He tilted his head, completely unbothered. "C'mon, you look so serious! Are you really going to just stare, or are you actually going to—ah!"

His mocking laughter was completely cut off the second you stepped in close and dragged your teeth lightly up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. You didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, you took your time, deliberately teasing him. You mapped out the patchwork lines of his skin with slow, agonizingly light laps of your tongue, completely ignoring his slick center while hovering just inches away from it.

Mahito shifted on the hard wood of the desk, his grin faltering. "Hey. Stop messing around. That tickles."

You smirked against his skin and traced a slow circle just outside his heat, blowing a warm breath over him. Mahito’s breath hitched, a sudden, involuntary shiver running down his spine. His hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter.

"I said stop playing," he grumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, dipping into something much more impatient and needy. "Just do it already!"

"Impatient, aren't we?" you hummed.

Then, you finally gave it to him. You gripped his thighs, your fingers digging firmly into his pale skin to hold him in place, and buried your face against him. The second your tongue swiped firmly and relentlessly against his core, the change in him was instantaneous.

The playful arrogance melted entirely off his face, replaced by a look of wide-eyed, frantic overstimulation. He jerked backward, his spine snapping straight, but you didn't let him retreat. You worked your tongue in sharp, demanding strokes, refusing to let up the pressure. He wasn't used to being overwhelmed, usually twisting and reshaping himself out of any corner, but his body was completely betraying him.

"Wait, wait—stop!" he gasped out, his fingers tangling desperately into your hair. He tried to squirm away, letting out a series of high, breathless whines, but his hips were instinctively bucking forward against your mouth. "I can't—it feels too—!"

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, hooking upward to hit that deep, internal pulse.

Mahito’s entire body went completely rigid. His breath caught violently in his throat, his jaw dropping open in a silent scream as the sheer intensity of the overstimulation shattered his chaotic facade. His heels dug sharply into your lower back, his pale thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks.

Then, the tension finally snapped.

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him. Mahito let out a loud, high-pitched cry, his back arching off the desk as a sudden, splash of warm fluid sprayed onto you.

The heavy rush left him entirely drained. He collapsed forward, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his forehead coming to rest heavily against the top of your head.

Mahito slowly pushed himself up, blinking rapidly as his dazed eyes finally focused on your face. When he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your shirt, his breath caught in his throat.

He froze completely. The manic, unhinged curse was rendered completely speechless. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his patchwork features, his mouth falling open. A dark, violent flush erupted across his pale cheeks, burning right through the stitches on his face and spreading all the way down his neck.

You looked up at his horrified, flustered expression, letting a slow, incredibly cocky smirk cross your lips as you wiped his essence off you. You didn't wipe all of it away, letting him stare at exactly what he’d done.

"Well," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "That’s certainly one way to finally shut you up."

A pathetic, mortified squeak left his throat.

"You talk all that big game," you continued, stepping into the space between his thighs and crowding him against the edge of the desk. "But you completely flood the second I put a little effort in. Didn't know you had it in you to make such a massive mess of me. Look at you. You made a puddle."

"I—what?!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic and overwhelming embarrassment. He looked entirely stripped of his usual bravado, his shaking hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I didn't—I don't even know what just happened! You—you cheated! You did something weird to me, you must have used a cursed technique, I—!"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy excuses. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting his rambling up instantly.

Mahito melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. All the fight left his body. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his panic instantly replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could find his voice to start arguing again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the edge of the desk to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his chaotic energy entirely snuffed out.

"You're so mean to me," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs wrapping securely around your waist to hold himself up against you. "Shut up... don't look at me right now... just carry me to the bed."

suguru. g

You had been begging him for weeks. Every time you backed him against a wall, cornered him in the kitchen, or tried to pull him down onto the bed, Suguru would just offer that perfectly serene, frustratingly composed smile of his. He’d brush a hand through your hair, gently kiss your forehead, and murmur, "Soon. I just want it to be the right time and place. We shouldn't rush these things."

He was incredibly private, highly protective of his own vulnerability, and utterly obsessed with maintaining total control over himself and his environment. He hated the idea of feeling exposed or caught off guard.

But tonight, his elegant little excuses had finally run out.

He was seated deep in the plush, dark velvet armchair in the corner of his dimly lit bedroom, his long, dark hair tied back loosely. You were kneeling on the floor right between his parted thighs. Even now, with his legs spread for you, he was trying so hard to maintain that aura of untouchable grace. He rested one elbow on the armrest, his chin propped on his knuckles as he looked down at you through half-lidded, heavy brown eyes.

"Satisfied?" he hummed, his voice smooth and incredibly patronizing. "You’ve been relentlessly impatient, and now you finally have me exactly where you want me. Just do try to be gentle, won't you? I'd prefer not to make a mess tonight."

His arrogant, perfectly constructed little speech died instantly in his throat the second you bypassed his thighs and buried your face directly against his soaking heat. He tried to quickly muffle the sharp gasp that escaped him, biting down hard on his lower lip, but you weren't going to let him stay composed. Not after making you wait this long.

You gripped his thighs, your thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle as you dragged your tongue in long, deliberate, punishing strokes over his center. Suguru tensed violently, his hips involuntarily jerking upward against your mouth as his lower back arched completely off the cushion.

He tried to recover his composure, forcing a shaky exhale through his nose. He reached a trembling hand down, his palm finding the top of your head in a soft, patronizing pat—a desperate attempt to pace you. "Ah... you certainly don't hold back, do you?" his voice wavered, entirely losing its smooth edge. "That's... slow down a little, sweetheart, I can't—"

But the gentle head pat immediately turned into a white-knuckled, bruising grip in your hair the second you slid two fingers deep inside him, hooking upward to find the deep, internal ache he’d been so desperately hiding.

Suguru’s facade entirely crumbled. His hips buckled, lifting completely off the velvet cushion as he tried to chase the angle of your fingers.

"Wait, please, you're—ah! God, fuck!" he choked out, his voice cracking into a high, ruined pitch.

He was completely overstimulated, his long, muscular legs trembling violently against your ribs. He tried to pull you closer by your hair and push your shoulders away at the exact same time, his body entirely confused by the sheer volume of pleasure. A ruined, desperate whine tore past his lips, his head throwing back against the chair as his toes curled into the carpet.

Then, the final, stubborn thread of his control snapped.

Suguru let out a loud, melodic cry. His entire body locked up tight, and a sudden, rush of hot fluid met your awaiting mouth, completely coating your tongue in the sudden.

The intense rush of it left him completely hollowed out. He slumped forward in the armchair, his chest heaving with ragged, wet gasps. His hands slipped out of your hair, falling limply into his lap as the last of the intense tremors wracked his frame.

For a long, heavy moment, the only sound in the quiet bedroom was his open-mouthed breathing.

"So this is why you've been avoiding me for weeks," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "You were terrified I'd make you completely lose your mind. I've never seen anyone drench a chair this fast. Look at what you did to my face."

A pathetic, utterly mortified groan escaped his throat.

"Have a little mercy..." Suguru rasped out, his usually eloquent vocabulary completely deserting him. He looked utterly stripped of his pride, his shaking hands coming up to frantically drag down his burning face. "I had no idea I was even capable of that. God, you're wearing half of it. Please, don't gloat, I'm already entirely humiliated."

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face, refusing to let him hide. You leaned forward, crowding into his space between his thighs, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips.

Suguru melted the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating deep in his chest. All the tension drained out of his rigid posture. When you pulled back just an inch, his brown eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his intense embarrassment entirely replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could try to find his composure again, he just completely surrendered. He slid right off the edge of the armchair, his knees hitting the floor right in front of you as he wrapped his long arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his perfectly kept facade completely destroyed and abandoned.

His trembling hand came up, instinctively finding the back of your head to offer a soft, shaky pat—his usual comforting gesture, though right now, he was entirely the one who needed it.

"You win," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs bracketing your waist on the floor. "I severely underestimated you. Now just... hold me, and let me pretend this didn't happen."

naoya. z

The bedroom was stifling, the air heavy with the frantic, wet sounds of his undoing. Naoya was pinned against the headboard, his pale legs hooked over your shoulders and his ankles locked behind your neck in an involuntary, white-knuckled grip. His hair was a sweat-slicked mess, and his dark eyeliner was completely ruined, dragged across his cheekbones in jagged streaks by the tears he couldn’t stop.

"Stop... I said stop!" he choked out, his voice cracking. He tried to shove at your shoulders, but his arms were shaking so violently his hands just slid off.

You didn't listen. You gripped his thighs tighter, your fingers digging into his skin, and buried your face back into his soaking heat. While your tongue swirled in heavy, demanding circles over his center, you slid two fingers deep inside him, stretching him wide and hitting that internal sweet spot with a punishing pace.

The double assault was too much for his nerves. Naoya’s entire body spasmed, a sharp, broken cry tearing from his throat. His hips buckled, his muscles clenching greedily around your fingers even as he tried to pull away from the friction.

"Just one more, Naoya," you murmured against his skin, your voice a low vibration that made him sob.

"It’s not... ah!... how you won't stop! You're... ngh!"

He was completely overstimulated, his nerves frayed, yet he arched further into the touch. His toes curled, and his breath came in hitched, needy whines. You increased the pressure, your tongue flickering faster as your fingers worked him into a frenzy.

"One more," you repeated, your teeth grazing him lightly.

"No! No more, please—Aaaah!"

He went rigid, his back arching off the bed as the next wave hit him. His thighs twitched uncontrollably against your ears as his body finally gave up, then came the gush of slick, coating almost the entirety of your lower face.

He let out a ruined, melodic cry, his hands flying up to cover his face in shame. He was sobbing openly now, his frame vibrating with the force of the climax. You finally pulled back, tasting the salt of him on your lips as you looked at the state of him—the smeared makeup, the trembling limbs, and the soaking mess on the bed.

"You're such a pretty mess, baby," you murmured, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. "Look at you. All that big talk, and you’re just a leaky little girl for me, aren't you?"

Naoya visibly cringed at the endearment, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. A deep, frantic blush climbed all the way to the tips of his ears. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson.

"What are you looking at, idiot?" he snapped, though his voice was entirely too shaky to carry any real weight. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson. "Don't call me that... it's pathetic. I'm not some dumb woman or a bitch for you to talk down to."

"Funny," you teased, your tone perfectly cocky as you deliberately let a drop of his slick run down your chin. "Because you're the one on your back, drenching the sheets because you couldn't handle a little tongue. For someone who hates women so much, you sure do scream like a girl for me."

Naoya visibly recoiled, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. "I do NOT—!"

"You do," you interrupted, leaning in until your nose brushed his. "You’re pouting like a bratty little princess just because I made you lose your mind. It’s cute, Naoya. Really."

"I am NOT cute!" he hissed, his voice cracking with indignity. He reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing your collar and tugging you upward with a weak, desperate jerk. "Wipe your face. You look disgusting. You're filthy, and it’s your fault I’m like this anyway."

Despite the insult, he didn't let go of your shirt. His legs remained wide, his heels digging into the mattress as he pulled you closer. His eyes darted to your zipper with a desperate, impatient hunger that betrayed every word of his bratty protest.

"Well?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a needy, demanding rasp. "Are you just going to stare at me and say stupid things all night, or are you actually going to finish this? I'm not waiting any longer. Hurry up and give it to me."

"Say please, then," you hummed. "Tell me you want it, pretty girl."