#mtchee requests

"Sorry," comes your hushed response, almost hurried as you clutch at the fabric of his t-shirt.

His hands comes to rest on yours, large fingers easing your tight grip as he ever so barely parts from you, breath fanning across your skin. You can practically hear the smile in his voice.

"Don't be sorry," he huffs, "it's okay to be nervous. You let me know if it gets too much, yeah?" His voice low, intimate, almost a whisper even though there was no one else in the room but you, "tell me if you wanna stop, at any time, okay?"

"'Kay," you omit softly, eyes drawn to the deep contours of his collarbone, too shy to look elsewhere. He chuckles at you, chest rumbling with light mirth, and you too can't help but crack a smile.

Mirio presses a comforting kiss to your forehead, moving down and peppering his lips across your skin. From your temple to your cheek, to your ear and down your neck, you can't help but tilt your head to make room for him, sighing quietly at the sensation.

He melts your body against his with staggering ease, knowing just how to get you all pliant.

You always have a hard time saying it, admitting it to him only ever once, but you're truly smitten by him. Moulding to his touch, clinging to his every word--you never have to tell him how affected you are by him, he sees it all, and he knows. But sometimes, he likes to tease.

"Do you like this, baby?" He grins against your neck, feeling you huff against him, threatening to pull away in your fluster.

"Miri..." You whine, and he chuckles once again. He murmurs half-hearted apologies against your skin, featherlight kisses dancing across your throat.

"Stupid," You puff, and he snickers at you, "you'll regret that. I'll make you."

"Oh yeah?" The playful lilt in his tone has you scowling.

"Yeah."

"Mmm, yeah," he breathes softly, gazing at you adoringly in the dim light, "I know you will."

Your heart stutters at that, and you swallow around the anxious-excited lump in your throat. How dare he, you have half a mind to think to yourself, the other distratced by the way he handles you against his body; when did Mirio get so suave?

Reaching up to pull him into a kiss, you can feel the heat from his cheeks warming your palms, and you smile against his lips. He lets out a shaky sigh through his nose, equal parts flustered and endeared, and then you remember that just as he affects you, you absolutely melt him.

A blur of passionate kissing and sensual touches eventually leads to you splayed on across your shared bed, the covers bunching up beneath you as Mirio chases you up to the head.

With you lain comfortably atop your pillows, your hunk of a man hovering over you excitedly, he pulls away with a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against yours and blushing when you let out a protesting whine. He bumps his nose against yours affectionately, giving you another kiss and giggling sheepishly when your teeth clash by accident.

Ah, yes--there he is, your not quite casanova.

He bumbles nervously for a moment, the weight of the event suddenly hitting him. He kneels above you, resting on his shins as he cautiously tugs at your top.

"Together?" He offers gently, and you comply. As you shuffle to take of your shirt, he pulls his own over his head, tossing it somewhere off the bed. You take the liberty of taking off your undergarment as well, and, with your eyes adjusted to the light darkness, you watch as his head very obviously follows where you throw it--like a dog would a bone--and you snicker.

"You're funny." You inform when he bends back over you, shielding you beneath him.

He huffs a laugh, caught, "It's a talent."

A soft sigh escapes you when he returns to his worship of your skin, this time moving lower towards your chest. Bashfully, you trail a hand from his hair to trace the moving divots in his back, prominent muscles flexing at your featherlight touch. The other rests securely on his shoulder, simultaneously grounding you and tethering you to him while you indulge yourself in your boyfriend's physique.

You gnaw at your lower lip, enraptured by him before a wet softness on your tit startles you out of your revery. At your gasp, he breathes a laugh against your chest, lavishing your breast in sloppy affection. The other is engulfed in his big, warm hand, his calloused fingertips tweaking at your nip and sending shivers down your spine.

"Shit, Miri," You breathe slowly, heart racing while your body starts to burn from his touch. He hums in acknowledgement around your nipple, the sensation zipping straight to your core, and you squeak. Mirio feels you abruptly clench your thighs under him, and he hums again, this time in glee of his findings.

He moves his mouth to your other breast, lathering it in the same attention, and leaving you feeling just as light headed with his sucks and tonguing and nips. You scratch lightly down the muscular plane of his back, from the base of his neck to as far as you can reach, and he moans.

You fluster at the sound, breath hitching in your throat. Again, you want him to make that sound again. When you repeat the motion, he does, and it has you throbbing.

You take a moment to swallow your pride, mind hazed by arousal and the innate need to return the feeling he bestows upon you, "God, Mirio," you let out a shuddered breath, "you..-you sound so good."

You're almost surprised when he quietly cusses against you, clearly taken by the looming throes of passion. When he pushes himself up, he's almost panting.

"Can I taste you, baby?" He urges in a hushed whisper, pleading, "can I touch you some more? God, I-I need it, [name]. I gotta taste you, wanna feel you on my tongue--please? Will you let me?" He sweetens the deal by pressing his flushed, wet lips across your tummy, big blue begging eyes latched onto your face in earnest.

God, how could you say no to that face?

With a quiet nod and a whisper of consent, he beams from the space between your legs.

Eager, he shuffles down and slips his thick fingers into the waist band of your underwear, tugging it down past your thighs and sitting up to reverently bend each leg and help you out of them.

He kisses your calves when he does so, and your core tingles in delight at the adoring sensation.

Mirio lays on his front, propping one of your knees over a broad shoulder to give him more room to taste you. His breath pans across your plush skin, and you become alarmingly aware of where he is.

You can feel yourself clenching before he's even touched you, and you swallow a humiliated whine at the prospect of him knowing.

Self conscious, you squeeze him between your thighs and he chuckles. He runs a warm hand up your leg and squeezes your hip, "you're okay, just wanna taste, yeah?"

You take in a sharp breath and nod, heart thundering as he draws closer to your core. The moment his lips touch you, you panic--embarrassment flooding you.

"Wait--shit!"

As though reading your mind, his grip turns into an iron latch on your hips, forcibly stilling you as you jerk and try to squirm up the bed. He draws a wet stripe up your slit, tasting your arousal, and he groans.

Within moments, your soaking his chin and gripping the pillow under you to stay in control of yourself. He's clumsy, evidence of his inexperience, but excited; tonguing your slit and swallowing your juices, eating almost more for his pleasure than for yours.

With a jagged gasp, you reach a hand down to him, caressing his temple and shakily guiding him to where it feels good the most. Mirio takes your cue and licks around, eyeing you until you jolt again when he swipes over your clit. In an instant, he latches on, sucking and drooling and licking at it.

It's hard to breathe--lightning pleasure striking you.

He lets go of your hip, using a hand to ease a thick finger into you as he kisses around your thighs. You tense at the feeling, "feels weird..." and you can feel yourself clenching, body adjusting to the intrusion.

Your fingers never felt like this, though yours are smaller in comparison. Or maybe it's because it's him? The foreign sensation of another's touch shocking your senses.

Then he starts licking you again, finger curling upwards and thrusting softly--and you almost shout.

He makes you cum twice.

One, to help ease in more of his fingers, and another, to prepare you for something else.

After peppering your lower half in kisses and crawling back up to meet you with a goofy, lovedrunk grin, he quietly shushes you and bats your hand away when you reach down to please him.

"Next time, baby," your heart flutters at the promise of it. Mirio's cheeks dimple in company of his bashful smile, "I don't know if I'll be able to last."

He reaches over to the bedside table, tearing a square sachet attractively with his teeth and slipping on a condom before he notches his tip against your clit. You lift your hips to help angle him in.

It takes a few awkward bumps and a tension breaking snicker between you both before he starts nudging into you, and you take in a sharp breath in anticipation of the stretch.

"Ooh, Miri," you wince, and he quickly pasues, lathering you in attention.

"Am I too much? S-Should I pull out?"

You exhale slowly, blinking as you bring your hazy mind into focus.

"No! No," a soft sigh leaves your lips as your body adjusts to his size, "just... keep going slow, mkay?"

He continues at your assurance, watching and listening to you carefully for anymore signs of discomfort. Mirio swallows a whine in his throat, adams apple bobbing with the effort, at the feeling of your hot, fleshy walls struggling to swallow him all.

Despite your mild struggle, a small puddle leaks into the sheets beneath you.

Within moments, Mirio's hips are pressed flush against yours, soon after beginning to gently rock into you before progressing into deep thrusts.

He hovers over you, shielding you with his large form while your legs tighten around his trim waist. He babbles almost mindlessly to you, expressions of love and praise falling from his lips as he pushes his girth in and out.

A filthy plap, plap, plap accompanies the sound of both of your puffed breaths and wanton moans.

You could almost feel embarrassed at the noise if your thoughts were not already turned to mush.

The feeling of his throbbing cock squelching in your depths leaves you heaving for breath. God, he just fills you up.

Getting to this point had taken time, and a lot of effort and patience on both ends for him to be able to easily thrust into you--fuck, it was all worth it.

"Ngh..! Mmh, a-ah, ah..!"

Hands clutching at his shoulders and clawing his back, fingers digging into the dips of his muscles as he pants and moans into your neck; stars speckle your sight when the tingly coil tightening in your belly snaps.

You had anticipated your climax, having felt it build and build and build--but it floods through you nonetheless, like a rope splintering before it rips.

Mirio feels your body tensing, furthermore, he can feel your slick hole clenching and unclenching, twitching rapidly before it clamps down on him--sucking him in a wet, plush chasm that hurdles him towards his own end.

"I-I'm--Nhg~..! A-Ah..!"

You whine softly, weakly pushing at a broad shoulder, "M-Miri..."

"Ooh~...O-Oh," He groans before tenderly pulling out and rolling off of you, having nearly lost his strength while he got lost in you, "sorry... Are you okay?"

"Mhm," You hum softly, dreary and in bliss. Missing the weight of him despite having pushed him off, you use the last of your energy to heave one of his beefy arms over you, snuggling into him in all your nakedness.

A yawn escapes you, feeling oddly fatigued, "...'nd you?"

"Me?" He blinks, "oh, y-yeah, yeah! I'm great. So--so great." His hair is messy and his face is flushed. You snicker, paying no mind to the heat creeping up your neck as you lay by him.

"...feel good."

"Yeah, baby?" Mirio breathes a laugh, kissing your head while he tightens his arm around you, bringing you closer. "Should probably get cleaned up, lovely."

You shake your head against him, "not yet... 'm not ready yet."

He hums softly, "Okay. Later then," his own eyes begin to feel heavy, but he can't find himself to take them off of you. "I love you~..."

And he can feel you smile against his skin, "I love you too, Miri..."

And when he thought that his salarywork sucked the life out of him, integrating back into jujutsu society was like a slap in the face.

He's come across many new faces since his return, most of whom he couldn't care less for; he sees no reason to involve himself unneccessarily, unlike a certain someone.

That certain someone being you.

You're not new to the jujutsu world, but you certainly act like it. Oohing and awing at all the different techniques, boundless questions spilling from your mouth like a waterfall.

And just like a rushing waterfall, you're loud and transparent. You reminded him of Haibara. You wear your heart on your sleeve, every word you say true to your soul. It would do you more harm to tell a lie than the actual lie itself.

And you're smiley. So very smiley.

Your cheer has those around you perking up ever so slightly, your positive aura seeping into their gloomy mood and transferring over. Your energy is infectious, and your kindess knows no bounds.

But where some see kind, others see naive. And Nanami knows that it's only a matter of time before you get yourself hurt. But that will be no one's fault except your own.

To his ire, you've attached yourself to him for reasons unknown to all but you it seems. Your face brightens whenever you see him, whilst his remains as passive as stone. When your pearly eyes seek his in approval, his remain sharp cut in the opposing direction. Although you speak to him sweetly, excitedly, he remains curt and brief.

He sees no reason to get attached, and he's not inclined to make new friends.

At times, your company is so grating he'd almost perfer to be in the proximity of Gojo.

Almost.

He'd never truly stoop that low.

Such a subjection would be much too cruel, even for you.

"Nanami-san!" You approached him one day with a lightly crinkled paper bag, "is your mission in Roppongi today? I saw the bakery you normally go to was closed this morning, so I made you a sandwhich instead! The lettuce I had isn't as fresh, but it should still be crunchy!"

He had acknowledged you with a nod, but only took the lunch offering once you'd nudged it into his hands.

"[last name]," he had addressed you curtly, "don't go out of your way to do such needless errands. It's better to conserve your energy for your own sake." You had only giggled and shook your head fondly in response.

You had been there when Gojo first placed Yuji under his supervision, snickering in the corner when the young sorcerer greeted him with an ecstatic "nanamin!"

He could only deadpan at your not to secret conspiratorial whispers with the boy after he had scolded him for the nickname.

"Pssh, don't mind him," He could hear the smile in your voice, "he's actually really nice once you get to know him."

Nanami disagreed with you. He is not quite nice.

He is well mannered, and can read social cues decently enough. He's observant to a point he can depict when one's mood switches at a particular point in conversation, letting him know when to diverge the topic at hand. He knows when to keep his mouth shut, unlike some. But opposingly, he will not stand to be walked over, strictly knowing his boundaries.

In Nanami's opinion, he is not nice. He's just a decent human being.

You, on the other hand, suit the definition of nice in its purest form.

"Nanami-san! I like your hair today!"

It's the same as every other day.

You're the type of person to go out of your way to make someone feel good, whether it be complimenting someone's outfit, or sending a stranger a quick wave and charming smile. Unlike him, you're quite agreeable in conversation. Even on conversations you might not agree, you carefully express your contrasing opinion while keeping the other's thoughts in mind. Your niceness gets you talked over sometimes he's noticed, though you never let it hinder you.

"Oh, Nanami!" You had gasped once, too in shock to remember your formalities regarding him, "your jacket is all torn up!"

Hardly. There was a tear in the seam of his shoulder from an altercation with a curse. The higher ups had neglected to inform him of the apropriate number which he would be facing. He had handled it nonetheless.

He had shrugged off the garment after tucking away his wrapped blade. He would have simply folded it over his arm to deal with later if not for you reaching out and tugging it from him.

He didn't quite put up a fight in you taking it from him, letting it slip from the crook of his elbow.

"I actually have some thread at home. The colour might be a tad lighter, but it'll be hidden in the seam, so you can't even tell!" You smiled at him, all teeth and reassuring eyes, "I can drop it off for you tomorrow--it'll save you the trouble of finding a tailor. Oh! When I do, how about we get lunch together too?"

You're much too generous with your time, in Nanami's opinion.

When he'd rather bask alone, tie loose, shoes off, with a glass of whiskey on the rocks and a book in hand in the low light of his living room, you're skittering around; out and about either chattering away and wishing someone a pleasant evening, or walking from one place to another, street to street to pick out what you want for dinner before treating yourself to a series of desserts that you're more inclined to bring to jujutsu high the next day in a share box.

You'd more willingly spend your nights tending to someone else's problem than settle in the quiet of your own company.

Hm.

True to your word though, the next day you turned up at his door with his jacket neatly sewn and pressed across your arm. By your feet was a carefully placed reusable bag of his favourite luncheon accompanied by a sheepish, but nonetheless heart-warming smile on your face.

Nanami thinks you're much too generous with your time indeed.

Now though, seeing you laid across the medical bed in Shoko's sanction, skin losing it's colour while your lips dry by the day, he can't help but be a little selfish, seating himself in your eerily quiet company.

You've never been so quiet before. It's unsettling.

Your latest mission landed you in a hot zone with four first grade curses. You held your own, but ultimately knew you wouldn't leave unscathed.

You'd successfuly excorcised the curses, ridding them of their existence. But with them went your consciousness, partly an after effect from one of the fiends, and partly due to your imminent exhaustion.

For two weeks you'd been silent.

In that time Nanami realised that in your generous sharing of time, your deeds were gradually returned. Many others visited you in the times Shoko allowed, heavy hearts and occassionally teary eyes sparing every second they could to stay a little longer at your side, hoping that their share of time would transfer to you, and you would awaken once more.

Though none gave their time quite like Nanami did.

The moment your weary body reached the med bay, Nanami remained seated by your bedside.

He hadn't said anything at first, only taking place by your side, sitting quietly, listlessly, until Shoko ushered him out for the night.

The next day, he sat with his jacket folded over his arm. The seam had yet to come undone--a sure sign of your impeccable work. He breathed in time with your slow breaths.

On the third day, he brought lunch with him. He got it from a place he knows you frequent, choosing something he thought he'd seen you favour the most. If you didn't eat it today, he was sure you'd eat it during the night if he left it there.

He simply turned a blind eye to the sight of the untouched lunch when he returned the following day.

In the second week, he approached your form with three flowers--an admittedly meek sight in comparison to the slowly fraying boquets others had left in their visits. The white gardenias would compliment the tint of your lips once you reach good health.

He believed you would.

The world would be damned if it snuffed out one more gleaming light.

He added three more flowers two days later, white jasmines, to accompany the others. They'd been placed in a pretty vintage vase that Gojo has scounged up from somewhere on one of his visits. One of the few things the man has been useful for, Nanami supposed.

He noticed your breaths weren't as shallow anymore. And although your lips were still dry, your skin had begun to flush slightly with your colour.

He decided to read to you that day, sure that you were sick of the snivelling silence.

Another two days pass, and it's on the brink of the third week of your unconsciousness that Nanami walks in with three more flowers to add to your collection, beautiful red roses to add some colour to his otherwise bland concoction. You'd appreciate some more colour, he's sure.

Nine pretty flowers posed in a healthy posture by your bedside table, and Nanami took his seat by your side as he always did.

He picked up the book he had been reading, glancing at the door for any guests unwelcome in his space, before continuing on from where he had left off.

His voice is low, not quite emotive, but ensnaring nonetheless. He reads for an hour or so, passing a good few chapters before he decides he's sick of his own voice. He'd realised over time that he preferred yours more.

He silently promises to continue reading after a moment, placing the book open and down on his knee while he clears his throat, shifting for more comfortability.

A quiet hum eminates from his left, and he pauses.

"...I like that chapter," your voice, uncharacteristically hushed and croaky from lack of use, rings in his ears, and he stares at you with carefully placid features despite his racing heart.

You hadn't move much, only tilting your head on your pillow to better face him.

Your cheeks look fuller all of a sudden, and despite your obvious malaise from laying stiff for so long, you smile at him warmly, like you always do.

Then, your eyes flit to his jacket discarded over the back of his chair.

"The seam hasn't broken, right?"

The corner of his lips twitch into a downward smile.

Nanami thinks you're too nice. You're much too generous with your time. But he'd never dare complain when you spend it all with him.

And he too, thinks that he enjoys the sound of you more than his own quiet company.