#sweetgummyclusters

You eye him suspiciously, not even sure if this man is a real employee. Half of you wants to believe he's a random guy who got a concussion and stumbled into an abandoned store, thinking he was clocking in for work. His plain off-white sweater and black cargo pants certainly doesn't look like any uniform you've ever seen.

Suddenly, he barks out a laugh. "No fuckin' way. You checkin' me out right now?"

You shake your head incredulously, which hurts your brain, but you think you're too irritated to be so concerned about how it makes your vision blurry for a second. "Are you out of your mind?" You ask him, your volume raising slightly in frustration.

"I think I see what you mean by wanting something good for your head now, sweetheart." He smirks, his entire demeanor suddenly changing as he shifts in his spot to lean over the counter.

"Oh, my god. Fuck you."

"That too. I can do that."

You stare at him, not saying a word. Shock, surprise, any other synonym that might exist for those words, you're feeling it. You're sure now, you might kill this man.

A beat, then he speaks. His voice quieter, and seemingly more serious. "You really sure you're not a cop?"

You sigh again, unmoving other than the up and down of your chest. Finally shaking your head as you shut your eyes in an effort to calm yourself.

"Hm," he thinks to himself and you open your eyes, "I got some good stuff in the back. C'mere."

You blink, but instead of getting to question him further, he's already gone. He doesn't even wait to direct you, just moving behind the swinging door towards the employee area of the drugstore.

Your body feels weak, you're almost certain if you stay standing in this spot, you'll slump over the counter and stay there 'till you pass out. Your bones somehow feel half as dense as they were before, and your chest pain is sure to give you a heart attack. But following an incredibly strange man into an incredibly strange room of an incredibly strange old shop? Were you really that desperate? Leaning over to get a good peek through the small window on the backdoor, you catch him standing at an open entrance to another room toward the right. There seemed to be a bright spotlight shining right on him from inside. His chiseled face and messy black hair looked model-worthy. You think to yourself that it's too bad he's deranged.

Then as if he could feel your curious gaze on him, he swivels his head around to look right back at you, smirking again. And when you find yourself pushing on that same backdoor, following him despite the sensible part of your brain, you ignore the answer to your question. You are, in fact, desperate.

"You smoke, right?" You hear him ask you.

"What?"

He deadpans at you, almost annoyed. "You smoke weed?"

As you turn the corner and walk into the room with him, you have to shield your eyes from the glaring bright lights above you. "Oh! Holy fuck, dude." Then, the smell hits you. You're not sure how it didn't before, you've been incredibly sensitive to strong odors ever since you got your headache, but nonetheless it hits now. And fuck, does it smell good.

You hear him bark out a laugh. "Shit, my bad. Here, I'll pack you somethin' while you stand out there 'n wait. You can turn off the lights if it's botherin' you so bad."

As you reach for the switch he almost shouts, his voice raising in volume but his tone sounding more fed up than angry. "Not this room you fuckin' psycho! I just told you. Out. There."

You have the urge to yell back of course, but your body screams at you to walk out and sit on the couch you spotted in what seems to be an employee lounge.

You grumble, but turn around and exit. He smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and grumbles to himself as well. You can make out some words behind you, "kill my plants" "crazy fuck", but you're not sure if you care. As you pass the big counter in the middle of the room, flicking the light switch near the door that leads back out to the main floor, and slump down on the cushion, you can feel your body relax a bit. You decide to get a good look at your surroundings, maybe to decipher if this is a bad dream or not. You notice the dozens of shelves with various pill bottles and store bought drugs lining every wall, the room illuminated by the huge lights in the room that man is in. Though, you don't know for sure, you start to suspect they're either fakes or empty. You look over at that big marble counter you passed on your way towards the tiny employee lounge corner.

It finally dawns on you that this entire back room seems much cleaner and well-maintained than the actual shop area out front. Then it clicks, and you feel stupid. This is a front, and he's a drug dealer.

"Do you wanna bong or a joint? Or, never mind. Shut up, joint's better for you."

You can feel your brain pulsing. "Yeah, whatever." You reply, not having the energy to care at this point who he is, as long as he can provide you some relief.

He leans against the white counter while he rolls green in some yellow-ish paper between his fingers. "Y'know, I was expectin' more push-back. D'you actually smoke?"

You sigh. "I just want something for my head." Ignoring the quiet laugh he lets out through a puff of his nose, you watch his hands work. Despite how large and intimidating they are, he seems to be less rough and more meticulous than you thought. That shit-eating smirk forms on his handsome face as he lets you gaze at him. But you don't realize it, still watching him finish up what's supposed to be your medicine for the day.

"You got a lighter?" He asks, finally done rolling.

"Don't think so." You answer plainly.

"What. You don't have a fuckin' lighter? R'you serious?"

It's quiet for a moment, awkward and tense. You know you should probably feel uneasy, unsafe, maybe even scared as he stares you down with that pointed look on his face. But all you feel is irritation. You're starting to lose whatever little patience you had left with this man, and you're sure you'd get yourself killed if you tried fighting him but it did sound like a good way to let loose some built up frustration.

"Relax, I'm kiddin'. Jesus, looked like you wanted to kill me." He hands you the joint, almost smiling. "Here."

You glare at him, slowly taking the spiff and rotating your wrist in order to get a good luck at it.

He starts, "It's not laced, if that's what you're wonderin'," you glance up at him suspiciously.

"It's really not. That'd take so much effort. Being nice is easier this time."

You don't catch his usage of the words this time, instead extending your arm forward with your palm up. He assumes what you're waiting for is something to spark the joint, but the way you keep your eyes on it the whole time, disregarding him like all he's here for is handing you a fire source. All he's good for is servicing you. That's hot.

He digs in his pocket and hands you a shiny, silver Zippo lighter, biting down a smirk at how much the exchange just turned him on.

You bring it towards you, still not paying him a single glance, paying more attention to the engraving you catch on the metal frame. "Fushiguro?" You read aloud.

He doesn't make a single sound. If you didn't have him right there in front of you, you'd assume he suddenly vanished. You look up at him, almost to make sure he's still there, and when you make eye contact he looks away and clears his throat. "Yeah, my name. But don't call me that. Call me Toji."

You nod, looking back down at the joint in your hands before bringing it to your lips and lighting it. He raises an eyebrow in amusement at how much you inhale, not sure it that's from you being seasoned in blazing or your desperation to get rid of your headache. After your hit, you hand it over to him. "Thanks, Toji." You say as you exhale.

There's a pause before he takes the joint, he gets a good look at you. The smoke floating out of your mouth, your half-lidded eyes trying not to catch too much light, the way your body moves as you lean back on the cushion behind, relaxing. "Do you wanna know my name?" You ask. He can't count on his hands the amount of stupid ideas he's had in his life, and this won't be the last. But it most certainly will be one of the best. Or worst, depending on how you react.

"You're not inhaling it right." He takes a long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs. "Like this."

Taking a seat in the spot next to you, Toji brings a hand up to your jaw, directing you to face him. Your eyes widen, but you don't pull back. You can feel your heart racing at the simple motion. Any satisfying ease you felt on your head from the instant effects of the marijuana leaves you as you your head pulses once again.

You let the huge man lean in, close enough for your lips to graze before he stops. One part of you knows better. This is a ridiculously dangerous situation. Letting a possible — no definite — drug dealer kiss you while you're alone in the backrooms of his business front is crazy. You'd be crazy to let this happen.

But the wisps of smoke slowly escaping his mouth as he waits for you to make the next move, less than inches away from you as you smell the weed from his lips. You almost grow hungry at the scent. Something in you needs this more than you care to admit.

You lift your head slightly just to get a bit closer, your noses are fully brushing against each other. Toji has to resist every bone in his body from moving forward, grabbing you, and taking what he wants. It'd be too easy for him.

But you. You get a stronger whiff of the joint as he shifts his hand an inch while next to you. You can't deny the way it practically makes your mouth drool. It's too much, you realize finally that you need it more than you've ever needed anything, and close the gap.

Your lips dance with his, desperate but gentle. It's a pleasant surprise that sends a warm feeling right to your gut. You can feel the smoke being pushed from his mouth to yours as his tongue sneaks its way in with it. Toji groans low, and almost quiet, as you do your best to let the drug sink down your lungs. It has instant results, immediately starting to calm the ache of your chest and your head. He pulls away with that same smirk as you huff when you feel your medicine escape your grasp. You didn't even realize you'd started holding him.

"It's strong, huh?" He asks, his smirk shifting into a smile. Toji keeps his eyes on you, not even acknowledging the growing tent in his baggy pants. You lick your lips as you stare at the joint, he laughs. "Oh, fuck. What, r'you using me for weed or somethin'?"

You scoff out a laugh at that, and Toji feels his pants get tighter as your smile grows to a lazy grin. You're getting stoned.

"Yeah, I am. Be good 'n let me hit again?" You say it as a joke, but you can feel the weight of your words as the air gets thicker. When you bring your eyes up to look at his face, you notice the faintest dusty red on his cheeks. Much lighter than the growing red in his eyes.

"What if I did.." He starts, "But you can only hit if you let me hit."

—-

You're not sure exactly when the line was crossed. Maybe it was when you smoked the roach Toji said he would finish, as he suspected you had enough.

Perhaps it was the moment you leaned in for a second kiss and intentionally accidentally brushed your hand against his crotch.

Or probably when you fully got on his lap to try and seduce him into giving you more weed.

"R'you beggin'?" He asked you.

You giggled, your pain something much easier to ignore after finishing that joint but still present. Now more annoying than anything else. "Nnnooo, I'm making a deal with you."

He peered at you through half-lidded eyes, smirking. "What's the deal?"

You shook your head and fully laughed this time. "Your deal. It's your deal. You made it." You explained.

"I agree. I'll.." You leaned down to whisper in his ear, full confidence in you from the moment you saw the bulge in his black cargo pants. "I'll let you, if you let me."

You think that it's probably the moment you set foot in the employee area you should consider as your big mistake, but as you look down at Toji with a dripping tongue and flushed look on his face, you're not sure you care anymore. He gets up from his knees and places a sloppy kiss on your mouth. You can taste a mix of sex and weed as he does, and it drives you mad.

"So good." He chuckles, smiling against your lips. "God damn."

You smile back, wrapping your arms around his neck, resting them on his shoulders. He pulls away to look at you. The man can barely see you with the only light being from the green room, but he can tell, you look a mess already.

There's a hazy look in your eyes and a lazy look on your face. If you weren't holding yourself up using Toji's body, he's certain you'd fall back and hit your head on the counter. The thought of it urges him to place both his hands on the small of your back. You relax into his touch.

"S'that all? Cat got your tongue?" You ask him, your voice almost quiet and airy. As he tilts his head down towards you and opens his mouth to speak, you feel another wave pass through your head. This time, not a painful pounding, but a buzzing dizziness. A warmth spreads through your chest down to your gut, swirling down further until you throw your head back and moan softly.

In time, you realize he's stopped talking and you haven't registered a word he's said. "Oh- shit." And not only that, but you can finally feel what he's doing with the hand that disappeared from your back.

"Good strain, yeah?" He asks you, his voice low and scratchy from getting you ready for one of his fingers. "Feels nice takin' two, doesn't it?"

Your eyebrows quirk up as you shoot your head forward to take a look for yourself. He does, in fact, have two fingers fucking you and you just hadn't realized. The sight of them penetrating you, and the feeling inside as he started to curl his digits upward, makes you bite your lip and smile. And the sight of you watching happily as he fucks you, makes Toji's growing ache in his pants unbearable.

His head drops and he shuts his eyes in hopes of calming himself down, thinking to himself that he might've smoked too much in an effort to be chill and cool in front of you. More than anything, he just doesn't wanna cum in his pants. Not untouched. Not while he can ruin you with his cock, shoot his seed all over your body like a canvas to paint, stuff you full with—

"Fuck, my alarm." He hears you curse first, feels you unwrap your arms from around him, then he finally hears the ringing from the pocket of your pants lying on the floor beneath him. You almost whine, and he furrows his brow before looking at you. "Shit, I— fuck.. I have a party to go to tonight. I forgot."

He snaps his head back up to you, the rhythm of his hand stuttering but still going on. "Fuck, that party." He tries to laugh off, looking back down only to catch your hips slowing in pace. You laugh back, but ultimately shake you head.

"My friends are— mmh.. are waiting for me."

Fuck your friends.

"I still have to pick up food for.. for— to bring."

Fuck that. You're not leaving.

You furrow your brows at him, he doesn't even seem to realize he said that out loud. "What?"

Toji doesn't answer you with words, instead filling the silence with wet sounds picking up in pace. Toji fucks you on his hand harder and faster and before you can say anything, he removes his other hand from the small of your back. You have to catch yourself. While you're now in a leaning position—both your hands behind you, pressed on the white counter top—the big man in front of you takes a tiny device out of his pocket, bringing it up to your lips. "Open."

You do as he asks immediately, your head feeling a spin at your own obedience.

"Suck on it, like a joint."

Your lips close around the tip of the pen, and quickly, you realize sucking on a dab like a joint isn't a good idea. Exhaling, you feel a sudden scratchiness in your throat, throwing you into a coughing fit. Toji chuckles, leaning in closer and pressing his lips to the nape of your neck. He leaves love bites where he kisses you and you feel a shiver run down your spine. "There it is. Good job, baby." He whispers.

You shake your head, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. "What the fuck, Toji? I don't want— nggh, any.. any more. I have to go."

You hear him huff before inserting another finger and keeping that bullying pace on your gummy walls. "Oh— fuck!" You cry out, suddenly ultra sensitive from just the movement inside you.

"Let it hit you. Let that shit fuck you up, pretty." At this, he's nipping at the skin of your ear. "Don't fight it."

You try to resist, whining and now struggling against him. "Didn't you want this, babe? Hit for a hit, right? That was your idea."

He has one hand preoccupied while the other is wrapped around your bicep, gripping you still like a flimsy fuck toy. "If you fight it, I'll break you 'till you can't." A broken cry escapes your throat, and he laughs.

"Mmm.. no, n-no no." You stutter out. Slowly but harshly, a new level of high plants itself in your psyche, and you're all kinds of fucked up now. As someone with more experience than the average stoner, Toji laughs at the glossed over look in your eyes when he realizes what he's done.

"Oh, fuck yes." Removing the tight hold he has on your arm, Toji palms himself through his pants, also pulling his fingers out from you and laying you down on the counter. "Needed this. So fucking bad."

You can hear the rustling of fabric, but can't do anything about it. And with how good you're feeling, you're not sure if you want to.

"Fuckin' leave me? For a fuckin' party? Crazy slut." Toji strokes himself in a loose and lazy fist, wiping his pre all over his own dick. Smirking with a noticeable amount of crazy in his eyes. He's desperate, horny like a pervert and desperate like it's carnal. "Feel too good not to fuck you properly, baby. You're not goin' anywhere."

You feel a light tapping, almost slapping, against your hole and finally find the strength to pick your head up. You watch as Toji spits on you, rubbing his shaft against the wet spot and groaning. You squirm, but one of his hands finds its way to your thigh as he digs his fingers into the plush of your skin as warning. "Don't run from it, slut. 'M gonna make you feel real good."

Suddenly, you can feel a stretch inside you that sends waves of electricity surging throughout your body. You're twitching, shaking, cumming on—

Cumming—?

"Ohh, shhit, baby. Ohoh holy fuck!" You can hear his voice breaking as he keeps going, pushing deeper and deeper into of you. Somehow, you manage to find a sweetness in how slow he's going. When in reality, it's just to keep himself from shooting ropes inside you too early. "Squeezin' me so tight, fuuuck yes. K-knew you'd be a good cockwhore f'me."

You're almost certain you're gonna pass out. As he stretches your legs apart further to reach deeper depths, there's a rush of blood that flows to your head. You think you're having a heart attack with how hard and fast its pounding. All you wanted was some sort of relief, anything that would either help with the pain or knock you out cold for a few hours 'till it blew over. Instead, the universe brought you to a shady drugstore in the middle of the city where you've had the crazy fucking luck of meeting this guy. Now, he's got you crying, shouting, practically screaming out his name as he plows into you relentlessly. So much for sweetness.

"Fuck you like a ragdoll." You hear him groan. "Fuck you like m-my bitch. Fuck you forever 'n ever 'n ever."

Tears run down your face from the mere overstimulation of his abdomen rubbing against you as he rails you. His pubic hair tickles your skin as both his hands let go of their death grip on your thighs and tug your shirt off of your body, manhandling you. Once off, his mouth finds quick purchase on your nipple. Sucking and licking. Though orally he seems to be just as gentle as before, his hand works your other nipple rough and mean. Squeezing and tugging.

You gasp and squeal at the sensations as you feel a white rush spreading through you. Your legs kick reflexively, your hands slap and pull at his shirt sleeves. You feel your vision getting cloudy and your lungs slow its deep and quick breathing. "Fuck, fuck— baby? You gonna cum on my dick while you black out? Oh, shit. So fuckin' hot." His hips stutter but still is the pace of his lust, chasing his own orgasm as he fucks you 'till you lose consciousness.

Your body writhes and shakes once more under him until you feel yourself falling asleep.

"Just a little— fuck, just a little more babe." Toji slows his hips to a more casual movement, only to slam into you with even more power than before. "C'mon, pretty thing, c'mon."

It seems to be only a moment. Toji wants badly to make this last as long as possible, but he's never felt like a patient person before, and he figures there's no use in trying now.

"Wake the fuck up, slut." He slaps you straight across your face, successfully bringing you right back from your forced slumber, bottoming out inside you. "Need you awake while I f-fuck it into you."

Waking up to the intense feeling of Toji Fushiguro's cock pushing against your g-spot and his hands gripping your hips to keep your pressed against him almost does you over, but it's not until you hear his voice break in a mantra of apologies and thank you's that you feel your second release crash down onto you through waves.

He follows soon after, strings of his seed filling you up as the two of you mix your DNA together. Fucking you through it until you're both shaking and twitching from the pleasure.

"Oh, fuck." He scoffs and sighs."Ohohoh, fuck."

When you come to, you realize how desperately you need water right now. Your throat is hoarse, but you laugh with him. The both of you bring your gazes towards each other, panting like crazy. He's smiling at you as you resist mirroring it. "If I was really.. a cop," you drag your words, still incredibly high for someone who just had a strong enough orgasm to sober you up.

"I would arrest you. I'd arrest.. you if— if I could." You finally manage get your sentence out. And as much as you want to be taken seriously, as much as you want an acknowledgment for what he did to you, you laugh as he does. "S-stop, no. I'm serious, Toji! That was fucked up!"

He's instantly there again, at the nape of your neck, kissing and licking and leaving soft pecks over the bruised marks he's left on you. "Yeah, so fucked up." He agrees, his hands roaming over you body gently, carefully like you're something precious.

"It was.." It was bad, he'd taken advantage of you. Drugged you, fucked you while you begged him to stop. Any sensible part of you would know better, but you haven't felt a logical decision leave your head since you got your headache, and now—under the influence of the weed—you feel like a completely different person. Like every single thing that has happened since you walked into this fake drug store has been separate from your everyday life. It can't be bad when you feel so good, like you're living a fantasy out before you have to go to work when the weekend ends. You breathe out, feeling a twitch in your hips as he starts licking at a spot right below your ear. "Toji.. fuck, mmh."

The feeling of his cock filling you out, every vein and pulse stretching your slimy walls, would already be enough to send you over the edge. But it’s not until you move one of your hands towards your crotch, with the intention of touching yourself as he fucks you, that your release comes rushing through you. You didn’t even get to make contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, but the knot in your stomach had come undone and you felt yourself squeeze around Gojo. Your back arches as your climax has you clawing at his biceps. He stutters as the tight feeling impacts his unstoppable movement, causing him to slow down just a little bit.

“Yeah, s’it feel that good pretty? Ah.. oh, fuck..”

He moves one hand from your throat and places it next to your head on the pillow, you move your hand to his wrist and move it again. Your grip feels lackluster and weak as he fucks you through your orgasm. He lets you guide his hand towards your stomach as you place it just under your belly button and push. He stops immediately in an effort to stop his cum from pouring into you. It doesn’t fully work, as it still takes all of his mental strength to keep himself from finishing in that moment.

There’s a bulge in your belly, and he knows it’s his cock. He could feel it moving with his hand for the good two seconds he was still pounding himself into you. He sinks as his head buries itself into the crook of your neck. “Oh, fuck..” He whispers.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.. Shit.” You almost want to laugh at his curses until you feel him slowly grind his hips against you, still pressing his hand onto the outline of his shaft protruding from your stomach. “M gonna fuckin’ breed you. Make you mine. Fuck. Gimme your hand.”

The grip on your throat ceases as he moves a bit to grab something in his dresser. Before you know it, a ring is being slipped on your left hand. It hardly brings you out of your cumdrunk daze, but you bring your palm towards your face to stare at it. He fucks you harder.

“I know, I know. But.. hah, I don’t- I don’t wanna marry some CEO’s daughter. Make me happy, please. We can make it work, hun.” He speeds up. “I really, ahh.. Fuck.. I really fucking like you. Ohh, shit. Let me show you off, make you mine.”

Tears roll down your face, whether it’s from happiness or overstimulation, it doesn’t matter much to either of you. Your legs shake as you nod your head and gulp, your eyes roll to the back of your skull as you feel him snap his hips more desperately. He’s gonna cum. Just a moment ago Satoru was one of your best friends, a favorite in your contact list, and now he’s your husband and he’s gonna cum inside of you.

A second climax hits you as he grunts and whines into your ear. “Mine, my baby. Fuck..! My fucking baby.” You can feel the warm liquid ooze out of you as he bucks his hips just a few more times, wanting to properly fuck his seed into you. You wrap your arms around his neck as he bites onto your shoulder.

After the two of you settle down, he cleans you up and lays himself beside you. You play with your ring.

“I’m serious about that, by the way.” His words are no longer slurred like there were in the hours prior, the two of you have fully sobered up since you started your little eventful, nightly activity. They're more quiet, more intimate, but sure and true. “I want you, and I wanna be yours.. if that’s okay.”

His hands find place on your hips as you turn over instinctively, letting him spoon you. You get comfortable and nod, smiling a bit to yourself but trying to hide it from your teasing husband. He smiles and doesn’t, shameless about his happiness and relief. “My love, so good to me.”

You lay there with him, falling asleep to the sound of your heartbeat and the feeling of him breathing against you. Satisfied and hopeful, you hope to marry in the winter. Yeah, that sounds nice.

His official title was your assistant, but he never acted like it. He was more of your clan’s servant, chauffeur, and snake all in one. Most times he was trusted as a sort of bodyguard as well. But in some cases, where tensions were high in the underworld of Japan, your clan would appoint a professional, specially trained gun to monitor and protect you at all times. You were their special weapon, their most powerful secret. But you were untrained, and they barely put enough faith in you to take care of yourself. They don’t even have enough faith for you to attend business deals with other partnered clans, for reasons unspecified. Though, you assume it’s because of your burning hatred of greed and all things capitalistic. Either that or because you couldn’t be trusted to get out of bed on time.

“I’m so sick of being paired with the same boring, useless fucks.” You declare, closing your eyes and bringing a hand up to your face, rubbing your forehead in frustration. “They’re either that or transphobes.”

Because of the fact that you’re one of the most feared clan of Japan’s biggest secret, not many people outside the organization are even aware of your existence. If they are, they’re classified as ‘partnered’ entities. Still, even then, the specifics of your identity are incredibly guarded pieces of information. As a result, the few bodyguards you have had in the past never had any idea what they were getting into. And, unfortunately sometimes, their professionalism would become lackluster after they’d find out.

“I apologize, sir. But I have no control over these things.” Your assistant replies, sounding like a broken record. This wasn’t the first time you heard those words, and you were sure that this wouldn’t be the last.

“Fuck’s sakes. You have a say though, don’t you? I know you do, mister Sato.” You speak angrily, but the exhaustion in your voice gives away your pleading. You’re sure that at this point, you sound like a broken record too. “Can’t you tell them how miserable I am? They don’t give a shit if I say it, but they might if it’s you.”

It’s silent for a while before you hear Sato sigh, you can’t tell if he’s sympathetic or annoyed. “I will be delivering mister Kamo to you shortly, after I pick him up from the station, please stay put in your suite until then.” He states, hanging up the phone soon after.

You feel like screaming and breaking something at the same exact time, but instead you settle for throwing your phone onto the chair right next to the sofa you’re on. It was bad enough that all of this was so last minute, but now it felt like a spit and a slap in the face from your higher-ups. You urged them to be more considerate with their decisions, you begged them to keep your sanity in mind when making choices like this for you, but they didn’t care. They never did.

Now you’re stuck with another random asshole to ‘protect’ you for the next three months. Three months. Around ninety-two days of awkwardness, discomfort, and a small looming sense of danger from the person who gets paid money to make you feel safe. How wonderful. Right when you were thinking about asking that new clan member to go on a walk through the garden at an ungodly hour of the night. The only kind of date you could realistically have. One where you get to dress up all nice just to go out into the yard and sneak around like a burglar with some pretty man on your arm. You knew it wouldn’t be all that fun, and that you probably wouldn’t even have a shot with that new guy. But man, were you a sucker for pathetic looking men and an excuse to get away from the guards.

Bzzzz!

Someone’s at the door. You hadn’t realized it while you were lost in thought, but it’d been about half an hour since the phone call with your assistant, making it almost eleven in the morning now.

Bzzzz!

That most likely was mister Sato and mister Kamo, but just to be safe, you grab a pistol attached under the coffee table and saunter over to the door.

Bzzzz! Bzzzz!

Looking through the peephole, you keep your gun pointed to the floor. After seeing the disheveled appearance of mister Sato in his iconic suit, and a tall handsome figure behind him almost fitting the exact description of your bodyguard, you make no move to unlock the door and decide to let them open it up for themselves. “You have a key.” You shout out to mister Sato before walking over to the couch and plopping back down into the seat you were in before.

Soon after, you hear a locking mechanism come undone and a door open. Mister Sato walks in with the other man following suit. “I wanted to show mister Kamo that he’d be working for a polite, well-mannered young man, sir. Thank you for proving me wrong right in front of him.” Your assistant sarcastically responds as he closes the door.

“Yeah, yeah.” You dismiss his attitude, picking up the TV remote and going onto a random cartoon channel.

You hear one of the men clear their throat, assuming it’s Sato you ignore it.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Your head shoots towards the talking figure and you freeze. His voice.

You’ve met a lot of good looking people, in and out of the clan, but they were all lacking something in their charm when it came to winning you over. You always believed that something was just impossible to identify, until you heard the mellifluous voice of the emo looking bodyguard hand-delivered to your front door.

He wasn’t dressed in anything special. Just a black hoodie under a slightly darker black suit. Though, you had to admit, you’d never seen someone pull off business casual with slightly baggy clothing quite like this man did. Maybe it’s just because he looks bisexual, you think. His shiny silver chain doesn’t help, it’s one of the first things you notice.

One of the first things Choso notices is your scent.

"Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too.” You smile at him politely, and he smiles back. You think you might do anything to see him do it again.

“Mister Kamo, let me show you to your room.” You watch mister Sato extend his arm out to the hallway behind you all before he turns around, mister Kamo doing the same.

It was a huge layout for a hotel suite, but it was common for the clan to get you a room on whichever floor had the least amount of potential neighbors. That meant that you were usually put in dramatically big living quarters which took up the space of two or three regular hotel rooms, because whatever floor you'd stay on always had the space to spare. This hotel dedicated half of its top floor to this suite.

“Uh, no. I’ve got it.” You stand up, mister Sato turns back to raise an eyebrow at you. Choso Kamo turns around and you feel yourself become sure of your statement.

“I can show him around, I’ve got it.” You repeat, your expression has quickly gone from annoyed to curious and eager.

Mister Sato smiles slightly at your words, but ultimately shakes his head and rejects your offer. “That’s kind of you, sir. But on behalf of the organization, I must have a word with him in private.” You frown at the answer, almost pouting with your pissed off expression.

Choso eyes you with a bit more interest.

“Mister Kamo, this way?” Sato guides him into the hallway before turning around and subtly scolding you behind mister Kamo’s back. “Bodyguard, not friend.” He mouths, quickly and sternly.

It may be hard to tell if he’s serious or just teasing. Regardless of what he says, his eyes show a hint of something else. After fifteen minutes go by, mister Sato comes out by himself from the hallway and clears his throat to get your attention. He reminds you of the rules and guidelines the clan has provided for you to follow. You roll your eyes and mindlessly hum a response to each of them.

Mister Sato smiles. A single, breathy laugh escapes him before he sighs. You hear his footsteps get closer to the lounge area from where he was standing outside the hallway. Then you feel his hands slap themselves against your shoulders. “He seems like a good man just trying to do his job, sir. You’ll be good for him as well, yes?”

You do hope so.

“Of course I will,” You answer, feigning an offended expression paired with a similar tone of voice. A disapproving shake of your head makes him roll his eyes at your antics, “I can be nice mister Sato.”

He scoffs at you. “Of course you can.” Patting your shoulders once more before saying his goodbyes, mister Sato leaves and you suddenly feel the air get thick. There’s tension for you already, and mister Kamo hasn’t even stepped back into the room yet. You wonder what he could be doing at this moment. Unpacking, finishing up paperwork, scrolling through his phone? Did he have a phone? You don’t recall seeing one.

When you think of the lack of a phone on him, you remember your own and decide to look him up in your clan’s database. Neither that site or information is officially allowed to be seen by your eyes, but one time mister Sato didn’t hide his screen from you when he typed his password in, so if anything it’s actually more of his fault than your own.

“Mister Kamo.. Kamo, Choso Kamo.” You mutter, looking for any files under his name. You go through every folder you can, every possible location. You look under allies, ‘partnered’ entities, contractors, outside hires, and finally general employment. The only things you can find are identifiable pictures of him next to boring pieces of information like ‘Name: Choso Kamo’ and ‘Status: Active’.

“Damn, Kamo. What the hell.” You curse under your breath.

“Just Choso is fine.”

You're startled as you whip your head around to the deep voice standing by the kitchen.

“Oh, hey! Sorry, I didn’t know you were right there.” You let out a breathy, awkward laugh.

“If you have any questions about me, you can just ask, sir.”

The sound of him addressing you with authority sends a dopamine spike through your brain, and leaves a good feeling in your stomach.

“I just, uhm.. no. I don’t have questions. I was just curious.” You explain, turning your phone off and putting it in your hoodie pocket as you get up. “I apologize if I was intruding, mister Kamo.”

He shakes his head, “No, it’s fine. And again, it’s just Choso. I tried to tell mister Sato that but.. he insisted.”

You respond with a tight-lipped smile and a nod of your head, happy at his decision to have you call him by his name more casually. You maneuver around the sofa and walk over towards him.

“Yeah, he’s kinda strict. Always been like that.” Sitting on the barstool beside him, you sigh. “Oh, he wasn’t being too much though, right?”

“No, he was fine.”

It’s silent after his response, you think about whether or not he's the type of guy to enjoy this silence. Your arms lean against the counter.

“Do you have any questions for me? I don’t mind answering some.” You tell him, seeing a bird fly past the window. It steals your attention while you wait for a response.

You hear him clear his throat. “I know enough, sir. But thank you.”

You turn your head, slightly tilting it with an eyebrow raised. Confusion written all over your expression, your eyes squint slightly at him. “What does that mean?”

His eyes widen slightly as he shakes his head. “I meant no offense.” He raises his hand in a gesture to pause the moment.

“I just meant that I’m your employee. You’re my employer. I don’t need to know any real personal things about you.” He explains.

Your eyebrows raise with a look of concern on your face. Your mouth is slightly agape at his words as you let out a sigh, mixed with a groan. “You’re that type.”

He slightly frowns at that, an eyebrow raising on his face as well. “What do you mean?”

You tilt your head and sigh, looking down at the counter. “Nah, nothing. Just uh, make yourself at home. Imma go take a shower.”

His eyebrows furrow at that as he watches you get up and walk away. He wonders to himself if he was offensive in any way, if he was snappy, if he had attitude, before realizing what the problem was. You must’ve wanted small talk, you might’ve wanted bonding, maybe even a friendship. It was something that he didn’t welcome in his line of work, and something he never thought he’d even consider. But he also didn’t think he’d ever be living with a client for three whole months. The most he’d ever done was late night check-ins for a month-long job. He started to think that maybe he should go about this assignment in a different way.

He moves to stand by the hallway entrance, his arms crossed and his still face looking like he could use a good nap.

"What– what are you doing?” You ask, coming out of your bedroom in a towel that barely fits you and a basket of products in your hand.

“Oh, uh.. I just..” When he sees you in a towel, his eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. He looks away before looking back, feeling his cheeks heat up. He’s unable to say anything, too surprised to speak. He thinks to himself that there has to be bigger towels than that somewhere in this suite.

You notice the dart of his eyes in any direction but yours. Fireworks set off in the back of your mind as you hold back a smile effortlessly, but you almost want to laugh at him too. That probably was the most pathetic attempt at hiding one’s flusteredness you’ve ever seen. You clear your throat to calm your nerves, because although it’s not visible, you can feel the joy of being attractive to this man inflating your ego to an impossible measure.

“I said make yourself at home. You don't have to stand outside like a guard dog." You say sternly. You quickly turn your attention back towards the bathroom and make your way to the door, smiling and punching the air as you get inside.

Choso blinks in surprise. It seems he isn’t used to people fighting him off in this particular way. His plan was to catch you coming out of your bedroom and make some small talk, but he’d forgotten you said you were going into the shower. Now, he’s embarrassed himself.

Choso uncrosses his arms and sits on the corner of the couch furthest from the front door. He lets out a sigh before the rush of water pouring down in the shower interrupts his negative thoughts. He can hear the sound of you humming along to your music while the scent of your newly lit candle makes its way to his nostrils as well. Choso’s always had heightened senses, all five. It’s part of what makes him such a good bodyguard. That and the motivation of providing for his family.

He knows he’s good at what he does, and he’s been with a lot of big organizations, but he’s never been so high up on the work ladder like this before. Not like he is now with this specific clan, your specific clan. As you pop into his head again, a stray thought suddenly appears in his mind. The idea of you now, bathing yourself. The idea of you being naked and wet. The idea of your bare body being right in front of him, so close to his. So very close that he can touch it. Taste it and take hold.

His eyes widen slightly in shock at the image as he senses a familiar feeling in his stomach. He shakes his head with vigor, as if to get the picture out of his brain. It was incredibly inappropriate for him to think of you that way. He knows that and knows he should stop, but god was it such a pretty idea.

He thinks to himself that another minute of this will earn him a spot in hell as he spends the next ten minutes indulging.

“Mister Choso!” You shout from the bathroom. He realizes that you’ve kept the door open after he turns to look in that direction. Was that a habit of yours? Was it a mistake, or was it intentional?

What?

Was what intentional? What is he thinking? What intent would there be to leaving the door open? He thinks to himself that there must've been something in the water this morning.

“Choso! Are you there?” You shout again, wondering about his unresponsiveness.

“Uh, yes?!” He quickly gets up from his spot on the sofa and makes his way over to the bathroom. He instinctively motions to twist the knob and, against all odds of him thinking before he acts, swings the door wide open. “Are you alright, sir?”

The sight in front of him puts all fantasies he's ever had to shame, but it's so pathetic how it does. The shape of your body, though blurry and barely visible through the curtain, makes him feel more desperate than all the sinful thoughts he’d been living in for the past dozen minutes.

His eyes widen as he realizes what’s happening. “Oh, shit! Uhm.. I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to just uh–”

“It’s fine, I just wanted to know if you liked pizza?” In the moment, tiny laughs come out of your throat through your words. You’re amused at the fumbling, nervous sound of the bodyguard as he apologizes profusely. You mentally high-five yourself at the way your plan played out.

“Uh, yes. Sorry, uhm.” He clears his throat and forces his gaze away, his chest rising high and falling low. Struggling to get his words out, he blinks and swallows a lump in his throat.

“Yeah, pizza's good.” He answers.

You smile and nod, continuing to move your hands over your skin as you rinse yourself off under the showerhead. “Okay, that's all.” He nods and leaves as quickly as he barged in.

“Weirdo.” You mutter, just loud enough for him to hear as he rushes out of the bathroom.

Choso lets out a heavy sigh and lays back on the couch, taking his suit jacket off and setting it down beside him. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s never bombed a job so hard, so quickly. He thinks it’s because he hasn’t slept in a while, but he immediately decides that that can't be it. It was pretty normal for him to lose hours of rest. Especially in this line of work.

He thinks maybe it’s because he’s intimidated by the gravity of who he’s really working for, intimidated by how much they stressed ‘it is absolutely imperative’ that you stay safe. But then he thinks, no. That’s close, but he’s worked for some other important, secretive people before.

He knows he’s intimidated, but he doesn’t know what he’s intimidated by. Whatever it is, he knows he needs to get over it. At this point, it's getting in the way of his work.

His arms cross against his chest as he continues to lay down with his eyes closed. He’s trying to relax just as you asked. Time flies by like this until you’re done with your shower.

With a towel draped around you and a basket of lotion in your hand, you walk out of the bathroom and towards the living room.

Choso opens his eyes once he hears you walk out of the bathroom and gets up from his position on the couch. He looks like a deer caught in headlights as he stares at your barely covered, shiny body.

“I was just going to ask if..” You trail off, catching Choso doing his best not to stare at you with metaphorical drool on his face. You smile slightly at that. “Mister Kamo?”

Choso blinks and forces himself to look only at your face. “No, just.. uh, just Choso.” He tries to focus on your eyes, your hair, your cheeks, and then he gets to your lips. He’s unable to pull his gaze from your lips, staring with desire as he pictures for a split-second what they might feel like. He notices the tiniest smirk on them as well. It puzzles him for a moment. Were you enjoying this?

Your eyebrows furrow at the man as you smile and scoff out a laugh. “Choso.. You’re not checking me out, right?”

He blinks as more red flushes to his cheeks. “No! You just.. uh–”

“Just what?”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but there’s a strange flutter in his stomach that he’s trying to put to rest. “Uhm.. I..” He says, not being able to give a full statement. His focus is pulled away from you in an instant, his eyes dart towards the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

You feel a deep annoyance rise in you as you cross your arms just under your chest.

Bzzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz!

You eye him for a moment as he eyes the door. A good few seconds pass before you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and turn towards the bedrooms. “Get that, yeah? It’s just a food delivery.”

His eyebrows climb. He’s confused. “A food delivery?”

You don't pause to answer, instead just replying as you walk away. “Yeah, I ordered earlier.” Choso has a hard time finding some stability after that whole ordeal. His thoughts run wild before he finally gets up and tries to shake it off.

“That's why I asked about the pizza!” You clarify, raising your voice from your bedroom.

Choso watches you as you walk away, feeling a mixture of confusion and frustration with himself. He decides to put it on pause before going over to the front door and opening it, finding the hotel worker who received the original delivery from the pizza guy at the lobby. Choso thanks him with a generous tip before shutting the door behind him.

You shut the lights off in your bedroom and leave the nightlight on. You thank mister Sato in your head, knowing he’s the one who brought it and placed it in your room when you arrived. He knows how much you hate ceiling lights in any room you’re in. Your attention doesn’t stay on it for long though, as the disappointment of having Choso’s attention ripped away from you so quickly is still on your mind. It seems to serve as a silent reminder that that man is here on a contract. He looks at you as a simple job, and not a fun one he can hook up with. You sigh as you realize you’re just going to have to settle. Just be friendly, but nothing other than that. No fun, no banter, no bond, no relationship of any sort. Sexual, platonic, or otherwise. Just like usual.

In his mind, he tries to come up with some sort of plan to start over with you. He knows, obviously, he should start out with an apology. Then, of course, an explanation. Unless you didn't care for it, maybe it'd tick you off more than he'd think. He'd only make things worse. But then, how should he go about talking to you? It's not as if he can just pretend like nothing happened. Unless that's what you want?

He's a logical man, at times awkward, but intelligent nonetheless. He'll go crazy trying to figure out why all of this was happening and where to go from here. Christ, you were driving him mad already. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours with you yet, and he's already fucked up more times than he ever has in his entire career. As he ponders to himself over what the issue could possibly be, one nagging idea troubles his mind. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him.

You. You and that smirk. You and those laughs. You and your voice, the way it sounded as if you were toying with a dumb pet. There was a chance you were orchestrating all of this. There was a chance you didn’t even just want small talk, or bonding, or a simple friendship. There was a chance you wanted more from him.

“I hope you’re okay with onions!” You shout, “If not, there's plain cheese in the other box!”

He puts the boxes of pizza on the counter before walking towards the hallway, pretending to look around at the decor before pausing near your bedroom door. He can hear the sound of your humming as he tries to talk himself out of one of the stupidest ideas he's ever had.

You decide to look around your room before getting dressed, this being the first time you’d been inside. You think to yourself that maybe instead of stubbornly staying in the lounge area all morning to show a sign of resistance to a clan that didn’t care, you should’ve checked out what a glorious bed you’d be sleeping on for the next few months. You hate to admit when they do something that brings you joy, but it does happen from time to time.

Just as you lay on it, fully naked and comfortable, a thought crosses your mind. You try to shake it off as a stupid, imaginative idea, but when it continues, you feel a heat between your thighs. Choso was a tall glass of broodiness who seems like he takes his job seriously, but he also looks like the kind of guy who’d get on his knees and bark for some boy pussy.

"Hm." You hum, almost sighing.

As your hand reaches down to your legs, you thank yourself for leaving the light off. It helps the mood, you think.

All while Choso lingers at your door.

“Haah..”

His eyes widen as he hears your voice. He can smell the scent of your freshly cleaned body mixed with the lingering fragrance of your cologne. You must’ve sprayed it on yourself after getting out of the shower, the aroma of it making this all the harder for Choso. His heart races as his stomach twists, he feels his pants get tighter with every second that goes by. The man with his mind on fire contemplates being the pervert you already think he is, though he doesn’t want to admit it.

He doesn’t want to think about how you might look right now, legs spread and a hand in between them. Your fingers might be rubbing against yourself as your hips move up and down to keep at the same rate, your other hand could be playing with your nipple. It could be twisting and toying, massaging and squeezing. All while Choso slowly strokes himself through his pants, just like he is now.

He doesn’t want to think about how he’s gotten himself here, he doesn’t want to think about how he’s widened the gap in your doorway to watch you touch yourself, and he certainly doesn’t want to think about how wrong it is that he’s invading your privacy like this. On the clock, no less.

But fuck, did it feel good. And maybe, there was a chance you knew what was happening. And maybe, he hopes for himself, that it feels good for you too.

So instead, he wills himself into ignorance and lets a river of denial spill into his head. He decidedly has the grand idea to simply not think about it and instead just carry on, because if you didn’t want him to see, why was the door left open?

Your hips follow a consistent rhythm that keeps the pace of your fingers as you fuck yourself on them. Choso tries to follow along as he grips and rubs at the bulge inside his slacks. The sounds you make urge him to speed up, but he denies himself the pleasure in fear of getting semen all over his new pants.

You feel the build up inside of you as your hips and fingers pick up their tempo. Your other hand becomes more rough with your nipple before it switches and continues its toying. Your moans get more desperate and rushed with each passing moment as you imagine the pale guard in multiple different scenarios, with multiple different wardrobe choices. Most of them being a birthday suit, while some of them involve leather. “Aah, ffuuuck.” You groan, your little penis being swollen and sensitive from the relentless stroking and minor edging you keep putting yourself through.

As Choso hears you, the small amount of mental fortitude he has left crumbles before he pulls his dick out from his trousers. He can tell you’re getting closer to coming undone.

You move your hand from your nipple and use it to steal the precum leaking from your hole. Rubbing it on your tiny cock before bringing the messy digit to your lips, you taste it for yourself. The sight of it makes Choso’s premature seed leak from the head of his dick as his breathing gets heavy and ragged. His hand strokes his long veiny shaft, kisses of pubic hair along the beginning of it, with thick white strings of load dripping down from the tip of his head to the floor. He can feel himself get closer and closer as he watches you go on. The sight and the sounds of you like this make his head feel light and his legs feel weak. He watches as you reach your finish.

He thanks whatever god there is for his eyes, until he begins to truly, suddenly appreciate his ears.

“Mm, Choso.. ah! Mmf, fuck.”

The first thing he hoped for, but the last thing he expected, came true. The sound of his name leaving your lips as you orgasm sends him over the edge. His cum shoots and pours out of him as he tries to catch it with his hand. He chokes back a desperate, throaty murmur in an attempt to focus on calming his breathing. His heart races in his chest as he watches you do the same, naked and lying down. You shuffle around in your spot on the bed before dreamily sighing and getting up. Grabbing the remote on your bedside table and turning on the overhead light, you saunter over to your wardrobe to pick out some clothes, but something in the doorway catches your eye as you do.

His eyes widen with a fearful expression. Choso’s shiny chain had caught the light from the ceiling before he could realize and the reflection was acting as a sort of bait, luring your attention towards him. His heart pounds against his chest as a thousand thoughts run through his mind. He debates whether or not he’s really been caught yet, if he has a chance to run. He watches you stare at the gap in the doorway before side shuffling over to the bed, grabbing a blanket and covering your nude body. He realizes at that point that he's been caught red handed, but he doesn’t move. He should have never opened the door to the bedroom, but curiosity got the better of him.

“Choso, is that you?” You ask, a tone of fear and embarrassment overtaking your voice. Surely not, you think. Surely that’s not your big, edgy, attractive bodyguard in your doorway. Surely he didn’t just see you masturbate to the thought of him. But the figure in between the gap says otherwise.

Choso doesn’t respond, he can’t. He instead just quickly disappears into the lounge area, the solution to his problem being to lie on the sofa and pretend to be asleep. As he closes his eyes, he can hear shuffling coming from inside your bedroom, followed by careful footsteps coming towards him.

“Are you..” You pause, looking him up and down before landing at his black bottoms. “asleep..?”

Tilting your head and furrowing your eyebrows at him, you feel your heart beat louder than it already is. You question in your mind how that’s even possible right now. But as your breathing quickens and your adrenaline spikes, you feel a heat gather once more in between your legs. The thought of Choso Kamo watching you touch yourself, and the effect it seems to have had on him, makes you want to shiver.

“Choso..” You take a deep breath and sigh. “I know you’re pretending.”

Choso feels his heartbeat stop in his chest, but he doesn’t crack.

“I can see your.. your uhm..” You lick your lips awkwardly, staring at his pants, almost wanting to laugh at the sight. “Choso, just get up.”

He turns onto his side, facing his back to you. “I’m sorry.” You hear him mutter.

“Did you, uh..” You start, “Did you.. did you see any of that?”

He doesn’t respond, his nerves getting the best of him for a moment as he contemplates what to say to you. Does he make an excuse? Does he lie? Does he fess up? He takes a minute to calm himself down before he finally nods. He realizes that there’s not much he can do anymore. He’s been caught red-handed.

You don’t say anything either, trying to focus your mind on a word. Something, anything to describe how you’re feeling.

The hottest guy you’ve ever met in your life just watched you cum as you moaned out his name, and he’s rock hard on your couch. You’d just seen a cum stain on his pants, and you know with absolute certainty that it wasn’t there before.

Choso finally thinks that he’s found the words to say to you. Not the right ones, since he knows there aren’t any, but he mentally preps himself nonetheless. “If–”

“Choso,” Your voice makes his adrenaline spike. It might be something in your tone. Something in the way you say his name feels different than before. “Turn around.”

He doesn’t at first, knowing in his heart how much he doesn’t want to, but eventually he does. He figures that the very least he could do is just comply with what you say.

When Choso turns around, he expects to find you standing over him with a look of disappointment and anger as you stare right into his eyes right before you put a bullet between them. Instead, he finds you climbing onto his thighs. You don’t meet his gaze at all, no gun in your hand, seemingly no anger inside you. Just a hungry look on your face as you grip and tug at the hem of his pants.

His eyes widen in shock as he shoots up from his position on the sofa, his breathing quickening. He grips onto your wrists before looking up at you with the expression of a lost puppy. “Wh– sir..?”

You interrupt his question when your fingers begin unbuckling his pants belt. He looks down in surprise before feeling you push him right onto his back. He looks up at you with that same expression as you regret not being able to take a photo of the sight before you. His cheeks are a dusty pink. His eyebrows are almost upright curves as his lips look a little like they’re quivering. The shininess of his eyes suggest that he almost cried at the initial confrontation, and you make a mental note to bring a camera next time.

Pulling his hard erection out from his trousers makes him gasp and tremble at the cold feeling of your hand. There's a chilly air in your breath while you blow on the tip. The sound he lets out is low and raw. His hand moves towards your own once more but you shove them away. He whines.

You start by moving your hand slowly, lightly up and down his curved, veiny shaft. “Hah.. sir, stop.. p-please.. what are– what are you doing..” He moans.

You bite your lip as you stare at it. At first, trying to contain your excitement, but then ultimately failing after seeing the desperate look on Choso’s face.

You lick your lips, almost like you’re about to enjoy a meal. As you wrap them around the tip of his penis, he yelps. “Ah-” You watch as his hand reflexively covers his lips. Your tongue slides down onto him while his girth fills your mouth. The noises he makes get louder and higher until he’s practically crying in pleasure. You bring your gaze to his own as you pause, the tip being just shy of a few inches from hitting the back of your throat.

Choso’s resolve crumbles at the scene playing out in front of him. The look in your eyes alone is strong enough to make him fold, let alone the warm, wet feeling of your mouth wrapped around his touch starved cock. He is a man whose nervous system is heightened compared to most people he knows. That means vision, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching. Choso is a very sensitive man when it comes to touch, and you’re about to find that out first hand.

He gets teary-eyed. “Please..” You feel your cunt get even wetter at the sound of his begging before pushing your mouth further down onto him, his head hitting your pharynx.

He moans louder than ever as you start bobbing your head on his dick. You can taste his precum slide down your throat before you eagerly speed up the pace, turning Choso into a whiny, gasping mess.

“Haah, fuck.. oh, my god.” He exhales shakily, trying his absolute hardest to suppress anything else from leaving his throat.

Your stomach twists at his cries as his hand grips onto your hair. You come up for a little bit of air and to let out a small laugh “Fuck, that’s good.” You declare, pumping at his shaft with your hands as you coo at him. “That’s a good boy.”

Another whine escapes him before he even has the chance to speak. He’s embarrassed. You let out a single laugh before sinking your mouth back down onto him, slightly gagging.

“Sir.. wait– ah!” He interrupts himself before trying his hardest to continue, but his desperate pleas for you to ‘slow down’, or ‘give him a second’ go unanswered. He’d caught a glimpse of the look in your eyes not too long ago. He knew he didn’t have a say anymore. “Ughh, fuck..”

He struggles to get his words out as you continue to gag on his length. You move at a constant pace, and with the sensations Choso has racing through his nerves, it doesn’t take long before he’s crying out from a knot in his stomach. “No.. s-stop! Please.. oh, fuck.. Please–” You use one hand to grip onto the rest of his penis that you can’t fit into your mouth, the other takes a turn massaging each of his balls.

“Ah! Fuck- ohh, haah..!”

Stroking and squeezing, you feel a pair of large, calloused hands grab the sides of your face as the desperate man suddenly fucks your face onto him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” He repeats like a mantra, cracks in his voice as he cries out quickly. Rapid and relentless, you feel the shots of semen pour down into you and your belly as he practically screams your name, cumming into your throat and arching his back.

You can feel your shorts soak at the sound. You keep your eyes shut, thinking to yourself that you should savor this moment, just in case you never get to be this close to having sex with him again because of your clan rules and policies.

The sound of his voice interrupts your thoughts. He tries to ask you the question he’s had on his mind since you first started teasing him, but settles on the fact that you’ve basically already answered. Instead, he makes a statement, accusing you of your cunningness. “You.. fuck, you did this.” You smiled a bit at this as he continued. “You did this on purpose.”

“You got off on watching me, didn’t you?”

His breathing finally begins to slow, but looks as if it’s become deeper. The rise and fall of his chest has become more noticeable. You blink and tilt your head at him, a sudden feeling of unease making itself known in your stomach. The look in his eyes, though they looked pleading and helpless just a second ago, now has a signal of something more sinister.

His veiny, rough hands rub against your thighs before he runs them up and grips at the fabric of your waistband. He keeps eye contact with you as his fingers push and slip into your shorts, a shiver runs down your spine as your heart pounds. He glides his knuckles against your skin as his hands meet where your belly button is. Suddenly, the sound of fabric ripping makes your eyes widen in shock. You look down at your legs in a panic before his hands swiftly move to your hips. He picks you up and flips you onto your back, you gasp. “Choso?!”

He huffs, pulling your shorts off, revealing nothing underneath. “You did this.” He mutters, almost to himself.

"You did this to me."

Your stomach swirls as you feel something akin to an ache between your legs. You did, you did do this. And god, were you so very proud of yourself.

You feel his hands grip just under your knees. You move your legs to spread apart in response, doing so before he could do it for you. His stern and frustrated expression softens as he sees the glistening mess of your cunt. He can feel his cock harden at the sight. “You want this, yeah?” He asks you, his voice just above a whisper. He almost sounds unsure of himself. You find it cute, and nod.

You watch as he takes a deep breath. You wait for him to line himself up with your entrance until you notice his legs. They shift as his hands drop from their grasp and land on the sofa. His elbows keep him up as he stares at your wet folds. Your lips part, almost as if you're about to say something. However, you're interrupted at the feeling of his tongue dragging along some slick leaking from your hole. It takes everything in you not to buck into his face.

You hands find a spot on the backrest to grip onto, the other hand tucking its fingers underneath the cushion you lay on. He groans at the taste of you before sinking himself down further. You let out a moan and he sighs. The sound like music to his reddening ears.

Up and down and up and down, you feel his face press against you as he laps up your juices. His nose is constantly rubbing against your swollen, tiny penis. The sensation drives you crazy as you finally let yourself go and start to grind yourself onto him. “Fuck, fuck.. Oh, fuck.. Haah..” Your shaky breath and vulgar vocabulary brings a proud smile to his face.

He brings his lips up from your hole and places small kisses along your walls. The feeling is loving, but incredibly teasing and frustrating at the same time. Your hand finds its way to his hair as you lightly tug and scratch. “Mm, what?” He laughs. Fucking laughs at you.

You feel annoyance, anger, frustration, indignation. But you realize half of that is because of a feeling of helplessness. An understanding that you’re under him and taking this, and you can fight all you like but he has power over you. He has complete control. He’s strong enough to pick you up and hoist you over his shoulder, while you couldn’t lift him with the help of mister Sato. “Stop teasing.” You demand, it comes out more like a plea, or a whiny request.

You feel his hands grip and rub your thighs. You look at him, finding little to no solace in the way he looks back at you. It’s almost scary, it’s thoroughly intimidating. “Tell me. Tell me you want it.” He breathes out.

You bring your hands to your face and press your palms against your eyes. “Choso..”

“Sir, please.”

You bite your lip and whine. “Fuck..” You were weak, you could feel the neediness inside you grow. At this point, if he doesn’t make you cum, you’ll shove him off and make him watch as you do it yourself.

“I want it, Choso. Really, really bad.” You give in.

In one quick motion, he’s on your dick. His tongue swipes and sucks until all you know is pleasure. You can feel his groans almost in your gut as you praise and beg for him. “Haah.. don’t stop. Fuck, please.. Choso.”

Just as he finds a rhythm to his mouth movements, he moves his hand below his jaw. He brings his middle finger to your slit and starts rubbing. You grip his hair in response and he moans at the feeling. His digit finds its way into your hole and you whimper. He starts pumping and curling one finger in and out of you until there’s a second following the exact same tempo. “Oh, fuck.. Fuck!”

His tongue is still hard at work on your sensitive bundle of nerves as you loudly call out his name, praying that whoever was in the suite over would be conveniently out in the city. “You’re so fucking tight. Want you to cum so bad.” His words are almost unintelligible as he basically speaks into your crotch, but you can understand enough. He can feel you clench around him as your other hand pushes and scratches at the couch.

The feeling brings him close to the edge, but the stimulation of his penis rubbing against the leather couch isn’t enough to do him in yet. “Give it to me, baby. Need your cum.”

You can hear the sound of his lips smack against your wet cunt. He curses as precum leaks out of you. “Fuck.” He finds the strength to stay where he is instead of moving to slurp it all into his mouth, although he struggles. The vibrations of his words help him in his goal as your legs begin to quiver. Your hand in his hair tightens and tugs as you cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please. Oh, my god! Please, Choso!” You stutter and tremble through your words. “I- Fuck, I’m gonna- haah..!”

Your feet instinctively push against his shoulders, but his free hand grips and forces itself on your inner thigh, making sure your legs stay apart. You shake and scream as Choso fucks you through it. He doesn’t stop until your hand in his hair is slapping him in an effort to tell him you’ve had enough. Finally, he moves from your overstimulated dick and goes back to lapping up all the juices that spill out of your hole. You shiver at the feeling.

Eventually, you beckon him up to join you. Eventually, he settles in your arms after about a couple of minutes of him tense in your hold. The same couple minutes you spent giggling and admiring the man next to you. Eventually, you kiss him and he kisses back. It’s sweet and affectionate at first, but after a few more times, it turns into something more steamy. More heated.

“That's actually insane. You're insane.” The sound of her laughter brings feeling to the desolation in your chest. You turn to your friend who is giggling through her sentences. The littlest pieces of her brown hair dance from the breeze of the fan she’s hogged. You have to let your head fall back on the couch, as she sits on a cushion and you sit on the floor.

“Are you hearing this?” She asks you, her head tilted down.

“No, sorry. I missed it, I think.” You apologize, smiling sweetly at her. She scoffs and shakes her head. It's an exaggerated show of her taking offense to that, but you know she's too drunk to remember what she even finds offensive.

“This man just said he's stolen a cop car. This man.” She repeats. “A cop car!”

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head at the liar with a cocky grin on his face. He sits at the other side of the carpet, his hoodie on the floor next to him. “As cool as that sounds, that cannot be true.”

You watch as he sluggishly shakes his head at you, keeping the same proud expression. “Tis true.” He declares.

Your friend of higher ground and your friend of fictional hijinks choose to spend the next five minutes arguing about this. You've chosen to spend it on your phone.

There's a bit of guilt on your mind, inviting half a dozen people over to your apartment only to leave them to their own devices. But you also know that if there was any group to do that to, it would be this one. This bunch is perfect for when you want to be the quiet girl in the back who follows along on everyone else's ridiculous adventures. When the whole idea of a social life is too much to bear, but you still want the comfort of some company.

You had a few people who used to be that for you, not in this way, but in a more comfortable sense. Here, you seemed less like a part of the group and more like an accessory. With them, they made you feel like everything you said or did clicked perfectly. You used to think it was too good to be true, too good to last, if only you knew how right you were.

“Hey, do you have any more chasers somewhere? There’s nothing in the fridge.” You look over to your friend in the kitchen. Jeremy’s hair doesn’t dance at all, but instead, sits blonde, beautiful, and still at the top of his head. He wears a black turtleneck with a beige jacket tied around his waist. He didn’t show up like that, but after a few times of drinking with him, you’ve realized he gets very hot, very quickly when drunk. He saunters over from the kitchen to where you are.

“I’m probably out, then.” Your head falls back against the cushion again, as you have to look up at him when he stands above you. His eyes stay on you as his long, slender arms reach for the table right by the armrest. You hear his keys jingle in his hands as you tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “Where you going?”

He stares at you for a moment and doesn’t answer. He can’t help it. The way you look up at him, and the way your whole pretty face is so entirely visible, it makes him smile. Everyone else shares a knowing glance between themselves. Jeremy likes you. He has for a while. And everyone but you knew it. Well, you’ve had your moments. Moments where you felt like he was doing a bit much as a friend, putting in a lot of effort, saying too many right things, but you didn’t want to think too much into it.

“Well, someone’s out of chasers. So I’m gonna go grab some.” He has a playful tone in the way he talks to you. It makes your friends almost wanna gag.

“What? You’re not gonna drive. You drank.” In times like these, the slightest attraction you had for him wavered. He sighs.

“Yeah, okay.” He shoves his keys into his jean pocket and shifts his smile from teasing to somewhat sincere. “You worry too much about me, though.”

He continues as he walks away. “You don’t have to be pretty and sweet.” With that, he walks out the front door and shuts it behind him. Your friends all give their own unique disgusted expressions as a sort of silence befalls you all. You hate it. What were they here for if they weren’t gonna talk so much that they annoy your neighbors? You start praying to anything out there that someone speaks up, someone starts talking again, saying something. Anything.

“He’s likes you so much, it’s gross.”

You raise your head with wide eyes, turning your head and staring at the loud-mouthed woman. Not what you expected, but she certainly gave you what you asked for. Everyone else is instantly turning up the volume again, bickering and arguing over what the brunette said and why it should or should not have been said aloud. You sigh, deciding to bother with this later. You didn’t have the energy to open up that box. Instead, you get up and make your way to the bathroom. You excuse yourself, but nobody noticed anyway. They weren’t always good at that.

The way you look in the mirror captures your attention. It’s like there’s something there, something in front of your face that looks just like an exact replica. This happens sometimes, when you’ve blown past your social battery. You press your fingers against it before placing your palms on the cheeks. You shift your hands to cover the bottom-half of the face, blocking everything from view but the forehead, eyebrows, and eyes. Suguru always liked that part of your face. You assumed it’s because you wore a mask a lot in public so he saw it a lot more than your other features, but he was always good at making you feel proud of it. He made you feel feminine and beautiful, without making things feel weird or awkward at any point. You always appreciated it as one of his many talents. It’s stuff like that that you miss in times like these.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when your phone vibrates. You don’t even remember bringing it with you, and you start to question how many you had to drink out there. You take it out of your back pocket and look at the screen. Your eyes widen slightly at the name before you start to squint at the message underneath.

hey where r u rn?

You blink. It wasn’t unusual for Satoru Gojo to text you. It would be more so strange if he went a week where he didn’t, interrupting your routine to send you a meme that only he finds funny. Especially at an ungodly hour like this. After Suguru, he sort of seemed like he forgot what sleep was. But there's an off feeling in your gut when you read the text.

Tapping on your screen, you open up your chat log with the man. Ultimately, you figure that the odd feeling inside you is just the alcohol in your system. Just as you’re about to write something back, your phone vibrates again for one long second before his name and contact photo shines brightly over your display. Now, this was unusual.

Your heart beats just a little faster, and you hesitate to answer. You bite your lip and look towards the door, the faint voices in your living room make you think twice about taking a call in the bathroom.

Without wasting another second, you quickly open the door and make your way towards your bedroom. When you step inside, you turn the lock and press the green button on your phone, holding it up to your ear. You hear the chatter of loud conversation and abrasive laughter in the background. “Gojo?” You ask, your voice almost as quiet as a whisper.

This contrasts with the way he answers. “Hello?” He shouts over the noise.

“Hey dude, what’s up?”

He doesn’t answer. You hear him sigh, almost groan, as he tries to think of one. “J'st a second.” He tells you. You listen, but your confusion has almost hit its peak. After a minute or two, the sounds of people around him are replaced with the quiet hum of car engines and the occasional wind blowing.

“Gojo?” You call for him again. This time, he responds.

“Hey, yeah. Hi.” The sound of his voice is a little.. weird, you think that maybe it’s just his mic. Or maybe it’s your speaker, knowing him he probably has the best mobile device on the market, being the richest guy you personally know and all.

“Hi, are you okay?” You move over to sit at your desk, the comfort of the back pillow bringing you the smallest bit of relief.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Yeah, nah, yeah. I’m good. So good. Always, uh.. always good.”

After finally hearing a somewhat full sentence from the blue-eyed man, you figure out the reason for the call as quickly as it arose in your mind. “Are you drunk, Gojo?”

As your question hangs in the air, you feel as if even the world around you struggles to answer back. Suddenly, it feels quiet again. You fucking hate it.

“Gojo?” You ask as if he’s disappeared, but it actually sounds more like a stern repeat of his name. Your irritation is audibly noticeable, and it almost makes him smile.

“Yeah, uhm. I mean, no. I mean, yeah. Fuck, uhm..” He sighs. “I’m not usually a drinker, so my tolerance is pretty low. I didn’t drink a lot tonight, but I prob’ly am.”

You tilt your head in confusion, as if he can see. “Drunk, I mean.” He finishes. This side of your old friend is a peculiar one. He’s usually so cool with his words, everything that flows out of him seems to be so natural. But this? This is almost awkward, somewhat gauche, he sounds.. a little adorable.

“Yeah, I’ve realized that by now.” You laugh slightly. You wonder if you should tell him how drunk you are too, but then it strikes you that he mentioned the fact that he’s not usually a drinker, and that uneasy feeling is back in your stomach.

“What gave it away?” He asks. “I thought I was being slick.”

You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, no. That was probably the ‘unslickest’ cover-up I’ve ever heard in my life.” You joke. You think to yourself for a moment as you listen to the soft sounds of traffic on the other line before you go on.

“I’ve been drinking too.” You confess. “With some friends.”

Gojo feels a tug at his chest as you clarify. He immediately assumes that that must be why Shoko turned down his invite to the bar that evening. She was with you. His next assumption is that you must’ve actually hated him or something, because you invited her to drink at your apartment but not him. It didn’t make logical sense, and he knew that. Throughout the years, even after the split of the group, you were both always kind to each other. Always warm. Always, at the very least, friends. But Gojo couldn’t find it in himself to be logical, not when he felt so strange. Like there was a spinning rotor in his brain.

“Wow. Could’ve softened that blow.” He comments. He thanks whoever out there in the universe that he still has his sarcasm intact, even when drunk.

“What do you mean?” You ask him.

“Whad’you mean? Is she not the ‘friend’ with you?” He makes a voice at the word friend and scoffs, lifting the bottle he’s been carrying in his other hand this whole time and taking a swig. He cringes at the taste and then again at the burn down his throat. He can’t believe that you’d invite Shoko for a drink and not him. He, in his own head, is much more fun than Shoko is. He knows that you’ve never really seen him drunk before, and he’s hardly really experienced it himself, but geez! It would’ve been nice to experience it together. With you. Shoko at home. The both of you in your apartment. Alone, tipsy, and curious.

“No, she’s not here. I invited some other friends, you wouldn’t know them.”

Oh.

He feels stupid. Stupid and drunk. He thinks to himself that he should just hang up now. He should just apologize for interrupting and tell you to have a good night. That would be smart and sane of him, but then he thinks again, and he throws away any remnant of sense he had in his brain with another swig of the bottle.

“Are you still drinking?” You ask, hearing him gulp. He lets out a soft ‘blegh’ and you deadpan.

“Can you tell them to go home?” He slurs, his tone is low and almost comical. Your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head, thinking to yourself that you must’ve heard him wrong.

“Huh?”

He giggles. “Ah, you sound cute. I said.. Can. You. Tell. Them. To. Go. Home.” You don’t respond. You bring your hand up to your forehead and rest your elbow on your desk. A million questions flood your mind at once, but you can only get one out.

“Are you okay, Gojo?” You pause before asking another. “What’s wrong?”

You realize that you don’t really need him to answer the first one. You know something’s up. And you already sort of know the answer to the second one, but you hope that he’ll respond anyway. You give him about twenty seconds before feeling the irritation rise through you at the sudden silence again.

“Do you want to come over?” It’s a simple question, but the realization that you’ve just said it to Satoru Gojo makes you want to throw your pillow to the wall. Plus the fact that both of you are drunk, and he just called you cute, doesn’t help.

“Yes, I do. But get them to leave, will you?” He doesn’t say please, but he himself feels that he sounds sorta like he’s begging. You roll your eyes.

“I heard you. I will.” You respond. “Do you need the pin?”

He shakes his head slowly, as if you can see. “No. I remember where you live.”

Ah.

You say your goodbyes, although it’s more like see you soons, and hang up. You unlock your bedroom door and head out to the living area, four of the drunks are conversing amongst themselves while one of them is passed out on your couch. The conscious ones turn to look at you and cheer at your arrival. You give them a sorrowful look as you lie, explaining that something’s come up with your siblings and they have to leave. They buy it at first, waking up their sleeping friend and grabbing as much stuff as they can remember. It’s not until much later when they start to question if you’d ever mentioned having siblings before at all. But then at that point, they’re already in their uber on their way to the most sober one’s home.

—-

You sit on your couch, trying to finish the rest of the bottle your friends had left behind. Being lost in your own thoughts, the beverage doesn’t help that. You hadn’t seen Satoru Gojo in a few months, and even then, it was only because the two of you crossed paths at a bar. You think about the tension the both of you had the last time you were drunk. The brave little acts of flirtation, the carefully clumsy words of suggestion. All of that was reciprocated and he wasn’t even drinking. There’s a sudden knock on your door that makes your heart skip a beat. You look over, unsure of whether or not you’re relieved that the virgin of alcohol has arrived. On one hand, you were starting to think that if you sat in another second of this silence, you'd throw your table out the window. On the other hand, you didn’t know if a drunk Satoru Gojo was better or worse for your peace of mind.

Another knock sounds before you get up from your seat. Making your way towards the entrance, you take a couple deep breaths, trying your best to calm your nerves. Your fingers carelessly swipe at the locks and you open the door. The white-haired man stumbles forward a little bit and you slightly brace for his fall. “You, did you even.. check the peephole?” His words drag as his feet do the same, inviting himself inside.

“I knew it was you. You said you were coming, duh.” You explain, shaking your head and giving him a slow up and down glance. His black long sleeve shirt barely holds above his shoulders. His snow white pants make him look a little ridiculous, only in the sense where he kinda looks like he’s trying too hard to not look like he’s trying hard. The glasses don’t help either, but you know how sensitive his eyes are, so you never bother to question it when he puts on a pair that clashes atrociously with his outfit. Besides, he’s the most sensible when it comes to style out of any rich person in the world, you think. They always make weird fashion choices, and you’ve always been glad he’s not like them.

“That’s not safe. What if I was a murder?”

You scoff out a laugh. Gojo smiles slightly without even realizing. “Whatever.” The both of you settle on the sofa.

He takes a minute to look around your apartment, taking in his surroundings. He then looks at you, taking you in. The frame of your body in your outfit was one he missed being able to stare at. He recalls the times the six of you would be out, going to see a movie or taking the unnecessary long way to get to a store, and he would have the same unshakeable stare. You clear your throat, noticing now. You never did back then. You sort of did at the bar, but you just assumed you were imagining things.

“So, what’s up? Whatchu want?”

“Whose jacket is that?” He points to the jacket on the floor by the TV, across from the both of you. He continues, less like he’s talking to you but instead more to himself. “That isn’t yours, right? That’s not your style.”

You grimace. “No, yeah. That’s not my style at all.” You laugh, he stares even more intently.

“It’s my friend’s. He probably forgot it.” Gojo comes up with a theory that upsets him in a way he finds humorous. He’s done that before as well: Left a jacket behind at a pretty girl’s house after a party, coming back to retrieve it after everyone’s gone home and ending up spending the night at her place. His expression falls and he frowns just a little.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Gojo, I invited you over because you sounded worrisome over the phone. Don’t avoid my question.” Your impatience was clear in your voice, your tone. He hadn’t heard you sound so irritated in so long, not since the days before everything went down. It almost warmed his heart. He missed when the two of you had that kind of relationship. One where you could both be as playfully mean as you wanted, as painfully direct as you needed, and you could smile and laugh about it in an instant. Now, you seemed to dance around everything. The both of you did. Conversations that once would’ve been filled with banter and snide comments, now just empty words of politeness.

“Yeah, no. I know.” He admits, running a hand through his hair. He leans back and sighs, manspreading in his seat next to you. His knee touches yours, you think you should move, but you don’t. He notices. “I know. I just.. I don’t know. Can we not talk?”

“What do you wanna do then?”

He shrugs. “Let’s just chill. Where’s your speaker?”

You laugh a bit through your words. “It’s literally two feet away from you. How drunk are you?” You gesture to where the side table is, underneath is your speaker with a couple detachable mics. Once he reaches over, it’s clear to him that your apartment is the resident drinking location for your friends. Either that, or you’re just well-prepared with a karaoke machine in your living room.

“Okay, sec.” He takes his phone out, you glare enviously at how big his pockets are. The face he makes as he tries his hardest to connect his phone is cute, you think. Lips pursed and pushed up, forcing him to make almost a kissy face. His eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes squint at his screen. “Okay, okay. What song you want?”

“I dunno, play anything.” Immediately, Been Away by Brent Faiyaz plays, an odd choice for someone who’s barely had a real conversation with you in a couple of years. Someone who’s now drunk on your couch, staring at you when he’s not staring at his blank phone screen.

“What, no like?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m good with it.” He turns up the volume a bit and sets it by his foot. After a moment passes, you feel a pressure on your arm. Looking over, you find the sluggish man leaning against you comfortably. His glasses are off, but his eyes are closed. “Y’know I didn’t expect you to listen to R&B music. I’ve only ever heard you play like, alt-rock. Or something like that.”

“I’ve traveled the world. I can’t listen to only Asian Kung-Fu Generation for the rest of my life.” He explains. “I heard of Brent Faiyaz when I went to a place called Maryland, in America.”

Your head tilts. “For business?”

He shakes his head, it feels almost as if he’s snuggling closer to you when he does. His eyes are still closed, and you wonder if you should turn off the overhead light.

“I took a girl there and we heard it at a party.” He laughs, thinking about the look on her face when he gave her the ticket, telling her that she could cancel if she wanted to. Either way, it wouldn’t really put a dent in his bank account. “She didn’t believe me when I said I was loaded so I booked us a flight and we spent the weekend.”

You frown a bit and don’t respond. You surely weren’t salty about him booking a weekend getaway with some girl he maybe didn’t know well. That wasn’t it at all, probably. But why didn’t he tell you? When did this happen? That seems crazy. Did he always just do crazy stuff like that now? Was it normal for him at this point in his life? Is that why he never thought to bring it up? He can almost feel the clunks and bangs of turning cogs in your brain. His eyes open. “It was.. I was in a weird spot. She was nice, but it was just that. We were both cool about it.” He clarifies. You think it’s weird how he does. It’s not like you need to know that. You don’t care for that confirmation, to be reassured that it was no big deal. You don’t care.

“Whatevs.”

—-

Time passes with both of you like this. Eventually, you start to have full conversations again. Giggles, laughter, agreements, disagreements as his playlist shuffles through similar sounding tracks. It begins to feel natural, almost like old times. Except, old times wouldn’t have granted you this space for just the two of you. Old times would mean two brunette’s and a blonde on one side, and a long-haired man on the other. Rarely did you ever get opportunities like this with him. Moments where you could get more personal and connected.

At some point, you don’t even think about the hand on your lap or the breath on your neck. You just think of it as bonding, as making up for lost time, or maybe you only think of it that way because you’ve been drinking as the half-hour goes on. You’ve managed to catch up to Gojo, in terms of tipsy buzzes, for better or worse. His face is buried in your neck as you both stifle your laughter, trying not to let a chuckle turn to a cackle and disturb the neighbors.

There’s a heat between you. There’s a heat inside you. There’s so much more space on the couch, you think. The both of you are almost huddled into one spot. Any outsider looking in would think your heater had broken and you ran out of blankets. You don’t even remember how he got here. God, he’s awfully close. Doesn’t he know that?

“You smell so good.” He whispers in your ear, you don’t think it’s intentional but it makes you shiver.

“What?” You laugh, albeit a bit awkwardly. Your shoulder moves just enough where he’s forced to raise his head and look at you. You raise your eyes to meet his own and the short distance between your faces make it difficult to choose your next words carefully. “Gojo?”

His eyes travel down your features until he gets to your lips. “Can you just..” He hesitates, his breathing is deep. Yours is almost in sync.

“Just Satoru, please?”

Your eyebrows knit together. You want to look away, but you can’t. You can feel the littlest bit of reason, just in the back of your brain, and it’s screaming at you to put an end to this. This is dangerous and reckless. The both of you are drunk, being led by temptation. And if there ever was a bad time to be exploring this aspect of your relationship with Satoru Gojo, it’d be today, this week, this month. You could be making the biggest mistake of your life, just for the temporary promise of comfort and pleasure. For distraction.

And though your doubts and concerns are all completely shared sentiments by the temptation himself, it only takes one string of justification for him to close the gap.

This was a long day for you. For both of you. December is always cold; It always holds too many memories. You hate to be alone during the month, and you aren’t the only one.

You kiss back.

Like every moment in your life where it feels like you’ve randomly decided to jump off a cliff into the raging ocean, your nerves shake as your body tingles. Your breathing is quick and your head feels like it’s swirling from a windstorm. The kiss quickly shifts from curious and nerve wracking to desperate and insatiable. Satoru has his arms wrapped around you in an instant when he scoops you up and places you on his lap.

You gasp at the feeling of being manhandled and feel a pull at your stomach when he deepens the kiss, his arms roaming your torso. A sigh escapes your lips when he moves, leaving a rough string of pecks on your neck. He groans and starts grinding his crotch against you, you feel cocky at first until you realize it was you who started moving your hips before he did. The feeling of someone pressed against you like this, especially when it’s him, makes the slight bulge in your shorts twitch. The pressure of his own bulge moving against your ass makes grinding so much harder to stop, but he has to. “Wait, please.” He clumsily asks, holding your waist and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Need my pants off. Don’t..” He hesitates. His voice drops before he continues. “Don’t wanna cum in them.”

He almost sounds embarrassed. “Gojo-”

“Satoru.” He reminds you. “Please.”

You pause before just nodding and taking his face in your hands. You force him to look at you, and while you struggle, you successfully hold eye contact with the man. “Satoru.” His name sounds almost beautiful in your voice. Almost the way it did when he said it, when Suguru made it sound sweet. But there was an elegance to your tone, one he hadn’t heard before. It made his heart race.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

He breathes in deeply before closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek against your hand. The proximity of your bodies make it easy to inhale your scent with every breath. His hands are still holding onto your waist, but slowly coming to wrap themselves around you. Treating the position almost like a hug. It’s one that he doesn’t realize he needs so desperately until he gets it. That warmth of feeling you in his grasp. “I just need to feel good.” He finally answers.

Suddenly his hands slip under your top, gliding up from your lower back. You feel goosebumps form as his cold hands move on your skin. He continues. “I know you need it too.” He almost mutters. The music in the background and the way he grips onto your body creates an undeniably heated tension in the room. You struggle to answer back, until he moves his lips again. This time, back on your neck as he mumbles into your skin.

“Please, baby.”

You almost whine. Your head drops against him as his fingers stroke softly up and down your spine. You feel your own tug at his shirt; His heart pounds in his chest. He thinks back to the times before where you’d tug on his shirt, his sleeve, his bag, or his jacket. It was your quiet way of getting him to notice you and he adored it every time, getting to look at you with a smile as you slightly matched his own. Happy that you were getting the attention you craved, the eyes you wanted. “You want me?” You ask in response.

He moves his head to look at you, again with a small measure of space between you. He nods. “I do, really bad.” He can’t stop looking at your lips, he grows hungry.

You answer his prayers for him and lean in. Your kiss is soft, gentle. It contrasts with him again, but much more in the sense of nervousness. Almost fear. Fear that you might push too far, might break him. Might hurt yourself. You want to be cautious, but it gets harder and harder as you feel him rock his hips again, grinding against you. Subtle moans and whines escape the desperate man as you feel each one in your mouth, already having his tongue inside and moving against your own. His hands travel to your chest as yours find their way down to his crotch. You get started on unbuttoning his pants as he starts to knead and massage. You sigh in content, the light brushes against your nipples with his long slender fingers makes you want to lay down and let him have you.

After a moment, you get his zipper down. Your fingers push underneath the opening you’ve created and you place your palm over the long bulge in his underwear. He moans. Pulling away from the kiss, he tugs on the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to expose your chest. He leans down a bit to blow on your nipples and they take a more hardened shape at the feeling of the cold air hitting them. The feeling of his gaze locked onto your tits makes you wanna grind against him to interrupt. You choose not to, and instead begin stroking him through the fabric of his underwear. “Fuck, baby..” He moans again as his gaze shoots down to where your hand is. He’s panting as he uses one hand to shove his pants further down his thighs, you’re still on top of him as he lifts his hips up to make the adjustment easier. His other hand moves to grip and settle on the back of your neck. He licks his lips hungrily as you continue to stroke him before he has the idea to latch on to your nipples.

Sucking and lapping at your chest forces you to take a sharp breath through your teeth, a small whine escaping through the sigh you exhale. His tongue glides around your areola before his lips close around them and he starts sucking, still using his tongue as he does. His other hand finds its way to your other nipple, making sure it’s being shown proper attention. He twists and tugs, earning a guttural moan from your throat. Your hips grind more feverishly as you chase the pleasure you're craving for.

You continue to fondle his clothed cock until he can’t bear it anymore. He shoots up from his spot on the couch, bringing you up with him as he holds your ass in his hands. You gasp as your legs instinctively wrap around him. He kisses you again as he pushes you against the wall, right by the front door. You knew he was strong, you always did, but feeling him hold you tight and walk with you as he held you up with ease made your heart pulse between your legs. Eventually he gets back to your neck, before letting your legs drop back down to the floor. Your feet settle as you carry your own weight again. He moves to slip off your shirt and you raise your arms to make it easier for him. He licks, sucks, and kisses down your body until he gets to your belly. His fingers dig into where the hem of your shorts are.

Satoru looks up at you with a burning desire in his eyes, but also a needy sort of plea. The look on his face makes you all the more sure of your reckless behavior as you guide his hands to pull your bottoms down. Just enough to expose your needy, pretty penis. His eyelids droop as he bites his lip. His hands caress your thighs as they push upward, he licks the bite marks left behind on his bottom lip. Impatiently, your hands find their way onto the slutty man beneath you. One in his hair, and one under his chin. Your hand under his chin moves to make a sort of cup form in front of his lips. He eyes your palm before spitting on it, you rub it on yourself, making it easier for a hand to glide over.

As you twist and rub, Satoru leans in closer, his own impatience finally beginning to show. He licks his lips more sloppily, to coat his own mouth in just a bit of saliva, before settling on the tip of your penis. He treats your knob as he’s treated your nipples, sucking and licking. His tongue swirls around until the hand in his hair tugs his head further down your length.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You freeze. Satoru doesn’t, only slowing his work on your body with an angry look at whoever’s taken your attention away from him. You stare at the door, realizing you forgot to lock it. You hope and pray, repeating the words over and over again in your head, ‘do not fucking open it.’ It becomes a little hard to focus though, as a tongue licks at the vein on the underside of your shaft. Your hand shoots over your mouth.

A voice begins to speak behind the closed door. “Hey, uhh just wanted to drop the chasers. I’m.. sorry to hear that something came up and uhh I hope your siblings are okay.” You recognize the voice to be Jeremy, the one you never formally told that tonight was canceled. The one who left and almost got behind the wheel after drinking enough to make his now muffled words slow and deliberate. Slightly slurring through each syllable.

You whimper and whine with the lowest volume you can possibly muster. Satoru bobs his head up and down, the tiniest drops of precum running down his throat. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, a mischievous glint in them as he does. It isn’t until your friend knocks on the door for a second time that you notice Satoru is excited by this. Funnily enough, it’s not his somewhat smiling lips that give it away. Not the curved ends or the air being blown from his nose in a more quick, laughing manner than just normal breathing. It’s the way he speeds up, getting sloppy with each passing moment that your friend makes his presence known.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Hey, princess. You okay?” Satoru’s eyebrows furrow. He mouths a muffled ‘princess?’ repeating the pet name from Jeremy outside. The vibration on the skin of your girl cock sends a shiver down your spine and a shaky moan out your lips. “I can hear the music, I know you’re in there.”

Gojo just feels lucky that he decided to turn the music up at some point while you two were making out. Wave after wave of pleasure hits you as the quickly sobering older man brings you in and out of his hot mouth. You struggle to keep your composure, half of the reason you’re still able to stand up is the fact that Satoru has such a tight grip on your thighs. It makes you feel held in place as his thumb rubs circles into the meat of your leg. His large, cold hands send a different kind of sensation throughout your body. One that you’ve felt before, whenever he’d look at you with a certain type of admiration in his eyes while you spoke to him about something you didn’t think others would understand as well as him and Suguru could. Your heart would race.

“Princess?” You hear Jeremy call for you again. At this point, Satoru takes you out of his mouth with a pop. His hands move to stroke you, keeping you stimulated as he continues to look up at you.

“Want you to cum.” He sticks his tongue out to lick all the way down to your balls. He sucks and pulls at you with his lips as his hands stay on your length, using his saliva and your precum as lube. “Can you cum for me, pretty girl?”

You nod, frantically. Like you’ve been holding yourself back until the very moment he told you to release. “Mhm, mm. Haah..”

“You might be asleep.” Jeremy almost sounds like he meant to mutter, but his drunkenness makes his understanding of volume so wrong that he can be heard over the music. “I’m just gonna uhh, I’ll call you later.”

He lightly taps at the door as you hear his slow footsteps begin and then fade. Just when he’s out of earshot, Gojo sinks down onto you again, until his nose pushes against your pubic area. “Ah! Fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru.. fuck, don’t stop. P-please..” The sudden burst of whines and pleading makes a wet spot on his underwear. He almost joins you in your orgasm when he feels ropes of warm viscous fluid shoot down his throat, that paired with the sound of you crying his name out as you tug on his hair, it’s like heaven for the man. He swallows it all.

Settling down, slowing your breathing, and lightening up on the grip you have on Satoru’s hair, you tear your gaze away from the ceiling and bring it down to the smiling face beneath you. You watch him lick his lips as he leaves a trail of light kisses down your shaft. This only brings up the idea of it being his turn. That alone brings another pull to your stomach, as you feel your dick twitch again.

“Bedroom?” You ask, breathless with a soft expression. He nods fervently, scooping his arms around your legs and back before whisking you away again. Your arms rest on his shoulders. Kisses and sweet whispered nothings fill the noise not already filled by a slow jam as he makes his way to your room, holding you like a princess.

"I missed you."

"What?" You asked him.

It was silent. You'd grown to hate it a bit less with him there.

"I liked the bottom half of your face more, he liked the top. Loved your eyes." He explained. "We used to have tiny, funny little arguments about it. We were so childish."

You could somehow hear the smile in his voice. Your eyes stayed glued to the ceiling. "Who'd win?"

You waited for an answer, it never came. Instead, what you got was a sniffle. Your heart temporarily stopped it's beating the moment you heard it and your eyes immediately darted over to your naked friend.

Actual tears. Actual pouting. Actual despair. December always seemed to bring that out of you, but you'd never seen it get brought out of Satoru. You couldn't even remember seeing him cry at the cremation. You struggled on what to do, but as you watched him bring his arms up to hide the pain written all over his expression, your arms instinctively moved as well. They wrapped around him, tugging him closer to you as you scooted to close the remaining gap. You did your best to comfort him, and as he relaxed into your touch, his sobs got heavier and heavier. You finally felt yourself break as well.

You cried with each other for about an hour that night, until the both of you fell asleep. So when you wake up in the morning, disassociating with all of this on your mind, it's no exaggeration to call yourself surprised at the hand brushing against your crotch.

—-

Satoru Gojo is insatiable. There’s just about no person you’ve ever met who has the sex drive this man does. The way his fingers grip around your limbs like he’s fucking a sex doll, but he pushes his body against you like he’s trying to attach himself to you permanently. The feeling of his breath on your neck as he whispers dirty praises, but just a minute ago he was slapping your ass like you needed to be punished for no good reason.

He hums in your ear. “Tight. Fuck, pretty girl. So tight, mm.” The smell of sweat and sex has filled the room, the gaps in the curtain barely letting in any early morning sunlight. This has to be the fifth.. sixth round since you both woke up? You’ve lost count. And you’ve definitely stopped keeping track of how many times you’ve cum already. So has he.

Usually, he has a certain point in mind for when he wants to call it quits while he’s fucking around with other people. Not now, not with you. There’s a voice somewhere, in the back of his mind, that just won’t stop egging him on. The feeling of your hole squeezing around him, your gushing orgasms that pour down from your thighs to his own. It’s too heavenly for him to give up. You look so beautiful like this. Normally, he hates when you’re not looking at him, but the way you sit on his lap with your head thrown back on his shoulder is just too fucking sexy. All the sweet bruises he’s left on the upper half of your body on full display. You moan out a response, but you can’t find the focus to form any coherent words. There’s a crack in his voice when he laughs. You wonder if your nails are digging into his skin too hard.

“God.. damn, fuck. Ahh.” The squelching noises that sound with every movement he makes is enough to bring a twist to your stomach. “Gonna fuck you like this everyday. Every fucking day.”

You adjust your neck to look at him. His cheeks are pink and his mouth is agape and he pants like a dehydrated animal. His gaze is locked onto your overstimulated cock until he moves to meet your loving stare with his own. You struggle to maintain eye contact as you switch between looking at his lips and his sky blue irises. They almost glow in the barely lit room of your apartment. His heart aches as his dick pulses inside you.

“Oh fuck.” You whine. You push your eyes shut as you seemingly convulse atop of Satoru, your head snaps back to his shoulder as you arch your back. He moves one of his hands from under your knee to pull you back towards him.

“Kiss, kiss.” He can barely get his words out as he tries to hold back another orgasm. Your eyes open when he grabs onto your chin and you briefly catch sight of a few stray tears falling down his flushed face. He steals your attention away from it when his soft, swollen lips interlock with your own.

He’s officially made up his mind, he definitely likes the bottom half of your face more. If Suguru ever got a taste of you like this, he’d have finally let up on that silly little debate and agreed as well.

As what feels very much like the last of your cum leaks from your tip, the only sounds you can make are choked back sobs. Satoru gets to greedily swallow them into his mouth. He doesn’t stop, pounding a few more times into you. Blood rushes to his head from still basically edging himself as he holds off on his final orgasm. He feels lightheaded and better than he’s ever felt in his life. Masochistic as he fucks your almost limp body into oblivion.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“What the fuck.” Satoru slows his hips, almost coming to a stop. “Who the fuck.. ahh shit. Who the fuck is that?”

A whine escapes you before you can get a hold of yourself. “No.. no, no no. Don’t stop.” Satoru uses the moment to catch his breath. He thinks to himself for a quick second, thinks about how he must’ve forgotten to lock the front door, and then how he definitely never locked the one for the bedroom. But even in your fucked out state, you have this burning desire in your eyes when you shift to look back at him, and he folds. A laugh escapes him as he does.

“Fuck, fuck. Just keep it quiet.”

You smile and carelessly nod. “Want you to cum inside me. again” You laugh a bit as well, quietly.

He bites his lip in an act of restraint, it draws blood. His thighs slap against your ass as he rapidly fucks into you as quietly as he can.

“Hey, Louis forgot his jacket so we just came back to get it.” As you hear what sounds to be Jeremy’s voice just on the other side of the door, your hand moves to cover the gasps leaving your throat, but Satoru grabs it before you can and holds it firm under your knee. “He’s gonna head out, but I figured we could go down to a shop and pick up some breakfast. Hangover cure shit, y’know? My head is killing me.”

The boy outside laughs at his own one-sided banter while literal tears fall down your cheek as you sit there, bouncing on a man’s cock. “Answer him.” He orders.

You do as you’re told, stuttering and shaking through it. “I’m uh, I-I’m not feeling too well.” The words leave your lips, but seemingly not as loud as you think.

“What was that?” You watch the doorknob slowly twist.

“No! No, no. Don’t come in, please! I’m not decent.”

Satoru’s hands have moved from under your knees to around your torso. He holds you tightly in his arms as he fucks into you relentlessly, chasing the high of the most romantic, overstimulated orgasm he’s ever had in his life.

“Oh, aha. Okay. Are you okay? Do you need anything?” You don’t notice, but the doorknob slowly twists again. Jeremy doesn’t seem to care much about actually respecting your wishes, if you had to be honest with yourself, he never really has. With a raging headache and a dick for a brain, he thinks that a small peak of your naked body shouldn’t be so bad. You wouldn’t really mind it that much, you’re friends! No biggie.

Satoru picks his head up at the sound of the slightest creak from the hinge and notices a very tiny gap forming. Fear, but also a more fiery feeling, swirls in the man’s stomach. He pulls you off of him in one swift motion, flipping you around to face him and carrying you like a koala to the door. Your eyes widen. He almost slams your back against the wood, but is obviously more gentle due to his instinctive awareness of your well being. The door is effectively closed on Jeremy as Satoru begins to snap his hips into you again. It shakes slightly against all the impact.

“She’s.. fucking.. fine.” His voice is strained, and though he hoped to sound like a tough guy, it sounds a lot more like he’s moaning his throat out. Your eyebrows quirk up in concern, but your lips curl in pleasure. A huge part of you is obviously embarrassed, maybe slightly ashamed, but there’s an even bigger part of you that’s grown incredibly smug. Pride, pettiness, and Satoru’s cum seem to mix around inside you. Your shoulder is wet as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. He whimpers, cries, whines, and begs. “Please, please.. Oh, fuck. Oh, my god. Gonna cum. Gonna cum again, baby.”

Jeremy can surely hear that, you think.

“Princess..?” He calls out cautiously. Satoru slams one hand against the door, startling all of you.

“I’m cumming.” He whispers, repeating it over and over again in your ear. The pitch of his voice is higher than you've ever heard it before. You're almost certain he'd start sobbing if it weren't for Jeremy outside. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, cumming, cumming, fuck-!”

It’s so much. Almost too much. You can feel it leak out of you through any tiny gap between his cock and your hole, he can see it spill onto the floor. His legs almost give out, but he leans against you and the door and closes his eyes, steadying his breathing and holding onto your body for dear life. It fills you up with a nice warm finality to it. You didn’t know you could feel this full. Your heart, your mind, your insides, your arms. He fills it all completely with every part of him and you think that accidents like these are too perfect to be mistakes.

—-

By the next hour, you have Jeremy blocked on all forms of contact after Satoru explains to you how close he came to violating an insane level of privacy. About a week later, you explain to your friends why, lying to them about how you were trying to get into a change of clothes before you even knew he was coming and you caught him watching through a crack in the door. Even though he tries to tell them his version of the story – where Gojo is fucking you senseless the morning after they all left your apartment – your group refuses to believe him. After all, you’d never mentioned anyone in your life who could even remotely come close to a strong, smooth, and multi-millionaire friend with benefits.

A few months later, when you hard launch your relationship with the man, they put two and two together after the nosiest woman of the bunch does a little background check and reports the info to everyone. But regardless, they still don't talk to Jeremy. He always did seem like a creep.