soul 𖦹

miyanolovessasaki

i’m…a little confused…

alienqueen

Rip the bandaid off and tell him girl, because what happens when y’all get there and he’s not down?

jetblackwings

RESIST DARK REUNION, ACCEPT YOUR URGES (nta.)

s.geto

I have a question.

Eijiro was working out when you came to him with the…proposition.

Yeah. You.

“Hey, Eiji,” you ask, poking your head into the room. Eijiro doesn’t hear you, but he sees you, and takes a headphone off before racking the weights.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Eijiro still sweats anytime you’re in his relative vicinity. He’s gotten better at it, but you make eye contact like a motherfucker—staring past red irises and into his soul, perceiving all the secrets he keeps safe, in little boxes with little organized titles. You make him want to spill his guts.

“Kat and I are going to Hawaii in a few weeks, and we're wondering if you could come,” you smile, unassuming and confident, like Eijiro doesn’t know what’s in a few weeks. What date it is.

The two year anniversary of his fucking suffering.

(Technically, you’ve only been moved in for a year, but his suffering began the day you and Katsuki met, so.)

“Oh, um, are you sure?” Eijiro wipes clammy hands on his basketball shorts as you enter the room and take a seat on the exercise bench. You literally have clothes on, a casual sweatsuit fit, and Eijiro’s already drooling. He needs to get a grip.

(Or a girlfriend, his brain helpfully supplies, but that’s not fair to his hypothetical girlfriend. Not when Eijiro has yet to find anyone that measures up to you, holy shit—)

“Yes,” you giggle, like his response is strange. Eijiro’s brain is busy reeling, busy trying to decipher what this invite really means, that he misses your next sentence.

“Sorry—what did you say?”

“Just that it’d be more fun if you were there,” you wave your words off like they’re unimportant, but they are so, so important. Eijiro still doesn’t know what to make of it, though, and eventually gives up. He licks his lips and nods dutifully. He shouldn’t go—it seems like a very bad, not so good idea to go, but will he? Absolutely.

He can picture it now: you and Katsuki, late at night, getting down and dirty in the bed across from his, as quiet as you can, while he squints through closed eyes and jacks himself off into a pathetic state. And then, he sleeps in it, because what the fuck is he going to do—get up to clean himself off? Tell on himself?

“Okay, then I’ll go,” he smiles, and tries his best to hide the myriad of emotions pressing in on his lungs. Excitement, nervousness, confusion. Misery. It’s like Inside Out, but worse.

“Okay, great!” You clap twice, adjusting to, for some reason, get more comfortable in your seat. “Do you mind if I stay to watch?”

Eijiro waits for the other ball to drop. For you to explain that Kat is in the shower, or not even home, and you’re overwhelmingly bored—but, no. Nothing. That was the end of your sentence.

What the fuck.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, a little breathless and a lot confused. You stay for the duration of his workout, quiet as a mouse, and just…watching…

Eijirō nearly drops the barbell on his toes.

s.geto

I have a question.

cyberch!ck69

i have an answer.

s.geto

What do I do in this exact scenario if I’m the boyfriend?

The resort is so nice.

The lobby is open and airy, with poles instead of walls, and leads straight to the beach. Eijirō can see it. Can smell the salt in the air and hear seagulls squawking over food. As Katsuki talks to the concierge and checks in, Eijirō looks out to see calm and blue waters, poorly tamping his excitement with an impatient, bouncing foot. He, also, promptly pushes the last time he went to the beach out of his mind. Nope, not even thinking about it.

“Race you to the sea?” You ask, saddling up beside him. Eijirō shrugs.

“Sure.”

Immediately, you take off—leaving your bags behind and everything—and out the opening that leads to the water.

“Wait, right now?!” Eijirō squeaks, and looks to Katsuki, who isn’t paying either of you much mind, too busy barking at the concierge about something, probably their organizational practices, or another thing equally as trivial.

Eijirō makes a break for it.

He sees you weaving and cutting past cabanas, tripping over blankets and children, and follows the path your feet left in the sand, stomping them five sizes bigger. You’re both still sweaty in airplane clothes that are in no way conducive to these temperatures, but he makes it work—even if he ends up with sand in his sweats in the process.

It isn’t difficult to catch up to you, all things considered. Eijirō feels bad, debates on letting you win—until you turn around and stick a tongue out. Then, it’s fucking on.

“Gotcha!”

He snatches your waist just before the sea, swinging you around in tight arms before you can cross the imaginary finish line. After putting you down, he steps both feet into the ocean and cheers at your pout, doing a little victory dance.

“Aha! I win, I win, I wi—hey!”

Eijirō gets a face full of salt water, drenching him down his side and deepening the shade of his grey sweatsuit. The water is warm, but he chokes from shock regardless, and turns to look at his perpetrator with a new challenge in his eyes. You gulp.

“Wait, I didn’t—fuck!”

You whine when he pours a handful of water over your head. You accept your fate, sighing with your head down and hands open. Your white shirt sticks flush to your body, giving Eijirō the pleasure of revealing your bra underneath, and that’s—

“Oi, the fuck are you two doing?!”

Katsuki comes storming up to the shoreline, shaking sand out of his slides and grumbling with every other step. You and Eijirō stand in the water, white wake pooling around your ankles as the tide starts to recede. Katsuki huffs.

“It was his idea!” You point at the redhead to your right, who gapes at your audacity. For that, you get another handful of water over the head. “Wha—c’mon!”

“No, you both c’mon,” Katsuki hisses, pulling out three cards from his back pocket. “Got the room keys. You Dumbasses can frolic in the ocean afterwards.”

You two grouse, but agree. Because, Eijirō’s sweatpants stick to his thighs most uncomfortably, starting to stiffen from the salt—and you need a better shirt, preferably one that’s not white and wet and doesn’t highlight your bra beneath. So he can be sane again.

(He can’t help but feel like that sentence was all ‘Eijirō, Eijirō, Eijirō’ but also, guys, please—)

Katsuki walks to the hotel room with two soggy cats in his wake.

The pathways are just as open and airy as the lobby, with no walls on one side to provide a proper outlook to the ocean, and numbered rooms on the other. Theirs is on the top floor of the hotel, and luckily, not much of a shuffle from the elevator.

The room is just as nice as the hotel.

It’s spacious—Eijirō wouldn’t even classify it as a room, but a small apartment. There’s a kitchen and living room, all matching in a calming mahogany wood. Wood floors, wooden ceilings, wooden…wood, until everything but the soft furniture melts into one cohesive image. A pair of sliding doors lead to a balcony spanning the whole room, including the one bedroom—

Um.

“There’s only one bedroom,” Eijirō asks, because the hotel must have made a mistake. Not only is there only one bedroom, but one bed. The bed is big, sure—like, an Alaskan fucking King, more than enough to fit three comfortably—but this isn’t his anniversary, too.

(And yes, he knows his earlier fantasy is contingent on him technically sleeping in the same room, but the same bed is just—)

“Mm,” Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement. That’s about all he gets before you two drag your suitcases inside the bedroom, leaving Eijirō hovering in the doorway. He can sleep on the couch. That’s fine.

“What’re you waitin’ for, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki grumbles as he starts folding his clothes away, and to be honest, he isn’t exactly sure. Maybe for someone to tell him where to go.

“Yeah, c’mon! Feel the bed, it’s so comfy!” And, you’re jumping onto it back first. You hit the pillows with a muted pfft, and Katsuki immediately jumps into action.

“You’re all fuckin’ wet, get off,” he swats at your feet in encouragement, but you kick his hands away, and snuggle on top of the covers. When swatting fails, Katsuki starts to lightly tug at your legs. You don’t budge, and he stands over you with a warning in his eyes, hands on his hips.

“Babe.”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No, Kats, I’m comfy.”

You wiggle deeper into the mattress, and Katsuki growls. He goes for your legs again, but a foot shoots out to kick him in his knee, his bad knee, leaving his leg to buckle. He catches himself before he falls with hands on either side of your head. This feels like a very intimate, very domestic situation that Eijirō should not be privy to, and yet, he is. Every day.

He’s okay. He’s fine, really.

“Move your ass,” Katsuki says after a long inhale through the nose, carefully, voice low and words over-enunciated. “Or, I’ll move it for you.”

You groan, but loop your arms around Katsuki’s neck like you aren’t going anywhere. With a laugh in your eyes, you bite back a grin. “No.”

“Fine,” Katsuki huffs, picking you up by the waist. You squeal, legs wrapping around his torso as he carries you to a desk in the corner of the room and drops you rather unceremoniously. You don’t let go, though. He doesn’t make you. “You piss me off.”

“Wow, my boyfriend is so big and strong,” you whine, completely overexaggerating, while caressing Katsuki by his shoulders. You giggle when he sighs.

“Shut the ever-loving fuck up. Please.”

“Why?” Your hand snakes from his shoulder to tangle in the nape of his neck, and Katsuki shivers. Eijirō lingers in the doorway. “Like it too much?”

Katsuki stands there for a second, relishing the feeling of your hands. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers card through his hair with something precious, and his next grumble has a lot less fire in it. “Do you wanna go to the beach or not?”

Finally, he unsticks you himself, with fingers around your wrists. You squeal at the sheer mention of the beach, squirming off the desk to start getting ready. “Ooh, yes! I’m gonna get all the Piña Coladas!”

“Let’s start with one,” Katsuki says, pressing a kiss to your temple before he resumes his unpacking. Why he insists on moving into every hotel he’s stayed in is lost to Eijirō. All he knows is that he’s happy his torture is over. For now.

“Are you gonna keep standing there like a weirdo?” Katsuki says, eyes focused on his activities. Eijirō knows it's directed at him—he’s the only one lingering. The only one ‘standing there like a weirdo.’ Eijirō grabs his things.

“Right. Right.”

cyberch!ck69

talk to them? 

s.geto

You’re useless.

cyberch!ck69

fine then, suffer in silence idgaf

When Eijirō finds time to get over himself, he realizes there is something about this that feels way too natural.

“That lady is staring at me weird—I’m gonna fight her.”

“No, you’re not,” Katsuki grunts, and grabs your hand before you can even consider getting up. Eijirō doesn’t really expect you to—you only say these things to give Katsuki a hard time, and he always falls for it, hook, line, and sinker. To the point that Eijirō is starting to think maybe he wants to. That maybe, that’s the whole point. “That’s just how old people look. They forget it’s fuckin’ rude to stare.”

Despite the all-inclusive resort, you three spend the first night eating out at a small restaurant not too far away. It’s a quaint and quiet barbecue spot, with cheap liquor and decent food. You insisted on going out, seeing the town, doing something, and despite Katsuki’s passionate argument—‘the whole point of an all-inclusive is to go fuckin’ nowhere’—he caved quick once it was two against one. (What? Eijirō wants to see the town, too—and he has a soft spot for cute girls with even cuter pouts.)

“I think that would count as elder abuse,” Eijirō says, once swallowing his food and getting a look at your newly proclaimed enemy. Empty shot glasses litter the table, some in stacks of three to make room for the food, and everyone sways a little from it all.

“Definitely does,” Katsuki sniffles and nods. He’s the most obviously drunk at this table—face flushed a bright pink and shirt collar askew. “Definitely would go to jail for it, too. I dunno how to get you outta Hawaiian jail, Babe.”

“Boo! Bribe them,” you heckle, throwing a big thumbs down in Katsuki’s face, and getting in the way of his barbecue chicken sandwich. Katsuki grunts and swats at the air twice until your thumb goes away. “Ooh! Or we could tunnel out, like El Chapo, or those guys from Alcatraz—”

“Those guys tunneled from the inside-out. ’M not going to jail with you.”

“Well—wait, no,” Eijirō says, gesturing to you. “What if we tunnel from the outside, and you tunnel from the inside, and we meet in the middle—”

“Omg, omg, I need spoons and a poster—”

“And, people are naturally corrupt, y’know, I’m sure there’s someone we could find to smuggle it inside—”

“You’re not goin’ to jail,” Katsuki groans through grit teeth, pointing at you, before his finger shifts to his friend across the booth. “And you’re not helping her escape from jail.”

“Oh wow, my boyfriend hates me,” you nod, picking at your food with a fork. Katsuki snatches a cherry tomato off Eijirō’s plate and stuffs it between your lips to keep you quiet. You spit it back out. “Would you even love me if I was a worm?”

Katsuki chucks his head back like this is a question you’ve asked many times before, and groans with nothing but pure frustration. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means ‘would you love her no matter what,’ Bro!”

“Thank you, Eiji,” you nod solemnly, suddenly, like this is a life-or-death conversation. “See? He gets it.”

“I’m gonna,” Katsuki incenses, looking at you with something heavier than just annoyance, something Eijirō, unfortunately, has seen too often to not understand—arousal. Suddenly, Eijirō feels like he’s shifting in the doorway of something unknown, again. Katsuki grabs your cheek and pinches. “You’ve been pissin’ me off all day.”

“Oh? And what’cha gonna do about it,” you smile smug past the distortion. Katsuki lets go of your face, and pats the sore area twice. Eijirō looks down at his plate. He’s not even here. He doesn’t even exist. (But, is he watching this entire interaction with one eye open? Perhaps.)

“You don’t wanna know,” Katsuki grunts in passing as he returns to his sandwich. Eijirō lets out a soft breath. This is going to be a rough trip.

“Well,” you say after a few moments of silence, clapping your hands together like they’re cymbals, calling to attention. “Now that I have a sufficient amount of liquid courage in me, it’s time to tell Eijirō the thing.”

Katsuki freezes—as does Eijirō.

“You didn’t tell him the thing,” Katsuki grumbles, looking at you like you’ve grown two heads. “I thought you told him the thing.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” You argue, but when Katsuki’s look doesn’t budge, you deflate a little. “…I chickened out.”

“Again,” Katsuki adds with a sigh, running a hand over his face. Then, he redirects his gaze to Eijirō. “No wonder you’ve been acting weird.”

“Um,” Eijirō releases his own food to put hands in his lap. Would ‘the thing’ explain why he’s here in the first place? Because, if so, he’d like to know. “What thing?”

As you steeple hands in front of your face, Eijirō takes a sip of his Sprite. Sprite always tastes better when it comes in a cup instead of a can. He doesn’t know why—something about the fizziness, the freshness of it all. Honestly, he prefers Cherry Sprite, but that’s because he really likes cherry, and strawberry, and honestly, most things red, now that he thinks about it—

“I wanna watch you fuck her.”

Eijirō spits out his Sprite—he’s sure some came out of his nose with the propulsion, Jesus fuck—and possibly soaking his shirt in the process.

“I’m—sorry, what?”

Despite Eijirō’s respiratory distress, Katsuki watches with relative bemusement. You pass him a napkin, and Eijirō takes it thankfully.

“What part of that didn’t you get, Shitty Hair.”

“No, no, I—” Eijirō gives himself a few more seconds, a few more deep breaths, and slips half a grounding technique in there, just in case. “Just, like—I think I heard you correctly, but I’m—but I’m really not sure—”

“I wanna watch you fuck her,” Katsuki just…repeats, like Eijirō’s entire world hasn’t flipped on its axis. Like Atlas isn’t officially hanging upside-down, with his legs in the sky like a dying bug, flailing for any sort of friction to upright himself.

“So—” Eijirō starts, and coughs twice into a napkin before redirecting his question. “Why.”

“Because he thinks you’re hot,” you whisper, cupping a hand over your lips so Katsuki can’t read them. Not that it matters—you’re not muttering very quietly. “And so do I.”

Eijirō’s not sure if his face gets red, but he feels it, that heat. That overwhelming sensation to burn and melt away into nothing, and he’s simply trying to tamp it down, keep it safe, so he doesn’t end up making a fool of himself in this very nice, very clearly family-owned establishment.

He nods, though. You bet your ass he fucking nods.

He’d be stupid as fuck to pass this up, and Eijirō Kirishima does not take his curse words lightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

jetblackwings

RESIST DARK REUNION, ACCEPT YOUR URGES

kusuo_saiki

why are you everywhere i go

jetblackwings

fate, bro

Your energy is endless, and the next stop is a club.

It goes how it always does—you want something, Katsuki says no. Eijirō says it’s not that bad. Katsuki says fine.

The club is more packed than he expects. It’s not too far from the hotel, the place is full of foreigners, tourists looking for a good time on vacation, and then some. The theme is somewhat tropical, with warm orange lights, a smoke machine, and tree ferns in every corner. You hold onto Eijirō’s thumb and Katsuki’s wrist, yelling over your shoulder and above the heavy afrobeat that makes the floor rattle under his feet.

“Let’s go to the bar!”

“Where they sell overpriced shots?!” Katsuki yells back, almost immediately. You roll your eyes. “Absolutely not!”

And yet, you drag both of them closer to the bar, and further from the front door.

“I just want one,” you holler, and pull out that irresistible pout Eijirō loves so much. Fucked. He’s fucked. “If it’s really that deep, I’ll buy them!”

The bar counter is vaguely sticky, and the four working bartenders look a mess, screaming over the music to grab something, but no one can hear. There are two seats open—Eijirō takes one, Katsuki takes the other, and you take Katsuki’s lap.

“’M not letting my girlfriend buy me a shot,” Katsuki huffs, and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket. After waving a bartender over, he grumbles, “Three shots of Kauaʻi Coconut Rum.”

“Oh, boohoo,” you whine, dropping your head back on his shoulder. Then, with one eye open, “Eijirō would let me buy him a shot.”

“Hey! Don’t bring me into this,” Eijirō chuckles, resting a forearm against the counter. Sticky. Immediate regret floods his system, but he’s made his bed and proceeds to lie in it.

“Am I wrong?” You lift an eyebrow. Eijirō stutters.

Because, if a pretty girl bought him a shot, would he let her? Yeah, probably. And, if you bought him a shot, would he let you? Absolutely.

But, that’s neither here nor there.

“Shitty Hair…”

“Guys, I’m not a part of this,” he whines, and as if on cue, their shots slide across the counter. Everyone grabs hold of theirs.

“Okay, wait, wait, I wanna do a toast,” you sniff, a little wobbly. You lift your shot glass, waiting for the rest of them to follow suit. Eijirō doesn’t hesitate, and while Katsuki grumbles, he raises his own. Then, with your chest, you yell, “To me, getting plowed!”

Katsuki drops his head on your shoulder. Thank God you made the toast before they took shots to the head, or Eijirō would be choking all over again.

“Baby, you can’t just—”

“Why would you even—”

You pay their plight no mind, chucking your head back as you swallow the shot. Eijirō follows; he needs one after that, and is wildly unsatisfied when he realizes it’s watered down.

Katsuki sets his glass down with a clink and a growl.

“’Kay, can we fuckin’ go, now?”

“No!” You bark, sliding off his legs unceremoniously. You slip a little, and Eijirō catches you by the waist before you can stumble into him, and tries not to think about how well you fit. When he lets go, he still feels your warmth burning into his palms. His fist opens and closes on his thigh. “I wanna dance!”

Katsuki leans his head back, and groans.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Eijirō!”

You both say his name at the exact same time, like he’s been deemed the official tie-breaker—like it’s his fault you two argue like an old married couple, and he needs to fix his mess. When Eijirō shrinks in his seat, looking at Katsuki, both of you know what his answer is.

“Fuckin’—fine,” Katsuki huffs and stands almost as clumsy as you. You giggle a yay, and take Eijirō’s hand before he has a chance to stand.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” you bounce. Eijirō comes stumbling behind you—because, for someone with little feet, you move real fast—and you find a corner of the dance floor to make your own.

The beat grows in volume and aggression the closer they get to the dance floor. With a steady grip on both of their hands, you start jumping up and down, yanking at their arms to bounce with you. Katsuki grumbles something with a straight face—Eijirō starts hopping along, until it’s a two-person mosh pit, with Katsuki’s unimpressed shoulders jerking under the weight.

“C’mon, Kat!” Eijirō yells over the music. Katsuki looks at him, but his feet are firmly planted on the ground.

“Please,” you whine when he doesn’t budge. Eijirō thinks that Katsuki’s arms would be crossed if they could. “You’ll have fun!”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. His heels rise and drop, slowly, completely against the beat, and without the balls of his feet separating from the tiled floor. “This is not fun.”

“Because you’re not doing it right!” Eijirō says, tugging him closer. Katsuki stumbles forth. “You gotta jump!”

“It’s too late for this shit,” Katsuki huffs, but jumps. Once. “I don’t know how you two are grown-ass adults with this type of energy.”

You quit your jumping, chest heaving in a pant, and sweating skin glistening under halogen lights. Eijirō follows suit, a little less out of breath, but you were going hard. Katsuki exhales, thankful his torture is over, for now.

The song changes into something slower. Not too slow; a trap beat still hides underneath, but slow enough to calm his hammering heart. Eijirō has always loved clubs—enough alcohol to make people friendly, the humid atmosphere from too many bodies in one place, the way the music is all-consuming enough to block out the buzz of the world…

Eijirō shakes himself out of his reminiscent stupor to see Katsuki draped over your back. His hands hold your hips steady, swaying, and while you aren’t grinding, you’re pretty damn close.

You grab Eijirō by his shirt.

The redhead takes a deep, steadying breath. He’s not sure whether it's the alcohol or the sight that makes his head spin. Maybe, it’s the fact that he’s included, for the first time.

All he knows is that he really, really does not want to fuck this up.

No pressure.

His hands find your hips, running over Katsuki’s. He looks at his friend, double-checking if this is okay, if he’s crossing a line. Katsuki’s nose is in your neck, brushing against your jaw, utterly unbothered. He takes it as an O.K.

You hum, arms wrapping around Eijirō’s neck to the best of your ability. He’s not sure you’re even standing, simply leaning your weight against Katsuki, and trusting Eijirō enough to keep you from falling forward. There isn’t much space for you to, anyway. Your chin is pressed flush against his chest, looking up at him like he has something you want, and he’s not exactly sure what to do about that.

He lets a ‘fuck’ slip, quiet enough to fit under his breath and completely involuntary. It’s not his fault—your lip gloss glistens in the shifting light, and he can’t stop looking at it. Katsuki mutters something into your neck, and you giggle, hips shifting forward so you can grind against Eijirō, too.

He’s losing his mind, a little.

Because, this feels better than he could’ve imagined—you fit better than he could’ve imagined. The alcohol, the lights, and the faint fog soften the edges of everything, to the point where it feels like he’s walking in a very vivid dream, like he’ll wake up at the most inopportune time, sweaty, sad, and probably rock hard. Katsuki groans under his breath, and Eijirō finally peels his eyes away from your face to notice that his friend isn’t doing much better.

“God, this is fuckin’ hot,” Katsuki grunts, and you giggle with a bottom lip tucked between your teeth, eyes way too bright with excitement. Eijirō huffs a laugh.

“Cool, ‘cause I was thinking the same thing.”

Katsuki grunts again, and grinds into you harder, heavier. You don’t stumble forward, but you would’ve if the redhead weren’t there to take the brunt of the blow.

One of Eijirō’s hands starts to wander.

Completely of its own volition—he was totally content to keep them at your sides, swear—it caresses your waist, running up and down, contemplating the feel of your skin under your dress. He takes another deep inhale, for his sanity.

Katsuki, on the other hand, lost his sanity a long time ago.

One of his hands leaves your hip, too—the one that’s not still trapped under Eijirō’s own—sliding up your stomach, over your breasts. Eventually, it comes to rest at your neck. Eijirō knows when he squeezes, because as his wrist flexes, your eyes bulge, then melt. Eijirō simply tries to memorize it all—the wild look in Katsuki’s eyes, the entreating one in yours—just in case this is a one-time thing. Or, if you change your mind.

(This isn’t a one time thing, nor are you going to change your mind.)

While Eijirō doesn’t hear your whimper, he does feel it. Which is torture to someone who’s heard your moans through the walls for the past year.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Katsuki hums to himself, shaking his hand on your neck until your head bobs. Then, carmine eyes turn to Eijirō, piercing through the aimless float of smoke. “Ain’t she?”

Eijirō remembers the first time Katsuki asked him this question a couple of months ago, at the beach. He had an answer then, but didn’t want to say it. And, he’s got an answer now.

“Yeah,” he breathes, watching your body curl in between them. His thumb comes to pull at your lip, smearing lip gloss across your cheek in the pattern of his fingerprint. “Bet she’d look even prettier with something in her mouth, though.”

“Fuck.” Katsuki groans like the sound is punched out of his gut, and his hand on your waist tightens. Eijirō feels it and follows suit. “I wanna fuck. Like, now.”

Eijirō laughs, throat tight and voice hoarse from arousal. “That can be arranged.”

And, you—you’re just happily swaying between the two of them, eyes lidded and humming along to the music. Like you were built for this, built to handle both of them at once, and, that thought is—

Eijirō takes another deep breath, squeezing your side once more before stepping away.

“Hotel?” He asks. You and Katsuki nod and respond at the same time.

“Hotel.”

geordo.s

fascinating. is this how peasants live?

cyberch!ck69

PEASANTS?

kurapika.chu

You're slightly the asshole—not because of what you did, but because you didn't tell him beforehand.

eren.exe

mmmm idk if you’re the asshole tbh

When you three get back to the hotel, though…

“I don’t wanna fuck tonight!”

Katsuki’s got his shirt halfway off his head, cloth still stuck around his elbows, as he looks at you like you’re clinically insane.

“Fuckin’ what.”

“You heard me!” You giggle, collapsing into the bed with your club clothes still on. Everybody is reasonably drunk, at this point—and Eijirō starts to wonder if you’re having cold feet. Katsuki is quick to put that worry to rest, though.

“No,” he huffs, taking the rest of his shirt off, before he starts pulling your legs like he was earlier and wagging a finger in your face. “No—no, we’re not doing that shit again.”

You lift your head, voice gargling from the awkward position of your neck. “What ‘shit’?”

“You’re fuckin’—you’re fuckin’—” Katsuki stutters in the way he always does when immensely frustrated, and growls at the ceiling steadily, before starting again. “You’re fuckin’ ‘oh, let's wait, it feels so good if we wait.’ I’m not—no.”

Katsuki mocks your voice, as nasal and high-pitched as he can muster, and it earns him a hearty pillow to the face. He snatches it away, reddened face growing deeper in frustration. And Eijirō, who’s still a little confused as to where he’s going to sleep, lingers in the doorway once again.

“Like…edging?”

“Yes!” Katsuki points at his friend, now borderline pacing. “Except—except it’s fuckin’ worse. She’s a tease—it’s teasin’, that’s the fuckin’ word!”

“I’m glad we could come to that conclusion together, Katsuki,” you sit up with a bright smile. Then, kicking a leg out, “Now, help me take my shoes off!”

Katsuki groans, and looks at you with deflating shoulders. His pacing stalls.

“Are we really not gonna fuck tonight?”

“Nope!”

“Fuck!”

“Well, we are here for about a week,” Eijirō tries to placate with a shrug. “We have time.”

“Plus, when we get back,” you nod, kicking the heels of your feet against the bed. Eijirō didn’t know ‘when we get back’ was an option, but he’s most definitely not complaining. You lift your foot again. “Shoes.”

Katsuki grumbles something else that Eijirō can’t quite hear, and gets down on one knee. Your shoes are confusing to look at—they’re heels, with straps that wrap around your leg and end just below the knee. Yeah, if Eijirō wore those all night, he wouldn’t have the energy to take them off, either. As Katsuki starts to undo the bow at the top, you look at Eijirō, and lift your other foot.

“Shoes.”

“Oh, you want me to—”

You nod. “Shoes.”

Eijirō passes the threshold and mimics his roommate—gets down on one knee, and pulls your foot to his thigh. You let out a satisfied hum, nodding your head twice, like somehow, Eijirō’s added presence satiates something. What that something is, though, he isn’t quite sure.

“You happy?” Katsuki grunts, halfway done unlacing. He glares at you, but you just smile lazy and pat both of their heads.

“Mhm,” you nod. “Very. My good boys, taking care of me…”

You sound tired, and Eijirō snorts as Katsuki’s blush deepens. “Don’t fall asleep on us, now.”

“’M not,” you slur, resting a head on your shoulder. Katsuki slides off one shoe, and Eijirō takes the other. You wiggle your toes.

“Y’still gotta change outta this, though,” Katsuki grunts on his way up, snapping the strap of your dress. You whine, collapsing back into the bed with an exhale.

“No! I’m sleeping naked!”

“And, that’s fine,” Katsuki snorts in a soft voice, leaning over you. “Y’can’t sleep in this, though.”

You whine. “Why not.”

“’Cause,” he tugs at the bottom of the dress, “this shit was expensive. I know, ‘cause I paid for it.”

“Ugh,” you groan, loud and drawn out, before sitting up again. “Fine. Someone’s gotta unzip me, though.”

Katsuki runs the zipper down the back of your dress. Eijirō just…turns around, unsure where to put himself, opting to change as discreet as possible. You huff once free, hobbling towards your suitcase with your dress still on but unzipped, only to realize—

“Uh oh…”

Katsuki, who’s already gotten ready for sleep—no shirt and grey sweatpants—looks at you and huffs. “What.”

You turn to both of them with a guilty smile, still uncomfortably hunched over your suitcase.

“I forgot my pj’s.”

Katsuki sighs long until his Adam's apple pops. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

Your awkward grin just widens. “Oopsie?”

“Well, I don’t have a fuckin’ shirt for you to wear,” Katsuki drops arms at his sides, and proceeds to fold his clothes from today and put them away. “Like, literally. I brought fancy ass vacation shit—I didn’t bring a singular t-shirt.”

“You can wear one of mine!” Eijirō says, a little too quick for comfort, but what can he do about it? He already blurted it out. Your eyes light up, though.

“Really?”

“Yeah, one sec—”

He stands from his seated position on the floor (don’t judge him; he doesn’t know where to sit), knees popping, as he makes his way to his own suitcase. He files through the plethora of t-shirts he brought— that’s all he wears—and tosses one over his shoulder without even looking at it. You catch it with your face.

“Thank you!” You sing-song. Eijirō looks over his shoulder to give you a thumbs up, only to realize you’re fully stripped save for your panties, and very quickly looks away.

“Yeah, no problem,” he mutters weakly. When he closes his eyes, he still sees you naked, so he starts folding his clothes back into his suitcase like he’s Katsuki Bakugō, instead.

“Ooh, this is soft!”

Eijirō finally deems it okay to look—hoping you’re not just, like, feeling his shirt in your hands, but actually wearing it. Except, this sight isn’t much better. You’re only in his shirt, the Crimson Riot one. It’s beyond oversized, collar loose and hem ending mid-thigh. Eijirō tries not to think about it too much.

(He’s thinking about it. Oh, he’s totally thinking about it.)

Katsuki’s already on the bed, propped up on an arm. When he sees the shirt's design, he snorts.

“When are you gonna get over that comic book character?” He grunts, like Eijirō’s hair isn’t still red.

“When are you gonna start being nice to strangers?” Eijirō asks as he gets up, brushing stray carpet lint from his basketball shorts. Katsuki barks a laugh.

“Fuckin’ never.”

“Exactly,” Eijirō nods. You flop into bed right beside Katsuki, who wraps a steady arm around your waist. Eijirō takes a deep breath. Someone tell him where to go. Please.

It’s like you hear his internal battle. You pat the open space next to you, enough room for one more person, and Eijirō swallows. Wait, so like—

“Are you comin’ to bed or not, Shitty Hair?”

Yeah, okay. Yep.

Eijirō slides in right next to you, slow and awkward in case either of you wants to change your mind. You don’t. Katsuki reaches behind himself to turn the lamp off, and suddenly, everyone is plunged into darkness.

“Hi,” you giggle as Eijirō lays his head on the pillow. He snorts.

“Hi.”

“Hi, bye, goodnight—if we’re not fuckin’, go to sleep!”

You swat Katsuki’s bad attitude away, looking over your shoulder where his head nestles. “Okay, okay. Got it. G’night, Katsuki.”

“Good fuckin’ night,” he grumbles, but when you purse your lips, he meets them with his own. Then, you turn back to Eijirō, who’s lying uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, putting enough space between you and him to fit a tiny person.

“G’night Eijirō,” you smile, wrapping your arms around his waist to tug him closer. He lets you, sliding an arm under the pillows, right along Katsuki’s.

“Goodnight.”

Then, you purse your lips again, waiting for a kiss.

Eijirō hesitates.

And, apparently, you don’t like hesitation. Your puckered lips turn into a pout. “Kiss.”

Eijirō stifles the butterflies in his belly, and leans in.

Your lips are soft, warm from alcohol and the evening’s activities, and then, they’re gone.

Eijirō lays his head back on the pillow, rightfully worn out. A long flight, a beach race, a dinner, a club, new information—his head is still reeling, trying to catalogue it all, but he’s only focused on one thing. You.

With a yawn, Eijirō gets comfortable because he’s allowed.

“Night, Ei.”

Katsuki’s voice rings low through the quiet room—quiet enough that Eijirō sort of assumed both of you had fallen asleep already. The hand running on the underside of his arm squeezes it, three times.

“G’night, Kat.”

Eijirō squeezes him back. One-two-three.

t.kageyama

i have yet to decide whether im too old or too young for this app.

geordo.s

fascinating. is this how peasants live?

cyberch!ck69

PEASANTS?

cyberch!ck69

PEASANTS?????

Eijirō wakes up to you and Katsuki whispering like little conspirators.

“Ugh—who let me drink so much last night?”

Sunlight escapes through thick curtains, cut into thin lines and scattering the room in patterns. Eijirō’s slightly startled for a second, before remembering where he is and, more importantly, the events from last night.

‘I wanna watch you fuck her.’

Right. Right.

“I don’t wanna hear shit,” Katsuki yawns beside you, scratching his stomach. “We tried to cut you off. You said, and I quote, ‘Don’t tell me what to do, I’m a grown ass woman.’”

“Oh,” you say softly, dragging hands down your face. “Yeah, I kinda remember that.”

Your back is facing Eijirō as you pillow talk with your boyfriend, and in a way, it feels like he’s looking through the crack in the door again. Except, he’s allowed to look through the crack, maybe step through it a little, and does just that.

Eijirō nods his bird nest against the pillow and lifts up a sleepy fist. “Work hard, party harder.”

“Hell yeah,” you nod, looking over your shoulder to fist bump him properly. While unconscious, he scooted closer, leaving you squished between two hard bodies. You aren’t complaining, though. With a voice raspy from sleep and screaming over club music, you smile, “Good morning, Eijirō.”

Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement, coffee-less and therefore relatively silent. Eijirō beams. “Morning, everybody. How’d we sleep?”

“Ugh, great,” you say, melting deeper into the covers. “Like a baby.”

“No, you slept like a menace—kickin’ me and shit,” Katsuki grumbles, placing hands on your waist to tug you closer regardless. And, it’s a little weird—seeing Katsuki so overwhelmingly unguarded. So soft.

“Oh, that’s what that was?” Eijirō wakes up feeling bold this morning, and tests the waters, wrapping an arm around your waist, too. It runs along Katsuki’s until it dips below, resting just above your belly button.

“Maybe,” you say, a little guilty. “But, it’s not my fault! I picked up the habit because Katsuki starfishes, so I subconsciously kick his legs back together. See?”

Eijirō has never seen someone kick so hard laying down in his life.

It’s actually pretty impressive—how you manage to know exactly where Katsuki’s foot lies, and aim with utmost precision. He sees Katsuki’s leg reel under the covers as he hisses in pain.

“Ah—the fuck? You’re not the only one with a hangover, y’know.”

You let out an evil little cackle, but kiss Katsuki on the forehead to placate him. He hums in satisfaction. Placation: successful.

“How’d you sleep, Eiji?”

“Like a rock,” he huffs, and snuggles closer. For warmth, he tells himself. Because he’s allowed.

“Good, good,” you wave over your shoulder, and yawn. “’Kay, well I’m gonna go back to bed—”

“Hell no. We’re fuckin’ now,” Katsuki grunts, eyes still closed and face still swollen. He’s half awake. You pout while Eijirō snickers, and the blond peeks an eye out. “Fuckin’ what.”

“Nothing,” Eijirō hums, shaking his head. He presses his chin into your shoulder to see Katsuki better. “You just seem impatient.”

“I am,” Katsuki makes a pained groan. “I’ve waited a whole goddamn year. Now, Baby—strip.”

A year?

You whine again, giving Eijirō absolutely no time to do the math, to understand the repercussions of what Katsuki confessed. Shit, maybe he should go back to bed too. Just to, like, sit on that information for an hour or two.

“I don’t wanna,” you pout, dragging out the last word in the most obnoxious tone you can muster. “My head hurts. Later.”

“When is later,” Katsuki over-enunciates, clearly hanging on by a thread. You shift under the covers, ass pressing against Eijirō’s crotch, and—oh. Is that morning wood?

“Later is…later,” you huff, tucking the fluffy hotel duvet under your chin. Then, with another wiggle of your ass, “You’re not the only one having a hard time, you know.”

Eijirō juts his bottom lip in a pout, and tightens his hand on your stomach to get you to stop, please. Because, Katsuki was right about one thing—not being able to fuck you is torture. And now that Eijirō knows he can, it only makes it worse.

“Hey,” the redhead whines, because, low blow. It’s a low blow from you, and a low blow from his body for telling on him. It’s a low blow from the gods, who put him in this situation to begin with. “Not cool, Dude.”

“Are you really gonna call me dude when your dick is pressed against my back,” you snort, and Eijirō hears Katsuki’s breath hitch. Feels the arm on your waist squeeze a little tighter.

“Yeah,” Eijirō licks his lips, watching your hips fall into a light and slow but steady pace. Katsuki’s hand slides to your back and drags a light line down your spine. “You’re being mean.”

Because, what’s the point of grinding if you don’t wanna fuck?

“I can be meaner,” you say, with a smile flashing over your shoulder. Eijirō whimpers as you push more weight into him, and keep pushing. He looks at Katsuki for help, but he’s busy watching your body curl, too.

“Kat,” Eijirō whines, actually pleads, because, “help me.”

“Nah,” Katsuki huffs, getting comfortable on the pillow, and pats your side. “Now y’get to handle what I’ve been dealing with for the past two years.”

All Eijirō hears is: at least it’s not me.

And, honestly? Fuck him for that.

“This is horrible,” Eijirō laments after a sharp inhale, rubbing his face into your neck like it’ll make him feel better. It doesn’t. If anything, he’s flooded with the scent of you, more than he already was, and it makes his dick jump in his shorts. Nudging you in the side, “Okay, c’mon—no more.”

“But, I thought you guys were horny,” you tease, the lilt in your tone undeniable. “I’m just taking the edge off a bit.”

You're pressed flush to Eijirō now—even the slightest grind, and he’d feel it. Except, nothing about this is slight. It’s heavy and hot and makes his breathing pick up in the way only one thing can.

“This isn’t—this is, like, sharpening the edge,” Eijirō reasons aloud, huffing into your shoulder. “This is like dangling me over the cliff, and being like, ‘oh, don’t fall.’”

You cackle at that, like you know. Another roll of your hips, then, “You can stop me if you want.”

Eijirō whines, loud and long and pathetic, because you don’t understand—he cannot. You feel too good, too real, too solid, and as someone who’s been dreaming of this all year, no, Eijirō cannot simply stop you.

You giggle when he doesn’t, when his hands scramble for your sides instead, sitting above Katsuki’s just like last night. And, at the thought of last night, Eijirō pulls you a little closer. He doesn’t know how long he can take this before returning to his natural state—weak, pitiful, and overall, severely down bad.

After a little longer, room filled with human humidity and heavy pants, you stop grinding. Sit up.

“Okay, I should probably get breakfast to help my headache,” you yawn with a hand over your mouth. “Before I fall back asleep.”

Katsuki gets up on an arm, hair still flattened on one side from sleep. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

You smile, innocent and polite, like you aren’t the bane of their existences. “Anyone want anything?”

“Fuckin’—you, the fuck,” Katsuki huffs, tugging at your midsection to bring you back under the covers, but you don’t budge. Instead, you peel his hands off your hips.

Then, you crawl out of bed, on all fours and face first, and Eijirō is forced to watch your ass move in his Crimson Riot shirt, panties slightly askew. He’s so close he can taste it, and just watches at the overhead fan. He won’t know if he can’t see. (And, if he knows, he’ll lose his mind.)

You throw on a pair of sweatpants, and you’re out the door with a click. Eijirō and Katsuki are left with the hum of the AC and a very silent room.

“Cold shower?” Katsuki grumbles, staring at the ceiling with something wistful. Eijirō nods.

“Yep.”

akira.aaaaaah

this poor guy, ik he’s stressed

zenitsuckthesenuts

oooh lemme be a fourth 

kid.death

What the fuck is wrong with people?

Eijirō doesn’t know why you left him and Katsuki alone like that. Also, cold showers suck.

So, they didn’t take one.

“F-Fuck, Dude, holy shit—”

Thanks to the wetness from constant running water, Katsuki’s hand slides easy. The tile is cold against his back, but Eijirō sweats anyway, arm pumping as his own hand glides smooth along a cock that isn’t his.

“Why the fuck are your hands so soft?” Katsuki pants into his neck. He has Eijirō pinned to the side of the shower, just out the way of the spray. This is a moment of severe weakness, and Eijirō hopes what happens in the shower, stays in the shower.

(Katsuki can always touch his dick, though. Not that part.)

“Lotion, Man,” Eijirō says past a breathless laugh, droplets sliding off the sharp ends of his hair and rolling down Katsuki’s shoulder. Eijirō’s face flinches in pleasure, and while he tries to keep his sounds to a minimum—this is still a little weird, this is still just his Bro—little squeaky whines slip from his lips. He was more desperate to get in Katsuki’s hands than he thought. “How are your hands so rough?”

“’Cause I’m a man that works with his hands,” Katsuki postures, and Eijirō snorts.

“Kat, you have a desk job.”

“Shut the fuck up, and cum already,” He grunts, lips moving against Eijirō’s neck in a way that makes him shiver, even if it’s accidental. Katsuki’s grip gets tighter, and so does his.

“You can’t rush orgasms, Dude,” Eijirō says, tries to say, but ‘dude’ turns into a really embarrassing whine he hopes was drowned out by running water. He knows it wasn’t. “That’s, like, Sex 101.”

“I’m not fuckin’ rushin’ it, she’s rushin’ it,” Katsuki says behind a deep growl, and Eijirō’s cock jumps. “We’ve got five minutes, tops.”

Eijirō knocks his head back into the tile, a little too hard, and winces at the feeling. Katsuki’s head falls off his shoulder. Shower smoke fogs the glass doors and curls toward the one canned light in the ceiling.

“I know, I know,” he whines. He’s not even standing on his feet anymore—fully leaned against the shower wall, with Katsuki keeping him upright at his front. And, Katsuki’s dick is so pretty. It’s curved and flushed and just as glossy and pale as his skin. Eijirō watches pre-cum bead at his tip before sliding down the shaft, running down Eijirō’s knuckles and disappearing in the slide. Katsuki’s cock jumps, too. With a weak grin and a lilt in his voice, Eijirō asks, “I turn you on, Dude?”

And Katsuki, whose eyes are trained on Eijirō’s own dick, finally looks away to huff in his face. “You already know the answer to that question, Dumbass”

Eijirō bites his lip. He wants to hold onto Katsuki, more than he already is. He wants a hand on his hip, gliding over those shower-slick muscles Eijirō remembers him working so hard to get, wants to see how easy it is to redden his skin, wants to see if his nipples are sensitive. He wants…he wants—

“Shit, I’m close,” Eijirō pants, eyebrows folding. He looks at Katsuki. “Are you close?”

“Stop askin’ stupid questions,” Katsuki grunts, but leans forward a bit. Incrementally—but enough for Eijirō to notice—like he’s melting. Then, an afterthought, “Not cummin’ before you, though.”

Eijirō wheezes a laugh, tight and bright and a little bit bitter. “Dude, now is not the time for a competition.”

Putting a hand next to Eijirō’s head, on the slippery tile, Katsuki’s eyes flit down to his lips. Return to his eyes. “Now’s definitely the time for a competition.”

“No, Bro,” he shakes his head, then licks his lips—because Katsuki keeps looking at them like he wants something. And, y’know, maybe Eijirō’s eyes slip a little, too. “’Cause then I’m gonna try to hold out. We don’t have time for that.”

“Then cum,” Katsuki says, like it’s easy, and suddenly much closer than Eijirō remembers. Katsuki’s smile turns cocky, and that’s the exact moment he knows he’s screwed. Or, maybe it’s when Katsuki drags a thumb along his jawline. “Be a good boy for me, and cum.”

“Oh, that’s not fucking fair,” Eijirō whimpers, finally caving and grabbing Katsuki by his waist. “That’s not fair at all, Kat, I—”

“Awh,” Katsuki coos and clicks his tongue. The thumb on Eijirō’s jaw lifts his head, and he can feel Katsuki’s condescending breath on his lips as he says, “’S okay, Ei. Just let go.”

“I—”

Knock, knock, knock!

They jump apart. Eijirō slips on water and nearly falls on his ass. Katsuki catches him, though.

“What are you two doing in there?!”

Your voice is muffled by the door, but still sounds just as lovely. The hands Katsuki has around his waist tighten.

“Fuckin’ showerin’!” Katsuki hollers, voice echoing off glass and tile. He lets go of Eijirō, and turns the shower handle from hot to freezing. Under his breath, he grumbles, “Nosy.”

“I heard that!”

“Good!”

horihori

nta, GET THAT DICK BITCH

yurikatsuki’sno1hater

Yuri Katsuki is a professional figure skater from Hatsetsu Japan, certified by the JSF. At age 18, he moved to Detriot to train under Coach Celestino Cialdini, only to come back and LOSE TO THE MUCH SUPERIOR AND EXTREMELY HANDSOME YURI PLISETSKY SUCK MY DICK

cyberch!ck69

what does this have to do with anything i just said?

yurikatsuki’sno1hater

It doesn’t

Unfortunately, before they both realized you were going to be a tease, Katsuki signed everyone up for snorkeling after breakfast. And, he takes his reservations very seriously. Especially ones with thirty-dollar cancellation fees. Thirty dollars each.

“Move your asses, we’re gonna be late.”

(And, Eijirō is really trying—to move his ass. But, it’s extremely difficult to stuff a rock-hard dick into awfully short swim shorts, and then hide it. He’s trying.)

They end up arriving about five minutes late, which isn’t late for the hotel, used to dealing with people on vacation with lax schedules, but it is late for Katsuki. Being on time is late for Katsuki.

The instructor gives them routine warnings and directions—stay away from the coral reefs, keep within the buoys, don’t wear anything shiny, remember to avoid breathing through your nose. Katsuki thinks the last one is self-explanatory, but people are dumbasses.

Katsuki didn’t realize how much of a dumbass he’d look, though, in goggles too big and the snorkel a comical thing next to his face. Somehow, Shitty Hair makes it work, and that pisses him off even more.

Snorkeling was fine—it was fun. Though he’ll never say it aloud, Katsuki liked looking at the different types of fish while floating on the water's surface. Eventually, Eijirō returns to the beach, too tired from last night’s activities and probably a little horny, opting to lounge on a chair to catch a tan. The tide slowly pulls you and Katsuki into a small grotto, still within the buoy's boundaries, and that’s where you two take a breather.

“This is fun,” you smile, picking the goggles off your head and stuffing them into your hair. It leaves your snorkel in a wonky position. “There are even fish in here, look!”

You point to the shallow waters lapping at your feet from where you’re standing on the rock. Katsuki watches your ass protrude as you bend over.

He might’ve made everyone go snorkeling, but there’s still only one thing on his mind.

Katsuki hums, but he’s not even looking at the fish. He’s looking at you—how minimal sunlight bounces off your wet skin and makes it shine, how your fat bends and curls with every shift, how you turn to him with bright eyes, like you forgot the whole point of this trip in the first place.

When Katsuki pushes you against the rough cave wall, he doesn’t know why you act surprised.

“Wha—Katsuki!”

His mouth is on yours before you can get another word in, clammy hands gripping your sides as Katsuki gives you a taste of your own medicine. Your kisses start out soft, broken by giggles, but Katsuki very quickly brings you down to his level—fucking desperate.

“Kats,” you whimper, and Katsuki moves to your neck, dragging his tongue along your pulse point and making you shiver. You press at his shoulders, but it’s not enough to push him away. “Kats—we shouldn’t—someone could walk in, or—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Katsuki growls. One of the hands on your hips slowly snakes lower, grabbing the side of your swimsuit bottoms and tugging upward until you can feel it strain against your clit. You huff, looking up at him with that swell in your eyes he loves so much, so he tugs again.

“Kats—”

“I’m tired of your shit.”

His other hand slides upwards, wrenching your bathing suit top to the side and freeing a breast to tweak a nipple. He can feel your breath puff on his bare skin as you sigh, lolling your head to the right just enough to give him more room to work with. And, work with, he does.

After too much tugging and teasing, Katsuki dips a hand beneath a damp waistband. He needs to feel you—and groans when he finally does, because holy shit, how are you so wet.

“You drive me crazy, y’know that,” he grunts, fingers slowly rolling over your skin in a way you deem pleasurable. Your eyes flutter in response. Katsuki presses harder. “Prancin’ around in practically nothin’, and you still won’t lemme touch you.”

You let out a moan too loud for a public space, cracking against craggy cave walls and echoing through the grotto. Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, wrapping around his neck in a way that almost chokes, but Katsuki barely feels it. No, all he feels is you, and the swell of his dick.

“And here you are, all fuckin’ needy,” he huffs a laugh, grin scraping against your skin, bending it in his wake. Your hips buck, so his hands still. “Ah-ah. You’re not cummin’ yet.”

You whimper, licking your lips and panting, huffing, with your askew top shuddering with every exhale. Goosebumps rise on Katsuki’s skin, flatten into nothing, then rise again.

“Kats, please—”

“Please ain’t gon’ get you anywhere, Princess,” Katsuki growls, free hand finding your chin to lift it, while the other continues its steady ministrations between your legs. “You played with me—now it’s my turn to return the favor, right? Like a good boyfriend?”

Katsuki’s words are mocking enough to make you shiver in the way he loves, and your nails dig into his shoulders tight enough to leave crescents in your wake. The sting runs straight to Katsuki’s dick, and stays there.

“F-Fuck you,” you manage to hiss, lacking vitriol and replacing it with ecstasy and an undercurrent of annoyance. Your hips hitch again, so Katsuki stills again.

“See, that attitude right there is the reason you’re cummin’ last, tonight,” Katsuki’s grip tightens on your cheeks enough to make them squish, enough for him to feel the groove of your teeth through the skin. His hand is wet with you, now—fingers fucking soaked, and all he did was rub your clit for about five minutes. You whine.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight,” Katsuki over-enunciates, hoping to bury it in your thick skull that you’re not getting an orgasm until the moon is high in the sky and everyone has returned to their rooms to knock out—you can sing with the crickets, for all he cares. Your face curdles into a pout between his fingers, the pout that lets him know you now understand that you’ve bit off more than you can chew. Katsuki clicks his tongue. “You’ve been actin’ a brat this whole damn trip. Y’don’t just get shit ‘cause you asked for it, y’get shit ‘cause you work for it.”

With that, Katsuki releases your face. You collapse against the cave wall, bathing suit still twisted and goggles hanging on your head by a strand of hair.

“I’m not being a brat,” you scoff, gathering yourself and your bathing suit, with a slightly unsteady voice and shaky hands. “I—I was…poetically and sexually inclined, okay, that’s not even—”

“Baby,” Katsuki grunts, and levels you with a look.

“…Yes?”

“Shut the hell up before I fuck you right here.”

s.geto

Okay, how do I ask them?

cyberch!ck69

YOU’VE COME CRAWLING BACK I SEE

s.geto

Nvm.

After snorkeling is lunch. After lunch is a lei-making class. Katsuki tore half the carnations with hands that aren’t built to handle delicate things, and you spent the whole time being a tease. Eijirō just tries to focus on his lei, because if he focuses on anything else, his mind drifts to you, and suddenly, the flower in his palm is missing a few petals. After that, staying true to Katsuki’s itinerary, is a dinner and a luau.

“Eiji—come take a picture of me!”

They’re getting ready for dinner, and per usual, Katsuki is the last one ready. You’ve had enough time to find and pick a hibiscus flower to tuck behind your ear, matching the same shade as your strapless wrap dress. It’s not as tight as last night’s—thank God—but just as revealing, especially when you bend over like that, holy fuck—

“Sorry, had to fix my shoe.” You stand, brushing off the bottom of your dress in two firm strokes. “Ready?”

Eijirō has a vice grip on your phone as you walk towards the balcony. Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard—

Now, the sun is setting, fingers of orange and pink receding past the horizon. The sun is setting, but it’s still hot enough to give you that faint sheen, sweat or sparkle, as you lift a leg and pose. Your eyes glint in a way that’s nothing short of teasing—and while Eijirō assumes it’s for the camera, it damn sure feels like it’s for him.

You go through a few poses, all against the balcony railing. Eijirō’s knees hurt from trying to get the perfect angle, and when he hands back the phone, you smile. His mantra remains loud and true:

Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard—

“Wow, you take pictures so much better than Kats,” you amaze while scrolling through the images. Something akin to pride swells in his chest. Something also swells in his crotch.

Which is, like, totally not okay—drooling over the fact that he’s better than Katsuki at something. To you. When you’ve been the one dating Katsuki for the past two years, when it’s very clear you love him. But, Eijirō is stupid, and his brain is fried from severe blood loss over the past twenty-four hours.

“Thank you,” he smiles, and watches you swipe through pictures over your shoulder, pointing at one. “That one’s my favorite.”

It’s somewhat candid, of you in the middle of turning around to watch the sinking sun. The look on your face is nothing short of blissful—relaxed, at peace—and despite the looseness of the dress, your ass pokes out in something teasing, tantalizing, something—

Eijirō Kirishima needs to chill the fuck out. He knows this.

But, it’s hard. Hard when you drag your nails down his stomach in passing and say good job, hard when Katsuki grumbles at both of you to move it because they’re going to be late (like it’s not his fault), hard when he’s sat at a long table on the beach with strangers and dancers flanking both sides.

Eijirō is hard.

Fuck.

“Get your fuckin’ hand off my knee,” Katsuki grunts at you. You’re sitting between them, which is both the best and worst place to be—best, because Eijirō gets to be close to you. Worst, because Eijirō gets to be close to you.

And, he’s not the only one hanging by a thread—Katsuki has been pissy all day. He’s been mean and angry and a live wire just waiting for something flammable. (More than he already is.) And you, you’re starting to regret the grave you dug yourself, Eijirō thinks, because you wanted to fuck after snorkeling, wanting to fuck after lei making, but Katsuki keeps saying tonight.

“No,” you whine, and paw at Katsuki’s thigh in a way that you know will annoy him. “I wanna touch you.”

Your hand is also on Eijirō’s knee, but he’s not strong enough to move it. Just weak, and sitting in said weakness, feeling your drifting touch burn a hole in his skin. It’s a lot, honestly.

Katsuki grumbles, but doesn’t say much more, instead bouncing his other leg with an impatience that makes it seem like he doesn’t even want to be at the dinner in the first place.

Loud drums batter, accompanied by the patter of feet on sand and the swish of skirts. All of it falls into one noise, something steady and white, as your thumbs start rubbing circles on the inside of Eijirō’s knee. As it starts rubbing circles higher than Eijirō’s knee.

“What are you doing,” he asks. The food can’t come fast enough. The sun can’t fall fast enough.

“Nothing,” you say, in that tone that definitely means you're doing something. A lilt. Eijirō exhales sharp through his nose.

“Y/N…” he says warily and debates taking his leg away, knocking your hand off, anything. A stronger man might, but not Eijirō. Not today.

“What?” You pout in offense. Eijirō eyes the people next to him, then across, in hopes you get the message. You don’t.

Or, you do, but really don’t care.

“Baby, seriously.”

Eijirō looks at Katsuki’s lap to notice he’s not going through this alone. If anything, Katsuki has it worse, as you squeeze and pull at his thighs under his shorts, with no care for who might see or what they might say. There’s a sick sense of camaraderie that comes with the sight. At least he isn’t suffering alone.

“Oh, have I been banned from touching you guys, too?” You huff, a little bitter, a little like the thought is an impossibility. Where the hell is the food?

“At this point, yes,” Katsuki growls. He picks your hand off his lap and pins it to the table. The second he lets go, your hand falls back to where it belongs. His inner thigh.

Eijirō is tearing up the inside of his cheek. Soon, you’ve moved further up on his thigh too, drawing absentminded shapes that induce shivers. He whines.

“What if we…like…skip dinner.”

“We’re not skippin’ this shit, ‘m hungry,” Katsuki grumbles while crossing arms over his chest. Eijirō groans, but his stomach rumbles in agreement.

“Fuck.”

“So, I can keep touching y—”

“No.”

Both Katsuki and Eijirō take your hands and place them on the table. You giggle, but relent. The food doesn’t arrive too long after.

s.geto

Nvm.

cyberch!ck69

just TALK TO THEM

s.geto

Absolutely not.

s.geto

I need a five step plan, preferably one that doesn’t include me sitting them down and baring my soul.

cyberch!ck69

i give the fuck up

When they get back to the room, Katsuki slams you against the wall. Hard.

“Y’thought that shit was funny, huh,” he says in a low voice typically reserved for the bedroom—Eijirō knows, he’s heard it—and you bite back a smile and fail, wrists pinned to the wall above your head.

“A little, yeah,” you breathe, and Katsuki starts working his way down your neck. “You were the one who said ‘tonight.’”

“And you were the one who said no yesterday,” Katsuki huffs. He picks you up by your hips, tosses you onto the bed and, without a second thought, points and says, “Eijirō.”

Eijirō scrambles on top of you like there’s no tomorrow.

He presses you into the bed and kisses you heavy. Eijirō doesn’t even care about being polite at this point—he knows he’s allowed, you’re allowed, and takes what he needs because he can.

Your hands run up his sides to tangle in red hair, tugging, giggling when he whimpers, then tugging again. Everything fits so easy, like you were meant to be under him in the first place, made specifically to be slotted between his body and the bed.

So, maybe Eijirō’s treating you with all the impatience of an overzealous puppy, sue him.

Katsuki sits in the hotel’s standard cuck chair, slowly palming himself over fabric to relieve some pressure. Eijirō catches him out the corner of his eye, suppressing a grin when Katsuki lifts an eyebrow as if to say, what?

With a strong grip on your chin, Eijirō forcefully redirects your gaze to your boyfriend, the one impatiently writhing in the chair with a hand over his pants. Eijirō’s lips make their way down your neck, skating over a small hickey easily disguised as a bug bite that he knows wasn’t there last night—which makes him wonder what happened in those seven minutes you two disappeared during snorkeling.

(To say you came out of that grotto disheveled was an understatement.)

“God,” Eijirō breathes, mostly to himself, as his hand slides down and beneath your waist, arching your back just a little, just enough to be provocative. You get impatient when he doesn’t move fast enough, with lips still hovering by your collarbones and dress still on, and you yank his hair in admonishment.

“Hurry up,” you huff, and though it’s quiet, it rings in the vaguely silent room like a cry for help. Eijirō’s lips spread in a grin along your clavicle.

“What if I wanna take my time with you, though?” He pouts, and moves lower, but not by much. Just enough to give you false hope. His fingers play with the hem of your dress, lightly squeezing and tugging but never removing. Again, just enough to give you false hope.

You whimper, hips rolling into his stomach as you try to find some sort of friction. Eijirō tuts and pushes your knees down, one by one. He’s not gonna lie—a few more thrusts, and he might snap. With a deep inhale and exhale, determined to take his time because he doesn’t know when he’ll get this chance again, he starts moving down your body a little faster. A little.

He still has to get you back for teasing him all day.

When his hand finally dips under your dress, you sigh in satisfaction. Your arms wrap around his neck, nails scratching short hairs at his nape and sending light shivers down his spine. Eijirō’s eyes flutter shut as he mouths over a clothed breast, relishing the way your breath hitches underneath his lips.

“Respectfully, Shitty Hair, hurry the fuck up,” Katsuki grunts from the corner. Eijirō looks at him—there’s a flush running past the collar of his shirt, lips glossy with spit and chest heaving with impatience. Eijirō feels the balance of control shift, and grabs hold.

“Respectfully, Kat, I think I’m gonna take my time,” he smiles, and while the verb phrase I think gives room for argument, Eijirō hardens his voice until he’s sure Katsuki knows that isn’t the case. I think is a placation.

Katsuki snarls, but sinks deeper in his chair.

Eijirō unwraps your dress—unwraps his present, like it’s his birthday, his anniversary—and kisses down the valley of your chest. Both hands lift to cradle your breasts, shaking them on either side of his face and chuckling when you whimper. He thumbs over one nipple, obsessing over the way your body jolts, and takes another deep inhale like he can smell your arousal from here.

Eijirō takes your nipple into his mouth, next.

You choke out a moan, body strung tight from denying yourself the thing you want most, and your hips struggle to kick under the weight of Eijirō’s body, but they do try. He groans, hugging your waist to keep you from jolting, and sucks.

“Ah—fuck—”

You gasp when his teeth skirt your areola, light enough to soothe but tight enough to graze. Katsuki groans in his peripheral.

“Yeah? Feel good, Baby?” Katsuki pants past a clinch in his throat. You nod and whimper, eyes screwing shut, and he coos. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

You whine and tug at Eijirō’s head again. Not necessarily to instill pain, but to, “Move. Move, Eiji.”

Eijirō’s lips leave your breast with a pop, as he gazes at you with lidded eyes and a lazy smile. He’s exactly where he wants to be.

“Move where?”

You let out a strangled groan, something made of pure annoyance, as you try to push his head down. Eijirō doesn’t budge.

“You know where,” you huff, wiggling to work your knees out from under his body, to frame him and thrust up. ”My pussy, Eijirō—please, I swear to God—”

And, since you asked so nicely—

Eijirō keeps playing dumb, but runs a hand to cup between your legs. You're wet to the touch, through the panties, and he takes his third deep inhale of the night in an attempt to ground himself. It doesn’t work.

Eijirō is unwell.

He feels your pussy twitch under his palm, and he feels dizzy. The room spins, sways, does all the things a room is definitely not supposed to do—like the world kept spinning, but Eijirō stopped moving within it—and he drops his head to your shoulder in hopes it’ll stop. Holy shit, this is actually happening.

“Y’good there, Red?” Katsuki snorts, and honestly, Eijirō shakes his head.

He keeps playing with your pussy, though. A fucking war couldn’t stop that.

Eijirō sits up so his voice isn’t muted by your skin, so he doesn’t have to repeat himself twice. “I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“Oh no,” your face turns from ecstasy into worry in a second, and your hands let go of his hair to cup the softer angles of his face. Eijirō melts into the hold. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

He shakes his head, pinches your clit. Your body shudders. “No, no. I’m good.”

Eijirō takes another deep breath. His head still spins, but in a good way—a way he can lean into. So, he does, and rips your panties off in the process.

“My—hey!” You pout as Eijirō throws the useless cloth over his shoulders, forgetting about them the instant they leave his palm. He can’t look at your pussy yet, needing a breather and taking it, exhaling with his eyes closed.

“Someone’s impatient,” Katsuki grunts under his breath. Eijirō huffs a weak laugh. Opens his eyes. God, your pussy is pretty.

“You literally just told me to hurry up.”

“And?” Katsuki huffs. Eijirō hears the clink of a belt, the shifting of cloth. He looks up to see Katsuki working his jeans down to his thighs. 

“And nothing, Dude,” Eijirō smiles. Then, he touches you.

“Fuck,” he whines, melting on his knees as you whimper beneath him. It’s something simple—just running a finger through your folds, testing the waters—and you feel better than he ever imagined. On his fingers. He starts to get dizzy, again.

“She feels good, doesn’t she,” Katsuki groans, slightly more breathless than when he last spoke. Eijirō swallows, then nods.

“Yeah, I—” his breath shutters as his train of thought runs into a wall and smashes into a heap of metal. His thumb runs over your clit, lightly, seeing what makes you squirm and what doesn’t, but he’s half-busy reeling in the unbelievability of it all. You, the most unattainable woman he’s ever met, so far out of his league, his best friend’s girlfriend, is here, laid flat and naked in front of him because you want to. What the fuck. What the fuck. He bites back a moan as he watches your eyes flutter, hips slowly picking up their pace as you rock between his hand and the headboard. “How’re you feeling, Pretty?”

The pet name just kind of…slips right out. And, while he probably shouldn’t be calling his best friend’s girlfriend Pretty, he also probably shouldn’t be touching her like this. And Katsuki shouldn’t be sitting in the corner, touching his dick, like this is all perfectly normal.

Eijirō dips a finger inside you.

You flex and flutter around him, clenched, enough to make him wonder how he’s supposed to fit in the first place. It feels like you’ve cut off his circulation, but…to his head. Somehow, he’s getting no blood to his brain—maybe, because it’s all going to his dick—and Eijirō whimpers as he starts pumping a finger, only for you to grip tighter on his way out.

“Oh my God,” he drops his head, eyes fluttering closed as he realizes, “I’m not gonna survive this.”

“Chill out, Shitty Hair; you’ve only got one finger in her,” Katsuki snorts, enjoying the visual of Eijirō losing his mind when he hasn’t even done anything yet. “Just wait ‘til you make her scream.”

Yeah. Eijirō might need to speed things up a bit.

He inserts a second finger right next to the first, and groans. It’s tight. No wonder he could hear Katsuki’s moans through the walls.

Speaking of moans: you’ve been letting out quiet whimpers the whole time, body writhing and breath hitching all cute. But, Eijirō crooks his fingers, and then—fireworks.

Your eyes rocket open, round and wide, and your stomach flexes. You release a moan that’s punched straight from your gut, loud and wanton and exactly what Eijirō has heard through plaster. Your body squeezes and shudders as he focuses on opening you up instead of pleasure, because if he focuses on pleasure, he’ll—

“Rub her clit,” Katsuki huffs. Eijirō looks over to find him pumping himself with a slow and steady pace, dick exposed and looking just like Eijirō remembers from the shower. The urge to lick it remains strong. When he moves to pull his fingers away, Katsuki tuts. “At the same time, Dumbass. What, can’t multitask?”

Honestly, in this situation, Eijirō isn’t really sure.

He keeps his mouth shut, though—whatever embarrassing ramble that sat on his tongue is swallowed—and does as he’s told. The hand resting on your waist drops to your clit, and you squeal.

“There she goes,” Katsuki mutters, with all the predatory satisfaction of an animal at the top of its food chain. You splutter and kick a leg on reflex, and Eijirō sort of has to fight to keep his hands from slipping.

“Eiji,” you scramble for his shirt, holding on tight and keeping him close, “I need you to fuck me—like, yesterday.”

“Then you should’a had him fuck you yesterday,” Katsuki huffs, and Eijirō isn’t sure if he’d be a really good or really bad porn director in another life. Maybe both. “Put in a third finger.”

Eijirō does, and your eyes roll.

“Fuck,” you whimper, and your grip tightens. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Stop touchin’ her.”

Eijirō removes his fingers.

You groan, slamming a heel into the mattress in frustration, and glare at your boyfriend across the room. “Kats—I hate you.”

You’re too out of breath for your words to have any fire in them, so Katsuki just smiles, slow and languid as he rests a chin on his hand. “What’s wrong, Princess? About to cum?”

“You know I was,” you huff, glaring at the ceiling. And Eijirō is too busy looking at the flexing mess between your legs, because, holy shit, you were about to cum, like, all over his fingers—

Eijirō needs to see that. He needs to see that, like, now.

“That’s too damn bad,” Katsuki snorts, then his eyes cut to his roommate. “Keep touchin’ her.”

Eijirō does so, and with a renewed vigor.

He stuffs three fingers back in so quick you yelp in surprise, body curling into his as he works you open. The little sounds you make are heavenly, breathy and whiny and everything he’s dreamt of and more. Eijirō notices when you get close to the edge, this time—the way your eyes flutter, and you squeeze around him like you don’t want to let go.

“Stop.”

You whine again, and this time, Eijirō whines along with you. He wants to feel it, so, so bad.

After a few moments of panting, you lick your lips, “Kats, I—”

“Doesn’t feel too good, does it,” Katsuki grunts, but he’s still smiling just as wide as before. At least someone is having fun. Eijirō, meanwhile, is a hot mess, because all he wants is to feel what he’s heard (and seen) for ages. And, his dick hurts.

You groan, fists squeezing into cute little fists on your forehead. “Why do you have to be an ass?”

“Me?” Katsuki scoffs. “I’m just givin’ you a taste of your own medicine, Sweetheart. Eijirō, you can move.”

It takes you longer to reach the edge than the second time. Maybe, you’re holding back—or, maybe you know it won’t be allowed—but Eijirō’s arm is working overtime until it cramps. He’s sweating now, the shorter hairs sticking to his face in funny designs, but Eijirō Kirishima is nothing if a quitter. He feels it again—the tightness—and looks to Katsuki, who says nothing. Maybe, this time, he’ll let it slide. This time, Eijirō gets to see it, feel it, taste it—

“Stop.”

Eijirō groans louder than you do, and drops his head to your shoulder.

“Kat, let her cum,” Eijirō practically begs, eyebrows bowing and lips quivering against your neck. You feel it, and your breath hitches.

“What?” Katsuki acts like he can’t hear him, but Eijirō knows he does.

“Let her cum,” he huffs after lifting his head off your sticky shoulder, looking at Katsuki with the most pleading face—the most pathetic face—he can muster. “Please.”

Katsuki scoffs, eyes narrowing at Eijirō like there’s something to study. There’s not; the answer is obvious—he’s sitting in between the legs of a pretty girl, unable to give her what she wants, eyes wild and chest heaving like he’s had any friction at all.

“Why?”

“I wanna feel it,” Eijirō says, quick enough to be embarrassed about it later.

Katsuki clicks his tongue.

“Fine.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Eijrō sighs, hands officially moving with an end goal in sight. It would be cruel of Katsuki to deny both of you again, but Eijirō knows he’s not going to—the hand on his dick is moving faster, now. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

Eijirō wonders how many times he can make you cum. He wonders what you’ll look like after the first, second, third—how much your body might quiver, what you could sound like without a wall in place. All it does is fuel the fire in his belly, running straight into his muscles until his hand moves at a numbing pace. As your voice pitches, so does the pace of your breathing.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for us, Baby. Cum for Ei, make a mess all over his fuckin’ fingers.”

Eijirō doesn’t even blink.

He just watches as you unravel, starting at your edges and ending in your middle, as your body arches and hips flick. Your pussy squeezes around his fingers tighter than he thought was possible, and your face—God, your face—contorts in ecstasy because of what he did, his fingers. Eijirō can confirm that it's better up close. So much better.

He kisses you before you can come down, out of pure impulse and want. You moan into his mouth, hands lifting to quiver by his cheeks, an attempt to hold them, and it’s just so cute.

Eijirō’s fucked. Though he knew it before, he definitely knows now. He’s not going to be able to exist without this, anymore.

Note: Never make Katsuki mad, like, sexually.

Because, when Katsuki can’t cum, nobody’s fucking cumming.

“Kat, Dude, please, c’mon,” Eijirō wheezes into your neck, but he doesn’t really care whether Katsuki can hear him. Katsuki will do what Katsuki wants—it’s like whining to the weather.

Your pussy is squeezing the life out of his cock. You’re on your fourth orgasm, and Eijirō is on none, even though he didn’t do shit. This is a type of torture he’s woefully unfamiliar with, like he’s getting punished for being attracted to you in the first place. He didn’t do shit.

Katsuki has moved from the chair to the bed, cock still in hand. Eijirō can’t even be cheesy about it, can’t even look to the right and ask, need a hand, because he’s gripping the sheets for dear life, like they might take pity on him. But, sheets don’t bargain, and if they did, they’d write a contract for him to get the hell off.

Katsuki coos, both at Eijirō’s strung-up state and your fucked out one. You’ve got no fight left in you, instead uselessly whimpering and clawing at his back like he can save you. Spoiler alert: he cannot.

Katsuki thumbs at the high points of Eijirō’s cheeks, “Awh, y’want it that bad? You’re cryin’, Red.”

Eijirō sniffles. Yes, he knows he’s crying—despite the heat in his face, he can feel it.

“Yes,” Eijirō hisses between grit teeth, “I’m literally dying, please—”

Katsuki chuckles something dark, grabbing Eijirō by his cheeks and forcing him to look up—and suddenly, he's drowning in carmine eyes. Is Katsuki closer? It feels like he got closer.

“Hold out a little longer,” the blond says, in a voice softer than the bed you lay on, and Eijirō really isn’t sure what to make of it. He’s close enough that Eijirō can almost feel the tongue licking his lips, feel his breath as he says, “Y’gotta make her cum two more times, at least.”

At least? Eijirō’s going to die. Eijirō’s going to die from an arrhythmic heart and overexertion, and it’s going to be Katsuki’s fault.

(But, hey—he’s dying in Hawaii, with you below him, so how much can he really complain?)

Eijirō wheezes out a light and pathetic ‘ah’ in place of what was supposed to be a curse, but he really doesn't care anymore. Not when you blink up at him with watery eyes and palm at his chest, all weak like he did that.

“Eiji…” you whimper, exhausted and sweating into the bed. “Jus’ one more. Please.”

Eijirō’s hips stutter, but they don’t stop.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hands turning into fists in the sheets. He’s not allowed to touch you, not allowed to make this go faster—but God, does he want to. “Fucking fuck—this is so unfair.”

“She’s insatiable, ain’t she,” Katsuki says, letting go of Eijirō’s face to cradle yours, to thumb over your cheeks all soft while he plows into you with every fiber of your being. “’S one of my favorite things about her.”

You whine but don’t do much else, bottom lip sliding from behind your teeth to make room for the sound. As your pussy convulses around his cock, you gasp, soft fingers sharpening into nails to dig into the fat of his back and leave raised red lines in their wake. Eijirō’s going to look wrecked on the beach tomorrow, and that thought is just—

“One more,” he pants, hips dragging impossibly fast. “One more, right, Kat?”

Katsuki grunts with a nod. The hand on his cock starts moving with purpose, now. “One more.”

Eijirō wants to touch it.

He wants to touch Katsuki again so, so bad, but he can’t, not with his hands full with you—not when he can’t cum yet. The ball of arousal is already wound tight in his stomach; one wrong tug, and it will unravel.

“I can’t—” Eijirō wheezes, voice breaking as he falls forward, catching himself with a hand beside your head. The other hand is busy holding your hips up, because you can no longer do it for yourself. “I can’t—”

The room is filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, pants heavy and hot enough to fog a warm glass, predatory groans and whiny whimpers. Eijirō keeps making sounds he’d rather not, but he’s too far gone to even register them. Katsuki’s saying something—his mouth is moving—but all he hears is the rush behind his ears.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Eijiro whimpers, in slight disappointment, but it was inevitable. He feels that tingle in his fingers that lets him know to pull out, and—

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

Katsuki’s voice snarls into focus, grabbing Eijirō by his hair and tugging so hard his back bends.

“I can’t, I’m not gonna—”

“You can, and you will,” Katsuki says with a finality that leaves Eijirō no other choice. And he’ll be damned if he loses this opportunity—he wants to fuck you again, and again, and again, until you’re properly satiated and leaking out of every hole you have. Eijirō whines through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, and another tear rolls down his cheek. Katsuki licks it up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t d—”

But then, you’re squeezing around him with shaky legs, and Eijirō’s shoulders sink in relief. One more second, and he would’ve—

“Oh, fuck!”

Eijirō cums so hard his vision blacks out—whether it's from closed eyes or pure blindness, he doesn’t know—and his hands scramble for something, anything to hold onto. One hand ends on your hip and the other on Katsuki’s thigh, digging bruises in his thumbprint as veins pop in his neck and he floods your system.

Eijirō pumps his hips a few more times, slow but sure. He’s sure he’s making noise—groans, whimpers, whines—but he can’t hear much except for the throb of his heart and Katsuki’s own orgasm, feeling something lukewarm splatter against the fingers still resting on his thigh. Eijirō breathes himself back into his body, through his nose and out his mouth, and finally, pulls out.

His dick jumps, and squirts twice like it’s got more in it. Eijirō can confidently confirm that it does not.

He collapses right on top of your body.

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit is right,” you swallow, voice raspy and crackling on the edges. Katsuki collapses next to him.

“That was fuckin‘ good.”

You three blink at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Eventually, you squirm under the redhead, so he rolls onto your other side.

“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” you decide aloud, shaking your head. Your eyes are still closed—and you’re still coming down, body twitching every few seconds in places Eijirō didn’t even know you could. “You two are carrying me everywhere.”

“That can be arranged,” Eijirō huffs, still out of breath. Weakly, he reaches across you and taps his roommate. “…When I can walk. So, Kat, you got that.”

Katsuki groans, somehow also exhausted, like he did any of the work. “Fuck you.”

“No,” Eijirō shakes his head, neck still weak and loose from being tense for so long. “You made us fuck for hours. ‘S your punishment.”

Katsuki grumbles under his breath but doesn’t outright lament. Eijirō gives you a slippery smile, and lifts a fist. You meet it with your own.

A few more seconds of catching breaths, of opening pores for cool air and listening to the steady rock of the ceiling fan, and then:

“Hey, Eiji. Wanna be our boyfriend?”

Katsuki shoots up. Suddenly, he has energy.

“We’re not fuckin’ askin’ him like that!”

You don’t really have the energy to argue, so you raise a placating hand and push it into his face.

“How’re we s’posed to ask ‘im, then?”

You slur your words, and Eijirō doesn’t blame you. Tomorrow, he’ll panic about the new information—probably cry a little—but it’s the middle of the night, and he’s already half asleep from exhaustion.

“Fuckin’ properly, the fuck do you mean?”

Katsuki seems really stressed about this, Eijirō thinks distantly. He should probably answer before he knocks out, slowly sinking into a post-orgasm haze he’s not necessarily trying to escape anytime soon.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair—you’re not accepting it until we do it right. When we get back.”

Eijirō snorts weakly. “Okay.”

That night, everyone falls asleep with bone-deep satisfaction. The next morning, Eijirō does cry a little—but he promised Katsuki he won’t accept until you two do ask him properly, whatever that means. That doesn’t mean he’s not dying about it, a little.

This is going to take some getting used to.

© mamashima/pumaya. do not edit, translate or copy my work without my permission. do not use for ai. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

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“Satoru! What are you getting at!?” You’re crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, he’s pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.

Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.

You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. You’d been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.

Not you and Satoru though.

For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now you’re glad to have him in your life, but it’s hard to even think of someone serious when he’s so brightly and firmly in your life.

“This is a huge favor I need, it’s… a lot to ask.” Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.

“What’s wrong, is everything okay?” Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.

“Yeah it’s fine just… I’m being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.” He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Satoru. I thought you’d have longer?”

“Yeah, I wish.” He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. “I need to just get it done, get em off my ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Where’s my Toru!?”

“He’s exhausted.” He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.

“Do you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families… find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?”

“That’s not what I'm asking.” He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. “I’m asking if you want to.”

“If I want to, what exactly?”

“Marry me?”

“What!?” He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.

“You forget you’re from a top family, nah it’s not the Gojo clan but…”

“Satoru…”

“Just for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and I’ll help you with anything, I promise.” He’s clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning.

“Wh-why me? We… you… I…”

“You’re my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could… do your thing as long as you’re discrete.” He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if you’ve done anything in a couple of years now. “And I would be discrete, respectful, we’d just be in name, appearance. We’re best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all… I trust you.”

You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. “But won’t they want… an heir?”

Satoru’s cheeks flush bright pink now. “We don’t need to… I’d never ask you to do that, ever I swear. I’d never be an ass like that.”

You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. “I know, I know. But… they’d-”

“That’s the thing, a year or so and they’ll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick… I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you too.”

“It’s insane, this is marriage!” You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.

“It can just be for show, we’ll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but… he’s not a girl.”

“He has that long silky hair?” You both laugh a little, softly then.

“He sure does, but… you’re prettier to look at.”

“Flattery? Stop that. It’s insane, and… how would we even explain it in such a rush?”

“We’ve been friends forever. Who wouldn’t believe that we got together? It’s even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but… you’ve kissed me before, remember?” He’s grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. “That closet was cramped, hmm?”

“Oh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know I’ll do this for you. I don’t expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.” Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that you’d want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.

You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him he’s never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. “Let me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, you’ll be helping me so much.”

“Alright.”

“What!?”

He’s hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. “Yeah, I’ll do it… I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?”

“I’ll get you ten BMWs.”

“Jesus, no. Silly boy.” You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when he’s just a bit too close.

“Should we practice kissing now?” He teases, voice husky.

“Satoru, you're insufferable.”

He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you don’t know if you can even handle kissing his lips. “Aww you’re still such a brat, since middle school.”

“You’re the brat here.”

“Meanie.” You both stick your tongues out, and when he’s walking you over to your shitty car, he wraps you in a big hug in his strong arms, making you melt against him. “Mwah, mwah, mwah you’re the best friend ever.”

“Oh, stop.” He’s smacking kisses on your head as you inhale his cologne, sighing as you contemplate just what the fuck you’re doing. “When do we do this?” You ask, pulling back a bit and looking up at him.

“I can have things going in a couple weeks, something super simple, like I said we’ll just live our lives, just be friends, it’ll be fine. Like a really long sleepover, hmm?” He teases, grinning now, putting back on his shades.

You figure, what’s it hurt? Your apartment is shitty, your car is old, Gojo is your best friend, and you’re down to help him avoid a miserable marriage for as long as he can. You nod then, smiling. “A long sleepover.”

One week of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

Satoru Gojo thought he would control himself decently living with you, considering how many times you’ve slept over, how many movies you both have crashed out on the couch together. He’s seen you in bathing suits over the years, he’s caught glimpses of your pretty body of course, he knows how beautiful you are and he’s always maintained himself.

Satoru treasures you far too much to fuck it up in any way, despite the amount of times he’s almost lost it. Aside from Suguru, you have been the most important person in his life, and perhaps you’re closer now. But he can’t help but compare other girls to you over the years, and he usually makes quick work of the small relationships that he has with them.

However, what he hadn’t anticipated? Living with you walking around in your fucking panties and a crop top.

You nearly took him out the first morning you were here, when he went to brush his teeth, he has a huge house but of course you went to the main bathroom that divides his room and the room he set for you, it’s the bathroom you used when you stayed over. So he should have maybe anticipated it, but nothing prepared him for you bent over the sink, washing your face.

Your ass looked far too tempting in those damn boyshorts, half of each cheek tempting him to smack it, grab it, fucking lift you by it and slide into you. He was shocked when he was hard from the sight of it, he’s not inexperienced or not used to women, and he’s used to you, but something about the sight made him fucking feral, and he had to literally run to one of his guest bathrooms.

He now was almost used to you walking around in almost nothing, but this morning you’re in some little white tank top and he sees the outlines of the curve of your pretty tits, sees your nipples perked up, begging for his mouth. You’re wiping your eyes, yawning, using his Keurig to make coffee, smiling at him as if this is in any way normal or okay.

He gulps as you turn your attention to him, hair in a messy bun, his eyes struggle not to just stare at your body, he has to shut his mouth because it’s just slightly ajar. Satoru, a man who sees women naked frequently, fuck he has business meetings at strip clubs, nudity is nothing. But he can’t take it, take how your breasts are calling for him, how your thighs shift.

“Good morning, Toru! We have that event tonight, right?” You say sweetly, as his heart hammers in his chest, and then you feel his gaze on you, making your nipples tighten, more apparent as you look where he is now, biting your lip. “Shit, white isn’t the best color huh? How embarrassing… it’s kinda cold…”

“Yeah, cold.” He clears his throat, stepping closer, and your eyes drink him in, shirtless and built so perfect. You’ve seen him this way of course over the years, Satoru had no issue pulling his top off to work out, play a game of ball, but something about him in his soft sweats that show too much makes your brain run awry.

You should be immune to it, the god-like body Satoru Gojo has, how fucking perfect he is built, how pretty he is, but something makes your tummy heat up lately, especially when he comes closer, blue eyes lidded. “Um, I’ll make coffee?”

“Yes please.” He smiles sleepily, far too pretty, and you have to remind yourself, as you have all week, that you’re not with him, not truly.

It feels too easy, too comfy.

That was the point though.

“Got it.” You turn now, setting to put the pod in, tiptoeing to get his sugar, he chuckles deeply, reaching above you now, far too close to you, his bare chest pressing against your upper back. Your fingers grip the counters, feeling the cool granite of them, your breath catching.

“I’ll put them a little lower.” He teases, smirking as he sets them down, leaning a hip on the counter, and you smile, pretending to be calm, like your heart didn’t just beat out of your chest.

You’ve literally hugged this man every time you’ve seen him, you’ve even crashed next to him, why is he fucking with you so badly!? You suppose his presence in pieces was just easier to cope with than anything, but now your brain keeps having ridiculous images. Him having you up on that counter, your thighs spread, so intense you drop the spoon, it clatters to his tile floor.

“Shit, sorry.” You bend down, and your breath is right against him, over his thin sweats, and you look up at him, creating the worst images of his best friends he can ever imagine.

“It’s… fine.” He clears his throat, turning so you don’t see the clear evidence of what you’ve done.

“You okay, Toru? Tons of sugar, like usual?”

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff, as he glares at his cock, willing it to go down, you blink curiously at his back, wondering what’s wrong. You clear your throat again and hand him the cup, stepping next to him, he takes it, having put his cock up in the waistband of his boxers now, smiling nonchalantly. “Thanks sweets.”

“Of course! Can we go over a few things later today, before we go? I don’t wanna fuck anything up.”

“Of course we can. I also ordered you a dress and some jewelry, that cool?”

“Oh what? I have dresses, pretty ones!”

“I know, it’s really uppity bitches there though, you need something top notch.”

“Oh…” You trail off, a blush decorating your cheeks now, making you look even more tempting. “But you don’t know my size?’

Satoru brushes a tendril of hair that’s come out of your bun then, smirking just a bit. “Think I don’t know your size, sweetheart?”

“I… um…” Satoru has you flustered, dammit. “Oh?”

“Mhmm.” As if he hasn’t eyed your body a million times over. “It’ll be here later, I have to go to work for just a couple hours.” You nod then, for some odd reason wanting to kiss him, but you bite your lip instead.

“Sounds perfect, I have the day off!”

“Even better, go take a nice bath and relax before we deal with the snobby old fucks.” You giggle at him, you have always loved how he speaks of rich people, when he’s filthy rich, but Satoru? He’s very different.

He’s just…

Satoru.

Satoru’s heart doesn’t hammer in his chest, it almost falls out after he’s got his three piece pinstripe suit on, adjusting a skinny silk tie and peering at his silver Rolex, seeing what time it was, as you appear in front of him. The dress he picked out was a lacy black one, perfect for evening, but the way it hugs your every curve, the way your breasts are pressed up in that top?

You do a nervous spin, revealing your pretty back, the curve of your spine, the v neck so deep he sees hints of the dimples on your back. You turn back around, eyes glittering, enhanced with a little mascara and eyeliner, your lips the prettiest shade of red he can imagine. You look…

Beautiful.

Is that even the word?

How does he even explain it, when he’s speechless, when he feels his ears heat up at just how nervous he is to be in your presence then, eyeing a delicate gold necklace that hits just so in the hollow between your collar bones. You’re tilting your head to the side, hair falling softly in curls you’ve put it in, clutching your pretty little evening bag.

“How do I look, Toru? You look so handsome, but when don’t you.” You tease, and he tries not to look at the slit showing far too much of your pretty thigh, so tempting to slip a hand up it, find your surely pretty little pussy.

“You look…” He takes a breath, trying to act somewhat normal, smiling then. “You look… hot as fuck.”

You giggle then, rolling your eyes. “Oh whatever!”

“You look… amazing. Really.” He steps to you, giving into the temptation to brush the backs of his finger across the apple of your cheek, then across your jaw line, watching your breath catch, your red lips part, showing a hint of your little bottom row of teeth.

How would that pretty face look so fucked out?

God, it’s been a week, he needs to stop.

His hand falls, and you barely hold yourself together, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “You look beautiful, sweets. Gonna make quite the impression.” His husky admission makes you blush further, looking down and eyeing that little knot on his tie, as it’s like the entire room is holding its breath, everything so overwhelming, his nearness, his scent.

“Thank you, really for this dress. It’s so beautiful, and this.” You touch the pretty gold necklace, just making his eyes watch your pretty breasts rise and fall.

“Of course, it’s part of this, you know.” His little admission breaks you just a bit, for some insane reason, you felt like this was some date? You rein yourself in just a bit, smiling.

“Yes, but thank you. Shall we go, hubby?’

“We sure can, wifey.” You both laugh, the friendship of years prevailing finally, when you slip into the back of his limo with him, trying to ignore the feeling of his strong thigh pressing against yours, burning through the silky layer of the dress. “So remember the story?”

“Yeah, it’s easy to think of it happening, friends falling.” You then panic, as his blue eyes catch yours in the dark of the limo. “I mean-”

“No, of course it is. I’ll say that… I started falling in high school.” Because he did, god he did. After you all are about to be at the event, he notices it, your nerves, this just wasn’t your scene. “You look perfect, really.”

“Oh no…” He leans close, cupping your face, but it feels too good, your lips are too close.

“You do, gonna knock 'em dead, yeah?”

“We both will.” You smile tremulously, inhaling the night air greedily as you both walk up to the event, being ushered in. You’re clinging around his elbow as he casually goes about it, going into Mr. Gojo mode, you’ve seen him do it plenty over the years, still keeping his charm and sarcasm, but he’s just a force, the way he plays them all.

Knowing Gojo wants to take most of these people down is thrilling in its own way, you’ve always been enamored with how he fights for his principles, how real and raw he truly is with you about it. How humble when he’s come from everything, but still he knows that role he must play, and play it he does, his hand pressing on the small of your back as you two make small talk.

“I always thought of you two falling for each other.” Says your mom now, yes even your parents had to think it was true.

“I did too… so sudden though? Young love.” Gojo’s mom says, tossing back her silky long locks with a smile.

“What can I say? Your son is hard to resist, he’s so persistent. Like a cute little puppy.”

“A what!? Brat.” He’s glaring, but your parents and his mom are laughing, and you know it works, being real.

“Aren’t you two so in love?” Another person says later, as they observe Satoru placing a little peck on your temple, and he smiles with ease, not realizing the entire mess he’s making you.

“A beautiful couple. Gojo, you chose well.” One of his work friends says with a grin.

“We’re very lucky, both of us.” You say softly, stopping Gojo’s heart, when you peck a little kiss on his neck, tiptoeing in your heels, he turns then, your lips far too close, so close you taste the sweetness of his breath, and your eyes lock. “Aren’t we, Satoru?”

He blinks, realizing… you’re just helping him, and you’re nailing it. He tries to shove back the odd fluttering in his tummy, tilting your chin up. “We are lucky.”

The night ends up with plenty of dancing, plenty of schmoozing back and forth, and plenty of both of you being the perfect team. It was so easy, you both knew each other like no one else, the answers flow, the dancing flows, you’ve both danced in school before, you’ve partied together. You’ve been a plus one even as a friend.

Too natural, too perfect.

You soon need a breath, as you feel far too much as Satoru dances with a lovely girl, you recognize her, Gojo dated her and she’s a family friend. You assume she was a candidate for marriage as you recall her family ties, but seeing someone in his arms suddenly makes your heart break.

It’s only been a fucking week!? Can’t you keep it together!?

Later as you both get home, you’re taking off your shoes, wincing as the heels are off your feet, and Satoru looks at you curiously. “You okay, sweets? Kinda a long night of assholes, huh?”

“Oh it’s fine, Toru. Truly. Um… I recognized a couple girls there.”

“Yeah, they run in the same circles.” He takes off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves of that crisp white dress shirt, revealing the veins of his strong forearms, addling your mind further, how fucking attractive he is when he loosens that tie.

“Um, I know you said discrete, will you be… bringing them here?”

Satoru blinks at you, head tilting, soft white hair falling just so. “What? Bring who here?”

“Um, her, or any of the girls there really. If so I think I’ll probably… wanna know if you don’t mind? So I can make sure I’m in the room or whatever. A little notice?”

Satoru walks to you now, your head is tilted back when he hooks two fingers under your chin. “You think I am interested in them?”

“They’re beautiful. And we’re not together, so it’s fine! Just… a little notice would be cool?”

“And you, what if you bring someone over.” His jaw tenses, his words surprisingly sharp. “Will you tell me?”

You laugh softly. “That won’t even be a thing.”

“In a year?”

“It’s… never been a thing really.” You realize then, that you are almost spilling it, the fact that the entirety of your experience is one fuck in college, a two pump event that involved nothing really.

His brows draw together in disbelief. “Never? You don’t…”

“Listen, we’re best friends, but that’s private. Okay?” He nods, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck, looking down.

“Shit I mean you date a bit though?”

“Yeah, I do. But… it’s… I need to get out of this dress.” You say then, suddenly rushing to your room, leaving Satoru’s mind whirling.

How do you think he wants anyone when you’re here killing him.

“Toru?” You lean your head out from the bathroom a few moments later.

“Yeah?”

“This is embarrassing, but the zipper is stuck, and it’s so expensive… I don’t wanna fuck the dress up.” You murmur, he smiles, feigning ease as he steps into the bathroom, peering at you in the golden gilded mirror.

“No worries, got ya. Huh it is a little stuck…” He gently tugs at the zipper, humming a big. “Um… hang on I need to pull it up a bit.”

“Sure. Be careful!”

“You’re worried about this when I could buy you ten more tomorrow.”

“Still!”

He smiles at your reflection, hand palming your bare back then, making you bite back a gasp, body shifting in desire at just the touch, your eyes shut so he can’t see them rolling back, but he sees those goosebumps everywhere. He unzips it then, revealing lacy panties that make him pause, letting the dress fall, you’re catching it at the front, gasping.

“I think I got it.” He says huskily, unable to stop his fingers from trailing up your delicate spine, blue eyes so bright in the mirror they wreck you, while you barely hold the material on. “Need any more help?”

“No! I mean… n-no.” Shit shit shit.

You’re soaked from a brush against your back!?

“Got ya.” He smiles just a bit, leaving you now, resting his back on the door, hand running across his face, curious how he’s throbbing with precum from seeing your fucking back.

Two weeks of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

You arrive at his work, the coworkers all greeting you so friendly, as his assistant Miwa escorts you, giving you both soft smiles. “Your wife is here Mr. Gojo.”

Satoru looks up in surprise, you’re in your pretty work dress, looking all cute and professional, holding a bento box in one hand, a boba in the other. You’re smiling brightly, as his lips part in surprise. “I had an early day and I thought I should bring some lunch?”

“Oh… oh thank you… Miwa if you could?”

“Of course, I’ll give you some privacy.” You hear her giggle and you smile at Satoru, looking as he’s leaned back in his big leather seat, smiling softly back at you, eyeing your hands.

“I get lunch made for me, shit I am lucky with my fake bride.” You snort, rolling your eyes and walking up to him, setting them on the desk.

“It seemed wifey to do? But also I really do have a short day, figured you might be hungry?”

Fuck you’re sweet.

Fuck you’re pretty.

God, you’re looking at him like that, leaned over just a bit, his eyes darting over your body that tempts him every day more and more, but your sweetness ruins him, the thoughtful nature you’ve always had, but now so geared to him. Is it all for show, he can’t believe it is when you open the bento and show him sushi, onigiri and greens placed so prettily his mouth waters.

“You ordered this, yeah?”

“No silly, I’ve been practicing. You helping me have some time off work has literally given me so much time… I hope they’re yummy? Oh, I didn’t make the boba though.”

“Why didn’t you get anything?” He asks, frowning.

“Oh I’m good, I just was dropping it off. You’re probably busy, taking down the villains huh?” Satoru’s words catch in his throat, looking you up and down again, before looking back down at the food in front of him.

“Stay a bit, it’ll… look good you know, us having lunch together.” He murmurs, lying out of his fucking teeth, as if he didn’t want to eat you then and there.

Your thighs spread, panties to the side, lapping you up?

Yummier than this. Killing him to imagine.

“Oh, um… where do I sit, over here?” You go to scooch a chair over, and he stops you.

“Nah those are heavy, come on.” He pats his thigh, earning your eyes widening, pulse fluttering as he smirks. “You’ve sat on my lap at parties plenty.”

“Y-yeah… but it’s… I…”

“C’mon, have a couple bites please, I’ll feel bad if you did all this for me and didn’t eat.”

“Satoru, you have bought me a new wardrobe and a car, can’t I make some sushi?”

“Sit.”

You sigh, it’s true you’ve sat on his lap, but the past two weeks of constantly being wet around him are taking their toll. You smile brightly, sitting on one of his thighs, praying he can’t feel it, the heat from your pussy as you’re pressed on a muscled thigh, and he’s picking up sushi with chopsticks, popping one in his mouth and moaning, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck that’s yummy. You made it for real!?” You giggle, nodding and trying to be more comfortable, it’s your Toru, right?

“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. That’s got eel sauce on it, this one is the spicy crab.”

“You like spicy crab, here.” He pops one to your lips, and something feels too intimate, on his lap like this. “Open.”

Open.

Open!?

The pictures of you hearing him that while on your knees makes your cunt dribble, you shift nervously, clearing your throat.

“Open, silly.”

You do as he says, as he pops the roll in your mouth, and you chew, feeling the flavor hit your tongue, he grins now, popping another into his mouth, and you wonder if it’s easy for him to be this way. He’s so natural at it, sipping his boba and humming happily, all while his thigh presses where you’ve been aching for him, forcing yourself not to touch your pussy to the thought of him.

You can’t do that, it’s fucked.

You try to get up, and he presses you down, big hand on your waist, far too close when he leans the thick straw to your lips. “Take a sip, it’s so good.”

“Oh… um sure. Thank you.” You take a sip, lips pressing where his had, and he can’t stop focusing on how good your lips look, wrapping as you suck, cheeks hollowing and making his cock twitch.

You both sit there then, staring at each other, breaths coming just a little too quick from you, as he sets the drink down, but you stay on his lap. “Y’know… the event tonight, we should probably actually kiss? There will be cameras all over.”

“Kiss!?” He laughs then, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I mean it’s kind of part of it. You’re comfy with it right, not gonna fall head over heels.”

“Psh.” You already have, long ago, it’s all fucking hitting. “You’re so cocky, Toru I swear.”

“I can’t help it, my lips are so talented, you know. Makes girls fall.” He brushes his silky hair back, winking at you then, and you swear you can hear your heart in your goddamn ears.

“I remember you were pretty good.”

“Yeah, you remember?”

“Yeah it… was my first kiss.” You mumble then, looking away, sipping his boba nervously, he blinks rapidly, blue eyes wide in shock.

“What now!?”

“No biggie, we were like seventeen…”

“But you… never told me?”

“It was embarrassing.” Satoru’s mind races to that night, as does yours, as you sit in his office, just the hum of the fan and soft music playing from his little device, staring at each other, both in a haze.

You and Satoru Gojo were thrown in a closet together, you’re sighing as you’re pressed against him, peeking at your phone in the dark to see the time. Being too close to Satoru wreaked havoc on your brains at times, though you have known him so long, you couldn’t lie and act like you didn’t think of things… kissing him, maybe dating him? But you know they’re silly thoughts.

“Don’t freak out, we’ll just let 'em think we made out.” He says now, and you turn your eyes up to him, adjusting in the dark, but even here you can see the glint of those bright baby blues.

“Y-yeah. You’ve kissed plenty, though.”

“You haven’t really?”

“Um, no.”

Satoru’s gently turning you to him now, tilting your chin up while his eyes adjust to see your pretty face, you’re thankful it’s so dark that he couldn’t see your blush. “We could practice, you know.”

“Satoru!”

“What? A little practice between friends? You know you wanna kiss me.” He taunts, teasing tone as he grins.

“No way!”

“Not at all? I’m hurt, sweets.”

“Oh whatever, it'd be weird, we’re too close. Do you kiss Suguru?”

“Oh yeah, have you seen him?”

You both laugh then, when he leans down just a bit. “Well, if you kissed Suguru, I feel left out now.”

“We can’t have that. Show me what you do know, I’ll advise.”

“Kissing expert, hmm?”

“Mhmm.” You lean up then, as he bends down, your arms wrapping around his neck, you pause as his hands press against your waist, making your heart race. “Ya scared?”

“No! Goofy ass.” He’s chuckling until you lean up, pulling him down for a kiss, and your lips meet for the first time.

Your first kiss.

He pauses, your lips connecting just do something. Satoru at seventeen had done plenty of make out sessions, but they were fun, something to do, exciting at times, but nothing prepared him for it. For your sweet lips on him, tingling them, his heart beating in his chest.

Satoru falters, and he never falters.

He doesn’t slip his tongue in, he doesn’t pull you close, he freezes, so in shock at how good it feels, how right it feels. You ease back, nervous then, clearing your throat, as he hasn’t moved his lips. “I’m sorry I’m not…”

Satoru yanks you against him then, pressing your body on his, kissing you over and over, so deeply, taking your breath away, you’ve never felt something like this, you’re trembling as you feel his tongue slip against the seam of your lips. “Open them up for me.”

This isn’t silly Satoru, goofy ass friend, his husky declaration destroys you, and he uses the gasp to slip his tongue inside, swirling with yours, igniting something between you that night that you will both avoid talking about for years. When he presses you against the closet door, sighing into your lips, and you’re being picked up in his arms, as your mouths move over each other.

You both pull back, gasping as the timer goes off.

What was that!?

“If I’d known it was your first kiss, maybe I wouldn’t have… gotten so excited.” He says with a little pink on his cheeks.

“No, you didn’t cross any lines, Toru. Don’t worry.”

He wants to laugh, because oh, he wanted to.

If he’d had more time he’s sure he’d have lost it, whatever control he has now he did not have as a seventeen year old. “Was it a good one at least?”

“The best a girl could have.” You say softly, smiling at him then, making his heart race when you both sit there, far too close, and he swears he can feel your heat against the hand that’s on your thigh.

“I know I’m pretty amazing hmm?” He teases, trying to hide the raging storm inside of him, you giggle, shaking your head and standing finally.

“You’re a conceited little shit.”

“Hey!?”

You’re both back at ease, as he stands now too, looming so tall over you, his presence making it hard to remember why you’re here. “I should go.”

“We should practice, though, yeah?”

“I mean… you think we’re that rusty?” You try to feign ease, he smiles then.

“Yeah, we gotta be. We’ll bump our heads together or some shit.”

“Okay… um…” You take a sip of his boba then, clearing your throat and smiling up at him. “Let’s practice.”

Satoru brushes his thumb across your chin, your ass pressed against his desk and you’re pinned between it and him, your hands sliding up his starch white dress shirt slowly, eyes lowering to his glossy lips. He presses a kiss against your lips, and you then know it, more than ever.

Nothing is like kissing Satoru.

Nothing is like his lips making contact with yours, as your eyes close, the feeling of him working his lips over you so gently, making you tremble, making you ache in ways you have tried to hide, to avoid. He pulls back, cupping your face and exhaling, his snowy lashes low over cerulean eyes, his lips parted just so, as you both stare at each other, speechless.

You don’t know if he’s as affected, and neither does he.

“How’s that?” He asks softly, and you lean up, your fingers enwrapping in his hair, as two of his hands bar you on either side.

“Maybe one or two more? To look natural.” You whisper, and you expect a smirk, or something cocky, conceited, but he slams his lips on yours now.

His tongue is swirling against yours in moments, as you both devour each other, hungry and needy, kissing each other desperate, messy now. A kiss like you’ve never had, as his hands press against your hips, then he lifts you on the desk, your thighs around his hips, making you cry out. The sound causes him to lose any semblance of control, he’s biting your lower lip, moaning into your mouth.

“Mmm!” Your hands pull his hair now, as his slip up your bare thighs, and then you feel it, the hardness under his slacks against your heat, your panties already sticky and damp, and you pull back with a gasp.

Your eyes shoot up to his when you break apart for just a moment, and Satoru’s breath is coming in little pants, his fingers scrunching your skirt up your hips, yanking you closer. You whimper now, head falling to the side, and he’s kissing down the side of your neck, your breasts pressing against his chest, dying for him inside you, as he’s ready to fuck you right on his desk.

“Satoru… what are-” You’re trying to whisper when his lips find the shell of your ear.

“I need-”

Knock knock knock.

You both pull back, his eyes dilated to the point they’re dark, his hands still on your bare skin, as his eyes dart down your body. “Yes?” He manages gruffly.

“Twenty minutes until your meeting Mr. Gojo.” You hear, and he curses softly, turning away, trying to calm his nerves, his racing heart, all while you’re hopping down, trying to pull yourself together.

You’re almost darting out of the door when he sees you. “Shit, please…”

“No, no. We um… were practicing?” You manage to whisper, as his hand is over yours on the knob. “I got carried away.”

He laughs, without humor. “You did?”

“I did. I’m sorry I don’t even do this.”

“Just how… inexperienced are you?” He asks softly.

“A lot.”

Because she can’t help but compare every man to Satoru Gojo.

“Well, you can’t tell, you’re an amazing kisser.” You blush furiously, looking down, biting your lower lip.

“You don’t have to say it.”

“You are, shit. My god.” He brushes your hair off the side of your neck, exhaling, breath tickling you, setting your body on fire.

“Thank you, so are you. We will be good to go tonight, you think?” You whisper, so nervous to say what you want to, and he pauses, clearing his throat, his hand falling off your shoulder now.

“We’ll kill it. Thank you again for lunch.”

“Of course.” You brightly smile, trying to remember.

It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake.

As you’re repeating it in your head, Satoru is struggling to not lift your skirt up and fuck into you right on this door, he wouldn’t care if the entire office heard you scream his goddamn name. When you slip out the door he rests his head on it, the cool wood doing nothing to his overheated skin, hands clenching into his fists as he tries to calm himself.

What was that, what is that with you both?

He promised he would be respectful, he has to try to rein it all in, he has to make sure your friendship isn’t ruined because he can’t stop himself. Satoru tells himself that as he wills his cock to go down, but he can’t stop himself, soon he’s stroking it right in that seat, remembering feeling your pussy pressing against his length.

God he needs you, he shuts his eyes, imagining sinking inside you while he twists his hand up and down his length, desperate for any relief. He had some regulars he would call back in the day, but not only does it feel so wrong to do so, he doesn’t want anyone but you, he can’t even put a vision in his mind but you.

‘It’s fine, baby girl you can take me’ he murmurs softly, snowy lashes shut as he imagines fucking into you, stretching you god he bets you’re so tight, and he could feel that warmth, imagining you as he spits down on his pretty cock.

His pink tip is oozing precum while his head rests back in his office chair, he can still smell your scent, that shampoo you use, the body spray you have worn since high school, it’s you. He’d kiss every inch of your body, have you so ready you beg for him, fuck you so good tears pool in your pretty eyes, he can damn near feel is as his hand strokes faster and faster.

He lets out a soft groan, muttering a ‘that’s it, you’re so wet f’me, huh?’ to the very image of you on that desk, tasting your sweetness on his lips, while he pinches his tip, the precum and spit wetting his cock enough that the sound of him stroking fills his office. His breath quickens as he thinks of shoving your thighs up high, slamming into your cervix, ruining you.

As he cums white hot spurts all over his palm he cries out softly, the release feeling so good, he’s fought it, touching himself to you, but he can’t anymore. He quickly cleans up, panicking as he sees what he’s done, jerked off to one of his best friend’s in the world, someone who trusts him, and he’s not even holding himself together for shit now.

He exhaustedly leans his head against the desk as his alarm for the next meeting starts, struggling to remember this isn’t real, but his cock sure didn’t fucking realize that, and by the time he’s home and he sees you all dressed up for the next event? He almost has to go jerk off again.

You’re smiling all nervous in this beautiful glittering gown, and he’s once again speechless, trying to pull together his usual charm, but it falls flat. You look at him, concern clear on your features. “Everything okay Satoru?”

“Of course it is. Look at you.” He smiles, putting on the best show he can, as you wonder if you’ve over thought that kiss, he just seems so normal really.

Maybe he just got carried away, should you act normal too?But how can you, when just the brush of his hand on the small of your back shoots desire straight through your body. It’s only been two weeks, how could you hold out an entire year?

Sooo to have written this in a oneshot would have been INSANE but expect the next two parts very quicklyyy ;) Gojo is DOWN BAD my god- smut in the next hehe.

Part two

You don’t remember the last time you felt this way about someone. The butterflies in your stomach gently spread a warmth inside your body, unlike their usual method of panicking and trying to tear through your stomach and skin to escape. No, this feeling is almost new; unrecognisable. Their actions calm you down rather than forcing you into a frenzy, looking for the nearest exit.

You’re confident in thinking he feels the same, too. It’s all in his eyes. The corners crinkle when he laughs at something unfunny you said. There’s a glimmer in them you first noticed when he was playing hockey. They never leave yours.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask, clasping your hands behind your back. “I don’t know the area, so it’s your turn to choose now.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for Halloween.” Iwaizumi lets out an exaggerated huff, looking around himself.

“It’s not like this night could get any worse.” Shrugging, you turn back around to face the others behind you. “Plans? Anybody? Or will we just wander the streets for the night like we’re prostitutes?”

“What a bunch of prostitutes we are,” Iwaizumi’s laughs, glancing back. “Men in Black, a cowboy and the black swan.”

“A very entertaining pornography,” Akaashi agrees, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Do we just…call it?”

Bokuto looks up from his phone in horror. “But it’s Halloween! We can’t call it! This happens once a year.”

“Do you have any suggestions, then?” You can practically see the exhaustion on Akaashi’s face as he turns to his friend.

“Well… We don’t have to call it.” Bokuto shrugs his shoulders and turns his attention back to his phone. “It’s only ten.”

“My apartment’s just down there.” You gesture across the street and stop walking. “We can go have a couple drinks there. You can invite Matsukawa and Hanamaki. I’ll ask Oikawa. Have a quiet thing, y’know?”

“I’m okay with that,” Akaashi agrees.

Bokuto nods his head and hums and agreement.

“I’ll text the guys, then. Let’s go.”

“You need more furniture. Your apartment is naked.” Hanamaki picks up some of the gyoza he and Matsukawa made, settling on the floor beside Akaashi. “How do you get by?”

“I have furniture for my bedroom, a sofa, and a TV. What else do I need?” You shrug, sipping your drink.

“I don’t believe you. I still think you’re sleeping on the floor,” Iwaizumi announces, resting an ankle on top of his knee.

This again? You roll your eyes, unable to hide your amusement. “Do you want to see my room? Do you want proof?”

“I think proof would be great, actually.” Your jaw drops, and Iwaizumi starts laughing at your reaction. “I’m teasing.”

“No, come see it.” You push yourself onto your feet, taking your drink with you. “You want proof? Come see.”

Iwaizumi hesitates, slowly rising from his spot on the sofa. He falls into step behind you, his cup held close to his chest.

Your bedroom door hits the wall when you open it, leading him inside. “See? Bed, desk, dresser. It’s got everything I need! There’s even pictures on my walls.”

“Well, I stand corrected.” Iwaizumi raises his hands and steps further into your room, taking a closer look at the pictures on the walls. “Are these from Tokyo?” He glances back to catch you nodding. “Hey, there’s Tendou! Who’s that girl?”

“Alisa.” You take a seat on the edge of your bed, looking at the pictures on your wall. “She did-“

“Duos, yeah. I remember.” Iwaizumi takes a step back from the wall, clearing his throat and turning to look at you. When he sees your smile, he chuckles. “What?”

“I want to hear you say you were wrong.” You shrug, finishing what’s left in your cup.

“Seriously?” He wants to laugh at your joke but when he sees no falter in your expression, he sighs. “You were right and I was wrong. Better now?”

You nod your head, a smug smile. “Much better. I might trust you enough to lift me now.”

masterlist. previous | next

summary. when an unfortunate incident kicks you out of your university and risks your reputation as one of the top figures skater in the country, you find your place in sendai. but when you discover they only have one rink, designated to their a-league hockey team, your chance at a comeback slips from your grasp. your only in is with the captain of the hockey team. the issue with that? he couldn’t care less who you are.

He hums at your words, eyes still locked on his phone, trying to stay composed.

He wants to act like you’re not affecting him at all, but you catch it anyway — the way his thumb pauses for a split second, hovering over the screen before he continues scrolling like nothing happened.

“Katsuki, I’m bored,” you repeat.

“What does it have to do with me?” he replies in a flat, unimpressed tone.

“Well, you called me here.”

“No the hell I didn’t,” he rolls his eyes. “You invited yourself over. Like always.”

“You calling me here, me inviting myself — it’s the same thing,” you gesture vaguely.

“It literally isn’t,” he frowns at your logic.

“Whatever.”

Silence stretches between you two, as you watch him scroll through TikTok, completely ignoring you — and completely ignoring the position he’s ended up stuck in because of you.

He’s at the end of his bed, back pressed against the wooden table behind him, while you’re leaned into his side, cheek resting on his shoulder as if it is the most usual thing. His body is rigid, not matching how casual he is trying to act.

Minutes pass like that.

Then—

“Remember the last time I was here?” you suddenly ask.

He tenses instantly.

“…yeah,” he mutters, the answer too quick, followed by a fake cough like it might erase the crack in his voice.

His grip tightens slightly on his phone before he forces it to relax again.

“Wanna know something that happened after?”

“Do I have a choice?” he says, still not looking at you.

“C’mon, it’s really funny.”

“Just tell me.”

A devilish smile spreads across your face as you tilt your head, studying his profile, fully knowing you’re about to ruin his peace on purpose.

“That same night I also had a wet dream,” you say, voice light, almost teasing. “Isn’t that funny?”

For half a second, there’s nothing.

Then Katsuki’s face drops completely.

The phone slips from his hand, falling face down onto the surface between you.

His head snaps towards you fast as his lips part. His eyes widen in a way you’ve never seen before, like all of his usual cool disappeared. He is utterly taken aback by your words.

For a second, guilt pinches your chest, yet you quickly brush it off. In your defense, all of this is for his sake because he is clearly still thinking about your night together, but won’t admit it even if it gives him a hard time. So you decide to crack the door so he knows it’s okay to push it open.

“Funny?” he repeats, the word scraping out of his throat with a rough voice.

You don't say a word. You just look him in the eyes and offer a nod.

He shifts his weight, turning his entire body towards you in a second. The sudden change in his energy makes you instinctively lean back a bit, trying to reclaim some personal space.

“That shit,” he says, his voice dropping as he holds your gaze, “was anything but funny.”

“Oh, right. Maybe it wasn’t funny, but…” You pause, tapping a finger against your chin as if deeply lost in thought. “…hmm. Hot? Sexy?” you offer, flashing him a teasing smile.

He lets out a sharp scoff, his lips curling into an annoyed smirk.

“I wouldn't go that far,” he grunts, trying to take a jab at your ego.

You don't let it slide.

Instead, you raise an eyebrow and tilt your head to the side, letting a knowing look settle on your face. “Really? Because you seemed to be enjoying yourself quite a bit.”

“Don’t remember that,” he mutters, shrugging it off with a dismissive wave of his hand, acting as if it’s no big deal. As if he hasn’t been obsessing over it, thinking about it non-stop for the past few weeks.

“Liar.”

“Tell me what you dreamt.”

He completely ignores your provocation, dropping the question so suddenly it catches you off guard, apparently deciding he'd had enough of your bullshit.

Your eyes widen slightly, but the playful smirk remains on your lips. You honestly didn’t expect him to actually ask, but it seems you pushed him too far.

A slow, winning grin begins to spread across his face as he watches your reaction. It was small, barely there, but he caught it.

“You really want to know?” you ask, still trying to sound teasing.

“Yeah, we’ve got nothin’ better to do anyway,” he replies, a forced smile tugging at his lips. “And don’t be afraid to give details.” He squints at you, wondering what kind of lie you’ll come up with.

“But, Kats, it’s really explicit,” you continue, hoping to make him give up.

He lets out a mocking chuckle. “As explicit as me shoving my dick down your throat?”

“Oh,” you say, seizing the opportunity to deflect, “so you do remember.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he warns.

This time, there’s no escaping. He’s cornering you, his eyes reading every microexpression on your face. He knows you're spinning a story, but he wants to hear it anyway.

Left with no choice, you try to build on the lie, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I was at your place, and we started making out. Things got really heated... your hands were grabbing everywhere while I was riding your thigh. Then, while we were still kissing, my hand slipped inside your boxers. I gave you a handjob, but I didn’t let you come.” You swallow, trying to sound convincing. “I wanted you to do it inside me.”

He stays quiet.

But the way his jaw tightens gives away what he’s really feeling. You notice his fingers also curling into the sheets beneath him, yet you force yourself to keep talking.

“Then… we finally had sex. I was in your lap, riding you, while you held me close...”

He clears his throat.

“Still want it?” he asks vaguely, making you frown.

“What?”

His eyes finally meet yours.

“Me.” His voice comes out quieter this time. “Inside.”

The words hit you far harder than you expected.

Just a second ago, this was a stupid lie you were making up to get under his skin. Now it suddenly doesn't feel like a joke anymore.

Your throat goes dry and your stomach flips.

He's not asking about the dream.

He's asking about now.

“I...” Your voice falters for a second. You lick your lips before trying again. “I do.”

For a brief moment, he simply looks at you.

Then his hand drifts down to his waist.

Your eyes follow every movement as his fingers hook around his belt, slowly unbuckling it with a quiet click. He unbuttons his jeans and pulls the zipper down before slipping his hand inside, palming himself through the thin fabric of his boxers.

You can't look away.

“I want to do it,” you admit quietly.

His hand stills.

He looks back up at you with a gaze you can't quite decipher.

Then, after a brief pause, he gives a small nod.

Slowly, you reach out, sliding your palm between his muscular thighs. Your fingers wrap around him as you begin stroking him through the fabric. A low hiss escapes his lips. Katsuki leans back on his palms, watching you, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

“Who initiated the make-out session?” he asks, his voice already strained as your hand continues its steady rhythm.

“It was me,” you answer quickly, meeting his eyes.

A small, almost ironic smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Hah. Figures.”

He rolls his hips into your touch ever so slightly before looking back at you.

“C'mere.”

Taking the invitation, you shift closer, your knees framing his thighs as your free hand slides up his chest, fingers gripping the front of his shirt to pull him closer. Your lips hover over his until you finally close the gap.

His lips are parting instantly as his tongue drives past your lips, tangling with yours in a desperate rhythm. You tilt your head, shifting your weight to deepen the angle, swallowing the low groan that tears from his throat.

Even as the intensity of the kiss makes you dizzy, your hand between his thighs doesn't falter. You tighten your grip around his cock, your palm sliding up and down the dark fabric of his boxers in a relentless pace.

His hands rip away from the mattress, one wrapping firmly around the nape of your neck to keep you close to him, while his other hand digs into your hip, pulling your pelvis flush against his thigh.

A thin line of saliva drags between your lips when you pull back just a bit for air, but Katsuki immediately chases you as he seals his mouth over yours again, sucking your tongue back into his mouth.

He is completely gone at this point, caught between the kiss and the strokes of your hand between his legs. The small space fills with the smacks of your mouths, your moans combined, finally letting out the sexual tension that has been building between you for the past weeks.

When he tears his mouth away, panting heavily, he doesn't go far.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin as he trails a string of wet kisses down to your collarbone. Your hand keeps moving over his length, feeling the wet patch forming on the material of his boxers.

His entire body trembles under your touch. The friction is too much as Katsuki abruptly catches your wrist. He pulls your hand away from his boxers as he looks at you with blown-out pupils.

“F-fuck this,” he grunts, his voice completely wrecked.

His hands suddenly move from your hips to grab the hem of your shirt. He pulls it over your head so aggressively a seam pops, and you laugh at the sound of your clothes actually ripping because of him.

“Jesus, Katsuki,” you wheeze as you place your hands over his chest to keep your balance. “Slow down. You're acting like you’ve never actually done this before.”

Katsuki freezes at your words. He stares at you with a weird expression, remaining quiet for a few good seconds and an unexpected shade of red creeps up his neck, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, his usual loud arrogance suddenly gone. He looks away, refusing to meet your eyes. “Maybe I haven't. What about it?”

Your eyes widen, your heart doing a sudden flip in your chest. Yeah, next time when you hookup with your friends you should definitely ask them some details first.

The realization hits you fast, melting away all the playful malice from earlier. A sudden wave of emotion washes over you.

“Wait... really?” you ask, your voice softening. You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, forcing him to look back down at you. “Are you sure? Are you sure you want to do this... with me?”

Katsuki lets out a low sigh, leaning his face into your palm, then closes his eyes at the touch.

“Don't start getting all soft on me now,” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“No— it’s just…” you bit your lip, before talking again. “You know I lied I had a wet dream, right?”

“Of course I did, you’re a shitty liar,” his eyes lock onto yours again, brows pulled together in an annoyed frown. “And why the hell would I want anyone else?”

A warm, giddy feeling spreads through your chest. You smile at him as you nod.

“Okay,” you whisper, shifting your weight.

You place your hands on his broad shoulders, gently pushing him backwards. “In that case... lean back. Let me do my thing. I'll give you a show.”

Katsuki grunts, but obeys, sinking back onto the mattress and propping himself up slightly on his elbows. His gaze is heavy and completely fixed on how you unbutton your jeans, pulling them down your legs, before you straddle his lap again.

Your hand moves to his face, stroking his cheek then trace the side of his neck, as you move down to feel the muscles through his shirt.

Your then stop at the hem of his boxers and dip your fingers under the material. You finally drag it down his hips, gaining a sigh of relief from Katsuki as his cock finally springs free from the restraints.

His pink tip was already glistening in pre-cum, seeing it drip down his veiny sides. His lenght and thickness make you squirm in his lap, as your wet panties become more uncomfortable on you.

In a swift move you pull them aside, revealing your sticky, wet folds to him. You wrap your hand around his cock as you guide him near your entrance.

Slowly, you sink down his length, making sure to let him enjoy every second of your warmth. Everything was too hot and sensitive, making you both gasp simultaneously, as your breaths catch.

Katsuki’s hands fly to your hips, his fingers digging in deep to steady you as his head falls back against the soft pillows, a low groan tearing from his throat.

While you adjust to the big stretch, you watch him carefully, noticing the way his body reacts to you. His jaw is tight, the veins on his neck are a lot more pronounced, sweat already prickles at his forhead and his fingers grip you for dear life.

Once the tightness eases, you begin to move, setting a slow, agonizingly pace. The friction between your bodies creates a slick, wet sound that fills the quiet bedroom. You arch your back, riding him with controled movements, at first, rolling your hips and watching the way his eyes track your body, completely mesmerized.

Then, as you feel your knees get tired and the pleasure building inside your stomach, the movements get sloppier and messier.

Seeing this, Katsuki can’t just lie there anymore.

With a sudden surge of energy, he sits up, wrapping his huge arms around you and pulling you tightly against him. He buries his face in your chest, his mouth finding on of your breasts, sucking and biting your skin with desperate hunger. The sharp sensation sends a jolt straight to your core, making your head fall back at the sensation.

Katsuki moves his mouth to your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, his ragged breaths vibrating directly against your pulse point.

You can feel the tension in his muscles coiling tighter and tighter, his breathing turning into choked gasps. Seeing him so fucked out and vulnerable under you motivates you in the worst way possible. You wanted to ruin him completely.

“Fuck, I'm gonna—” he chokes out, his fingers bruising your hips as he locks you in place.

He doesn't pull out as he drives up into you one last time, his body going completely rigid beneath yours.

You feel the sudden, intense warmth spilling inside of you, filling you up as he cums deep within, his chest raising as he lets out a broken groan. His orgasm ties with yours, your walls clutching tightly around him as you both ride out the waves of the release, as if you don’t want it to end. You drag it at much as you can, riding him until your body gives out.

With one more stroke, you fall breathlessly against him, being welcomed by his sticky, hot skin and his warm breath hitting your cheek. Your eyes are half lidded, your hair is glued to your forehead and you feel his cum spilling out of your cunt and making a mess where your bodies connect.

“Fuck— this was…” you try to describe it, but you can’t really find the right word, probably because your brain is all mushy and you are completely intoxicated with his scent.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says on a raspy voice, but he doesn’t really know what he agrees to.

A few moments of silence pass.

Then— you suddenly let out a giggle, making him look at you confused.

“What’s so funny?” He flicks your forehead to catch you attention.

“The fact that all this started because you had a wet dream of me,” you say amused as you rub the spot he hit, totally unbothered.

He groans at your reply, dragging a hand over his face.

“Don’t even remind me. I have been through hell and back because of you.”

“But do you like the outcome?” you look for his gaze.

His red eyes lock into yours in an instant and a small smirk dances on his lips.

Where does this take you? Right back to a game of eye-tag so doused in tension that it feels like a physical strike to your nerves.

Unknowing of how he'd recently fallen victim to your budding attractions, your mystery man sat particularly independent and detached from the room surrounding him. The only thing that seemed to pluck him out of his perpetual state of aloofness was the persistent way in which a gaze landed on him.

The gaze in question being yours, of course.

You simply couldn't help yourself, especially after he’d gone out of his way to buy you a drink.

Though, despite him being the picture perfect image of your type, you weren’t about to let this kindling flame crackle and then die out too quickly. No, you much preferred when mutual interest like this played out nice ‘n slow.

Which is exactly why you let your eyes glide down to the silently offered drink, lift a manicured nail to the glass’s rim, and then create a mild bit of distance by pushing it away.

The glass coolly slides across the bar far enough to be received as you declining the beverage, and your mystery man of interest catches it immediately. You look up again just to make sure he was watching you and you’re left with a little jump in your heart as his tired eyes mull elsewhere.

Fear threatened to take over at the momentary loss of his attention, but your worry was quickly soothed as he looked at you again. Lifting that half-drunken glass of his, he lightly tips it your way with an understanding nod of his head, obliging to your rejection.

Now, most would assume that this is where things end between you both. He offered you a drink and you politely declined it, how can tension possibly still exist there?

Simple—if you’re someone that’s of true interest to him, he won’t exactly stop there.

Which is precisely why it's of no surprise when he moves to stand up.

You'd been sipping on something you'd ordered roughly thirty minutes ago before Shoko left you to network the dance floor, trying your best not to make it obvious that every smidge of your attention was trained onto a man whose name you hadn't even gotten yet. But with the way he carries himself, it was almost impossible to do so.

The moment he stood up seemed to make your centered attention worse off. He was noticeably over six feet, a trait of which you recognize from across the room as you let yourself watch how he absentmindedly lifts a hand to make an unnecessary adjustment to his tie.

The way he walked around the bar had people turning heads and bartenders exchanging glances as if to imply he hadn't moved from his previous spot for a while up until now.

An exit is located not too far off behind you, so part of you figured your singular rejection is exactly the thing that'd drive him into retiring for the night. Was this your intent or goal? No, not at all.

But you liked the thrill of clinging on to the wildly false sense of hope that dwindled about inside you. The same sense of hope that sparked your intuition and made it less of a surprise to see your mystery man round the bar and relocate himself a mere two barstools away from you.

You watched through your peripherals how he fit himself into his seat—the length of his legs angling beneath the bar, and his charcoal-colored suit sleeking darker under the new angle of the establishment's dim lighting.

With him being closer to you, it was hard not to turn your head to get a better look at him and all that he had to offer you visually. Then again everything involving this man and your will to do things threads on a very, very thin line—as you'll come to find out.

Five minutes—not that you're counting or anything—roll by before anything noteworthy occurs.

Unfortunately, it's of your own actions that bring interest back into the slowly rolling interaction-, er, lack thereof...

You look back into the moderately distant clumps of people in search of Shoko, wondering just what has kept her so occupied this long. Eventually you spot her talking to a rather timid man with glasses, his gaze hardly meeting hers due to the intimidation she exuded via maintaining completely undivided attention on him.

The sight makes you smile as you set your drink down and you take this as the perfect opportunity to steal a quick glance at your fairly quiet mystery man. He'd bought you a drink, you declined it, then he came over, and since then... things have been placid. Unwelcomely so.

Has it been your turn to make another silent move all this time? Or were you both waiting for something to just happen out of the blue?

When you move your eyes to him, you feel your heart lurch in your chest.

The man is already looking at you—or, more specifically—at your legs. His eyes traveled slowly along your thighs based on how much you had revealed, making an intentionally steady descent to your calves and around the curve of them, before eventually falling onto your heels. At that final stop, his brows twitch.

He doesn't make a face or anything like that, rendering you unable to figure out what was going through his head, but he does blink ever so slowly before making eye contact with you.

...Almost as if he knew you were watching him check you out.

You start to open your mouth to say something of the quirky variety but he beats you to it.

"You declined my drink," Rumbles off the expanse of his tongue like he'd been holding the words there for longer than he meant to. The throaty base in his voice has you inattentively crossing one leg over the other.

Which, he notices, of course.

There was music playing softly throughout the room but from the moment he opened that dangerously calm mouth of his, every other sound seemed irrelevant to your ears.

Now that a conversation had finally presented itself, you had an excuse to take in every feature he had. His eyes are naturally wide in a way that should feel hollow or empty, yet does the exact opposite somehow. There's a richness lounging around in his irises, the outskirts of them indicating nights and nights lacking sleep, and the dull way in which he drags his gaze everywhere telling you that being tired is a trait he may have been born with.

All of which have you so utterly intrigued.

"I did," finally exits you, and for a split second his face dares to show emotion. An unspoken battle of attentiveness waged between you both, evident his mild reaction to hearing you for the first time. Someone could walk by and see or feel the tension already blooming between the two of you.

The man patiently waits for you to grant him with more of a response than that, eyeing how you move your hand towards the drink he purchased for you.

Your nail lightly taps against the rim and your shoulders rise to shrug, "Buying a woman a drink from across the room without even saying hello feels a bit lazy to me, sorry."

He doesn't smile at that but the corners of his mouth involuntarily move. A faint scoff leaves his nose, "I see." He murmurs, making it clear he wasn't exactly a man of many words. "Is that your type, then? A man who approaches you directly?"

Things had only just begun and the dynamic had you reeling in your seat already. Turning to face him a little more, "Depends," Your head tilts and you send him a grin, "Is that you?"

"Could be.” He offers suavely, “I've approached you, haven't I?"

You hum, tapping at that idle glass of rejection again before returning to your own cup, "Only after I've declined your drink."

He appears unimpressed by your response, eyes leaving your face and moving to your hand, "You didn't answer my question."

"I thought it rhetorical." You bite back.

His lips twitch again, "It wasn't."

Something about the blunt end of his statement has you unable to lessen your attraction for him. You liked how he was carrying himself through this conversation so far.

Sighing, "...Obviously, you've approached me."

He notes the sass in your tone but doesn’t address it in the slightest. Instead meeting you with some of his own, "Then that makes me your type, no?"

Before you can answer that, he slowly leans over with his arm extending out. You thought he was about to offer his hand to shake but it amply moves past you and plucks up the same drink you denied moments earlier. Bringing it to his lips, you’re left to watch him turn his head to the side as he sips.

And that—whether it be intentional or not—has your mind set on how you want this night to go. This stranger had already been your type in terms of perpetually presented exhaustion, a drawling voice, and calculated way of speaking but his most redeemable quality was undoubtedly his nose.

Oh fuck, it was beautiful. The gorgeously arching curve had your eyes stuck in place. You didn’t want to stare at it but shit, you didn’t realize how big it was up until now.

In the casual manner he goes about drinking, you wonder if he even realizes the sex symbolistic quality shaping his face.

Your lashes bat and your words nearly come drooling out of you, "I don't even know your name."

God, you hope it wasn’t obvious that he’d you exactly where he wanted you already.

"I don't recall you asking for it." He hums gravely.

It’s like he’d written out a response for everything hours before even approaching you! Or, perhaps he’d exchanged this set of dialogue before. Maybe you weren’t leaving the stand-outish impression you’d hoped to.

Instead of playing into his game, you take matters back into your hands, "Is that your type, then?” You mock with the slightest smirk on your face, “ A woman who shows interest immediately after you've approached her?"

"No,” Fuck. Of course he had a response prepared for this as well, “I prefer a woman who can't keep her eyes off of me, and then plays coy once confronted about it."

You scoff, "I'm not playing coy."

"It's cute how you didn't deny the first part.” He finally grins, albeit small. Then he makes eye contact with you again and lifts his brows, “Was that intentional?"

"Very." You claim.

...Just who exactly was playing into who's hand now?

There’s a small beat of suspense that splays out between you, but he eventually breaks it before you do.

"Higuruma Hiromi." He finally tells you, splitting his keen attention to return to his drinking.

You offer your name politely in return and then add, "I like how I didn't have to ask for it."

The exchange of names has him loosened up more than the alcohol. You see it in how he becomes a bit more telling in his expressions and body language. 

Higuruma shrugs, "You should never have to."

"Almost seemed like you wanted me to," You fire right back.

He can’t help but smile for the first time, thinking he was quick with his words but noticing you’re becoming quicker. "No? I'm your type, remember?” He teases, turning his head to scan the bar, “I know how you like a direct approach."

You wanted to hate how smooth he was but unfortunately it was only worsening the existing attraction you felt for him. He was supposed to approach you and say something corny like most men do—y’know, struggle to finalize your interest and completely squash whatever fantasized version of them you had in your head.

Yet, Higuruma was the exact opposite. He exceeded your prospects and then fucked a throbbing new reality right into your fantasies. 

That can’t be fair, can it?

"Alright,” You finally breathe out, feeling sick of how things are only getting worse for you. “So did you buy me a drink for the banter or are you interested in something more?" You ask.

Higuruma leans forward toward the bar and moves to rest his cheek against his knuckles as he looks at you, "Are you denying me the option of both already?"

"You didn't answer my question." You mock again.

Something on him twitches but it’s not his mouth this time. He distracts you from it with a kinder expression, "I'm interested in both."

Your brows raise, "So you expected the banter then."

"Not at all," Higuruma chuckles faintly. "My expectations were nonexistent, considering I prefer to be surprised."

You lean toward him a little, your dress shifting against your body and tempting him to dip his gaze elsewhere. Then you’ve the nerve to bat your lashes at him, "And how did I do? Are you surprised by my wit?" You joke.

Luckily it lands with another smile coming your way, "I'm surprised by you, period. Mainly because this is my first time seeing you here."

"I'm on a vacation trip with my friend," You hum, glancing and pointing back at Shoko.

Higuruma’s eyes follow before he nods at your spotted friend, "Ah, I see."

“And I'm assuming you come here often?" You ask, feeling happy to keep the casual conversation going.

He looks at you again, "More than I care to admit, yes."

"Mh." You squint skeptically at that, "Demanding job?"

If his answer turns out to be yes then it would all make sense. He looks tired, he’s still fully dressed in a suit, and he’s on his third drink of the night. 

"Yeah, I’m a lawyer.” Figures. “What gave it away?" Higuruma asks.

You gesture at his face playfully, "A little bit of everything."

He chuckles, "I get that a lot.” Then, he finally sets his glass back down and sits up a little straighter, intent on showing you that you have his undivided attention now.

As it stands, the two of you know so very little about one another. The only thing inherently obvious between you both is that you’re deathly attracted to each other.

A mutual comfort of sorts settles in between you and Higuruma, evident in how things felt moderately different now. The small talk had been nice and all, but it was overtly obvious that you both wanted much more than to pass time with words that’d surely be forgotten come the next morning.

Which is exactly why you run your eyes over the man one last appreciative time and let your head tip to the side as you say, "It's my last night here."

The sound of that has his brows perking up in interest, "You wanna make it worth something?"

"How so?" You shoot back.

Higuruma quips lightly, "Answer my question without another question and you'll find out."

You smile and finally concede, "Yeah, I wanna make it worth something…”

——

Which is roughly how you end up in the backseat of his car—his personal driver ahead pretending not to hear the heavy pants and breathy moans leaving the two of you.

You hardly remember how you got from one place to another. One second the two of you were drunkenly locking lips at the bar, and the next you were unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing on top of him after growing too needy to wait for the ride to be over.

The two of you were on your way to—what you assume to be—his place and while your concern for leaving out with a complete stranger should’ve been present, it wasn’t. Instead, the only thing concerning you was the way your dress slid up your thighs and over the curve of your ass via needy shoves from Higuruma’s big hands.

His grasp had been careful when it first met you in the bar—initially treating you all delicate-like as he cupped your jaw and pulled you in slowly for that first kiss. Then it’d traveled to the back of your neck, tugged you in to deepen the kiss, and ultimately ended up where it is now: tracing the skin of your thighs and bundling the fabric of your dress up, up, up! until your lacy panties were revealed.

One quick peek from his poor driver ahead and he’d surely be flashed by the sight of your underwear. Not that you were sober enough to care.

Higuruma’s fingertip dug into your thighs with a certain fixation for them, hauling your body impossibly closer to his own and prompting a proper grind against his clothed cock so you could feel exactly what you’d done to him thus far. It was enough to have you gasping into his mouth, your sounds swallowed up by his desperate kisses and the searing swats of his tongue that accompanied them.

Your arms were slung around his neck loosely and you couldn’t help how your hips bucked against him—the fabric of your panties clinging to your wet cunt as you ground a particularly soaked spot into his dark slacks.

"You want me now?" Higuruma scoffs into your mouth as if to scold you. Smirking before you can even answer and tonguing his next words into you, "Are you like this often? Throwing yourself on top of strangers and begging for them to touch you? Hm?"

When he pulls away, you’re given but one second to gasp as his head dips down and his nose brushes against your jawline—the sound of him inhaling your very scent giving you a short chill down your spine.

You manage a cheeky smile as you thread a hand into his hair and ruffle the strands in between your fingers, "If I say no, would you even believe me?"

His lips plaster the right side of your neck in hot kisses before he whispers, "Depends on how convincing you make it sound."

You push him back softly and his body rocks along with the movement, hands growing tighter at your hips. There’s a prominent twitch from his cock just under you at your sudden assertiveness, and the way you two meet eyes is downright filthy. Whatever visual chase you’d done earlier couldn’t possibly compare to the way you both just eye-fucked one another.

Breaking the moment, you lean to his ear, "No, Higu, I don't throw myself at people like this.” Your hands shift down and you start plucking a few of his clothes off—starting with his tie and trying to make your way down to his belt, “But, it's like I said earlier, tonight's my last night here and I wanna make it count. Sue me."

He chuckles at that, "Careful, sweetheart.” 

You’ve no idea if he was warning you about your words or the fact that your touch is trekking dangerously close to his erection. 

Your wonder is satisfied a mere second later as he adds, “I just might."

With a roll of your eyes, "Gross, does dirty talk with all lawyers sound like that?" You groan, finally pulling his belt free from the loops and tossing it to the side.

The sound of it clattering against the vacant seat has the driver up ahead—who's name you caught as Shiu Kong—peering into the rear view mirror. 

"It was a joke,” Higuruma responds to you lowly, a couple of his fingers slipping under the lace of your panties at your hip.

You scoff playfully, “A corny one.”

“You smiled.” He bites back.

Shaking your head this time, your gaze slips down to watch yourself unbutton his pants as you snort, “Jokes are meant to be laughed at.”

You barely get to unzip him before he says, “And you’re meant to be moaning by now.” 

Just like that, your attention is stripped from the task at hand (literally), and you’re meeting eyes with him all over again. It was clear he didn’t want to waste what little time he had with you. 

Thus leading you to match his energy as you always do, arching a brow and leaning in a little closer, “So make it happen.”

“Needy girl.”

——

Between the luxury car and penthouse you soon end up in, you hardly remember a pure thought ringing throughout your head. The entire ride had been filled with dry humping hot enough to have the two of you drooling into one another’s mouth, and it was like you’d blinked before you were being tossed onto some bed.

Items of Higuruma’s suit and your dress decorated the hallway leading up to his room, and the few remaining pieces of fabric between your bare skin and his was currently being glared at by a patently prurient pair of eyes. 

During the ride here, Higuruma had muttered something filthy into your ear about how he loooves making women like you feel good. Obviously you were too wrapped up in your own aroused brain to realize this was a warning of sorts.

The thing is, Higuruma was not your average eater. He didn't treat oral sex like foreplay or a thing to be done out of convenience, but he catered to the act as if it were an art to be studied and thoroughly executed.

You, (un)fortunately learn this the hard way.

After being not-so-patiently tossed onto a plush set of sheets, large, grabby hands met the underside of your thighs and were quick to sprawl your legs apart. Then Higuruma was settling himself in between them, uncaring of how hard he was and wanting-, no, needing only one thing from you at present.

You severely underestimated how infatuated a man could be with eating you out until you met Higuruma.

The gentleman was so utterly craving that he didn't even bother pushing your panties to the side. His lips met the fabric with ease, and you were left to watch him with slightly furrowed brows as he tongued through them to gather the first taste of you onto his rather famished tongue.

The first noise you let out was nothing short of embarrassing given that you flinched like a woman who hadn't been touched in months. Higuruma comforts you with a sound of his own though—a throaty groan vibrating directly in between your puffy folds in response to the teasing taste of you greeting the center of his oral muscle.

A long stripe of salivating sin swipes up all crookedly against your panty-clad cunt as he takes his sweet time figuring out how he wants to go about devouring you tonight.

When a proper dribble of your aroused slick enters his throat with one slippery descent, Higuruma's lashes begin to flutter as if heaven itself just met his taste buds in liquified fashion. Then he moans against you, a sneaky whine laced somewhere in between the desperate sound.

His hands grip the skin of your thighs and he pushes your legs out impossibly wider—like you hadn't been spread enough already! The little gasp you let out in reaction to being stretched so widely goes through one ear and out the other with the way Higuruma lets the entirety of his mouth cup your pussy before giving it a firm suck.

You thought having your panties on would be uncomfortable for you but you quickly found that it was the exact opposite with him. He'd suckled your taste hard enough to pull the fabric up into his mouth for a second, lifting his head a little and letting space grow between your now outstretched panties and your glistening cunt.

Then a cold brush of air would slip through said space and you'd shudder just to feel your underwear wetly slap! back down against you.

It was then that your hand shot down to his hair and your hips lightly rolled up for more. You felt the corner of his lips curl up to smirk as he continued with his oral motions.

At some point you get the feel that he's just taunting and your impatience gets the better of you, causing you to use your grip on his hair to push his face a little harder against your cunt.

Higuruma's hips buck against the bed hard enough to rock the entire frame at that as he lets something filthy exit his throat. Then you feel his smirk widening out into a smile before his eyes peek up at you. His tongue glides right and finally shifts under your panties for a moment, languidly licking at the lip he's met with there.

"Higuuu," You try crying out in an honest attempt for him to quit it with the teasing.

As if encouraged by the sound, his tongue simply begins to dip at the outskirts of your pussy. A thumb comes over smoothly to peel the rest of that lacy fabric out the way, and you hear him breath out something of awe at the raw sight of you.

Your poor cunt was sooo swollen from all the sucking and wet kisses he'd given you for the past however many minutes. If the sight didn't have his cock slobbering against his boxers then perhaps he'd feel bad.

With one more adjustment of his positioning, Higuruma moves his hands to your hips and then pulls you a little closer before he dives in nose first. The tip of it peppers a couple kisses around your clit just to feel the way your neglected nub twitches at the first bit of contact, and you feel a fat glob of spit meet your entrance.

The plump pad of his thumb pucks at your weepy hole a couple times before you hear him whisper, "Such a pretty lil' thing, fuuck."

Then he angles his face and you watch the whorish display of him lathering the bumpy ridge of his nose with all your profoundly drooling slick, his mouth returning to taste you directly for the first time.

Once he gets a full taste of you, he doesn't stop until he's satisfied—your gorgeous string of whines 'n moans drowned out into the air and battling for volume against the sloshy shlicks! coming from your cunt as Higuruma does what he'd been dying to do from the moment he first met eyes with you that night.

The feel of you against is tongue is something he just can't get enough of, his mouth is moving haphazardly along your slit to work your drenched folds further apart.

Then comes his thiiiick fingers, which work your insides out steadily in scissors-like motions. You feel him prodding against spots you weren't even aware you had, promoting the prettiest arch in your back as your body uncontrollably squirms against the bed to escape him.

Your breath had run from you many moments ago and you struggled to capture it back into your lungs, much too wrapped up in the pleasure thrumming all throughout your body.

Higuruma's a feral eater but he's neat with it, making sure none of your delectable slick escapes the jail of his mouth, and thoroughly pursuing any slips that dare to trickle elsewhere.

It's not until after your fourth or fifth orgasm—coaxed via his tongue alone—that you feel your legs turning to mush, jittery shakes noticeable as you use that grip on his hair to tug and then push at him all confusedly. You were at a point where you didn't even know what you wanted anymore. On one hand, his mouth was absolutely perfect against you, but on the other hand, you couldn't quite take it anymore.

Your whines were of pleas to convince him to give you a break yet your hips insouciantly bucked up at his face. And fuck if all of it didn't drive Higuruma mad.

Nothing could top watching you lose yourself in the pleasure he was able to give you.

Well, except for you giving him a rather rude shove just as his tongue flicks over your overstimulated clit. The exhale you release is one of near exhaustion but he only takes that as encouragement.

Grabbing at your wrist and lifting his head away from your cunt for the first time in a while, his eyes meet yours with a perfectly ticked-off glare, “As much as I love your hands on me, gorgeous, you’re interrupting my meal.” His tone is low and raspy in a way that shows his vocal cords have been well saturated with your taste.

The moment of grace you're given directly after only comes because Higuruma is busy snatching the loose tie that's been hanging around his neck off, and then lifting over you and taking the both of your hands into his grasp. Crossing your wrists with one another, your lashes are cutely flopping whilst you peer up at him with pleasureful tears coating your waterline.

A few minutes later and you find your wrists tied up over your head 'n anchored to the bed.

Your voice comes out all shaky, "H-Haven’t you had enough?”

His eyes lazy flick up to you and for the first time, he crack a crooked, but genuine smile. Cocking his head to the left, "No one’s ever eaten you out properly, huh?” He asks as if he already knew it to be a fact.

Blinking, “…What gave you that impression?” You huff.

Higuruma scoffs and looks back down at the sopping spread of your pussy, admiring the way your slick oozes out of you in pretty glimmers. Before losing his train of thought, “The dumb question you just asked.” He soon shoots back to you.

Your brows furrow, “Hiro—“ Before the rest of his name can finish its departure from your tongue, he's diving back in and you're left moaning all over again, “F-Fuuck!”

The man was no longer eating you out as if starved, no. He was now feasting upon your sloppy folds with a prideful passion of greed guiding ever nasty swipe of his tongue.

It wasn't long before his fingers joined back into the fun, stuffing you nice 'n full to prepare you for the next way in which greed would express itself into you.

Through the entire time he spent satisfying his oral fixation for you, his poor, fat, neglected cock was left to sob out something creamy down below. His balls ached from the lack of stimulation but fuuuck if he wasn't gonna prioritize his cravings over what his body claimed it needed.

When he finally lets his head fly back—after watching you fall apart on his mouth for the nth time of the night—you see as he pants, as if he was the one who'd just been slut out on a mere finger and tongue combo.

Casually muttering, “I think she’s ready for me now," as he shifts back to sit on his heels and works the weight of his cock out from the damped fabric it's been confined in all this time.

Your head shakes slightly but your cunt is busy twitching with readiness—clearly matching his greed with some of her own. “I don’t think I can…" You tell him while he comes up to untie you. Never quite finishing your sentence, you end it off with a sheepish, "Hiromi...” to gain his attention on you.

As if it had ever left to begin with...

He arches a thick brow your way, “You don’t think you can, what?" Another cocky smile is bearing across his lips, "You talked such a big game earlier. Surely a little foreplay hasn’t worn you out already.”

Foreplay?? He just ate you out for two hours!!

At that, you roll your eyes and playfully scoff, “Oh, fuck you.”

He hums, “You’re about to,” and then slots a wet hand to your hip, tapping slightly with his instructions of, "Flip over.”

You do exactly that with utmost swiftness. No matter how many pouts you sent him or how bratty your words were, your body couldn't deny the incessant desire for him. That feeling has been buzzing through you all night and now was not the time to try 'n ignore it.

“Oh fuck,” Higuruma lightly smacks your ass as you roll over, helping you to get in position as he throws a leg over you and sandwiches your limbs together. Grinning at how ruined you are for him already, “S'this your type too? Having a stranger's big cock stretch you open jus' right after a long day? Hm?"

You're drooling from every hole already—reduced to nothing more than a wet, needy mess of a woman below the man you met only a few hours ago.

If he'd mentioned anything personal to you between the bar and now, you wouldn't be able to remember it by tomorrow. But the way he fucks? Oh, you'd be remembering that for weeks to come.

And how could you not? There's nothing more memorable than the swollen, plump rounds of his cockhead smearing in between your puffed pussylips—sweetly streeetching you open to take the rest of his length.

"Yesss, Higu'." Your voice is immediately moaned into a pillow as the soft material smushes against your face, back arching some. "This is my type t-too.. hahh, I love it."

You're obviously just babbling whatever you can in agreement with him, but he couldn't much care.

With a firm thrust of his hips, his cock slides in deep and you're biting down at the pillow already due to his raunchy tip slathering in a messy greeting. “God, you’re nasty.” He huffs out a breathless little chuckle, already losing his own mind from the warmth that's currently swallowing him, “I think I like that about you.”

“Mnngh-, y-you just like how good I feel.” You say back to him, feeling one hand hold your hip to lift it up a few centimeters as the other presses into the slope of your spine.

The arch he forces you into is just filthy and you're almost annoyed by how snuggly his cock fits because of it. Your salivating walls twitch and throb out to his shape, folds kissing his wide base with him just nesting in place for a moment.

He snorts, “No, I like this—how bratty you pretend to be.” Then his hand kindly flies up to the back of your head so he can shove your face down, and his hips are reeling back.

Shit.

Fingers slot through your hair just to grip at you nicely and his cock pivots left inside you, “All that talk just to get a good fucking as if a simple please wouldn’t have brought you the same results.”

“Hiro,” You moan breathlessly, fingers dug into the sheets for support and toes curling up as mindless pleasure washing over you in hefty waves.

“Ohhh, I know, I knowww, sweet girl.” He coos with a condescension that has you spilling glossy gushes around the thick of his shaft, each spill decorating his thumping veins. “Don’t cry like that, I’m just givin’ you what you wanted. You wanted me to fuck you like this, didn’t you?”

The weight of Higuruma comes over you next, smothering you into the mattress and having your entire body jump involuntarily. You don't know whether or not you cum or cry because of it, but either way your reaction is adding a certain wetness to the situation.

Then you're just nodding in an all too fucked-out manner, “M-Mhmmm.”

“Mhmmm, yeahhh, you did.” He mocks, hips rocking down into you tenderly so he can stir up your insides jus' right, “Now tell me it feels good—tell me it feels good to get what you wanted, c’monnn.”

Higuruma's words of encouragement are enough to make your mind go blank, “I-It feels s’good Hiro,” His thrust gets unintentionally sharper and you're still going, “Ngh! You feel s’good.”

“So do you,” His voice gets louder with base as the heat of his mouth slanders against the crown of your ear, “I’m tempted not to let you go.”

Him being addicted to you was the one thing both of you wanted to avoid, but the heat of the moment got the better of you and he feels how your pussy hugs him in reaction.

Licking at your skin, "You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He whispers.

“Uhuhhh.” You nod again.

“Use your words, hun. I can’t understand you when you mumble.” Fuck, you don't think you'll be lasting the number of rounds he had planned for you if he continues to speak like that. “C’mon, talk to me all pretty like you have been all night.”

“Yes, Hiromi.” You eventually mewl, “I-I’d love it if you-, ah! didn’t let me go.”

“Fuck, you’re so good for me.” He praises huskily, dick achingly hard within the sleek confines of your cunt, "Bet you want me to keep you around after this, just so you can get the cock you deserve whenever you want it, huh?"

Your body tries to inch away from the strong roll of his hips and how soppily his cockhead is lapping against your sweet spot, "Ohmygod," He easily follows your chaste movements by bucking into you. "M'gonna cum Hiromi."

His bottom lip pokes out to pout, "Aww, again? A little bit of talking really gets you there like this?" He asks as if he's not right there with you, his fat balls taut with the need to pump something sinful into you.

You're a complete mess and your mind is going all blank on you, "M-Mhm."

"M-Mhmmm," He mocks again, "My poor baby, when's the last time you were fucked properly?"

Cunt fluttering around him, "I-I don't-"

"Shhh, not you." A bulky arm comes wrapping around your frantically twitching frame and two fingers suddenly slide right into your gaping mouth. Voice still hot against your ear, his other arm snakes down so he can tap at your clit, "M'talking to my pretty girl down here."

And that is all it takes for you to choke on his fingers as you leave a splashing mess on him, eyes rolling back, back, back! until only the whites are showing.

Higuruma fucks you good. Talking right through your every orgasm as if he had no idea how to shut that filthy mouth of his, cooing and mocking you all through each mess.

You'd hadn't been fucked that good in so long, you're pretty sure you were the first one to tap out not too long after leaving a squirting slob of cum on him.

And Higuruma, ever the cunt-connoisseur, made sure to end the night by "lightly" licking you clean.

During that act is when you actually fall asleep and he's pretty sure you're the kinda woman he'll be thinking about for a while after this.

You may not have kept up with him fully—at least not to his standards of doing so—but he does appreciate how you allowed him the opportunity to slut you out exactly as he'd hoped to!

——

The morning after was nothing short of a blur. 

You departed without giving Higuruma much of a goodbye, but you’re hoping the little note you left with your phone number attached to it will be enough. Part of you felt bad knowing that he’d be waking up to a half empty bed—considering that’s definitely not what he fell asleep in—but the other part of you felt as though Higuruma may appreciate the lack of you in his arms, per not wanting to get too attached.

And bearing in mind the way things play out for you going forward, you’re sure the latter of your preferences are closer to validation.

Shoko had a field day upon hearing you recount your details of the night as you two exchanged stories during the flight, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself right back home.

The first day back to reality was a painful reminder of why you’d left in the first place. 

Walking into the lobby of your family’s company building for the first time in weeks was dreadful, to say the least. Employees greet you all politely as you pass, but their heads only dip in automatic acknowledgement of the chairman’s daughter—aka, you. It’s a fake routine you’ve grown both accustomed to and very tired of. 

Nothing real ever comes from these small interactions and the majority of the people in this building view you as some sort of pawn in your parent’s game. Which, unfortunately, is exactly what you come to find out you are.

You made way towards the elevator and mashed the button for the thirtieth floor, shutting your eyes for a moment to collect yourself and get your thoughts back into that working mindset. Your phone buzzed against your palm with a message from your father’s assistant, urging you to make your way to his office a little faster.

A sigh escapes you and with each floor you pass, you feel the weight of impending doom press into your shoulders. You'd hardly been home for more than twenty-four hours and you already wished you were back on vacation.

When the elevator doors finally open to your designated floor, the hallway outside your father's office is quietly expecting you. His assistant shoots up from her desk immediately.

"Miss," She greets ever so politely, a tremor of nerves caught in her voice as she does so. "He asked that you come in right away."

You wave a hand her way and let an unimpressed smile carve itself into your face, "I got your text, thanks."

You watch as she hurries over to the door and knocks once before peaking in to announce your arrival to the room. After which, you step right inside and watch your father's assistant give you nervous eyes just before the door shuts behind you.

As the soft click serves as the only sound in the room, you turn your attention elsewhere and immediately realize something is off.

Your father's seated behind his desk with his hands neatly folded together, a composed expression you only see when he's conducting board meetings plastered across his face.

In your head, you wondered if that was any way to greet one's child after not seeing them for a few weeks, but you suppose your father has never really viewed you as such. You've always been less of a daughter to him and more of a strategic asset liable to be moved at any point in time, for the betterment of the company.

While harsh, you—and everyone else around you—knew it to be true.

Before you or your father could greet one another outside of distasteful looks, the sight of some blonde man sitting in front of his desk makes your brows twinge up some more. You thought it weird that you were called here in such a hurry just for someone else to be there as well.

Your father notices where your eyes have gone and just as you open your mouth to say something, he's cutting you off with a gesture towards the empty chair beside the blonde stranger, "Sit down."

Whatever this was, you hated it already.

Not that your feelings stop you from doing as you're told, considering it was much too early to start an argument. The moment you seat yourself, you turn your head to get a better look at the man next to you.

Safe to say, you've never seen him before.

He seems tall, he's got these broad shoulders that are concealed only by the tailoring of his tan suit, and his facial features are sharper than ever. A fawning pair of brown eyes glance your way and gently meet yours, matching the concern and confusion etched into you.

It was clear that you weren't the only one curious about this sudden meeting.

"I've called you in here because there's an important matter we need to discuss regarding the future of the company," Your father says, snatching both the blonde man's attention and your own all in one go.

His statement is enough to have you feeling nervous but you do your best to steel your emotions until the real bullshit comes flying out of his mouth like you know it will soon.

Continuing on in that tiresome drawl, he looks directly at you, "As you know, our company has been in negotiations for several months with another firm concerning a potential merger."

You can't do much except nod your head slowly, "Right.."

Your father gestures to the man beside you, "This is Nanami Kento."

On queue, Nanami looks your way again and then moves his hand out for you to shake, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Unfortunately for him and the respectfully offered handshake, you decline it rather rudely. Looking down at his open hand and then turning back to your father with a cocked brow. "And?" You ask, ready to get to the point of this meeting.

Nanami's hand remains outstretched for an awkward moment before he retracts it, pursing his lips together at the feel of embarrassment washing over him. Had he made such a bad impression on you already?

"The Nanami Group has agreed to the merger," Your father finally gets out, leading to your brows lifting in surprise.

Well, now you felt bad for declining the handshake...

"Oh." Glancing at Nanami again, you have a softer expression on your face as you go to apologize. "That's wonderful, I'm—"

You're cut off by the slow addition of, "On one condition." soothing into the air.

Your head whips back into your father's direction and whatever expression of excitement you had, drops with utmost quickness. "What condition?" You ask with a pointed look.

His eyes shoot down to his desk as if to avoid yours. "You're to marry him," He responds shortly, gesturing to Nanami as he speaks.

Aaaand there it was! The bandaid had finally been ripped off.

For a moment, you swear you heard the old man wrong. Surely he didn't just say you have to marry the man you just met less than five minutes ago?

"...Pardon?" You breathe out.

Your father maintains that eerie calmness of his, "The union between our families will solidify the partnership between our companies."

Some of his words mull through one ear and out the other because you're too busy trying to figure out whether or not this was really happening to you. 

The man who raised you was actively informing you that he'd basically sold you off for the amelioration of the family company.

You only manage to tune back into what he’s saying when he finds the gall to hum, "The merger between our families will then be finalized after the marriage produces an heir."

Across the desk, Nanami shifts slightly in his chair as he chokes—a clear sign that the conversation had become uncomfortable for someone other than just you.

Meanwhile, you manage yet another scoff, "You're joking."

"Not at all," Your father chirps, "The boards of both companies felt it would ensure a lasting partnership between our two families."

"Oh okay, so not only am I being married off," You begin slowly, "But I'm also expected to start producing corporate successors? I'm to be married and bred, all in one go."

You watch the way he rolls his eyes and gestures a hand out to wave, diminishing both your words and your feelings, "You make it sound so harsh. This agreement merely ensures stability between both families.” He claims before adding, “A-And you've already agreed to it.”

The stammer in his voice told you more than enough. You knew right then that whatever agreement he was referring to was probably born out of some form of manipulation or miscommunication.

Blinking, "I beg your finest pardon?"

A document is slid your way just as your question finishes off.

"Years ago,” Your father nods, “During the board's succession program. You remember.”

No the fuck you don’t.

Well, you do. But you definitely don’t recall signing your consent to this arrangement.

You know what he’s talking about took place when you’d first joined the family business but, at the time, he’d told you that the documents you were signing was "standard procedure for future executives in family companies"

Now you're seeing that this wasn't the case at all.

Silly you for thinking it was all just meaningless paperwork.

As you snatch up the document, you notice your signature sitting clear as day across the bottom. Shaking your head, "Nowhere on this does it say that I'm supposed to be—"

"Clause seventeen." Your father directs.

Your eyes narrow as they flock there immediately.

In the event that the chairman determines a strategic marital alliance beneficial to the company, the undersigned consents to participate in such union for the purpose of securing corporate stability and lineage...

Your gaze stops for a moment, jaw agape and heart clenching up in your chest. Especially as you continue reading to see that it only gets worse.

...The parties involved acknowledge the expectation of producing a direct heir to reinforce the partnership between two family entities.

"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me." You scoff.

"Language." Your bastard of a father has the nerve to scold, leaning back in his chair with a casual creak. Shrugging, "You signed it willingly."

That sentence alone is enough to start an argument between the two of you that stretches on for at least thirty minutes. All of which Nanami sits there listening rather uncomfortably due to feeling like he’s overhearing things he really shouldn’t be.

You bring up past family issues and the current relationship between your mother and father—scolding the old man for doing the same thing to you as was done to him years ago. Arranged marriages shouldn’t be some type of tradition in your family but with the way things are looking now, that seems to be what was becoming of it.

Despite his discomfort, Nanami sits there in awe of you. When his parents informed him that he’d be marrying a woman he’d never met, he didn’t even think to argue with them the way you are with your father now.

And he hadn’t even seen you yet!

Part of him supposes that’s because he was raised differently than you—having been told from a young age that his role in his family matters little to nothing if the future of their company isn’t his top priority. Whatever childhood dreams he had were crushed a long time ago and replaced with only the thought of doing what’s best for the company, even if that now meant marrying a woman he knew nothing about.

But seeing you now…

Nanami knew then that knowing nothing about you wouldn't matter much longer. The mix of passion and honest frustration you so openly expressed towards your father directly in front of him was nothing short of endearing to the blonde witness.

And by the time you flung that signed document back into your father’s face and went storming out the room, Nanami was certain he’d fall for you even if you swore never to look his way.

Which is why he shoots up to his feet just as the door slams behind you, ignoring the way your father murmurs something to him about not bothering to chase after you, and giving the man a curt nod before doing exactly that.

As Nanami opens the door, he spots you making way for the elevator and does his best to keep up with you without looking like he intended to follow you (even though he did).

Like a lost puppy of sorts, he trails behind you and enters the elevator alone with you just before the doors begin to shut.

His eyes fall to the way you’re mashing at the button to another floor—trying not to chuckle at the way you accidentally press seven other buttons to various floors in the process. His posture stiffens up as you side eye him sharp enough for him to feel it, and he worries that following you in here may not have been in his best interest.

…Even though he wanted to speak to you after witnessing everything.

Lifting a fist to his lips, Nanami clears his throat. The elevator begins its slow, creaky descent and he keeps his gaze fixated straight ahead as he breaks the silence, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t pity me,” You breathe out without thinking, immediately regretting the harshness of your voice. 

His shoulders tense up at how immediate your response was, heart skipping a beat now that your aggravations were being directed towards him. Even his face was getting warm like you’d complimented him or something.

A quiet moment passes before you slowly release a sigh, “While it’s appreciated, I’m afraid your sorry is worth nothing to me.”

Nanami nods, “Understood.” His single word of comprehension soothes your nerves over juuuust a tad. Then, he glances over to you—appreciating the side of your face, “I hope you know I had as much control in this as you did.”

You didn’t have any control in this—obviously—so his words provided a light sense of comfort to you. Meeting his gaze, you lift a brow at him, “Your parents see you as a means for breeding just as mine do, I’m assuming?”

His mouth opens but you watch the way they twitch as your bluntness throws him off. Clearing his throat again, his eyes darted off, “That’s uh… That’s one way to put it.”

“Well,” You huff, turning to face forward, “At least I’m not alone in that regard.”

Nanami doesn’t say it, but he hopes to find more regards to comfort you in as time passes. While the marriage itself isn’t what he wanted in the slightest, he can’t find it in himself to complain after his eyes have taken you in.

He’s never believed in love at first sight and he knew for sure this wasn’t that but… there was something about you that had him thinking all of this would be worth it in the end, somehow.

——

The next few days, weeks, and soon months of preparation feel like you’ve entered an unimaginable level of Hell.

You were trying your best not to be a drama queen, but you can’t exactly help yourself when the announcement of your engagement was merely the tip of the iceberg.

Due to your outburst in your father’s office that day, he thought it best to have you and Nanami constrained into the same home for some time before you two were to be wed. 

The apartment you resided in beforehand had been purchased and provided under the family company, but now that you were forcefully engaged and clearly not fond of it—it was in both company’s best interest to have you and Nanami grow used to each other in one way or another. So, in other words, shoving the two of you into some house together with curfews and security placed all around simply made sense.

Living with Nanami wasn’t the worst thing in the world since he’s nothing short of a gentleman, but you still hated every waking hour of it.

Your father may have been able to drive you into a relationship and a home with some stranger but he couldn’t force you to interact with the man so, you didn’t!

There was one bedroom designated for the two of you but Nanami insisted that you sleep there and he take the guest bedroom down the hall so that you’d be somewhat comfortable. You appreciated that much from him but it didn’t stop you from avoiding him at all costs.

Even if he was the first face you were greeted with every morning, even if you two had silent dinners together, even if you were forced to head to work together, and even if you quite literally could not escape the damn man—you refused to open up to him.

He could put a ring on your finger and a baby inside you directly after, and yet you remained firm with your decision to never pretend to be happy in your impending marriage.

Nanami of course is fine with whatever you decide to do. He would accept your comfort over fake happiness any day. 

So if he had to stomach scolding from both his parents and yours about how the two of you are the most awkward couple ever to be seen—he’d do it a thousand times over knowing that you’re content with the way things are.

The concept of distant lovers proved itself in the most outward way through you and Nanami. While labeling the two of you as “lovers” without the addition of its artificial origins is quite the stretch, neither of you could pretend that nothing existed between you.

Especially on Nanami’s end.

He understood that your distaste toward him came from the lack of control you had in your being together, but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t bring himself to care at the same level you did. Not when he was so utterly enamoured by all that you are.

You distracted him from the realities of this compulsory relationship. He knew he was attracted to you from the day you walked in that office, hardly spared him a glance, and proceeded to curse your father out right in front of him.

Then there was how snappy you’d been after, how tense you looked every time you and him occupied the same room, and how distant you keep yourself nowadays.

Nanami knows he should be on the same page as you—protesting against this union through refusing to get close to you and keeping things strictly cordial.

But… he can’t.

There’s a stubborn thump of longing in his heart that’s highlighted for him every time you enter a room, his eyes find you in every crowd, and he feels himself wanting nothing more than to gently wipe the stress right off that pretty face of yours.

He swears he could do it too—if you’d let him.

Unfortunately, you’re far more stubborn than he is when it comes to matters of the heart. In the few personal conversations the two of you have just barely managed to have, he can tell your mind is constantly elsewhere. Constantly distant.

You could be sitting a few feet away from him, looking him directly in the eyes, and actively engaging in conversation with him but he can still see that something-, or someone else is on your mind.

And of course he doesn’t know it but that’s another issue for you.

How can you be expected to get close with Nanami on your own accord when Higuruma is still lingering around in your mind?

Perhaps it was because being with him was the last time you got to do something for yourself. Or maybe it was the simple fact that the night with Higuruma still replays in your head while you’re at your most vulnerable. Or, even worse, possibly it’s the way that man hasn’t reached out to you once and how much that bothers you.

How fair is it that you’re still thinking about him all this time later as your life is falling apart and yet he’s probably not doing the same at all, considering the way he refuses to contact you?

Was that single night with him really not enough to have him wanting more? Had you meant so little to him because you were a mere stranger? Would you ever see him again—and if you did, would he even rejoice in the reconnection?

At some point, you find that the more you let thoughts of Higuruma plague you, the further you distance yourself from your fiancé. While that was your preferred outcome, you felt that it wasn’t fair to Nanami to have someone else on your mind like this.

It was one thing to avoid him out of parental rebellion but it was another thing entirely to do so because of another man who’d clearly forgotten about you some time ago.

——

Hence why you allow yourself one day to try getting to know Nanami about seven months into your engagement to him.

Yes, seven months in. That’s seven months of dry conversation, seven months of stubborn avoidance, seven months of trying to prove to your parents that you’d never be happy in this, and seven months of Nanami suffering from feeling his heart long for you more and more despite the lack of reciprocation.

While the change is certainly unexpected on his end, he doesn’t shoot down the opportunity to get somewhere personal with you for once.

You woke up that day telling yourself that if he started a conversation with you, you wouldn’t be as dismissive as you usually are with him. When you ran into him in the hallway first thing that morning, you greeted him with a smile that made his heart skip several beats.

Not only was it unfair for you to have neglected him for so long—for reasons outside of your parents and the overall dynamic of your relationship—but it was also unfair how much of an effect you seemed to have on the man. 

His cheeks hued a soft shade of pink upon being greeted so kindly and the awkward little murmur of good morning wishes that came your way in response had you feeling rather good about your new little plan.

Perhaps giving Nanami a chance wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe you wouldn’t have to fake being happy for the entirety of your being with him. Though, you know deep down that’s exactly what your parents wanted from the get go.

At least it’ll be on your own terms though, right?

The entire day of giving Nanami a chance goes by at a normal pace. You share a breakfast with him instead of skipping out on it and starving yourself for half the day as you normally do, the two of you not only head to work together but you’re also spotted acting like an actual couple for once, and the day later concludes on quite the sweet note.

Which brings you to the end of said day where you’re just pushing away from the dinner table and helping Nanami to collect the dishes and carry them off to the kitchen. He gentlemanly takes your plate before you could even turn with it and leads the way, to which you slowly follow after.

This is where the real rare part came in. Before today, you’d always bid him goodnight after sitting in uncomfortable silence and forking at food you hardly had a taste for. But now—now that you’d spent the day trying something different—you figured you shouldn’t let things end as they normally do.

Nanami has moved to wash the dishes by the time you enter the kitchen, and you come to lean against the counter to watch him. He caught on to your change in attitude earlier that day, so it doesn't surprise him too much to see you changing other things in your routine like this.

“Thank you for today,” He starts out easily, sponge in hand and skin soaked up to his wrists with soapy water.

Your brows twinge at that almost instantly, “You don’t have to thank me for that, Kento.”

Ah, the sound of his name on your tongue has never been sweeter. 

Nanami’s hands are still against the submerged dishes, and you catch the way his shoulders tighten ever so slightly before relaxing again. Then he shakes himself out of his surprise, “I do though,” He says a moment after, his voice a tinge quieter. “It meant more than you think.”

His delicately spoken words have you seeing things from a new perspective for once. You’d spent all this time so wrapped up in being trapped in a relationship that you nearly forgot he was just as trapped as you were. It’s not like he signed up for this, the only difference between you and him was the fact that his parents spent their whole time raising him into being exactly what he was now: a product of marriage for the company.

Meanwhile you had been blindsided by your parents for years.

When you take everything into consideration, you realize both you and Nanami are living on two different sides of the same coin. During the past few months you spent resenting him as much as you did your situation, you’d been incredibly lonely and now you wonder if he’d felt that way his entire life.

To be raised the way he was is nothing short of cruel, but at least with this engagement he wouldn’t have to live in that cruelness all alone—so long as you take the blame off his shoulders and replace it with a feeling of understanding. To be trapped in a relationship is one thing, but to be trapped in a relationship with Nanami Kento doesn’t have to be as horrid as you’ve spent months convincing yourself it would be.

The kitchen you both occupy is calm now that his thanks has settled into the air. Sounds of dishes clinking softly, the warm water splashing against his skin, and the distant hum of your shared home gave you a domestic feel for a mere moment

Your eyes find Nanami, quietly admiring his acute focus on getting those plates and utensils clean. You knew this from the day you met him but, he was never a bad looking man. Hell, he had a list of redeemable qualities.

Months you’ve spent living alongside him, existing in the same space, eating across from him, and yet this feels like the first time you’ve allowed your eyes the liberty of lingering with no resistance. Between your appreciative glances, something of guilt swells up inside you—as if you weren’t supposed to be looking at him like this after spending so long ignoring him.

But at the same time, he is your husband-to-be.

You push yourself away from the counter and then round it, still taking all of his build in for the first time. His back is the first thing that yanks at your attention as you pace somewhere behind him.

Gaze tracing the line of his back, you notice how structured and broad it is—a feature you noted upon first sight of him in your father’s office before. The tension of the day rests clearly in his posture and the way he holds himself upright. His dress shirt pulls across his shoulders whilst his hands busy against those dishes and you nearly walk into the opposing counter-side when the fabric stretches just enough to tease at something bulky resting beneath.

You swallow thickly and turn your head away sharply to distract yourself.

Because you’re standing behind him, you miss how he grins to himself—having felt your eyes on him, but not daring to comment on it. He’d acknowledged the same thing you did: the two of you are engaged and fully allowed to gawk at one another.

Nanami had indulged in it more times than he’d probably ever admit to you, unable to focus on anything else whenever you’re around.

With the way you’d turned your head away to stop yourself from drooling over a man you willingly ignored for far too long, you notice a small radio tucked neatly into a corner. Curiosity quickly gets the better of you and you snatch the item right up into your hands.

Toying with the buttons rather cluelessly, you wonder why Nanami’s got a radio sitting in the kitchen when you’ve never heard the man play music a day in your life.

Even though you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for as long as you’ve known him…

You’re not sure what exactly you press but something soft begins to leave the radio and you're quick to locate what appears to be the volume knob, turning it and letting the sound of Be Like a Woman replace those domesticated noises that were starting to get to you moments ago. 

It’s a little staticky at first, just barely crackling the song to life with grainy distortion before the device remembers its own function and plays out smoothly.

The moment your ears pick it up, you smile to yourself and fall into a slow sway.

Behind you, the sound of running water comes to a steady stop. You don’t turn right away as the music settles fully, wrapping around you and your idle sways to it.

As if delighted by the tune, Nanami’s eyes locate you from over his shoulder with passive quickness.

It takes you a moment or two before you glance back at him, spotting an outstretched hand, and then biting back a smile at the implication. “You can’t be serious.” You murmur, even though you’d already set the tone for dancing.

“Humor me,” Nanami hums, a kind smile working wonders at turning your heart to mush. “One dance won’t kill you, will it?”

You continue to gape at his hand as if it’d go away without you saying something. Sighing, you’re careful with the way you bring your eyes up to meet his.

This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To try?

“I suppose not.” You respond while moving to take his hand and let him gently bring you closer. 

His palm is moist from the water he’d hastily dried off and it tightly locks against your own. Then as he guides you toward himself, his other hand lifts before stopping just short of your waist. There’s a question and request for consent in his eyes—to which you grant by looking down at his not-yet-connecting hand, and then back up at his face to nod.

Nanami’s touch eases into your side and both of your bodies sway right into one another. Your free hand finds his shoulder to rest on, and just like that the two of you are dancing.

It’s naturally a mix of slow ‘n awkward at first but what makes it an act to relish in is the way you both feel the romance bundling about.

The subtle clumsiness of it all is enough to make you break eye contact first, looking off to the side as you sway together. That is, before Nanami tilts his head toward the direction you’ve focused your attention into and whispers, “You’re good at this.”

God, his voice was much too endearing for you to ignore—especially all close to you like this. You shake your head and let your eyes roll playfully, “We’re just swaying back and forth, it doesn’t take much skill.”

Nanami chuckles at that and you feel your heart thumping a little louder. "Then I suppose I shouldn't be too proud of myself," He murmurs.

You release a soft huff, the sound light and easygoing—much unlike how the two of you have been for months.

Your bodies continued in their dance with one another, everything steady and close as the music continued to envelop you.

Soon your hand shifts slightly on his shoulder, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt and feeling how firm he is beneath it.

Nanami's reaction is near-immediate.

He inhales sharply to show that the touch had clearly caught him off guard, composure thinning by the second. Then his jaw tightens a bit and you see a faint flush creeping in along the highest points of his cheekbones.

Cute.

Unable to control your grin, "Kento..?" You murmur.

Instead of answering right away as he usually does, Nanami seems to be lost in thought before he responds. His hand tightens at your waist just a faction and his mouth is slow to open and close with words struggling to leave him.

"I've uh..." He starts, only to stop shortly after.

You're patient with him and give no sense of hurry with how you're staring up at him.

Clearing his throat, "I've wanted to do this for a while." Nanami admits quietly, eyes dropping.

Your brows raise, "What, dance with me?"

His gaze flickers and something in between shy and utterly embarrassed flashes over him. The way he shakes his head all slowly makes you want get the sudden desire to bite him or something.

"...No," The honesty in his singly spoken word makes your chest clench.

Swallowing thickly, "Then what?" You ask.

Your dancing gets impossibly slower and you're left to realize just how close you two are. Breaths are shared, gazes are locked onto everything but one another's, and it's almost like the music had stopped playing just to highlight the mirroring beats of your hearts.

Nanami's head tips to the side and he leans in, stopping just short of pressing his lips to yours, and leaving your breath to hitch.

Were you really gonna let him kiss you? That easily?

His lips graze yours and you're unconsciously gripping onto both his hand and his shoulder with something anxious building inside you. You didn't realize how badly you wanted this until it was—quite literally—dangling in front of your face.

“May I?” He utters, oh-so-sure your rejection will be what follows.

To his surprise, you’re already nodding.

And then it happens. Then his lips are meeting yours and you're feeling the way he flinches as if he hadn't initiated the whole thing.

Something vibrates inside his mouth but you're unsure whether or not it's a hum or some sort of whine. Nanami kisses you in a tentative way, testing something delicate with every soft slip of his mouth to yours.

Your hands leave each other and he carefully wraps the both of his arms around you as your arms do the same with his neck.

For a first kiss with the man you've been engaged to for seven months—it's not exactly what you expected.

Nanami is surprisingly shy with it, almost as if he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. Because of this, you're guiding him through most. of it and he's blindly following your lead.

Even so, the kiss is quite sweet, and when you pull away, your eyes widen out at how much he's blushing.

You didn't know a man's face could go so red from a single kiss. Especially a kiss without tongue. You hardly did anything!

When Nanami's eyes open, they meet with yours briefly in hopes you won't comment on how embarrassed he seems to be.

Luckily for him, you find the hues of pinks and reds on his face endearing enough to move your hands up to his face and cup his cheeks into your palms. He's warm against your skin and you hear his breath stutter when you pull him in for another kiss.

It's clear that you never really know how badly you wanted or needed something until you have it.

This time around, the kiss is needy. Your lips part over one another and he lets you slip your tongue into his mouth, groaning at the connection, and pressing forward with you until your lower back meets the nearby counter.

Nanami keeps kissing you like he doesn't know how to, but you find yourself enjoying the liberty of leading him through it.

That is, until he grunts into your mouth and you feel something solid twitching against your front. You try to ignore it at first, telling yourself there's no way he popped a boner from kissing you, but that grows increasingly difficult as his hulking frame melts into you entirely.

You nibble on his lower lip a little, whispering, "Kento.." as if ready to scold him.

Nanami panics. Fuck, why do you choose now of all times to call out his name? He's already trying his best not to cu-

"Are you hard?" You ask.

Fuck. Why would you ask him that? Can you feel it? Has he accidentally rubbed up against you?

"U-Uhm-," Nanami chokes on his own breath. "I-, what?"

You snort.

There's no way you find this funny, right?

"I asked if you were hard," You repeat nonchalantly, caressing his face, "Did kissing me like that turn you on?"

"Well.. uh," He gapes at you like one big himbo, "I-Is it that obvious...?"

Now you're giggling, "I mean, I can feel it."

"Sorry," He looks down to avoid getting even more turned on from the way you're staring at him. "I told you I've been wanting to do this for a while and-, well... I didn't mean to get so excited from it, sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for it, Ken." You comfort sweetly.

The nickname makes his situation worse by a long shot, sticky dribbles of precum promptly oozing out of his blushing tip. God, did you have any idea what you were doing to him?

With the way you remove an arm from around his neck and begin to trail your hand down his body, it's clear that you most certainly did. "I just didn't expect you to be so reactive like that," Your tone is different now.

Something sultry is in your voice and it's making poor Nanami nervous beyond belief.

He'd never gone this far with a woman.

Shrugging, "Well, most virgins are rather sensitive to touch, I'm sure." Nanami says timidly.

Your hands freeze against him and you blink. "You're a virgin?"

He nods.

The way he kept avoiding eye contact with you, the sound he let out when you initially kissed him, and the way he flinched at your touch shifting earlier all make so much sense now.

“Does that... turn you off?" Nanami asks, voice airy. "Me not being experienced?”

“What? No, of course not!” You pull him closer and then push up to peck at his mouth, “If we’re really getting married then, I’ll take care of you, Kento.”

That makes his head spin with dizziness and his cock throb. So much so that he's hardly even thinking straight as he asks, “You want to wait?”

You blink again. “You.. don’t?”

Because of the nature of your relationship, you always just assumed Nanami would prefer to wait 'til marriage, and now that he's admitted to you that he's a virgin, you were sure on that fact more now than ever.

You never had a preference of when sex between you two happened since you spent most of your time failing to think of a way out of this engagement.

“I’m sure our parents would prefer it if we did.” Nanami tells you.

Oh.

It was true, both of your parents would probably prefer the two of you doing things the more "traditional" way, but with that rebellious streak still lingering inside you...

“Perhaps we shouldn’t, then.” Flies out of your mouth without second thought as you're pressing up on him—tits neat against his chest.

“I agree.” Nanami rushes out, thinking only with what's drooling in between his legs right now instead of his head. “Let’s have something for ourselves."

——

And have something for yourselves you did.

While one would think that after a softly whispered claim such as that, the two of you would end up fucking like feral beasts within the next few minutes… that’s not quite how Nanami loses his virginity to you.

Instead, you two agree not to do anything that night.

Nanami mentioned something about not being ready for it by the time you both made it to the bedroom, but in actuality, he was a bit fearful to have sex. He told himself that kissing you would be enough for the time being, and you went right along with it.

…Until the following morning, that is.

Now, after you and Nanami finally seemed to resolve whatever thick walls of tension had been between you both, you took it upon yourself to share a bed with him. Nanami, having been crushing on you from the moment he laid eyes on you, would’ve been a fool to deny you of your wish to do so when you’d asked.

Which is exactly how you two ended up in the position you’re in now—snuggled up together in what used to be his bedroom but would soon be shared between you both.

Nanami remembers vividly how he told you he wanted to wait to take things to the next level but that request seems to have been tossed right out the window as he stirs awake first. He’d always been one to think with what’s in his head instead of what’s in his pants but it seems a simple night of sleeping in the same bed as you is enough to change things for him.

This isn’t the first time he’s woken up with a troublesome throb coming from in between his legs—especially not since he’s been living with you—but it’s downright ironic how he just told you he wanted to wait and now his body was desiring otherwise.

Nanami keeps his eyes shut for a while, hoping his boner would magically go away before you wake up.

Unfortunately for him, you don’t even have to wake up for his situation to get worse.

His eyes end up shooting open as a soft breath of air flutters against his naked chest, making him keenly aware of your resting face smushed up against him. Then other sensations occur; the scent of your shampoo trickles up into his nose, your chest snuggly presses into his side, and your entire leg has been thrown over him somewhere in your sleep.

His gaze lifts up to the ceiling in hopes he can ignore how those combined factors do nothing more for him than lead his cock to weep small dribbles of precum against his sweatpants. 

Nanami had gone to sleep in only his sweats due to the fact that you’d already been in his room by the time he got in the shower last night. He never found an appropriate time to slip in to grab the boxers he’d conveniently forgotten, so now he was dealing with his tip leaving a prominent wet spot against the grey fabric concealing his erection.

Fuck, he’s sure if you were to open your eyes now, you’d be met with the nasty sight. The worst part about it is the fact that you laying on top of him is only making it worse by the second because his brain just won't shut up.

He can’t help but wonder how you’d react seeing him like this—knowing you’re the reason he gets so uncomfortably hard. Would you scold him for it? Tell him off and call him a perv even after the lighthearted events of last night?

Or would you comfort him? Show him another side of you he’s only ever dreamed of seeing?

Either way he knows he’s screwed since his cock twitches at both thoughts. 

And then you shift.

The hand you had laying idle on his chest slides down a little and his dick bobs its thick head up against his sweats. Being so sensitive to your touch was faring much worse for him than he expected it to.

Your head moves a bit as you stir awake and Nanami’s heart is pounding so hard in his chest that he wonders if you can feel it. You turn to groggily look at him, immediately met with his half-lidded eyes meeting yours as the morning sunlight highlights the flush decorating his cheeks.

You blink a few times before mumbling, “Morning Ken.”

The arm Nanami’s had comfortably wrapped around you grips you ever so slightly. Then he whispers back to you, “Good morning, love.”

Warmth settles into your heart at the sound of that.

“Are you okay? Your face is all red,” You point out, lifting your hand away from his chest and up to feel his forehead.

“I’m fine,” He lies, knowing you’re just one glance down from realizing he’s everything but.

You nod though, moving to sit halfway up and extend your arms over your head to stretch. Nanami watches you carefully, having spent night after night dreaming he’d wake up to this very sight.

Seeing you wearing a shirt of his because you were too lazy to go grab one of your own last night, gaze following how the fabric hugs you—Nanami is forced to adjust his hips a bit.

He feels utterly perverted staring at you like this while his mind works up the most sinful imaginations of you so early in the morning.

You’re likely about to depart from his room and yet he’s laying there wondering how your hands would feel exploring every inch of him.

“Kento,” He flinches at the abrupt utterance of his name. Then he focuses his attention back onto your face and notices where your eyes have finally fallen. “Do you uhm,” You point at his crotch, “Do you want help with that?”

Something especially wet slides down the side of his cock—as if he were literally drooling from his tip. Glancing down at himself, then back up at you, “You can ignore it if you want. I just—“

“I don’t wanna ignore it, though.” You admit, leaning closer to him.

Nanami’s breath catches for a moment and he tries to sit up, only to be stopped by your hand meeting his chest and lightly pushing him back down. Eyes softening on you, “What are you doing?”

“I told you I’d take care of you last night, didn’t I?” You remind him.

He gulps, “Yes but… I didn’t think you’d want to do something like this. It’s embarrassing and..."

As he speaks, your hand is traveling down the smooth, yet firm board of his abs—feeling him tense 'n twitch the lower your touch gets.

It's not until you're playing with the drawstrings of his sweats that he lets out a rather submissive noise. "...A-Are you really going to touch that?" Nanami squeaks.

You smile at him innocently, "Touch what?"

The usual base in his voice is all but lost as he gulps, "My cock."

"We agreed to have something for ourselves," Your fingers halt against his drawstrings and then slip under the fabric, skimming over the light tufts of blonde hair just above his base. "So unless you want me to stop, I should like to have this for myself."

Nanami shakes his head slowly, chest rising and falling as his nervousness runs rampant throughout his body, "N-No, don't stop."

Those words are exactly what lead you to jerking your fiancé off on that slow morning, eventually working his cock out of his sweats and kissing at his flushed skin as your hand travels up 'n down his length.

It was more intimate than it was inherently sexual up until Nanami began returning the favor. In the middle of your lips locking against his, you felt a hand creep in between your legs—palming your pussy just to feel how wet you got from jerking him off.

As Nanami's big hand lightly squeezed and then rubbed over you through the cottony shorts you were clad in, you both began to pant heavily into one another's mouth.

The room got hotter and both of you got needier, your thumb teasing his sobbed tip as it traveled through his slit, and his hand wasting no time in locating your core without all the measly fabrics in the way.

He hadn't even seen you and yet he was muttering into your mouth, “God, you’re gorgeous..." Two long fingers gliding up 'n down your leaky entrance, “I’ve thought this from the moment I met you.”

“Mgh-, Kento,” You gasped in return, your hand growing shaky around his dick whilst your wet lips messily detached from his.

Nanami may have been unexperienced and shy but the second half of that seemed to go out the window the moment he felt how aroused you were. "Can I feel how gorgeous you are in here?" He politely asked, fingertips rounding your oozy hole and daring to slip inside.

As you nod, he watched your face intently to see your expression twist up in response to his digits greeting your warmth. Then your hand had tightened around his cock and he hissed out some sort of low curse.

It wasn’t long before the two of you were making a mess around each other’s hand. But that didn’t seem to be enough for either of you—especially not Nanami who’d been waiting for this day for months.

When you soon strip what’s left of your clothes off, tossing them across the room, and then throwing your leg over his body to straddle him, he gapes up at you in pure awe.

There’s nothing sexier than watching the woman he’d silently fallen for get on top of him with such a starved look in her eye.

And the way you move to grab his cock—angling it against your cunt and furrowing your brows with great focus—has his jaw left open. Drool slips out the corner of his mouth and nothing can compare to watching you slooowly sink down on him.

Nanami never thought himself to be big or anything like that, but considering the way you struggle and flinch as he enters you…

He nearly gets nervous all over again before your head tips back and you slip further down, fluttering walls swallowing him in thankfully with a sloshy squelch ringing out upon each quivering inch.

“Kento,” You husk out, moving one hand to his lower abdomen for support just as he grabs at your waist.

“You say my name so sweetly,” Nanami compliments with sweat causing his blond hairs to cling to his forehead. Eyes batting up, “Does… Does it feel good?” He nearly moans, “Do I feel good inside you?”

You’d thought it be obvious based on the whorish way in which your face is twisting up—tears coating your waterline from the long stretch of his cock.

Each time you think you’ve met his deft base, you found yourself still traveling down on him. Nanami’s cock stood up straight with no curve, giving you nonexistent room to run or escape his sheer size.

“Uhuh, yes,” You eventually whimper.

He seems a little unconvinced below you, “You keep squirming, though. Are you sure?”

“Kento,” You lock eyes with him and his cock twitches against the lathering edges of your inner walls, “You feel fuckin’ perfect inside me.”

“O-Oh.” Then his hips snap upwards uncontrollably, and your body jerks along with it as you moan out. “Sorry,” Nanami huffs, repeating the movement despite his apology, “Fuck-, sorry. You feel s-so good-, ngh.. so wet ‘n warm.”

It was almost like he couldn’t help himself. As soon as he heard your praise and saw the way his your cunt lips bulged around the very wide ‘n thumping base of his cock, his hips moved on their own.

He was fucking himself up into you and watching how pretty your tits looked bouncing along with the rest of your body before he knew it.

Hearing you cry out, “Kentoo! Nngh, right there.”

“There? Do I feel good there?” He asked, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust.

Your goopy insides gobble up everyyyy inch of him so perfectly that he feels like he’ll cum in you without realizing it any second now. Especially as you begin to rock your hips along with him, gaining your own momentum and fucking yourself down on him to further paint his cock with filthy traces of your slick.

“Hahh, your hips won’t stop moving,” Nanami grunt, brows taut together, “Do you like my cock that much?”

His only response to that is a wild throb around him.

To which he smirks briefly, “S’that-, hahh.. S’that supposed to be a yes?"

Left to whine helplessly, your hands clasp over his wrists and he maneuvers them to hold them instead as you nod.

“Say it then,” Nanami hums, “I want to hear more of you, instead of her.”

Her..? Your brows furrow, “Wha—“

Oh. As Nanami’s thumb darts across your clit, you understand quickly what he meant.

“F-Fuuck,” You moan, “Yes-, just like that, Ken’.”

Something pitiful ‘n creamy gushes up into you but neither of you really acknowledge it.

“Yeah? Fuck,” Nanami curses lowly, his pupils dilated out, “More, p-praise me more… Please?”

Your fingers clench at the skin of his large hands, hips rolling back ‘n forth with needy vigor as his dick knocks around every nook of your cunt.

“Ken, s’good. Ah! You’re doin’ so good for me,” You praise all prettily, head tilting a little once you realize he’s left most of the movement to you, “J-Just-, mngh! Just go a little harder. You can be rough with me.”

His eyes soften, “Are you sure? I don’t want to-“

“Kento.” You scold, “Fuck me.”

That flips a switch in Nanami’s head and you lose the hand holding with him as he grabs ahold of your body and promptly flips you over. Your back clashes into the fluff of the bed and he slips out of you for a second too long, hurrying to stretch at your wet core once more.

“Is that it? S’that how you want me, sweetheart?” Nanami heaves with a different look in his eyes. Before you can even answer him, he’s got two fingers pulling your pussylips apart to watch that glossy, debauched sight of his cock entering you again. “Yeahhh, this is how you like it. Goddd, I’ve fantasized about this, y’know.”

Your legs are captured into his hands within the next moment and he’s got you in a meann mating press as if to prove a point. It’s almost like your little permission of a harder fucking had challenged him or something.

Nanami’s voice sticks against your ear, “Got off just thinking about how good it’d feel inside you and n-now—“ Both your body and the bed jolt up with his rude thrusting, the mushroomy head of his dick kissing at your sweet spot, “Fuck, now I’m in here.”

“Uhuhhh,” Your jaw slacks and you’re the one drooling as if fucked-out now.

He lifts his head for a moment just to hold eyes with you. Whispering, “Deep in here too, huh?”

You pout, “D-Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m just being honest, look.” His hand moves to splay out against the fat bulge of his cock nestled inside of you.

You moan, nibbling at your bottom lip to conceal a slutty little smile, "Yeah, but you also-, mmh.. you also came inside me."

Nanami smiles back at you for realizing he’d already experienced an orgasm, "Hahh.. accidents happen..”

"No, you meant to do that,” You tease back with your arms wrapping around his neck.

"I have an obligation to breed my girl, do I not?" With that, another load is being french kissed against your womb, globs and globs of an impossibly thicker substance filling you.

You tug him down for a kiss and your lips tangle against one another as you whisper into his groans, "I suppose you do."

——

It would’ve been lovely if that intimate morning was the very thing that solidified your relationship with Nanami. The days after were filled with a more loving relationship, leading both of you to assume things from there on out would work.

And it should’ve! It really, really should’ve.

But you were forgetting one rather important factor.

It was foolish for you to think life was gonna let you fall for another man without throwing a surprise at you.

The following days after you and Nanami finally seemed to break down whatever walls were being held up between you, something changed.

You noticed Nanami on his phone more often, heard him chuckling on calls at inappropriate hours of the night, and caught a newfound light lingering in his eyes as if you and someone else were brightening his every day.

Now, you know Nanami wouldn’t be dumb enough to have an affair going on during his engagement to you—especially when he’s the one who had less of a problem with the arranged marriage to begin with. But, at the same time, he started to act differently.

Not with you, of course. Just… with everything else.

He almost seemed happier in some ways. You wanted to rejoice in the positive energy he radiated now, but there was a shadow of doubt casting over you at every turn.

Something bad was on the uprise.

And that something rears its ugly head on the day Nanami calls you out to help a “friend” of his move into the city.

You almost said no—and maybe you should’ve—but with the way he asked all soft ‘n hopefully like he just wanted to include you in more parts of his life now that you two were somewhat happily together, it was too hard to turn him down.

Besides, you told yourself that this is what you wanted, right?

Hence why you’re pulling up to an address for some luxury apartment complex Nanami had sent you, and aiding him with unloading a truck full of boxes.

Swirling around as the sun casts its warm glow down onto the right side of your face, you glance down at the box that’s found itself in your hand for a moment. It was rather large ‘n heavy when you swiped it up so obviously you grow curious about what’s in it.

The word Gavels is printed out over the top in Shappie, making you snort a bit. “Ken, is your best friend a judge or something?” You ask curiously, looking over his way.

Nanami waves a dismissive hand at you playfully, “Ignore him and his weird assortment of items. I couldn’t tell you why he has that, honestly.”

You chuckle again and open your mouth to say something just as you catch the apartment complex doors swinging open. Unfortunately, your words die out on your tongue along with your smile the moment you see a familiar face strolling towards you and Nanami.

Your heart sinks to your ass and you think you’ve lost all sense of movement as you and the familiar face in question lock eyes.

Higuruma nearly trips—just barely managing to catch his footing before making a fool of himself. Quickly taking his eyes off of you and hoping he’s just imagining things, he makes way towards your fiancé.

You hoped for a second that he wasn’t the best friend who’s been bringing Nanami’s energy up lately. There’s no way, ri—

“Kento,” Fuck. “Is this one giving you some trouble?” Higuruma asks before reaching his hands out to take the box Nanami’s holding, “You’ve been out here for a while, I was starting to get worried.”

Nanami, none the wiser, smiles softly as he keeps the box close to him, “No, no, I was getting distracted by my darling fiancée here.” Then he gestures your way with a tilt of his head and gives Higuruma your name to introduce you. 

And god is it awkward.

The two of you don’t bother meeting eyes, Higuruma introduces himself as if he doesn’t vividly remember the way you were drooling his name out into his bedsheets some months ago, and both of you can feel how things are about to play out from here on out already.

After the thin-lipped, unnecessary exchange of names, Higuruma steps forward to try helpfully taking the weighty box out of your hands.

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” You shake your head and step back a bit, “I’ve got it.”

He ignores your claims, “No, please, I insist. This is one of the heavier boxes left.”

His hands meet the ends of said box, brushing over yours.

Tension shoots throughout your body as if you’d been shot and your voice bursts out of you with more conviction in it than necessary, “Really, I’m fine.”

As if he handn;t heard a thing you just said, Higuruma’s eyes steady onto yours and it’s like his hold on you returns all in one moment. Memories of that night wash over every thought you’ve had since and your breath is nowhere to be found as he finally takes the box from you. Sternly humming, “Allow me.”

Again—awkwaaaaard.

You clear your throat and try to recompose yourself by looking away, “There’s uh, there’s a lot of gavels in there…” Maybe if you pretend not to know him, that’ll help your situation? “Are you a judge?”

Hopefully he doesn’t remember you.

Higuruma stops to think for a moment, then smirks, “Depends…” He trails off for a second much too long. “Is that your type?”

The question—the theme of which had been repeated to you multiple times throughout that night you spent together—has a chill churning down your body and straight to your cunt. You almost wish you’d forgotten about him now because it was clear he damn sure didn’t.

Nanami nudges his arm, turning to him, “Are you flirting with my fiancée, right in front of me? Have you no shame?” He teases.

Higuruma sends him an innocent smile, “You hate it when I flirt with you, so I thought I’d try something a little different.”

The two men carry on with banterful conversation that somehow manages to exclude you, but you’re stuck reeling over the fact that this is truly happening to you.

Your fiancé’s best friend is the same man you slept with on the day before you got engaged.

What the hell are you gonna do now?

——

Simple; you’ll treat Higurma the same way you treated Nanami for the first seven months of your engagment—avoiding him like the fuckin’ plague.

Even being in the same room with him was like torture though. 

Higuruma was shameless with how he sent you these accusatory looks, as if it were somehow your fault that you two spent a night together just for you to end up marrying his best friend.

Who seemed to be a little more than that to Higuruma as the weeks passed by, might you add…

Maybe it was just that shamelessness of his, but Higuruma wasn’t exactly subtle with how he eyes your fiancé. Like, not subtle at all.

You’re not blind and you’re far from stupid—you know what a yearning man looks like.

The only confusing thing about it was the fact that Higurma shared those gazes between you and Nanami as if he were experiencing bi-panic every single time he interacted with you guys.

Nanami seemed clueless to all of this. Which, checks out considering he’d spent so long as a virgin and probably doesn’t have the best sense of picking up on flirtatious or romantic looks. 

None of that takes away from the tension building between the three of you though.

You could keep yourself distanced from Higuruma all you wanted, but if he had any say in the matter—which apparently he did—this wouldn’t last forever.

In fact, it only lasts until the night before your wedding.

Because you kept Nanami in the dark when it came to what had happened between you and Higuruma, he would constantly bring the three of you together. You would all meet up for lunches, go out for drinks, and linger a little too long in conversations that should've felt harmless but never did.

The three of you fit together rather naturally.

So much so that after a long day of being with the both of them, you just barely managed to break off into your Higuruma's kitchen for a moment to breathe. It was hard pretending that he didn't have you uneasy, particularly on nights like this where Nanami instead the two of you spend time at his place.

You were supposed to walk down the aisle tomorrow and yet the marriage had somehow become the least of your worries.

Now you were stress cleaning a spotless counter, panicking in thought of how the your married days would play out if Nanami planned to never break his friendship with that devilishly handsome lawyer.

And what would you even say if Nanami ever found out about—

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Higuruma murmured, voice like a cruel drag of burning smoke to your spine.

You swirl around, already looking for an escape.

He naturally steps in your way before you can even depart from the counter, “Don’t try doing it now, either. I just want to talk.”

Shit.

Letting your shoulders slump, “What is there to talk about?” You ask.

Everything about the conversation you begin to have with him goes by with rapid fire questions and responses.

Higuruma enters the kitchen fully and makes his way towards you. Keeping his voice low, “Aren’t you curious?”

You remain where you are, too fearful to make any sudden movements just yet, “Of?”

“Why I didn’t contact you.” He clarifies.

“No.”

He stops just short of entering your personal space and a stupid smirk appears on his face, “Liar.”

“Asshole.” You shoot back.

He scoffs, “That was cute.” Stepping closer again, “But you don’t mean that.”

You finally manage to shift further back, “It doesn't matter why you didn't contact me, considering I’m engaged now.”

“I’m well aware,” Higuruma chuckles, “To quite the astonishing man, might I add.”

The compliment rolled so easily off his tongue that it almost made you jealous. But, in the recent time you'd come to know Higuruma again, you'd learned that he and Nanami had been "friends" for years.

Friends remaining in quotes due to the questionable way in which Higuruma's voice softens whenever he speaks highly of his best friend, how his eyes showcase something of longing within them, and how he admires your partner in a manner well beyond something friendly.

"Fine, I'll bite." You soon sigh as you fold your arms, “How could you not call, or text? I didn't leave my number for no reason.”

“I knew you were curious." He hums victoriously, "Anyhow, I was busy, and—“

That ticks you off faster than you expect it to and words shoot out of your mouth carrying solid repugnance, “People make time for what and who they care about.”

Higuruma also decides to speak without thinking, staring you down as he says, “How could I care about you? I spent one night with you.”

That hits much harder than you expect it to.

You thought you'd moved on but the feelings you'd been harboring for the man come back all in one moment, “Wow.”

“I'm being honest. I hardly knew you,” He shrugs, “We had a wonderful night, but I was swamped with responsibilities directly after—especially between work and preparing to move.”

“I don't even know why I asked.” You scoff, rolling your eyes elsewhere and attempting to turn away, "Fuck you"

Higuruma bites back a smile. That’s fair—he thinks, hating how your immediate response for him never fails to rial him up. It’s one thing (amongst others) that he couldn’t stop thinking about after that night with you, “You did that already."

"Save me the cliche responses." You nearly push past him, "If you have nothing of substance to talk about with me, then i’m—“

He steps in your way again, flying a hand to your waist that you don't even try to remove. Then both his words and voice comes out softer, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Your jaw tenses, “It’s worth noth-“

“You don’t have to lie to me,” He interrupts as if he knew exactly what you were gonna say. “I know it’s worth something to you, don’t be so stubborn.”

For the first time since he'd entered the kitchen, you manage to meet eyes with him, “Why should it be worth anything to me when the night we spent together wasn’t worth anything to you?!”

“I never said that.” Higuruma claims.

“Well, it was heavily implied.” You scoff, yet to remove his hand from your waist. “Where’s Kento?”

“Asleep.”

Your tongue clicks, “Ah, so you’ve ambushed me. Got it.”

The man laughs, “Not at all. I only want to talk.”

“You don’t have to be this close to talk to me.”

“It’s the only way you’ll listen, as I’ve come to learn.”

You ultimately smack his hand off, “...It’s wrong to touch an engaged woman in this way.” Higuruma scoffs and you send him a glare, “Something funny?”

A smug look takes over his usually tied features, “We both know you don’t really want anything to do with Kento or that arrangement you’re trapped in.”

You're left offended, “You don’t know shit.”

“Oh yeah?” Higuruma challenges, “Then why—“

“—and I don’t owe you any sort of explanations. I don’t need you to save me from this, or to sweet talk your way back into my life.” You explain, despite yourself, “I don’t need you, period.”

He takes a moment to let your words settle, then the corner of his lips quirk further up, “Does lying to yourself like this help you cope?”

“Cope with what.” You breathe.

“Cope with the fact that you don’t feel the slightest thing for Kento—and you may never be able to—because you’re still stuck on that night we had together.”

“I… I-I’m not-,” Your words tangle up, “I’m not stuck on anything.”

“So answer me then,” That hand returns to your waist and he takes up the space directly in front of you, his other hand coming to your chin to tip your head up, “Why have you been avoiding me?”

His touches should've felt disrespectful to what you had built with Nanami thus far, but in the moment you found yourself forgetting that.

The contact leaves you blurting your truth out, “…It’s awkward to face you.”

And he's annoyingly quick to ask, “Why?”

“Because..."

Higuruma gets closer, “Because, what? Because you can’t stop thinking about it? About that night? About me?” He leans to your ear, “About us?”

Your resolve crumbles, “…Fuck you.”

He lightly grabs a full hold of your jaw and lifts your face further up, “You want to so badly, huh? Haven’t even let poor Kento kiss you because of it, I bet.”

It was ironic how wrong he was with that statement.

But you don't get to argue about it because the man in question walks in with a loud clearing of his throat, "What’s going on here?”

You instantly shuffle away and nearly trip over yourself, muttering, “Shit.”

Higuruma remains casual and swivels around, “We were just talking, Ken’.”

The nickname on his tongue makes your stomach twist up weirdly but you refuse to label it as jealousy for sure.

“You two seemed rather close for a conversation,” Nanami says, nearing you already and bringing a warm hand to where you'd bumped into the counter, “And you hit your hip, are you alright?”

The fact that he noticed that makes your heart churn with guilt, “I-I’m fine.”

“Your voice is unsteady,” He points out, glancing at Higuruma. “What kind of conversation were you two having, exactly?”

“One of the past.” Higuruma replies for you.

“Hiromi.” You warn.

His dark brows furrow, “What? Surely you don’t mean to hide it from the man you’ll be married to by tomorrow.”

“Hide what from me?” Nanami presses.

Putting it all out there, "We slept together. The night before you two met, actually.”

Those words open an entirely new can of words that span out for the next few minutes, ultimately resulting in a series of confessions. Many truths come out all at once.

Nanami asks you if that's why the two of you spent seven months like strangers, to which you naturally deny. Then he asks if you have feelings for Higuruma and you begrudgingly admit that you do, only to get rejected again by the man—since he had a confession of his own to get out.

The night was a lot, all because Higuruma decided to ambush you in the kitchen.

Hell, with the way things play out, you nearly wonder if the two men had planned this sorta thing. Especially when all feelings have been expressed and you realize it's a three-way mess of romance with only one not-so-obvious solution.

Of which Higuruma is the one to explain by making his way in between you and Nanami.

His hand intimately glided hand along Nanami's shoulder, then his neck, and soon grabs his jaw at the same time he grabs your hand and pulls you closer.

Higuruma leans over as if to kiss Nanami before whispering, “Let me be yours.” He starts, turning to you to kiss your hand fully, “And yours—if you’ll both have me.”

Obviously, the two of you let out a choke.

“What?” You snort.

Meanwhile Nanami’s face has gone beat red, “You’re suggesting a throuple? Hours before I'm to be married??”

Higuruma meets his eyes, “Yes. Think about it, how could your family deny another powerful union?” Then he looks to you, “Same with yours. Two brilliant men at your beck and call—twice the chances of you getting pregnant, as you've mentioned they so desperately want for you.”

With all that's transpired, you hardly even remembered doing that. But, you knew he had a point.

A damn good one too.

——

And to solidify the threeway agreement you all come to after a rather hasty conversation... the three of you rightfully make your way upstairs together.

Nothing else mattered when you had two genres of your type catering to both you, and one another, within the confines of Higuruma's bedroom.

By now, your body was trembling between them as you found yourself caught right in between the raw heat of pent up arousal. Nanami's hands were gripping your hips firmly, his fingers grounding into your flesh as he thrusted deep into you. His familiarly thick shaft kept your sloshing pussy stretched with each deliberate push of his hips.

The slick sounds of skin clashing against skin crowded the room, and your muffled moans vibrated against the cock Higuruma had curving all nastily into your mouth. There was a steady rhythm between the two men that swiftly guided your body back 'n forth between their much bulkier ones.

Nanami’s stiff cock easily broke you open from the back, while Higuruma’s leftly curving length slathered against the center of your drooling tongue.

A low groan rumbled right out from Higuruma's chest, his hazed eyes locked onto your teary ones—loving the way your swollen lips stretched around him, “Ohhhh fuck, I bet you’ve been wanting this, huh?” He puffed hotly, mixing his questions with praises of, "That's it, sweet girl." and, "Take me juuust like that, mhm."

Even if you could answer him, Nanami wasn't letting up with how his pace was building. His hand slides up the delicate arch in your spine, forcing you to feel every twitching vein 'n inch of his like he'd done before—the sensation sending rapturous sparks through your core.

"Our greedy girl," He grunted, not even noticing the way Higuruma began to lean closer to him. "S'tight in here-, fuck. You were never gonna be satisfied with one or the other..."

The dual stimulation was enough to have your eyes cloudy as pretty streaks of tears ran down your face. Higuruma would do his best to wipe them from you, but when he saw how Nanami wasn't doing much better—even with how filthy he managed to speak to you—he couldn't help but get distracted.

Higuruma's cock throbbed against the roof of your mouth, your cheek hollowing out so you can swirl your tongue along his veiny underside and draw a crisp hiss from him. Then his hips buck forward and push you further back onto Nanami—making the blond gasp while you gag.

You're too busy doing exactly that to see how the Higuruma takes his hands off of you for a moment to grab at Nanami's face, tugging him over and kissing him. Nanami's thoroughly fucked out and can hardly think with the combination of your cunt quivering around him as his best friend devours the inside of his mouth.

Then Nanami's pouring his words out against Higuruma's lips, "A greedy pussy like this needs two cocks to fill her right."

Higuruma whines at that as if his dream were actively coming true. "That means we hafta' take turns ruining her, right?" He mumbles.

You barely realize what that means before Nanami's withdrawing from you, leaving your pussy all aching 'n empty—slick arousal dripping down your thighs.

A gasp hitches out of you as Higuruma then moves to take his place behind you, grabby hands pawing at your ass to spread you out for him to see. His plump tp presses against your entrance to tease you just once before he sinks in with a smooth thrust. The angle instantly hits differently—deeper, brushing against your candied walls in a way that causes your fingernails to curl into the sheets.

Meanwhile Nanami kneels in front of you now, his erection overtly rigid and shimmering with your juices. He cups your face a moment, wiping drool from your chin. "Messy girl," He whispers lovingly, tapping at your bottom lip. "Open up nice and wide for me, yeah?" He instructs.

It was clear he gained a little more confidence with the presence of his best friend.

The taste of him soon mixes with the prior taste of Higuruma on your tongue as you bob your head, feeling your tongue sore from all the weight that's rut against it for the past however many minutes.

Higuruma's hips slap harder against your skin, his palm calming down on your ass with a slight smack. You push back against him and he scoffs, "You should see the mess you're making. Should be ashamed of it, really."

Then Nanami's distracting you all over again with his hand tangling into your hair and his words landing down on you, "Swallow around me-, mhm."

You cry out around his cock, the thrum making him thrust a little more erratically. Higuruma's following soon after by burring himself impossibly deeper before choking on his own breath and spilling hot 'n sappy cum inside you.

A few seconds pass, and while he's pulling out of you to watch his seed chase after his tip with stringy shlicks, Nanami's impolitely releasing his own few thick ropes of cum down your throat.

Panting, you're slowly eased down onto the bed by the two men—who waste no time in cleaning you of their mess—and you all flop into some semblance of relaxation.

You're barely lucid but you feel Higuruma pressing kisses into your temple as Nanami keeps wiping at the lower half of your face. Then, the lawyer whispers, "I'll make it all official by morning—documents and all."

As if you cared about any of that now...

Nanami nods along though, pulling you closer and leaving you to wonder—if both men really were to become your husbands, and nights like this would occur more often...

Which one would get you pregnant first?

tags:

@hiromihigurumaswife @clownerylynn @mnicfz @soupydumplings @themossiestchick @iiakithegoat @nanamimylife @izukuuu @mspineapplelover @thecrazyfangirlthings

@rzaau @wondrous-me @pearlydays @bobis-notmylover @letter123goanony @jaehyunsleftnut @chuuyan4kahara @lishenluv @chlefnikkl @maxxthefan

@eeveemainfr @ashsummer @brieflyinfiniteglitch @reinleelife @hxteurgutz @a-court-of-smut-and-sluts @almamelancolica @babblybebe @crispytreats047 @smoki-reigns

@minastoe @wonderfullymickey @re-tired-succubus @bitt3rk0i @longhairedfeline @luna5607 @yeagerbombxxx @fd3h @amigojuice @kebablove

@toffeebrat @hxteurgutz @pearlsalmi @datsbel

additional tags of interest: @blkkizzat @cupidstrace @uhnosav @madamechrissy @yenayaps

From Shibuya and Shinjuku's ruins to the Italian coast is a long, dreadful and sorrowful journey you embarked on with your husband.

Freshly scarred and high from the adrenaline after the showdown, Satoru hadn't realised just who he was after defeating Sukuna.

He wasn't just the strongest anymore.

He was a survivor.

The winner.

But he came crashing down from the peak sooner than he expected.

One look in the mirror.

And he wasn't anyone.

Not your husband, and most definitely not Gojo Satoru anymore.

So for months, he hid.

The characteristic charming and confident man you married was nowhere to be seen the last three months. Buried in the rubble that consumes what Tokyo once was.

Satoru is still somewhat a ghost of himself—you watch him as he stays rooted at the shore, tall frame swallowed by his orange oversized sweatshirt to hide the dents in his canvas underneath that follow his skin until his mid thighs.

Just staring at the horizon of azure blue, a mirror of his own eyes.

Though you can't see his face, or read his thoughts from where you lay on the sunbed shaded behind the creamy, semi-see through curtains, you can tell his gaze is void—empty like it's been for some time now.

Or perhaps foggy with his everlasting fear. Paranoia of ever having to relieve what he did. Unfortunately for you, as much as you've tried to be a reassuring and wife, nothing has quite helped your husband with abolishing that mindset just yet—that he's on the battlefield.

You don't dare to say it out loud.

But you miss your husband.

Your Satoru.

So much.

Not how he looks.

Never that.

But the cheerful, loud and lively version of him. It pains you far too much to see him so far away despite being right next to you.

You press your face further into the plush white pillow beneath your cheek and try to find comfort in it—to no avail, you can only fall asleep on your husband's chest but he's refused physical contact ever since he came home.

It breaks your heart every time.

Because you love him either way—scarred or not—maybe now even more than before after he kept his promise of coming back to you.

He doesn't see it that way though. And he avoids you like it's better for you to stay away and not see the outcome of the events carved into him.

Says he's "not worthy for you anymore." or "unattractive." So you won't need to force intimacy onto him because he hates the feeling of your fingers brushing every dip of his skin that wasn't there before and that only serves as a reminder that he was still weak.

You wish he'd understand he's anything but weak.

In the distance he's still watching the waves, you begin to wonder if today, on the third day of your vacation—the one you forcefully dragged him on, far away from Japan so he'd have a change of scenery (a positive one)—he will finally get inside the water.

Tug off his cover-up, dip himself beyond his feet in the blue and lose himself in the ocean.

The answer lingers in the back of your mind like a pest, you're sure he's not ready yet, but there's a sliver of hope in your chest.

Which disappears and gets overtaken by vast disappointment once he turns around and makes his way to you. A few long strikes and he reaches where you're bundled up on the bed, hair messily sprawled out on the sheets, curtains half drawn to shield you from the sun.

And he would usually cling onto you immediately. Throw a hand over your waist, press himself against your back and curl into you. Cuddle you until you both fell asleep in this nice weather.

Instead, now he takes the other end of the bed. Swinging his feet up after dusting the sand off and leaning against the headboard—quiet as a church mouse.

Sadness pools in your stomach, an uneasy feeling taking over your every fiber. You try to be strong knowing he has it so hard—but you can't help but feel undesirable at some point.

Swallowing the prickling feeling of wanting to cry, you try to keep your voice leveled—clear of any sentimental emotions—when you attempt small talk with him.

"How's the water, honey?"

He's quiet for a beat before mumbling "I didn't go in."

You hum, a sorry excuse of a smile on your face.

And you can't help it when the tears bubble quickly in you and you accidentally choke out a sob you were meant to push down.

Satoru’s head whips over to your sideways curled up figure on the bed when the sound reaches his ear.

You feel pathetic.

Making small talk with your husband.

Helpless, and feeling incredibly selfish.

For the first time in months, Satoru feels himself live in an emotional fully. Worry spreading through his whole body.

He pushes himself off his side of the bed and circles the bed till he reaches your side and crouches right where your face is hidden in the pillow and from where tiny whimpers are muffled.

"Baby, what's wrong?" You start sobbing at the sound of the nickname. He has no idea just how much it means to you to just hear him talk or look at you.

The tears spill past your waterline like a waterfall with no direction or limit, dampening your cheeks, soon turning your eyes raw from the dryness.

You hiccup into the pillow, muffle sobs that rip straight from your chest while your husband stays crouched next to the bed and rubs your back—unaware of the inner turmoil you actually fight everyday because of him.

Because he’s there.

Yet, he’s not.

And it stings.

“It’s okay, tell me why you’re crying.” His voice soothes in your ear, questioning softly with the underlying care in his words that he always had with you.

That has your heart clenching even more, your chest tightening at how the man you knew only shows up every once a never now.

You feel like a terrible wife for wanting him back.

“I miss you.” You frailly cry out, voice a pitch higher and shaky.

Though you can’t see him, you know he’s probably wearing that face of indescribable confusion. He’s there, so what are you talking about?

“I’m right here, sweetheart..?” He’s unsure as he points out the obvious.

You don’t miss a beat in replying. “No, I miss my husband.”

His mind slowly wraps around the idea he has about what your talking about and something shifts in him.

For the first time since he’s gotten back from the shore, you show your face again. Mascara smudged around the corners, hair messy, cheeks glossy and lips puffy.

“You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t let me touch you. We barely talk. You don’t let me help. We are married for fucks sake, Satoru.”

Your voice breaks as you spill your hearts content out through the tip of your tongue. Months of frustration and loneliness piercing right at the one man you love most in the world.

Satoru falls quiet with a frozen tongue and a paralysed mind. Internally, he feels the gears shift, his mind rewire as he understands you.

And he gets it.

Shit.

Where has he been these last months?

Back at the battlefield while his wife desperately tried to cling onto his consciousness and ground him like the tether she always was to him in his world of curses?

Uneasiness washes over him at the realisation that he can’t erase the past—the last months you’ve spent in solitude with an absent husband at home, constantly nurturing him without reward.

So all he can offer and pray you accept are apologies.

“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry.” His long fingers clasp around your hand against the pillow. Holding tight enough for you to feel your bones being squished against his.

“I’m so sorry.”

But you don’t need his apologies.

He has no need to apologise for. After all, you’re not the only one grieving him. He is too. The life he had, who he was, who the mirror showed him before the slashes.

It’s different though. He doesn’t love who he is now, while you still do.

He’s still your husband. You said “I do.” 4 years ago with the same confidence you’d say it today. Even after all of the hardships and even after all of the forgiving.

“Don’t apologise.” You mutter, shifting on the mattress and sitting upward—moving your weight to sit on your legs—and cup his cheek with your right hand to caress it.

Only now do you realise his eyes are glossy too, guilt swimming in them—regret. The kind that eats at your bones for mistakes you didn’t mean.

Quietly, you confess with the sound of the waves in the background supporting you.

“I’ll always be by your side, Satoru. But you need to let me in. I’m your wife.”

Your eyes follow the way his adams apple bobs as he swallows your honest words. Their meaning sinking into his marked skin with permission this time.

He nods once—slow and sure—and the knot in your chest loosens. In the blink of an eye, he’s getting off his knees.

The matress dips where he sits down next to you, hand still in hand, his body fully turned to you while your legs—folded beneath you—still are angled straight ahead.

In a slow pace, he draws himself closer to you. The smell of his natural musk that always drove you crazy mixed with the ocean breeze in his milky white hair filling your senses.

His lips brush against you in the comforting way they always did before meeting.

And slowly, he whispers.

“You are so much more than my wife.”

You hum once, curtly.

“You’re my everything.”

And the man you thought you no longer recognised, kissed you like the man you know by heart.

The kiss is impossibly soft. Tender and warm. Electrifying all of your dormant atoms to life, cells buzzing under his touch.

It’s magical. An open door to the world you thought you were shut out of entirely—one with him and your love.

His lips move slowly against yours. Plush skin meeting plush skin in a desperate yet patient reunion.

You didn’t realise you missed it so much till now.

It hurts to part.

Satoru only pulls away for a second to look in your eyes.

Neither of you exchange words before diving back into each other’s essences.

His hands find your waist, your body turns to him completely—back pressing against the headboard as he holds you, your hands fitting on his broad shoulders.

Beneath the tips of your delicate fingers, you feel the dips and uneven surfaces under the thin layer of his sweatshirt.

The kiss deepens once he swipes his tongue under your lip and you grant him that quiet access like you always have under the sun or moon.

You’ve always been Satoru’s.

From the day you saw him on the other side of the train station.

Till now.

And you always will be his.

Your nails slightly dig into his flesh as he explores your mouth, one of his hands now on your chin—tilting your face up—so he can follow the same path he always did.

Tongues fighting, bodies heating up under the daylight, you feel the need to reduce the layers between your thin white cover-up dress and his sweatshirt.

Hesitantly, the pressure on his shoulders caused by your fingers lessens and your hands migrate to the collar of the orange material.

He’s still kissing you as you tug on the zipper.

Then he freezes.

Tongue retreating and lips separating from the heated kiss. Eyes locking together.

You see the fear and hesitation in his baby blues. A silent prayer for you to not see him.

“Satoru, I love you.” You croak out. Voice scratchy and hoarse. The remaining few drops of tears spill from the corners of your eyes.

“I love you so much you have no idea. And I have always loved you and I always will. Even when you change.”

Your husband’s heart shatters.

Loud, like glass breaking against the floor. Unmendable.

But he trusts you.

So he dries your face with the buds of his fingers. Kisses the corner of your damp eye, and pulls the zipper down himself—showing the tainted and raw outcome of his fight.

Pink scars, painfully painted stars in his history.

You see beyond them. See the chiseled body he worked for, the defined v-line that you go crazy for, his rock-hard abs. His determination.

The scars are mere decorations you wish he accepts someday.

“You’re beautiful, honey. Even more now.”

Satoru has doubled in mass since being in the prison realm.

There’s nothing unattractive about him.

Your mind momentarily flashes to the promises of him giving you a family after the fight if he made it.

Every time you think about it, nausea overtakes you.

That dangerous what if that haunted you for nights before the showdown.

What if he didn’t…

No, he’s home.

And that matters so much to you.

That he could come home missing half of his body and you’d still cherish him to death.

Because you know there were others without the gift or the fortune to see their loved ones faces ever again.

Your hands press against the hard surface of his pecks before peeling your back off the headboard and reaching up to kiss him.

You’re caged in between his arms that hold himself up against the headrest. He happily accepts the kiss, lighter than a few seconds ago.

He melts into you again. Your back presses against the cushioned board again as he hovers over you once more.

Hands dipping, your nails feel every dip of his abs. Your legs subconsciously closing as the heat in between them grows.

Satoru bites your bottom lip so he can slip inside your mouth this time, his confidence recovering little by little as he sees the effect he still has on you.

You rein back a whimper that almost escapes once he lowers his lower body onto you. Hard boner pressing against your thinly covered clit—slotting himself perfectly against her.

With the palms of your hands, you push the orange sweatshirt off Satoru and he pulls his hands back quickly to throw it off before latching them on your breasts.

Your mouths dance a ballad you’ve both practiced across different lives.

With no regard for even considering that people might walk by and catch what’s happening through the slightly agape curtains, you slowly plunge your hands inside your husband’s swim trunks.

He hisses against your mouth as your hands wrap around his shaft, sensitive from not being touched or touching himself at all these last months.

Every fiber in you is on fire. His lips leave yours and attach to your neck—peppering your skin with love bites that show you’re his as he works on kneading your tits.

You start pumping his girth at a rhythmic pace, swiping your index finger to collect the small amount of pre-cum oozing out of his tip to stroke him.

Satoru’s face lifts to see you spit on your hand while maintaining eye contact and he feels himself grow harder even when it’s not even possible anymore.

His hand messily pushes down his swim shorts and his cock springs up, hitting him in his lower belly where you immediately grab it and coat it in your spit.

He lets out a deep rumble from his chest that has you twitching around nothing. One large hand pushing your cover up just enough for your bikini-covered breasts to meet the light of day.

A finger hooks under the thin strap underneath them and he sets them free once he tugs the string over your tits.

Your stroking falters when he moves to your nipple, biting as a greeting and then sooting the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You’re dripping—soaking the expensive material of your bathing suit under your cover.

Satoru’s still working on your nipple when his hand pushes up your cover up and moves aside your panties. Long fingers pressing against your warm wetness.

He swears he could cum just for the fact that you’re this wet over him.

A thick, rough digit of his pokes at your entrance before slipping inside. You gasp at the stretch, not having had sex in a long time.

Satoru relishes in the small sound. He pumps the finger once, twice and on the third thrust he unexpectedly adds another finger.

Now, his middle and ring finger stretch you. Wedding ring pressing against your cunt whenever he bottoms his hand out.

His palm rubs against your clit in a way that has you twitching beneath him. Your body jerks at his tongue swirling around your nipple and his palm slapping your bud.

Small moans ring in his ear. With your hands still wrapped around him, he starts thrusting against the mattress, chasing that friction while your mind crashes.

He feels you tense up when your walls start to flutter around his fingers so he pulls them out before you can reach your release.

You feel him lower and latch his mouth onto your pussy before you can process it and whimper for the loss of his digits. Hands letting go of his length as he lowered himself.

Immediately, your hips buck when he flattens his tongue—trying to lap up and consume relish in every taste of his wife’s nectar that she’ll offer him.

You lose all control over the moans and whimpers that leave your mouth—too far gone to even think about others now when your husband eats you up so messily.

Your juices mixed with his saliva soak into the white mattress, staining it, yet the two of you couldn’t care less.

Satoru laps up like a starved man. As he is. His tongue slips past your ring of resistance at times, teasing. Testing to see if you’re ready.

Your nails cling at his back, scratching new redness that he doesn’t mind—not in the way he does with his scars.

His hands are now under your plush ass, angling you upwards and holding you in place as he devours you with the reverence and need he has always had with you.

Your orgasm approaches quickly once he reignites it. Satoru holds the need to smirk against you once he feels your clit twitch and your sweet cunt start to flutter all alone.

He looks up with your bud in between his lips to see the heavenly sight of you propped on your elbows, tits out and glistening, your head thrown back.

His rutting against the bed stops.

You come undone on his tone aggressively. It hits you all at once, shivers overtaking you as your mind falls into pure euphoria.

Satoru doesn’t let a single drop spill.

Not giving you much time to recover, too eager to melt his body with yours, and with you all over his face, your husband climbs over your body again and captures your lips in a kiss.

Tasting yourself on his glistening lips, you shudder and whimper from how sensitive you are once you feel him rub his tip against your entrance.

“ ‘toruuu.” You whine, tears brimming your eyes.

A mock pity pout spawns on his face. His head lolls to the side as he watches your struggled expression—mouth parted, eyes fluttering open and shut when he brushes himself against your overstimulated clit.

“Didn’t you miss me, baby?” He teases.

"I—did-I missed you so much, mmh!" You mewl out in high-pitched stutters. Eyes falling shut and letting the tears spill from your clamped shut eyelids once he bottoms out in one go.

“Oh fuck.” Satoru bites back a low groan that escapes straight from his chest, his thighs pressing against the round and plush skin of your ass.

He wastes no time in pulling back and snapping himself back home. Letting his length disappear inside of you with little to no resistance. “Yeah, baby. Take all of me.”

Electricity sparks every once-dormant nerve in your body back to life.

Your mind momentarily flashes back to the promises he had vowed to keep before the fight. How he’d retire if he won, give you a family and spend the rest of his days cherishing the moments he spends in your arms.

And you snap out of your thoughts once you feel his two hands slide under your thighs, strong forearms locking them against your hamstrings so he can snugly wrap your legs around his textured waist—carved skin firmed up from days in a dark realm where he fought against time and his own mind.

You feel him everywhere. To the veins harshly reminding you how they have a place within your velvety walls ever since he vowed to be the only one who would ever walk the earth to please you—to the heat swirling in your chest out of profound and raw love you have for your husband.

It’s not supposed to be such a bittersweetly beautiful moment as Satoru is keeping your legs folded around him—forcing him to voluntarily slam down and dip his bulging cock back down home, juices welcoming him and kissing his length goodbye when he pulls back—but it’s so painfully good.

The way he’s back within your reach—caging you under his huffing, feral state where you can see the light color of his eyes sparkling as his body is electrified with life for the first time in months—and the way he’s stretching you out so deliciously.

Making you mewl out incomprehensible words that end up being letters melted into each other with no real meaning because your brain can barely form a real thought.

He’s finding the love you have for him in every crevice of you as your tongues mesh together again. Saliva on saliva as he connects his hips to yours without faltering once.

Begrudgingly, he pulls back. Your eyes fall down to his plush baby pink swollen lips that once shined with your release.

His breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling—occasionally shaking as a deep groan escapes him when you suck him in so greedily—for a second, you catch his stare falling to your bodies connecting.

Then he snaps back up—face levelling to you where you’re still giving him that fucked out doe-eyed look that he swears will have him falling over the edge sooner than he intends to.

“Baby?” He softly calls out, the four-lettered word spilling out of his mouth with ease that comes out of the habit he has of calling you that loving name.

You barely hear the sound of his voice, mind somewhere over the clouds. His tip is pushing past your cervix soo nicely. Kissing that little spot that makes your muscles start to spasm in uneven waves—your eyesight blur and the tears streak down the sides of your face quick.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru is a lot more pleased with himself than he’d admit right now. Even after the noise, the trauma and the ashes—he still has it in him.

Still has it inside of him to unravel you with the simples touches, to have you with your mouth parted open and your eyes rhythmically rolling back as he plunges inside of you—searching for your release.

It fills his body with a tingling sensation—a lingering hot feeling right where his heart sits at the realisation that you’re his wife in every sense of the word.

That you’re still here and still so loving.

All for him.

“M-mhm?” He hears you barely make out, nails moving from his back and onto his forearms where your nails subconsciously dig into his tainted skin.

A cannined smile pulls on his handsome face, almost resembling one of his characteristic smirks that has you knowing—even in your haze—that something is coming.

“Remember the promise I made you?”

Instantly, you scramble around your mind to try and filter to the thousands of promises you’ve offered each other and that he has yet to break.

There are so many, and you don’t have enough mind to run through them all.

“Which—ngh, ‘toru!” In the middle of your attempt to speak, he shifts, hooking both legs over his shoulders. Drawing his chest down, the strong surface of his chest weighing down on your smooth skin.

“—right there! Oh—“

You’re loud. Too loud for someone on a sunbed in a public place. Satoru probably knows it. Yet he makes no effort in shutting you up—he doesn’t muffle your real moans with a kiss, doesn’t silence your babbles with his hand. He lets them pour out into the open.

He lets the world know you’re his.

And that he’s back.

Either way, you don’t make any effort to stop the shore from knowing your lover is back.

His calloused hands, detailed with resilience and his unmatched strength, go delicate as he tries to wipe the stream of tears on the sides of your face.

“C’mon baby, you know which one.”

Seeing the way you fall quiet—half losing the fight between yourself and climaxing too early as your orgasm holds you by your throat, and half winning over the chaos of your mind—he “aids” you just a bit as his left hand drops and finds your clit with soft circles.

He’s teasing you, worsening the internal struggle he’s putting you through—setting every nerve in your body on fire as he pulls your release by the reins.

“What do you want from me?”

His words find a place in your disoriented head, clicking with his previous question.

A baby.

You wanted a baby with him before the fight.

A family.

Something to remember him by

Every night before that godforsaken day.

You tried.

Clung onto his body with a different—more painful kind of desperation than the one you have right now.

Tried for a baby.

Tried to leave a part of him within you just in case he—

The answer spills out of your mouth before your mind dips to darker places.

“A family.” You breathe out, eyes clamping shut for a second.

He muses, face dipping to press soft kisses to your pulsing temple. “Yeah?”

“Y—yeah!”

Your voice pitches higher at the last second as he presses down on your clit.

“Please—please, ‘toru—don’t leave me. Give me a baby.”

You don’t realise just how your fear is spilling through the cracks as you beg to finish and for him to never be done with you.

And Satoru goes soft.

Pace stuttering, abs tightening—he’s so close, you’re so close too.

With slow strokes, already high off demolishing you the past moments—Satoru rides the last moments of the roller coaster as he reaches his end.

“I’ll give you everything, honey.” He whispers, the bed creaking less beneath the both of you as he takes you to the edge.

And you titter to your orgasm that crashes over you twice as strong the second time once he completes his sentence. “Just take it all.”

He places a soft kiss to your lips as he buries himself inside, ropes and ropes of white milky cum filing your womb—overflowing right out of your walls while he remains inside, twitching and unwilling to leave.

A choked sob is muffled as Satoru’s lips catch it, right hand caressing your cheek.

Everything falls quiet, the smell of sex in the open air quickly settles back into the horizon as the sea overtakes the atmosphere and your ears hear the waves crashing against the sand.

The birds sing a song that relaxes your muscles. Your husband goes limp inside of you before pulling out—no longer having anything left of his to give that’s not love.

He plops down to you, the bed dipping in two sides now—but it quickly goes back to only one spot when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you over his warm body, letting you hear his heartbeat underneath the layers of skin.

Thud thud thud.

The sound goes straight to your veins, travelling through arteries and shifting your own heartbeat till it follows his.

He’s home.

Your Satoru is home.

And you fall asleep in his arms.

Safe, the way you both deserve to be.

Three hours later, Satoru walks over to the rim of the sea, stares off into the distance as the sun kisses his pale skin.

He’s uncovered, letting the salty breeze greet his open and slowly healing scars.

But he’s real.

And you join him when he goes inside the water.

Because this is just the first step out of the trenches.

And you’ll be there with him every stretch of the way.

Please excuse the way this turned out, tumblr has been deleting my completed drafts and not saving anything I write and it has been killing my motivation to write. Nonetheless, thank you to the 800 of u who have been patient w me, satosugu x reader and suguru x reader smut coming soon~ bye loves. More <3 Taglist.