born under a lucky star

You had preordered the last one from the cafe near your office. He stood at the counter in sunglasses, throwing money at the problem while the cashier kept saying, very politely, that the box belonged to someone else.

Then his hand slid toward it.

You’d caught his wrist.

“Since when do rich pretty boys need to shoplift?”

He stared at you as if being caught had hurt his feelings. He didn’t look guilty, just tired under the designer clothes. He was beautiful in an infuriating way, with an iced coffee full of cream and rainbow sprinkles cooling near his elbow.

You split the pastries with him because he looked seconds from crying if he didn’t get them. Or maybe he’d had a shitty day. You had thought that too.

Thought he had watched the box more than he watched you until you started asking him dumb questions on purpose.

By the end, he was laughing into his coffee.

You gave him the whole box for his number.

Next week, when the cafe had the same pastry again, it reminded you of him, so you called.

The greeting that came from the other end was, “Strongest here.”

What a childish thing to say.

You snorted, and your assistant knocked on the glass wall for you to shut up.

That time was different. He seemed to be in a better mood. Made you laugh, flirted back, showed up with flowers too large for your arms.

A few weeks after that, he let you buy him a bracelet that he wore every day.

Sex was good from the start.

Then one night you offered the strap and he got pink before swearing he would hate it.

He did, for about ten minutes.

After that, your life became management: lube in the bedside drawer, charger in the wall, meetings moved because Satoru had texted, “Baby, come home,” and you had.

At first, he ate you out first, then fucked you properly, making it filthy enough that you forgot the imbalance, then enjoyed whatever you gave him with half-shaking knees.

Then he learned your softness had no boundaries. Meaning, you’d do anything to please others—even ignore your own needs and wants.

The first time had been after a bad day.

Satoru had come home and hadn’t even joked at the door. His sunglasses were in his hand, his shirt collar had been crooked, and there was a dark smear of red on his cuff he had already tried to rinse out. He stood in your kitchen, staring at the expensive cake he had bought you on the way home as if he had forgotten why he was holding it.

You took the box from him and set it on the counter. “Come here.”

He gave you a look, tired pride still trying to stand up straight. “You ordering me around now?”

“For tonight, yes.”

You slow-kissed his lips first, then his cheek, his jaw, the hinge of his hand where his fingers had gone cold. You told him he did not have to take care of you back. He made some weak noise about being the strongest, then let you guide him to bed like a man who wanted the comfort of being taken care of but needed the offer dressed up nice enough for his ego.

That night, he asked you more than once if you were sure.

After, he kissed your shoulder and said, “Thank you,” with his face turned away.

So you forgave how much of yourself it took.

The second time, he had a headache.

The third, he had a family meeting and came back mean looking.

Then he stopped asking if you had eaten before he asked if you could come home. He stopped finding the lube, though it sat in the same drawer every time. He sent photos of the harness laid out on the sheets like he had done half the work. If you said you had a call, he said he could be quick, as if the speed gave the commute time back and pleased every client waiting in the office with complaints. If you came home irritated, he acted wounded until you apologized for the mood he had caused.

Now it was a long job, then boredom, then a pretty pout from your bed while you were still in work clothes and hungry.

Your attention snapped back when Satoru made a small, offended sound beneath you because your pace had gone monotonous and void of worship.

“Baby,” he whined, cheek pressed to the pillow. “Don’t drift off on me.”

Your hand tightened on his hip.

There were words somewhere inside you to explain this. You knew there were. Words for I’m human and alive. Words for I need something too. Words for stop making me into the place you only put everything you don’t want to carry, then forget I exist as a mere mortal.

By the time they reached your mouth, all of them felt shameful.

Selfish. Cruel. Ungrateful. Mean.

So you bent over him and kissed his shoulder.

“I’m here,” you whispered, because it was the selfless thing to do. “I’ve got you. You wanted attention, pretty baby? Take it.”

He melted for you and came hard.

You still did the aftercare right—loosened the harness, wiped him down with the warm cloth, got him water, opened the mango pudding he liked from the fridge because Satoru got cranky after sex if his blood sugar dropped. He lay there pink-cheeked and boneless, one arm flung over his face, smiling into the pillow while you checked his hips and asked if anything hurt.

“Mm. You’re so good to me,” he mumbled.

“I know, baby.”

He laughed, sleepy and pleased, missing the customer-service way you said it—warm from habit instead of feeling. Then he tugged at your wrist until you sat beside him, cheek pressing into your thigh with the effortless trust of someone who had been handled with care and gotten too used to receiving it.

Your own body still ached, unfinished and irritating. Your vibrator stayed in the drawer. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand with a client email, then another, then your assistant asking if tomorrow’s lunch meeting should be moved because she felt like you’d vanish again.

Satoru kissed your knee. “Stay.”

So you stayed until he fell asleep.

In the morning, you woke under his arm with dried lube on your stomach, a dead phone, and a calendar full of apologies.

Luckily, Satoru had school to get to, or work, or whatever vague thing he mumbled about while kissing your cheek before leaving with your spare key in his pocket. You still didn’t know what he did for a living—still hadn’t met anyone from his life.

He, of course, knew your secretary because she had come by more than once with office stationery, documents to be signed, and the stupidly expensive gifts you kept ordering for him like an idiot with a credit card and poor self-preservation.

When you arrived at work, three clients had been ready to quit working with you.

By late morning, you had been only able to retain one, and that one had also given their final warning.

Then Higuruma Hiromi stopped beside your desk with a file in one hand and a vending machine coffee in the other. “Have you eaten?”

You looked up at him.

He set the coffee down. “That answers it.”

Then Higuruma’s assistant, Shimizu, dragged both of you to lunch.

Lunch became staying late.

Staying late became yakiniku, cheap beer, and Higuruma telling you about a client who tried to pay his legal fee with rare beetles. You laughed until your ribs hurt.

Satoru saw you through the restaurant window.

He had been out with Shoko, Nanami, and Ijichi, three names he tossed around while still giving you nothing solid enough about them. Some weekend nonsense, he had called it.

Though you didn’t see him until Higuruma dropped you home.

You were still chuckling softly when you unlocked the door and walked inside, heels hooked in one hand, bag slipping off your shoulder. Then the lamp clicked on.

Satoru sat on your couch in the dark, sunglasses off, one ankle over his knee, looking like he had been hired to kill you.

“Where were you?”

Your heels hit the floor with a heavy clatter, and one hand flew to your chest, bracing for the heart attack.

“Jesus Christ, Satoru. Don’t do that.”

“Tell me.”

“Dinner with coworkers. Ran late.”

“With him?”

“With who?”

“The guy in the suit.”

“You were following me?”

“I saw you.”

You went to your bedroom. He followed.

“Satoru, I want to pee without an interrogation. Please stop acting like I’m preparing to cheat just by having dinner with a coworker when I don’t even know what you did all day.”

“What meeting runs that late?”

You unzipped your skirt. He stood there waiting for an answer.

“The kind where people eat meat and complain about clients.”

You went to pee. He stood in the doorway.

“Was he flirting?”

You flushed the toilet and washed your hands. “Weren't you supposed to be with your boys or something?”

“I left.”

“Congratulations.”

He followed you into the bathroom while you turned on the shower. “Do you want him?”

“You think I want him?” You laughed once, rubbing water out of your eyes. “Satoru, I don’t even know where you go in the mornings. You sleep in my bed, use my shower, know my assistant by name, and I couldn’t pick one person from your life out of a police lineup.”

“That’s different. Don’t deflect.”

“Oh, that’s deflecting!” You wiped the steam from the glass and glared. “Rich coming from you.”

He looked stricken for a split second, and then his gaze hardened again. “You are still not answering my question.”

“You are asking me that while standing in my bathroom with my spare key in your pocket.” You looked at him through steam, alcohol, and months of swallowed irritation. “I let you bat your lashes at half the city because you get bored and I never say a word. I haven’t met any of your people, and yet you moved yourself in because, quote, my sheets were nicer, unquote, and I let it happen.”

His mouth tightened. “So you want me gone?”

“I wanted you to act like my boyfriend.”

“I am your boyfriend.”

“You are my princess with a corporate card.”

He huffed a sarcastic laugh. “So what, now you’re bored of me?”

“You’re jealous of a man who bought me grilled meat and asked if I slept.” You looked at him then and watched his jaw move. “That is how low the bar is right now.”

“So you do want him.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” You laughed, ugly and tired. “You want me available every hour, every day, ready to come home and fuck you because you got needy between errands. I am losing contracts because you text me like a dying harlot with a butt plug.”

His ears went red. “I didn’t ask. You offered.”

“And you loved it. You even beg for it.” You stepped out, wrapped in a towel, and copied his voice with cruel accuracy. “‘Baby, please, I can’t think, just a little, I’ll make it up to you.’ Then you pass out on my pillows, and I lie there wide awake, feeling like a fucking robot. When will you take care of me, Satoru? When will my time come? When will I have my bad day, huh?”

He stared at you like he’d never seen you before.

Your voice softened before you could stop it. “My family raised me into free labor. I’m good at guessing needs. Even better at neglecting myself while giving care. You used that angle well.”

The color drained from his face like you had slapped him.

For one stupid second, you wanted to take it back. You wanted to apologize and say you were drunk, tired, dramatic, and mean. Then invite him in the shower and touch his face, fixing the wounded look on him before it became another thing you had to manage.

Satoru beat you to it. “That’s what you think I’m doing?”

Your throat tightened, but you tried to stick to your boundary. “That is what you are doing.”

“So I’m using you.”

“You’re letting yourself use me because it works for you.”

He looked away first.

Water ran behind you, hitting tile, wasting money while both of you stood there half-dressed and angry in a bathroom that smelled like your body wash. Satoru’s jaw moved, but nothing came out. Not even a joke, soft baby, or dramatic threat about the lawyer.

His hand went to his hair, fingers pushing through it hard.

“You could’ve said something.”

The drunk words ran before you could think them over. “I’m not your mother. I shouldn’t have to tell you everything. You are a grown man.”

His eyes cut back to yours, bright with humiliation now. “Right.”

“Satoru—”

“No, I got it.” He nodded too fast. “Princess with a corporate card. Dying harlot. Robot. Free labor.”

You hated hearing it back.

“That isn’t—”

“It is.” He laughed, a thin sound. “You said it pretty clearly.”

He walked out before you could follow. You heard him moving through your bedroom, drawers opening, one closing too hard. A minute later, your spare key landed on the kitchen counter with a small sound.

The front door shut.

You stood in the bathroom until the steam thinned and the water ran cold.

Then you turned the shower off, wrapped the towel tighter, and picked his shirt off the floor because you hated yourself enough to fold it.

The next three days passed in the meanest way possible.

On the first day, you checked your phone every time it buzzed and felt angry when it was a client. On the second, you ordered dinner and left half of it untouched because the mango pudding in your fridge made your stomach twist. On the third, your secretary asked if you wanted the new bracelet invoice filed under personal expenses or gifts, and you stared at the email until the words blurred.

Satoru did not call.

You wrote one text, deleted it, wrote another, then deleted that too.

At 10:48 PM, with your laptop open and nothing done, you sent the worst one.

come home. i’ll buy you whatever stupid sunglasses you want.

He called after eight minutes. “They aren’t stupid.”

“You coming or shopping?”

He came over with a box and a face full of wounded pride.

“I took advantage,” he said at your door, voice rough. “I liked being taken care of, but I let you do all of it.”

You looked down at the cake inside the translucent box. “Is that my apology?”

“It’s cake and an apology. I panicked.”

You stepped aside.

Inside, he put the cake on the counter. The spare key still lay there from the night he left. Satoru looked at it and didn’t touch it.

Then he knelt in front of you before you could make a joke. His hands rested on your waist, careful for once.

“I’ll take care of you too,” he murmured. “Actually. Food, sleep, sex, work—all of it. You shouldn’t have to beg.”

Your throat closed a little.

His thumb rubbed the exposed skin at your waist. “And I’ll still be pretty.”

You huffed.

He smiled then, small and relieved. “That part feels important.”

You pulled him up by his collar. “Shut up and feed me cake.”

He kissed your cheek, grabbed two forks, and gave you the bigger piece.

A/N: What would you have done? Didn't mind, forgave him, or moved on?

Masterlist

Yes, tens of thousands- the view count climbing as he goes stupider and stupider, his eyes twitching closed above the field the camera offers to the strangers watching him get off. Sometimes they send in donations, begging for him to edge himself just a little longer or pinch his nipples. He’s surprised you didn’t think he had a side gig going, considering how many little trinkets and gifts he buys for you.

And he’s worked up enough already over your recent post; god, he tries so so hard not to look because he feels awful, but when he catches a glimpse of your thighs in a bikini on his feed he’s so gone he can’t help but mewl into his palm as the other slicks his cock. This week, you’ve posted a cutely curated set of your recent outings- and Megumi finds himself scrolling through the snaps of stray cats, foamy coffees, and study sessions to a selfie.

In the picture, you’re wearing a cute little tank top- and all Megumi can think about is how soft the sliver of your tits the photo affords him looks; how he wants to stuff his face between them and drool (he’s doing that already, saliva pooling in his mouth) while you pet his hair from above.

And so he finds himself setting up his camera to face the chair he’s slumped on, cock straining and leaking impatiently against his boxers as he wrangles his sweats to the floor; all it takes is a few taps of his keyboard, and he’s live.

His hand palms over the bulge in his underwear, watching the way pre dampens the cotton as the first donations already start flowing in. But he doesn’t care about that, not right now, as he has your post pulled up on his monitor and zoomed in pervertedly to the dip of cleavage in your tank top.

If Megumi was happy to let you stay at your dorm, you’re practically thrilled. Honestly, getting yourself off wasn’t part of your intended plan, but the seam of your underwear caught just right as you slipped into bed and now your fingers are carding messily through your own slick.

Your other hand, the one not circling your clit, is scrolling lazily on your phone through a live camboy website of all things. You can’t even find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when you’re being offered such a glorious array of whining men jerking into their hands.

“Nope,” you breathe, flicking past somebody in too-clear, pristine, professional lighting. “No…” you grimace again, ignoring the advert at the bottom of your screen telling you to ‘meet hot singles now!’

God, is there anything good on here?

Actually, you think surprisedly, landing on a slightly gritty livestream of somebody cracking out breathy moans through the occasional whine, maybe there is. It's like audio porn, but even better, because you know he's actually getting himself off, thick globules of pre snaking over his clenched knuckles while his other hand runs teasingly over his chest and pectorals.

Your index finger presses down onto your clit, applying enough pressure to make your hips lift a little off the bed as your thighs twitch restlessly. “Oh,” you moan to yourself, “mhm-“

On screen, the faceless camboy is repeatedly drawing his hand away from his poor, sensitive tip to watch the way his cock spurts out pre and soaks the messy happy trail crawling across his abs. “Hah, fuck-“ he whimpers, hips fucking into the air, “fuuccckk, feels good, hck-“

Oh, you think hazily, two fingers fucking into yourself, he’s gone totally stupid.

Nice!

He keeps rambling, the microphone picking it up. “Ohhhhmygod,” he slurs, “miss you. You’re so pretty, miss you s’bad…”

You pause, fingers buried knuckle-deep into your own cunt. Hold on- you recognise that voice. It sounds eerily similar. Your brows pinch in concentration as you rake through the people you know; nobody from your lectures, nobody you’ve spoken to in passing, nobody. You’ve been through everybody- well, not everybody.

Megumi.

“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, grabbing your phone and sitting upright, “no fucking way.”

The camboy has a catalogue of previous livestreams pinned on his profile, ranging in length from hours-long edging sessions to quick bursts of videos he must’ve spontaneously recorded in a bathroom or another public space that you really shouldn’t be camboying from.

The phone is obviously slung in his hand, his other set of fingers stroking across his abs before pinching the tip of his cock. The noise he lets out hits the microphone sexily, so sexily it makes your thighs snap together.

The first full video you click on is a landscape view. The bedroom is dark and fuzzy, grainy footage showing his whole, naked body (but not his face) as he spreads himself out rather prettily on top of his sheets. The man’s back is arched slightly as he humps into a pillow, his eyes no doubt rolling back in his skull if you go by the noises he’s making.

“Hnngh-“ he whimpers, cock buried within the plush cotton of the pillowcase, “oh fuck, it still smells like y-you-“ he’s rambling, “smells so good, so gooood, fuck, feel so bad-“ your cheeks are hot. That’s definitely Megumi’s bedroom, you’d recognise that neat pile of veterinary textbooks on the shelf anywhere; but, that isn’t his pillow.

It’s yours.

“Can’t help myself, feels too good-“ he pants, mouth muffled against the bed as he desperately grinds his pelvis down. “Wish it was you,” he moans as he cums, hips stuttering against the soft material.

It’s definitely yours, the one you accidentally left at his dorm a few weeks ago after you slept on his couch with freshly-washed hair and the smell of your shampoo seeped into the pillow. “Holy shit.” You mutter to yourself, entranced with the way Megumi’s moaning stupidly about how good it smells on camera to thousands of strangers.

Thousands of horny strangers, as evidenced by the comments.

> Oh my god his whines

> I’m so wet rnnnn ughhghgh

> THE RAMBLING FUCKKKK

You know it’s him, definitely- but you can never have enough proof. At least, that’s the excuse you use to justify why you’re salivating over a lewd video of him wrapping his shaky fingers around his base and tugging. “I wish it was you-“ he breathes, “wish you were here.”

Surely he isn’t talking about you, is he? At least, that’s what you’re trying to tell yourself as you turn up your volume and your brightness simultaneously. “Fuck, you looked so good earlier,” he rambles to himself, occasionally cutting off his own train of thought as his fingers pull harshly. “I wanted you to fuck me so badly it hurt.”

He moans loudly, cracking at the end. “So badly, ngh-“

You’re shocked, honestly, sitting in bed as your best friend whimpers himself to an orgasm. You don’t realise he’s cumming until you hear him whine and his back practically arches away from the chair he’s in, shoving his slick tip towards the camera, and oh, he looks so pretty. His abs get a firm splattering, dripping messily across the sweaty skin, before he shakily drags a hand through the white. Then, the video ends, and you’re left to stunned silence and your own soaked gusset. And, of course, the comments.

> WHOOO is he talking about

> He’s so messy

> nghh his happy trail is sosoooso hot

You can barely face speaking to him the next day, nervously curled up on the opposite side of his couch and anxiously worrying your lip between your teeth. Lest you blurt out something along the lines of “I saw the video of you whimpering and humping my pillow and I had to take a cold shower afterwards”, you take a shaky sip of your water instead.

Now you’re back at Megumi’s place, you’re really registering how much money he must make from camboying. There’s nothing broken, not even little things like the window latches that, at your dorm, have a nasty habit of getting stuck closed in summer. And his clothes are nice too, in a subtle way- casual, but definitely made from a comfy blend of materials that polyester is nowhere near.

Your one saving grace is, dizzingly, that now you know he wants you too- and it’s maybe that (or the lack of sleep) that carries your next words out of your mouth.

“You know you can speak to me about anything, right, Megs?”

“Yeah?” He side eyes you, running a pale hand through his spiky hair. You squint. “Like, anything.”

He nods slowly. “Uh, yeah?”

“Oh, okay,” you say, “so when were you gonna tell me you make your money from being a camboy?”

Megumi freezes. His whole body tenses up on the couch and he looks rather nauseous.

“What?”

You shift into your hands and knees in front of him on the couch, slowly crawling towards his stilled body. “Don’t pretend,” you say, voice dropping into something a little breathy and very evil. Your fingers lightly drift across his thigh, and Megumi jolts. “I saw. That was my pillow, wasn’t it?”

His cheeks go redder than you think you’ve ever seen them- but he’s still silent, processing the fact that you know he fucks his hand every night on camera while whimpering your name. “I’m sorry,” he manages finally, voice thick, “I’m so, so sorry, I just- fuck-“

He dares a glance up, and almost chokes on his own spit. You look sorry for him, a little sad at how panicked he is; your eyes are big and round and, most of all, trusting, and it makes him feel hot. Mortification washes over him when he feels the blood previously flooding his face rush southwards, his sweats filling out the longer you pity him.

Honestly, he thinks he just wants you to take care of him. Maybe that’s why he’s spent so long begging on livestreams, cock buried in your scent or the fingers he wishes were yours.

“Admit it,” you whisper suddenly with a fresh burst of confidence at his blushing, your mouth hovering dangerously close to his. “You like this. Me pitying you.”

Megumi’s breath shudders loudly, his eyes screwed up as he gulps. Say it, Megumi! Something hisses at himself, you know you do. “Yeah. I really do.”

The initial press of your mouth against his is curved upwards as you smile into his tongue. You were expecting him to be just as tentative, but instead Megumi is messy- like he needs you to breathe, gripping you through your clothes with grabby hands.

“Mmpfh!” You squeak against his lips when he nips down- hard- on your bottom lip. He’s breathing heavily now, eyes shut lucidly as he leans into the gentle touch of your palms on his face. The kiss is sloppy; you keep pulling away for air, glossy strings of spit clashing in midair, only for Megumi to gasp and pull your mouth back closer.

It’s not close enough, though.

His hands are fisting in the shirt at your back, clinging to your waist to drag you atop his lap. Megumi doesn’t even realise what he’s done until you gasp, pulling back just long enough to gaze down at his face. All flustered and dazed, lips kiss bitten as he instinctually chases after your lips- how pretty.

You feel bad for the viewers, the ones on his livestreams who don’t get to see the face he makes when he’s all worked up. Your lap is splayed across his bulge, and when your hips lift up to awkwardly wriggle out of your jeans Megumi drops his forehead to your collarbone and whines at the loss.

And it’s that thought about those livestreams that brings your hand down his chest, feeling the fluttering beat of his heart, before playing with his waistband. He physically lurches when your hand, so soft and warm and loving, gently coaxes his cock out.

It slaps obscenely against his stomach, tip a pretty pink and dripping big beads of shining pre. There’s a significant vein striping down the side of the pale skin, curving around the length as it twitches hopelessly in the air under your watchful gaze. Megumi’s fingers are curling into the couch on either side, digging hollow dents into the throw pillows like he isn’t ready to allow himself to touch you.

Your other hand travels up his body towards his face, tilting his chin up towards you so you can take in his blown pupils and the haze already seeping over them like ink. His mouth is clamped shut, lips drawn into a thin line to keep his needy noises locked behind his teeth; so, logically, you have to open him up.

Two of your fingers slide tentatively into the warm, small space of his mouth, and Megumi accepts them like a ship going to the sea, waves battering at his sides. He feels a little like he's drowning inside his own head, being so vulnerable and pathetic under you, but the feeling of your digits gently probing at his tongue keeps him steady.

You’re still across his lap, scooted backwards to allow his cock to rest in the heated space between you as you gently take it in your hand. He moans immediately and his hips buck up. “Sorry.” He apologises thickly around your fingers as you ease them out, warm face dropping against your clothed chest. And yet, his hips don’t stop.

They splatter your hand with pre, almost erratically bucking up into your awaiting fist as you curl it into a tighter hole for him to thrust his length through. You use your other hand to pull at his hair just hard enough for him to turn and look at you, his cheek still pressed up hard against the outline of your tits visible through your shirt. You grin.

“Do you want me to take it off?” Your fingers are already curling into the hem. When you take your hand from his cock to wriggle out of the fabric, Megumi chokes on his own whine and desperately lurches forwards- but while your edging was cruel, the sight of your tits in front of him makes it worth it.

“Wait, slow down-“ You’re only just fumbling with the clasp and giggling when Megumi decides that it’s been long enough and he needs his mouth on you now. He trails sloppy, open-mouthed kisses from your throat to your sternum and soaks the lace of your bra with his spit before you rip the garment away and he connects his lips to your nipple.

At the same time as you gasp softly and arch further into his mouth, your fingers reconnect with his aching cock and resume their prior movements, only this time Megumi’s whimpers are muffled around your chest.

“Never want to think again,” he slurs suddenly against you, glossy spit trickling down the valley between your breasts as he pops back long enough to shove his tongue greedily into your mouth again. “Just… just- fuck, I’m so needy,” he cracks out, your lips parting loudly to welcome his own.

“You are,” you agree, gently bringing his face away from yours so you can look at him. His eyes are heavy and glassy, his mouth hanging open slightly as though their purpose is to await the next lick of your tongue between them. “But that’s okay,” you continue, stroking his head as his mouth attaches itself to your chest again. “You’re allowed to be needy.”

Your hand feels warmer, suddenly, as Megumi cums from your allowance. Maybe he’s been waiting for it, secretly, the permission from you to let go; his release drips hot and sticky across your knuckles, and there’s just so much of it. His cock is still spurting when you push him back against the couch, still messing the sliver of happy trail on his stomach you want to mouth at and ruining his shirt that’s covering the rest of the hair.

He has a forearm thrown across his eyes as his hips continue bucking, little whines and gasps hidden behind the skin. Your fingers trace the hem of his shirt and he shivers. “Off?” You question quietly. When he nods jerkily, you peel it away and oh, it’s even better than the livestream.

You always knew Megumi went to the gym and ate reasonably well, but the refined ridges of his abdomen, splattered with a trail of hair from his navel downwards, makes your mouth salivate. He’s embarrassed by you looking, you can tell, but it really isn’t your fault!

“I see why you have so many viewers now.” You giggle, standing up to unhook your panties and toss them to the side. Megumi watches in nothing less than total awe as your bare body is revealed to him in his living room. It’s an invitation, the way you look at him, he knows that, but he can’t figure out what he wants to do with it.

Bend you over the glass coffee table? He wouldn’t be able to see your tits. Doggy? Same problem as the coffee table, and he doesn't think he could handle seeing your ass move. If you got on top he thinks he’d cum embarrassingly quickly and then pass out, too much for your first time together, really-

He settles on missionary.

Which was probably a gigantic fucking mistake, he thinks as soon as you’re lying beneath him, because his brain immediately blanks when faced with you spread out like this. He’s kneeling in front of you, cock still dripping, but he’s unable to move from shock. “Fuck,” he swallows eventually, shaky hands landing on your soft, bare thighs.

“You’re… so pretty.” Instinctually, you blush; your cheeks are pinker at his sweet little praise than they were when you’d laid back on the carpet, rug cushioning the feeling of your bare spine and sinking comfily into your feet as you drew your knees up. “You too.”

It sort of just slipped out, a casual response to what Megumi said, but it makes him freeze. A slow, slightly malicious smile paints its way across your face as you sit up on your elbows, unintentionally pushing your chest towards him as your legs fall open. “You’re just sooo pretty, Megumi, the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, it just makes me want to-“

A palm clasps itself over your mouth and you make a muffled, indignant sound of protest. “Stop.” Megumi’s head is hung low as his chest reverberates outwards in his plea, his other hand tightly squeezing his cock; he must be sensitive if this is what a teeny bit of praise does to him, you think, letting your thighs spread further for him to shuffle between.

Your hand reaches up to peel his palm away from your lips. “Megumi,” you whisper, “you can fuck me. You’re allowed to.” His next breath escapes shakily, as his eyes fixate on the way his tip is lined up glimmeringly with the entrance to your pussy.

Somehow, the overwhelming need to bury himself inside you overrides the sense of terror within his bloodstream, and Megumi finds himself slowly pushing himself into you. “Oh,” you moan, hands coming up to splay across his shoulders, “fuck, Megs. That's so good, baby.”

The nickname unlocks something new in him, the feeling of your walls stretching out for him (and only ever him from now on, he decides hazily) while you gasp his name quietly makes his thrusts turn harder, seeking a new level of release he fears- no, knows- he’ll now only be able to reach from this.

The stretch is mean at first, his flushed length scraping past your sweet spots like he’s teasing them for later. Your chest heaves as you breathe through it and let him in, legs wrapping loosely around his lean waist while your hands come up to cup his cheeks and drag him down into another sloppy kiss.

This kiss is messy beyond comparison, spit and teeth and tongue more than lips as the pace of Megumi’s cock thrusting into you picks up. There’s a rushing of blood in your ears when your hand drifts down to rub your clit wonkily, a noise that subsides quick enough and lets you listen to Megumi instead.

And oh, what a thing to listen to!

“Fuck,” he’s moaning, voice cracking on the syllables, “you’re so warm, so tight, wanna- hnngh- stay here forever, god-“

He’s whining and crying, sobbing uncontrollably about how good you feel, how warm and wet you are wrapped tightly around him, and it sends a fresh wave of slick from you that decorates and splashes against his pelvis.

As hard as he tries to hold back and be a goody boy for you, Megumi cums first. The feeling of him spilling into you, thick and wet, makes you gasp brokenly as your nails dig into his shoulders. “Sorry-“ he heaves, pulling out, “I’ll make it up to you-“

He presses himself flat between your thighs, and you’re too dazed and throbbing to do anything but watch the way he’s staring pussydrunkenly at the sight between your legs. It’s almost nasty, just how much is dripping from your cunt down to the floor, in one thick droplet he’s lurching forwards and licking up with his mouth.

“Oh my god-“ you mewl, back arching up as he eats his own cum out of your pussy. Your hands reach down to grip at his spiky hair, more as an anchor than anything else- you don’t need to guide him, he’s good enough, although you don’t think Megumi would pull away if you wanted him to.

He’s completely lost in it, groaning and whining into your pussy with his eyes half-closed while his big hands wrap around your thighs and dig into the flesh until it dimples beneath his touch. You’re whimpering by the time he pushes you into an orgasm, lips suctioned tightly over your sensitive clit, but he doesn’t stop.

“Hah- wanted to do this f’so long,” he’s mumbling against your cunt, shoving his mouth open to lick a flat stripe across the full space you offer him. “So good, so good…”

Your pussy flutters needily around his tongue, his tastebuds coated and lacquered with your slick and his own cum. The concept should be off-putting to him, he knows that, but he can't be ashamed when your hits jerk into his face and he raises his hands to grip onto your plush thighs even more. Megumi barely realises what he's doing before you call him out on it.

"You- you want me to clamp them?" You gasp, watching the way he's smothering himself with your skin. Megumi moans in agreement, in admission. And you oblige.

Your thighs tighten around his head harshly, applying the maximum amount of pressure you can manage; his dark hair gets messed even more, his skull compressed, and yet Megumi thinks this feels like heaven.

Eventually, what little coherence he had left devolves into something close to devotion. He can’t do anything but lie there and gently grind his overstimulated cock into the soft carpet, his mouth smushed against your cunt as he unintentionally drags you into a second orgasm and you sob.

In fact, you’re both sobbing a little. There’s tears brimming in his eyes, saline drops threatening to streak Megumi’s already bright cheeks, while the water collecting at your waterline has already begun slipping down your temples. “S’too much.” You hear yourself slurring. Your voice sounds underwater, like it’s a recording of yourself you’re listening to.

As shaky and weak as you are, your hand manages to fist in Megumi’s hair and pull him back. His long eyelashes flutter a segment open, like he’s checking you’re real and here, before he draws himself up blindly to collapse beside you on the rug as you catch your breath.

A little like a tired puppy, Megumi drops his forehead against your shoulder and buries his face into the damp skin. Your arm curls around his back loosely, heat prickling your skin, and you clear your hoarse throat to speak coherently for the first time since he pushed himself inside you.

“You did really good.” You mumble, eyes closed and head tilted back. “So good.”

If a fresh sheen of tears starts to leak out onto your skin where Megumi is buried, you don’t comment on it. He wouldn’t say it out loud to you, not in a million years, but he feels safe. In an odd way, considering he’s naked and spent next to you in his living room with your taste still coating his tongue.

“Maybe…” you giggle, eyes still lazily shut as your fingers trace shapes across his bare back. “You should livestream it next time.”

He groans and tightens his arms around you. “Absolutely not.”

masterlist

a/n: thank you all so, so, so much again!! + this post was mainly inspired by @lipstainedgemini ‘s lovely posts about camboy megumi! <33

tags:

Choso chokes on his own gasping breath, tongue twisting shallowly inside you and searching for the pretty noises he knows you can make for him. Your hand pats his head condescendingly when he latches onto your clit and suckles, his fingers dug into your hips to smother himself with the taste of you like he never wants to let go of the supple flesh he finds there.

The humiliation burns across his face, hot and glaringly obvious; redness rests high on his cheekbones, creeping across to his bare back, snaking onto his neck. There’s no real need for him to be shirtless other than the fact you like to ogle him when he eats you out; you like lying there as he uses his mouth to make you cum while you stare hazily at the dreamy sight of his back and shoulders rolling.

You like to grin lazily down at your boyfriend and see the way his biceps flex to pin your rocking hips to his greedy tongue, the way his back muscles ripple when he humps into the mattress. You wouldn’t mind if he was fully naked, but Choso’s the one who insists on keeping his underwear on.

Every time, he’ll mumble something about the cold or a half-baked excuse about how he’s embarrassed about you seeing his ass when he gets up, but really?

He just likes the way you humiliate him.

Choso is deeply, pathetically into the way you laugh in his blushing face after he inevitably cums in his boxers. Like, reallyyy into it, to the point that the thought consumes him when he's looking online for a few new pairs of underwear- where would a damp patch be more obvious? The black or the grey?

The grey, obviously. Which is why he's wearing them right now.

He’ll crawl up on shaky arms to allow you to tease the waistband and the trail of hair above it, whimpering when you palm the damp patch over his cock and grin. “Awwwhh, Cho…” you say meanly, thumbing the tip through the fabric as it scratches the sensitive head, “you came that easily? Gosh, you’re so pathetic.”

And he’ll nod vehemently, face flaming as you bully him, strong arms resting either side of your much smaller frame as he lets you keep talking. Much like you are now.

“Pathetic.” You breathe out, voice tinged with something disgustingly close to sappy lovesickness as you brush brunette locks from his sweaty forehead. “All for me, hm?”

He moans in agreement, eyes fluttering closed when you grip his head to stuff him between your soft thighs harder. “I didn’t hear you, Cho.” You sulk. “I thought good puppies used their words.”

"It's all for you." He groans, kitten-licking your clit. "Nobody else could ever make me like this, baby. Just need you-" He dives back in, eager as ever, but your nails dig hard into his head to rip him away. "Ah-ah," you say sweetly, in love with the way his eyes dilate as he gazes at your soaked cunt, "and what are you, puppy?"

His voice cracks when he pulls away from your weeping pussy, still keeping his thumb rotating on your buzzing clit to work you up to an eventual orgasm. “I…” he whispers, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m pathetic.”

You’d feel awful if he didn’t ask you to be like this with him.

“I’m so pathetic.” He sobs out, tongue licking a flat stripe across your cunt. “So, so pathetic, can’t h-help myself-“

His voice is stuttering now, tears flowing freely down his cheeks as you gently coax him into stuffing you with his fingers again. When he does, your head tips back against the pillows and you gasp softly. The noise makes Choso’s cock twitch in his underwear.

He’s rutting pathetically into the mattress, like… well, like a dog.

Briefly, Choso imagines how it would feel to take it further and actually act like a dog; he crawls to you enough already, begs to eat your pussy on his knees, so surely buying a pretty little collar (with your name engraved for proof of ownership, of course!) isn’t too far?

And then, he thinks dreamily, wouldn’t you need a lead to go with the collar? You could drag him around on it, tugging when he whimpers about his hands hurting and slapping him to stop his whining. Maybe you’d scold him when he misbehaved and praise him when he gazes up at you with that big, brown, puppy-eyed stare you adore so much on him.

Choso’s so lost in the fantasy he doesn’t notice the way you’ve started trembling around him as he licks you through your second? third? orgasm and into the point of overstimulation.

“Ch-Choso-“ you cry, tugging at his soft locks, “s’too much, oh-“

He keens into your cunt as he keeps licking, more for himself than you as he grinds his thickening cock down into the mattress and ruins his underwear. When he finishes cumming after what feels like forever, he rests his fucked-out face on your inner thigh and lets his cheek smush against the skin.

“Good boy.” You slur, hand resting shakily on his face. Choso whimpers and closes his eyes, but quickly draws himself up to lie beside you and snuggle his face firmly into your neck. "Hm?" You giggle, eyes drifting down to the tent in his underwear. "Did you cum in your boxers again, Cho?" You tut, and the sound makes the soaked patch resting atop the outline of his twitching cock only grow more.

"Sorry..." he whimpers, clearly not sorry at all when you feel something moving against your naked hip. He's humping you, messy and unfocused as his eyes flutter shut and he clutches your body for support.

“Cho…”

“Hnngh- just- please, I’ll be good for you, just let me…” his thoughts melt when you start kissing him, mouth mixing spit with his tongue as his breath hitches.

“Such a good puppy, Cho.” You purr, pressing soft kisses to his face to help him through it as he grinds against your skin. “Always so good for me.”

And then, his undoing. “I love you, Cho.” You breathe into his mouth, “so much.”

“E-even if I’m…” he pants embarrassedly, “if I’m pathetic?”

You smile and brush hair from his teary eyes. “Especially then.”

ೃ࿔*:･

masterlist

a/n: for @f33bs, my favourite Choso puppyplay truther ever

tags (open):

And you’re letting out such a sweet, sweet giggle - even sweeter than the linger of cherries on his tongue - before you duck underneath the table to help him pick them up.

Choso was already on his knees crawling after those damn cherries- and all it takes is a single glance at your face oh-so-close to his, in such short proximity, for him to jolt—and bang his head against the underside of the table. So hard that the glasses clink against one another, and Wasuke groans as he misses in his valiant cherry canons.

So loud that half the parlor stares at your little table.

“Oh no.” You’re reaching out in concern as Choso rubs his achin’ head. “Honey, are you-”

“I-I’m fine—!” Choso turns his face away - and the only things you could make out were the frames of his chunky glasses…and the burning red on the tips of his ears. Blushing. Though you’re not convinced, and once you get a little closer- he’s waving you off more fervently than ever. “I promise, I promise! I can handle it…babe.”

You quirk a brow - “If you say so, sugarplum.”

He almost jolts once more- too much…?

However, before you’re thrusting yourself once more into the stratosphere of emotional fathers (at least, one of them) and glowering uncles, you inch yourself closer to the nerve-wracked man - as quick as a flash. And then you’re pressing your lips to his right cheek—just a graze, just a peck.

But it’s enough for Choso to yelp-

And bang his head against the table once again.

“Easy there, tiger.” You’re giggling at him, “I need you in one piece.”

“N-need me…” Choso whispers to himself- perhaps thinking that you won’t hear.

And it’s a small mercy that you’re handing to him - pretending that you didn’t hear that. Instead, you’re throwing yourself back into your seat, and presenting your most-practiced smile at Choso’s eavesdropping family members. 

In little-to-no time, Choso’s popping back up and plopping all those floor cherries into Sukuna’s black coffee. The older man swears. 

Jin covers the seven-year-old Yuji’s ears.

And then your boyfriend’s excusing himself hastily to the bathroom. Leaving you alone with them.

Unsure how to proceed, there’s a few minutes of silence before you’re speaking first. “Quite the lovely place, isn’t it?”

“Yes- yes.” Jin snaps out of his little reverie—he’d been watching over your interaction with such unabashed pride. Such loving nosiness. Out of all the fathers of clients that you’d happened to meet, you think he might just be your favorite…He beams. “I’m so glad you like it, dear. I mean- the first girl that Cho’s introducing us to-”

“The only one.” Sukuna coughs.

“-I just knew I had to impress. I picked this one specifically because it advertised itself as a place that’s both family-friendly and open to coup-”

“So you met the wimp…how again?” Sukuna interrupts. And he ignores the look that Jin throws at him.

“Six months ago at university.” Choso’s finally finished up at the bathroom, within earshot of the table. He takes his seat right next to you. 

“I hope you washed your hands.” You whisper to him.

“Of course, I did.”

The two of you had already repeated this tried and true story at the very start of your introductions. And it was clear that Sukuna was fishing for something…more.

You make a show of reaching for Choso’s hand on top of the table—intertwining your fingers with his. They were fingers much longer and thicker than yours- that you might not have expected. The most sensual calluses from what you assume to be turning pages of books. The softest touch nevertheless.

You squeeze his hand and shoot him a simpering smile.

Itadori Jin just about faints.

Sukuna scoffs at his overdramatic older brother, “S’that so…?” He then crosses his tattooed arms, “You don’t seem like the type to like ah- biology and hemorrhages.”

“It’s biology and hematology, uncle Ryo.” Choso answers crossly, “And no- we met in the campus library.”

Then you’re the one to pipe up. “Cho here- oh, sorry, Choso-”

“Call him whatever you like—!” Jin cries.

As his brother attempts to wrangle him back into his seat, you smile appreciatively and continue. “Cho here was the one that helped me find a textbook I’d been searching for for weeks.” Just to add a little flare to it, you’re squeezing his hand once more and staring deeply into his big, beautiful brown eyes when you speak. “He knew even better than the librarian! And he was just so nervous- stuttering and- and did I tell you that he almost tripped over himself handing me that book?”

Jin, so very interested in your story, shakes his head aggressively.

Meanwhile Sukuna merely rolls his eyes- though you note that he and Wasuke don’t interrupt you for a second.

“Yeah…that was when I knew.” You conclude. Patting lovingly at his arm, “And of course, it did take a few weeks of being friends for Cho here to finally build up the courage. But he did manage to ask me out in the end—”

Sukuna raises one mean, coral-pink brow.

And you’re elbowing your boyfriend.

“-didn’t you, honey?”

It was rather difficult to convince your boyfriend’s family of the story of you two meeting- especially when your boyfriend himself looked as though this was his first time hearing it…Choso kept an expression of sweet euphoria—something soft. Like he was watching a romantic movie play out.

One that was starring in- and you needed him to say something…

“Huh? Yes?” Choso blinks- sense coming back to him. “O-oh, yes.”

And then he straightens up.

Possessively placing his hand on top of yours, “I saw her and I just…knew she had to be mine-”

“See now, that where yer lying.” Sukuna leans over the table with a devilish smile- pointedly ignoring his brother’s swatting. “There’s no world in which Kamo Ultimate Loser Choso—had his first kiss with a biology textbook, asked out the high school lab skeleton before any real person - would be the one asking you out.”

You’re stiffening as he points at you.

“Are you just someone he’s paying to lie? Because whatever he’s paying, it surely can’t be enough-”

You’re plastering on your smile, “If by ‘pay’ you mean love and cherish me then-”

“Then I know my nephew would no sooner woo a damn lab rat than a real person.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing his arms and falling back into his seat. “Especially one so pretty.”

Jin looked tense- and he’d forgone swatting at Sukuna underneath the table to now openly pinching his bicep. Still, the pain seems to do nothing to bate his suspicion.

“More sundaes, everyone? More sundaes?” Jin asks in a strangely high tone.

The only ones unaffected at the table was Yuji currently plucking at his sundae cherries, and Wasuke who stared at them with the internal debate as to whether or not he should fling those at the neighboring table, too. You almost wanted him to—anything to distract from the terseness that had suddenly taken over.

And to your surprise - it’s Choso who’s the first one to speak. “Why, uncle Ryo…” Those doe-like eyes of his narrow into an expression you’ve never seen made by the sweet, sweet boy thus far. “-jealous?”

Sukuna startles- “The hell did you s-”

“Dagnabbit I almost had it this time-” Wasuke gives up on considering and swipes one of Yuji’s overabundance of cherries to throw into their neighboring tables glass. It’s a hole in one.

“Grandma, do that again—!” Yuji squeals and claps his hands.

“Huh, where? I’m grandpa-”

“Everybody silence!” Jin’s voice raises above than the rest - and into every corner of the ice cream parlor. Echoing. He hadn’t realized it in the heat of the moment, but he found himself standing as he stopped the chaos—and rushed to sit down after some apologetic bows at the wider population being subjected to the catastrophe that was…their family.

And his next apology is directed at you. “My dear, I cannot tell you how sorry I am-” Now instead of pinching Sukuna, he outright gives the man a brotherly smack upside the head. Unafraid of doing so; Jin makes it hard enough that even Ryomen Sukuna winces. Now you understand how he kept his title shining as older brother…“-that I am related to a bunch of buffoons, and Yuji.”

“Yuji has been quite the distinguished gentleman.” You’re nodding at Yuji and his ice-cream-covered grin. “But it’s alright, Mr. Itadori. Honestly- promise I wasn’t offended by anything said.”

Your hands have seemed to find a permanent home in Choso’s - at least for the time being - and you squeeze his. 

“I understand that you’re just ah- cautious as the first girl to meet you like this but…I get it. Really.” Jin’s expression just seems to melt as you keep speaking. “Cho really is someone special to me. And I want to protect him, too.”

Next to you, you hear Choso suck in a shaky breath.

“Really? And you truly promise that it hasn’t been too much?” He probes with shining eyes. “Ryo here can get a little too mouthy-”

“Hey!” Sukuna starts—then immediately winces as Jin’s fingers twitch towards him again.

“Please do forgive him- it’s in his nature.”

“Absolutely promise. And I don’t hold anything against Mr. Sukuna, either.” You knew to hit juuuust where it mattered - and referring to Sukuna using such a title made the man straighten in his chair a little. “Choso did warn me that his family might be a little…excited. But to be honest with you, I always have had a soft spot for big, loud families.”

“Well…” Jin blushes happily, before reaching across the table and shaking your hand. “You may call me Jin, if you’d like. And I’d like to welcome you into our big, loud family.”

“I’m so honored- thank you.”

“The honor is all ours.”

“Oh no, it’s ours.”

Sukuna glances at Choso and scoffs. Underneath his breath, “That’s as long as that wimp has paid for-”

The table rattles as Jin kicks him underneath it. “The honor is all ours. Isn’t it…younger brother?”

“Ye-yes—” Sukuna wheezes. His large hand comes slamming down- merely something to hold onto his dear life for. “Welcome to the family, girl.”

You beam like it’s the happiest day of your life.

Head rested on Choso’s shoulder, and your head nodding at the flow of conversation. “This is cooler than the Turritopsis dohrnii.” He breathes.

Save for the brief hiccup earlier- you’d consider your first meeting with Choso’s family to have gone swimmingly. And sure, perhaps Sukuna held the faintest inkling of suspicion that what the two of you had was a ruse—but he’d been shot down almost immediately by Jin.

And thank goodness for that.

“Let’s celebrate by getting the double double heart-shaped cones- oh, I wonder how they get them into that shape?” Jin hums. “And then I want chocolate chips, dipped in the bubblegum drizzle and- oh, hello.” 

He beams as their server nears the table.

“I would like-”

“Sir, we’ve been getting complaints of cherries being flung into people’s glasses and we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh.”

Because of course…Ryomen Sukuna had been completely correct.

As the group gets up to leave - perhaps to another diner downtown or so - you’re refusing to let Jin apologize. And you’re still holding onto Choso as though he was the dreamiest boyfriend in the whole wide world, and you were the luckiest girlfriend—as dreamy as he may be…you weren’t the girlfriend he’d been dating for the past five months.

In fact, you weren’t his girlfriend at all.

In fact, you’d only met two hours prior.

You were #1 Rental Girlfriend in all of Tokyo. And this time, you’d been hired to save face at a family get-together.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time that you’ve had to pretend your way through such a predicament - more people than one would think had less and less time for love. Especially not in this day and age. Especially not when work and responsibilities latched onto you like a starving tick, and though its blood supply might be modest at first, it only grows hungrier and hungrier—greedier, until you’re bone-dry. Bone-dry. Bone-dry. And it still feeds- what’s next? The bones and all?

And society still looks at you with the same standards—yes, the parasite’s gotten bigger, but why are you so frail?

And before you know it, you’re hiring a rental girlfriend to prove to your parents that yes- you can still be a functional and well-balanced adult still!

This was exactly why you continued being a rental girlfriend.

It’d started out as a side-job during your first year of university—your friends were all getting partners or throwing themselves into their studies. And you needed something fulfilling to pass the time.

Then, your best friend suggested getting a part-time job.

You’re sure she didn’t mean as a rental girlfriend.

But you couldn’t help it - it’d been the first advertisement for Hiring that’d popped up once you’d searched online! 

And it was meant to be for a few weeks initially- really, you hadn’t planned on continuing this career for so long. Let alone making it a sort of career. 

That morning, you’d opened up your approved application for Doki-Doki-Girlfriend and determinedly made your way to the interview section - promising yourself that you’d run at the first sign of anything off. The interview was being held at the Doki-Doki headquarters: this pretty pink-colored building in downtown Akihabara that had formerly been a host club. It’d been dimly-lit and draped in old perfume and even older sex. 

Though you’d been nervous the first time you entered, you’d been quickly taken by the Doki-Doki owner—Tsukumo Yuki.

The first thing she asked you was what your type in men was.

And when you’d answered - through your shock - that it was the shy, stuttering type- she laughed that that was about 95% of their clientele. So you’d be lucky, perhaps.

Yuki, as she insisted you call her, explained to you the ins and outs of being a rental girlfriend. To smile. To simper. To be sweet but not overly so.

To never let them pressure you into anything. They weren’t the type of rental business that offered other sorts of services. 

What people were searching for above all was a connection- for at least this brief moment in time. And the both of you would understand this transaction: it was the fantasy of a human bond that you were selling, and they were buying. It was your time. It was your emotional investment.

But later…you would come to genuinely connect with most of those you worked with.

After that interview—which you passed with flying colors, you spoke with some of the other girls working there and decided to continue with the job opportunity. Much to Yuki’s delight, who’d taken a liking to you almost immediately. After that was the training period - during which you accompanied some of the other rental girlfriends on their dates.

You were introduced to some as their friend—and as many guys as expected were actually flattered to be seen with two ‘girlfriends’ in public. 

You took notes on conversation topics. You watched their behaviours. 

You understood how they’d change their approaches according to the needs of their clients, and you absorbed it all.

After a few weeks of observation, you were finally added to the roster of rental girlfriends to go on your own dates. 

You just didn’t expect to shoot to the top of the ranks.

#1 in Tokyo.

Perhaps one of the Top 5 in the entire country—only three years after starting, in your fourth year of university. 

The clients adored you.

They draped you in gifts. They went on repeat dates - spending extra just for a minute of your time, though you often refused the additional amounts. Of course, there would be no funny business (and this was something you made quite clear within the first few minutes of meeting a new client). And excluding one or two unsavory clients that were quickly blacklisted from Doki Doki, you’d grown rather fond of your regulars.

There was the older woman who’d practice speaking to women through you- for when she planned on getting her first girlfriend. There was the excitable college student who tested out date spots with you. There was the pensioner who wished to take a monthly stroll through the park, simply talking about their day.

It was the feeling of belonging amongst strangers. Connecting with people you never could have imagined finding common ground with before.

And you believe, through this line of work, you began to understand humans better.

Humans were all just…really, really lonely.

Choso had been the same when he came to you.

It had been a working day like any other - you’d been called to the front desk of Doki Doki in order to be given a briefing of your next date. It was all standard processes, really.

Name: Kamo Choso

Age: 23

Occupation: Student

Prior appointments: None.

Prior love life: None.

Purpose: Client seeks a rental girlfriend to sit through a family dinner with his family, pretending to be his girlfriend. Prior backstory required to be able to maintain the conversation and create the illusion of a loving relationship (5 months). Flirting and mild physical affection. 

Extra notes: Client says to please be wary of his extra ‘rowdy’ family. 

And so, you’d accepted.

You met up with the aforementioned Choso—and found yourself a little taken aback at just how…cute he was.

Nerdy. Nervous.

Pushing his glasses up as he frantically introduced himself - that, too, messing his name up a few times before actually telling you.

Exactly your type. Yuki had been right.

He was your age, and went to - it turns out - the same university as you. Though the two of you hadn’t seen each other before, Choso confessed that that might be because he was cooped up in the library most of the time. 

He bowed at least a dozen times through apologies for the trouble- even though you assured him that meeting a family wasn’t anything out of your way. And then he insisted on paying extra, on coming up with a code should you want to leave, on—you shook your head and grabbed his hand. “So, how did we meet, boyfriend?”

You always did enjoy the ones where big families were involved - sure, they might be more awkward in the long run…but those types of dates always did manage to make you feel so warm inside. Big families. Big emotions.

And the biggest, perhaps, of all had been meeting the Itadori family.

They’d been unlike any other family you’ve ever met.

And that was saying a lot.

Thus, you’re letting out a prolonged sigh the moment you’re stepping outside—it was some downtown diner that the six of you had ended up at after your less-than-ceremonious exit at the ice cream parlor. Sukuna had been craving something hearty after living through that introduction on just sweets and coffee - and Jin had suggested one of their favorite ramen places.

It was only after you’d sat down with them at one of the booths - the one they called their ‘usual’ - that Jin had revealed that when they referred to it as ‘their’ ramen place—they really meant the their.

In everything but ownership.

This was the first restaurant they’d gone to celebrate Choso’s first birthday, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Jin’s mother had passed, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Yuji was born and Jin was granted full custody.

And you couldn’t help but feel a strange sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach. What was that you said about family-oriented dates being the most awkward in the long term?

At least the ramen had been the best you’d ever tasted- and the conversation flowed freely. Even Sukuna seemed to forgo his initial suspicion to make some conversation with you on Akihabara’s best spots. 

And in the end, you were walking out of that ramen restaurant with a full stomach and an even more full heart. 

Waving to the retreating backs of Jin, Sukuna, Wasuke, and a sleeping Yuji—you’re turning to Choso once they were completely out of sight. “Your family is…”

“Abhorrent?” He pushes his glasses up with a crooked smile. Choso had eased up around you significantly compared to your initial meeting outside the Doki Doki building, stammering through an adequate backstory for your faux-relationship, though he still seemed to be the nerve-wracked type.

“No…” You pretend to think.

“Overbearing?”

“No.”

“Savages?”

“Certainly not.”

“The servers at that ice cream parlor would disagree.” Choso mutters, “How about aneurysm-causing?”

“No.” You’re shaking your head once again, before turning to him with a smile. “They’re loving.”

Choso says nothing, but the tips of his ears burn.

“They care about you a lot- even your uncle was making sure I wasn’t some stranger just taking your money.” Well…

The long-haired man pushes his glasses up with a sputter of confirmation- or at least something that sounds like it. “I-I suppose ah- in their own…ways they’re rather…” Choso swallows a few times, and you’re watching his face as he does so—the Sun was dipping past the horizon now, and cracking its golden yolk over the grooves of his worried face. Handsome. Choso Kamo was just so handsome. 

With his lashes dark and draping over his cheekbones. With his lips pouty and bitten whenever he was thinking deeply about something. With his stature so tantalizingly tall—though he didn’t even seem to be aware of it, as he navigated the world like a newly-birthed fawn. 

He was the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen - glasses and all. 

“—caring.” Choso finally finishes his sentence.

You’re letting a smile stretch across your lips- and before you can think twice, you’re clasping Choso’s hand once more. You’d been doing it so often over the course of the date that it almost feels- natural now. 

“You know…you paid for five hours of my time, Choso. Do you know how much more time we have left?” 

“Two hours, fourteen minutes and—” He grows ever-redder as he stares down at you. Were you…leaning in? Pressing yourself against him? Fuck. “-f-fifteen seconds.”

“Mmmm, I do love a smart boy.” Beginning to tug him in another direction from the path to the Doki Doki building - though you leave enough leeway that he can stop should he want to. Choso follows you like a dog on a leash. “I don’t usually do this, but if you want to spend the rest of your time with me then…I know this ah- other place we can go to?”

“Like you want me to c-call my family back for another family dinner?” Choso asks, eyes bulging.

“Oh no, no.” You laugh. “This place isn’t family friendly at all.”

.

.

.

“A-a love hotel-”

“One room, please. Standard.” Interrupting Choso, you smile at the receptionist.

“Will that be for an allocated time or overnight?”

“Hmm…” You glance sidelong at the gawking Choso next to you- looking around the hotel lobby as though it was some sort of attraction. “Overnight, please.”

As the woman behind the desk continued tap-tap-tapping away at her keyboard, you take a moment to look at Choso - now adjusting his glasses to make sure that he was seeing right. That really was a bowl of condoms sitting on the front desk. As the heat rushes up the back of his neck, you’re wrapping your arms around one of his own—and pressing your body against his. “Everything alright, Cho?”

He’d been like this ever since you started heading him in the direction of the glitzy love establishment. Pink walls. Fluorescent lights. He’d agreed to going…elsewhere to continue your date- but he’d expected your apartment or something! Choso had been stunned but allowed you to lead him in front of the love hotel, and once outside you turned towards him once more. It was the first time you yourself was doing this with who was supposed to be a client. “And you’re really su-”

“Yes.”

And that was that.

The lobby was quiet…too quiet. In a way that made your spine tingle with anticipation.

“That’s a…a real bowl of condoms.” He exclaims- earning a look from the receptionist. 

“That is. Is this your way of saying that we don’t need any?” You joke…mostly. Then the key gets slid over to you - Room 143 - and you’re nodding at the receptionist. “Thank you.”

The two of you make your way down the lust-pink corridor and take the elevator up to your room - jamming in the key to open up a space that looked as if a honeymoon threw up all over it. Rose petals on the floor. Faux candles flickerin’ on the beside cabinet. Rows upon rows of even more condoms lined on the middle of the queen-sized bed. 

If you looked at it from the right angle, it formed a few hearts. 

“I didn’t mean we shouldn’t use them…” Choso’s the first one to speak- and he visibly gulps as you close the door behind you two. “It’s just…I-I’ve never done this before.”

Your eyes widen—you’d been suspecting this ever since you entered. But to have it actually confirmed…“No fooling around before finals or anything? Nothing to de-stress?”

He shakes his head n’ bites his lower lip. “Nothing. I haven’t even had my first kiss, to be honest…” Choso looks up at you with those nervous eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Okay?” You smile. Walking over to twist your hands into his lapels- and tug him to you. “It’s perfect. And since you’ve shared a secret with me, I’m gonna share one with you, okay?”

He nods. 

And so you’re leaning in so that your lips are grazing - just grazing - his pretty, blushing ears. “It turned me on more than it should’ve, seeing you on your knees in that parlor.”

Choso gasps-

And then your lips are on his. 

Then you’re tucking his cute, shivering bottom lip into your mouth—and sucking softly. Choso lets out the most guttural groan at the act- and his hands tremble in mid-air not knowing what to do. 

“Don’t be shy.” You’re cooing at him - reaching up and guiding one of his hands to be on the back of your neck—the other one on your ass. You lean into his surprisingly firm chest, “Although…I find it really cute when you’re shy.”

His involuntary whimper gets swallowed up by your own lips. 

You’re the one that’s guiding him through the sensual motions of your mouth. Kissing and kissing him till he’s senseless.

Till those thick glasses of him have been knocked ever-so-slightly askew.

Till you’ve left him weak in the knees - literally. 

Choso Kamo is melting into you—he’s letting his hands grasp your body as though a forgetting man holding onto his last memory, a drowning sailor holding onto a lifeboat. It doesn’t even feel real to him. And he can’t stop himself as his hands, his body, his knees buckle n’ he’s sliding doooooown the expanse of your body- lips breaking contact with yours with a pained grunt.

Before he knows it, his knees are hitting the floor.

And he’s peering up at you with a desperate expression; brows pinched, mouth kiss-bitten and trembling. Expression something of dazed awe. It makes your pussy clench at just how utterly pathetic he looks. “Everything alright, baby?”

“Ngh- yes.” You watch as one of his hands automatically shoots to cover his crotch - he was rock-fucking-hard already. 

“You suuuuure?” Teasing. There’s a devilish twinkle in your eyes that’s reflected through his as utter indigence. 

And without saying anything more, you step backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Bouncing a few times. You’re sitting yourself down on the plush bedsprings, crossing your legs- and watching him through half-lidded eyes. Not a single word comes out of you.

But it doesn’t take a single word for Choso to realize what you wanted with a jolt—

He crawls to you.

He crawls to you.

Choso’s letting his features twist into something akin to embarrassment - with the tips of his ears so red that they were practically radiating heat - as he edges closer. As he shifts on his knees. As he crawls just as he had been doing in the ice cream parlor—except this time, the only cherry he was searching for was that cute lil’ wet spot between your legs.

Your dress was short and already hiked up to reveal those pale pink panties. 

Was that a little bow on top?

Though it seems like an age before he’s finally able to reach close enough to affirm that- yes, that was a little bow on top. Choso finally manages to without combusting, and looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes. 

“Please…” He begs.

You’re softly caressing his cheek- almost lovingly. And Choso’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch in an almost feline manner. 

Moving to his jawline. Moving to the back of his sweaty scalp.

And then you’re shoving his pretty face between your legs—and Choso’s letting himself gladly be shoved. Manhandled. His chin sticks against the foamy mess of your panties, so wet with all your leaking juices. His nose digs between the plushest parts of your swollen pussylips. And Choso lets out a hallowed breath as he gapes his mouth ever-so-slightly wider-

“Awww, why so shy, baby?” You’re cooing down at him.

With your hand clasped onto the back of his head- you’re guiding Choso’s mouth to better plaster against your pussy. For him to find his balance.

“S-s’like a second kiss.” Choso sputters out. And you’re grinning.

“Naughty, are we?” You had a feeling that this was going to be a loooooot of fun…

Choso’s mouth was parted. And his lips were rubbin’ incessantly up and down the outline of your cunt—up and down, up and down.

That flimsy fabric of your panties was just glued to your sopping wet pussy, and he’s able to slot his lips over your folds perfectly. Managing to string down a line of hot wet kisses where you needed him the most- “Mmmm…” You’re arching your back with a deep groan as his nose fits between your pussylips—the pointed tip pressing on your clit. “Just like that, Cho. You can go deeper if you like, y’know that?”

“H-how, baby?” He rasps. Those pleading eyes of his were just so cute- and Choso can’t last too long speaking without pressing a few more open-mouthed kisses on your cunt.

“You want me to teach you?” You’re asking him, to which he nods. “Mmm, well open your mouth a little wider- just a little wider-”

And he does- his cute canines snaggin’ against the top of your pussylips.

“You can just start off by kissing lightly, baby. Remember how we did all that kissing earlier?” Nodding once more. “Yeah- just try to replicate that.”

“M’gonna do my best, baby…” He’s starting off soft at first- slow. Almost timid in his movements as he properly slots his mouth over your pussy - over your panties - and kisses n’ sucks lightly. 

“Fuck- you study biology, so you know where the good spots are, hm?”

“The glans clitoris a-and the…” Kitten kisses. “-the labia minora contain an immense number of nerve endings.” Chaste pecks—but every single droplet of your pussy’s juices splashed onto his tongue seems to leave Choso Kamo reeling. 

Eyes drawing to the back of his head. Ragged pants emanating from the back of his throat. 

And he’s pushing himself deeper, deeper, deeper - making out with your pussy so desperately, depravedly that his glasses were crushing against your pelvis—“Easy there, baby. Easy.” The only way to even get him to take a breath is to tug him back using his hair. “We have more than ‘nough time, okay?”

“Mhmmmm…” He nods through a pout- lips sucking off the juices seeped into your panties. “All night.”

“Eager boy. Next, I want you to use your tongue, okay?” His expression turns into something startled. “What? Not scared are you, Cho?”

Choso shakes his head furiously—as though he couldn’t stand the mere thought of it. “N-no.” He hisses, hot breath gluing to your leaking core - the way he was just so…greedy to lavish your pussy left you even wetter. And he was gladly allowing the excess residue to land all over his face and end up sliding off, “No no no- not at all. This pretty labia- Mmmpf—”

Whatever else was on the tip of his tongue gets muffled- 

For then Choso’s flattening his tastebuds on top of your pussy. Those swollen pussylips. Movin’ his muscle siiiiiiide to the siiiiiide and then up and down the line of your slit. 

You whine, “Oh- just fuck me with it.” Tugging on his locks, “Fuck me with your tongue- ngh, the way I know you’ve been wantin’ to since we met. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you were looking at me…”

“I was…” He pleads. He prays between your legs. Zig-zagging his tongue wildly. 

And then after he’s sucked off your panties all clean - Choso reaches one of his hands upwards to try and take off those useless undergarments-

But you’re faster than him.

And you’re stopping him with a searing pull at his scalp. The nerdy man lets out a sudden yelp and looks at you with the prettiest doe-eyes. “Ah ah—” It almost ached your heart to act so mean to him, not giving him exactly what he wanted. But more than your heart- it was your pussy that was throbbing. “Now who said you’ve earned the right to take them off, hm?”

“B-but…” Choso’s peripherals widen - they were glazed-over with lust. “How can I reach the tunica mucosa if I don’t take off—”

“You don’t have to take it off, right?” You hum. “Eat me out through my panties-”

Just the mere sound of that sentence makes Choso moan.

“-and…” And you’re cocking your head to get a better look at where his hips were starting to rut. Against the rickety frame of the love hotel’s bed, he was grindin’ and crushing what seemed to be an aching erection. “-don’t touch yourself, either.”

Choso’s free hand immediately halts in its tracks.

He’s shooting you a pained look- but more than that, it was flooded with pure, unabashed need. 

Something dark. Something primal.

Choso’s tipping his head back and letting you plough your pussy against his mouth- in rough, rapid grinds. You don’t wait a single moment for him to catch his breath—and that seems far from his main priority in the first place. He’s merely flopping his lengthy tongue out - so pinkish n’ pretty - and slithering it past your panties.

Riiiiiight underneath, after a few tries he manages to ease it past the rim of your puckered entrance.

You’re letting out a semi-shocked gasp once you feel your convulsing walls streeeeetching at the girth of him. He was thicker than you’d expected- with the ridges of his tastebuds melding to your inner channel. And without any experience, Choso doesn’t know how to ease into it - which works just as well for you as he’s expanding his thick tongue inside of you. And then thrashing n’ thrashing away. “Sh-shit, keep going, Cho.”

“What- hck! what do I have to do?” He manages to somehow ask between heavy gulps. And even that amount of time spent parted with your pussy means that he’s letting out loooong, luxurious licks inside your velvety walls to make up for it.

“H-huh?” You blink down at him through your bleary eyes. “Keep going, ngh- faster, baby.”

“No, I just meant…” Choso blinks those big, beautiful peripherals at you. He kept both hands on your thighs to press himself ever-deeper—he couldn’t get enough. “-what do I have to do t-to take off your panties? I wish to see all of you…that pretty vulva like a flower, the- ngh, prepuce…”

The mere thought has him ruttin’ away against the bed once more.

“How about you make me- haaaah, cum, baby? Hm?” You smile down at the desperate man, “And you have to do it before cumming yourself, m’kay?”

He can’t remove your panties.

He can’t touch himself.

He can’t cum before stuffin’ his face between your legs and making you cum first—

Choso was in heaven.

Even through the obscurement of his now-fogged glasses, Choso’s features twist into something primal- and he lets out a looooow whine before drag-drag-dragging his tongue into your clingy walls again. Thrusting in and out at a frenzied pace—the nerd was eating you out like a man starved.

Almost wolfish.

Choso was suckin’ and biting and snarling deep into your cunt. His glasses stick against your clit, and every single time he was forced to part with your pussy in order to breathe felt like fucking torture to him. “The clitoral nerve network consists of about 8000 to- ngh, over 10000 nerve endings-” Before you know it, he’s spitting. Letting it smear down your panties. Then dragging one of his calloused thumbs down that buttony nub. “-and baby, I need you to feel every single one.”

“Ohhhhh, fuck.” Your back arches deeper into him. Hands planting against the mattress in order to steady yourself, “A man that knows anatomy is dangerous.”

“And then the tunica mucosa…those spots there are also-” Such a priggish smile spreads across Choso’s mouth - one that you’re feeling on your cunt - as he swabs his tongue inside and stimulates some of those sweet nerve endings he was talking about. The hooked end of his muscle pushes apart your clingy walls, and somehow manages to find those sensitive areas so easily- “-effective…”

“Shut up and eat me out.” Pushing him deeper between your legs.

“A-and that’s not to mention—” But of course, you should’ve known that it isn’t easy to shut a STEM major up when it comes to their subject of interest. Choso most of all. And that nerdy man is babbling away whilst he’s slipping his tongue in and out, in and out, of you at a furious pace- until it was nothing but a pinkish blur squeezing away between your pussylips. “-the Gräfenberg spot-”

“You mean the g-spot?!” You’re wailing out.

“My favorite.” Choso nods, with your clit sucked into his mouth. Holding your panties to the side. He now alternates between rolling his tongue over your sensitive nub, and pushing it deep into your hole—stretchin’ you out juuuuust enough for his fingers to slip n’ squelch their way inside.

You’re letting out the shrillest keen as two of his fingers scissor apart your cunt’s walls, pushing up into their spongy surroundings to mold his sheer size into you. He’s softer on the tips of his digits, and rougher against the sides - “Easy there. Fuck, easy…” Choso’s sucking in a harrowed breath.

“I should be the one saying that to you.” You huff. Because Choso wasn’t dry-humping the foot of the bed whilst eating you out anymore - he was way past that.

Now solely keeping himself pushed- wedged in one place because just a little more friction and he’s bound to be cumming. “I-I’m alright, baby.” He tells you, “The Gräfenberg spot is located on the anterior wall, so right…up…” 

Just a single press up into the roof of your cunt makes you buck - not having pressed on your sweetest spot just yet but-

“And then about two- three inches deeeeeep—” The loudest, sloppiest squelch! echoes across all four corners of the love hotel room as he eases inside. Roverin’ about inside your tight, wet channel for a few strokes before an explosion of pleasure runs right through you. “-right- there-”

“Fuuuuuuuck, oh.” You simper out. “There- right there- ngh.”

And then he’s thump-thumping his perfect fingers inside your cunt- accurately pinpointing that one spot inside you with his digits like a searchlight. Again and again. And don’t think that his mouth wasn’t working overtime—Choso kept his maw permanently gaped on top of your clit and had his lips hollowed with a constant suctioning motion. 

Letting out broken moans off into your cunt all the while-

Choso manages to slip in a third finger- though those damn panties kept getting in the way. “Baby…” There’s a rasping, almost guttural tone to his words that you don’t recognize at first- you’re even raising onto your elbows to make sure that this was the same Choso Kamo.

But it sure was.

Glasses pressed up against your cunt—getting wetter by the second. “Baby, you’re experiencing vaginal contractions and tremors. Your pulse is faster. Your transudate is leaking even more- you’re getting wetter. And your clitoris is growing even, mmm-” He savors the feeling of your nub being pulled n’ dragged into his mouth. “-more swollen.”

“A-and that means…?” Though you already have an inkling of it.

“You’re going to orgasm, baby.” He never sounded more confident than when he was speaking science between your pussylips. “And I need you to cum aaaaaall over my mouth, okay?”

“Was planning to.” You whisper-

And it’s with a few more strokes, with a few more gashes of your pussy against his face, that the pressure that’d been building in your pelvic region finally explodes.

It thrums through your body faster than you can announce it—making every single vein, artery, and axiom within you vibrate until they’re sizzling at the sheer pressure. It felt as though your body was on fire. And the hottest it could get was at your sopping core- shoved against Choso’s pretty plush mouth and getting draaaagged through the violent peaks of your high.

The best you’ve ever had.

Choso manages to locate your g-spot right when the pleasure was hitting you the most - and you’re getting the faint suspicion that he was counting your throb-throb-throbs until he’d timed it just right. “One…two…” 

Thrashing his fingers deepest.

Damn-near tearing your panties.

Shoving his erection against the bed. 

And his tongue would move over your clit in an almost soothing motion- “Your vasocongestion m-means you’re sucking me up even- ngh, more. Fucking tight.” He spits. “Myotonia and contractions. Your orgasm’s strong, baby.”

“Didn’t need science to tell me that.” You comment.

Thrown through your orgasm.

It’s a crescendo then a plateau, and then when you’re finally done - Choso keeps jabbing his greedy fingers into you just for a few seconds longer. Fucking you through it. Fucking you past it.

You’re so sensitive by this point that you’re sobbing- pushing on his sweaty forehead. “Baby—oh, baby I’m done.” 

“Done…?” He rasps. Eyes bleary as he raises them up, seeing you on your elbows. “Oh.”

“And you did as I wanted.” It takes much more effort than you expected to detach him from your quivering pussy - still a little sensitive from your previous orgasm. It was incredible. A part of you almost couldn’t believe that it’d been poor, inexperienced Choso Kamo that pulled that out of you. 

He’s setting your cunt free with a whimper n’ a loooooud slurp!

Watching slack-jawed as you peel off your soaked-through panties and throw it right at him- it makes you gasp when Choso catches it with one hand…

Then brings that flimsy fabric riiiiight up to his face to sniff, to suck off the remnants of your syrupy sap. Not a speck of regret.

“Filthy.” You leer.

And then you’re tightening your hold on him—merely than sound was enough to wrench out a yearning croon from him. Preventing Choso from chasing after your cunt once more, “Now now…you don’t want to continue losing that virginity of yours, baby?”

“I-I do.” He eagerly nods.

“Good. Then get on the bed f’me.” You’re patting at the space beside you.

Soon enough, your positions are somewhat flipped - Choso finds himself lumbering onto the bed. Back against the mattress. Skin searing at the heat that your body had left behind. 

He lies where you did- and you’re making quick work of discarding his graphic t-shirt (proudly claiming ‘I found this humerus’ next to a picture of a bone) and his trousers. The tent in his boxers was jaw-dropping—Choso stood proudly erect, thick and looking heavy between his legs, his bulbous tip kept trickling out more n’ more precum the longer you stared. 

And had he just…

Taking off his boxers to make sure—you’re revealing his cock. Long and rock-hard.

It slaps against his soft core, and leaves a heart-shaped mark of sap. Just about seven or so inches in length- though the longer your gaze lingers on him…the longer he seems to look. Shit, was he about nine inches, maybe? And he wasn’t too thick - just flared enough at the tip that he’s sure to make your walls feel it. 

But Choso had an abundance of pretty, long veins decorating down the shaft—underneath the tip, creating patterns down to his base. One which had a few sparse tufts of curly brown - almost black - hair.

Yet what you’re interested in the most was how Choso was so damn hard that his blushin’ red tip looked just about ready to fall off—

“I c-couldn’t help myself, baby.” Choso admits shyly. His hands reach downwards to try and cover his mess- but you’re waving him off. “Having you cum aaaaall over my mouth made me- ngh, want to cum as well.”

“I can see that.” You smirk.

“I didn’t mean to.” He insists, voice growing urgent as the silence stretches - fearing that you’d perhaps refuse to continue as he somewhat broke his promise. “P-promise, I didn’t mean to! It’s just that your tunica mucosa was squeezing me so tight- and your vaginal lubrication just tasted so sweet-”

“Choso?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Shush.”

“I- oh.”

Because, initially, you’d planned on riding the man senseless. But now you were leering yourself closer—almost sake-like in motion.

Staring deep into Choso’s widening eyes once you’re hovering yourself over his shivering legs. His long abdomen. And pressing a cute peck right on the top of his frothing tip—the splashes of his precum were syrupy-sweet. And they were combining with Choso’s cum from earlier to add a salty tint-

“So messy.” You’re whispering as you run your tongue ‘round and ‘round the top of his shaft. Cleaning him off until he was shining. “Are you gonna make a mess like this inside me too, hm?”

“D-don’t say something like that…s’gonna make me cum again.” Choso pleads.

And he really was serious - his words were on the verge of shattering.

You’re letting out a giggle- right into his aching hot cock. The vibrations sprint through his body and make him buck up into you—body before his mind, he doesn’t even realize until he’s doing so with a startled yelp. “My apologies-”

“Mmm, keep going. Get some practice in before the real deal.” You hum once more. 

Choso seems as though he’s about to sob - this was too good for him - as he fucks his cock into your mouth a few more times. You relax your throat to take down most of him, and the parts that you can’t get milked with one hand. 

Once. Twice. Thrice and quadruple before his flared tip starts twitchin’ wildly—draaaaagging up the soft insides of your throat, he leaves a salty aftertaste behind that makes you realize…

You’re pulling off of his cock with an emanating pop! “But you’ve got to save that up for inside, got it?”

He’s nodding so hard you idly wonder whether he might get whiplash. “Yes, baby. Anything for you, baby.”

“Mmm…” Climbing up the expanse of his body, you’re kissing Choso squarely with the same lips. “Just how I like it.”

And then your knees straddle Choso’s slender hips, your thighs press against his sweltering skin - you reach behind you to grab ahold of his cock’s base—and the sudden squeeze is enough to make him jolt. Bodily. He’s letting out a visceral shiver, “B-baby…”

You guide his ruddied tip to you—and just the barest, briefest smooch of your sweet pussy makes him jolt. Just feelin’ his hardness press up against your softness.

It makes him drive his hips off the mattress suddenly. 

“Ah ah-” You warn. “Take it easy, baby. We have all night, don’t we?”

“But…” Choso’s eyes flicker between your face n’ where the two of you were about to connect. Something in him seems to almost break. So close. So close- “That’s so unfair. Your pussy feels like this and you’re expecting me to take it easy?”

A hand claws down your arched spine.

“Not even the textbooks could replicate how good it feels- m’not even inside you yet and I feel like I’m going insane.”

You swipe a thumb down his throbbing tip—catching a bead of white that was threatening to pour out. “I told you. As long as you keep it inside, Cho.”

And then you’re letting your hips lower - aiming to seat yourself down on that toned pelvis of his. “Ohhhh, fuck.” Your back bends, your head tips backwards as you’re taking in the inches of him. It’s a slow process - given that Choso was much larger than average - and you’re wrenching out primal moans as his thick length invades your core. A sweet prodding vein down the side of him was already massaging your insides—“You’re so big, baby. It’s always the quiet ones, huh?”

If he heard you, then he doesn’t make a show of it.

Choso’s handsome features scrunch up into something of pure ecstasy as he dives his cock deeper into you. Hands flying to your waist. Bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “Inside-” He whispers.

“Hmmm?”

“Inside- inside.” Choso gets out through heated pants. His mouth was moving a mile a minute- fuck, even his mind was. But he couldn’t possibly juggle any single coherent thought when his cock was sucked between your soft, soft pussylips and getting practically drained already. “A-am I really going inside? Or is this just a dream, baby?”

Without waiting around for an answer- he’s pinching his arm.

It leaves an angry red mark that proves to him that no…life really was this sweet.

“I am?” As though still in disbelief. 

As though this in and of itself would be enough to make him cum and- oh, shit. 

He really was cumming.

It seems to take the both of you by surprise, and Choso’s lunging his hips completely off the mattress - slamming his cockhead into the springy back of your cunt. 

Bouncin’ off at the sheer force for a few seconds- it isn’t long before he’s then scouring deep into your walls and letting his bawling divot run free. Cumming in less than a single stroke inside you. “Oh- oh, shit.” Choso’s mouth waters, a single line of spittle running from the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry I…”

But he doesn’t have an answer.

He really, truly doesn’t.

“Pussy got your tongue?” You giggle. 

This was his first time - and your pussy just felt that good all wrapped ‘round him and keeping him hostage.

His cum’s flooding you with a warmth, spreadin’ from the in-betweens of your legs and then right upwards. The satiny tresses of it rush uuuuup your walls n’ then right back down—those goopy layers then getting fucked back in by his desperate semi-thrusts. 

Squelch after squelch as he accumulates the cum like frosting on top of his swirling tip. Shoving. 

Choso scrunches his eyes shut and tears start to well up behind- now he was crying, too? Crying just by putting it in?! Buried like this, he feels like he’d do anything for you right now. He feels like he could lay his life on the line for you right now. He feels like—like—he could really truly ask you to become his real girlfriend now…

“Baby, I think I love you.” Choso blubbers up. “Do you want to marry me?”

“Let’s get dinner first.” You giggle, lovingly patting his cheek. 

“Oh…”

If you could feel the way his ruddied tip twitches inside you (and you could) then you’re not teasing him for it…much. Simply a smirk before you’re veering your hips down until he’s bottomed-out.

Clit massaging against the scruff of his happy trail. Pussylips struggling to squeeze around his sheer size. “Fuck.” You’re groaning, starting up a lecherous pace that keeps Choso’s toes curled - his head thrown back into the pillows, his skin blushing. He was flustered.

But more than that- he wanted more.

And sending a silent word of gratitude to the chance of the universe and science itself, Choso slithers that same right hand of his between your sultry legs. Sheened with slick. 

You were making such a mess fucking him whilst you’re still keeping his cum inside you—he scrapes his calloused thumb up, up, uuuup the few inches of his cock still left to fit inside. Collecting the slimy layers of slick up until the folds of your pussy. Reaching it up to his mouth- 

“Now, now.” You tut. “Are we just going to waste that, hm?”

“Oh…you’re right.” With a quiver of his lips, he then plunges it back inside. Then repeats the motion again and again until you’re feeling stuffed to the brim—with both his cock n’ his sappy fluid. Like you said before, it all deserved to stay inside. 

And you better keep it.

The rickety bedsprings creeeeeeak—! as he meets your pace. 

Choso continues, “Not just cum.” His curvaceous thumb swipes your inner folds again, “But that bulbourethral fluid deserves to stay inside, too. How else m’I gonna fill you up, baby?”

“Oh, of course.” You coo, something sensual. “But don’t think that that’s going to be your last time cumming tonight, Cho.”

His eyes damn-near bulge out of their skull. “E-excuse me?”

“It’s not even your last time cumming in this hour.” Oblivious - or so you pretend to be - to his growing concern n’ his gaping mouth. You’re bowing your body into his—manoeuvring your hips in somewhat of a circular motion, the slightest figure-eights and curves, that drag his tunneling cock juuuuuust right against every nook and cranny of your walls. Every hidden spot. “You’re gonna cum for me at least twice more, right?”

“I-I—I don’t know if that’s even possible!” Choso sputters, pushing his glasses up with his free hand- it was glossy with the excess of your slick from earlier.

And without warning, you’re leaning down to lightly lick off a bit of that glittering sheen.

Choso moans n’ feels his overly-stimulated length jolting away inside of you. “Baby, just consider the refractory period. Has it even been a few minutes since I last…?”

“Just about.” You’re smile. “Should be enough, no?”

“Though it varies based on age and health- when I can cum next depends on the blood redistribution, and how long prolactin and serotonin lasts in the body.” Choso admits then, albeit a bit sheepishly. “And I’m still fuh-feeling so goooood, baby- fuck I can’t—”

“But my smart boy’s gonna find a way, right?” Even if he couldn’t cum again, however - it was just too cute to watch Choso squirm like this. “When I said I wanted it inside, I wanted it stuffed inside, Cho.”

“S-stuffed…” He breathes - almost hypnotized by your pussy.

You’re grinding and swervin’ and clenching around his vein-loaded length in ways he could’ve only ever dreamed about before…“Mhm. Need it pouring out of me.” You beg, putting your best pleading expression on. “Need it up until…” 

Hands scouring up his front to press down on your stomach- almost up to your chest.

“-here.”

You pout. 

“If m’not bloated with your cum, Cho, is there even a point?”

“No there isn’t.” Choso’s jaw drops—as though the epiphany had just dropped on him. And no sooner are the words leaving his worry-bitten lips, he finds himself pumping wispy ropes of cum deep past your entrance. 

He doesn’t even know how he did it.

His body just seems to listen to you more than himself - and Choso jerks his pelvis up in synchronization with the faintish strings of cum that escape him. Thoroughly into your cunt. Thoroughly coating it on top of your womb.

You’re shivering as you feel the thin excess thwack! against your deepest innards. Such a lecherous feeling that cannot be replicated. 

Every time he strikes your spongy cervix, Choso lets out a sudden whimper. He sobs. He groooans. He’s fighting to clamor onto your body in any possible way that he could - your waist, your legs, your tits. It doesn’t matter where, Choso just needed to grab ahold of you and perhaps try to get you to fucking slow down—

“Please.” Every single letter in that word is botched with a cry, “P-please. Baby, keep riding me like this and you’re going to make me cum again-”

“Isn’t that the point? Third time’s the charm?” You ask. 

“Oh…” It’s then that he remembers that you’d said twice more- he has to cum twice more. Hiccuping, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Cocking your head with a smile, “And would you like to stop?”

“Not at all.”

Then you’re planting one hand in the middle of his defined chest for balance. Throwing your head back and ridin’ him silly.

Choso cries beneath you. Choso babbles. Torn between the pleasure of having those sweet, sopping lips wrapped ‘round him- and the insanity of his orgasm just barely bating before you’re attempting to hurtle him into another one. This was almost too much for his just recently-lost virginity, but Choso begs for more, more, more. “Please- please- that anterior wall of yours is so clo-”

With your other set of fingers then shoved into Choso’s pretty mouth- spit splashes from the sides of his lips. But he’s taking you so happily—“No no, keep going.” You tell him once his brows raise in surprise, “I just wanna watch my poor boyfriend struggle just a bit.”

“Mmmmpf- soooo good.” He lets out an agonized moan, muffled through the intrusion of your digits. You’re swirling them ‘round his mouth and watching him lightly choke on them. “I need to c-cum just once more, huh?”

Choso’s tears were enough to wash off the fog from his glasses lens.

And he blinks those teary eyes up at you - a few times before one of his hands slithers between your legs. Almost difficult, considering how the space between your two sweaty, crashing bodies was practically non-existant—but his long fingers find a way to thumb apart your puffy pussylips. Nearly swollen shut.

He runs the doughy tips of his digits across your clit, “Around it…just light kisses.” Choso murmurs to himself. “Juuust a little- ngh.”

A single squeeze of your fluttering walls leaves him reeling. 

“And then the good spots-” Peering down at your glossy cunt through his glasses, his half-lidded eyes. “The primary erogenous zones are the clitoris and introitus. Then the periurethral surrounding the urethra is also…oh…” Alternating between bashin’ his swollen cocktip against your g-spot, and thoroughly massaging every good spot he’d memorized.

“Shit…” You suddenly clench around him. “Keep going.”

He was seeing stars at the mere action. “And then the- hngh, even the perineum…” Fingers dipping just a liiiittle downwards to roll over that spot. He was unabashed - not in the state to be as he usually would. “And then fucking- at least as much as I can…here…” Slack-jawed, gaze unfocused. “My favorite is the clitoris.” The nerd presses the crescent pad of his thumb down on that knob.

Your hips are stutterin’ at the sheer amount of pleasure overwhelming you. Choso has taken up stimulating your clit in constant circular motions now. “I th-thought you said your favorite was the g-spot?”

“Both.”

As if on cue, he’s banging his thick tip against that ooooone spot.

Choso was stimulating you almost too well. Leaving you the one speechless as he drills his hips into you at a relentless pace—almost painfully desperate. 

“Good boy.” You whisper.

“Just need to make you- mmm, cum soon.” He states. “Because if you cum…then I’m sure to cum, too.”

Shoving a third finger in his mouth, he moans as he sucks. You hum, “And you’re sure you’re a virgin?”

“S’just everything you t-taught me.” He insists, mouth full yet listening to every word you said - if you expected an answer, then he was giving you an answer. “And sometimes…I’d search up…things online…”

“Online? Poor, innocent Choso Kamo watches porn?”

“Not that, I get too shy.” Choso responds. He blushes all the way down to the roots of his hair, “But using my textbooks, I’d- hah, read through them…study them…look at all the diagrams…”

You smirk. “Ever jerked off to a textbook, Choso?”

His jaw drops. “No…” Although you remain rather suspicious of the ever-deepening blush that seems to invade his cheeks—all the way down to his collarbones. “But I did jerk off just today.”

“Today?” One of your brows raise, “Don’t tell me this was- hah, before we met or…?”

He shakes his head. “After. After.” Big, bulbous tears make their way down his cheeks - and Choso tastes the salt on them as they splosh across his lips. You do too, as you kiss him. “S-snuck right into the bathroom at that ice cream parlor and- oh—”

“And what for? Saw a pretty someone at the neighboring table?”

Shaking his head even harder- “It was…you.”

“Me?”

“You said that thing- fuck, you said you needed me.” Choso’s dark chocolate-brown eyes glaze over as if he’s reminiscing the very moment. Living in it. “Under that table. And I couldn’t run to the bathroom faster to r-relieve myself.” Ah, this was that time then…

Your faux-boyfriend’s brows are then knitting.

His cock tunnels into you at an even more accelerated pace - one that leaves your head dizzy. Flinching at every run of his thumb down your pulsing clit. 

Choso finishes, “But I only lasted two pumps- the thought of you, ngh—” Thrusting in so deep that it felt as though, if he could go past your gooey cervix, then he long since would have. Choso thumps against the back of your cervix and remains there, “-wrapped around my cock and usin’ me to make your anterior- pussy feel pleasure was just too good of a fantasy for me.”

It’s a lewd admission.

It’s almost startling to hear this from Choso above all.

And it’s exactly what’s making you cum—just in time that he is. Your orgasm is prolonged and has been building up ever since he tickled your g-spot for the first time- “C-cumming—!” Belatedly, the announcement leaves your lips.

But Choso already knows.

He can already feel the rhythmic clenches of your sopping wet walls - the soft thing he’s ever felt. They’re tightening around him and tuggin’ on his pistoning cock like you didn’t fucking want him to leave. 

Toes curling. Back arching.

The bang after bang after bang right on that target of your g-spot meant that your orgasm was being intensified. Every peak left your thighs clenching around his waist, and you bounce your hips up n’ down furiously. Up n’ down. Up n’ down. “Yes- yes, yes, yes—and you’re c-cumming too, Cho.”

“I am?” Choso blinks his teary eyes down at your lower halves. The smacking of skin-against-skin was deafening, and Choso’s pelvis was rawly red due to the sheer friction. 

But more than that…he was feeling his even redder tip twitch a few times. Once. Twice. Thrice- before the warmth of bliss takes over his body. It’s a wave of euphoria even stronger than the last few, and it makes the nerdy boy flinch his hips up into yours- agonizingly good. He was hammering into you so animalistically- jabbing short, sloppy semi-thrusts. “I am.” Choso gasps out. “I’m cumming-”

He’d predicted as much earlier, but it actually worked?!

“M’filling you up, aren’t I?” Choso blabbers, a crazed smile on his face. “This virgin…I was able to stuff this pussy full.”

Lovingly patting your cunt. 

“So much so that- hah, look she’s even struggling to- ngh, take me. That cervix uteri is all flooded, huh? All drenched in me?” Through the waves of your high, you’re feeling your orgasm fizzle and pop as he rolls his thumb doooown your clit a few more times. “And these pretty labia of yours are all swollen- bloated with my cum, hm?”

“Mhm…” Before you blink a few times. “Oh- this one was shorter than the last though, wasn’t it? Maybe we need to go again- heh.”

“S’it already done? I…but I’m still…” Choso jabs out numerous more thrusts before he’s pulling out.

And whilst you’re interested in the squelch! and the feeling of hot, wet cum splashin’ out of you and onto his toned hips—Choso himself is more interested in the way his cock twitched n’ feels like he’s cumming…but nothing is actually coming out. 

“Orgasmic anejaculation?” He states in shock. “Baby, you’ve made me cum dry—”

“Oh.” Lips parting, you look down to watch as his pretty reddened tip jolts about irritatedly as though he was in the throes of his orgasm - and he was. It’s just that nothing was coming out. 

“I-it’s likely that this is due to the lack of semen replenishment. Thus, if there’s none left to-”

“So fourth time’s the charm, right?” You cock your head down at him with a smile.

Another time?!

His half-hard length twitches in interest.

“You really are going to be the death of me.”

Choso really, really needed to ask you out after this.

.

.

.

Ryomen Sukuna knew that the two of you weren’t dating.

He knew it.

He just had no way to prove it. 

That is…until one day, just a week after that initial introduction to you, Jin had bothered Sukuna into visiting his nephew. He’d made some cookies—some of your favorites that you’d briefly mentioned at the ramen place, and Jin had immediately gotten to work scouring through his recipes. Flipping through some of grandma’s old cookbooks - he really did get his love for cooking and baking from her.

And then trialing batch after batch of cookies in order to make the perfect one.

And Sukuna hadn’t minded, of course - no one in the house had. They each got to scarf down the ones that Jin deemed as ‘failed’ and they turned out as great as ever. Sukuna honestly didn’t know what more perfection Jin was searching for—especially not for someone he knew Choso was surely paying you in some manner…

There was no conceivable world in which his nephew - as much as Sukuna respected him, for the sole reason that he was related to him (and anyone in some proximity to the great Ryomen Sukuna can’t be all that bad…) - would ever have enough courage to ask a real person out. Let alone someone as electric as you?

Let alone have you say yes?!

Something was up. And Sukuna was on the case.

At least after he finishes this mountain of cookies…

Either way, it took an entire week for Jin to perfect his cookies. And once completed, he’d thumped Sukuna over the head with a couch cushion and told him to go deliver them to Choso.

Unfortunately they hadn’t managed to catch your address or anything of the sort - and there was no telling when Choso would have enough time between his studies and library-haunting to visit. Thus, it’d be easier to just have Sukuna (who was far too busy doing a whole load of nothing) drop the cookies off at Choso’s apartment and let him give it to you.

Jin could trust Choso with handing them to you safe n’ sound.

He couldn’t trust Sukuna not to swallow them whole on the way, however…

So it was with a tonne of brotherly intimidation and threatening brandishes of that cushion that Jin waved Sukuna off—‘you better not eat those cookies, Ryo.’

But Sukuna promised. He promised.

He had other, more important, things on his mind - like cornering Choso into admitting that the two of you actually weren’t dating. Maybe if he didn’t relent so easily, he’d even look around the apartment to check for signs of you or anything you’d left behind—after five months of dating, surely, there’d be some evidence, wouldn’t there?

And then maybe he’d eat the cookies- hah!

The perfect plan.

Ryomen Sukuna what a genius you were, what a mastermind—who said that Jin was the smarter brother?! It was Sukuna that liked literature and poetry (wait, was nerdiness genetic?) No one should underestimate the sheer underappreciated brilliance of a prodigy like-

“Choso’s uncle?” He gapes as you answer the door- and you’re just as beautiful as he remembered you. And oh, alright—Sukuna admits you’re beautiful. Gorgeous, actually.

Which is also why he found it hard to believe that Choso could ever manage to bag you- sure, he wasn’t bad looking…but that’s only because Choso was related to him.

Then again, he wasn’t any Ryomen Sukuna.

A Ryomen Sukuna that was feeling rather…a lot…small as he looks at you.

Your eyes widen as you recognize who your visitor was, though your smile never falters.

“Oh, Cho should be right out. Please come in, have you eaten breakfast yet? You should join us!”

Opening the door even wider, though he stands as still as a statue. 

“Is…everything alright.”

No movement once more. No answer, either.

“Ummm, maybe it’s more comfortable there then?” You’re awkwardly smiling at his lack of a response - this certainly wasn’t the Ryomen Sukuna that you’d met at the family dinner…And perhaps at the same time, you’re realizing why.

Because you weren’t just answering Choso’s apartment door—you were doing so in nothing but sleep shorts and a humerus-related t-shirt that was most definitely not yours. And above the hem of that ratty t-shirt were a series of bite marks, nail marks down your neck…such an obscene display that makes you immediately yelp and tug your neckline upwards.

Though Sukuna remains gawking. “I uh…”

“I am so sorry.” You’re blubbering away, and when your neckline fails to cover you adequately without showing off the similar marks on your midriff- you’re reaching your hands up instead. “We’d just been making breakfast, and I’d completely forgot-”

“No, that’s fine uh…” Goodness, when has the rough n’ tough Sukuna ever floundered like this? “It’s my fault for coming unannounced um…”

“What’s this?” Another voice sounds from inside the apartment.

Soon enough, Choso’s joining the two of you at the door—he’s in JBA sweatpants and pulling on a t-shirt as he walks. With whatever mercy that the universe had granted Sukuna, Choso sneaks up behind you, so he doesn’t see whatever similar markings might have been left on him as Choso finally wears his t-shirt properly. 

There’s amusement in Choso’s tone as he adjusts his glasses and speaks, “I never thought I’d see the day that you apologize to anyone, uncle Ryo.”

Choso throws an arm over your shoulder - the intimacy was palpable. Something far more different than at the ice cream parlor, and yet…Sukuna should’ve recognized the same admiring glint in Choso’s eyes back then, too.

The apartment behind was messy in that domestic way. There were eggs frying on the stove. 

“Sh-shut it.” Sukuna spits. “This is all your…girlfriend’s fault.”

Ah, you really were his girlfriend. The great Ryomen Sukuna has been wrong. How could this be? How could he fathom such a thing?

He takes a big bite out of one of those cookies. 

A/N. Oh Kuna dw I’m here for you <33

He had spent dinner pretending to care about the acquisition scandal your imprint was currently circling like vultures. He had cut your salmon into smaller pieces without asking, slid your water closer every time you forgot to drink it, and looked tired when he smiled at you, but you’d thought it was work.

You hadn’t known he was planning how to make Alaska soft for you.

The article is still open below the search bar.

Low-impact comfort, beautiful scenery without grueling logistics, heated cabins, wide windows, warm drinks, and places where she can stay inside the car if she gets tired.

Your hand moves to scroll.

The Alaska Railroad—a heated train car with panoramic windows, no bumpy roads, and no hours on your feet.

Girdwood—aerial tram, fire pits, indoor saltwater pool, avoid hot tubs, book prenatal massage.

Fairbanks—heated dome under the northern lights, so she can watch from bed.

You press your lips together, but it doesn’t help.

Megumi shifts at the whimper you fail to swallow. His brows draw together before his eyes open.

He looks at your face. “What happened?”

You shake your head.

He’s upright in a second, glasses pushed up into his hair. “Are you in pain?”

“No.”

“Cramping?”

“No, Megumi.”

“Dizzy?”

“No.”

He reaches for you anyway, palm careful against your side, then the underside of your belly. “Then why are you crying?”

You set the glass down before you drop it. “You looked really sweet sleeping.”

He stares at you.

You sniff.

His mouth flattens. “That’s creepy.”

A laugh breaks out of you. “You looked very sweet, husband.”

He stares at you confused.

You wipe under your eye with the heel of your hand, and he catches your wrist before you can be rough with your own face, his thumb rubs softly over your skin.

The baby shifts, a slow roll under your ribs.

Megumi feels it.

Neither of you speaks.

That’s the thing nobody had told you about finally getting what you begged science, money, bloodwork, calendars, injections, and your own tired hope to give you after years of trying. Joy would not arrive alone but would bring fear with it in the nursery boxes you were both too superstitious to fully unpack. It slept between you when the baby was too still for thirty minutes.

Megumi lowers his forehead against your belly.

“Hey,” he murmurs there. “Don’t scare your mother.”

The baby kicks him.

You laugh again.

He looks up at you, offended in the sleepy, handsome way that made you marry him. “She’s already disrespectful.”

“She gets that from her father.”

“I’m a respected attorney.”

“You fell asleep researching.”

His face changes. It’s not noticeable.

But you know him.

You pretend not to see the laptop. “Come to bed.”

He closes the laptop with one hand and stands, heavier than he used to be, broader through the shoulders, softer only where your hands liked him best. Then he bends, picks up your glass, and guides you toward the kitchen first.

“Water,” he says.

In the kitchen, you drink because he watches until you do.

The next morning, you dress like you have no idea—a nice long wool coat, a loose turtleneck, hair pulled back, gold earrings, a long wool skirt, and boots that Megumi had already checked twice for traction.

He comes out of the bedroom holding a scarf.

“No, I look editorial.”

“You look cold.”

“I’m seven months pregnant and still better dressed than half the state.”

“You’ll be warm.”

He wraps the scarf around you himself, careful with your hair, then crouches to zip your boot when the zipper catches.

You look down at your stern, overbuilt husband on one knee in the entryway.

Your chest does that dangerous thing again.

He glances up.

Then winks.

Your soul leaves your body. “Did you just—"

“No one will believe you.”

You smack his shoulder with your glove.

He catches your hand, kisses the knuckles through the wool, then stands.

Later, the train is warm.

Megumi has gotten you seats by the window, tea in a paper cup, ginger candies in his coat pocket, a folded blanket he bought outside in case you got cold, and a printed reservation schedule marked in his neat handwriting.

You sit beside him and watch snow catch on black spruce, mountains shouldering up through the morning, the whole world cold and enormous while your husband keeps one hand under your coat, palm spread over your belly.

The baby kicks after the train starts moving.

Megumi looks down.

“She likes it,” you say.

He smiles that small smile and kisses the side of your head

You lean your head against his arm.

After a while, he opens his coat so you can tuck closer without asking. His chin rests briefly on your hair. Outside, Alaska rolls past in white and blue and dark green, and inside, Megumi checks your tea temperature before handing it back.

You take one sip.

Perfect.

At the wildlife conservation center, he drives the loop slowly enough that a four-year-old toddler in a stroller passes you.

“Megumi.”

“You said your back hurt.”

“A moose is judging us.”

“The moose can mind his business.”

You watch bison move through snow, a brown bear sleeps in the distance like a dropped coat, and wolves pace beyond the fence, pale and elegant and uninterested in the people whispering from warm cars.

Megumi keeps the heater low because you said the air made you nauseous when it got too dry. He opens your Sailor Boy Pilot Bread packet with his teeth when your gloves get in the way, then holds the bag out without looking, eyes on the road.

Then you take one and hold another toward him.

Megumi glances over once, only long enough to see what you’re offering, then opens his mouth. His eyes go back to the road before his teeth close around it.

You chew faster than he does.

By the time he finishes, you’re already digging around in the bag again.

Another for you.

Another shoved toward his mouth.

He takes it with the same tired patience people use around unstable explosives.

Snow crunches softly under the tires as the sanctuary road curves ahead. Megumi keeps one hand steady on the wheel between bites, shoulders forward, attention fixed like the whole world has narrowed to the road, your seatbelt, and the baby in your belly.

You finish yours first again.

Then immediately pick another cracker out and push it against his mouth.

You feed him half the packet over the next ten minutes through pure insistence. Crackers, then dried fruits, then the weird little ginger-infused wild berry jam you bought at the station because the old woman at the register said they helped with nausea.

Megumi eats every single thing you hand him, his jaw moving slowly while his attention stays fixed on the icy road ahead.

Then you stare at him again.

“What?” he says finally.

“You’ll survive in captivity.”

He frowns. “What does that mean?”

“You eat whatever I hand you with no questions. Totally domesticated.”

He flings your blanket over your head. “Nap time.” 

You remove it with a chuckle, stare at the side of his face while he drives, at the small crease between his brows, at the careful set of his mouth, at the man who packed three kinds of snack foods and still forgot to eat until you put food directly against his lips.

“What?” he asks, quieter this time.

You reach over and brush a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “You’re my home, Megumi.”

His hand tightens on the wheel.

For a second, he says nothing.

Then he pulls into the next viewing spot, parks, and turns to you. “We moved here because you wanted quiet.”

You nod, because you had wanted distance from elevators full of people who stared too long, from office bathrooms where you had cried over negative tests, from family calls that turned every question into a pressure point. You wanted snow, locked doors, slow mornings, a place where no one knew how long it had taken.

Megumi looks down at your joined hands.

“I can’t make your head quiet,” his voice softens. “I know that.”

Your mouth trembles before you can stop it.

His thumb moves once over your knuckles.

“But I can make the day smaller.” His voice stays low, almost careful. “I can check the road before you wake up. Keep food where you can reach it. Find places where you don’t have to stand too long.”

He glances briefly toward the back seat, where your blanket and spare gloves sit folded beside the bag he packed without mentioning it.

“I can bring you home the second you’re tired,” he tells you. “Even if you say you’re fine.”

You laugh once, but it comes out ruined, and then you’re crying.

Megumi unbuckles his seatbelt, turns as much as the car allows and reaches for your face, thumb catching the tear before it gets past your cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s the pregnancy."

“I know.” His hand stays on your cheek. “I read the books.”

Outside, the moose keeps chewing through a mouthful of brush, calm and enormous and uninterested in the fact that your husband has just cracked your chest open in a parked car.

You cover his hand where it rests against your face. “You make me feel like we’re going to be okay.”

His expression shifts into something small and full of hope.

Then he leans across the console and kisses you, slow and careful.

When he pulls back, his ears are pink. “You knew about the search.”

You keep your face very still. “I don’t know what search you mean.”

Megumi stares at you.

You stare back with grave composure.

His thumb brushes under your eye again. “You’re bad at lying.”

You look out the windshield, pretending to study the moose. “I only saw the title.”

“That’s the worst part.”

You press your lips together.

He watches you try not to smile, and something in his face loosens. “I wanted to get it right.”

The sentence is low enough that it almost disappears under the hum of the heater.

You look back at him.

Megumi’s gaze has dropped to your belly again. “You’ve had to be careful for months.”

Your hand finds his over the curve of your coat.

The baby shifts under both of your palms.

Megumi breathes out slowly, as if she answered him.

“You got it right,” you say.

He nods, eyes still too soft.

Then he turns back, puts the car in drive, and eases out of the viewing spot.

A few minutes later, when the lodge comes into view and you spot the low orange flicker of fire pits through the snow, you gasp a little too early.

Megumi doesn’t even look at you. “Awful acting.”

You smile into your scarf. “I was surprised.”

This time, his mouth moves first, almost a smile.

“Stay there,” he says when he parks.

You do, watching him come around to your side through the windshield. He opens your door, blocks the wind with his body, and wraps the blanket around your shoulders before your boots touch the ground.

A/N: I can be persuaded to do a Yuji one in the same AU.

Masterlist

Images are from Anime (S3)/Pinterest; the sparkling divider is from @pixopix, the trees are from @firefly-graphics, and the engagement banner is from @saradika-graphics.

You sit in your LED lighted room in front of your multiple glowing monitors.

*MATCH POINT* you hear from your gaming laptop for the second time. 

Seriously, how long is this match going to last?

Not only has this stupid FPS game taken over your life after your fanbase demanded you play it, but the matches last eons. Minimum thirty minutes of your time to play a shooter game full of sweats and raunchy e-daters. The grating voice of an obnoxious teenager blares in your gaming headset, commanding you to do something you didn’t really care for.

The things I have to deal with in this job really does make me feel like a medieval court jester sometimes. 

On top of all the idiocrasy in your game as well as the pandemonium of your live Twitch chat, a duelist on the opposing team has just seemed to love to target you. He’s good at the game too, one-tapping you almost as soon as you come on his screen. Unfortunately, for you at least, your live chat is entertained by your misfortune.

*BANG* You’re dead. Again. And guess who killed you? 

“Are you serious!? This guy has to have wall hacks on or something!” You yell into the void of your livestream. Messages from your chat flood your second monitor, some sympathizing with you, most just making fun of your misery. “Chat, you guys suck! Why would you ever convince me to play this game?” You sigh as you rub your dried eyes. 

You open your eyes and are met with a bright red screen.

“Defeat!” The game announcer claims, as if you couldn’t already tell. You look over to your K/D/A, it's in the negatives. Not only the negatives, but the triple negatives. 1/30/15.

Oh gosh, I don’t even want to look at my chat right now.

You turn over to see your entire chat talking about some ‘Ryo’ dude.

“Chat, who the hell is Ryo?” You chuckle. 

What a stupid name

You get a $20 dollar dono, which reads: “RyoSukunz is one of the top streamers in this game LOL. Can’t believe you haven’t heard of him, his team won the Champions Tour: Masters Madrid this weekend.”

Champions Tour!? No wonder this guy is crazy good…

You look back to chat, “Ok then, if this guy is so good let’s go raid his stream right now. I’ll hop off for today. Everyone, get on this rats stream.” 

Waving goodbye to your stream, you send out the prompt for a stream raid and turn off your Twitch stream and immediately open Ryo’s.

Let’s see what this guy is all about…

Opening the stream, you're greeted by the deafening laughter of a man around your age. You look at how many viewers are watching live right now. Twenty-five thousand. Twenty-five thousand. That many people and the number is still going up because you just That’s more people than the population of Vatican City. And all those people just watched you get absolutely obliterated by this obnoxious loser. 

Your eyes shift to the man on your screen, who is still laughing at your utter failure. His slender fingers cover his mouth, attempting to suppress his amusement. His perfectly messy, dyed pink hair sits underneath his expensive-looking gaming headset. Thin tattoos line his toned, slightly pale cheekbones and face. He has a build that you would usually only see in museums as well, absolutely chiseled. You just might be picking a fight with the wrong guy.

“Yo! A raid!” The man yells, his voice baritone and a bit husky. He leans forward to get a closer look at his own live chat before once again erupting into uncontrollable laughter. “It’s that girl again!” He practically shrieks.

Shoot, I forgot my streaming user is the same as my gamertag.

His live chat blows up with messages and emotes. Without even reading them, you know for a fact they're either mocking you or just agreeing with Ryo. Thoughtlessly, you type out your message, sending it instantly.

Ryo looks at your message and smiles.

“Already did. Accept it.”

a/n: i swear there will be more real smau stuff soon!!

taglist: @yourmanicpixiedreamgirls-world , @lrkshyejdyeuehsh , @themoonknowsyourname ,

He still can’t stop thinking about the way your thighs looked pressed together under your skirt, like you were trying to hide the bare skin from him. As if you could- not when he’s so perceptive to anything concerning his son’s pretty friend.

Not when Toji secretly inhales just a little deeper as he walks past you to open the door for Yuji, the smell of your perfume lingering on his mind long after you leave to go home. Not when he’s seen you and Nobara giggling in the kitchen over pre-drinks, your soft cleavage ostentatious in your top as you hand your best friend her bag.

Although, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t ogle him back- gazing a little over the rim of your sunglasses as you lounge on Megumi’s back lawn, grass tickling your legs as you stare at Toji’s arms while he weeds the flowerbeds.

Now, Toji looks dangerously good; faded grey sweats hung just low enough on his hips to expose a scratchy happy trail, shirt compressed to his body. “Megumi’s out.”

Yeah, no shit. “I’ll, uh… can I just give you this-?“

“Come in.” He says, already turning to walk int the kitchen. You panic briefly, but refusal doesn’t seem like an option, not when he speaks to you like that.

You end up standing awkwardly in the kitchen, staring aimlessly at the ceramic bowls dripping suds from the draining rack beside the sink. “Can I, uh…” you say nervously, fumbling with the camera in your tote, “can I take a picture of your window?” You cringe immediately as he stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head. He probably thinks you’re missing at least a good handful of screws.

“I just- I’m trying to make a photo album, to look back on,” you ramble, trying to salvage Toji’s image of you as fully sane, “and the light makes the room look kinda pretty, that’s all, and-“

Toji snorts, eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place, and nods slowly. “Knock yourself out, kid.”

The camera snaps, and the Fushiguro kitchen is immortalised forevermore on the sleek photo in your fingers- sunlight paints bright strokes through the glass, catching on the overgrown (and mildly neglected) pot plant resting on the windowsill.

In the corner sits a few drying bowls, ceramic coated with a frothy layer of soapy suds. “Thanks.” You mumble, tucking it away for safekeeping.

Toji leans on the counter, mug of dark coffee resting lazily in his huge hand before he sets it down and laughs to himself. “Cute.”

“What?”

He doesn’t clarify or even respond, just reaches for the little plastic lighter strewn somewhere on the counter.

The lighter clicks when he thumbs at it, a tiny flame sparking at the end of the cigarette he plucked from the discarded packet; smoke curls immediately, snaking in pretty spirals through the sunlight eating into the shadows of the kitchen.

“I thought you quit smoking.” You offer lightheartedly, praying he’ll let you leave soon before your self control implodes and you start drooling over the shape of his biceps. Oops.

“Yeah, well-” Toji replies, voice low as a smirk pulls at his mouth, “-I needed one after seeing you walk half naked outta my son’s room.”

You feel the blood rush to your face, the way your skin prickles and warms then goes pale in horror. “I…me and Megumi- you shouldn’t-“

Toji just watches as you stammer, cigarette glowing between his scarred lips. He’s not making it easy for you; it’s bad enough to ask about your hookup with his son without bringing up the way you left afterwards, and especially not looking at you like that.

Toji laughs around the cigarette and your palms get clammy.

“We didn’t have sex!” You shrill suddenly, eyes widening when he just raises an unimpressed eyebrow and keeps tapping excess ash into the little tray beside him. “We didn’t even take off our underwear-“

That gets Toji’s attention, and somehow having his eyes locked on you is worse. His gaze feels like it’s trying to see past your clothes and to the underwear you didn’t take off for his son, perhaps wondering what shade of lace or cotton you’ve gone for.

“I’m… gonna leave now.” You mumble abruptly, embarrassment coursing thickly through your veins as you fumble in your tote for Megumi’s sweater and pile it on the counter.

“Nah, you’re not leaving that easily.”

Fuck, he’s grabbing your wrist.

You turn slowly, the loose grip on your skin making you pause. “What?”

Toji tightens his hold and pulls you towards the couch, where he unceremoniously drags you down to rest beside him. The cushions dip below you, plush fabric curving against the thighs Toji wishes he didn’t want to touch so badly.

Your thighs brushes against his, soft skin meeting rough fabric, and your breath hitches when you turn to face him. Eyes travel over his shoulders, to the ridged outline of his abdomen through his shirt, to where you’re sure you can see the imprint of his cock if you squint at the fabric hard enough-

“Somethin’ you want, sweetheart?” He snickers, adjusting his position so his thighs spread out wider. When he notices you’ve gone rigid, he sighs and pats his thigh. “C’mere.”

You obey immediately, swinging your thighs to bracket his, the clothed warmth of your cunt separated from him by little more than the denim of your shorts. He flexes the muscle once, just experimentally, and you gasp. “Oh!”

“Ohhhh.” He mimicks, big hands already rubbing slow circles along your waist. “So, pretty… how’s your summer been?”

You stare at him- seriously? You’re straddling his thigh and he’s asking about your summer break? “Huh?”

Clearly, Toji sees the shock painting your features and takes it upon himself to start pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Saliva glimmers across your skin as his teeth graze your jugular, but he doesn’t bite down. “Yeah, doll, it’s nice to keep in touch with my son’s friends.”

You shift on his lap at the mention of Megumi’s name, but you can’t bring yourself to feel guilty when the seam of your shorts presses up against your clit and you whimper. “I- um- I’ve been to the beach a few times…” you begin nervously, rocking your hips forwards.

“Go on.” Toji mutters, his hands creeping below the hem of your shirt to thumb at the skin below your bra. He’s pretending he isn’t hard over the thought of you in a bikini.

“And… I’ve worked on some stuff for college, ordered a few textbooks…”

His mouth sucks gently at your neck, “keeping up with it all. Good girl.”

You can’t help it- your hips jerk involuntarily against him, another whine tearing itself from your lips as your panties cling to you. You physically can’t take it; Toji’s holding you in place with strong hands, controlling the amount of pressure afforded to your dampening body.

“Please-“

“Please what?” He grins, “ask nicely.”

“Anything-“ you whisper despairingly, grinding yourself into the solid, immovable pressure of his thigh, “I can’t-“

Toji manhandles you so quickly it almost gives you whiplash, the light in the room spiralling as you flip over onto your back. You look down, and where you’re expecting to see your legs dangling from the couch, you’re met with the sight of Toji Fushiguro on his knees and wrenching your shorts down.

“Jesus,” he laughs roughly, “you’re so wet. This all from grinding on my thigh?”

You nod, embarrassed. “Please.” The beg comes out more desperate, more wobbly than you intended, fuelled by the way his eyes look fixed directly onto your sopping pussy while he sucks light marks onto your inner thighs.

Toji groans when he puts his mouth on you, sliding your underwear to the side before licking one firm stripe through your slick.

“Fuck-“ you moan, fingers tangling in his dark hair when his lips suction tightly around your clit. You know you should feel bad about fucking your friend’s dad, but as it stands he’s giving it to you so good nothing can permeate the little bubble around you.

“You taste good.” He murmurs, pulling away just for a moment to see the way you squirm. The loss of his touch is painful, cold air snaking across your sensitive skin and leaving goosebumps.

You know the air isn’t really cold- it’s warm outside, it’s warm in here, but nothing compares to the heat of Toji’s mouth. “Don’t be- fuck- mean,” you groan, head falling back with a soft thud! against the couch.

“Who’re you asking?” Toji muses, thumb torturously circling your clit just wide enough to provide no real pressure.

“You?” You reply confusedly, mind hazy through the need bubbling in your lower body.

“And who would that be, sweetheart?”

You blush, squirming as he locks eyes with you. “Mr Fushiguro?”

“Nah,” he sighs theatrically, thumb completely removed from your clit. Whining exasperatedly, nails digging into his scalp, you pout. “Try again, pretty.”

A sigh rolls from your tongue, eyes screwed up in embarrassment. “…Toji.”

“Yeahhh,” he grins, “s’right.”

His mouth is back on your neglected pussy before you can say anything more, tongue flicking meanly across your clit; your breaths come out staggered around the shape of his name, octaves higher than you would’ve expected.

Higher than Toji expected, as he grins smugly and thwacks his fingertips over your clit in a form of twisted reward. His cock throbs annoyingly in his sweatpants, but Toji’s more focused on the way your empty cunt keeps sloshing out more waves of slick onto his awaiting mouth instead.

“Toji- shit, ohmygod-“ you cry, pelvis twitching when he curls two fingers inside you. The stretch alone is enough to make you gasp, but when his calloused fingerpads brush past that one specific spot?

He keeps going, licking at your glossy cunt and angling his fingers. The fullness is incredible, winding something tighter and tighter in your abdomen that immobilises all thought; you can hear your voice getting louder, the way it makes Toji groan against you, the way it gets so desperate you wish you’d just shut up, but you can’t.

“To-ji-“

The shattered syllables are the last thing your body squeezes out before you’re soaking his palm, the man between your legs eagerly drinking up everything you give him. His scarred maw stretches out obscenely.

You go limp against the couch, chest heaving as you suck in shaky breaths through burning lungs. You’re brought back to reality at the feeling of something cool flattening against your thighs and you jolt.

“Stay still.” He huffs hoarsely, “cleaning you up.” It’s bizarre- he was so mean just minutes ago, mouth clamped over you, and now Toji’s dabbing carefully at your sweaty skin with a damp cloth. You let it happen.

“There.” He says eventually, sliding your ruined underwear back into place and fastening your shorts while you focus on standing up properly, legs shaky.

“Don’t, uh…” you mutter, “don’t you want help?” You gesture vaguely down to the sizeable, painfully obvious bulge straining against his sweats.

Toji deliberates for a second, tongue pressing thoughtfully against his teeth. “Nah, you can go home. I’ll give Megs his shirt back.”

“Sweater.” You correct him. It’s all very casual for somebody who just soaked his face between your thighs, but you aren’t one to comment.

Toji shrugs and pats you on the shoulder, watching as you turn the sunny corner and walk home; but after the door swings shut, he’s left with an empty house and a stubborn erection. “Shit.”

series masterlist | check out the photo album! | regular masterlist

a/n: thank you for reading! <33