You get about six or seven seconds of drifting consciousness before Satoru tuts, unable to go on living and breathing without your constant attention as he pouts, "So that's how it is, huh, sweetheart? What, no answer for your poor, neglected husband?"

(You're entirely unsurprised that he can't take what he dishes out.)

A smile threatens the corners of your mouth into complaceny despite your best efforts at maintaining a resting poker face. "You've survived over thirty years with constant, and I mean constant, ass-kissing and validation," you murmur around another yawn. You wish you could crawl back in bed for some more snuggles, but alas, duty calls; this is what you get for binging alien sci-fi films with Satoru until the odd hours of the morning. "I'm certain you'll survive a second without me indulging you."

"I can't even last half of one and you know that." The answer arrives so decisively sulky that it nearly makes you snicker. "I could care less about what my family and all the other syndicates out there have to say about me. I'll wither away if it's not you singing pretty in my ear." His grip cinches ever so slightly around your waist as Satoru presses a supplicatory kiss to the weak spot behind your ear, trying to strong-arm your attention instead of patiently waiting for it to come around.

Greedy bastard.

Exhaling through your nose, you crack your eyes open to the mirror projecting the striking couple you as husband and wife make. While you're both quite the sight (and you're especially stunning, you toot your own horn), it will always, always be Satoru that magnetizes your stare into being drawn towards his gravitational pull.

He looms over your shoulder, beam broadening with an exuberance to rival the sun itself when your gazes lock through the glass. Damp ivory strands frame a face too handsome for his own good, falling in featherlight wisps across his forehead and with several rebellious tufts curling in whichever direction they so please, impossibly soft against the ethereal geometry of his face. Crystalline blue eyes— those eyes that have toppled hardened men twice his age into obedience, but never you— admire you from the tips of your platform Mary Janes to your blinking lashes.

Satoru is the breaking ocean at dawn, a dropless blue sky curling around the world like a lawless cat lousing around in a sunbeam. He is beautiful, he is untouchable, and he is wholly yours, in sickness and in health.

"I love when you stare at me like that," Satoru murmurs, oozing besotment on every syllable. He steals an unblushing second to snuffle dreamily at your perfumed neck, licking a stripe over the tendon and breathing a smile into you when you wrinkle your nose. "But I can't say I love that you still haven't answered me."

You pick your way backwards through the conversation. "Yeah, fine. The vibe for today?"

"The vibe for today," he confirms, pointing at your various bejeweled decorations in front of you.

"Hmmm. What's the vibe for today, indeed. I think…" You thoughtfully cock your head, fingers skimming the velvet-lined drawers chock full of jewelry. "Simple, yet classy and pretty. The usual."

Satoru's brows jump in mild surprise. "Simple?" He, with great emphasis, looks your reflected self in the mirror up and down. He's practically shouting "you're outshining everyone with a look you call simple?" without actually straining his vocal cords to do so.

"You sound like a parrot today, always repeating back what I'm saying," you mutter with an amused little scoff, proudly reposing in Satoru's sunlit laughter that's pitched low and rich enough that you feel the tenor of it quake through his chest before you even hear it chuffing at your ear. "We're meeting with Suguru, not attending a royal wedding or showing some ass at the club."

He blazes over your quip with a stupefied shuttering of his once easygoing, now slighted expression, childishly scowling your way through thinly lidded blue eyes. His irises are harder than diamonds, and all the more beautiful for it. "You're getting pretty for Suguru?" Satoru quibbles, lips pressing downwards.

"I am dressing professionally for our meeting to discuss business procedures with Suguru, because that's what the corporate dress code calls for," you draw out slowly, reaching back to squash the tip of his nose with your finger. You can only hope that the contact zaps some lucidity back into him. "And I am simultaneously toeing the line with elaborate jewelry and somewhat revealing dresswear so that firstly, I feel like the bad bitch that I am, and secondly but least importantly—" you break for a long pause to deal 500 points of psychic damage to his ego before continuing, "to make sure you don't get bored to death without me as your quote unquote eye candy to keep you stimulated."

As if he were never miffed by the most ludicrous assumption he's come up with recent memory, a flattered grin tugs his lips apart and shows his pearly canines. "D'awww, my wifey's always spoiling me. You make me feel like a million yen, dollars, and pesos all at once." Satoru stamps a loud mwah on your cheek.

You suspect— no, you're certain that Satoru was never jealous to begin with; his performance had all the sincerity of a child forcing out crocodile tears over a scraped knee just to coax a kiss from his mother. He's evidently incapable of resisting any opportunity to manufacture a situation where you'd sweeten his tooth, even if it meant pretending to be scandalized by the thought of another man appreciating your appearance.

Yeah, you wouldn't change his freak ass for the world. Not even the hundred plus counts of murder on his hands could drag you away from him. What a married life that you lead…

"Just help me pick a few pieces out, would you?" You sigh, patting the back of his hand where it remains suctioned to your waist. He cheerily hums his interest, perking to the task as if its of great importance.

Morning sunlight pours through the towering windows of the walk-in closet— occupying nearly the same square footage as your first apartment post-college ever had— in molten ribbons, spilling across polished walnut cabinetry and racks filled with hangers, and catching on glass shelves lined with velvet display stands.

Naturally, the room rings with the high-pitched glassy tune of sumptuousness in answer.

Diamonds fracture the light into tiny stars that wander over the walls; gold radiates the rich warmth of honey; platinum reflects the daylight with cool, silvery precision; emerald slyly winks your way; pearls band together like the light foam of the ocean.

One entire wall became your jewelry collection over the years— one you haven't quite grown accustomed to having at all. If anything, it will eternally boggle your mind that you own such a plethora of finery.

There had been a time when stepping inside a boutique just to look at pieces like these had felt like you were committing theft in broad daylight, your body language unconsciously becoming shifty out of nerves in front of the security doing laps around the room. You used to admire jewelry through immaculate glass display cases accompanied by tiny white price cards that looked more like telephone numbers than costs, privately wondering what kind of lives the women wearing six-figure necklaces must lead. Owning even just one beautiful piece seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime milestone.

And now… now, you peruse a collection of what feels like hundreds of rows upon rows of jewelry. Those same display cases you refused to put your hands on when you were younger, too terrified to even breathe too hard in their direction, currently take up storage space in your own home— just one perk of being Gojo Satoru's wife and the object of all his overly earnest affections, you suppose.

(Fuck a runway, you could host the entirety of Paris Fashion Week in here.)

You've been gifted countless pieces over years of birthdays, anniversaries, successful negotiations, spontaneous shopping sprees, and Satoru's incurable habit of spying something pretty, thinking fondly of you, and considering that reason enough to offer you yet another obscenely expensive present.

You've even splurged on yourself a few times as well using yours and Satoru's shared bank account, though in the past you'd wobbled on more than one purchase. It's not like he lets you angst over whether your wants (not needs) justify such flabbergasting prices anymore, anyways; Satoru has taught you to ignore it all and just go for whatever you desire, no matter if it's silly. In fact, he begs you to spend what is also your money.

After a few minutes of presenting various jewelry (sapphire studs from Harry Winston, a silver Pandora cuff bracelet, a Van Cleef & Arpels Alhambra ring fashioned from gold and luminous mother-of-pearl, three matching Mejuri bangles you don't recognize which prompts you to squint suspiciously at your husband) to Satoru for his personal input, he finally stops you at a delicate silver Bulgari Serpenti watch. "This one," he declares, leaning dangerously far over your shoulder to grab and hold onto it for you.

"Good choice," you praise, glancing over the rest of your selections. "Earrings?"

"You can't go wrong with Tiffany," Satoru points out. "You could wear your dancing diamonds set. I haven't seen them on you in a minute; you make them look reaaaaal pretty."

You're sufficiently swayed, flattered by the honeyed confidence in his voice when he insists that you're lending the diamonds their beauty instead of the other way around— the distinction does wonders for your gooey heart. "I'm down," you decide.

With a soft hum, you step to the left (Satoru, still clinging, shuffles with you), lifting the tip of one Tiffany & Co. diamond drop earring with your fingernail; it merrily scatters light as it quivers in place. The matching necklace hangs below it, its platinum-encrusted diamond similarly cascading.

Your husband finally detaches from you, gently grasping your shoulders for a brief second as he steps around you to wander along the displays. Shamelessly, you appreciate the broad shift of his back through his suit jacket as he bends at the waist to better observe the options, rubbing his jaw as he goes. His pert ass, too, receives the full brunt of your ogling.

"And... hmm…” Satoru confidently reaches for a slim Cartier Juste un Clou piece, a winding bracelet that twirls elegantly around the wrist like liquid gold, plucking it from its casing and twisting it between long slender fingers. He turns to you with a beam, dangling the watch and bracelet from both hands and looking every bit the untouchable heir born into old money and even older power. "Just the one bracelet, and then I think you're good to go," he asserts.

"No rings?" You ask, crossing your arms.

"What’s the point? You already wear two." His gaze drops meaningfully toward the engagement ring and wedding band permanently curling a home around your finger, which you tap lazily against your elbow. “You don't need competition, sweets,” he sniffs with equal parts petulance and pride.

The corners of your mouth soften before you even realize it. Fond as all hell, you briefly close your eyes and shake your head. "I suppose you're right." Fluttering your lashes open, you hold your hand up to the light, admiring the glittery play of your most treasured gifts crowning it.

The oval-cut center diamond of your engagement ring is nestled in a cathedral of prongs and embellished with even smaller pavé diamonds, each faceted surface flinging prisms over your skin. Beneath it, your platinum wedding band curves snugly around your finger in an unbroken promise of precious metal and devotion, an engraved message for your eyes only ringing the inner part.

They’re more than just breathtaking, anyone with eyes could see that, but their greatest luxury lies in the man who'd slid them there, nothing but pure emotion begetting the winking tears at his lashlines on both occasions. One ring asked a question about an obtainable forever, and the other had promised that forever.

With a hopelessly devoted smile, you lay your gaze on Satoru, who unblinkingly matches your expression from beneath a tousled fringe of candy floss hair. "Why wear other rings when these are the ones that matter most to me?" You muse.

For a rare moment, he has nothing clever to say. He only meanders over and reaches for your hand, turning it palm-up before bringing your knuckles to his lips in a sugary kiss, his thumb brushing over the familiar bands with unmistakable reverence. In the same breath, Satoru fastens the Cartier Juste un Clou to your left wrist, the Bulgari Serpenti watch to your right, twisting them so the embellishments face forward. The jewelry burns coolly into your skin for only a moment before warming with your body heat.

You turn to find the correct velvet-lined stands housing your Tiffany & Co. set when Satoru beats you to them with infuriating speed, plucking the earrings from their perch before holding them just out of reach like a toddler. "Aht."

"You've got clever hands," you note dryly, not bothering to put up a fight. You expectantly press into him instead, flattening a hand to his rapidly beating chest— it's cute, really, how affected he is by you even after all these years. You don't doubt that your heart is matching his pace, irreversibly twined together as you are.

"All the better to decorate you with," Satoru claims with a lazy wiggle of silvery brows.

"Alright, Big Bad Wolf." You roll your eyes with all the falsified long-suffering of someone who has been married to Gojo Satoru long enough to recognize there is no practical value in resisting the harmless whims that seize him after breakfast. You're bracing for him to hit you with a smartass comment in return, but instead—

"I'd like the honor of putting on the rest of your jewelry, too," he keeps pushing, soft-soaping with the most adorable pout to his plush lips. No wonder he always gets his way— you could just gobble him up.

"How sweet," you comment lightly, turning your head for him. "Go ahead."

Minty fresh breath wafts over you as Satoru leans in close. The infamous Gojo-gumi oyabun whose name alone unsettles rival organizations and whose hands have slaughtered countless men weaves the first earring through your lobe with almost absurd concentration, tongue caught against the inside of his cheek as though fastening jewelry requires the precision of a bomb technician. Gentle moments like these always strip away the intimidating reputation he'd cultivated so effortlessly. Satoru's just as precise in securing the second earring and its backing, fingers sparking heat at your ear.

His knuckles cascade along your jaw before he gently cups your cheeks, turning your face left and right to watch the diamonds do what they do best— dance. Not once does he cut eye contact as Satoru sways back on his heels to evaluate his work with a satisfied little nod. "All good," he says with a peck to your forehead.

You rotate in place to face the mirror and smooth your hair to the side to make way for the necklace's chain that slips along the sides of your neck. Satoru reaches around you to drape the dancing diamond over your heart, pulling back to thread both ends of the necklace at your nape all while you watch the frankly adorable dedication poured into his reflected self's movements. He snaps the clasp into place with a satisfying click.

"There you go," Satoru murmurs. "Prettiest girl in the world, I'm telling you."

Like the sea glass painting Fort Bragg’s coast, his eyes catch every wandering beam of sunlight filtering through the room, throwing flecks of oceanic cerulean across irises that rival the diamonds twinkling at your throat and ears. His eyes refuse to settle on your jewelry for long before climbing back to your face through the mirror. Satoru studies you down the line of his nose with the boyish endearment of having been allowed to tend to you in yet another tiny, ordinary way.

"Good?" He asks, voice vibrating pleasantly against your back, chased immediately by the rooting brush of his nose through your hair with an impossibly pleased sigh, once again sniffing you like the dog that he is as you check yourself out.

The effect of your jewelry is exact; it lends you enough flair to elevate your outfit without overwhelming the low-necked blouse and high-waisted charcoal pencil skirt flattering your figure. Lips pursed with pride, you shift from foot to foot to check yourself out from both sides.

"Perfect. Thank you, baby," you croon, reaching back to give him a very deserved pat on his cheek. He nuzzles into your palm for but a moment before spinning you by your waist like a princess, puckering his lips like he deserves a reward and whining under his breath when you smush a finger to his mouth instead of locking lips.

"Wait, and be patient for once in your life. It's your turn," you sing-song, drawing that same nail down his chin, his Adam's apple, the beginnings of his sternum that crops up from beneath his pressed open shirt.

Lost, he scrunches up his nose and flattens his eyes. "Hah? Mine?" Satoru looks down at his wedding band that matches your own. He used to wear a few rings per finger like a set of brass knuckles to really fuck people up when he beats them to massy pulps on the ground, but now he typically sticks to just the one. "I have all that I need right here."

While that's enough to worsen your terminal case of lovesickness, his blindness towards his own appearance takes you out. This is a man whose face has launched negotiations in his favor before he'd even opened his mouth, whose smile had charmed politicians, CEOs, other oyabuns, and elderly ladies in grocery stores alike, whose family had spent decades raising him— despite his protests and escapades— to carry the impossible weight of the Gojo name with immaculate presentation. Yet ask Satoru how he looked, and he'd shrug as though he were discussing the weather.

Perhaps it's because he's never needed to think about it. Beauty settled over him as naturally as breathing. Annoying.

You sigh, "Come here."

"I am here?"

"Closer."

One word from you and the feared oyabun of the Gojo-gumi closes the remaining distance without the slightest hesitation and dips his chin, squaring himself in front of you so that the polished toes of his Italian loafers kiss your Mary Janes. His smile's unbearably smug as he crows, "I knew you couldn't resist me."

"More like I couldn't resist fixing whatever tragic excuse you made for getting ready," you snort out before you can help it. "Honestly, baby…"

"What?" Satoru asks, unfazed, lips already quirking before you get to the punch.

You trail your gaze over him with deliberate slowness. His suit is, predictably, immaculate beneath your hands that you smooth along his lapels, flattening borderline microscopic wrinkles. The charcoal fabric— some sort of stupidly expensive imported wool that matches your skirt— molds beautifully over broad shoulders and his killer narrow waist before disappearing beneath pressed trousers that manage to make his legs, already unfairly long, appear even longer.

Only his silk tie hangs crooked beneath the collar of his immaculate white dress shirt, blatantly the hurried handiwork of a husband who had evidently been more interested in wandering off in search of his wife than finishing getting dressed after his shower. You can't find it anything but endearing.

You pinch the loose knot between two fingers and suck your teeth. "Did you tie this while looking at your reflection in a spoon?"

"No, but I was a little distracted," Satoru admits, remaining still as you loosen the knot with precise tugs.

"By?"

"You." He breathes it with the same exasperation as someone saying 'duh, obviously.'

"I would love to study your brain," you remark. The expensive silk slides smoothly beneath your fingertips as you rebuild the knot from scratch, looping the tie through in practiced motions. Satoru's eyes don't follow your hands for long before drifting back to your face, quietly admiring the tiny furrow between your brows whilst you focus. He's watching you the same way he had while fastening your jewelry, as if doting on each other is somehow the most fascinating thing either of you could be doing with your spare time. "Considering I wasn't even the same room when you tried to hang yourself with this tie."

He laughs, summer-bright and carefree. His Adam's Apple bobs around the musical tune as you finally pull the fresh tie snug at his crisp white collar. "I have an excellent imagination, princess, and you know it. I was daydreaming about that cute, sexy scowl you get when you're on top of me and started giggling to myself and playing with my tie."

"Were you, huh? The day's only just begun, but I already know how I want it end," you sing-song, tucking that particularly good idea away for later. If today doesn't produce a headache of an emergency gone down on one of the Gojo-gumi's many territories, you'll be giving it to Satoru good the second you return home.

Satoru's throat rumbles again (this time with a sound akin to a purr) when you stroke back and forth through his white hair, just because you can— and also to distract him from what you said, melting his brain down to a puddle incapable of thoughts other than meow, mrow, purr. "Look at that. There she goes, distracting me againnn… yes, right there." He nudges his hand into your palm, beatific.

"You should really charge rent for the amount of time I spend in your head, mister businessman. You'd make a killing off of me," you tease with a chuckle. Treating his scalp to one more generous rake of your nails, you then give the knotted tie one last approving pat. "There. You're now presentable."

"Yay!" He cheers with exaggerated joy, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Now gimme that sweet, sweet reward that I've earned. Please?"

"You mean for surviving the strenuous task of standing still? Oh, poor thing," You drawl, hating that you're fully intending on following through on it despite the way you jab at him.

"It was super exhausting and emotionally taxing," Satoru bemoans, but he doesn't put any effort into playing up his false wounds; he's too busy puckering his lips again and making obnoxious kissy noises through his teeth.

Smirking, you reach up to catch his chin between your fingers and run your coconut-balmed lips over the curve of his ear with a wispy little murmur, “I'll have to remember that next time you try telling everyone you're the terrifying head of the largest syndicate in Japan."

"I can be terrify… ing…” Satoru croaks, throat working out a wounded noise that you swallow up with a thorough, drawn-out kiss. You warm him up indulgently, your hand settling against the clean line of his jaw while his own instinctively finds your waist once more, fitting there with the ease of long habit. Mint lingers pleasantly against his tongue, chased by the faint warmth of coffee.

When you finally separate, Satoru looks at you as though you've personally hung the morning sun beyond the windows. "Can you make sure that I'm not floating through the ceiling?" He whispers dreamily, touching the corner of his lips.

You join in on his helpless laughter, smoothing one final wrinkle from the front of his jacket. "Both feet are still on the floor, you're clear. Now, is Ijichi outside? We need to go. Suguru's probably already wondering why we're late."

Satoru greedily reaches for your hand to intertwine your fingers while the other fishes his phone out of his slacks, halfheartedly glancing over his texts without even the slightest hint of guilt. "Apparently, he's been waiting out there for a long… minute."

"Poor guy, we left him hanging," you faux pout, just as much a menace as your husband is. Making Ijichi dawdle in his car was worth every minute spent with your husband. "Let's get to it, then."

"Sure thing. My lady," Satoru dips to gild the back of your hand in one last glossy-lipped kiss, your wedding bands clinking. His eyes gleam over the ridges of your knuckles as he purrs, "Your chariot awaits."

Sweat cools on your skin. Tiny droplets tracing paths down your sides. Yet the heat radiating from Sukuna wraps around you like a living flame, keeping you warm, while his first cock rests heavy and thick against your tummy. Its warmth seeping into your skin where the fat head is nestled perfectly in the soft dip of your navel. Thick, sticky precum dribbles steadily from the slit, filling that little hollow and spills over where the taut skin beneath your belly grows warmer from inside out. The sensation makes your breath hitch.

You can feel the way your own pussy drips around his second cock, sweet juices soaking his girth and the sheets below with every flutter of your walls. Sukuna felt every little pulse, every flutter of your walls around his massive length. Your cunt's molded itself to him now, gripping him tightly and welcomes him deeper with each subtle shift as you clench helplessly around his massive length, pulsing and squeezing as if trying to pull him in even deeper.

Your fingers are fisted tight in the silk sheets, knuckles white, the fabric's scrunched up in your palms so hard that if you let go, the imprints of your grip would remain. Every muscle in your body felt deliciously sore already. The kind of ache you knew would linger tomorrow and remind you exactly who had claimed you so thoroughly.

Sukuna moves with aching gentleness. He fucked his cock into you slowly. Just a little more with each rock of his hips, pushing a little deeper, then easing back only to press forward again. Every thrust paired with a tender-rough kiss to your neck. He's sucked purple kisses into your skin, marked you as his, over and over again, he can’t help himself.

This was one of those long nights, where he had you right where he wanted you. His version of making love to his sweet wife involved this slow worship. He kissed your beautiful skin. He felt your warmth and revelled in the pace of your heartbeat under his palm. The way your blood circulated throughout your body hypnotized him. It captivated him completely alongside the tight constricting heat of your cunt around his cock.

Wet squelches were significantly audible now, sopping wetness that flowed out thickly from your cunt, made them most prominent in the quiet room. He loved those lewd noises. He loved the scent of you even more. The warm salt of your skin. The sweetness of your hair and the sweet, heady aroma of your arousal that hung thick in the air around you both. His eyes traced every detail of you.

The heat across your cheeks. The way your lips trembled. The subtle sheen of sweat making your breasts glisten. He noticed how your nipples peaked in the cool air, noticed the rapid rise and fall of your chest. The soft thrumming of your heartbeat under his fingertips calmed him. Love made him drink in all of it. You were his. Utterly and perfectly his.

By now, you started to whine as the pressure built unbearably.

“s'too much...haaah...Sukuna-” The words left your lips high pitched and dazed. Voice coming out soft and breaking on little incoherent babbles when another slow thrust nudged his thick cockhead against that deep, sensitive gummy-soft spot inside you.

Sukuna shushed you gently, lips brushing your ear. “Shh, little wife. I know. I know it stretches you so full. But you are taking me so well. Just a little more. Let me feel you.”

His crimson eyes drank in every detail of your face, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips parted on little gasps as he rocked into you more intentionally but tenderly. He knew he was big. Everything about him was. He always tried so hard not to overwhelm you. Yet the stretch of his huge cock already did that. Your body always tried its hardest to take him. It fluttered and clenched around him. You wanted to cum.

The need to is excruciating but his resilience held him back from fucking you roughly. He wanted to savor you first and only then he'd make sure to fill you full with his cum, and leak him for days. Pump load after load into you and watch your lower tummy swell with him. It was always so much. It always had been and always will be.

Right now, he savoured you. You kept taking him deeper and deeper, then his gaze left your face. He looked down at your body, eyes focused on your breasts. The slight movement of them every time you heaved for air entranced him.

The way Sukuna took his time was excruciating. One of his lower hands trailed from your shoulder down your sweat-slicked skin, cupping the soft weight of your breast. He stroked it tenderly, thumb brushing over the nipple before pinching it lightly and tugging the stiff bud. It grew firmer instantly under his touch, so sensitive and soft.

You arched with a quiet cry, and Sukuna groaned low in his throat as he leaned forward to capture your nipple between his lips, mouth closing around it tenderly as he sucked gently at first, with slow devotion. Then harder, tongue swirling and teasing around the taut bud while his hips continued those shallow, devastating thrusts.

Pleasure coiled tighter inside you. Slowly, his hands moved down, two big palms finding purchase on your soft curves. His eyes followed the expanse of your body as he gripped your waist lightly, both thumbs pressing on the swell there, his first cock still resting on your lower tummy, smearing thick, warm precum on your skin.

He massaged the sticky mess, thumbs rubbing slow circles on your bloated lower tummy. Feeling his other cock under your skin, shift as he moved and began fucking into you deeper with purpose, now that he had a proper hold on you. Pulling you down on his cock to meet his thrusts.

You cried out. It felt so good, yet it was too much. The fat tip of his cock meeting the puckered tight entrance of your cervix, bullying it sweetly. More and more, it yielded gradually. You felt him so deep. So impossibly deep. Body trying so hard to take him. Your walls fluttered and clenched, milking his thick cock with every movement. The pressure built inside you, excruciatingly perfect, until it finally broke.

The intensity crashed over you. You came hard, body shaking as your pussy milked his cock with powerful spasms. Sweet juices gushing around him. Sukuna's control finally snapped. He held you tighter, four arms wrapping around your trembling body as he fucked into you with desperate, deep strokes claiming you completely.

His second cock rubbed hot and heavy against your tummy, smearing more precum across your skin. With a guttural growl he buried himself to the hilt and came. Heavy pulses of thick cum flooded the narrow channel of your cunt. So much of it. Your lower belly swelled visibly with the warmth of him. You felt every spurt, every throb, walls milked him greedily, drawing out every drop as he emptied himself inside you.

He stayed buried deep, arms cradling you close while the last tremors ran through both of you. His forehead pressed to yours. Crimson eyes soft in the dim light as he looks at you with something close to wonder.

“My perfect wife,” he murmured, voice rough and low. One hand stroked your swollen tummy, he pressed gently feeling the evidence of his release there. “So full of me. So good for me, always.”

You whimpered softly. Your cunt still fluttering around his cock. Yet you smiled up at him, arms wrapping around his neck. Sukuna kissed you slow and sweet, savouring the taste of your lips. The warmth of your breath. The way your body yielded so completely to his. He noticed the way your lashes brushed your cheeks when your eyes closed. He noticed the faint tremor in your thighs still wrapped around him. Noticed how your pulse slowed under his palm. Every detail etched itself into him. His wife. His light in the endless darkness.

He would stay like this for a while longer, still warm against and inside you, savouring every pulse, every shared breath, every quiet moment where the King of Curses could simply hold his beloved wife and feel utterly at peace. Outside, the night continued on. Inside, wrapped in each other, time held no meaning. Only love and the burn of pleasure remained.

A broad, rough around the edges farmer with green eyes, a scar at the corner of his mouth, and a quiet way of taking care of things without making a fuss. He'd towed the car, given you place to stay, and offered a roof over your head for the whole month without asking for a thing in return.

Even Scout, his cattle dog who usually kept his distance from strangers, had taken a liking to you instantly, curling up at your feet like you'd belonged all along. What started as an awkward rescue quickly spiraled into weeks of slow, heavy tension—long looks over the dinner table, subtle brushes of calloused hands, and late nights spent on the porch swing watching the endless sky.

And now, all that lingering tension had finally snapped.

Here you were, looking out over the open yard while riding this farmer's thick cock out under the vast country sky, your back pressed against his chest as you moved. What had initially started as innocent stargazing on the porch swing had quickly turned into you bouncing helplessly on Toji's veiny dick.

Back in the city, the night sky was always washed out—drowned in neon streetlights and tall buildings that hid the horizon. But on the ranch, the sky felt impossibly massive, with thousands of bright stars that seemed to watch over the endless paddocks.

The cool air was biting against your bare skin—however, the chill was completely drowned out by the heat between you and Toji. Back pressed against his solid chest, a heavy denim jacket and thick woollen blanket barely kept your lap covered—hiding the pink silk nightgown hiked all the way up around your waist, your soaked panties long discarded somewhere on the wooden floorboards.

Warm light bled from the porch lamp, casting soft shadows across the deck while those stars stretched overhead.

A large, calloused hand gripped firmly onto your hip, as his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, locking you to his body as he shifted beneath you. The movement was a slow and deep thrust that made you gasp, your eyes darting to the sea of stars as the sound echoed through the quiet night. "Ah—wait...you're so deep."

And as Toji dragged his thumb right over your throbbing clit, a sharp, needy whine tore from your throat "Please... right there—it's too much," you gasped while arching slightly off his chest. But a firm grip on those hips kept you right where Toji wanted you. He guided you over his length, leaving trembling fingers clutching desperately at the sleeves of his flannel as plush thighs slapped against his groin, making a loud, soaking mess every time you hit his lap.

"Quiet, darlin'," Toji whispered in your ear, his warm breath fanning across your neck while sharp stubble prickled your soft skin. "Scout's asleep, and the whole valley doesn't need to hear how good i'm makin' you feel. Stretching out this sweet pussy." His slow and deep thrusts continued the steady movement. "Unless you want 'em to know," he teased, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

Every time your body rose and sank back down, that thick, veiny cock buried itself completely inside your wet cunt, hitting you balls-deep. The heavy leaks of his pre-cum mixed with your own arousal, turning every slow stroke into a messy, squelching rhythm. The blunt tip struck your sweet spot every single time until your whole frame went limp. Being stretched out so thoroughly—so slowly and deep—had breathless whimpers and moans spilling from your lips.

Toji placed both hands on your hips and tightened his grip, pulling you slightly higher up his dick until only the head remained hooked inside you, teasing the swollen entrance as a gooey ring of white cream coated the base of his cock. The denim jacket and woollen blanket slipped entirely off your lap, tumbling onto the wooden floorboards and leaving you now completely exposed. Whining at the sudden emptiness.

"T-Toji...please." You squirmed, attempting to sink back down, but he held you in place, enjoying the sight of your trembling thighs and the milky sheen coating your stretched-out, glistening entrance.

"Look at you. Squeezin' my dick like you're never gonna let go," Toji chuckled, planting a sharp, playful smack to your bare ass that made you sob and squirm even more. "Got me leakin' all over your thighs before i've even finished with you."

With a desperate whine, you forced your hips down against his tip, slick glazing his cockhead. Satisfied with your reaction, Toji let out a low hum and yanked you straight down, driving every single inch back into your core in one brutal stroke.

"A-ah shit..." The sudden fullness made you moan, your head falling back against his shoulder, vision blurring as you stared blindly up into the endless, star-dusted sky. Your hands gripped his muscular thighs while he held you pinned against his groin.

Overwhelmed by the intense stretch, you turned your head to the side, burying your face in the crook of his neck—inhaling the scent of his 3-in-1 body wash and the cigarette he'd smoked earlier.

His calloused hand left your waist, sliding up to cradle the side of your face. Big, rough fingers cupped your jaw, tilting your head back until his green eyes met yours in the dim light. Without a word, Toji captured your lips in a deep, filthy kiss. His tongue slipped past your teeth to meet yours, swallowing the high, desperate noises you made while his other hand remained locked onto your hip—grinding you down onto him over and over until the mess between your legs was dripping down his thighs, soaking right through his pants.

Your core had turned slick and sticky, the wet friction slapping loudly against the quiet background of the night. Every slow thrust made your walls clench helplessly around his dick.

"Fuck, darlin'..." Toji rasped, nudging your back forward so you leaned over your own lap.

From behind, he could admire the filthy sight of your body taking every inch of him, the white froth bubbling at your entrance with every deep plunge. His fingers dug into your hips as he lifted you higher again—pulling you off almost to his tip—then guided you back down all the way, taking every single girthy inch until his pelvis slammed against your ass. "Look how deep you're takin' me. Cunt swallowing my cock whole, milkin' me like a good girl."

A soft broken groan escaped you, fingers digging into his firm thighs as he forced your body to keep bouncing at that deep and wet pace. He shifted his posture beneath you, spreading his legs wider on the swing to let you sink deeper, his hips grinding in circles inside your aching walls that made your eyes roll back.

Looking over your shoulder, your eyes met his. Toji had a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his scarred mouth.

"Pretty little city girl out here taking a good ol' farmer's cock like your pussy was built just for it," he teased, reaching around front to pull down the neckline of your silk nightgown.

He exposed your bare tits to the cool air, letting them bounce freely every time you sank all the way down onto his dick. His rough palm molded the soft, plush skin before his thumb and forefinger pinched your hardened nipple, pulling a ragged sob straight from your lungs. "M-mm—feels so good..." Your head tossed back, as your tits bounced in sync.

His grip on your hips tightened, slamming you onto his length. The porch swing creaked violently against the pace. No longer slow, he bucked his hips upward, driving himself right against your cervix with wet, heavy slaps that had you crying out.

You bounced helplessly in his lap—every time he bucked upward, the wet squelch of your sticky skin echoed off the wooden porch, streaks of warm cream coating his cock and your sticky entrance.

"You like being stretched out on my porch, darlin'?" Toji murmured, planting another hard smack on your ass before soothing the stinging skin with his rough palm.

He cupped your jaw, pressing your back flat against his chest as he tilted your head up, trailing hot kisses down your throat. "You like knowin' i'm about to stuff this tight cunt full of my cum?"

Yes! Toji—fuck, yes!" You moaned, fingers digging into his thighs as you continued to grind frantically against his lap. Your cunt clamped down around him, your inner walls clenching onto his length. "F-fuck—i'm cumming—i'm—"

"Mhm, take it," he whispered against your ear. Toji's thumb rubbing your swollen clit one last time. And as your orgasm crashed over you, your walls fluttered, squeezing his length while you stared helplessly at the stars. And with a low grunt, he drove himself upward one last time, burying himself balls-deep, holding you pinned to his lap.

Hot, thick ropes of cum spurted deep inside your pulsing cunt, stuffing you full to the brim. He groaned against your neck as he pumped his warm seed into you, making sure not a single ounce was wasted, hot cream leaking out around his dick and dripping onto his thigh.

He didn't pull out. He kept you pressed against him, driving himself in just an extra fraction of an inch, making sure every drop stayed inside you.

Neither of you moved. You slumped entirely against his chest, chests heaving and sticky, while Toji held you close—his cock still buried deep, keeping you completely stuffed as you both admired the stars overhead.

a/n: ig u could say toji made her see stars el oh el also wtf 1k?! someone eat me out rn 😗👀 thank u guys sm✌️genuinely appreciate every single one of u #muchluv <3

this felt like anything but euphoria.

it felt like hell.

naoya had insisted that you have a natural birth—without any kind of epidural or any medication to help numb the pain, which left you feeling everything. left you feeling like you were being wedged apart into two pieces, feeling every torturous inch that your ob-gyn pushed further in.

nearly their entire arm was in your vagina, examining how the process was coming along. “7 centimeters dilated, baby’s positioning into the birth canal,” they note before glancing over at you, “okay, you’re in active labor. it shouldn’t be long now before you’re able to start pushing.”

contractions wrack your body more frequently than they did when you first arrived, hitting you like a wave every three minutes. it starts off painful—like someone’s desperate to wring out your uterus like a wet dishrag, pressure building up in your pelvis and back, each one lasting about 40 seconds before the short lived relief comes.

each breath that leaves your lungs feels ragged, the nurses by your sides raising their hands up. “inhale,” they lightly order, and you know they’re just trying to be kind—but fuck, if it doesn’t feel impossible—before dropping their hands ten seconds later. “exhale. keep doing that for us, relax your pelvic muscles.”

about half an hour passes before your ob-gyn checks again, cervix dilated to the size of a bagel by now. the baby was coming. it was happening now. in a span of seconds, a group of nurses rushed in with a bunch of machines in hand.

your fingers dig into the bedsheets next to you, husband refusing to come join you for the birth. to let you squeeze his hand halfway to death. "you seriously think i'm going to stand for two hours? get over yourself."

he plopped his ass down on the couch in the corner of the room, resting his arm behind his head while the other held up his phone. naoya was busy watching a stream, a scowl on his face every time you wailed too loudly. a scowl he shot at everyone who dared to interrupt him, even the nurses who'd asked if he was sure he didn't want to be next to you.

a bubbling sob only broke from his throat once—when an old charlie kirk video popped on his screen. his hand covered his eyes, grieving the man as if they’d ever had a conversation together. “OHHH,” a loud wail erupted from his throat, distracting nearly everyone in the room, “charlie, my goat, i miss you,” he babbled, wiping away faux tears before continuing his doomscrolling.

meanwhile, hot tears drip down your cheeks. contractions rush through your body, the urge to push bearing down on your pelvis. “okay push.” you do just as instructed, taking in a deep breath like you’d been advised. slowly, you exhale when you manage to pull upwards, your body slumped against the bed.

the first pushes don’t compare to the pain that you feel when the baby’s head finally starts to crown, when you start to feel yourself getting stretched past your limits. a burn settles in between your thighs, an immense pressure building down on your pelvic floor.

the pain didn’t even come with each push, it came with each contraction that racked your body with a newfound vengeance. pushing came to you like a relief, a reprieve. “head’s out,” you could hear nurses talking amongst themselves, a small sigh leaving your lips. relief filled you instantly, a sign that you were almost done. that your baby was almost out.

a loud shriek pierces through the hospital room, the sound not quite registering in your mind just yet. you blinked and there he was, your baby boy. misty tears clouded your vision, unable to even compute that your boy was just….finally here.

naoya refuses to get anywhere close to the baby, nose scrunching up at the sheer audacity the nurses had to ask of him such a request. “my maid can handle it,” he simply states, said maid quickly scampering off their post to where the baby was being held. with a steady hand, they took a hold of the umbilical cord and snipped it.

the baby is cleaned up, changed into a newborn diaper before it’s handed over to his father. he immediately starts wailing upon being set in naoya’s arms (probably sensing his own father’s malicious aura.) “you wouldn’t want to be like your cousin maki. calm down.”

the baby took that as a protest, only wailing even louder against him. with a critical gaze, naoya starts looking over the baby to see what he could find wrong. what needed to be modified, what he could find that he could blame on you. he only lazily rocks the baby and forth, if only to continue his examination without the baby’s wails ringing in his ear.

“your maxilla is underdeveloped,” naoya mutters to himself, disappointed in a baby who’s been out in the world for maybe five seconds max, “we’ll have to train your masseters to tighten the skin around your bigonial.”

your husband naoya was nothing if not tuned into every looksmaxxing video that popped up on his timeline, gifting nearly all his paycheck into streamers rambling about red-pill politics and conspiracies, weightlifting, and their own twisted ideas of what the ideal woman should be.

not that any of those streamers ever noticed him. never had and probably never will. it didn’t really matter, though. he’d still send in paycheck after paycheck without fail.

one of the nurses standing by takes the baby from his arms, a quiet coo leaving the infant once he was taken away. she went through the clinical assessments needed—measuring, weighing, and finally getting him to drink a bottle of warm milk. for a newborn, he goes down without much trouble.

they turn to address you next. "so throughout these next few weeks, you really want to be taking it easy while your body heals. that means no heavy lifting, no cardio, baths, stairs, sex," your nurse lists off, turning around to grab a pamphlet full of steps you should take at home.

"look, look, when can my woman start working out all that pregnancy fat?" naoya cuts the nurse off with a question of his own, seemingly ignoring every last word she'd just said. rudely, he snatches the pamphlet away from her fingers, reading through it like it insulted the zen’in bloodline.

the nurse in question merely blinks, shock temporarily painting her features before a strained smile plasters itself on her face. “like i said, it’s ideal to wait a few weeks. maybe two or three months.”

—

it's recommended to follow a strict schedule of staying in bed for and yet, that schedule doesn't exist to your husband. he had been more than eager to sign his last name onto the birth certificate before you left the hospital, taking the paper from your hands before you could even look at it.

but when it came to actually being a father, he was completely blind to the responsibility it came with. every time the baby wailed, every time there was a dirty diaper, it was you having to stand up. every time the baby was hungry, it was you. all while still making sure that he was satisfied, that he wasn’t hungry.

the normal rule of thumb would be five days in bed, allowing for your body to heal and for you to bond with the baby, the next five days where you could sit up on the bed, move around a little more on the california king, while the last five days would be where you finally start moving around the house.

you’re lucky if you get five hours to lay down, to finally find a comfortable position to take a short nap in, before your husband’s nudging your shoulder when the baby starts to cry across the hall. every movement sends a surge of pain running straight in between your legs, and yet, you keep moving.

you’re running on fumes and sheer willpower throughout the next few weeks, practically living out of the nursery changing diapers, feeding, calming the baby down. naoya really only came in when you were struggling with the latter, “shut that goddamn baby up. you’re interrupting my stream.”

if it wasn’t dealing with your overgrown man child of a husband, it was the cramps that racked your body each time you came to breastfeed. “as your uterus shrinks back to its normal size, you should experience heavy bleeding,” your ob-gyn explained, “it’s called involution. and as you go through the motions of breastfeeding, oxytocin is released in which is where your cramps come from.”

your own body was trying to kill you, you were certain.

and despite it all, you start settling into your new routine of sleep deprivation in favor of taking care of your newborn girl, catching if only five minutes of rest on the toilet or in the shower at a time. that is, well, before you’re woken up by a shriek shaking each hall of the house, forcing you to get back into your regularly scheduled program.

“put on some makeup, woman. you’re looking horrible,” disgust paints over naoya’s features when he makes the snide comment. you’re aware of you look—eye bags that make you look like the walking dead on your feet, pajamas half stained in baby throw up and milk, yet there’s not much you can do.

you don’t look in the mirror, not wanting to face the reality that naoya might be right.

he starts coming in with lipstick marks staining the collar of his white button down, purplish marks bruising the sides of his neck that he wasn’t even trying to hide. like a middle schooler, for heaven’s sake. smelling like cheap floral perfume and mouthing half assed excuses when he steps into the room.

“start going to the gym if you don’t want me looking for another woman,” he says upon stepping in to your shared bedroom at two in the morning, the man not even bothering to keep his voice down in lieu of the sleeping baby in your arms. he’d barely gone down, putting up a fuss. “you’ve been cleared already, haven’t you?”

a quiet sigh leaves your lips, “yeah, i’ll do that,” you find yourself muttering, “i’ll look for a gym tomorrow.”

“no need. i’ll select the right program for you.”

the logical decision in this moment would be to leave your husband, you know that. the desire’s gnawed deep into your head, each venom-laced word pushing you deeper and deeper to your limit. but you’re also aware of your situation. you’re unemployed, with no prospect of a job so far, with a newborn baby and nowhere to stay.

maybe suguru would let you back in if you asked her—she always did seem to have your wellbeing on the forefront of her mind. but you haven’t spoken to her in years, not since you moved out, not since you sent out a wedding invitation she didn’t respond to. it would be wrong to ask her for a favor all of a sudden.

so you do what you have to for the time being. what you need to do until you can get yourself back up on your feet, until you can make sure you and your baby will be fine if you so much as decide to divorce him. if that means having to go to an overpriced gym with two hours of sleep and a surge of caffeine, then so be it.

—

stepping in through the door, you’re welcome by the sight of women working out on machines, a few standing around talking amongst themselves and sharing tips. the sight catches you off guard if only for a second, surprised that naoya had been considerate enough to get you a membership somewhere you’d be comfortable in.

though deep down, you’re sure he’s insecure enough not to want you working out with a bunch of guys. either way, you’re not really complaining. the atmosphere’s calming, a nice reprieve from testosterone and men trying to prove something to each other. your shoulders instantly fall, a sense of relief washing over you.

“hi, welcome in, i’m manami. what can i help you with?” you’re greeted by a pink haired woman in a black sports bra and a pair of shorts that make her pale legs go on for miles. your eyes nearly boggle out of your head—you’ve only been here for five seconds and surrounded by some of the prettiest women.

you clear your throat, “my husband signed me up for this gym. i’m not sure if i have to register or anything?”

“just sign your name here.” she passes over a clipboard, “and i’ll have to ask for your id to look for you in the system.”

digging through several layers of diapers and baby wipes, you manage to find your id at the bottom. you pass it over, signing yourself in while she types away in her computer. there’s a relaxing song playing in the background, chatter and the sound of weights being set on the racks filling in the rest of the noise.

you might actually like it here.

“okay, i got you all set up in the system,” manami speaks up, looking up from her computer. she passes over your id, gesturing to a private room in the further back of the gym. “you’re scheduled to be with toji. she’ll take good care of you, don’t worry.”

while the rest of the women seem nice enough, some giving you a little smile and a wave as you pass by, you can’t help but feel like you’re out of place. they’re all fit in either a pair of leggings or shorts and a sports bra—while you settled for an old hoodie and a pair of sweats. when’s the last time you’ve been to a gym anyways? maybe two, three years ago? they all seem to know exactly what they’re doing, seem to have a routine all figured out.

deep breath. inhale. exhale. your fingers grasp around the door knob to toji’s room, hand already clammy and sweaty without so much as working out. okay, you got this. on the count of one…two…three.

the door swings open to reveal a room full of heavy lifting equipment, from dumbbells the size of your head to a stairmaster that you dreaded even sparing a glance to. there’s something written on a little whiteboard in the corner of the room, in sloppy handwriting: welcome to toji’s torturous training!

oh great heavens.

your ob-gyn had recommended taking things slow even now that you’ve ‘healed,’ starting your way up from cardio and light weights back into your regular routine. maybe even just light stretches if that’s all you were up to at the time.

not the extreme endurance training program naoya had so graciously signed you up a week ago. you think about turning around, making some dumb excuse about the car breaking down or something when you hear someone call your name out.

in front of you stands what is possibly the prettiest woman you’ve seen.

there’s nothing hesitant about the way that she moves, about the way that she walks as she steps closer to you. she’s self assured, confident. and well, who wouldn’t be? the compression shirt she has on marks every dip and every hard line of muscle in her body, from her biceps nearly bulging out the sleeves to her abdomen—was that an eight pack??

black strands of hair fall from the loose ponytail she put her hair in, framing her face perfectly. emerald eyes glisten underneath the gym lights with something akin to amusement, her scarred lips raising in a smirk. “not thinkin’ of runnin’ away from me just yet, are you?”

“no, of course not!” you let out a nervous laugh, setting your training bag down on the floor. if she sensed your awkwardness, she didn’t say anything about it.

“since you’re a newbie and all, why don’t you go ahead and get started on the treadmill for fifteen minutes as a warm-up?” your heart nearly drops to your ass. that’s the warm-up? you move at a snail’s pace, trudging your way over to the machine before setting it at the lowest setting.

walking fifteen minutes didn’t seem to be too bad. except of course, you didn’t get to walk for more than ten seconds when toji padded next to your area. “you didn’t come here to walk, run for me.” the treadmill beeped with each tap of her fingers, your hands gripping onto the handles as you start to settle into a sprint.

you’re out of breath by the time that the warm-up’s ended, chest heaving and sweat dripping and clinging to your back. plopping down on the cold linoleum floor, you hastily prop open your water bottle and practically gulp half of it down in one go.

toji takes a few steps forward until she hovers right above your field of vision, extending a fluffy white towel your way. a small spark makes itself up your fingertips down to your spine, the shared touch enough to send jolts coursing through your body. you desperately need to get yourself together.

it’s almost infuriating how put together she still is, the woman without so much as breaking a sweat while you were heaving out your lungs. “don’t drink your water so fast,” she warned, lightly pulling your half-empty bottle away, “that’s how you cramp up, wouldn’t want that, right?”

in all honesty, you expected toji to kick you out of her program.

the high endurance training program had been designed to deal with those who didn’t get out of breath going up a flight of stairs, for those who sought out to improve their cardiovascular endurance. you weren’t her target audience by a long mile, you knew that much.

“you wanna tell me why you’re out of breath at the warmup?” she questions, taking a seat in front of you. there’s no judgement in her voice, maybe amusement and a little curiosity, but no, never scrutiny. she takes her towel back, tossing it off to the side.

“i gave birth a couple months ago,” understanding settles in her features when you speak, you decide to continue, “i’m still getting used to moving around again, i’m sorry. i know i’m not exactly what you’re looking for in this program, so i can go ahead and quit if you w-” your rant gets stopped when she places her hand on your shoulder.

“i’m still gonna take care of you, mama. don’t worry your pretty lil’ head about that, we just gotta build up your stamina again,” fuck, how you didn’t wish she was helping you build your stamina in a different way. preferably with you underneath, legs wrapped around her waist while her hands explore every dip of y—

nope. not thinking about your trainer like that. no, no, no, no. you don’t even realize you’re shaking your head until toji raises a brow, “you still wanna quit on me?”

your eyes widen, hands up coming up as you shake your head again. “n-no, not quitting on you. i was just lost in thought, sorry,” you retort with a small, nervous laugh.

“like i said, i’ll get your stamina back up before we get to working on some of the harder stuff.”

—

surprisingly, toji is gentle getting you used to working out again. always starting out with a few minutes on the treadmill, gradually increasing the speed on the machinery before aiding you with a couple stretches.

“juuust a lil’ further,” you hear behind you, her hands gripping your hips. your breath catches in your throat at the sudden proximity, your back going straight as a rim rod. she moves your back leg slowly, forcing you to deepen the stretch you were trying to do. “there we go, sugar. perfect.” you desperately need to change your panties after that day.

and even though naoya had originally planned for this program to make you lose all the weight he deemed unacceptable, toji helped you to embrace it. sure, she still aided you in your goal, but she also gave you tips on how to build muscle. from building up the weights day by day to giving you meal plans with plenty of protein, she was there by your side.

you found yourself looking forward to going, usually being there just when they were opening up. manami had learned your name by now, a couple of the women had decided to invite you out to lunch, and it finally felt like you were starting to be accepted somewhere. and toji, gods toji, you were either delusional or she had a crush just the same way you did her, often saying you a cup of coffee when you came by early, a cookie her son megumi made on your cheat days.

she found every way to keep her hands on you, to have some kind of contact with you too. whether it be adjusting your form even though you’d spent hours browsing through workout videos and apps making sure you got it right to her fingers just lingering a little longer every time she passed you a towel.

seeing her became your favorite part of the day.

—

on valentine’s day, people normally take the initiative to make sure their partners know how appreciated they are. whether it be booking a dinner, whether it just be spending time together, or a simple teddy bear, the day is dedicated to love. and yet, your husband doesn’t so much as greet you when you step out of the house this morning.

last week when you’d brought up going to a restaurant in passing, he’d simply responded, “you’re still losing all that weight, woman. you think i’d go out in public with you?”

you didn’t mention the topic again, not even as a joke.

so you decide to go to the gym today. it’s better than spending your day alone, hoping that your husband would come into the room and pay attention to you. hoping that he’d have something positive to say for once. you’re not really sure where he’s even at, just said he was leaving without saying anything else.

you’re not really sure you want to know either way.

the gym’s relatively empty when you step inside, not even the regulars bothered to come in today. your footsteps echo across the floor, making your way over to toji’s room. you knock on the door once before you’re greeted with the sight of her. she’s in nothing but a skimpy sports bra, tits nearly spilling out of the cups and a pair of sweatpants.

she doesn’t seem surprised to see you and yet she still asks, “what’re you doing here? thought ya might’ve been at home with your husband.”

the mention of naoya, even in passing, is enough to dampen your mood if only temporarily. “my husband isn’t home right now. thought i’d come to see you instead.”

toji merely shrugs, opening the door a little wider. “don’t got anything planned, but start with the treadmill then.”

you make your way onto the treadmill, adjusting the settings before moving in a light jog. it’s easier than breaking out into a full sprint, you come to realize. dispersing your energy throughout the entirety of the run instead of using it all up in the first minute.

it doesn’t feel like your lungs are on the verge of collapse anymore when you step off, drenched in sweat regardless though. you take a few sips of your water, enough to hydrate before setting your cup back down.

“don’t ya wanna take all that off, sugar? you’re drippin’ in sweat,” toji points out, gesturing to the thick hoodie you had on. it did feel like you were on the verge of getting heat stroke, the material only making you sweat even more, but taking it off would mean being exposed.

so you simply shake your head, only pulling down the sleeves of your hoodie even more. as if you could shrink into the earth if given the chance. “my husband wouldn’t think it’s appropriate for me to be showing off a bunch of saggy skin.”

toji takes your face in one hand, calloused from the heavy weights she spends hours lifting but soft, gentle as she cradles your cheek in her palm. her other hand holds a warm towel, her pats gentle against the beads of sweat running down your forehead.

her gorgeous eyes scan your body up and down, and you swear you imagine it, but her gaze lingers just a little bit on your lips. “husband’s an idiot if he doesn’t know how you pretty you are,” she murmurs, the towel discarded haphazardly somewhere behind her.

a second passes by. neither one of you dare to move, to even let out a breath in case the moment passes by. your eyes go down her lips. she stares at you like she wants to devour you. there’s a little voice in the back of your head—telling you all about how guilty you should feel.

and you should. you’re married and you’ve been thinking about this woman bending you like a pretzel. that little voice gets shut down by the sheer desire coursing through your body, by feeling wanted by something other than your vibrator.

sex with naoya had always felt like a chore in its own. like another task to check off a list. it was always about him, about what makes him cum and what he wants to choose. the man refused to do anything other than prodding his fingers in your cunt, giving two lazy pumps before sticking his dick in. and still had the audacity to ask you to eat his ass.

“that’s how a woman shows her true worth to an alpha male.” you’re not sure he’s completely straight.

you lean in, meeting her halfway before your eyes flutter close. the taste of her lips feels better than you’ve imagined, a mix of her cherry chapstick and the fruity shake she has in the mornings. one of her hands moves to the back of your head, the other moving to the small of your back. keeping you impossibly close against her, your lips interlocked and moving in tandem.

a string of saliva connects the two of you when you finally pull away for air, your eyes half lidded. you want more, you want to kiss her again and again. her fingers move down to the hem of your hoodie, your arms coming up as she slides it off your body. “real fuckin’ idiot, you’re so fucking pretty,” she breathes out, your hand coming up to her cheek.

the first exchange between you two had been tentative, a slow test to see how much you were willing to go with. but this was much more needy, much more charged than before. she tugs at your bottom lip, greedily swallowing every broken moan and shaky breath that leaves your lips. her tongue moves into your mouth, exploring before moving against yours.

you want more of her.

slowly, your lips make their way down her body. toji’s head lolls back when your lips move down to her neck, your lips kissing on every inch of skin as you start your descent. you move your tongue across her earlobe, a full body shiver racking through her body. for someone so cocky, she sure is sensitive.

the tip of your tongue darts out, faint hints of salt landing on your tongue with each drop of sweat you lick off her abdomen. you start tracing each one of her abs, tracing each defined ridge. all the while, you work on sliding off your sweats, kicking them off to the side.

toji’s hand comes down to rest on your cheek, an amused smile on her face as she watches you worship every inch of her abdomen and body. “pretty when you do that, sugar.” the praise goes straight to your cunt, your thighs squeezing together to alleviate some of that need. you place little kisses against the beauty marks painting her stomach, laving over the small dots with your tongue and following the trail like a constellation.

you kiss alongside the band of her shorts, lightly tugging the material down with your teeth until you’ve managed to pull them down. she’s wearing a black harness on her hips, each clasp squeezing around her beefy thighs.

“do you always stay strapped up?” you blurt out, a small laugh leaving her lips.

“yeah, i got both on me.” somehow, you don’t doubt she’s being serious. she digs through her equipment bag next to her, weights and dumbbells clattering against one another when she pulls something else out. a double ended dildo the same color of her skin, a couple veins running up the sides of each shaft and about eight inches on each side. you nearly drool at the sight.

“come on, mama. put it on, i’m sure you got it.” you take the dildo from her hands, sliding the base onto the ‘o’ shaped hole in front. running one side of the dildo against her slick folds, her juices glistening underneath the light. “fuck, keep goin’. slide it in,” and you, you start sliding inch by inch into her cunt, watching her puffy walls clench around the toy stretching her out, “just like that, push all of it in.”

you’re not sure when’s the last time you ever felt so wanted. not with your husband, that’s for sure. maybe with sukuna or suguru? you still remember how passionate both of them had been, how sukuna fucked like she wanted to ruin everyone else after. how suguru worked you up just to edge you, just to keep you wanting more.

but neither of them could’ve prepared you for how you feel now.

either way, you’re eager to please the beautiful woman in front of you. your hands move to her glutes, muscles firm in between your palms. your fingers squish at the flesh, kneading her thick ass in between your palms. your lips press against her inner thighs, kissing against the tightly corded muscles before making your way to her dick.

and then, toji holds up you up like you weigh nothing. one second you’re on your knees, ready to suck and the next you’re upside down, blood rushing to your head with a plastic dick swinging back and forth in your face. her fingers slide your panties down (up? from this angle, you’re not sure), tossing them aside.

“open up wiiiide, yeah, just like that, sugar.” your lips part open, tongue flat, while her hips slowly bucking the strap into your awaiting mouth. she fucks herself onto the other side of the strap, pushing the dildo in and outtt of her slick cunt.

“mmm—oh fuck!” she starts off the same teasing, torturous way that you did. pressing kiss after kiss on your inner thighs before licking a thick stripe from your dripping hole up to your aching clit. the tip of her tongue traces your slick folds, “taste so fucking good. pussy like this should be worshipped.”

you wrap your lips around the silicone tip, strings of saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth. your tongue swirls around the flesh colored plastic, flat as you lick a stripe on the underside. starting from the base up to the tip before you wrap your lips around it again, head bobbing as you take more and more of her in.

slick glistens on her face as toji rocks you back and forth against her, smearing your juices across her chin and her lips. she spits a messy glob of saliva onto your cunt, your walls clenching around absolutely before she’s lapping it back up again. swiping her tongue uppp and downn like a credit card, tasting every drop dripping out.

her lips wrap around your clit, lightly suctioning around the nub. her tongue rolls around in tight, little circles, toes curling in your beaters. two fingers take place where her tongue was dipping in, pushing in past that original resistance before curling an inch in. hitting your g-spot like she personally had a gps for it.

“aah—fuck! toji, toji, fuck!” you mewl, nails digging into her thighs. you’re overwhelmed with pleasure, almost forgetting you’re supposed to be sucking the strap. but how could you focus when she’s eating you out like a five course meal? her fingers pump in and out of you quickly, that little coil in your belly starting to tighten up.

your throat relaxes, taking more and more of her length in your mouth. globs of spit dribble around the shaft, the plastic glistening underneath the harsh gym lights every time you pull away. her hips start thrusting again, fucking the strap into your mouth and against herself. “take that fucking dick, just like that, fucking made for this.”

toji ruts the strap deeper and deeper into the wet cavern of your mouth, your cheeks hollowing out to take in inch by inch. you pull off with a wet pop, your head bobbing around her cock while one of your hands comes around to squeeze around the base. your eyes flutter shut, drooling around the strap the further it slips down your throat.

“cum for me, mama. i got you, toji’s got you, take what you need, there ya gooo,” she all but talks you during your orgasm, drawing out little moans from you in response.

your legs quiver and shake with your impending orgasm, your nails digging crescents onto the flesh of her thick thighs. it’s all just muscle underneath your fingertips. “f-fuck, toji, fuck, gonna cum,” you whine around the tip, her grip on your legs tightening.

her tongue rolls around your sensitive clit, her fingers prod against that spot inside, your orgasm washing over you like a wave seconds after. “oh fuck!” you tighten around her fingers impossibly so before clear spurts of your release coat them completely. toji doesn’t hesitate in taking her fingers out, her tongue greedily swiping across each digit to get every drop.

that’s not enough to satiate her. “fuuuuck, you taste too good,” it comes out as a muffled groan spoken into your cunt, her jaw slack as she licks away every last remaining drop. it’s only after she’s finished with her fill that she sets you down, your hand tightly wrapped around her wrist while you get over your dizziness.

the two of you are in front of a mirror, one you’re not exactly keen on looking at. toji moves behind you, swiping the saliva coated strap in between your folds. you let out a pathetic moan when the tip catches onto your clit, your back melting against her chest. “can i fuck you?” the question catches you off guard.

you nod, slightly out of breath as you respond, “please.”

she moves the strap in between once more before slipping it in your hole, slowly pushing the tip in. your hands come up in front of you, fingertips smudging the glass in front of you. inch by inch, she slowly starts to push the dildo in, a broken gasp leaving you when she bottoms out. she doesn’t move just yet, pressing kisses against your shoulder.

there’s nothing rushed about the way that she moves at all, nothing that indicated she wasn’t savoring this moment just as you were. toji starts off slow, pulling out before stuffing you back completely, going deep and slow. her hands grip your hips, your walls stretching around the dildo with each thrust.

toji holds your head in between her biceps, her arm lazily curling upward to keep you in place. to keep your half lidded-gaze staring at your reflection in the mirror. she starts moving faster, her hips snapping against yours until that’s all you can hear other than the blood rushing through your head. you refuse to look at yourself in the mirror for too long, though.

she only squeezes her biceps around your head, forcing to you to move your head up.

she tilts your head back to the glass when she catches sight of it. “there we go. look at yourself, look at how pretty you are,” her voice drops to a low purr right by your ear, “tell me how pretty you are or i’ll stop.”

“i-i’m…” you trail off, your gaze wavering from the mirror. toji squeezes her bicep around your head, veins bulging as she keeps you in a tight grip. “i’m pretty.”

toji lets out a quiet tut, shaking her head as her thrusts came to a complete stop. the loss of friction had a whine ripping from your throat, your walls clenching tightly around the dildo. she only ground her hips against her side of the strap, fucking herself onto the dildo stuffed inside. “say it like you mean it, mama,” the command came out like a breathy whisper on the side of your neck.

naoya had conditioned you to believe you weren’t beautiful, that you were lucky that he even bothered to lower his standards enough to date you. he kept you wanting, with breadcrumbs of little compliments occasionally scattered around—“you don’t look so bad today.” or “the makeup’s finally starting to make its effect.”

but when toji looked at you like this, like you were something worth revering, like every inch of you was perfect, you wanted to believe that you were. you didn’t notice all the imperfections naoya had pointed out, you noticed the hard work that you’ve been putting into.

“i’m pretty.”

“damn right you are. prettiest woman around here,” her hips snapped against yours, that relentless pace from before picking back up. you were close but so was she, fucking herself desperately onto the six inches stuffed inside of her cunt. she moves your head to turn to her, meeting your lips in a kiss that’s nothing but tongue and teeth. nothing but desperation and need.

her lips trail down, biting down on your neck enough to leave a deep bruise before her hands come up to your tits. she squeezes the pebbled nubs before her mouth latches onto one hungrily, swirling and laving her tongue around your areola. “wait—” you don’t get a chance to finish your warning, milk dropping onto her expecting tongue.

“taste good all over, fuuuck,” toji sounds completely at bliss, her eyes fluttered shut as she laps at every drop of pearly white milk spilling from your tits. she sucks on your left before moving to your right, giving them both the same amount of devotion. your cunt squelch squelches with each of her thrusts, your hips rocking yourself back onto her.

one of toji’s hands moves in between your legs, fingertips rubbing against your clit in quick, little circles. you shake and writhe around her strap, unable to keep your attention on the mirror. “look at yourself while i fuck you,” she orders behind you, your eyes darting back up to the mirror. she’s looking at you through the glass, sweat dripping across her forehead as she pushed you closer to your orgasm.

“o-oh shiiit gonna cum, gonna cum!” your vision nearly blanks with the intensity of your orgasm, the stimulation to your sensitive tits, to your clit, to your cunt, pushing you well past the edge. your body racks with aftershocks well after, your release coating the strap in a translucent slick. it doesn’t take toji that long to reach her orgasm either, her thrusts stuttering until she comes with a shaky moan.

neither one of you move for a second. toji keeps you close to her body, her breathing ragged and her heartbeat syncing up with yours. “you’re so perfect, mama,” she murmurs against your shoulder, biting down. she slides the strap off carefully, holding eye contact with you as she sucks your juices off the plastic. savoring it like a michelin three star meal.

—

getting back home, you sit in the parking lot for just a few minutes. divorce papers sit on your lap, the decision weighing heavy on your mind. mostly about how it’s going to impact you. how it’s going to impact the baby. there’s no love between you and naoya, there hasn’t been in a while and you’re not sure it ever really was there.

you suppose that’s good enough reason to leave him.

he’s not home when you step inside, making this decision all that much easier. you slip off your wedding band, leaving it on top of the papers before making quick work of packing up what little stuff you do have in your closet. the baby’s better off with the zen’in clan, you’re sure of that—he’d be treated like royalty just for being naoya’s son.

now it’s up to you to decide where the hell you’re going to live, how the hell you’re going to pick yourself back up after depending on naoya for so long.

dating isn’t on your agenda in the meantime, not while you’re still dealing with the aftermath of your ex husband and his crazy family. toji had been a fun experience—she’d helped you gain your confidence back and gave you a good orgasm in exchange.

that was all it was, though. a good experience.

"Nuh-uh," she whispers, her breath hot against your ear. "We're doing something different today."

"Huh?"

She shifts, fully laying down and lining her tits with your clit with help of her hand. She circles her own nipple, making it pebble up nice and tight.

"Yuki, what are you doing?" you ask softly, supporting yourself in the headboard.

She doesn't answer you, instead she chuckles and adjusts herself, guiding your hips up a little as she positions one of her breasts right where you need it. The first brush of her stiff nipple against your slick clit makes you gasp, a soft whine slipping out before you can stop it.

"Yu-Yuki!"

"There we go," she coos. "Go on, baby. Rub yourself on it. Make yourself feel good."

You blink, the anticipation making your mind cloudy. "Are you sure?"

"Super sure, doll, don't waist time."

Your hips roll forward on their own, sliding your wet folds along the hard peak of her nipple. It's so intimate, so filthy in the best way. Her breast is plush and warm under you, giving just enough as you grind down. Yuki bites her lip, clearly enjoying the view, her free hand squeezing the soft flesh around her nipple to make it even more prominent for you.

"Fuck, I can feel how soaked you are," she says, voice dripping with amusement. "Look at you humping my tit like you can't get enough. Whiny little thing."

"Mmh, ahh!"

A desperate moan escapes you as you pick up the pace, your clit catching perfectly on her nipple with every roll of your hips. It's slippery and hot, the friction building fast. Yuki doesn't just sit there though. She's a total tease, tilting her breast away just when it feels too good, making you chase it with a frustrated whimper.

"Aww, don't pout," she laughs softly, finally letting you have it again. She presses her tit closer, letting you grind harder. "You love this, don't you? Riding my nipple like it's your favorite toy. Bet you could cum just from this if I let you."

"Yes, fuck... feels so so good,"

Your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white as you rock against her. Every slide sends sparks through your body, your clit throbbing and aching for more. Yuki's other hand roams, pinching your own nipples lightly, then trailing down to tease your entrance without giving you any relief.

"You're getting so loud," she whispers. "Those pretty whines... keep making them for me, yeah?"

The pressure builds, your hips moving faster, slick sounds filling the room as you rub yourself all over her perfect nipple. Yuki starts moving too, gently bouncing her breast to match your rhythm, making the sensation even more intense.

"Slower," she commands suddenly, pulling back just a fraction. You whine loud, chasing her desperately. "That's it. Beg for it with those hips. Show me how bad you need my tits."

"Please, Yuki," you gasp out. "I need it... please l-let me..."

She rewards you by pressing forward again, letting you grind deep and needy. Your clit is swollen and sensitive now, every pass over her nipple pulling more whines and moans from your throat. You're a total mess, sweat slicking your skin, thighs trembling as you ride her breast like nothing else matters.

Yuki's breathing gets heavier too, her cheeks flushed. She loves seeing you like this, completely undone for her. "God, you're so cute when you're desperate. Cum all over my nipple if you can."

The words push you closer to the edge. You grind harder, faster, the wet slide of your pussy against her stiff peak driving you wild. Yuki squeezes her breast again, angling it perfectly so her nipple flicks right against your most sensitive spot with every thrust of your hips.

Your moans turn into high, needy cries. "Yuki! Yuki... fuck, I'm so close..."

"Make a mess for me."

Your body tenses, hips stuttering as pleasure crashes through you. You whine loud and broken, grinding through your orgasm, slick coating her nipple and the curve of her breast. Yuki keeps you there, letting you ride it out, whispering filthy praises in your ear the whole time.

She pulls back just enough to admire the shine on her skin, then shifts to offer the other breast, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Your turn to make this one feel good too."

"Ahh?" you manage to whine.

"Well, she's going to feel very neglected if you don't ride her too, doncha' think?"

You think you’ve reached your waiting quota of the year, no more waiting on people. Why do people never seem to value your time? While lamenting to yourself silently, you don’t notice the arrival of someone incredibly familiar, someone incredibly exasperating.

“I’m hurt you know.”

The words startle you and as you look up to find the source of them, you’re confronted with Gojo standing beside you. Pouting like he’s feeling extremely slighted by you for some indiscernible reason.

You almost sputter at him, his presence completely unexpected, “What are you doing here?”

He ignores your question, continuing with his faux pain, “My best friend gets stood up and instead of messaging me… she messages Shoko? That stings.”

Sighing off his dramatics, you ask again, “What are you doing here, Gojo?”

“What else would I be here for?” He smiles big at you, moving to sit in the chair opposite you, flopping down and making himself comfortable, “I’m here to be your date!”

Propping your head up on your hand, you grumble at him, “How did you even know I was stood up?”

“I was with Shoko when you messaged her,” he shrugs easily.

You squint at him, “Why are you here and not her?”

“Because it is my duty as your best friend to be there for you.”

So stubborn about the weirdest things, you’ve known each other forever and sure, maybe he is your best friend, but this is something that has bruised your ego a bit. It’s silly, but for some reason… you don’t really want for Gojo to see you like this.

Sulking, you huff, “It’s not a big deal, I just didn’t wanna waste the reservation.”

“Don’t lie, you dressed up all cute and the dude couldn’t even be bothered to show up?” He frowns like he’ll get angry if he thinks about it for too long, “It’s a big deal.”

“You’re more upset about it then I am,” you play at indifference and while you don’t really care about your failed date, you are thinking really hard about how he said you dressed cute.

“That’s just ‘cause you’re always settling for less than what you deserve,” he grows a little more irritated, like his observation annoys him more than it annoys you.

Defending yourself with a grumble, “That’s not true.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he smiles in a manner that exudes disbelief. Because it does, Gojo has witnessed you settle for less nearly every single day of your lives and every time he has to grit his teeth and cope.

Crossing your arms, you snark at him, “Don’t patronise me, Gojo.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he still has that smile plastered on his face.

You glare at him from across the table but sit in silence, not really having anything else to say to him right now. Annoyed at yourself for losing the back and forth between the two of you for not the first time and definitely not the last.

Gojo, however, is not capable of sitting in silence for too long and so, he whines at you, “Anyways, I thought I was always your first call when things went wrong.”

Looking away from him, you scratch at the back of your neck awkwardly, “You are… for other things.”

Catching onto your meaning, he asks, “So, you never call me when things go wrong on dates?”

“…Correct.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not really something I thought would matter to you this much.” The truth is, you’ve been on much worse dates, dates where they actually do show up but prove themselves to be some of the worst people. You always call Shoko though… that or you just brush it off.

Telling Gojo about your dating life feels weird, it’s not like he tells you about his.

His mouth downturns at your remark, “Anything that involves you matters to me.”

“It’s not like you tell me about your dating life,” you counter, starting to feel somewhat badly.

“I would, if I had one,” he leans back into his chair more, “I’m not currently dating though.”

Sheepishly, you say, “Oh…well…I am.”

“I know that now,” his eyes focus on you, “Just how many dates have you gone on recently?”

“Recently?” he nods at you, “Uhm… a few every couple of weeks, not heaps but… frequently enough that getting stood up isn’t the worst thing to happen to me lately.” You laugh slightly at a memory, “You know, on one of them, the guy actually got back with his ex during our date, like he—”

You cut yourself off when you realise Gojo isn’t experiencing the same amount of enjoyment at the recounting of your date a few weeks ago. Asking, “Why is this bugging you?”

“It’s not,” his tone is certain but the expression he’s wearing is anything but. Clearly annoyed by something.

Challenging his logic, “Do you want me to tell you about my dating life?”

He thinks on it for a second, “No.”

“See? That’s what I thought—”

“—But I want you to call me when things go badly,” his gaze even on you, unwavering.

“You’re annoying,” you huff out a breath.

His face brightens up again, “And yet I’m still your best friend.”

You can only roll your eyes at him because he’s right, he’s completely annoying and also completely your best friend.

After that failed date that turned into you having dinner with Gojo, you’ve chosen to listen to his complaint and call him whenever a date goes south. He seemed actually bothered by the fact you weren’t relying on him more, so you decided that if something does go wrong, you’d tell him about it.

However, your dating life has been going pretty swimmingly the past couple weeks. You’ve found someone you wouldn’t mind being with, having gone on a few dates with him now. You’ve pretty much been exclusively seeing him, he’s taken you out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Previous dates barely made it through one meal, but this guy managed to appeal to you enough to take you out multiple times.

It’s your fault that you got your hopes up, thinking that maybe he was different but as you sit on the couch in his apartment—his assumed girlfriend yelling at him—you can see he’s just like everyone else in the dating scene these days. It’s that or you just have really, really bad luck when it comes to your romantic life.

For the third time, you try to leave but he holds you back, “Wait no, please don’t go, this is just a misunderstanding!”

You shrug him off you, his touch making you feel disgusting.

Going to say something in reply, but his girlfriend speaks first, “So now you’re cheating on me and trying to keep her here?”

He stutters, like he forgot she was here for a moment, “No! Babe, I’m not cheating on you!”

Awkwardly, you scratch at the back of your neck, “Listen, I’m going to be so honest, I think you’re a bad person and any interest I had in you is gone. I’d just really like to leave now.”

He’s wearing an annoyed look on his face, “How do you even expect to get home? I drove you here.”

She scoffs at him from by the door, foot tapping impatiently, “Now you’re offering her a ride home? Are you fucking serious right now?”

Walking to the front door, you shuffle around his girlfriend, “I’m just gonna… slide right past you.” Pausing after opening the door and turning back to address her, “Uhm… Just in case he tries lying to you… we went on multiple dates over the past couple weeks.” Standing awkwardly for an extra moment as her face twists in realisation, “Bye!” You rush out the door, speed walking to the elevator.

The screaming and yelling gets louder from their apartment, able to hear them until you finally get in the elevator and descend to the ground floor. In the lobby, you pull out your phone and sigh dejectedly, scrolling for Gojo’s contact, you need a ride home.

He picks up pretty quickly, “Hello?”

You get straight to the point, not feeling particularly great right about now, “…I need a ride home.”

“Well, good evening to you too,” he replies, voice full of mirth, “You know. people normally exchange pleasantries over the phone before immediately asking for things, I’ve been told – by you actually – that just asking for things straight up can be read as rude, so—”

“—Satoru.”

The use of his name has him going quiet, stopping his tangent instead to ask, “Where are you?”

You’re tired, your mood travelling through the phone as you answer, “Some apartment, I’ll text you the address…”

“You okay?” He checks.

You can’t help the pause before your reply, “…Yeah.”

His concern for you growing at your seeming uncertainty, “You gonna tell me what happened?”

It’s a little embarrassing, you think, but yeah, you’ll tell him about it, “Later… I just wanna go home now.”

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up before you get to thank him.

You text him the address and then head out the front of the building where you wait for him. While you’re waiting, you find yourself wondering if that girl will stay with the evil man that was your date, you hope she doesn’t, she deserves better than him.

When Gojo pulls up, you silently slip into the passenger seat, you’re expecting him to immediately drive away but he turns and looks at you. His eyes examining you carefully, scrutinising you.

Turning your head to the side, “What?”

“Just making sure you’re okay.” His hands reach out and for a second you think he’s going to touch you, but he pulls on the seatbelt and clicks it into place for you.

You mumble out at him, dismissive, “I’m fine.”

He hums at you, in that way that tells you he doesn’t believe you even a little bit but he’s letting it go for now. Instead focusing on getting you home.

Back at your apartment, Gojo follows you all the way inside, you thought maybe he would just drop you home and leave you alone, but he’s followed you into your living room. You don’t know if you have the energy for him right now, feeling so drained. Probably feeling this way because you’re incapable of finding a decent guy to date.

Couch looking so inviting, you flop down onto it face first, mumbling out, “Gojo, will you just be my boyfriend?”

He seems taken aback by your sudden ask, choking on his own spit, coughing out a confused, “What?”

Sighing, you cryptically answer, “I don’t think I’m built for the dating scene.”

When he finishes hacking up a lung, he taps your legs, to which you hold them up so he can sit down. His hand tugging them back down once he’s sat, “What happened, sweetheart?”

Your voice is still muffled by the couch cushions, “Been seeing a guy for a couple weeks now—”

“—The same one?” Gojo cuts you off.

Humming out a, “Yes and—”

Again, he cuts you off, “—That’s pretty serious…”

I know but­—”

“—Why didn’t you tell me about him?” His tone growing slightly alarmed by the apparent seriousness of your dating life.

You, on the other hand, are becoming somewhat annoyed. Pushing yourself out of the cushions to sit up and face him, your legs still resting in his lap, “You said you didn’t wanna hear about my dating life.” You point an accusatory finger at him.

“Yeah but casually dating and actively seeing someone is different—” He’s not really sure if he’s making a fair point or not but sticking to it like he is.

“—Does it matter?” You’re looking at him incredulously, not sure if there is a difference.

He’s steadfast in his opinion, “Of course it matters.”

“I don’t think it should, especially since—”

“—If you’re seeing the same guy multiple times that means you were actually interested in him­—” He’s annoyed at himself for not realising you were seeing the same guy, for not asking questions, not realising how serious you were getting about one guy. So caught up in this one fact that he’s lost sight of his original purpose of being here.

“—Can you stop cutting me off!” You raise your voice at him, getting sick of how much he’s been interrupting you, “I’ve been trying to tell you that he had a girlfriend the whole time,” you purse your lips and look away from him, feeling embarrassed, “That’s why I asked you to come get me.”

“Oh…” He feels bad now.

“…Yeah, she showed up while I was there, and it was really uncomfortable, and I didn’t exactly feel safe.” You sigh, slumping, “And now I just feel really bad about dating.”

Completely serious when he suggests, “Maybe you should stop.”

“Stop dating?”

Consistent in his confirmation, “Yes.”

Meeting his gaze again, “How else am I going to meet someone?”

He rolls his eyes at your question, irritated for reasons unknown to you, “Why do you need to date someone now anyways?”

You don’t really see his point, what does he mean ‘why?’… why else do people date? “Maybe I’m lonely, maybe I seek companionship, maybe I’m like every other person who dates?”

“You have me though,” you’d think he was joking if he didn’t look so serious.

Unsure how to go about answering when it seems pretty straight forward to you, “Gojo… that’s not the same thing, we’re friends, we don’t look at each other that way.”

“Says you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’d date you in a heartbeat,” he folds his arms over his chest, “In fact, you’re the only person I want to date.”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, “Get real, that’s not what I meant.”

His head tilts at you, “What did you mean then?”

“I’m talking about romantic and sexual attraction,” you’re avoiding his gaze again.

So casual in how he bluntly asks, “You think I’m not sexually attracted to you?”

His question catches you off guard, “It’s not just about sexual attraction, Gojo,” you shake your head, “if that were the case, I’d just be having one night stands all the time, I want a relationship with someone…”

He nods his head like he suddenly understands, “Ah, so you think I’m not romantically interested in you?”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

Disbelieving when you look at him, “Are you serious right now? We’re friends.”

“Yeah, we are friends, but I also happen to be romantically and sexually attracted to you.”

How do you even respond to a confession like that? He’s not even flustered, completely nonchalant in how he’s just told you that he’s interested in you. “I don’t think—”

“—Are you going to tell me you’re not interested in me? Even a little bit?”

“We’re friends.”

“Is that the only thing stopping you?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, “Because if it is, then it’s a little arbitrary, no?”

The beginning of a frown settles on your features, “What are you trying to get me to say? That I’d date you if we weren’t friends, that I’d fuck you?”

He smiles at you, “Sure, but if you would if we weren’t friends, I’m saying you should even though we are.”

Frown deepening, “You’re being serious?”

“I’m being so serious,” he leans in slightly, hand moving to your face, thumb smoothing over the crease between your brows.

Looking at his lips before catching yourself and turning your head to the side, away from his touch, away from his enticing lips.

He sighs at your reaction, “You know, I’ve been interested in you from the beginning, and maybe I’m an idiot for not saying anything but watching you seriously try dating someone else might just kill me.”

You had no idea he liked you, you’ve liked him at different points in your life too, but he always seemed so out of reach from you, and you never wanted to ruin the friendship, so you forced yourself to move on. It feels a little unfair that you’re finding out now he’s liked you the whole time, “What are you asking of me?”

“I’m asking you to give me a chance,” his hand gently guides your face to look at him again, “I’m asking you to seriously try dating me.”

You’re trying to make a decision, trying to figure out how to answer him, if you should even give him a chance but the way he’s looking at you, how his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips is distracting you.

Brows pulling up, voice quieter than before, “Gojo, you need to stop looking at me like that if you want an answer.”

“Like what?” He plays dumb.

“Like you really wanna kiss me,” you murmur back.

“Can’t help it…” he leans in a little bit more, “Maybe if you let me kiss you, I’ll stop.”

“Satoru,” you warn.

“Hmm?” His eyes meet yours for a moment, trying to see what you want.

He’s making you dizzy, “I can’t make a choice when you’re this close.”

Humming at you, “Why not?”

“Can’t think,” you blurt it out before really thinking about how it will come across.

He’s smiling smugly, “Then don’t.”

You don’t know who leans in first, all you know is his lips are on yours and they’re soft. Kissing you gently, trying to learn how you like to be kissed. Growing more insistent the longer you let him kiss you, the years of his need bleeding into it.

One of his hands traveling down your body, resting on your hip, the other cradling your face. He’s leaning into you more, pushing your body down into the couch, him following behind it, never parting from your lips very long.

Hand now holding himself above you, kiss growing urgent, tongue licking into your mouth, meeting yours in a way that makes your body tingle. If you thought his proximity was making you dizzy before than his kiss might have you actually passing out. Skin growing hot at how his hand on your face angles you, how he deepens the kiss effortlessly.

If Gojo were more aware of himself, of the precarious position he’s put himself in, he might be a little bit more careful with how feverish his kisses are and how needy he’s getting but when he’s finally getting to kiss you after years of not being able to, he can’t really control himself. The little control he does have, slipping when you moan into his mouth, his own moan shared in the kiss.

It's you who parts the kiss, it had to be because he certainly wasn’t going to be able to do it. If he had his way, he’d have his mouth on you until he died. In the back of his mind, he knew that kissing you would be good, but he didn’t think he’d get so lost in it. Somewhat embarrassed at himself for how aroused he’s gotten over your lips on his.

Your huffed breaths are intermingled with how close you both are to each other, Gojo hovering over you, speaking into your mouth, “Have you made a decision yet?”

You’re having trouble thinking still, especially with how his lips brush ever so slightly against yours, “I…uhmm…”

When he realises how dazed you are, two things happen. One; his ego grows about ten times bigger and two; he pulls back from you, still close enough that if you tugged on him, you could kiss him again but enough to hopefully give you room to think.

“Come on, don’t keep a guy waiting,” he’s taunting you lightly, taking joy in how hazy your eyes are as you look up at him.

“Okay,” you nod.

“Hmm? Okay what?”

Taking another moment to clear your brain fog, you answer again, “Okay, I will seriously try dating you.”

“Can’t date anyone else while you do,” he conditions.

“Okay,” agreeing easily.

He adds, “Have to seriously think about me being your boyfriend.”

Again, agreeing, “Okay.”

“Have to keep kissing me right now,” smile growing on his features.

“Ok—” frowning at him when you realise, “—Hey.”

“You don’t want to?” His hand tilts your head up by your chin, looking down into your eyes, “Because you look like you want to.”

Pouting at him, “Don’t be cruel.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” his smile evil as he continues to look down at you.

Leveling him with an even stare, you state, “I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”

“Got a dirty mind, huh? All I asked for was a kiss.”

You glare at him and then try to avoid his gaze, voice smaller than before, “You don’t kiss like that’s all you want.”

His smile is crooked as he asks, “And how do I kiss?”

Feeling your skin flare at his taunting question, at how he leans in again, his mouth right over yours, “Dizzyingly.”

He breathes out an amused laugh before he’s slotting his mouth back over yours, how you described his kiss is accurate. He kisses you in such a way that you can’t think straight even if you really want to, which is why it’s probably a bad idea to keep letting him kiss you if you don’t want to sleep with him before you even get a first date.

Abruptly parting your mouth from his, gasping out, “Wait,” taking a second to catch your breath. Gojo groans softly at the loss of your lips, his forehead resting on yours waiting for you to speak.

“What’s wrong?” He asks when you don’t continue.

“You need to stop kissing me.”

“Oh?” He hums at you in thought, his lips now trailing down the side of your face, only to rest right by your ear, “And why’s that?”

His voice has goose bumps raising on your skin, “If you keep kissing me like that…” your volume gets quieter as you mumble out, “…I’ll wanna have sex with you.”

He has the fucking audacity to laugh at you, “That worked up by a few kisses, huh?” Mocking you like he isn’t the hardest he’s ever been, cock twitching at your confession.

“Shut up.”

His words are dripping with delight, “At least we know you’re sexually attracted to me.”

He licks lightly at your ear, and you feel like you almost jump out of your skin, gasping at it. Hands reaching out to push back on his chest, “You’re a mean man, Gojo.”

“At this point…” He looks you over, unmoved by your hands, “…I think it would be meaner to deprive yourself.”

“We are not sleeping together for the first time on my couch before we even go on a date,” you’re trying to stay steadfast but he’s making it hard when he keeps looking at you like that.

“So… you’re saying I should take you to the bedroom?” When you look at him in exasperation, he smiles softly, “I’m just kidding, we won’t do anything you don’t want to, but I will point out – for the last time – that you look an awful lot like you want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to… I just feel like if you’re gonna make me seriously consider you then I should date you properly too,” you avoid his gaze, feeling unusually sincere.

Abruptly, he states, “It wouldn’t be our first date though.”

“What?”

He’s a little distant when he answers, having trouble concentrating on the conversation when you’re pouting your lips at him like you are, “I count a couple weeks ago as our first date.”

“When I was stood up?” You scoff, “That does not count.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t even planned.”

“No but we ate dinner together and you were dressed awful cute, I count it as a date,” smirk present on his face as he continues to hover over you.

Ignoring his compliment, you continue to try and reason, “We were still just friends then though.”

“So, we aren’t ‘just friends’ now?” He’s being a smart ass, he knows what you mean but he’s not going to let up on this, taking it as a small victory in making you think of him as more than just a friend.

You return earnestly, “I don’t wanna count it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t meant to be you on that date…” before he can get hurt over those words, you clarify, “…don’t get me wrong, I had fun and I’m glad you showed up, but it wasn’t planned to be you… when we go on our first date… I want it to be meant for you.” You’re unsure if you verbalised yourself in a way that makes sense, feeling much more nervous all of a sudden.

He’s looking at you so intently and you’re worried you’ve upset him somehow, “I know you said I need to stop kissing you, but that’s what I want more than anything right now.” He leans in closer, pausing just shy of your lips.

His words make your heart stutter, throwing caution to the wind as you close the distance between the two of you again, kissing him fully. Letting his mouth consume your ability to think critically, all too happy to fall into him.

Your control of the situation is slipping more and more away from you and so is the ability to care, not minding at all how you’re becoming more and more okay with how hot your body is starting to feel.

Hands reaching up and fisting the material of his shirt, pulling him down into you, his hips colliding with yours. Almost entirely instinctually—and somewhat purposefully—your legs wrap around his lower half. One of his hands reaches for your thigh, gripping the fattest part of it harshly.

You both moan into the kiss, and he parts his mouth from yours, voice straining when he speaks, “Sweetie, if you really don’t want to do anything more than this then you need to tell me to get off you right now.”

Looking at him through your lashes, you play coy, “But I like having you on top of me.”

A shiver runs down his spine, “You’re evil,” he grunts, fighting the urge to grind down into you.

He’s been pining after you for years and it feels like torture to be this close to you, pelvis pressed up against yours, having you so pliant and needy under him. He can feel his sanity slipping from him the longer you stay like this, and your words make it harder for him to pull away.

“Satoru—” when you say his name his hips jut into yours, making you gasp against him.

His erection digging into you hotly, the warmth of you ruining him. Head dizzy and struggling to keep his hips still as he apologises through clenched teeth, “Sorry– fuck– sorry, what’s up?”

You’re struggling too, pussy throbbing around nothing. Choosing to be bold and asking, “Take me to my room?”

“You’re sure?” Trying to hide the excitement from his face.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you give a small nod, feeling shy.

You really do want to though, more than anything. Only initially so hesitant because this doesn’t feel like the right way to do things but then again, your whole relationship with Gojo is a little less than conventional at times.

When he determines that you’re sure of yourself, he’s off you in the blink of an eye. Quick in his movements as he pulls you up along with him. Before you can even really register that you’re off the couch, you’re thrown over his shoulder as he walks hurriedly to your room.

“Someone’s eager,” you laugh at how ridiculous he’s being.

The chuckle he returns is humourless, “You have no fucking idea.”

You’re dropped down onto your bed unceremoniously, bouncing slightly at the force of it. Your arms reach out behind you to support yourself; palms splayed against your bedspread. Gojo is already tugging his shirt off and over his head, thrown and lost to some corner of your room.

“Gojo, breathe.”

“Don’t need to breathe,” he smiles large at you, “Do need your pants off though.”

Listening to him, you shimmy your pants down your legs, mumbling to him about how bossy he is.

“You know… I’m hearing a lot of complaining but I am also seeing a whole lot of direction following,” he teases.

You grumble at him, “If you’re going to be like this the whole time then I’m changing my mind.

“Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. You’re not fooling anyone, especially not with how you’re rubbing your thighs together.” His large hands grip your thighs, “Feeling horny?”

You don’t really want to answer him honestly but denying it feels like a trap, like he’d do something to prove you wrong and the last thing you want is for him to torture you. You’re already so pitifully slick from kissing him.

Fighting with your embarrassment, you give him your best pleading face, “Mhm, really horny.”

The smugness drops from his face, hands suddenly tugging you down the bed as he drops to his knees. You’re falling onto your back with the force of his pull, squirming a little. Gojo doesn’t pause though, mouth leaving kisses from your knees to your inner thighs, your breath catching in your lungs. Not expecting him to be so forward, though you don’t know what you were expecting if not that.

“Gojo, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” his eyes flick to yours, “Plus, if you wanna take me, you’re gonna need the prep,” smile growing at how your eyes grow wider.

Disbelief clear in your expression, accusing, “You’re full of it.”

He’s not worried about your scepticism, “You’ll find out for yourself in a bit.” He shrugs easily, “Now, can I put my tongue on your pretty pussy, or do you have more to say?”

He asks but his attention is already completely on your covered cunt, a single finger moving under the elastic of the waist band just to snap it back against you. A small noise of shock leaving you, “Ah! Do what you want…”

Oh, he looks so excited by your words, “You mean it?”

You’ll be honest and admit you weren’t really paying attention to what you were saying, brain hazy with how close he is to your core, skin prickling at his hot breath tickling against you. Feeling so unusually exposed and sensitive and you can’t tell if you’re that worked up or if he just has that effect on you.

“Mhm,” you’re nodding your head at him, giving him a green light, for what, you’re not entirely sure, all you know is that you want him to do something – anything.

“These are some really cute panties… kinda bothers me,” he’s still playing with the edges of them, annoyed when remembering you were with another guy tonight. Were you going to sleep with him tonight?

Pulling yourself up onto your elbows, you question, “What?”

Eyes flicking towards yours, “I’m a bit of a jealous guy.”

“I know this,” he always has been quick to get worked up over things regarding you, though it makes a little more sense after learning he’s liked you for so long.

He smiles at you, but his eyes are humourless, “Of course you do,” he fists at the material of your panties, “But the idea of another guy getting so close to seeing you in these… has me feeling really annoyed.”

The sound of fabric tearing fills your ears, he’s just ripped your panties off you. There is no salvaging them, completely useless as he throws them over his shoulder.

“Hey! those were my good pair!”

“Who cares about that?” His tone is dismissive, hands spreading your legs obscenely, eyes greedily looking at your uncovered pussy, “Your cunt is much cuter.”

God, you feel like you might pass out, face suddenly extremely hot, “Don’t be crude.”

“Hmm? …but I think you like it though…” his thumb swipes through your folds and you gasp at him, “Got so much wetter when I said it.”

He’s quick to begin rubbing circles into your clit, thumb giving even pressure. The stimulation has your arms shaking, threatening to give out from under you. Biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning, feeling embarrassed at how intently he’s shamelessly staring at your cunt.

Continuing to speculate, he says, “That or you like being praised…” he smirks evilly, “You like being praised, sweetheart? Being told how good you’re being for me?”

Your heart leaps in your chest, brows upturning, trying to hide your outward reaction to his words, “Hah– No…”

“Such a bad liar,” eyeing your face, “You’re wearing a really great expression right now though.”

Fighting the urge to grind down, you deny, “Not lying.”

He ignores you, “Could be both though,” he’s continuing to ponder on what you react most to, “Which is it, sweetheart? You like how crude I am, or do you like the praise?”

You don’t plan on answering him, eyes closing harshly against his intense gaze, feeling way too exposed. His touch leaves you and you open your eyes in alarm, trying to see what he’s doing. You see his smile before he’s leaning in and licking up the length of your pussy, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

Surprised moans slip from you, arms almost giving out completely, head rolling back. His arms wrap around your legs to hold you steady, face pushing closer into you, tongue flicking at your clit before pressing into your pussy hole.

He’s relishing in your sounds, in how wet you are, how you taste and smell, almost forgetting why he did this in the first place. Pulling away from you with a lewd smack of his lips, smiling big at the whine you let out from the loss of him.

Huffing slightly as he says, “Asked a question, not licking your pussy again until you answer it.”

“I don’t know,” your head lolls forward, eyes wet.

His head moves to the side to nip lightly at your thigh, “Shall we find out then?”

You jolt at the sensation, face twisting in confusion at him.

“You don’t gotta do anything, sweetie, just stay like this,” his hands push back on your thighs though, opening you up to him even more. “Been doing so good for me, sound so pretty,” he coos at you.

Brows furrowing at his words, heart skipping beats at his sudden praise, feeling fuzzy all over.

He hums in thought, “So fucking wet for me, dripping everywhere, got such a creamy fucking pussy.”

You twitch at the switch, wanting to crawl away from him.

“I think I’ve just realised something,” he glances up at you, “Got such nice reactions to both things I said, do you know how much wetter you got, cunt twitching and drooling for me.”

You try pulling from him, but his hold is firm, “Gojo!” You warn.

He might be enjoying this too much but learning about what gets you going is way too enticing, especially when he doesn’t have to do much to have you looking so pathetic. “Trying to run away from me,” he tsks, “But you’re fucking dripping, so reactive, so sweet.” His eyes are glazing over, working himself up.

“‘Toru!” You call for him again, you feel like you’re on fire, beyond embarrassed.

He groans at the nickname, not hearing it from you in so long, you used to always call him that. He liked it a little too much, cock leaking for you. He feels as wrecked as he looks when he looks up at you, “I think you like both,” is his conclusion.

Reaching up, he grabs at your hand and pulls it down to your cunt, his fingers guiding your own through your slick. You gasp at it, not expecting for yourself to be so soaked. Biting at your lower lip when he moves your fingers over your clit, teasing you.

Dazed when he asks, “Ever been this wet, pretty?”

You shake your head, “No… I didn’t know I…”

Fingers moving yours to your entrance, “Poor thing, didn’t know how slutty her pussy was.” Feeling the way your cunt clenches at his words, his face bright with it, “Fucking great though, in love with it,” and again, your brows raising in realisation, “Yeah… you know now, don’t you?”

“You’re making me feel embarrassed,” you pout, head dizzy.

“No, I’m making you feel so fucking horny, not my fault that you like being embarrassed and praised at the same time,” he pulls your fingers away from your core, moving them to his mouth, sucking them clean.

You remove your fingers from him, coming to rest back in the bed, feeling breathless as you look down at him. “What do you want from me?”

“Want you to admit it, want you tell me how much you like when I talk to you,” his hand tickles up the skin of your inner thigh.

“…Like it,” you mumble out.

Humming in thought, “Hmm, not good enough, don’t think I believe you.”

Repeating, louder, “I like it.”

Tilting his head at you, “You like what?”

“I like when you talk to me,” you say with more force, brows furrowed.

He pretends to be unsure of your answer, “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You try again, but as his expression remains unchanging, you add, “I like when you talk to me, I like how hot and fuzzy your words make me feel, I like just the sound of your voice, makes me want to squirm. Love it even! Is that what you wanted to hear?” You huff.

“Holy fuck, yes,” if he weren’t already on his knees, he would’ve fallen to them again.

You let out a squeal at the way his mouth is already back on you, tongue pushing into your hole insistently. Fervent in his actions, clearly worked up by your words. If he were on the bed, he’d be shamelessly grinding his hips down into it, cock so fucking hard it’s aching. Pulsing so pitifully for you and if he weren’t so completely distracted by how you taste he’d throw caution to the wind and fuck into you right now.

“Gojo! Oh—” His name comes out all broken, ruined and shaky from how he laps at your cunt, drinking down all your slick.

Your elbows officially give out and you’re flopping back onto the mattress, fingers digging into the bed. Struggling to hold in all the little noises he’s pulling from you, hips trying to desperately rut into his pretty face with no luck, locked in place by his strong hold.

Gasping out at him, “M–more. Gojo– hah– more, please.”

Grunting against you, vibrations running up your spine, wanting desperately to kick your legs against the stimulation but unable to. He’s worked you up so much, so fucking desperate for release that his touch is making you crazy.

A finger presses at your hole, slipping inside easily, both his finger and tongue fucking into you. Another finger added, opening you up, scissoring them, tongue sneaking deeper inside your cunt.

He feels drunk, head heavy and brain foggy, tongue fucking you deeply. Delighting in the sounds of your sloppy pussy trying to suck him in deeper, he’s losing his mind. Tongue leaving you only for him to spit onto your cunt, thumb rubbing it into your clit, third finger added to the first two. Determined to have you ready for his cock.

“Need you to cum,” he sounds wrecked even to himself, “Before I do in my own pants– ffffuck—” Can’t help the way he curses at how you tighten around him at his words, “Must’ve been telling the truth about liking my voice, huh?” He teases, laughing breathlessly at how you react to him again.

Pressing out a simple, “S–so mean,” in response.

“You fucking like it,” eyes watching how your back arches off the mattress, “Love it even,” he reminds.

A series of moans leave you unabashedly at how he crooks his fingers just right, consistently hitting the one spot, thighs twitching at it. Stomach pulling tight and toes curling, head moving from side to side, so fucking close now.

“That’s it, sweetie,” he encourages, “Doing so good, just let go for me.”

You’re cumming suddenly, the abruptness of it shocking, like your body skipped the rest of the build up at Gojo’s words. If it didn’t feel good how he was fucking you through it, how his thumb kept rubbing at your clit, you’d feel beyond embarrassed at how you came just because he asked you to.

It’s not lost on him how quick you were to finish after he spoke, his ego big before and now fucking massive. Absolutely thrilled by how you continue to prove your responsiveness to him, if he were ever worried about you not being attracted to him, he can’t possibly remember why. Not when you’re squirming under him, tears threatening to slip from your waterline.

“Such a good direction follower,” he mocks, repeating his earlier sentiments.

His fingers keep stroking at you until your body goes limp, only jerking every now and again with your come down. Pulling them from you and parting them, looking at the way your cum connects his fingers together with white strings.

“Look at that,” his voice dripping with glee, “I was right… got such a creamy pussy,” he hums, shoving his fingers into his mouth.

After he’s done indulging, he wipes his spit covered fingers on your thighs. Just to then get to his feet and hastily tug his pants and boxers off. His erection bobbing under its own weight.

He crawls up the mattress so he can lean over you. Fingers skimming at your sides, pulling your shirt along with it, “Can I take this off, pretty?”

Eyes bleary when they meet his, giving a small nod, “Mhm.”

“You okay to keep going?” He checks, leaning in closer to you.

His concern makes you unreasonably happy, feeling genuinely cared for, “Yeah.”

“You sure—”

Cutting him off, “—Yes.”

Shock present on his face before smiling endearingly at you, completely smitten with you and has been for a long time now. It all feels a little surreal to him, being able to hold you, be intimate with you. Leaning in more, pressing soft kisses all over your face.

Showering you in affection as his hands continue to pull your shirt up. Only parting to pull it from you fully, thrown to some corner of your room, joining the rest of your clothes. Shuffling back so he can look at all of you, hands delicately tracing over you, like he’s memorising how you feel under his palms.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles, hands smoothing over you. He drops onto you, face pressing between your tits, breathing in your scent.

Confused as your voice calls for him gently, “‘Toru?”

“Fuck,” he nips at your skin first and then moves to get back on his knees, “Alright, spread those pretty legs for me, sweetheart.”

Feeling placid from the intensity of your orgasm, you immediately listen to him and open your legs, moving them to the outside of his. Gojo feels like his heart grows in size at how quick you are to listen to him, so docile you don’t even talk back to him.

Your head cocks to the side, confused by his stare, “What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head at you, “You’re just really cute.”

He grabs your face, sandwiching your cheeks between his fingers, his lips leaving behind a big and sloppy kiss on yours before focusing back on your cunt. Grasping his cock and groaning at the pressure, squeezing himself to alleviate some of the need crawling desperately up his spine.

You can’t help but stare, he wasn’t full of it, he really is that big. Long and thick and looking so painfully hard, dripping precum so messily down the length of himself, dribbling down onto the bed sheets.

“It’s rude to stare,” he hisses, hand now stroking himself, clearly not even a little bit put off by your shameless staring. If anything, completely aroused by it.

Looking up into his eyes as you apologise, “‘M sorry.”

“Hah,” he huffs in amusement, “So polite all of a sudden, orgasm that good, pretty?”

“Yeah,” you nod, staring at him straight on, aiming to work him up more.

It works, “Fuck– alright,” his hips stutter into his hand and he stops fisting his cock, “‘Bout to give you an even better one,” guiding his dick to your core.

Swiping the head of himself through your folds, letting it collect the slick leaking from you. Teasing you like this for a bit, moving himself up and down before dipping into your hole, only to pull away again.

You whine at him over it, “Please.”

Smile large as he coos, “Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll take care of you.”

Keeping his word, he slowly presses the tip of his dick into you, hissing at the stretch, worried he didn’t give you enough prep. You bite your lip as you begin to take him in, fisting the sheets below, looking up at Gojo. His brows are upturned, and his jaw clenched, focusing so hard on being slow and careful. He pauses when you clench and flinch around him.

“I can take it,” gaze determined as you try to assure him, “You can keep going.”

“Oh, sweetie,” his hand grips at your inner thigh, squishing it under his hold, “I appreciate that,” he smiles, “I do… but you’re gonna want to pace yourself.”

You pout up at him, sulking, wanting to be full and not appreciating his probably—definitely—sound advice.

“Hah, don’t pout,” his thumb moves to your clit, “You’ll take it, know you will,” rubbing circles into it, “Cause I’m gonna make sure of it, but you gotta pace yourself.”

Under his touch, you relax again, and he pushes his hips forward, starting the slow process of opening you up on his cock. His control astounding himself right now, wanting nothing more than to fuck into you completely, feeling your pussy swallow him whole.

He’s not quite half-way yet and already pressing up against the most delicious spots inside you, with that and his consistent pressure on your clit, you’re suddenly so fucking close to cumming like this.

Reaching out to him, your hand lightly slaps at him, trying to warn, “I’m gonna– hah—”

Gojo realises when you clench down on him what you’re trying to say, the small noises you make getting louder, he almost blows his load the second he realises. Ripping himself from you suddenly, you cry out at the loss, cumming around nothing, gasping into your hand.

“Why? Why?” you’re almost incoherent as you ask him.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, trying to make up for the loss of his cock, “Would’ve cum if I hadn’t pulled out, wanna at least fuck you before I do.”

You glare at him, trying to convey how slighted you feel but he only seems to find it endearing, smiling at you over it. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry.”

Wasting no time, he fucks back into you, to where he was before he pulled out. Giving shallow thrusts as he keeps pressing forwards, breath stuttering at the small way he’s getting the friction he’s desperate for.

“Such a greedy cunt,” he murmurs, dick slipping deeper, “So quick to cum for me, sucking me in.”

“Gojo—” you whine at him, his words back to embarrassing you.

His voice cracks at how you refer to him, “—No, no, nono, what happened to ‘Toru?” Fucking deeper, so close to being balls deep.

“‘Toru, you’re—” cutting yourself off with a moan, he thrust the rest of the way in when you called to him, “—so deep.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” he chuckles breathlessly, moving to press his body up against yours, craving the contact.

He’s pressed up against you completely, warm and strong, your legs loop around his waist and he slips in deeper. He groans at it, holding himself back, wanting you to adjust to all of him first. He nuzzles into your neck, leaving kisses and love bites against the sensitive skin there, relishing in the way your pussy jumps around him over such a small act.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked me or something,” he jokes, referencing how sensitive you are to him.

Without thinking, you admit, “I have– mmph– I’ve liked you mm–multiple times– ah– at different points in– hah– our lives.”

His head snaps back as he twitches inside you, “Seriously?” When you nod, he grinds down into you, “Fuck– had me so stressed, liked you all this time and you’re telling me I could’ve had this pretty, little pussy so much sooner?”

You’re feeling a bit dazed, two orgasms deep and stretched so obscenely around him, cunt making wet noises just from the small way he’s grinding into you.

“When,” his words are hurried, when you look at him like he’s just said something in a different language, he asks again, “When have you liked me?”

“I don’t remember that, too many– hnn– different times,” you shake your head, you don’t even know if you could recount all the times you had feelings for him resurface even if you weren’t split open on his big dick.

He moans, starting to move his hips in shallow thrusts, “Enough that you– mmph– can’t remember specifics,” he groans, “Feels like a sick joke, been pining after you our– hah– whole lives.”

His mouth is on yours, kissing you deeply, sucking your tongue into his mouth, licking at you. The kiss so dizzying, you’re barely able to catch up to him before he’s talking again, “The most recent time– can you– hah– remember the most recent time you liked me?”

He’s desperate to know, wanting to know how small or big of a window he had missed. Failing to realise it doesn’t really matter all that much right now.

“Not– hah– not that long ago,” you’re almost panting now, wanting for him to move with more urgency but he’s still only thrusting into you shallowly.

“When, sweetie, tell me when, please,” his forehead pressed to yours, eyes imploring.

Struggling slightly as you press out, “B– before I started– hah– going on all those dates,” you’re trying really hard to think, “Beginning of the– hng– year?”

Smiling at you, big, happy, “Not that long ago, just gonna make you like me again.”

He’s a little annoyed that you went on so many dates right after having liked him, not completely lost on him that the two are probably connected and feeling frustrated that he hadn’t just told you about his feelings ages ago.

“Gonna charm the fuck outta you, take you to nice places, shower you in compliments, tell you how cute you are,” he’s rambling now, about your theoretical future dates, “Remind you every day how much I like you, how perfect you are, gonna make you like me again.”

“I’d like it if you moved, ‘Toru, please,” you beg, tears in the corners of your eyes from being teased.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he quips, kissing your cheek before complying.

Finally starting a pace that has you going crazy but in a different way, fast and deep, weighted thrusts that make you struggle to maintain focus. Pulling out almost completely before fucking back into you, hammering his hips into yours, lewd squelching filling the room at it.

Your whimpered moans have Gojo’s skin pricking, so turned on he feels insane, like you might kill him, “Got such a great pussy, fucking soaking wet, taking me so well, could die like this and not complain, fuck—”

Clawing at him now, at his forearms, his biceps, shoulders, back, anywhere you can reach, desperately scrabbling for purchase. “Gojo—”

“—No, I don’t know who that is,” he ignores your cry of his name.

Trying again, “‘Toru, want– I want—”

You’re not even entirely sure what you want or are asking for, but Gojo seems to know immediately. His hips moving faster, pelvis slapping into your clit every time he meets yours, cock hitting against your cervix in a way that hurts so fucking good.

Eyes rolling back in your skull with the pleasure, fat tears running down your face at it. Sex has never felt like this, is it meant to feel like this? Have you been doing it wrong? Or maybe he’s just insanely good at it, or maybe you just like him more than you were aware of.

“Feels– feels good, I—”

“Again? Fucking perfect, so perfect for me,” he sounds so excited, “Want it, want you to cum on me, cum all over my cock, fucking coat me in it.” It’s almost like he’s begging you for it.

Luckily for him, you really do like his voice, love how he talks to you and at his borderline feral begging, you’re cumming all over him. Cunt clenching down on him, sobbing out pitiful moans of his name as you cum. It’s coating him, just like how he asked for, creamy white ring at the base of his cock.

“Fuuck, that’s it, such a good girl,” your cunt jumps around his cock, and he laughs, “Oh? You liked that, should’ve called you a good girl sooner.”

Too dazed to fight him on his teasing, corners of your vision blurry and ears ringing, twitching pathetically under him. He doesn’t stop his thrusts, fucking into you harsher, more shallow, getting close to finishing himself.

Orgasm on the tip of his tongue, the thing that sends him over the edge is how you look up at him. Eyes fucked out and cheeks tear stained, whining out a small, “‘Toru, want it, please.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” his words are choked out, almost whining himself, balls heavy with how badly he wants to cum.

Thrusts faltering as he fucks into you the last few times, suddenly slamming his pelvis to yours, releasing all his cum inside you, painting your walls a pretty shade of white. Hips grinding into you as he finishes.

Fucked out whimpers of your name leaving him as he presses his head into the side of your neck. Biting down onto you, shocking you slightly, the pain unexpected, he laves over it with his tongue.

He slumps down onto you, and his weight is too much so your hands push at him. “Too heavy.”

He hums out at you noncommittally but gets up, carefully slipping himself from you, not shy in how he stares at your pussy. At the way his cum gushes from it, the urge to fuck it all back inside you strong. He withholds though, seeing you’re clearly beyond fucked out. Next time, he promises himself.

Gone from you but not for too long, only leaving long enough to clean himself up and bring stuff back to clean you up. Wiping softly at your legs, cleaning you of his spend, “You look cute dripping with my cum,” he singsongs.

“Lewd,” you accuse, too tired to think of something more to say.

“Yeah…” he gets into bed by you, “But I’m certain you like that.”

You snuggle into his side, letting him cuddle you, “Not sleeping with you again until at least the third date.”

“I bet…” he looks down at you, lips hovering over yours, “…You’ll sleep with me after each of them.”

You go to scoff at him and deny it, but he kisses you, deep and imploring. Effectively shutting you up and as you let him kiss you how he likes, you realise, he might be right.

α.⁠η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !

i'm hoping to finish up pervert bf gojo very soon and in the meantime you guys get another repost because i am filled with guilt ! i think the next time i upload another old fic it won't be gojo

regardless, i hope you guys enjoyed ! have beautiful days / nights !! ily ❤︎❤︎

God, he was the worst. Toji had been your roommate for months now, and every single day was the same routine. Flirty comments, lingering stares, brushing past you in the kitchen way too close. You hated how full of himself he is. Of course he's way too hot for his own good, but you can't find him attractive at all. So ignoring him was your best defense.

You headed straight to your room without another word, shutting the door firmly behind you. Peace, finally.

That peace lasted until around midnight.

A loud thud from the living room jerked you awake. You sat up in bed, heart pounding and grabbed the nearest thing that could pass as a weapon, which happened to be your heavy lamp. Creeping out, you flicked on the light and froze.

There, standing in the middle of the room, was… a woman. Tall, insanely strong-looking, with the same sharp green eyes and messy dark hair, but everything else was different. Curves that filled out what used to be Toji's shirt in ways that made your brain short-circuit. Broad shoulders still, powerful arms, but softer features, full lips and a figure that screamed dangerous beauty. She looked like Toji if someone had remade him into the most stunning woman you'd ever seen.

"What the actual hell?" you whispered.

The woman rubbed the back of her neck, looking equal parts pissed and sheepish. Her voice was still deep but smoother, with a feminine lilt that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

"Don't laugh now, I'm the one freaking out."

"Toji, do you do drag? Is that why you work at night?" you teased him, knowing damn well that's not what he did, but the look on his face was enough for your entertainment.

"No, I don't!" he said, rolling his eyes. "Even if I did, I wouldn't appear in the living room in full drag, you dumbass."

You lowered the lamp slowly, stepping closer without thinking. Toji… she… whatever, looked even more striking up close. The way the shirt clung to her chest, you wonder how her boobs might look behind it, the subtle flex of muscle under smooth skin. Your usual irritation disappeared because she was too hot to be mad at her.

"So that's really you, hm..." You circled her once, eyes wide. "Holy shit. You look… I mean, damn."

She raised an eyebrow, sensing something predatory in your eyes. "You're staring. Thought you hated me."

"I do," you shot back, but your voice lacked its usual bite. You stopped right in front of her, close enough to catch the faint scent of sweat and whatever cologne he always wore. "That doesn't mean that you don't look hot as fuck.How does it feel?"

Toji let out a low laugh, crossing her arms under her chest in a way that did not help your focus. "Weird as hell. Balance is off a bit and my... pecs?"

"Breasts. Definitely breasts."

"I don't know how to feel about calling them breasts. They're heavy as fuck."

That's soooo sad. You felt heat creep up your neck, but instead of backing off like usual, you reached out and lightly touched her arm. The muscle was rock hard under your fingers. "Were you always this jacked?"

You look up at her, battling your eyelashes as you hand was fully palming her bicep, pressing it down with your fingers.

"Yes! I've been working out, you know that!" she exclaims, still not understand why you are suddenly so interested in her.

"Hm..." you nod slowly, now wrapping your hand against her wrist. "Let's sit down."

You pull her down on the couch, your thighs pressing together as you keep palming her arm because you cannot stop yourself from touching her. You're waiting for the perfect opportunity to just jump on her and eat her alive.

"How long are you stay like this?" you ask, praying it's forever.

"A few days. A week at most," she tells you, crossing her legs and turning her body so she's fully facing you. Her legs are covered by her sweatpants but you bet she also has the juiciest and strongest thighs ever.

"Oh..." you mumble, looking down a bit sad.

Your fingers trailed up her bicep slowly, feeling the definition there. It was fun, watching her try to keep the attitude while her eyes darkened a little.

"It doesn't hurt, right?" You tilted your head, voice dropping softer.

"No, no," Toji huffs a laugh, her full lips parting. She glances down at your hand on her arm. "You've never touched me this much."

You laugh, heat flooding your face. "Well, you've never looked this hot."

She was the one laughing now, breaking eye contact and even looking flustered. This was ridiculous and thrilling all at once. The guy you'd been dodging for months was now this gorgeous woman standing in your living room and suddenly ignoring her was the last thing on your mind.

"Aren't you curious?" you ask her, now tickling the back of her neck.

"About what?" She blinks, eyebrows furrowing just a little.

"About how some things feel. If I get turned into a man the first thing I would do is find someone to give me a blowjob."

"Oh wow, okay."

"So?" You were still expecting her answer.

You watch her face carefully, your heart hammering against your ribs, Toji shifts on the couch, powerful thighs pressing together under the soft fabric of her sweatpants. Her cheeks have this faint flush now, making her look less intimidating.

"Yeah… maybe," she mutters after a long pause, her voice lower than before. She uncrosses her legs and leans forward a bit, dark green eyes flicking over your face searching for any sign that you're joking. "Being eaten out or whatever. Scissoring, too, if that shit works."

Your pulse spikes. You don't even hesitate. "I could help you with that," you say, voice coming out breathy and eager. "If you want. I'd make it feel really good, Toji."

She stares at you for a second, lips parted. Then a challenging smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. "You serious, roomie? Alright. Show me what you got."

You stand up so fast, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward your bedroom. Her palm is a little rough, bigger than yours even now. The walk down the short hallway feels electric, every step making your skin tingle with anticipation.

"God, you're gorgeous," you whisper, fingers tracing the curve of her waist.

She lets you push her down onto the mattress, and the way her body sinks into it, all that muscle and softness, makes your mouth water. You climb over her, straddling one of her thick thighs as you lean down to kiss her neck.

Toji exhales sharply when your lips brush her collarbone. "Don't get all sappy on me," she grumbles, but her hand comes up to rest on your back anyway.

You smile against her skin and trail kisses lower, pushing up the hem of her shirt. Her tits spill out as you tug the fabric over her head, full and heavy, nipples already pebbled in the cool air.

"These are perfect," you whisper, cupping one in your hand, feeling the weight of it. You squeeze gently, then lean in to drag your tongue over the stiff peak. She tastes clean and a little salty, the soft groan she makes vibrates through her chest.

"Fuck… that feels weird," she breathes, but her back arches, pushing more of her breast into your mouth.

You suck harder, swirling your tongue around the nipple while your fingers play with the other one, pinching and rolling until she's squirming beneath you. Her thighs clench around your leg, you can feel the heat building between them even through her pants.

You spend a long time there, worshipping every inch of her chest. Licking slow circles, nipping lightly with your teeth just to hear her hiss, then soothing it with open-mouthed kisses. Her breathing gets heavier, little sounds slipping out that she tries to swallow back.

Eventually you slide lower, kissing down her stomach, feeling the faint ridges of muscle under the softer layer. You hook your fingers into her sweatpants and panties, peeling them down her strong legs. Her thighs are everything you imagined, thick and powerful, skin smooth where it counts. And between them… god. Her pussy is glistening already, lips puffy and flushed, with a big and swollen clit peeking out at the top. She's tight, you can tell just from looking, the entrance small and inviting.

"Look at you," you say softly, spreading her legs wider and settling between them. You press a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, breathing in her musky scent. "So wet already."

"Shut up," she mutters, but her voice cracks a bit.

You tease her first, because you can't help it. You kiss everywhere but where she wants it most, dragging your tongue along her inner thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin. Your fingers trace light circles around her clit without touching it, watching her hips twitch.

"You like that?" you ask, voice muffled against her skin.

Toji growls low. "Stop fucking teasing and do it."

You grin and finally give in, flattening your tongue and licking a long, slow stripe up her slit. She tastes tangy and addictive. Her whole body jolts. You do it again, savoring the way her juices coat your tongue, then focus on her big clit. You circle it lightly at first, teasing the sensitive bud with the tip of your tongue before flicking it gently.

"Oh shit," she gasps, thighs tensing around your head.

"Breath, pretty," you remind her.

She's so tight you can barely push a finger inside at first, her walls gripping you as you slide it in slowly. You curl it upward while your mouth works her clit, sucking softly then harder, alternating between licks and gentle nibbles.

You keep teasing her the whole time, pulling back to blow cool air on her wet folds just to watch her shiver, then diving back in with more pressure.

"You taste so good, Toji," you mumble against her. "You gonna come for me?"

She tries to stay cool, biting her lip hard, but her hips start rocking against your face. "Nngh fuck, you're… good at this," she admits, voice shaky. Her free hand tangles in your hair, not quite pushing but definitely holding you there.

You add a second finger, stretching her carefully since she's so tight, pumping them in and out while your tongue dances over her clit faster. The sounds are obscene, wet and slick, mixed with her growing moans. She tries to keep quiet at first, but soon she's whining, little desperate noises spilling out as her cool facade cracks completely.

"Right there… d-don't stop, you little shit," she pants, legs shaking. Her clit throbs under your tongue, you tickle it with rapid flicks until her back bows off the bed.

When she comes, it's loud and messy, her pussy clenching hard around your fingers as she floods your mouth. You keep licking her through it, gentler now, until she tugs you up by the hair.

"Enough… holy fuck," she gasps, chest heaving. Her face is flushed deep red, she looks wrecked already and you haven't even gotten to the scissoring yet.

You wipe your chin with the back of your hand and crawl up to kiss her, letting her taste herself on your lips. She kisses back hungrily, hands roaming your body.

"We're not done, baby," you whisper, pulling off your own clothes quickly.

You position yourselves carefully, legs tangled, pussies pressing together. The first slide of her hot, slick folds against yours makes you both moan. She's still sensitive from coming, so when you start grinding, rolling your hips so your clits catch against each other, she jerks.

"Ah… that's… nghh intense," she groans, but she grabs your thigh and pulls you closer, matching your rhythm.

The friction is perfect, wet and slippery, you can feel every little twitch of her body, the way her strong thighs flex as she rocks against you. Her clit grazes with your perfectly, your pussy lips kissing as you take control over her once again.

You reach down to hold her hip, guiding her movements. "God, Toji, you're so fucking hot like this."

Your voices mix in breathy moans and whines. She tries to keep some control, muttering curses under her breath, but soon she's a total mess. Her head falls back, full tits bouncing with each grind, nipples hard and begging for attention again.

"Shiit, ah! H-how are you soooo good at this?" she whines, voice cracking as she grinds harder, chasing the feeling.

"Don't you worry your pretty head about that, baby," you tell her, giving her left tit a rough squeeze before picking up your pace.

Her desperation makes you even wetter. You speed up, the slick sounds filling the room along with her growing whimpers. She's trembling, fingers digging into your skin as another orgasm builds fast. You lean forward, sucking on one of her tits while you keep scissoring,

Toji comes with a broken moan, body shaking hard against yours. Her pussy pulses, flooding warmth between you, the feeling drags you right over with her. You collapse together in a sweaty, sticky tangle, both breathing hard.

She stares at the ceiling for a minute, then turns to you looking a little bit shy. "That was way better than I thought it'd be. You really know what you're doing down there."

You laugh softly, tracing a finger along her arm. "Told you I'd help. How long did you say you're staying like this again?"

She smirks, pulling you closer. "Long enough for round two, probably."

THREE DAYS LATER

You were sure you fell asleep with Toji's big and beautiful breast inside your mouth after a long session of sucking them in her lap while she played with your pussy, but when you wake up, your mouth is empty. Still, you can feel her arm under your head as a pillow and the warmth of her body.

You rub your eyes, yawning and stretching as you sit up a little. When you finally get to see clearly, your face fills with horror.

Toji is back to normal.

No beautiful breasts, no gentle and soft curves, NO PUSSY. That was the best pussy you've ever tasted in years, what are you going to do without it?

"Toji!" you say, voice higher than you mean it.

He blinks his eyes open, staring at you with his eyebrows furrowed. "Huh?"

"Get out."

"What?"

"GET OUT, YOU HAVE A DICK AGAIN."

a/n: a little warm up before i start writing my long femtoji fic

taglist: @ie4ri @ryoride @noctynfangz @caitswife @liahcharms @loverofdrewstarkey @munji-tunji @alex2602

But for a reason that truly baffled everyone, you seemed to detest him. Cursing and turning your back on his kind of flirt whenever he tried to talk to you. Again and again, every single day, only to be met with a bucket of cold water you poured on him from your window or a dirty sponge you shot at him through the door of your classroom.

The kids giggled, seeing their beautiful teacher utterly furious at the handsome poet, who seemed bewitched by the gentle wrinkle that bent her forehead. But the way her eyes rolled and shot daggers as he waited and waited under her classroom, trying to take a single glance at the softness that bent her lips.

"He's just a silly poet. How could I ever take him seriously?" you muttered once during a conversation with your mother.

She glanced out the window of your cottage, seeing his dark locks glisten beneath the sizzling burns of the afternoon sun.

"But his heart seems kind." Her eyes turned back to look at your sweet yet tired face. "You deserve kindness."

"Kindness won't feed us," you muttered quietly, as you raised your gaze for a second.

Only to steal a glimpse of a man who didn't wish to leave you alone. Of his lavender eyes staring somewhere above the rolling hills of your village, fingers idling with a tall glass, bowing beneath the gentle, warm wind. His long hair, tied in a small bun at the top, shining like silk, as if threaded from the richest fabrics you've only read of in tales.

He's been haunting you for weeks now.

From the moment your paths crossed in the village next door, where you walked through the stalls and he sat leisurely in the local tavern, with papers and inks filling his bag. With lavender eyes that somehow caught your gaze, soft, with laughter from the past still twinkling behind your irises, before you quickly turned away.

He'd never packed up quicker, stuffing his bag without a care for his rather expensive things, before leaving the tavern in a hurry. To catch the last glimpse of an angel whose eyes had kissed his cheeks, before she would disappear forever.

He followed you all the way back to your village, eyeing the little footprints your feet left on the sand, the flowery scent clinging to your body and swirling in the air. As if showing him the way to the woman who seemed to bewitch his mind, body and soul with nothing but a single look into the poet's eyes.

And as he arrived beneath your cottage, a muffled, rather angry scoff escaped your lips. Seeing a strange man who seemed to walk behind you, in silence and holding his breath, all this time.

"What are you doing here?" Your brows furrowed, wild hair sticking softly to the warm cheeks. "How dare you follow me like a madman?"

But Suguru… Suguru couldn't even catch his breath.

Oh, how damned he already was, upon sensing his heart fall into the agonising clutches of a feeling so wicked!

"I–" The words could barely slip past his tightened throat. Almond-shaped eyes, oogling your face, twisted in wrath yet still looking utterly lovely. "I just thought you were beautiful."

You scoffed again, forcing another squeeze of his heart. "Leave. We're done here."

His fists clenched as he saw your body already turning towards the cottage. "Wait! Can you… do you wish to go out with me?"

Looking over your shoulder, you eyed his figure. Fingers painted black, a white shirt clinging neatly to his well-built back. Black trousers, rather simple, threaded here and there as if he had seen thread and needle too many times.

A poet.

A man of heavy words yet light pouch.

Someone you shouldn't even look at, even if you were an outcast yourself.

A witch, a weird lady who spent too much time in the woods, talking to trees, grasses, and animals, while teaching apothecary to local children.

Someone whom normal men avoided crossing paths with, as if in fear of even associating with a woman of your sort.

Utterly beautiful, yet of a wicked cheek.

"No," wasn't enough to force him away.

As it seemed, Suguru Geto was foolish enough to even beg and wait for a single glimpse of the softness that beamed from your eyes in the early mornings, just before your gaze caught his figure lingering beneath your windows.

He visited you every day, following you from sunrise until moonlight spilt its kisses on your lovely face. He sat beneath the window of your little classroom, a small house built on a hill, and scribbled his own poems. With a little ink he had brought from home, his forehead beading with sweat as he listened to your classes.

To the lovely voice that carried through the lush plains of the rolling hills, seeping into the creeks that ran past the scattered huts. The peaceful, almost idyllic view stretched before his eyes each day, yet he still seemed utterly lost in the softness of your hands on his skin.

After long weeks of tiresome begging, you've finally agreed.

Catching him once again asleep in the tall grasses by your classroom, a golden spill of sunshine casting a peaceful look on his handsome face.

And so, carried by an unknown, wicked feeling, you squatted next to him, with the edges of your dress brushing his body and your fingers reaching to push away a single raven lock stuck to his forehead.

Lavender eyes slowly opened, as if doubting whether the petal touch was real or just a projection of his lovestruck mind.

"I agree," you said, a soft sigh pushed past your lips. "One meeting."

He nodded, quickly, eagerly, already rising to his feet. "Just one."

"And if I still dislike you, that shall be it."

He didn't nod this time, and so you pinched his cheek gently. "Say it."

He chuckled, nuzzling into your softness. "And if you do not like me, I shall leave you alone."

Yet, as it soon would turn out – hating him was rather impossible.

After a year, you already gave birth to your first child.

Oh well, a woman in love can be quite wicked, but a man? Dear heavens. As soon as you agreed to his pleading to become his wife, Suguru Geto didn't hesitate to ensnare you with his deceitful feelings.

And you, utterly captivated by a foolish poet who sang of his beloved's sweetest smiles, couldn't deny the burning fire deep within you. The sensation of his skin against yours in the most intimate manner stirred your desire. To cherish him and be cherished in whispers, touches, and moans that escaped your lips as you hid atop your cottage roof while your parents were absent.

When he promised you forever, during the wedding vows, you knew he meant it.

Suguru Geto's life began only after meeting you. Everything that happened during the past twenty-five years of his life seemed to be nothing but a bleak, barren nothingness that filled his wretched soul.

Soon after the wedding, you moved to another cottage. Small and lovely, where your first child was born. A girl with the sweetest cheeks and rich, lavender eyes that mirrored the kindness your husband had shown.

His precious little daughter.

"And my precious, beautiful wife," he always added, while kissing both of your foreheads. "The lights of my life."

You would giggle before wrapping your arms around his back and drawing him into a longer kiss. You stood in the middle of your little, simple cottage, with candles scattered across the shelves and his ink-stained fingers smudged on your cheeks.

"Aren't you a flirt?" A sweet laugh spilt from his throat as he stole another kiss.

And another, another, another, which forced you to tumble onto the soft bed. The fog clung to the windows; the candles' warmth cast shadows over his handsome cheeks, hair spilling over his shoulders.

Your breath hitched as his lips wrapped around the sensitive point beneath your neck.

"You play a dangerous game," fell quietly, and he chuckled.

"And why is that, my dearest wife?"

His lavender eyes met yours. Love and fondness merged as he brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen over your forehead.

"Because I may ask you for another baby."

He raised his eyebrows before curving them into a soft scowl. "You don't have to ask me twice for anything, my love. And especially for this particular thing."

And so, oh well.

Another year had passed, and you gave birth once again.

This time, to the sweetest boy, with the cheekiness of yours bubbling in his eyes and a big heart always yearning for his mother.

The life you had was almost idyllic, as if brought straight from one of the tales you always read to your kids. A life of profound serenity, filled with overwhelming love that spilt past your husband's fingers.

He seemed to carry your whole family, and even though he soon started travelling a lot – for he wished to chase his playwright dreams – there was never a time when you felt anything but taken care of.

Suguru wished it stayed that way.

A picture of you, humming the loveliest melody to your two children, strolling through the long plains of wildflowers as the sun kissed your cheeks. The picture that seemed to be stuck in his mind, the one he repeated over and over again as he went off to the big cities to earn a few more pennies.

Whenever the horse took longer than it should, or the carriage rolled over the bumps and mounds, he thought of you. Of the view that would welcome him home.

Of his children growing up healthy and his wife staying the wicked witch she always had been. Filling their kitchen with herbs of sorts unknown to him, yet carrying a special healing might. He would think of the lavender fragrance filling the kitchen and the mint bubbling on the stove. Of the cinnamon, ginger and cloves that, during the winter, carried all four of you through the freezing bites.

Your hands had healing power, your mind stayed sharp and kind, always aware of what to do in case of a sudden crisis, be it your daughter's sudden cold or your son's scratched knee.

Sometimes it was Suguru himself, lying beneath the heavy pillows and blankets, as if already half on the other side. At times like this, he would, in a rather melodramatic way, recite poems about the approaching end and stretch his hand towards you, as if mimicking death.

The children would always laugh sweetly, seeing their father utterly lost in his need to catch a glimpse of their mother's attention. Because they knew, oh, of course they knew, that love was hidden in their mother's purest smile and in the way their father seemed to live solely to hear her sweet laughter.

They saw the way their father looked into their mother's kind eyes. With affection difficult to describe, they only began to understand its true heaviness after they reached the age of six.

They knew that no one loved their mother as much as he did. No matter how often Suguru kissed their plump cheeks, it was with only half the devotion he showed their mother. He loved them, of course he did! For it was simply impossible for any other child to be loved by their father as much as Suguru loved his.

And yet, both of them knew that whatever it was between their parents felt most sacred.

Thus, when their mother fell heavily sick, it seeped through every soul living beneath their warm roof.

It happened one day, as you collapsed in the garden. Suddenly, falling straight into your slowly growing herbs, before the panicked children called for their father with tears swirling in their eyes.

He brought you back home with trembling hands, quickly lying you down on your bed by the fireplace. To let the flame give a bit of warmth to your cheeks, as he saw the life slowly slipping away, with sweat beading on your forehead.

The doctors said it's a simple cold. Nothing serious.

But the days were passing, and it seemed you were getting worse. Barely able to eat even the lightest food, turning from side to side beneath the heavy covers.

The fever clung to your forehead no matter how many times Suguru tried to fight it. He placed cold compresses on your forehead and kissed your temple. As if it could heal whatever sickness was plaguing your poor body.

He saw you grow weaker day by day. Sometimes, the strength would return to your body, only to leave it completely before you could walk to the front door.

Sometimes you laughed with your children, only to start coughing blood a minute later.

Suguru was slowly losing his mind, spiralling into madness, as he called for every doctor available in the village. Yet no one knew what sickness was holding onto his wife's dearest life.

He would lie by your side every single night, just to listen to your whistling breath. Watch the way your lips fell open and your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He would stay all night, just to make sure it wouldn't be the last.

Hand plastered to your cheek, though you could barely register his touch. His voice, soft, almost teary, sounded muffled within your sickness-spiked mind.

He prayed. Long and as never before, clinging to your body, just to feel the warmth of your breath on your skin.

He prayed for death to take him instead, to leave his dearest wife alone, as he was ready to bear all the pain she needed to endure.

He prayed in a pitiful voice that sliced his children's hearts as they saw their father in such a wretched state. And so they gave him time to grieve, alone, watching their mother's soul slowly wither away.

But then… then another night came.

Much worse than any other. As Suguru could barely feel your puffs on his fingers. A shallow, almost invisible breath slipped past your lips, and the smell of death swirled in the room. Fogging the windows, seeping with sickness and stealth, as Suguru felt the grim reaper's clutches slowly wrap around your body.

He could see it in the dim corner of the bedroom, staring at your sweat-beaded forehead.

"No," he mumbled, covering you both with a heavy blanket. "I won't let it take you away."

And so he did something foolish.

Beneath the veil of darkness, with material tightly covering your bodies, he changed your positions. Slowly, so death could not notice your body moving to the other side.

A soft cough escaped your throat, and your eyes opened for a moment, seeing your husband's gentle smile.

"Suguru," you muttered. "I–"

"Shh," he whispered, brushing your cheek. "It's okay, darling. It won't hurt any more. It's okay."

And because your husband he was – you believed him. Falling back into the light dream, where the world spun around nothing but the gentle, caring voice of your dearest one.

"I give you my life," Suguru whispered, yet it seemed you were long gone. "I give you my life, darling. For I cannot live in a world without your warmth." His thumb brushed the softness of your skin. "For I love our children so much, and yet my wretched heart forbids me to live without you by my side. You are much kinder than I am, darling, and shall take care of them for both of us."

As if losing you would damn him and nothing but the embrace of death itself would ever heal his woeful soul.

It was too dark to see anything, yet beneath the heavy blanket, Suguru could feel a slight warmth returning to your fallen lips. He smiled, sensing a fogginess creeping into his mind. The clutches cold and dreary, seeping through the marrow.

"I give you my life," he repeated, the heaviness pressing on his eyelids. "Be brave. Be kind. And please, don't ever stop laughing. For I'll be watching over you all and make sure none of you joins my side any time soon. I will love you, always, and I shall exist only in a world with two of us."

"For we are of one soul and one heart, thus no hills nor seas and mountains shall ever keep us apart."

And his children, listening to their father's crying whispers, knew that a man in love is truly of a wicked kind.

He was the one who deceived death to grant you a new life.

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Just a little something before I leave for a trip <3