It’s all that’s said before he’s pulling out. Completely. 

A disappointed little whine leaves your lips before you even realize what’s happening. And you’re left clenching so greedily around nothing, thick globs of cum landing in a pool on the drenched sheets below. 

“No- come back-.” If you were in any better state of mind you’d almost be embarrassed about how pathetically you were begging for something- anything. Just anything but for Toji to pull away, kissing down your body until he was face-to-face with your dripping cunt. 

But did he listen? Of course not. Because it you were such a fucking vision down there, it was almost hard to look - your pretty pussy all painted white with his cum, seeping into your skin. 

And Toji’s so fucking hypnotized that he doesn’t even give you a warning before plunging nose-deep, unable to even think about bringing himself to be disgusted. No, the only thing on his mind was to bully his tongue through your swollen folds, dipping just into your sloppy entrance and ah-

He groans into your cunt as he tastes himself. Tastes you. 

Sweet. You were so fucking sweet. 

So pretty falling apart on his tongue as he laps up your juices like a man possessed. All your cute, broken little moans going straight to his aching dick. All that cum from before? It wouldn’t go to waste. 

“Shit.” you flinch as he hisses out little profanities into your sensitive pussy, “Y’taste so good, so mine.” Words slurred and unfocused, like the chocolate was getting to him - or maybe it was how pussydrunk he was now.

Toji is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his lips around it - clearly having way too much fun with this. And shit you could almost cry from the overstimulation - walls fluttering sensitively around his relentless tongue. 

“C’mon, doll.” Toji’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. “Give it t’me. Wan’ it all.”

And he was so fucking messy with it too - Toji always was, but right now it was like he couldn’t decide where to go next. Stretching you out, dipping inside your slutty hole, swirling his tongue against your ravaged clit over and over and- 

“Yes! Yes yes yes-” your body jerks violently. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Feels so fucking good- don’ stop-.” 

“So demanding.” he tuts mockingly around your dripping entrance, the vibrations sending white-hot jolts of electricity up your spine. But he’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. It wasn’t enough - it never might be and fuck Toji wanted more. 

To taste it more. To have you like this - big fat tears dripping down your cheeks, pussy trying to suck up his hot tongue so needily, so hard that it was almost difficult to tonguefuck you into insanity. Half-lucidly, you wondered whether his jaw wasn’t tired, tongue cramping up. 

And honestly Toji could stay here on his knees for hours, just teasing you with his tongue - but no, there was something else more important.

“Shit- Toji, m’close m’-”

Without another word, he’s pulling away. Disappointment quickly turning into anticipation at the sheer sight of his face glossed so prettily with your juices, messy and dripping all the way down his chin. You gulp as Toji swipes his tongue across his lips, savoring every last drop of you. 

“You’re welcome, I cleaned up your act.” His fist wraps around his still-achingly hard cock, eyes locked on you like a predator cornering his prey, “Now s’time f’me to mess it all up again.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Impatient!

“My love,” he whispers against your ear, barely audible above the bustling office party. One hand reaching down oh-so-covertly to cup your ass against that sinfully thin dress. “If I don’t fuck you right now, I think I might just fuckin’ lose it.”

Oh. 

Which is how you found yourself shoved against the wall of the nearest bathroom, the tile cool against your skin. Barely even fully inside before Nanami - desperate and already fumbling with his belt - is swiftly locking the door.

“K-Kento- ah-” you gasp, the words dying in your throat as he shoves your dress up. Bothering just enough to pull aside your panties before spitting on your poor pussy from behind. Once. Twice. Missing on purpose to let a steady stream of saliva and slick trail filthily down your quivering thighs. “People are gonna- hah- wonder…”

God, your head was spinning - Nanami was so fucking filthy right now, all sloppy desperation where he was usually suave kisses, playing you like a fine instrument during sex.

“Let them.” he groans against your ear. Smearing his spit all over your pussy, toying with you in a way that was so maddening. “I jus’ need you right- fuck, right now. Jus’ relax f’me, darling.”

You scoff, both as impatient and needy as you were confused. “Kento, you ngh- drag me out here and tell me to relax?” Clenching so desperately around nothing as he drags his swollen tip up and down your folds, sliding it so lewdly in-between. “Why don’t you just fuck me alre-”

Because the words are barely out of your mouth before he’s pushing in, inching inside just slow enough that he wouldn’t hurt his pretty girl.

“Oh! Shit- ah fuck fuck. S’too- ngh” you can barely form coherent sentences at just the stretch. 

“Big?” he’s huffing out a laugh as you keen at the stretch, as if your walls aren’t sucking him in so obscenely, hips bucking up mindlessly for more. “Y’can take it, I know- you can-”

Thrusting only in quick, shallow little jabs of his hips, like he was trying to stop some utterly depraved part of himself from fucking into your cute pussy until you were screaming his name. Not even wanting to give you time to adjust because shit he needed this- wanted this so bad-

Smack!

A hand comes down on the wall just inches away from your head, like a desperate attempt to collect himself. 

“Mmm- Kento.” you groan, drunk off the way he was filling you up so good. Full. So full - and he wasn’t even halfway in. wanting more. Veins pulsing against your walls in a dizzying thump! thump! thump! to which your sanity was slowly dancing away from you. 

“Y-yes?” 

You turn around to bat your lashes at him, “Just fuck me the way I know you want to.”

It’s like something snapped - maybe Nanami’s restraint, maybe his sanity, definitely you by the end of this. 

“Well then,” he hums, dangerously low. Looping two strong arms around your waist so you can’t escape. Tight, grip almost bruising. “What m’girl wants, she’s gonna-” Immediately reeling his hips back all the way till his weeping tip was just kissing your sloppy entrance. “-get.”

And God Nanami might be pussydrunk out of his mind, but whatever was left of that rational part of his mind had him shoving his fingers inside your mouth. Muffling the delicious little moan that rips from your throat as he finally bottoms out. 

Stretching you to insanity, heavy balls smacking your ass so hard you were sure it would leave marks.

“Y’know, thank fuck for Higuruma. Didn’t think you’d be taking it like such a little slut in the bathroom if he hadn’t slipped me that chocolate.” Not even giving you the time adjust before he was ramming his cock into you, whispering in your ear in such a mean little tone. “Better be thankful now, since m’going easy on you-”

A shiver runs down your spine - maybe at his words, maybe at the way he was fucking you liked he hated you. Not even letting you breathe with the way he had his hips smacking yours, tip kissing your cervix, fingers poised on your throbbing clit. 

Ready to break - to ruin you.

“-because we haven’t even gotten home, yet.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - "Shut up and cum."

“It’s probably not even that bad, right?”

Oh, you shouldn’t have said that - you really, really shouldn’t have said that. 

Because now, not only was Geto Suguru reeling from the after-effects of swallowing some damned lust curse - he was also going to make you bear the brunt of it. And the words have barely left your mouth before he’s pushing you onto the nearest flat surface - eyes dazed, hair untied, looking miles away as he all but rips off your shorts and drenched panties with it.

Whispering hotly against your ear, “You’re going to fucking regret that.”

That was over an hour ago. Probably, you were too far gone to keep track of the time at this point.

Because what you certainly didn’t expect was to still have Geto buried in your poor, abused cunt, ramming into you from behind like a fucking animal. So hard you were sure it left marks - your thighs on his, his balls on your ass, fingers on your hips. 

So debauched and merciless that all you can do is let out a pathetic little ah! ah! ah! each time his angry tip kisses your cervix. Words cracking as you manage to get out, “S-Sugu-”

“Shut up.”  Voice so jagged and hoarse that it takes you a second to realize that it’s your boyfriend. Hips only getting sloppier as he speeds up - his only response. 

You were getting fucked by your boyfriend - but it didn’t feel like your boyfriend. Just a madman out to ruin your ravaged pussy. He’s been teasing you this whole time - toying with your pretty pussy like his favorite fucktoy. Always stopping just when you were about to cum. Driving you mad so torturously slow.

“But Sugu~” you yelp, and he gives your ass a sharp smack. A warning - but you still plow on, hoping to speak some sense back into the man. “A-all I said was-”

“Didn’t I fucking tell you to shut up?” 

Honestly, Geto doesn’t even know why he’s mad - he loves you. He loves when you talk. He loves when you’re all needy for him. But it’s just that his cock was so hard it felt like he was about to fucking explode - and that there was no better cure for that than seeing you all breathless and crying to cum. 

Is he being a bully? Yeah. Does it make his balls squeeze so painfully hard watching you try and play with your pretty clit? Only for him to smack your hand away? Fuck yeah.

Which is why he can’t take his eyes off the heavenly sight of you spread so shamefully, sloppy and wet enough that you’re dripping all over him. Face scrunched into such an adorable pout while he massages your plushy walls, trying to milk something delicious..

So fucking pretty. It almost makes him wanna play nice.

“A-all ya gotta do- ngh-” you were milking him so good it was almost impossible for Geto to form coherent sentences. “-is shut up and take it. S’that so hard? Hah-”  Hips are erratic now, fucking any and every thought out of your mind. “Running your mouth for what? Just lemme take care of you, gorgeous.” 

It’s all you can do to not sob in desperation, hips grinding down traitorously on his cock in an attempt to meet his merciless cadence. You don’t even have to think about it - just some primal, pathetic part of yourself trying to get off. 

Surprisingly, Geto lets you - maybe he’s reached his limit, too. 

Because he’s letting you reach out an angle his hips, nails digging into his slutty waist. Just trying to fuck yourself deeper. Harder - the way you knew would have him hitting just the right spots that have you-

He’s stopped. 

“Now now, what did I say?” Geto’s tutting mockingly, lips curling into such a cruel little smile. And when he looks down at you, you don’t know whether it’s the aphrodisiac or that sadistic little part of himself taking over. Lips ghosting so gently over yours, “If you’re that impatient then make the both of us cum. Now. Or you’re not cumming at all.” Oh. He definitely hasn’t reached his limit - and you think he won’t stop until he’s broken yours.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Not enough (never is)

“Please, baby.” Choso lets out a broken little grunt, milking his base tighter. Back arching off the bed each time his fist flies up and down his swollen cock, “C-can’t hah- cum without you.” 

God, fuck you and your secret “special chocolate” stash. 

Well, Choso wishes he could fuck you right now, because only one bite of that little pink chocolate that he’d found all the way in the back of the refrigerator and that’s all he could think about. 

So here he was - pants thrown across the room, boxers shoved down to his ankles. One hand wrapped around his cock, the other trying to muffle those pathetic moans leaving him each time he came at the thought of you. You, looking so unfairly pretty, flashing him that sultry smile before you left for work. You, how much better you’d look on your knees with that smile wrapped around his cock. Looking up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you choke around him - oh, how badly he just wants to steal you away from your workplace.

Trying so desperately to chase- which orgasm was it this time? He didn’t even know, doesn’t even think his fried brain could count right now. 

Ah, who gives a shit - Choso just can’t help himself, okay? It wasn’t enough. Never will be - he could cum at just the thought of you over and over again until he physically couldn’t anymore. 

“Shit.” Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Choso fights back a groan as he reaches a hand up to teasingly thumb under his slit. “Wan’ your ngh- sweet lips w-wrapped around me.” 

“Is that so, Cho?”

Your thighs squeeze together at the way Choso twitches so sensitively in his hands just at the sound of your voice. So red and so so angry, hard enough that you wondered whether it was painful. Eyeing everything from the way he was sprawled so pretty across your bed, a delicate flush spreading all over his body. Fist stalling - but still not stopping - at the sight of you. 

Your boyfriend manages to grit out, hips stuttering as he fucks his fist faster and faster, chest heaving, eyes locked on you. “Y-you’re early?”

“Mhm. Seems you’ve been busy?” you purr, walking ever-so-slowly into the heady room. Giving him a big, pouty look you knew he’d like. “Without me?”

And oh he lets out a broken moan of your name. Only getting sloppier - precum glistening all the way down his wrist, erratic with no rhythm like he was desperate to fuck something so delicious out. Something you really wanted to see. 

“Ngh- didn’t mean to, baby.” But he didn’t mean it, too focused on the way you were walking so agonizingly slowly towards him. “C-couldn’t stop mm- thinking of you.”

Ah, Choso was so pretty - delicate tears streaming down his face, cheeks flushed, hair undone. So overstimulated and needy that you just couldn’t not tease him. Just a little bit. 

“Guess you snuck into my secret stash, huh?” You get down on your knees between those thick, muscled thighs, running your hands up and down his milky skin. “What do we say then, Cho?”

He’s letting out a throaty moan of your name, balls squeezing so fucking painfully at the heavenly below him. What he’s wanted for so long.

So pathetically needy the way he inches his aching cock closer, precum dripping down your tongue, sliding all the way down your throat. Drip! Drip! Drip! So sweet and addictive - but still not giving into what he wanted so badly. “S-sorry-” 

“Louder.” 

“M’sorry- hngh- baby.”

“Then cum, f’me, Cho. All over m’face.”

And with that, Choso’s painting your pretty face white with him cum. Untouched. At the mere sight of you on your knees. So fucking messy with the way he was pumping out thick, hot cum. Rope after rope on your tongue - so hard and violent as if he hadn’t spent the last hour cumming all over his fist. 

Because shit nothing was better than seeing you suck him dry, swallowing every drop like you couldn’t get enough. Especially when you’re letting his seed drip all the way down your chin, looking up at him with delirious, cockdrunk eyes as you spit on his length. Once. Twice.

Palms smearing the saliva and cum along his throbbing length. Making him feel so fucking dirty as you give his pretty pink tip a chaste kiss. Swirling your tongue under the slit just the way he’d done before. 

Letting out a muffled little, “Started without me n’ I think you gotta pay the price, hm?”

Yeah, it’ll never be enough with you.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Easy girl

“Out.”

At first, everyone froze. 

It wasn’t unusual for the king of curses to rasp out a command, let alone tell everyone in his throne room to leave. But it was the way he said it - like he’d fucking snap anyone’s neck if they didn’t. And only one look at you - standing doe-eyed and uncertain at the doorway, thighs quivering ever-so-slightly - had everyone running out the room before Sukuna decided to wipe them out. Or worse. 

“Kuna…” you huff, shuffling to sit so prettily on his lap once you two were left alone. Nuzzling the crook of his neck, “Missed you.”

Ah, he loved you like this. 

You feel Sukuna’s muscled chest rumble with a laugh, pushing you to rest against his pecs as large hands come to rest on your ass. Squeezing and kneading with no care for any marks. “Is that all, brat?” He hums lazily, rocking your hips lazily right where his twitching cock was. “Cuz I can feel how wet that lil’ pussy is n’ I think she has something to tell me.”

And it was true - God, you were so needy and dripping all over Sukuna’s lap. Grinding your hips deliriously to meet his, not even realizing those broken little whimpers leaving your mouth. Shit, you were so far gone. And he knew that. 

“I-” you choke, feeling Sukuna’s cock swelling and hardening beneath your throbbing pussy. “...might’ve snuck into the kitchens. Uraume gave me some chocolate and I’ve been feeling so weird ever since.”

Oh, you were so cute. Big fat tears clinging to your lashes while you humped him like a bitch in heat - Sukuna just can’t stop himself from pulling aside your drenched panties. In awe at the way the flimsy fabric barely did anything to hide your pretty cunt, sticky and glistening so sloppily.

“That explains it.” 

Rip! 

And it’s all that’s said before Sukuna is just tearing your poor panties off, looping it around your neck to pull you closer with it. 

Losing his patience with each pathetic little whine spilling from your lips, the way he could feel your pulse around. So delicate and urgent. The way just one tight pull could have you gasping breathlessly.

“My pretty baby was needy, huh?” he chuckles, breath hot against your skin. Letting out a cruel laugh as he thumbs your swollen folds open, circling ÿour sopping hole, “Tell me.” Biting down your neck, “What do you want to do about it, brat?”

You bat your lashes up at him, fabric tightening around your neck. “Wan’ your cock, Kuna.”

Sukuna didn’t have to be asked twice - because what his cute lil’ human wants, she’ll get. And before you can even react, he’s shifting around his robe just enough for his cock to spring free. Already soaked with precum - or maybe that was your slick.

And shit it doesn’t take him even a second to stuff your tight cunt so full. Have you keening at the sheer stretch as he fucks you in shallow, mindless little grinds to squeeze himself inside your plushy walls. Desperate. 

Because Sukuna was big, so big that you never got used to that no matter how many times he played with your pretty pussy. Used to a few tears, a few lil’ whines of “S’too big, Kuna!”.

But, now, you were sucking him up so well. Milking his thick cock so well with no preparation, head thrown back and fucking yourself in mindless little bounces to meet his. Like the perfect little slut that Sukuna knew you were. 

Sukuna’s mouth drops into a soft little oh! at how quick he bottoms out - the fastest he ever has. You were taking him so good into your sloppy pussy. 

Shit, did you even know what you were doing? 

“F-fuck, maybe you should have those chocolates more often, huh?” Sukuna mutters with a strange sort of reverence. 

Of course, the only response he gets is an incoherent little babble of something - something that went straight to his heavy balls. Too busy with fucking yourself onto his thick cock, already buried so deep inside you, but still pushing relentlessly.

Hips stuttering and leaking your sweet, sweet so sloppily juices all over his thighs. So good but still not enough - still trying to take him deeper. Faster. Needing this more and more by the second. 

“C’mon now.” he muses, fucking his hips to meet your filthy cadence, grip tightening around your panties, a signal to answer. And you gasp - both for air and because you feel like you’re literally burning from the inside. 

“Ah- fuck fuck fuck I- wan’” Nails raking down his shoulder, messily kissing his lips. A desperate attempt to try and tell him what you really want - and he understands. Of course, he does. “Please.”

Which is probably why Sukuna’s laughing at your pathetic state. Too cockdrunk to speak, huh? Spreading your thighs even farther, so much so that it burned. Hands so bruisingly tight on your hips.  “Ya did well, brat.” he grins, “Now, let me be the one to take care of you.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Won’t get out alive

“Sweetheart, fuck fuck fuck, please- M’gonna-” Gojo doesn’t even get to finish the sentence before he’s spilling all over you hand. Milking his aching cock as he keeps cumming and cumming so much that you wondered whether he’s okay - whether he’d make it out alive, even. 

“This is all because of your own stupidity.” you grumble, but still letting him fuck your first through his high - for the nth time today. Hands much smaller and softer than his - shit, was he glad he teleported to your apartment in the middle of class for this. 

And as Gojo blinks back his vision, heaving to regain his breath, his orgasm-addled brain finds it in himself to mutter out a pouty little, “S’not my fault.”

You’re so irritated by him and his stupidity that you pay no mind to the way he’s playing with the hem of your panties, fingers sliding so sneakily underneath. Huffing out a sulky, “I’m serious, Toru. If the elders find out then-”

“Then they can suck my dick.” your boyfriend cuts you off oh-so eloquently. Much more interested in just how sinfully drenched your panties were, all messy and sticking to your swollen folds. “But I’d rather this pretty pussy take care of me before that.”

That’s all that is said before Gojo’s immediately pressing his angry, leaking tip into your sloppy pussy, groaning when you clamp down on him so deliciously. God, he was so sensitive he could cum from just this. Hell, maybe he does, a creamy little ring of white forming at the base as he keeps pushing in. Inch by fucking inch.

And he doesn’t stop - can’t stop - until you’re all the way flush against those tufts of white at his toned pelvis. 

Gasping breathlessly at the hands all on your hips - your sensitive clit - your face - just everywhere because Gojo just can’t get enough of you. Especially when he’s so needy and desperate like this.

“Who let himself hah- g-get hit with a fucking aphrodisiac technique? On purpose?”

Your tone makes him flinch - and for his swollen cock to start twitching so dangerously exhaustedly inside you. So addictively that Gojo can’t even wait too long for you to adjust. Starting up quick, jagged thrusts into your snug pussy. Grinning quietly, “Whoopsies.”

“Ah! Hngh- Fuck. Y-you deserve to suffer the consequences alone, you dumbass.” you scold, tightening your legs around him. And you can do nothing but buck up deliriously as he speeds up his pace - thumbing your swollen clit, like a little apology.

“I know.” he hums into your skin, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of you he could reach. Gasping at the sheer overstimulation. It hurt so good. “Don’ deserve you.”

“That’s not what I-”

Gojo shuts you up with one, harsh thrust. One that knocks all the air out of your lungs and has you worrying whether he’s pushing his massive cock into your organs. You can only take it as his heavy balls smack your ass harder, throbbing cock massaging your gummy walls over and over and-

“Don’t deserve this heavenly pussy-” getting sloppier now, no rhyme or rhythm. Licking long, languid stripes up your neck. “Don’t deserve those cute lil’ moans, either. Or the way you put up with me.” 

Fingers getting frenzied on your clit now - the way they did when he was getting close. Moving in sloppy little patterns that were so eager to get you off. 

Broken little profanities leaving him every time his hips stutter inside of you. Too much to handle at this point that Gojo thinks he might just explode. 

And then finally, he’s pulling away. So fucking sensitive and overstimulated that tears cling to his long lashes, delicately flushed all the way from the tips of his ears down, down, down to where you couldn’t see. Lips so pretty and pink as they say, “But don’t you think for a second that m’gonna let you go, sweetheart.”

“Cum f’me, Toru.”

And Gojo’s so far-gone that he doesn’t realize when he is - pumping thick, hot ropes of cum into your poor pussy with a strangled groan of what sounds like your name. 

Filling you up to the brim like he’d just been waiting for permission. Too proud, too fucking embarrassed to show off this vulnerable little side of himself that was gasping and clawing breathlessly at you. Eyes screwing shut, head thrown back, holding on for some semblance of sanity as he cums harder than he has his entire life.

Babbling out barely-lucid moans of how he’s gonna “get payback for making him cum early” and “make you cum double next time”. 

Promises he well and fully intended to fulfill - if the way his cock was still twitching so ferally inside you was anything to go by. Hips fucking up deliriously - strained, like it hurt but he just had to. Like he couldn’t just not fuck your pretty lil’ pussy. Desperately starting up a pace that made you wonder - yeah, he was going to be the death of you.

The girls are huddled on a bench, buzzing with excitement. Across from them, the boys stand in a line, blindfolded and wearing headphones. Maddy stands by a giant whiteboard with everyone's names, holding a heart-shaped board covered in notes.

“Alright, ladies.” Maddy grins, slipping into full presenter mode. “How are we feeling about this kissing challenge?”

Laughter and cheers erupt from the bench. Maddy smirks.

“Ready to kiss some boys?” She teases. The girls erupt again, hollering in agreement as Maddy glances at her board.

“Okay, first up is Kiara!”

Kiara stands, smoothing her dress.

“Wish me luck.” She quips and the girls give her a playful shove toward the lineup.

She starts with JJ. Their kiss is intense, deep. Then she moves down the line: Ryan, Topper, Kelce, Rafe, John B and finally, Pope. That one’s gentler, a little awkward, but still sweet. She gives him another soft peck before heading back to the bench, her cheeks flushed.

The boys take off their headphones as the music cuts.

“So, boys.” Maddy asks. “Thoughts on our first girl?”

“Good kiss.” Pope says, grinning. Kiara shakes her head with a laugh.

“Pretty solid start.” JJ agrees.

Maddy records their ratings and Kiara scores 53 points. She does a little shoulder shimmy, proud of the result.

“Cleo, you’re up!” Maddy calls, as soon as the boys put their headphones back on

Cleo's approach is slower, more thoughtful. Her kisses are softer, lingering a bit longer on new guy, Ryan and Pope. With Pope, there's something deeper. His hands drift up her sides and when they separate, his lips are slightly swollen and shimmering with her Fenty gloss.

Cleo earns 55 points. She flashes Kiara a cheeky middle finger making Kiara laugh.

Next is Sarah. Her kisses are sensual, soft but confident.

“I think I’m getting turned on.” Y/N mutters, fanning herself as Sarah kisses Ryan.

When she gets to John B, her arms loop around his shoulders. He instinctively wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Their kiss deepens and she giggles mid-way before moving to his neck, trailing up to his ear with a slow lick and a playful bite. John B gasps in response and the girls erupt in squeals. Sarah walks back with 63 points.

Then comes Alyssa. She lingers on Topper, but it’s clear her moment is with Rafe. She turns to the girls with a smirk.

“I never got my chance with him so…sorry, Y/N.” She says, before tugging Rafe down into a kiss.

Y/N rolls her eyes, watching closely. The kiss is messy, desperate but Rafe doesn’t lean in. His hands stay crossed behind his back. When it’s over, he wipes his mouth and Cleo elbows Y/N, wide-eyed.

Alyssa scores the lowest, even with Topper’s generous 10. She scowls as she returns to the bench.

Now it’s Maddy’s turn. The girls cheer as she heads to the boys with purpose. Her kisses are slow and deliberate, especially with Kelce. His hands grip her ass as her dress rides up slightly. They kiss longer than anyone else so far and when she pulls back, her cheeks are flushed.

Maddy earns 60 points. Not a win, but close enough to be proud.

Then, Abigail dives in with pure excitement, making the most of every kiss. She scores 53 points and returns to the bench beaming, not worried about the score.

Last but definitely not least, Y/N rises from the bench and walks slowly toward the lineup of blindfolded boys. She starts with JJ. Their kiss begins soft, but he wastes no time making it messier. His hands grip her waist while her nails trail across his abs, exposed beneath his open shirt.

Next is Ryan. She surprises him by pulling him down to her height, confidently guiding his hands to her ass while cupping his face. Their kiss is slow, sensual and charged. Ryan melts into it, drawing her in closer.

“Oh my god.” Maddy breathes, watching with wide eyes as the rest of the girls exchange stunned looks.

Y/N pulls away with a smirk and moves on to Topper. Their kiss is more tentative as he fumbles with his hands, unsure of where to place them. But Y/N holds her ground and kisses him gently, keeping the moment light.

She approaches Kelce, bracing herself for discomfort, but it never comes. The kiss is unexpectedly sweet, stirring up old memories and forgotten wounds. When she pulls away, she pats his cheek twice, almost fondly, before stepping toward Rafe.

She stops in front of him, pausing to take him in. His head bobs lightly to the beat in his headphones, arms still crossed behind his back like they’ve been for every kiss, so far. His polo clings to his chest, the stubble on his jaw making her knees wobble.

She closes the distance, fingers grazing his chest, then his neck, before cradling his face. Her lips meet his softly at first, but the moment they connect, his hands drop to her waist, pulling her in. The kiss deepens. He groans low in his throat, his grip tightening on her ass, not rough, but firm enough to leave a mark in her memory.

She pulls back to breathe, then kisses down his neck, slowly, deliberately. He tightens his grip on her hips, pressing her against him.

“Y/N…” He whispers. Though he can’t see her, she looks up at him anyway, then leans in again. This time the kiss is shorter, but just as intense. So much that it leaves her dizzy and him breathless. Before walking away, she bites his bottom lip gently, drawing another groan. The girls laugh from the bench as Rafe exhales sharply and bends slightly, adjusting his pants, clearly flustered.

Still catching her breath, Y/N kisses John B. It’s soft, sweet and brief. She knows nothing else could measure up after Rafe.

Finally, she reaches Pope. Their kiss is warm, unhurried. When she pulls back, she’s smiling and so is he.

Y/N returns to the bench just as the music cuts and the boys remove their headphones, but not their blindfolds.

“Boys.” Maddy announces. “That was our seventh and final girl. Thoughts?”

“Hell.” Rafe mutters, drawing chuckles from the girls. Maddy raises an eyebrow.

“Well, Rafe, it seemed like you got a little more...engaged during that round. Any notes? Comments?”

Y/N rolls her eyes as Maddy looks at her knowingly. She reapplies her lip gloss, trying not to smirk. Rafe shakes his head.

“No notes. Just…she’s a fucking amazing kisser.” Down the line, Ryan nods, clearly agreeing. Sarah elbows Y/N.

“You seem confident.” Maddy teases. “Think you know who you were kissing?”

“I don’t think.” Rafe says. “I know.”

Maddy turns back to her chalkboard.

“Alright, time for the ratings. JJ?”

“Solid kiss.” JJ replies. “The nail thing? Hot. I’ll give her an 8.”

Maddy scribbles it down.

“Ryan, you seemed to be enjoying yourself…”

Ryan nods, glancing toward where he thinks Y/N might be.

“Yeah, she definitely knew what she was doing. I liked how she took control, put my hands where she wanted.”

Rafe scoffs.

“It’s a 10 from me.” Ryan adds. The girls react with surprise. Even Y/N raises an eyebrow. Maddy clears her throat theatrically.

“Would you kiss her again?” She asks, glancing at Y/N.

“No hesitation.” Ryan says with a grin. Rafe shifts, jaw clenched, clearly irritated.

“Topper?”

“A little awkward, probably my fault.” He admits. “And considering Rafe ‘knows’ who it was, I’d rather not get my ass beat, so…6.”

The girls laugh and Y/N grins, unfazed.

“Good man.” Rafe mutters approvingly.

“Kelce?”

Kelce scratches the back of his neck.

“I had my suspicions before, but Rafe confirmed them. Great kiss. No hard feelings. I’ll give it a 9.”

Y/N gives him a grateful smile as Maddy turns to Rafe.

“Okay, Ra-” “10.” Rafe cuts her off, arms crossed, smirking. Maddy blinks but jots it down.

With John B and Pope’s ratings added, Y/N earns 61 points, which confirms Sarah's win. The girls cheer for the final scores as the boys remove their blindfolds and crowd around the board.

Rafe’s eyes find Y/N immediately, lingering on her flushed cheeks and glossed lips.

Now it’s the girls’ turn, as they line up with playful grins and nervous giggles, slipping on their headphones and adjusting their blindfolds while the boys take their seats on the bench. Kelce stands front and center, holding the heart-shaped board filled with notes.

“Alright, first up is John B!” He announces, earning cheers as John B rises.

John B moves down the line smoothly, planting soft kisses with ease. He lingers a little longer on Sarah, wrapping her up in his arms, making her giggle into his chest. It’s sweet, familiar. He returns to the bench with 53 points, shrugging nonchalantly.

Topper is next and things immediately get awkward. He’s all elbows and bad timing. Pulling Maddy a little too hard, landing a kiss on Kiara’s nose and going way too intense with Y/N.

“I am really, really sorry for this.” Y/N says, readjusting her blindfold, her tone apologetic but honest. “It just wasn’t my speed. I’m gonna have to give it a 6.”

Topper returns to the bench with 50 points as the guys try to lift his spirits.

Kelce’s turn brings a wave of energy. He’s charming, deliberate, taking his time with each girl. Deep kisses, roving hands, a confident swagger and he racks up an impressive 65 points, leaving everyone cheering in surprise.

Pope follows, more tender and precise. His soft touch earns him a ‘10’ from Cleo, boosting him to a solid 58 points.

And then, it’s Rafe. He stands slowly, his jaw tight, but eyes scanning the lineup until they land on her.

She doesn’t know he’s watching, of course. Her head’s tilted slightly to the beat of the music in her ears, her weight shifting from foot to foot. Her hands tucked into her back pockets. And those jeans hugging her figure just right.

He starts with Cleo, a soft kiss and steady hands. Then Maddy, with a light grip around the waist. Alyssa, Kiara, Abigail, Sarah, each kiss deliberate, measured. But they’re just stepping stones. Because then, he’s in front of her.

And something shifts.

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands find her waist and pull her toward him in one swift motion, surprising her. Her breath catches as her fingers instinctively clutch his shirt. The scent of his cologne, familiar yet dangerous, wraps around her like a second skin. She doesn’t know it’s him, but her body remembers.

He cups her face gently, his lips brushing hers, tender at first before deepening the kiss with purpose. His tongue slips past her lips, drawing a breathy sound from her throat. One hand moves to the nape of her neck, holding her in place, while the other slides down, gripping her thighs and lifting her up effortlessly. She gasps as her legs wrap around his waist. His hand grips her ass firmly, massaging the flesh and she lets out a sound she doesn’t even recognize.

His lips find her neck. A kiss. Then a bite. She grips his shoulders hard, nails digging into his skin and he hisses in delight. He kisses her again, hungrier now, messier. Her lip gloss smears onto his lips as her head tilts to chase more.

When he finally pulls back, it’s not to catch his breath but to admire her. Lips swollen. Hair tousled. Cheeks flushed. Two faint marks on her neck.

He knows she’s going to kill him for that. And he also knows he doesn’t care.

He sets her down gently, presses one last squeeze to her ass and walks back without a word. The boys erupt in laughter and high fives and he accepts them all with a smug smile, casually wiping her lip gloss from his mouth with the back of his hand.

The girls remove their headphones just as Kelce speaks up.

“Girls, what did you think of boy number five?”

“It was nice.” Maddy smiles.

“Very sweet. And very respectful too.” Abigail adds. But Y/N tilts her head, still blindfolded, brows furrowed.

“Y/N, you’re making a face.” Kelce notes.

“I…I think I got some type of different treatment with this one?” She says, laughing awkwardly, touching her flushed cheeks.

“Good different?” Maddy asks and Y/N doesn’t hesitate.

“No, yeah. Definitely good.”

Topper’s laughing, practically shaking Rafe beside him. Rafe just leans back with a smug grin.

“Alright, ladies, time to rate the guy.” Kelce says. The scores go around until it’s Y/N’s turn. Everyone watches.

“I’m probably gonna regret this later when he rubs it in my face.” She begins, sighing. “But…I’d give that kiss a 10.”

Topper cheers, the girls burst into laughter and Rafe just sits there smirking, glitter still shining on his lips proudly.

Y/N is still breathless. But not from the kiss. But from knowing exactly who it was because no one else ever made her feel like that.

JJ is next, springing up from the bench with a grin and ripping off his shirt, earning cheers and laughter from the boys. His score isn't quite what he hoped for, but he shrugs it off with a smirk as he returns to his seat.

“At least I beat JB.” He jokes, making John B chuckle. He plops down on the bench as the final boy stands.

Ryan steps forward, making his way toward the girls with smooth confidence. He works down the line with soft kisses and warm touches, a playful charm in every step. But when he reaches the last girl, his pace changes. There’s a flicker of excitement as he crouches down, his hands gently cupping Y/N’s face. Her lips part slightly at the contact and instinctively, he wets his own before leaning in.

His kiss is nothing like Rafe’s. There’s no rush, no urgency. It’s slow and tender, his lips moving carefully against hers, tongue just teasing enough to leave her wanting more. His hands rest lightly on her waist, fingers squeezing her hips with gentle intent. When he finally pulls away, she’s breathless, leaning in again like she might follow him.

From the bench, Rafe watches, jaw tight, every nerve in his body screaming to look away but he doesn’t. He can’t. He sees her response and it knots something inside him.

Ryan straightens and returns to his seat as the girls begin removing their headphones.

“Last boy, ladies, what’s the verdict?” Kelce grins, glancing at the board before turning back.

“It was cute.” Sarah says casually.

“Unexpected.” Y/N murmurs under her breath.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.” Kelce pipes up. “Care to repeat that for the group, Y/N?”

She hesitates.

“I...I said it was unexpected.”

Rafe’s eyes flick to her, a quiet question in his gaze. Cleo raises a brow, half amused.

“Girl, don’t talk in riddles. Was it good or bad unexpected?” She asks, getting impatient. Y/N lets out a small laugh with the others.

“It was good.” She licks her lips, fidgeting with her ring. “Really good.”

Kelce looks away from the notes in his hand.

“And why exactly was it unexpected?”

“I’m not sure.” She says, softly. “It just…it surprised me. It was a nice kiss.” She exhales. “Can we just move to the rating?”

Kelce nods and asks Cleo to start. One by one, the girls give their scores, until it’s Y/N’s turn.

“So, Y/N.” Kelce prompts, marker in hand. “What’s it gonna be?”

“It was a nice kiss. Sweet. Soft. More my pace, I guess.” She swallows. “I’d give it a…10.”

The boys erupt in cheers around Ryan as Topper’s head snaps back toward Rafe. Kelce raises his eyebrows, scribbling the score on the board.

“That brings boy number seven to a total of 59 points. Ladies, you can now remove your blindfolds.”

The girls step forward to study the board, their eyes adjusting to the light. The boys follow, teasing and comparing scores. Y/N blinks, scanning the numbers, then gasps.

“Oh my god, Topper, I’m so sorry about the 6.” She exclaims, grabbing his arm and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

As Sarah points out a name on the board, Y/N turns to her, chatting. When Sarah turns to ask Maddy something, Y/N feels something behind her. Or someone. A hand grazes her waist. A breath brushes her neck. Goosebumps rise on her skin.

“When I give you the signal.” A voice murmurs. “Meet me on the terrace.”

She nods almost imperceptibly, then glances back at Sarah as if nothing happened. But her eyes keep flicking to him. Waiting.

He’s laughing with Pope, fingers running through his hair and then he catches her eye. A wink. A silent cue. He excuses himself before he steps away, heading up the stairs.

Y/N leans into Sarah.

“I’m gonna go…to the terrace.” She murmurs, subtly nodding in that direction. Sarah’s eyes widen, tracking his absence.

“With him?” She asks and Y/N nods.

“We need to talk. Especially after that challenge.”

Sarah sighs, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“If anything happens, call my name. Got it?” She advises and Y/N nods, slipping away through the bedroom and up the stairs. She pauses outside the makeup room, inhaling deeply before pushing open the door.

He’s there, sitting on the couch, gaze fixed on the villa below. When the door clicks shut, he turns to her.

“Hey.” He says quietly, sitting up.

“Hi.” She replies, just as softly.

to be continued...

Oh, it was definitely him. Toji Fushiguro was fully and officially pussydrunk. 

A filmy gaze takes over his verdant eyes when those words make your glossy entrance flood with a few more slathers of slick, splotches of it puddling all over his jagged happy trail. He was in heaven. 

That is, until Toji realizes just what he’s uttered and he’s inhaling a sharp gasp. Fuck.

Bulging pecs heaving with embarrassment and pure carnal need once he tiredly hovers up two fat fingerpads and smashes your cheeks together into a pathetic pout. Lurching you over and gifting your lolling pinkish tastebuds with a syrupy web of saliva to shut you up before you can even think of snarking back.

“Sh-shut up.” He’s groaning into your slack cavern, brandishing a harsh strike of his bloated tip circumference into your cervix. Tense core burning with the stretch, “Just- just if we’re gonna hck! make Megumi a big brother, m’gonna marry you, ma- don’t be stupid.”

Fuck- what?

Your heart races, and Toji seems to have realized the effect his little confession had on you - even when his mind was all melty and feverish like this. 

Because you’re getting graced with a rapid three spanks to your drooling slit, before drawing a lazy few hearts over your perky clit. The ravenous end of his thumb was driving you mad, “That’s right. Open ‘er wider. Lemme see, ma.”

“S-so bossy.” You’re muffling out a whine, yet mindlessly heeding to every word he was prattling off. There’s a resounding squelch! from below you once Toji pries apart your gluey walls and matches your other set of lips by spitting out a steady stream of spittle. Choking out a moan at the beads of his own cum leaking out of you, “Sh-shiiit, Toji—”

“T-T-Toji—” He’s mocking, so many dramatic octaves higher to hide the needy tremor in his words. The meaner Toji got, the meaner his thrusts became. 

And the meaner his calloused fingers were, wafting over your pussymound to swipe up every weepy ounce of seed. Popping a few generous helpings of caramel salt sap into your mouth, “N’ you say I’m the- ngh- pussydrunk one.”

But he was - oh, he was.

No matter how much he was planting his feet flatly on the soft mattress to hide the desperate shiver running through every overstimulated limb in his body, no matter how much he was scrunching his heavy lids shut to stow away just how far his glassy irises were sliding backwards. 

You were riding him for what felt like hours now, and he was already tearing up. Delicately-flushed face drooping into the cushy pillow. You’re humming, “You are.”

“Shut the fuh-fuck up.” He growls, a slow trickle of sweat forming at his temple. “Pussydrunk- tch. As if. Can ya see hearts in m-my eyes or what, ma?”

Toji couldn’t stop himself from reeling one big, beefy arm behind his head and clasping onto the mahogany headboard. Building up dangerously, “S-so what if I c-can’t think- so what if this pretty pussy makes me want a baby—” 

His massive biceps flex so attractively, knuckles straining - hard enough that your head snaps up at the splintering crack! of wood-

“Toji- fuck fuck fuck–” Struggling to get out mere syllables let alone full sentences, he was swirling the ruby-red curve of his length ‘round and ‘round your mushy insides so good. Slippery orifice at the very middle of his mushroomy tip leaving heated French snogs all over those magical spots, “Are- are you okay, baby–?”

Shit, he’s bowing his muscular back the perfect curvature off of your drenched bedsheets. Sweat-glazed abs crushing up into your front, he scrunches his nose and keens.

“No- No.” There’s a zip! of power - of Toji’s power - and the bed cracks even further, as if he wasn’t even in control of it. “Gooood I love you, doll- love her.”

“Wh-what-” You’re following his lecherous gaze back down to your filthy cunt, where he was salivating at the sultry sight of your puffy pussy lips struggling to accommodate him. All weepy and messy. Messy with him.

Your tummy turns with just how full you were of his milky sap, yet you wanted more. Veins bubbling at the glutinous swash of his wiry strings of seed coating your innermost walls. 

Overstuffed to your tight brim with every girthy inch of his cock, a cute dimple embeds its way into the side of Toji’s cheek when he sees one of his puffy veins rub your slick hole just the way you liked. Snickering out - airy, breathless. Nonsensically. “I’m not p-pussydrunk- she is. Got me- got me goin’ crazy.”

There’s a solid twitch of Toji’s sobbing fat head at the very bottom of your pussy, and it’s all you can do to not scream. Close. 

Rutting your hips in a semi-bounce, it marks all down the striking flesh of your thighs with Toji’s prominent hipbones. It marks the door to your womb with him- 

“Cum f’me then, Toji—” You’re whimpering, watching the way his eyes widen a simple fraction. “A-all up inside- want it. Want is so ngh- bad.”

“G-greedy girl.” He grunts, oh-so-smug.

The very last thing before Toji feels like he’s in fucking heaven. Before he thinks that you might just be an angel watching over him - shuddering right over him while he pumps you so very full of copious volumes of cum.

It’s filthy. It’s overspilling. 

And he doesn’t even know how he’s still cumming, but right now Toji doesn’t think he can stop.

Toes curling with stimulation, towering body trembling underneath your very touch. He was sensitive. And he was rutting his hips up in an eager one-two to push the ivory wads of cum deeper inside of you-

“S-so full.” You’re biting your lip- only for a split-second before Toji’s straying up a thick thumb and pulling it out from between your teeth.

You feel your core heat up as soon as he takes over nipping on your lower lip like his favorite candy. And with one hand he’s stroking the drooling ends of your cunt, lapping up his saturated seed; with the other he’s patting that tummy bulge of yours. “T-told you I’ll get ya ngh- pregnant.”

“Toji…” You’re crooning, and that low tone of yours is enough to make his breath hitch. Your hips come down in an arched drag all down his toned abs, grinding your neglected clit. Hard. “One more?”

Toji’s voice cracks, “P-please.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “J-just the…”

Now, Nanami meant to feed your cute, weepy orifice with just his fattened tip - he meant to give his pretty lil’ wife only a taste before he had to rush off to work this morning. 

Half-dressed up in that formal suit you loved so much, heated body firm against your adorably arched back. At least…that’s what he meant to do.

But with only a singular proud inch sunken inside you, your husband finds himself gasping. Heaving. “Just the tip” be damned. 

“M-my darling—” What’s this? Nanami Kento never stutters. He never sounds so…fucked-out already.

Your hips rut backwards and make him break out in a boiling hot sweat, “Are you okay–?”

One warm hand clamors down to the curve of your waist where you were pressed side-by-side, sensually dragging up that flimsy silk nightgown of yours. The other immediately rovering to his hefty base and squeezing as if to hold himself back.

“Fuck- fuck! Yes, dear, I-I’m okay, just…” He’s pushing his condensed glasses up, drawling with a throaty tinge of madness in his words. Batting and batting those long tawny lashes, but his vision was still tinged with such hot arousal. “Do you have hah- anythin’ you want to say to say t’me, hm?”

You’re craning your glassy eyes over your shoulder with a quirked brow, thighs falling further open at his scorching hot nudge. Yearning for more more more. “What do you mean, Ken?”

And oh- shit. 

Your voice saying his first name like that is enough to make Nanami’s powerful hips rut in a way he didn’t even mean to. Enough to make him bite down fervently on his stern lower lip and suck in a deep inhale once his plumpened crownhead jolts–

“Y-your pretty pussy, my love.” He’s gasping out in a cloudy pant of heat and haze against the back of your neck. So earnestly filthy when complimenting your cunt that it makes you squirm, “Feels s-so…so heavenly. Wet. Even more than usual.”

Fuck. 

And then it hits you.

“Maybe- hck!” It was so difficult to speak when your dear Nanami was just bursting with nervous lust, his muscular thighs shivering up against the backs of your own. Ready to pounce. Read to break you. Your whine trills with anticipation, “Maybe it’s because m’ovulating, Kento. I haaaah- heard that can affect ah!”

“Shit, how could I have forgotten?” 

And right now you don’t know whether he’s muttering huskily to you or to himself. Every spilling syllable making his abdomen angle subconsciously deeper and deeper. A rapid little push back and forth to fit past your taut ring of soft muscle, “M-my calendar said it’s your ngh- ovulation week, darlin’. That’s why she’s so…sloppy. That’s why she’s making me so…”

Pussydrunk. Nanami’s voice trails away behind you like he couldn’t even bear to finish the sentence - because he’s never been like this. So out-of-control.

Indeed, you’re pouring out such tangled knots of slick that it was making the base of Nanami’s curvaceous balls flood. Slathering out a thick coating of sap all over his fat digits and then some. 

“But look at you- ohhh look at you—” Breathless worship strikes you once he’s lurching up his hand to admire the glossy glaze you’d topped all down his golden wedding ring. Awe-struck. Plopping them into his mouth with a soggy fwop! “C-can’t believe you’re mine. Ohh can’t believe you’re mine.” And before you know it, Nanami spanks the end of his palm down your pussymound. Hard. “M’s-sorry, my love.”

What was he even apologizing for? 

Just as soon as you’re left wondering - you’re given your answer. 

In a single, jagged buck that makes your toes curl with bliss, the staggering stretch of Nanami’s size dabs open every nook n’ cranny inside of you. As if he was well and fully intent on splitting you apart. 

He didn’t even have to try to mush the zig-zag of his veiny underside down your sweetest spots, buttery orifice topping with such heaps of sweltering hot slick dripping off of your cervix. Your tummy weighs down with the viscous plap! of his sugarcoating pre.

“Bite- bite down if m’too rough, my wife.” You’re blinking back your bleary vision to take in the sight of his smooth, tannish forearm presented in front of you. All strong and sexily flexing, it simply makes your mouth water. “Because s’about to get…bumpy.”

Yeah, he definitely wasn’t going to work today.

Not when he had you like this - your mouth spilling out so many ounces of drunken saliva, your gummy walls molding and taking him in so easily. 

“Atta giiiirl— take it. Jus’ the- just the-” He’s cutting himself off with every lightning bolted vein pushing past your teary entrance, letting off a gasp! just as soon as he takes a glance down to find himself all bottomed-out. Way past the tip, still pushing and pushing and pushing- “Oh, s-sorry. Can’t control it ngh! Sorry sorry sorry can’t-” 

“Fuck! S-so good, Kento–” You’re whimpering, flinching at the wet texture of his tongue stealing a looong lick up your throat. 

The sharpened edges of his canines - ones he normally oh-so-carefully kept away from damaging your pretty skin - nip down your sprinting pulse. Mouth watering at the throbbing ba-dump! he could feel. Nanami’s voice comes out tight, restrained still. “But- but m’being so…pussydrunk.”

Truly, in every sense of the word. 

The only thing on Nanami’s mind being to pound his bloated length into you so vulgarly rough that his toned obliques were aching. To prick the target of your g-spot each n’ every time with his swirling crownhead, leaving wet spatters of precum for you to remember him by. 

And you don’t know if he could even hear you right now, you don’t know if he could even breathe. And yet, you find yourself babbling away anyways, “But- But I like it rough, Ken.”

Fuck.

Nanami’s mouth parts open with a breathless little, “Fuck.” And you swear you’re hearing his rich bass break into a zillion pieces at the end. 

His once-sloppily needy turning into something even ruder, wringing out a pitch ah! ah! ah! out of you with every thrust. He’s trotting down a free palm underneath your slick-lacquered inner thighs and smearing you open shamefully. 

“Sh-shit- in so deep.” You’re whinging euphorically, fingers itching to grab the expensive fabric of his tie trawling up and down your back. “M-maybe I should get you hck! pussydrunk more often, hm?”

Oh, how he agreed. 

But Nanami wasn’t done. Far from it - two fingers wrenching your tear-streaked face to meet his deep molten gaze, hips searing hot. “Mhm— Now look into my eyes when I fuck you stupid, my love.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - IT GIRL!

“Fuck-” Geto’s cutting himself off with a strangled gasp! when you let your fingers thread through his long, inky locks. Crescents of your nails caressing his sweat-drenched scalp and making him keen. Pulling. He stares around at the cult members encircling you two, “-y-you.”

“S’what you’re hngh! doing, Sugu—” You’re giggling out, biting your lip - though, not for long. Choking on a pitiful squeal once he thumbs away your entrapped maw and bites. 

A punishment. 

A punishment was what this was supposed to be - to embarrass your adorable self for messing up that last mission. 

But fuck- right about now, it was Geto who was so thoroughly impacted by the way you were straddling his slender hips just so. Your vulgar tempo drives his eyes skittering all the way to the back of his lids. 

Shit, he should’ve never let you ride him.

“S’this- s’this all ya got?” Geto grits his pearly whites, stare darting away from your tempting tits before he loses it. His meaty thighs fold up behind you n’ inch you down towards him. Because, hell, he didn’t think he could even raise his delirious head at the moment. 

Tone raising, “See that? Tch, shoulda- shoulda had this be your task instead. S’where you belong, slutty lil’ thing.”

Oh, and you already knew he didn’t mean a word that spilled out of his ravenous mouth. Already knew that Geto probably didn’t even know what he was babbling. 

“Mhm— yes, leader.”

Panting at what a tease you are.

Parched tongue soothing over the bruise surely to blossom on your pretty lips. And Geto’s next words are low, dangerous - you swear his hazy amethyst eyes flash with something that told you you were fucked. “Gettin’ reeeeal mouthy, gorgeous.”

One spank sings out a sharp thwack! from your puffed-up pussylips, and then two more ring from where Geto’s toying the curved ends of his slender digits over your clit. Ruthless. Greedy gaze narrowing while his other hand rakes looong lines down your hips. “Too mouthy.” 

You’re whimpering at the sheer unadulterated stimulation - the way that he was fucking up into you so mean. Cutting off each of your stuttered bounces with a striking rut of his own. With a solid smooch! into where your tender g-spots were aching.

He was fucking you stupid.

The air sings with his dragged-out whistle, “Cockdrunken a-already, huh?”

Those last words aren’t meant for you - and your spine stiffens at the murmurs and agreements echoing from your little audience. 

Ah, might as well give them a show. 

Just then you’re tugging even harder on Geto’s silky hair and he whimpers- Stomach twisting, you barely manage to get out, “Who’s pussydrunken?” 

“Shit- you little–” He’s gurgling through a glistening line of drool that homes itself near the watery edges of his lips. Fighting and fighting to keep his head from lolling languidly backwards- why wasn’t his melty mind cooperating with him at all? “You- o-ohhhh, you are going to pay for this.”

God, you can’t help the way that little threat only leaves you wetter. 

Splotching out oodles of saccharinely syrupy slick that helps you slip n’ slide your throbbing clit all over the front of Geto’s washboard abs. Heavenly. Every laddered drag down his rippling muscles was delicious - you don’t know who enjoyed the lecherous act more, you or him. 

“What was that?”

Dewy eyes lock onto yours - heated. “Fuh-fuck you.” Rutting up harder and harder, your pace-ridden body stings after each pound. His hands on you grow painful - bruising - pushing your head down with a clawed hand on your scalp. “Fuck you fuck- fuck–”

And Geto’s long lashes glisten in the dim lighting as he bats away a bulbous sheen of tears, taking his sweet sweet time to even register what you were talking about.

In the distance you think you hear someone gasp. The big, bad leader of the Time Vessel Association brought to tears? Brought to utter speechlessness?

You’re snickering down at your leader before you know it. Clingy walls molding around his cylindrical length like a hot adhesive in a way that made him blush, “S’this your fuck! first time bein’ pussydrunk?”

Thighs shaking, “I-I’m not–”

“Well, can you even hah- remember my name, Sugu–?”

“Bitch.” He spits out.

He was completely and utterly under your thumb for the very first time and he didn’t know how to handle it. Doing everything and anything. Losing face in front of his followers — fast. 

And you could feel yourself getting closer and closer at just how pretty Geto Suguru was under the mercy of your sultry touch. Shivering bodily wherever your sensory fingertips drifted, gasping through bouts of driveling slobber whenever your engulfing pussy squeezed too tight. 

Geto’s latching both trembly hands of his on the slamming mounds of your flesh and pinning you down. Holding you so-very-still. 

You can practically hear the danger-impeding growl in the words snarled against your ear. “Who’s pussydrunk now?” He’s sinking the sharp fringes of his canines into your sensitive lobe once you start gyrating your hips impatiently. Barely shifting an inch, “Yeah? Yeahhh wan’ me to m-move, huh?”

“That’s- that’s unfair.” You’re huffing and puffing above him, your hardened nipples catching onto the curves of his pecs sinfully. So close. 

“Oh yeah? S’it unfair?” Towards the rest of the cult- and of course, they follow their leader. Of course, they’re agreeing with whatever Geto’s drawling out drunkenly. Spitting into your half-open mouth, “They don’t think so.”

And oh, that lustful cloud taking over his gaze told you that it wasn’t over. 

The way that Geto was turned on enough to drool with every swab into your geysering insides told you enough- 

With another loud swat planted on where your heated pussymound was waterfalling out sploshing heaps of slick, he thumbs the perky outers of your clit. “Cum f’me then. Make yourself ah- cum and I might jus’ forgive you for c-calling me tch- pussydrunk.”

You were already so close- already teetering on the edge that only another vulgar swerve of his fattened cock massaging your insides is all it takes.

You might have been just as far gone as he was. Head throwing back, a strangled whine of Sugu– escaping you, capped knees plopping you down even harder to ride out your white-hot high. 

And Geto was letting you.

Oh, fuck any stupid punishment - he was letting you trawl out every blissful pinpoint of your high on him. Using him. Mouth falling open in a gasp once you don’t just cum - you’re squirting, a crashing wave of sweetened sap spraying out of you like a fountain.

Shit.

Shit shit shit- he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Doesn’t even know what he’s thinking other than slapping down an open palm to scoop up every waterlogged gush pouring out of you.

Popping it into his mouth- “I-I said cum- not squirt, gorgeous.” Geto whines - whines - out, mouth smeared with a twisted, dopey grin that made him look so ruined. In the blink of your bleary eyes, he’s captured one of your hands to curl around his clammy throat, begging you to squeeze. Addicted. “Let’s s-see if we can get it right this time.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Raw, next question.

“C-can I really…?” Choso breathes out like a prayer, not even having put it in yet but oh-so-ruined already. Licking his cerise lips when he curls a few thin fingers around his hefty base and draaaags a long line down your teary slit, “S’it- s’it really okay f’me to go in raw this time, baby?”

And he was opening up your slobbery cunt so tenderly, prying your puffy folds apart to give your flooded entrance an admiring look. 

How ready and drooling you were - for him. All for him, him, him.

Fuck. It’s enough to make him blush maidenly pink and dart his honeypool eyes back up to your fluttering eyes. Attempting and failing to stop the animalistic twitch of his greedy crownhead-

“Mhm–” You’re drawling out, a few fingers tangling with his soft mahogany hair and making Choso moan. You swear you’re feeling the curvaceous edge of his mushroom tip spurt out a steamy jetstream of webbed pre, “Put it in, Cho. Wanna feel you deep inside, m’kay?”

He’s nodding away deliriously while you speak, nodding away even after. Head bobbling on its own like he was listening to the saturated slurps! being let off by your cunt the moment he’s sinking past.

“Gonna put it in, okay? Gonna put it- o-oh.” Choso ruts his ballooned-up cockhead in through your slippery hole, brushing the sensitive orifice in his middle right up against your gummy walls. All it takes for his half-lidded eyes to go pure white, “Baby. Baby…”

Trailing those words away into nothingness, you’re rendered equally as speechless when Choso wrenched his hips back as if in a daze. Disbelieving. Only to pump you full and fuller again, and again. 

And again and again and-

You’re brushing away a few strands of hair plastered onto his sweat-shimmering forehead, “Are you okay, Cho?”

“N-no-” Gasping out in short, condensed breaths that fan over your face in hot waves. Everything about your dear boyfriend was burning up right now; his skin, his words, his cadence. Pushing and pushing- “Why?”

Quirking a brow, it’s all you can do to not show off the tremor in your tone from the way he glides his sobbing tip down, down, down your cervix. “Wh-what do you mean, Cho?”

“Why?” Fuck- there it is again. Whispered out like an accusation over and over while he’s rovering two hands underneath your jittery thighs to fold you like a lawnchair into a lecherous mating press. With a peck to your lips, he moans, “Wh-why didn’t you tell me it could feel so ngh! good, baby– ohhh, baby, m’goin’ fucking crazy over here.”

And he was fucking you like it, too.

Usually Choso Kamo was smooth, suave where he wanted to be n’ letting you use him however you wanted with the cutest blush breezing all over his face. 

And he was blushing right now, alright. Only it was with sheerly raw frustration at the fact that his sobbing length was hitting the goopy bottom of your pussy and he couldn’t go any deeper. Like he couldn’t stop, hips out of control.

Handsome jaw clenching, he hikes up a powerful thigh and bends.

“F-fuuuuck–” You’re squealing at the searing stretch of his strengthened limbs manhandling you easily, bending you like some glorified ragdoll to every want and whim. “Baby-”

And just that little nickname is enough to make Choso shudder, all the way from the tips of his curled toes to this wobbly lower lip. Suddenly striking your gushing g-spot with so much rugged intensity that it makes your veins bubble n’ boil. 

“Baby.” He’s echoing out, a spit-slicked smile spreading all over his face. And there’s something in his gentle, fawny eyes that makes Choso look…feral. “Baby baby baby- fuuuuck, m’gonna give ya a baby.”

Your mouth drops into a neat oh of shock - so that’s what it was. 

He was pussydrunk. Utterly and completely pussydrunk, and only with a handful of vulgar strokes inside of your dripping cunt. 

The very thought is just enough to stimulate big, fat tears into welling up behind his eyes. And they’re smudging a Stygian few lines of eyeliner down Choso’s high cheekbones, blubbering. “S’that- s’that okay, baby?” Moaning when a few salty beads rover down to your tummy, he smears the mess to make it even messier. “Gonna have you m-milk me.”

“Maybe you should ask me when you’re not ngh- pussydrunk, Cho–” You’re managing out a barely-lucid giggle that only makes him huff adorably.

“Pussydrunk?”

“Mhm–”

“So that’s what it is. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but…this-” He’s angling his hips to perk up a rounded bulge at your tummy, and with a gasp you’re realizing that it’s where he was fucking into you. A lecherous, cylindrical outline that made your thighs tighten over Choso’s sculpted shoulders. Brushing a fat thumb over it, “I’m doin’ this right- hck- I’m reaching the very end of your p-pretty pussy.”

You’re halfway crying when his mean thumb taps over the rotund hill and pushes down. “Wanna make this bump e-even ngh- bigger, baby– Look so pretty all rooound n’ glowing.” You were so weak to the way he’s batting his long lashes, “Lookin’ like ya want me ta get you p-pregnant.”

He’s so shy about it - flushing the sweetest shade of red. But the way that only makes Choso buck even wilder into you was anything but. 

And you’re blaming that for the way your mouth opens with a pathetically pitched, “Yes. Yes please-” Throwing your arms amorously around his flexing shoulders, you could count every flex and shift of his back muscles. “-cum inside me, baby.”

And he does.

Your words were enough - more than enough. 

With only a few more deeply probing strikes to your sponged cervix, you’re feeling your poor cunt overspill with torrents of warm cum. 

Maybe along the way you’re cumming, too. But all you can feel are the thickened wads of him sliiiiding all down your leaky lips. Ribbons upon ribbons glistening down the stretched-out ends of your pussy and forming a creamy ring covering his base. 

Choso can only stare half-lidded at the utter mess his twitching cock was making. He almost feels a pang of disappointment at the ounces going to waste. 

“Hah?” Choso’s breath comes out panted and hollowed, burning hot against your face once his hips start slamming even harder into yours. Without even realizing. A lazy smile cracks his parted lips as if he couldn’t believe it, as if he was just discovering fucking you all full. “Hah- oh, baby- you’re gonna get me pregnant now. Gonna get me- shit. Might just.”

He looked so genuinely serious. Pussydrunk enough that it made sense to him. 

Splaying out your legs just a bit wider, he’s hastily latching a hand downwards. Pumping the excess of his long cock, the air between your legs just humming with cursed energy- is he…

“Choso-” You’re yelping at the pressure of cursed energy and your own high, eyeing the way that your boyfriend’s sexy face tattoo was ever-growing. “-are you using your power-”

“Yes-” He gasps, not a shred of shame. “Yes yes yes yes.” 

Not a shred of regret for the way he’s manipulating the blood in his body to go back down to his pulsing cock. To make himself stiffen up even harder and harder once more- 

One look at Choso told you he was gone. His first time going in raw and he’ll never be the same again.

Drooling, smiling. Eyes growing darker when his veiny cock pulls your rubbery walls tautly again, rock-hard. “Gotta make sure it takes, baby.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - BOAF?!

Sukuna was filthy.

Sukuna was mean.

And Sukuna was veering right towards insanity once feels your trembly fingers eagerly twitching towards his second neglected cock. Wrapping your digits around his massively fat girth and pinpointing your clit with his crowned tip.

“What’cha think yer doing there, ma?” He’s leering down at you, snickering at the adorable way you huff and puff when his heavy, throbbing shaft makes your wrist ache. 

You pout in a stupidly pathetic way that makes the pulsing length inside of you twitch. Sukuna’s monstrous mouth on his stomach lapping up the stray rivulets of syrupy slick sprinkling from your cunt, “Just- just want both, Kuna.”

“Both?” He’s rumbling- in disbelief. In shock. How could one human be so…greedy? Parched tone lilting higher in both volume and pitch. “Barely handlin’ one n’ you want both?”

Oh, and when you can only nod and nod- Sukuna finds himself growling in desperation. No, it was something different, something more out-of-control. Hit with a sudden bout of something dizzyingly carnal inside of him-

He’s swatting down the fat pads of his fingertips on your teary pussymound, elongated nails hovering darkly above where you were the most tender n’ needy. 

And the king of curses finds himself biting his lower lip to hold back a moan when your pussy only gets wetter. “Show me then- prove it t’me how much you wan’ it, brat.”

“S-so badly.” With a cry of desperation, your fingers slither down to push apart your puffy pussylips. 

“Wider.”

“Ngh-” And it’s almost embarrassing just how intensely your lover looks at you, the way his cursed mouth licks its lips. “Want you both inside me.”

He’s…feral. 

Sukuna swirls a long finger of his own around your elastic wall, the edges of both mouths curling into a smirk at just how pliable you are. 

How he loved you. Loved this cunt. Couldn’t think of anything but that.

“Naughty fuckin’ thing.” He spits out, bubblegum pink brows furrowing. But- really, who the hell was Ryomen Sukuna against you? Especially when he himself feels so…fucked-out. Crimson eyes shuttering half-lidded, his grin turns handsomely lop-sided. “Take it then- take it already.”

He was making you feel so full. 

Both twin cocks so incredibly fat that your rubbery hole was being stretched to limits you didn’t even know were possible. And Sukuna takes every opportunity to make you gasp, to slip inside another thorough expanse of his veiny cock and leave your toes curling.

And that wasn’t all. 

Oh, that wasn’t all. The sheerly raw texture of both lengths bustling inside you was enough to make your slit pour out a quick few torrents of slick. As if you were squirting.

“Hoooly shit, mama.” He huffs out through sharply flared nostrils, looking just about as gone as you once your gooey pussy is making way for him to feed in a few pounding inches. “There we go- move that damn hand.”

Sukuna’s rudely swatting away the fingers still toying with your spraying cunt before you can even think about it. “Fuck. What are ya doin’ t’me?” 

“Are you…” You’re blinking with the last few dredges of your rationality. “-are you pussydrunk, Kuna?”

“No.” Splitting your cervix with the jagged streaks of his sap, it drips down to the very front of your pussy with a sharp thud! thud! thud! “Yes- no. Maybe. Sh-shut up, human.”

He was impatient. He was feral. Bouncing up a sculptured thigh to keep your hips gravitating down deeper n’ deeper down his vicious shafts, every pap! of his capped knee striking the globes of your ass leave you whining. Back arching-

“No no no no, don’t run out on me just yet.” Sukuna hisses, voice as commanding as usual. Yet, underneath that was a current of something…panicked that even your cottony mind could make out. Animalistic. “Don’t run. Need it- I need you, mama.” Latching two massive hands on either side of your waist, and then a third on your scalp to push you down. “Wan’ed both- so take it.”

Rough. 

“K-Kuna—!” You’re mewling, grappling heedlessly onto the broad mountains of his deltoids and making them flex. Mind growing hazier and hazier by the second.

He snickers, “Who’s the drunk one now? Me or you?”

“Don’t- I don’t kn-”

“I- said-” He’s drilling in thorough thrusts that drive those words to your very core. “Who’s- pussydrunk- now?”

And you didn’t even know what you were saying. You didn’t even know the words before they’re tumbling out. “Me– m-me.” 

“That’s right- allll cockdrunk f’me.” But god, your pretty noises were enough to make all two of his mouths bubble out thin lines of saliva. Drooling. “F-fuckin’ needy pussy.” Did you just make the king of curses stutter? Before you can even register the impossible feat, he plows on. “Has me hypnotized- fuck, m’so ruined for ‘er.”

Shit, he was finally admitting it - to himself, at least. You had him pussydrunk.

You had his heart racing with a fervent ba-dump! right in time with the thrashes he was planting on the bullseye of your g-spot. One. And then two split-ended tips driveling all over your bruised walls. 

And it’s like he was almost angry at you for exposing his only ever weakness - you, and your cute cunt 

Perking up a fourth hand underneath your thighs in just the right angle for the saccharine dewdrops of your slick to spill right down to his twin mouth. 

“Want that?” Sukuna’s babbling comes out in heated gusts against your ear, both throbbing cocks leaving wet splotches of pre down the most sensitive areas of your inner walls. And it was so heavenly - just when you thought the stimulation couldn’t get any better, his cursed tongue steals a lingering kiss over where your folds were the puffiest. “Wanna make out w’my t-tongue, huh, ma?”

At this point you can only nod, jittering down your slickly glissading body until his mouth was all slathered with your sloppy pussy. Making such nasty slurping noises that had your ears popping.

“Anything- anything you want, brat-” Sukuna leaves innocent pecks down your neck - something he never stoops down to a mushy enough position to do. But right now, it was like he couldn’t stop. Just like he couldn’t stop keeling his hips off of the creaking mattress and up between your fluttering lips.

“A-anything?” You’re unsure whether you heard that correctly. 

Groaning- he nods. And it wasn’t the usual, stern nod Sukuna loved. Right now, you had him on a leash. “Anything, just say the word- fuck. Ya have the king wrapped ‘round your finger, y’know?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - UNSEAL

The strongest’s first time getting his hands on you after being unsealed and he was pussydrunk instantly. 

And right now your dumbstruck mind was wondering whether he would ever let you go, whether he would ever even slow down–

“S-Satoru?” 

Gojo flinches right on top of you as if his entire muscular body was zapped with a thousand bolts of electricity, the mere sound of your honeyed tone enough to make him swab at your springy cervix with a strangled whimper. 

“Satoru.” Gasping, you’re letting your hazy peripherals glide over your heady bedroom; that shattered bedside lamp, the way your unbolted furniture was hovering. “C-calm down.”

Only getting sloppier.

“Fuh-fuck!” He’s hissing, silky blindfold dampening with a few overstimulated tears. Octaves higher, tinged with a tremble of madness that made it sound like he was holding back a crazed laugh, “Calm down. Calm down- telling me to- fuck-”

Before you know it you’re being hit with yet another mean strike of his dribbling mushroom tip, targeting your most battered insides with cute speck of pre. And then an even meaner hit of his massive palms slamming down on the stinging flesh of your hips. 

Uncontrollable - the force of it enough to leave you bruised from the inside out. 

Making your weepy entrance stream out enough globules of cum to formulate rings upon creamy rings ‘round his bulky base. Without even trying.

Because Gojo had grown muscular. Even bigger during his stay in the prison realm. 

So strong he was bending you pliantly without even realizing, and it was just making your greedy pussy fountain out in even more aroused waves of slick. 

His body was pressing into you deeply, nudging your clammy face to plaster ever-intensely into the soaked pillow. Smearing your cheek across the treacly puddle of saliva with a push of his massively strong arm, his crownhead jackhammers away viciously. Sloshing about waves of buttery sap inside you, “Don’t- don’t talk to me.”

You’re whimpering at the way his meaty thighs kiss your own and shiver. Fattened balls oh-so-hot and aching at the base of your cunt with every pap, “W-what do you mean, Toru- mmpf!”

Gojo covers his palm over your stupidly ajar maw to catch every rope of pathetic spittle drivelling out of you, the wet splat! all over his mountainous hand making him groan.

“I said- fuck!” Spitting out in warm, marky pants against the tender skin of your throat, sharp canines nip down on your pulse as if to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with. Him. “S-say anythin’ more in that pretty voice again n’ m’gonna g-get you pregnant, sweetheart. Or m’gonna make you get me pregnant. Fuck. Can’t do anythin’ else- can’t even th-think.”

The image makes Gojo himself shudder, visualizing just how pretty you would be all round and glowing. Fuck, he really was pussydrunk.

He’s leaning back ever-so-slightly to get a ravenous eyeful of your sloppy hole, droopy eyes imagining those beaded gumdrops of your slick to be something more like his cum. And for that inflated bulge of his cylindrical outline at your tummy to be something…more. 

It’s enough to make his mouth water, fat wads of saliva sprinkling all down your arched back in a glossy sheen.

“B-but, Toru.” You always did have a smart mouth, huh? Your hips perk backwards, velvety walls squeezing his thick, feverishly hot length until Gojo whines. He whines. “Y-you’re gonna break-”

Smiling something all dopey and drunken, “Break you?”

“Break- break everything.” You’re trilling out, and- shit, you didn’t forget who you were dealing with, right?

Because the very last syllables of your sentence have barely tumbled from between your lips before your skin prickles - and you’re feeling the icy air around you stagnate with so many countless atoms. 

You’re feeling the scorching heat of his body pull away with a pained grunt, head lolling upwards to and fro - from the hovering tables, the split bedframe, the bulbs that were disintegrated - as if he’d just realized how completely out of control his powers were. How he was.

“Oh.” Gojo’s drawling out with a carnal husk in his tone, doughy ends of his two of his long fingers coming up to snap!

“Ah!” You’re yelping- you’re heaving in deep breaths of air because in simple nanoseconds, Gojo Satoru had both your furniture and you cluttering downwards. 

Your back hits the soaked-through bed with a slight bounce, desperately clawing the crescent edges of your nails into his deltoids for an ounce of balance. Wait, weren’t you just on all fours? 

Did…did he just-

“Mhmmm— sure did teleport us, my girl.” He’s crooning into your ear, and you don’t know if you’d just prattled that out loud or if your boyfriend could read minds. Whether he had even realized he’d teleported you two before you’d pointed it out. You wouldn’t even be surprised right about now; because just one tug of his thick thumb down the edge of his blindfold made your jaw drop.

Made your thighs tighten.

Made your heart race in both fear and anticipation - Gojo looked feral. Gone.

His summer blue eyes wild, bolting with power and bolts of lightning. Predatory leer painted permanently all over his prettily flushed features, and you swear you catch the glint of a thin line of saliva dripping from the pursed corners of his cherry-red lips. 

And he was so sensitive. 

Blindfold fully off and dangling haphazardly around Gojo’s neck, the sensations and wetly clingy texture of your dripping cunt was too much. He was moaning out sobs, he was bucking in sloppy half-thrusts.

He was shaking as if he couldn’t even control the copious piles and piles of power and strength he’d gained. 

Pouring it all out into dragging his splayed-out palms underneath your thighs sensually, up n’ down. It’s almost relaxing. That is, until he’s throwing them over two broad shoulders and snapping you in half down, down, down-

Allll the way until Gojo’s prespired forehead was smooching yours, mouth half-loosened right above yours. 

Bottoming out his reddened cock once more - the lecherous feeling is so sexy that with a bite to his bottom lip, Gojo’s spurting out a singular fat splatter of soppy cum inside of you once more. Feverish. Messy. 

All the while staring so deeply and heart-eyed into your gaze that it makes you almost shy. You feel so overstuffed - all the way to the very brim - and Gojo was simply insatiable. 

“Ohhhh, j-just look- you- ngh-” He could barely even string together the most basic of sentences, brows crinkling adorably the moment he’s sinking his veiny girth in and out of your tight hole. Every thick thud into your goopy depths making Gojo’s skin flicker with thin shards of blue lightning. “-l-look how you’re gonna make the ngh- prettiest mama, my girl.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - G-g-g-genius

Now Higuruma Hiromi was smart - a genius, even. 

Always driving you raving mad with his sharp mouth and his even sharper strikes into your every magical orifice. He didn’t even have to think about making your cunt weep in so many different ways.

Until now, that is. 

“Wh-wh-what?” Higuruma’s furrowing his brows, a scorching hot blush invading his handsome cheeks at just how pathetically he was stuttering right now. And he was sure his coworker on the other end of the phone could catch that needy tremor in his tone. “Sorry- could you repeat that?”

That sentence wasn’t meant for you - and you knew that. 

But that still doesn’t stop you from digging the curves of your knees even deeper into the plush mattress, snickering. “Oh? This?” Pushing your hips back until you’re hitting his washboard abs with a stinging pap! “Wan’ me to do it ag- mmpf!”

Desperately, he’s clawing at the very crown of your scalp and pushing your face down into the satiny pillowcase. 

Grunting into the phone through clenched teeth, “That? O-oh, that was my wife-” Shit, it takes every ounce of capable will in Higuruma’s body to stop his hoarse breath from hitching when your clingy walls get slipperier. Wetter. A treacly stream of slick escaping you when he gets…rough. “-she’s just driving me crazy.” 

You’re arching your spine into a delicious curve, your puffy lips squeezing around Higuruma’s veiny cock until he can’t help but buck- 

Mind blanking. Until he can’t help but give your head another harsh push, seething. “In the best way.”

Higuruma can feel a nervous sprinkle of perspiration trekking from his temple, all the way down to his bobbing Adam’s apple. You really were driving him crazy, and he can’t stop himself- he can’t even slow down the aching swabs he’s planting at your innermost depths. 

Honestly, he should’ve expected this - taking a work call during his precious time with his wife? You were bound to toy with your husband. He just didn’t expect to be so…affected. 

Thwack!

“Shit.” Higuruma’s hissing underneath his heady breath, a cloud of sweltering hot air hitting your bowed back when he realizes that his yearning body had just pounded into you the way he wanted. So badly. Heavy balls hitting the base of your gumdropping slit and making your mouth spill out in moans, “Be quiet- by quiet f’me, angel.”

In fact, you were doing the very opposite.

Your tummy was tightening in euphoric knots- yielding your hips to wring out such lustrous ribbons of his cobwebbing pre, faster. Sloppier.

“Wh-what? Shit– m’sorry.” Managing to get out all in a rushed murmur to the man on the other end of the line - and even that was a feat with the way you were getting oh-so-greedy. 

You’re gasping into the cottony mouthful of pillows once you feel him trawl a warm hand all down your spine. Well-defined pecs rumbling with the words, “My wife s’needing some help- I’ll talk to ya at work, Nanami.” 

It made his mouth water to see just how much you were aching and hot for him. He was so close that his plump breeder balls were just aching for sweet, sweet release. 

And as soon as the phone is out of his grasp, Higuruma’s planting peck after open-mouthed peck down the middle. Making you yelp at the scratchy texture of his pinkish tastebuds taking a looong lick.

“S’a fuckin’ i-important call, sugar–” Higuruma punctures his words with thorough, pressurized thrusts that drive his sticky crownhead all the way into the very bottom of your pussy. The spanks! of his flesh on yours so loud now that it makes your ears pop. “How dare you. Don’t even know how you- fuck! Whaddaya even do t’me.”

It’s only when you’re feeling the weighty splat! of something wet that you’re reeling your head up from its cozy haven. Your husband’s lips curling into a sheepish smile, all half-lidded and pretty. 

“Awww, my poor Hiromi–” You’re cooing, swiping away the responsible rivulets of drool that was spraying all over you. That tender touch for his fatly swollen ruby tip to flinch angrily, “Feelin’ all pussydrunk, my baby?”

“M-m’not–” he’s groaning. Dark lashes fluttering, flicking his puffy lids with a seam of glistening tears. He was. “I’m just…”

Out of control? Feral? Breaking at the seams?

Whichever it was, the very thought of being hostage to just how good your pretty pussy felt was making Higuruma’s heart race. Jaw dropping, head falling slack- “I just…just wanna be ngh- yours.” 

Before you can even open your mouth to tease him, he’s fucking you silent. Rendering you dumbstruck only numerous repeated collisions of his rounded crownhead into where your bundle of nerves were the most sensitive. Once. Twice. Thrice. Over and over-

“M’gonna put a r-ring on it, angel.” He’s practically collapsing on top of you now. Washboard abs melting into your back, dark happy trail leaving the curve of your ass tender. “Gotta be your husband.”

You’re yelping, “Husband?”

“Mhm—-” Oh, he was serious. He couldn’t even see the golden glint of your matching wedding rings - couldn’t see past the furious ache of his cock buried deeply within you. How he wanted more. “Always- always always. Gonna be your househusband if you want- your- your anything. Jus’ wanna be yours.”

You’ve never encountered your oh-so-smart husband babbling away nonsense like this. And the stark difference is enough to make your hot core twinge. “Hiromi—”

He flinches, voice husky. “Y-yes, sugar?”

Shit- you were so close. And the way that his bawling divot streaks out long swipes down your cervix once you motion him closer is so delicious. You could feel your hole quivering for release. 

Higuruma’s hand is warm against yours, as if his entire body was burning from the inside out. His hips stutter, dewy eyes widening when you reach over to intertwine your left hand with his. 

“See?” Your gorgeous smile makes him whimper, metallic bands clinking! together. And Higuruma has to take one look. Two, not quite believing his hazy vision. “We’re a-already married.”

Oh.

Oh.

Higuruma can’t stop the way that’s enough to make him cum - just hearing those pretty words from your very lips. And he thinks it’s the hardest orgasm of his entire life, your own hitting you tenfold. 

“My wife. My wife.” He grunts at the clingy grip of your rubbery walls, so fucking tight that he has to latch onto your waist and put a foot on top of your head to fuck you through each of your highs. Blissfully. “M’f-fucking my wife. My wife.”

And now that he’s started, he can’t stop.

You’re being so cutely vocal through every white-hot flare of bliss, the bolts of it zipping through your body at the same break-neck speed that Higuruma was pounding into you. Hot, buttery waves of cum being swashed around you. 

“Ohhh, how- how did I ever get so ngh- lucky.” Sappier than the copious amounts of saccharine seed pouring out of you, it painted his tufts of black in a drenching lamination. Like a medal of honor that your husband was wearing proudly.

Even after your orgasm was bating into a few lecherous tingles, and your vision was back to refocusing. Your body still twitching with the remnants of that overwhelming high. 

He was relentless. 

“Sugar…” Higuruma breathes into the dazed silence, and the warbling tremor in his tone makes you follow his gaze – brows rising as it catches on his phone near the edge of the bed. His glaring phone. 

With the call still ongoing. 

“Shit.”

A/N. MWAHAHA Higuruma’s ending made me giggle.

With legs dangled over the arm of the couch, one arm rested lazily over your exposed stomach, and the other thrown above your head, holding a cold beer can to your forehead—the condensation your only reprieve from the sweltering conditions—you were doing everything you could think of to keep from being boiled alive in your trailer since your A.C. unit gave out on you the day prior.

Your small radio crackled from the kitchen counter, playing some country song about a woman getting back at her cheating boyfriend, to which you sang along half-heartedly, eyes closed in boredom and heat-induced exhaustion. Your chest heaved, cherry red popsicle-coated lips parted as you gulped down mouthfuls of the stifling heat, trying to settle that constricted feeling in your lungs.

Just as you were positive that you were doomed to succumb to burning alive or the boredom of having been stuck in your trailer for three weeks straight—whichever one of those came first—the familiar rumble of a motorcycle engine approaching made your ears perk up, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Moments after the sound ceased, there was a knock on the doorframe of your propped-open front door, followed by a familiar lazy drawl floating through the screen door: "You decent?"

You hummed, eyes remaining closed as you answered. "Define decent..."

The screen door swung open, followed by the sound of his sneakers thudding on the peeling vinyl flooring. Only then, did you open your eyes, gazing up at the man standing before you. His dirty blonde hair was pushed back, blue eyes roaming over your exposed figure with interest.

"You look like hell," he muttered, though the way his eyes raked over your bare legs and between the valley of your breasts told a different story.

"Blame the A.C.," you slightly nodded your head toward the window where it sat, mocking you with the promise of sweet, vapor-compressed air that was just out of reach. "Conked out on me last night, and I've been sweatin' like a whore in church ever since."

Jax whistled, looking around, no doubt noticing the overflowing ashtray, crumpled-up beer cans, and clothes strewn around wildly. "You try callin' someone to fix it?" He turned back to you, quirking an eyebrow.

"With what money?" You scoffed, placing the, now lukewarm, beer can on the coffee table.

Jax's expression hardened for a moment. "You know you're always welcome at the clubhouse. Free air conditioning, beer, what more could you ask for, right?" He offered.

"And wake up to Tig tryna climb into bed with me? No thanks," you snorted, pushing yourself up to make room for Jax and wincing slightly as the couch tugged at your skin. "Sides', I still got this thing for a couple more weeks." You held up your right leg, showcasing the fancy new ankle monitor that you'd been gifted by the state for shoplifting a couple weeks back.

Jax sighed, shaking his head as he settled down beside you. "Shit, angel, can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" You smiled, throwing your legs onto his lap, your bare thighs resting on the denim of his jeans.

"You know me," you shrugged. He hummed low in his throat, his large hand splaying out on your skin, rubbing lazy circles on your inner thigh. It wasn't sexual, not inherently, but it was a gesture that made your heart jump in your chest.

He leaned forward, grabbing the beer off the table and cracking it open. You watched his throat work as he tilted his head back, downing a mouthful to which his face twisted up in disgust. "Ugh, that tastes like shit," he groaned, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

You smiled, a small laugh falling past your stained lips. "Welcome to hell," you mused, watching him place the beer back on the table, his face still contorted in a sour expression.

"You got any beer that doesn't taste like piss?" He asked, kicking off his shoes and propping his feet up on the coffee table, clearly making himself at home.

"I got popsicles," you shrugged. "Maybe some leftover weed. Shit outta luck on cigarettes though, smoked my last one this morning—had to resort to the loose shitty ones at the bottom of my purse."

"Is this your way of trying to bum a cigarette off me?" His lip quirked up into a smirk.

"Maybe," you smiled back. "Is it working?"

"You're killin' me here, angel," he shook his head, fishing out his cigarettes from his pocket. "First you try to murder me with your shitty beer and now, you're robbing me blind."

Jax tapped the cigarette against his thigh before placing it between his lips, fishing a lighter out of his cut and igniting the end, taking a deep drag right in front of you.

"Tease," you remarked, rolling your eyes at his cruel torment.

"You know you love it," he replied with a crooked smirk, his head falling back against the couch, smoke curling out of his mouth and reaching for the ceiling as he exhaled. You watched him intently, admiring the way his muscles bunched under his white t-shirt.

"Love's a strong word," you muttered, though a smile threatened to break through your annoyed facade.

His head dropped to the side lazily, eyes catching yours in a way that made time seem to move in slow motion as he handed you the cigarette—the desperate cries of the fan and the low hum of the radio fading into the background. Your stomach flipped in that way it always did when Jax looked at you like that—like he really saw you, saw you as something more than a little girl chasing her daddy's fading legacy or holding onto a family that didn't belong to her anymore.

Sometimes, in the dark blanket of night, you'd find yourself thinking about if you were two different people, if this was another life, maybe things could be different.

"So, uh, you want that popsicle?" You asked, pulling your legs off Jax's lap and sitting up, the peeling of your skin on the leather not even registering over the feeling of your aching, longing heart because this wasn't another life, and you weren't two different people. This was Charming, and sometimes, the closest you got to love was a broken A.C., a shitty beer, and a shared cigarette.

He didn't answer, watching your figure maneuver around the furniture to the fridge, his gaze drawn to the curve of your ass in those tiny shorts as you bent over to retrieve two cherry popsicles from the freezer, bits of frost clinging to the wrappers.

"Only got red left." You tossed him one, peeling off the white plastic and sticking the cold treat into your mouth as you returned to the couch, plopping down beside him and mirroring his action of kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

"At least your taste in popsicles is better than your taste in beer," he teased, and just like that, things were back to how they've always been, how they'd always be because girls like you didn't get fairytale endings, but they did get to love boys like Jax Teller in the ways they knew how—quietly, hungrily, like a desperate prayer.

someone snorts into their lunch tray. a few others glance up with vague concern, but not enough to intervene. not enough to think it's serious.

you turn with a lightness that's infuriating. wet hair clinging to your cheek, uniform plastered to your back. you look ridiculous—soaked and humiliated—and yet you smile. your fingers trail delicately down your blouse like you’re inspecting damage on fine silk.

"that’s alright, satoru," you say sweetly, as if he’d bumped into you in the hallway. your voice is soft, gentle as a hand on a child’s head. "you’ve always had poor coordination."

a few students murmur agreement. someone chuckles. the tension breaks. someone tosses a crumpled napkin toward the bin, missing it entirely.

but not for him.

he watches the twitch of your lip—the briefest break in the mask that no one else sees. no one but him. and that’s what drives him insane.

because he’s known you since kindergarten. known the tantrums, the fights, the scratches behind school buildings. he remembers how you’d corner some poor kid together—mocking, poking, stealing snacks—and how when the teacher showed up, you’d burst into tears and point at him with trembling fingers. he was the bad one. the instigator. the boy who made girls cry. even when your hands were just as dirty. maybe worse.

you’ve always been like this: clever, calculating, cruel in lace and smiles.

and he hates that no one sees it but him.

hates how you float through school like some porcelain saint. all soft glances and kindnesses, like you’re too sweet to harm a fly. how you apologize so readily, voice thick with false guilt. how even your sighs are delicate things, like spun sugar on the tongue.

but he knows. and he won’t let you forget that he knows.

you dab your temple with a napkin, offer a small bow to the room, then walk away. every step deliberate. he watches the way your skirt sways, the soft slap of your wet shoes, the curve of your back visible beneath the soaked fabric. it’s obscene. like you’re doing it on purpose. he knows you are.

his throat tightens. his pants do, too.

fuck.

he shifts, pressing his palm into the table edge to ground himself. his cock throbs anyway. he glances down, jaw ticking, leg bouncing under the table. his tongue flicks over his teeth. he rubs his thumb against the edge of the bench, imagining it’s your pulse.

he hates you.

he hates how every time you laugh, it turns heads. how nanami makes you smile in that quiet way that you don’t give him. how your voice turns feather-soft when you're being praised, how you say “thank you” with bowed lashes and an angel’s lilt. how you look at others like you’re grateful they exist, and how you look at him like you’re grateful he’s suffering.

he hates that you let everyone believe you’re good.

and he hates that you are good—at lying. at playing them. at leaving him hard in the middle of class after pressing a note into his hand that simply read don’t forget to beg.

he still has that note. it’s tucked into the back of his physics notebook, creased and fingerprint-smudged. he looked at it three times yesterday. once during morning announcements. once after gym. once when you passed him a pencil and your fingers brushed.

he’s not even close to done.

not when you keep pushing him to the edge with every infuriating smile, every light laugh shared with someone else. not when your lip gloss tastes like strawberries, and he knows because he tasted it once. in a stairwell. two weeks ago. you kissed him like it meant nothing. then walked away before he could say a word.

he hates you.

and he wants you so fucking bad it makes him sick.

later, behind the gym stairwell—where the walls reek of sweat, rubber soles, and old water—you find him.

there's a hum in the silence, the kind that rings inside your skull. your footsteps echo first, then stop. only the hush of your breath now, quiet and deliberate, like a secret begging to be found. 

he’s already there—slouched against the wall like he’s waiting for something violent. one leg bent, heel hooked behind him, the other stretched out, foot tapping a restless beat against the cracked concrete.

he’s still in his uniform, shirt untucked, collar damp with sweat. the sleeves are rolled up, exposing long forearms slick with effort. his knuckles are red from earlier. a faint bruise darkens near his jaw from sparring. pale strands messily raked back like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. sunglasses gone. his eyes, sharp as cut glass, track your approach with slow disdain.

you take him in, shamelessly running your gaze from his tousled hair to the veins snaking up his forearms, the taut muscles in his chest straining against the fabric of his shirt. your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the subtle flex of his neck, and you feel the heat in your own chest rise at the sight.

something about the way he looks—disheveled, dangerous, and all too aware of his own effect on you—sends a pulse of heat straight through your veins.

he pops a pink lollipop from his mouth, tongue dragging lazily over it before he crushes it between his teeth. the sound snaps the tension like a whip.

“you’re hard,” you murmur, voice syrupy-sweet, almost innocent. almost.

he doesn’t flinch, but the twitch in his jaw gives him away. his eyes drop—low, deliberate—then crawl back up your body like a threat, heat simmering beneath his gaze. his lips part, then press together tight, as if reining something in.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters, but his voice cracks—taut and ragged, like it’s been dragged through too many thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

you tilt your head, lips curling into something too tender to be kind. “too late,” you coo. “you threw milk at my head and came in your pants about it.”

you look pristine—hair ribboned neatly, lip gloss shimmering under the harsh light, skin flawless like lacquered porcelain. beautiful. breakable. except your eyes gleam with something wicked, mean little stars dancing in a galaxy made just for him.

his fists clench at his sides. one thigh shifts, an involuntary twitch. he breathes out too sharp through his nose, like trying to exhale the want.

“you’re such a fucking brat,” he bites, but his voice stumbles on the edge of something more desperate, less controlled.

you only smile wider, slow and knowing, lashes fluttering as you step forward and then lower yourself to your knees. not in surrender. never that. it’s worship with teeth—dangerous, deliberate. your skirts spread around you like spilled sin. the way you look up at him is reverent and ruinous.

his entire body tightens, chest rising like he’s been starved of oxygen. the bulge in his pants throbs with restraint. his hand flinches at his side, like he’s debating whether to reach for you or himself.

you reach first.

he snatches your wrist mid-motion, fingers locking around your pulse with bruising pressure. his touch is trembling, barely keeping it together. his pupils are blown wide, breath shuddering.

you tilt your head, all mock-concern. your voice is honey-laced poison. “you gonna cry?” you whisper. “go on, satoru. tell them i bullied you.”

his lip curls—not quite a smirk, not quite a snarl. a flash of teeth, predatory and unsure. “you’re not in control.”

“then prove it.”

you move slowly, deliberately, fingers curling around the buckle of his belt, the leather cool and smooth under your touch. the scrape of it sliding free pierces the stairwell’s silence, sharp as a blade, bouncing off the concrete like a warning. your knuckles graze the taut fabric of his pants, a fleeting brush that draws a quick, jagged breath from him, raw and unguarded. he’s already throbbing, his cock straining against the material, a dark stain spreading where precum seeps through.

your fingertips linger, pressing just enough to feel the heat pouring off him, the pulse of his desire thrumming against your skin. his legs stiffen, muscles coiling under his slacks, and his hands flex at his sides, curling into loose fists before easing, like he’s wrestling with the urge to touch you.

when you free him, easing the zipper down with a slo I'mw, intentional drag, his cock springs out, flushed a furious red, veins stark, the tip glossy with precum that beads and drips, catching the dim fluorescent light. satoru hisses, shoulders curling inward, the motion abrupt, like he’s been struck. his jaw locks, a tendon pulsing under the skin, and his throat works as he swallows hard, the motion visible. his ice-blue eyes flick down to you, pupils dilated, but they skitter away—to the wall, the ceiling—like he’s dodging your gaze, afraid of what it might cost him to linger.

“pathetic,” you murmur, voice low, barely above a whisper, laced with venom. your hand wraps around the base of his cock, fingers coated in his precum, gripping just enough to make him jerk, a ripple coursing through his frame. you don’t say more—words feel redundant, your focus honed on the weight of him in your palm, the feverish heat, the way he pulses under your touch.

his hand darts to your hair, fingers knotting in the strands, tugging your head back with a force that steals your breath, throat exposed to the cool air. “watch it,” he growls, voice guttural, scraping like he’s dragging it over broken glass.

and yet his thumb brushes your cheek, a fleeting, unsteady graze, soft against the snarl. his hips inch forward, cock nudging closer to your lips, needy, unguarded. his other hand clamps onto the wall behind him, knuckles paling, nails gouging the chipped paint. his chest heaves unevenly, shirt stretching across his pecs, sweat beading at the base of his throat, catching the light.

you don’t respond. your lips curve into a faint, wicked smile, eyes fixed on his cock, hunger consuming you. your tongue darts out, barely skimming the head—a cruel, calculated tease that sends a jolt through him, his legs quivering under the strain.

his reaction is instant, a choked, guttural sound ripping from his throat, raw and fractured. his head snaps back against the concrete, the dull thud echoing, white hair glinting as it spills messily over his eyes. his jaw tightens, lips parting, tongue pressing to his palate like he’s swallowing a curse. his eyes snap shut briefly, lashes stark against his flushed cheeks, then flare open, wild and unfocused, pupils swallowing the blue.

then you start.

your lips part around him, slow, reverent yet vicious, like a predator savoring its prey. you take him inch by inch, tongue gliding along the thick vein with a greed that borders on fixation. spit pools at the corners of your mouth, dripping down his shaft, coating him in a glossy sheen. your hand moves in rhythm, fingers gripping tight, sliding through the mess of precum and saliva, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet stairwell.

you’re consumed, barely pausing for air, lips stretching around his girth, tongue circling the sensitive tip with relentless precision. no words—just the sloppy cadence of your mouth, a low, hungry hum in your throat as you draw him deeper, ravenous. your eyes flick up, catching his chest heaving, abs contracting with every jolt, his fingers tightening in your hair, tugging just enough to sting before they waver, grazing your scalp.

he struggles to breathe, chest rising and falling in fits and starts, shirt plastered to his sweat-damp skin, collar creased and damp. his fingers in your hair flex, then slacken, like he’s battling the urge to steer you. “fuck—fuck—” he chokes, voice splintering, no coherent words, just raw, desperate noise.

his hips jerk, a small, involuntary thrust pushing him deeper into your mouth, and you hum again, the vibration tearing through him. his head tilts back, throat bared, adam’s apple jumping as he swallows hard, a low groan slipping free. his other hand scrapes the wall, nails clawing at the concrete, leaving faint scratches.

you don’t taunt. your focus is absolute, lips gliding over him, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock, slick with saliva and precum. your free hand grips his thigh, nails sinking into the taut muscle, feeling it tense under your touch. saliva drips from your chin, staining his slacks, leaving dark, wet patches.

you take him deeper, throat constricting around him, and he bucks, a sharp, fractured sound bursting from his lips, hips twitching again. your eyes dart up, catching his face contorting—brows furrowed, lips parted, sweat tracing a path down his temple, snagging in his pale hair.

and then he’s coming. too soon, too overwhelming, hot and thick down your throat. you swallow with purpose, slow, deliberate, letting him feel the tight grip of your throat, savoring every pulse, every drop, like you’re claiming him entirely. spit and cum mingle, dripping from your lips, coating your chin in a glossy, obscene mess that catches the dim light. his knees soften, a faint quake in his legs, and his hand in your hair tightens briefly, then releases, fingers quaking as they slide to your jaw.

but you don’t stop.

your mouth keeps working, merciless, lips gliding over his oversensitive cock, tongue swirling with unyielding hunger. your hand strokes the base, slick with his release, relentless, pulling him into a haze of overstimulation. he gasps, nerves raw, eyes snapping open, wide and glassy, pupils blown to hell. “stop—fuck—please—” he chokes, voice shattered, hands fumbling at your shoulders, fingers flexing like he’s torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. his legs quiver, muscles twitching under your palms, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts, catching in his throat.

you don’t answer. your lips tighten around him, sucking harder, tongue pressing against the sensitive head, coated in the remnants of his release. he jerks, a raw, humiliating sound scraping from his throat, body betraying him as his cock pulses again. his head tips forward, chin against his chest, eyes squeezing shut, lips quivering as he tries to breathe through it. his fingers press into your shoulders, leaving faint marks, and his other hand braces against the wall, knuckles pale, nails digging into the concrete.

and he breaks again, release spilling over your lips, hot and messy, dripping down your chin in glistening trails. he groans, deep and guttural, the sound echoing like a confession. his legs falter, knees nearly buckling, his breath shallow and jagged, a man unraveling.

you lick him clean, slow, deliberate, relishing the salt and heat, the way his skin jumps under your tongue. his hand in your hair slips away, fingers quaking, settling on your neck, lingering like he needs your pulse to anchor him.

you pull back at last, lips swollen, chin slick with his mess, and look up. he’s ruined—pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, sweat beading at his hairline, pale strands plastered to his forehead. his chest surges, shirt clinging to his damp skin, top button undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone.

“thought you hated me,” you murmur, voice soft but cutting, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, the motion slow, deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. “thought you were stronger than this.”

he glares down at you, breathless, lips parted, tongue grazing his palate like he’s chewing on a retort. “you—fucking—bitch,” he rasps, voice raw, barely holding together, but his eyes betray him, lingering on your lips, the glossy shine of his cum on your chin, staring too long.

you climb into his lap, slow and deliberate, letting your weight settle against him, your soaked panties beneath your skirt dragging against his thigh with obscene friction.

he groans, low and fractured, his cock stirring again, the tip brushing your stomach, leaving a faint smear of precum. his eyes drop to the dark, wet patch on your underwear, and something in him snaps—his jaw tightens and his fingers press into your hips, hard enough to leave marks.

“soaked,” he mutters, voice hoarse, reverent, like he’s cursing a god. his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and his gaze lifts to yours, dark and ravenous, holding eye contact briefly before dropping again, like he can’t resist. “you fucking get off on breaking me, don’t you?”

“maybe i do,” you whisper, voice silk and poison, leaning in until your lips brush his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “maybe i’ve been getting off on it since we were kids. maybe i knew you’d fold the second i got my hands on you.”

his hands seize your hips, fingers sinking in like he’s bracing against a storm. he pulls you down hard against his thigh, and you gasp, sharp and high, hips rocking instinctively, chasing the searing friction.

your breath catches, a flicker of weakness crossing your face—lips parting, eyes half-lidded for a moment, fingers clutching his shoulders, nails biting into his shirt. he catches it, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, lips twitching into a faint, predatory smirk.

“don’t act like you’re any better,” satoru snaps, voice low and ragged, almost a growl. his hands slide up your sides, thumbs grazing the curve of your ribs, lingering like he’s memorizing you. “you’re dripping like a fucking slut. you’d crawl for this cock if i let you.”

“i don’t crawl,” you hiss, but your voice wavers, betraying the heat pooling in your core, the way your legs press around his. your fingers tighten on his shoulders, gripping the fabric.

“oh, you will,” he says, dark and certain, his hand slipping beneath your panties like he owns you. two fingers slide inside, curling deep, and you choke, walls gripping him, slick and eager. his thumb circles your clit, tight and practiced, and your hips buck before you can stop them, a soft whimper escaping. his eyes lock on yours, unblinking, daring you to look away first.

he flips you with a force that steals your breath, your back slamming against the cold concrete wall, the chill biting into your spine. your hands scramble, nails raking his shoulders, leaving red lines through his shirt. his cock presses against your entrance, slick with your arousal, hot and pulsing, and you shiver, a soft moan slipping free despite yourself.

your eyes half-close, lips quivering, a fleeting vulnerability crossing your face, your breath hitching as you press your teeth into your lower lip.

“don’t,” you warn, voice thin, fraying at the edges, barely holding together. it’s too much—the way he fills the air, the way his touch sears, the way you want him even as you hate him. your chest tightens, fingers twisting into his shirt, gripping the fabric, a nervous reflex betraying the chaos inside you.

he ignores you. adjusts your hips, pins you there like a specimen, his hands bruising, possessive. “you wanted this,” he snarls, voice thick with need, his lips brushing your jaw, teeth grazing the skin. “you fucking earned it.”

and he pushes in.

slow, devastating, stretching you inch by inch, balls deep, his hips flush against yours. you both groan—low, rough, animalistic. your legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper, heels pressing into his lower back. your arms lock around his neck, nails carving crescent moons into his skin.

his face buries in the crook of your shoulder, breath hot and uneven, teeth grazing your collarbone, a faint scrape that sends a jolt through you. his tongue traces the salt of your skin, lips lingering, marking you.

satoru moves with purpose, every thrust a war cry, deep and unyielding. the sound of skin meeting skin echoes like thunder, mingling with your gasps, his grunts, the slick rhythm of your bodies.

your moans grow loud—too loud—and you bite your lip, teeth sinking into the soft flesh, trying to silence them. his hips drive forward, each thrust measured but forceful, his cock striking deep, making your walls grip him. his breath is ragged, puffing against your neck, and his fingers press into your hips, leaving marks that will darken by morning.

then—footsteps.

heavy, uneven, echoing from the top of the stairwell. a shadow flickers across the wall as the door creaks above, the sound sharp and jarring. your heart surges, panic flaring, eyes darting to the stairs, wide and glassy. but satoru doesn’t stop. his cock plunges deeper, harder, balls deep with every thrust, the wet rhythm of his hips against yours brazen in the silence.

you bite your hand, teeth sinking into your palm, muffling the moan clawing up your throat. your other hand grips his shoulder, nails biting in, and your legs quiver, trying to close, but his hips keep them spread.

“satoru—someone’s—” you whisper, voice frantic, barely audible, your eyes flicking to the stairs again, where the shadow lingers. your breath catches, a sharp, unsteady inhale, and your fingers twist into his shirt.

“let them see,” he growls, lips brushing your ear, voice low and vicious, dripping with cruelty. “fuck, you’re so pretty like this—look at you, no fake saint act, just my filthy little whore, taking me so fucking deep.” his words are condescending, but there’s a raw, genuine edge, like he’s seeing you for the first time, stripped of pretense, and it cuts deeper than his thrusts.

his eyes lock on yours, unblinking, pupils blown wide, and his lips twitch into a faint, predatory smirk. “you’re beautiful when you’re real,” he murmurs, voice dipping, almost soft, but the cruelty in it stings, exposing you. “no mask, no lies, just you, stuffed full of my cock.”

your body betrays you, walls gripping him tighter, pleasure surging despite the shame. the footsteps pause, a muffled voice calling out, “anyone down there?” and your heart pounds, but satoru’s thrusts intensify, more punishing, his cock filling you so completely it’s overwhelming.

you press your hand tighter over your mouth, eyes stinging, teeth digging deeper into your knuckles to stifle the sobs of pleasure. your hips jerk against him despite yourself, chasing the high. the voice mutters something vague, and you pray they leave, pray they don’t see you—legs spread, panties shoved aside, satoru’s cock buried deep, your body quaking with the effort to stay silent.

“shh,” he mocks, thrusting deeper, his cock hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your walls tightening around him. “don’t let them hear you, princess. wouldn’t want your worshippers to see you like this, would you? their perfect little saint, fucked stupid by the guy she hates, creaming all over my cock like a desperate slut.” his voice is low, taunting, and his hand slides to your throat, not squeezing, just resting, his thumb tracing your pulse, feeling it race. his eyes flick to your lips, to the way your teeth sink into your knuckles, and he smirks, slow and cruel.

you whimper, shame and pleasure twisting into a tight knot in your core. your hips buck against him, a tear slipping free, catching on your lashes. the footsteps linger, the shadow still hovering, and his hips drive forward, relentless, the slick rhythm of your bodies louder now, brazen, and you bite down harder, tasting blood, trying to lock the moans in your throat.

“you’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” satoru murmurs, voice dipping low, almost reverent, but laced with venom. “no pretending, no bullshit. just you, taking me like you were born for it.” the praise is cruel, so genuine it burns, and your walls tighten around him, a soft, broken sound escaping despite your efforts. his eyes soften for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something raw, before they darken again, holding your gaze like a challenge.

the footsteps fade, the door creaking shut, and you exhale, the sound shaky in the air. but the relief is fleeting—satoru’s hand tightens on your throat, just enough to feel your pulse leap, and his cock drives deeper, unyielding.

“you love this,” he sneers, hips snapping harder, making you gasp. “you love being my dirty little secret, don’t you? look at you, clenching around me like you can’t get enough. like the greedy spoiled brat you really are.”

your breath hitches. “i don’t—” the protest dies halfway, strangled by a moan as he thrusts deep and just right, catching that devastating spot inside you. your fingers dig into his shoulder, nails biting through the fabric. your mouth parts, trying to form words that won’t come.

“harder,” you plead, voice breathless, fraying at the edges, a crack in your control. it’s a moment of weakness, raw and exposed, your lips trembling, eyes half-closing as you press your teeth into your lower lip, trying to anchor yourself. satoru catches it, his smirk widening, eyes glinting with triumph, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, as though he can taste your surrender.

satoru gives it to you.

fucks you like it’s the only language he knows, like every thrust is a sharp syllable, every moan a desperate rebuttal. your bodies argue in heat and rhythm, friction and breath. his hips drive forward like a point he's determined to make—over and over, merciless and unrelenting, a cruel kind of eloquence.

it’s not love, but it’s the only way either of you knows how to say stay.

his cock fills you, thick and unyielding, stretching you with every measured thrust, the head grazing your walls, slick with your arousal. the wet rhythm of your bodies colliding echoes, brazen, mingling with the uneven huff of his breath against your neck. his hips surge forward, balls deep, the coarse hair at his base brushing your sensitive skin, sending a spark through your core.

your walls tighten around him, eager, possessive, and he hisses, a sharp, involuntary sound, his jaw locking, a tendon pulsing under his flushed cheek. his fingers press into your hips, bruising, and his eyes flick to yours for a fleeting moment—wild, glassy, pupils blown—before darting away, like he’s dodging the truth.

your body gives out first. the coil inside you snaps, and your spine arches like a drawn bowstring, fingers clawing down his back, leaving angry red trails. your mouth opens, but no sound escapes—just a broken little gasp, sharp and cut off like a secret you never meant to confess. pleasure floods you, white-hot and overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs.

your legs shake, heels pressing hard against his back like you’re anchoring him inside, keeping him close, keeping him real. your brows furrow, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted in a quivering o that never forms a word. your walls pulse around him, slick with your release, a faint sheen coating his cock as he eases back slightly, the sight drawing a low, guttural sound from his chest.

a sob claws up your throat, half-stifled by your palm. your other hand scrabbles for purchase, nails sinking into his skin, and he groans at the sting, at the way your body fights to hold him even as it unravels. his legs tense under yours, muscles coiling, and his tongue grazes his lips, a quick, unconscious flick.

his cock twitches inside you, heavy and hot, filling you to the point of ache. saliva gathers at the corner of your mouth, a thin trail sliding down your chin, mingling with the sweat beading at your throat. his eyes catch it, lingering on the messy shine, and his throat bobs as he swallows hard, his grip on your hip tightening.

he follows not long after.

his body stiffens, chest pressing flush to yours, a quake running through him like a snapped wire. his eyes flutter shut for a second, lashes quivering, and your name spills from his lips—hoarse, cracked, reverent, like prayer and curse in one.

satoru spills into you, deep and pulsing, his release hot and thick, filling you until it leaks out, a slick trail tracing down your thighs, pooling on the concrete below. his breath breaks against your neck, coming in short, ragged bursts, and his mouth finds your shoulder, teeth grazing the damp skin, more mark than bite. it lingers, a claiming, a confession he can't say aloud.

his fingers flex on your hips, then loosen, only to tighten again, like he’s afraid to let go. his eyes open, locking on yours for a moment—wild, raw, unguarded—before he jerks his gaze away, jaw tightening.

but satoru doesn’t stop.

he should.

you’re shaking beneath him, overstimulated, your breath hitching in choked hiccups. but he doesn’t stop. he fucks you through the comedown, through the soft sounds you make—half-cries, half-whimpers—through the desperate grip of your spent muscles.

his rhythm falters but persists, each thrust carving a space where only he fits, like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he slows. his cock drags against your sensitive walls, slick with cum and arousal, the sound wet and relentless, filling the stairwell. your legs quiver, heels digging into his lower back, and your hand clutches his shoulder, nails leaving faint red crescents.

your other hand presses harder against your mouth, teeth biting into your palm to muffle the sounds you can’t contain. his breath sears your neck, puffing in uneven bursts, and his lips graze your collarbone, leaving a faint trail of saliva that cools on your skin.

“hate you,” he snarls, voice wrecked, raw and shaking. his hips snap forward again, sharp and deep, his cock driving into you with a force that makes your walls clench, a soft, broken whimper escaping your lips. his forehead presses to yours for one trembling second, eyes locked on yours—wide, wild, panicked—like a man holding his breath underwater.

his tongue flicks out again, wetting his lips, and his fingers flex against your hips, a faint tremor in his hands. his thrusts are relentless, each one deliberate, measured, but forceful, the head of his cock hitting deep, making your breath catch in sharp, stuttering gasps.

your eyes flutter, dazed and glossy, lashes clinging to damp skin. your mouth opens, but nothing comes—only the broken breath of someone who should say stop but can’t.

you’re still trembling, thighs clenching unconsciously around him, breath shallow and uneven. your walls flutter around his cock, slick with the mess of your release and his, and a faint, wet trail drips down your inner thigh, pooling on the floor.

he shamelessly drinks in the sight and jerks his gaze away like it burns him, like he’s afraid of what he’ll see—afraid that if he keeps his eyes on you too long, he’ll realize he’s not angry at you at all. his jaw clenches, a muscle ticking under the skin, and his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek.

his hips stutter, just for a moment, but he keeps going, thrusting deep, the wet squelch of your bodies louder now, a rhythmic, obscene echo. his fingers dig into your hips, bruising, and his breath puffs against your neck, hot and uneven, a faint groan slipping free as your walls clench around him again.

he’s angry at how much he wants you to stay.

and how terrified he is that you will.

“you’re such a bad liar,” you breathe, ragged, voice barely there, lips trembling as you speak. “you beg like you worship me.”

“does that make you think you’ve won?” he growls, thrusting harder, making you gasp, your head tipping back against the wall. “you’re way delusional than i thought. you’re just as fucked as i am, princess. look at you—cumming on my cock like it’s the only thing you’re good for.”

you clench again, a weak, desperate moan slipping free, and he groans, cock twitching inside you. your lips crash into his, messy, obscene, tongues tangling, teeth biting. his blood is in your mouth, sharp and metallic, and yours is on his tongue, a shared wound.

the stairwell reeks of sweat, sex, and something sacred, your ribbon lost somewhere on the floor, his shirt clinging to his sweat-slick skin, wrinkled and damp. your eyes meet—unfocused, wild, wrecked—holding for a moment before you both look away, like the truth is too much.

“this meant nothing,” he rasps, voice raw, lips trembling as he speaks, his eyes flicking to your lips, lingering there. his fingers loosen on your hips, then tighten again, like he can’t decide whether to let go.

“good,” you whisper, lips brushing his, still trembling from the aftershocks, your breath puffing against his mouth. “then we’re doing it again tomorrow. maybe in front of a mirror. i want you to see how pathetic you look when you’re begging.” your voice dips, soft but cutting.

he doesn’t reply, but his hips roll into you one last time, slow, deliberate, like punctuation. his mouth catches your gasp, fingers tightening on your skin, and his eyes hold yours for a moment—wild, raw, unguarded—before he looks away, tongue pressing to his cheek again. you know neither of you will ever forget.

“this meant nothing,” he rasps, voice rough around the edges, lips twitching like he almost regrets saying it. his hands flex on your hips, like he can’t decide whether to let go or keep holding on.

“good,” you murmur, breath brushing his mouth, still winded. “then we’re doing it again tomorrow. in front of a mirror this time. i want you to see how desperate you get.” your voice is calm, cruel, intimate. your fingers smooth down his chest—tidying what you ruined.

he doesn’t respond.

instead, he leans in and steals a kiss—quick, hard, teeth clashing. like he can’t help himself. like he needs one last hit before he walks away. it’s messy and angry and not meant to linger, but it does.

his mouth hovers just a second longer than it should. your breath catches.

then he pulls back, silent, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. like he’s already thinking about next time.

You hold her hair up as she continues to get the rest of the toxins out of her system, long thick jet black hair wrapped around your knuckles, you two always joke about how if she ever went broke enough she could cut her hair and sell it.

“Wait a fucking minute!” You holler again, more knocks and bangs hitting the door. You were really getting pissed off now, as big as this club was, you knew there were plenty of other bathrooms for them to use. You weren’t leaving till your girl could walk out on her two feet, fuck if it was ignorant…let them say something to y’all when y’all walk out. You dare them.

“I’m so sorry yo…” she cries out…she wasn’t even pissy drunk…you couldn’t figure out why she was throwing up. Y’all barely drunk before y’all got here and only had two henny shots after making it inside. Could have been the food at the seafood bar y’all went too earlier…y’all were in the states so it couldn’t have been the tap water so what the fuck was it?

“It’s cool…just…c’mon…” You pat her back, she’s crying now and you're growing frantic. They’re still banging on the door and she won’t stop. This was a fucked position to be in and you don’t know what to do…if y’all call for help they’d just kick y’all out then y’all would really be fucked up standing on the curb while she’s sick as a dog.

“I can’t…I really can’t…” She babbles out, fat tears running down her face. You love her to death but this was gross, you don’t do throw up…the bathroom was gross, the floor was gross, but you weren’t leaving your girl’s side, she needed you.

“Just get it all out, we can get water—” she hurls again before you could finish your sentence, one final fat spit in the toilet then moves to get up, you let her hair go and steady her as she rises to her feet.

“I’m okay…I’m okay…” She says. The two of you move to the bathroom sink, she still looks somewhat put together, just sweat on her forehead and tear streaks down her face. You gather paper towels out of the dispenser to help clean her up, you have mascara she can use in your bag and she has her lip gloss and lip liner in hers. She didn’t bring her powder to touch up the rest of her makeup but y’all could pull something together before stepping out.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” You step back as she washes her hands. The banging had stopped…she’s okay now…you could finally breathe.

“It’s cool…just get yourself together, take your time.”

“It’s not. I ruined the whole night. We paid so much to get in here I—” She runs back to the toilet to hurl again…fuck!

“Utahime— oh my god what the fuck…” You stress out…you don’t know what to do or how to help her to make this stop.

“I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what’s going on.” She cries out.

“Bitch we’re gonna have to leave…but I can’t call an Uber if you’re throwing up like this…”

“I know I know I just need some time…”

“Sweetheart what time!? We can’t stay in this bathroom, we have to move somewhere or something. Can you walk!?” You don't mean to bitch at her but this was getting ridiculous at this point, too much to deal with, you Don't. Do. Throw. Up.

“Yeah, I can walk…I need food or something to hold this down…my fucking stomach is turning.”

“Bro you don’t need shit else in your stomach. C’mon wash your hands again, we got to go.”

It takes you both a mere ten minutes to finally fix yourselves back together before getting it out, making sure to spray her down with a ton of perfume before leaving. There was a line of people standing to the side. Angry and annoyed looks on their faces, just as you thought y’all would survive the walk of shame you hear someone accuse y’all of holding up the bathroom to do lines of coke…y’all don’t even do drugs. Utahime sours at that, ready to cuss them out but you drag her deeper into the club stopping to lean against a ledge.

There were no couches on this level…just bar counters, a dance floor and paid sections. You don’t want to go down to the lower levels as y’all both paid extra to get up to this floor and y’all couldn’t leave the club till you were sure she was good. You leave her there for a minute to come back with two cups of ice water, one for you and one for her and she drinks it up and keeps it down like a fucking G.

“This dude keeps looking at me…” she shouts over the music, it was fucking booming in inside with bodies everywhere. You crowd around her to try and cover her to prevent whoever it was from looking at her…you knew why though…the two of you wearing the skimpiest shit y’all could find off OhPolly. Could you blame him? No.

“He still looking?” You ask, not wanting to turn back to look in case he takes it as an invite to come over. You were swaying to the beat now, good vibes still in you…Utahime might feel like it was but the night wasn’t ruined for you just yet. It’d take a whole lot more than this to kill your vibe.

“No but…bitch I feel sick again…”

“It’s a whole bunch of people in line now…can you hold it down?” Worry in your voice…if she throws up on the floor y’all were gonna be fucked.

“I don’t know…” She whines out.

“That guy…he’s coming over here.”

You look back…and he was…a tall guy…it was dark in the club so you couldn’t see his face. You turn your back to him quick, hopefully he takes the hint and fucks off. Now was not the time.

“Hey, what’s up? ” He approaches behind you, the smell of expensive cologne wrapping your noise and it wasn’t no cheap shit either.

“We’re cool.” You say dismissively without turning back to face him. Not to be a stuck up bitch in the club but now was not the time to be macking.

“You two look too good to be standing here, how about y’all—”

“I said we’re cool!” You argue back with venom in your voice, this guy was fine as hell too but unfortunately for him he’s being met with your protective side tonight.

“Damn, is she good?” He asks, worriedness laced in his voice…you can’t tell if he actually cares or not.

“If y’all need somewhere to sit and chill I got a section with some of my homies…y’all can’t be standing here like this.”

“We’re good, her feet just hurt.” You lie but they probably do, Giuseppe heels aren’t nothing to play with, but to your dismay she croaks out somewhat of a burp and a cough then spits into her empty cup. C’mon girl…act like a lady, get it together.

“She looks sick…” He carries on.

“She’s not—”

“Sis…please can we…” She whispers out…thighs trembling like they’re about to give in from leaning. You grab her shoulders to help keep her up.

“How many of y’all over there?” You ask, fuck it, you need to help your girl out by any means…all you had to do was just sit and chat his people up till she was good to go. Easy work.

“It’s three of us…my name Suguru by the way. I can call somebody over to get something for her too, it's not a problem. Y’all too cute to be standing over here.”

“Okay yeah…alright that’s cool.” You move to help her up, he steps to the side and takes his arm around her waist to support her. Just as you were about to protest to this stranger touching her you remind yourself why y’all got invited to the section and keep your cool.

He leads the way towards the back side of the club, the baddest bitches sitting up in the booths and you could tell by how the guys they were with were dressed that they had money. The bloody red soles of Suguru shoes as you walked behind them weren’t lost on you either…you peep the watch and chains on his wrist. He was iced the fuck out. Any other day you and Utahime would be all over him but tonight you were on a mission.

The three of you stop at a partitioned off booth where his two boys and a girl he hadn’t mentioned are sitting. There were empty ice buckets, some glasses, tall bottles of liquor and plates of eaten food on the table. The girl eyes the two of you, her gaze isn't cold but it is unreadable. It doesn’t faze you though, you could go toe to toe with her if need be.

“One sec…” He drops Utahime’s waist to explain the situation to both guys who were looking confused as to why y’all were here. You move to her side and you whisper to her to ask if she’s good, she simply nods to you in return. The two guys' expressions shift from confusion to at ease, the girl more so busy touching up her lipstick in a pocket mirror.

Suguru waves you both over now and you two take a seat in the booth across from them.

“This is Sukuna, Satoru, and my other man’s girl Mei Mei. Y’all this is…”

“Utahime.”

“Y/N” you say calmly.

“Sukuna, text back-of-house and tell them to bring gatorade, Pepsi, and something for this one to eat. And some more waters.” Pointing to Utahime, surprisingly she was sitting up nice and perfect as if she didn’t just give you hell like she was about to just die.

“Ard.” He whips his phone out to handle the request.

“I’m actually going to head out now.” Mei Mei says, shifting to grab her purse, a black leather Cassandre YSL shoulder bag. Your preloved Vivienne Westwood bag isn’t coming close to that price tag.

“Be safe!” Satoru says, then turns to the two of you as she scoots her way out, her silver dress shimmering under the low lights as she moves.

Piercing blue eyes now gaze at you over the rim of Cartier glasses.

“Suguru said you two were on the floor standing around…what’s wrong with your friend?”

“She’s just tired.” You lie again, not wanting to reveal to them the truth of the matter. Utahime shifts under the weight of their gaze, not speaking for herself.

“Yeah? He said she looked like she was about to pass out. People calling on staff saying y’all were holding up the bathroom, what’s that about?”

“We were just freshening up…” She speaks up now, her voice nearing a defensive tone.

“Bullshit.” Sukuna says, placing his phone down.

“Cleaning crew said the bathroom looked a mess when y’all got out.”

“Was like that when we went in.” You shoot back, voice still calm and collected, you weren’t looking to pick a fight with these three…you know how to behave. Though, by the way they’re speaking it sounds like they run the club and had cameras watching yall or something…

“Look, we own the club. Just making sure everything runs smoothly. This is a business at the end of the day.” Satoru finishes dropping the subject, your suspicions stand correct. This club wasn’t the only thing that spoke for their wealth…it was also what they had on, each of them wearing designer pieces, immediately you could spot and name a few brands…Chrome Hearts, Louis Vuittion, and Balmain.

“You two from out here? Or just visiting?” Suguru cuts in, pouring a glass of cognac for himself.

“Vacation.” You reply.

“Yeah? Where y’all from and how long?”

“Cali, we leave tomorrow afternoon.” You continue lying in hopes Utahime knows to play along, you learnt to never give up the truth of y’all backgrounds when asked.

“That’s what’s up, what part?”

“San Diego.”

“Yeah where? I sell properties out there, I got a house for myself down in Laguna too.” Sukuna butts in, interested now. You stutter at that, not sure what to say…you don’t know shit about San Diego but you do know about Balboa park so you come up with something quick.

“About a couple minutes from Balboa park, we just moved there. I don't really know the area too well to name anything.” You’re lying like shit now.

“Gotcha.”

“What do y’all do for a living? Flights from coast to coast ain’t cheap.” Satoru chimes in, picking up on your demeanor.

“I’m a lawyer.” Utahime cuts in before you could speak, catching on to the game you’re playing.

“Really!? What do you practice?”

“Divorce law.”

“What school did you graduate from?”

“Brown.” Now see the bitch did go to Brown…for a single semester.

“How old are you?” Sukuna bluntly jumps back in, you could tell by his voice he wasn’t buying it but y’all were gonna keep lying either way. Y’all were Miami, ain’t shit out here just like the bodies of half the girls in this club was real anyway.

“I’m 27.” Fuck. She’s lying like shit now too…she just turned 23 yesterday, y’all came out here together to celebrate her birthday week.

“Can I see your ID?” Satoru asks, coming out more like a request.

“We left them at the hotel…didn’t want to lose them. Happened before.” She lies effortlessly again, the dumbest shit she could have said.

“Well someone’s getting fired…” He leans back letting out a laugh, crossing a leg over the other.

“Sukuna, find out who’s watching the door before our shit gets shut down. I put too much money into this building to get sued and pay fines.”

Sukuna gives you both a look over before getting up and leaving. He looks pissed…but Satoru wasn’t…he was fucking smile as he watches him do as he was told. He’s been getting bitch since y’all two sat down…it was clear who the leader was.

“You a lawyer too?” He asks you.

“No, I don’t work.” You keep your lie simple, you weren’t about to get caught up any further. You and Utahime are gonna have to start rehearsing lies before stepping out now.

“Your friend works but you don't? How do you get your money then?”

“I model.” It wasn’t a total lie, you had an Instagram page full of pictures from photoshoots. You used to date a photographer, a popular one in New York, you stood in as his muse from time to time till you caught his ass cheating with a so-called client.

“Can I see your work?” He passes you his phone unlocked, a black iPhone that somehow feels heavier than the same one in your purse.

“It’s on my Instagram page.” You ask for permission before you start tapping around on his phone.

“Go ahead.”

You open up the app, catching a glimpse at his own page before quickly searching up yours. A gorgeous waitress comes by to drop off the food and drink order right before you can hand him his phone back. He looks over your page in glee…probably at the lingerie and swimsuit photos you have posted. Those were advertising deals you did as a side gig many moons ago.

“Ever considered working out here?” He cocks a brow at you, those icy blue eyes hidden behind those dark frames. Suguru leans over to take a look himself, brows raising at what he sees. He locks his phone to stop him from looking any longer, shoving it back in his pocket.

“It’s our first time here…never thought about it.”

“Could I…” Utahime cuts in, pointing towards the food at the table. A spread of cheese and crackers, cooked chicken, and a small plate of mash potatoes…enough to keep her stomach at bay…she seemed to be better now though.

“Yeah go ahead, here.” Suguru passes her a plate along with opening up the bottle of gatorade and pouring her a cup of the blue liquid.

“Thank you.” She says sweetly as she takes the plate. You catch him smile at her.

“First time in Miami, you seen anything good yet?”

“We’ve just been up Ocean drive and the beach so far…couple bars and clubs the other day.”

“So you thought to bring your IDs there but not ours? I’m offended.”

“We heard through some girls you could get in here without one…and that their friends had there’s stolen here one night so we planned accordingly.”

“The hell…”

“Well someones losing more than their job tonight, Suguru text Sukuna that for me, the fuck kind of club are we running?”

Utahime gives you a look, you never lied so much in your life now and this is snowballing like crazy. Sorry to whoever is about to get their shit rocked.

“Ahh…” Satoru lets out a sigh, neck cracking as he stretches it from side to side. “Business business…didn’t think the club scene could get any more crazier than what we dealt with last year.”

“What happened?” You ask, curious.

“Investigation still open, I’m not at liberty to say. But if your gorgeous friend over here ever needs a new job, I'm well connected with a stellar law firm. They represent my club and my other business. I own an art gallery.”

“You deal art?”

“Precisely.”

“Sounds like you have your hands full, I’d love to come see it one day.” You flirt back now that you’re more at ease with the conversation.

“It would be a pleasure to have you both stop by, a shame you’re leaving so soon. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Maybe you two could fly back out here?” Suguru chimes in, moreso speaking to Utahime…it was clear he had his pick tonight and it wasn’t you.

“Should definitely come back out here, I’m sure a girl as gorgeous as you could get work out here instantly. Has a scouting agency come up to you yet?”

“No, we haven’t had many interactions out here.”

“That’s good then. They’re everywhere like rats, posted up on every beach and club. Most are scams, if you catch my drift.” You shudder at the implications of his words. You knew all too well about the risks of modeling…

“Matter of fact, I know a guy that knows a guy who’s the head of an agency. I could set you up with them, they’re global and about to open an office in London.” Your ears perk up at that, he seemed legit so far, maybe he wasn’t bullshitting and even if he was it wouldn’t be a loss on your end.

“That sounds nice, I’d really appreciate it…”

“Of course, Suguru call up Kusakabe for me, I’m sure he’s awake. Tell him I have the most beautiful girl I ever laid my eyes on here. And call Ijichi, see if they have an empty desk at his firm, and if they don’t tell them to bring in another. They’ll have clients coming in droves once this one is through their door.”

You can’t help but blush at that…Utahime doing the same. All that damn lying y’all two done did sprouting legs to now have the utmost most flattering compliment thrown y’all way. Whelp, can’t stop the lies now…

Suguru get’s up to leave for a quieter space at that, a sad expression crossing his face having to depart from Utahime…her eyes trail after him. Satoru catches on but continues to direct his attention to you.

“You two have any plans after tonight? Your friend seems to be feeling better.” You turn to look at her, her eyes give confirmation to you without having to speak. You both know what that meant…an invitation…y’all were close to bagging at least one of their rich asses tonight…but it’s going to take a bit more convincing to go back with them.

“What do you imply?” She takes the lead now, composure calm as she speaks. She might have been a hot mess an hour ago but you both know the way in which she can work a man out of his wallet when it comes down to it. Atlanta March 2022, you’ll never forget it.

“Well, it’s getting late…” He starts off.

“...been here for a couple hours. I’d like to head back to where my boys and I are staying for the time being. We’re actually here on a business trip, just to check on how the club has been doing. Glad I did now that I know we got someone letting girls in without verifying their ages. Utahime I’m sure you know how much trouble we’d get into if authorities found out, you know the law…”

“Would be hell of a case to fight…”

“Where are you three from?” You ask, curious now.

“Japan. Ever been?”

“No…Utahime you’re—”

“I’m Japanese. My family is from Kyoto. I was born here and haven't got a chance to visit again since I was a kid.” She cuts you off before you could tell him.

“Really?” He says surprised. “Suguru is going to get a kick out of this.”

“I’m back.” Sukuna plops down on the sofa before either of you could speak, angrily tossing his phone on the table while doing so. “We switched Toji out for Todo, waited till I caught the fucker about to let four nineteen year olds in. The fuck is he thinking!?”

Both you and Utahime were stunned…no way your lie was true…but then again this was fucking Miami. Anything goes out here.

“Hey Sukuna, get this…this one tells me word on the beach is that our club doesn't check IDs. God knows how long this has been going on for.” Pointing to you now.

“You fucking serious?”

“So serious. Go ahead, tell him what you told me.”

“We met some girls on Ocean drive and they told us this club doesn’t card. That’s how they got in their first few times…they said they were twenty at the time.” Lies lies lies and more lies. At least you didn’t feel guilty about it anymore.

“Well fuck me then… better hope and pray we don’t have papers already coming our way.”

See…lying does work sometimes. The two of you likely just saved their club from going under or worse…being raided.

“Hey…they're both not answering…but I left a message. Sure they’ll see it in the morning.” Suguru swings back around, taking a seat next to Utahime, resting an arm above where she’s sitting.

“Did you tell them what I said word for word?”

“Uh— no. Is ‘two pretty girls’ enough?”

“Suguru, words have meaning…these two ladies are far more than pretty, pets like cats are pretty, these two are gorgeous. Matter of fact, she speaks Japanese, her folks are from Kyoto! Don’t we love Kyoto? Your summer vacation home there was featured in Architectural Digest once right? Or was that Metropolis?”

Suguru eyes light up at that, followed by saying something in Japanese to her and she replies back flawlessly to prove she actually could. Your ass is stunned by the exchange…you can’t understand shit being said but you could tell from the way he was looking at her that Utahime just talked her way into a fucking bag! Attagirl!

“Hear that Sukuna?”

“Yup.” Busy on his phone now, uninterested in their conversation that was likely getting flirty by the way she was blushing and giggling now. An arm comes around her waist pulling her in, you avert your eyes letting them have their moment.

“Ticket hit!” Sukuna shouts, the most excitement you’ve seen from him thus far.

“What team?” Satoru asks, akin to talking about stocks at the country club.

“Raptors, 6k off it too.”

“Got 9 off of the Lakers the other day, sure you’re going to beat my goal of reaching 20k in winnings by the end of the month?”

“Suguru at 17 right now, I been threw that towel in. I’m just betting for lunch money now.”

Man Utahime…you hope she’s hearing this! Because these men got fucking money.

“Ha! Well then I’ll quit too now then, I may have lost my ticket tonight but in the presence of these two beautiful ladies I’m a winner. Hey Sukuna, cut them both a thousand, they just saved our business from that slime Toji, they earned it.”

Hold on. Pause. You two bitches came down to Miami with 200 dollars in your pockets now you’re coming up on a stack all off a fucking lie? This city is actually unreal!

“What’s your apple pay?” He asks, not even batting an eye. You gesture for his phone to put your number is…but it’s not his that you want.

“Wisconsin number?” He asks curiously after taking the phone back from you.

“Yeah…I have a crazy ex. Had to change it to somewhere he wouldn’t think of dialing.”

“Smart cookie.” Is all he says before hitting your phone with a hefty apple pay payment.

“What’s hers?” “She doesn’t use apple pay, you can send it to me again and I’ll make sure she gets it.” You speak for her, needing to conceal her actual phone number to ensure they don’t find out where either of you live.

“Gotcha.” Is all he says sending the payment again, $2,000 being enough to cover rent twice over and y’all two didn’t even have to fuck for it. A smile crosses your face now, you feel like taking shots.

“How about we take shots?” You say with cheerfulness in your voice.

“Let’s!” Satoru says, reaching over for the bottle of D’usse and pouring five glasses each.

“No more for her, she’s cut off.” Suguru says, taking the shot glass out of her hands, and like a pliant little thing she knows to be, she doesn’t protest.

“Too not getting shut down.” Satoru says. You all repeat it cheering. The four of you knock back a couple of shots, liquor hitting your system soon after. The vibes and music was great, the two of you were having a great time.

The atmosphere settles down an hour after, tiredness starting to kick in. Sukuna had left after the third shot, something about having to meet up with his wife. You had swapped seats with him now and were sitting next to Satoru whose hand had been trailing up your thigh, he tells you the rings he wore were Tiffany, so you tell him you always wanted a necklace from there, he tells you stick around long enough you could get one, and that’s all you needed to hear to keep your glued to your seat as he pours you shots of Hennesy.

You’re drunk at the end of it all, not pissy enough to black out but enough to stumble out of the club…and still you deserve a gold medal for not tripping in your heels in the parking garage. Large warm hands guide you into a sleek black Bugatti, Utahime sober in Suguru’s Lambo, he said they’d follow you both to the high-rise they’re staying at.

Satoru hands continue to grip at your thighs as he drives, this was an insanely reckless thing to be doing, going back to this still stranger's place, but all the boxes had been checked. They didn’t just talk money, they showed it, so this was either going to go right or very left.

His hand reaches higher up your thigh close between your legs now, you spread them open giving him access to your pussy and his fingers go to rub at it. What can you say…henny goes straight to the pussy and you were already wet from the grips and grabs back at the section.

Your friend Shoko back home texts you asking you how the trip is going, too drunk to explain what’s happening you simply tell her that you both are “outside outside!”, and she sends you back a string of laughing emojis telling you to be safe.

Satoru's car continues to roar down the highway, Miami so beautiful at night yet not coming anywhere close to the man beside you.

Your eyes close, tiredness finally setting in.

The next thing you know you’re being helped out of his car and walked into a lobby, Utahime and her new beau arriving soon after. She looks so happy in his arms, you love her so much, more than anything. Your ride or die for life.

The four of you take the elevator up to the penthouse floor, being met with the most insane flat that you’d only see in movies. You kick your heels off at the door after stepping in, Utahime already being led elsewhere down a hall. Suguru gives space to let her shower before retreating into a room with him.

Floor to ceiling windows make up the walls as you walk around the place, Satoru soon coming to hand you a glass of wine you happily accept. You barely drink it though…already having enough. Miami is beautiful from above, lights twinkling and the moon making the ocean shimmer.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist whilst nuzzling his face in your neck.

“Yes.”

“But not as beautiful as you.” Is all he says before hooking a finger under the strap of your top teasing to take it off. He takes your glass then, placing it on the nearest table he then walks you into the master bedroom. A beautiful space only you could once ever dream of resting your head in.

“Model for me?” He asks, softly pushing you down to sit at the edge of the bed as he stands in front of you, lifting your head up by chin to look up at him. You don’t remember him taking his glasses off, eyes seeming to glow under the light of the moon.

You move to strip your outfit off, revealing a lace strapless bra set with a matching thong underneath. You watch as his plump lips curl up into a smile.

“If only I had a polaroid…” is all he says before taking out his phone. You move back further up the bed and he follows you on his knees already positioning the camera to snap pictures. You pose as he takes a million and several more, and before you know it he’s throwing his phone to the side and grabbing at your body to bring you close.

His lips quickly follow after, leaving kisses on your neck down to the crevice of your cleavage. Your bra soon makes its way off landing somewhere on the cold polished floor.

“I've wanted this since the moment I saw you…” he whispers between kisses, fondling your boobs as he makes his way down your stomach. Fingers come to pull down your thong, your pussy now free from what shouldn’t even be considered underwear.

Spreading your legs apart he takes a finger collecting the fluid now building up at your entrance, pulling his hand back he brings his coated fingers up to your lips and you happily take them in your mouth. He kisses you then right after, hot and wet with a lot of tongue.

“You’ve been such a delight…let me treat you.” He says, pulling off his top and unbuckling his belt to drop his pants. If he told you his body was sculpted by Michelangelo himself you’d believe him. Your eyes trail down his figure stopping at the bulge in his boxers, sobering up a bit from the sight of it. Lifting yourself up you bring your hands to curl around the band, looking up to slowly pull them down and he takes both hands cupping your face and kisses you deeply.

Stepping out of his boxers, he then moves you onto your back again, this time your arms going up above your head as he takes your body.

Fucking Satoru is the closest you think you’ll ever come to heaven before death…every whine, moan, gasp, and call of his name swallowed up by his mouth on yours. Each thrust of his hips knocks the air out lungs yet he breathes life back into you. His touch though isn’t anything but soft, a never ending shower of compliment and praise spoken into your ear. How beautiful you are, how good you feel, how amazing you are, you think you hear words pertaining to loving you thrown somewhere into the mix but you have to be imagining things. How could he? He just met you.

Your climax soon rushes over you rougher than the ocean that the building overlooks, and it’s then you realize how much you want to savor this moment, to melt away in his arms as he now cradles you close to his chest. You’d give your all to have one more night with him.

Your chest rises and falls as you steady your breathing as you come down from your climax, you take notice of the feel of fluids between your thighs and under you, and as you look down you see it’s his cum coming out of you. You always wondered how the richest and most accomplished men end up trapped with baby moms, and if it weren’t for you already on birth control he’d be just that. Having him as a father sounds nice, but in practice you know raising a child, his child in fact, could be fucking hell.

You turn to him then, climbing up onto his chest laying your head down to hear his heartbeat. Fingers come to card through your hair, he speaks up soon…and it’s his choice of words that come nothing louder than a whisper that makes your entire body go rigid.

“I know your friend isn’t a lawyer.”

You don’t know if you should respond or move away, his grip tightens in your hair lifting your head up to look him in the eyes. You weren’t trapped, you could get up and leave if needed, but you don’t, you stay put gearing up to take on whatever humiliating accusation that will eventually reveal to both of you the liar that you are.

“And you don’t live in California. The card you used to get in, New York zipcode.”

“How do you know?” Is all you could ask, the jig was already up.

“Sukuna ran the cameras and pulled the card info from the POS, texted me right before we left. Your full name is Y/N too.”

“I know you’re not stupid, but your friend might actually be. Wanna know how I know she’s not a lawyer, or at least that she didn’t go to Brown?”

“How?” He finally lets your hair go, folding his arm behind his head as he sits up.

“Brown doesn’t have a law school. I was once an exchange student there.”

“Shit.” Is what you stop yourself from saying, you should get up to go grab her ass and leave while he’s still calm.

“How old are you really, and please let it be a number that’s not going to get you kicked out.”

“How old do I look?”

“Well you act like you’re at least over 25, but you look–”

“I’m 22.”

“Jesus fuck…” He winces, “...you’re a fucking kid.”

“Kid? How old are you? 30s?” Annoyance in your voice, you didn’t have any right to be but this kid just worked two grand out of his hands like it was nothing.

“28 and watch your mouth, I’d hate to see your pretty ass get fucked up out here.”

Pretty…he had said pet’s were pretty.

“Fuck you!” You get up now, gathering your clothes up off the floor to put them back in. You were out of here and you needed to get Utahime quick before she gets caught up next.

“You call me a kid but you just nutted in me? You’re the fucking idiot.” Getting your thong and skirt back on, working on the top next.

“I keep Plan B in the bathroom if you need it.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.” You nearly spit at him as you say it. “I’m leaving.”

“Yeah I can clearly see that ya little liar. Keep the child if you want, my god son Megumi could use another sibling.” He says it like you need it. You’d bleed him dry of child support if you could.

“Kill yourself.” You don’t even look back at him when you say it, too embarrassed to face him, you slam the door behind yourself to find Utahime sitting on the small chaise in the hall all put together and back in her heels as if she never undressed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Let’s go!”

“No wait he called us an Uber–”

“We can fucking wait downstair.”

The two of you make your way back down to the lobby, your hands trembling with anger and disgust. Utahime stops not once from asking you to tell her what happened and reason as to why you were so upset.. The Uber pulls up soon after, a jet black Escalade. The two of you hop in, she tells the driver it’s from Suguru and he simply say’s. “Thank you, but I know.”

You sit back now trying to calm yourself down but all you could think of is how gross you felt, his seed still inside of you as you hadn’t had the chance to do away with it. Utahime turns to you then, bambi eyes looking all but innocent. She turns her purse to you, the Louis pochette you spent a year saving up to give her for Christmas one year.

“Look what he gave me.” She pulls out a Piguet, the same silver and diamond one Suguru wore. The watch glimmers under the light of the lamp poles as the car drives down the road. Your jaw nearly falls off your face.

“He told me I can sell it and go back to school if I want! He’s was actually so nice, we didn’t even fuck I only gave him head and he said we can come back soon. He didn’t care that I lied about being a lawyer and all that shit. He told me to stay in school and he’lll make me his wife if I graduate.”

“Utahime…”

“Bitch do you know how much this shit cost? Fuck school, I’m selling this and buying out the first mall we walk into!”

“There’s no way that’s real.”

“Oh no no no bitch…this is real! Did Satoru give you anything?”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe? What do you mean?”

“He nutted in me…”

“Oh my god— a baby! He put a fucking baby in you!?”

“Utahime, I would never keep–”

“Bitch are you out of your fucking mind!?” Her eyes nearly popping out of her head, all she could see were dollar signs on you now.

“I think so…”

Fuck Miami. Fuck that club. Fuck Satoru. Fuck a baby.

The white-haired man giggled, his pupils blown out as he looked over to his best friend.

“Huh?”

“Dumbass, there are like, at least sixty people here, half of them girls.” Shoko retorted, pushing off of Satoru, cigarette in hand.

Suguru rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath. God, he should’ve known that half his band would’ve been high as hell.

“The one with the glasses and on her phone.” Suguru added, turning to look at said girl.

You were minding your business, sitting on the farthest side of the couch next to the patio doors.

The anime you were clearly enjoying helped soothe all the overstimulation from being in such a chaotic environment. It wasn’t that you’ve never been to a college party before, but it was odd to see so much stuff in only one night.

Like, when you arrived here with Utahime, there was literally a drunk naked man standing in the lawn, yelling at everybody who went inside.

You were used to the more…tamer parties. With sweet chili Doritos instead of molly and 

cute Ramune bottles instead of vodka shots. 

You had no idea how Utahime met people who partied like this. Even worse, why would she think that you would be social for once in your life?

You just hoped she came back quickly enough from the convenience store so she could drive you back home. 

“That’s…uh, I don’t know. I don’t really care.” Gojo shrugged as the trio stared at you, watching you whisper to yourself about this horrible experience.

Suguru was pissed, quite frankly. 

First off, you ruined the whole vibe of what was supposed to be an after party with his band.

Secondly, you were a fucking dork. He had seen you last semester, and absolutely hated you the moment you arrived in the lecture hall.

You were just such…such a nuisance for the guitarist. How awkward you were, how you only talked to the teachers.

“C’mon, Suguru, what’s she gonna even do?” Shoko asked, taking a puff from her blunt.

Suguru clenched his jaw. “She’s buddies with my professor. I don’t want her to snitch.” He said with a scowl, glaring at you with his violet eyes. 

“There’s nothing to snitch about, dude.” Gojo shrugged. “We’re all drinking age.”

Suguru sighed at his best friend’s stupidity, rubbing his nose bridge. 

“The weed and molly here isn’t exactly legal, Satoru.”

“...Right. Let’s kick her out.”

“No, we’re not gonna kick her out. She’s minding her own fucking business.” 

“I’m kicking her out, Shoko. Who even invited her?” Suguru asked, his tongue darting out to fix his snake bites. 

“My girlfriend, you dipshit. The one who’s buying all the beers right now.” Shoko deadpanned, getting up.

“You guys are a bunch of fucking losers sometimes. I’m gonna wait for Utahime outside with Choso and his girl.”

Gojo smiled like a puppy, waving Shoko away. Suguru stood up, finally deciding what to do.

Your phone buzzed with a notification and you looked at it, seeing Utahime’s icon. 

“I’m three minutes away, girl.” 

You sighed in relief, going to stand up. As you did, you bumped into someone’s chest.

You squinted, fixing your glasses and looking up at the man.

Geto Suguru in the flesh.

The most popular guy on campus, lead guitarist of the band The Black Flash.

You flushed, completely embarrassed that you’re face to face with one of the hottest men you’ve seen, in an anime hoodie and worn down jeans. 

“Oh, it’s so nice-”

“Cut the shit. What are you doing here?” Suguru cut you off, glaring down at you.

 You frowned, lips going into a pout due to your braces. 

“I’m…I’m waiting for someone. I’m with a friend.”

Suguru chuckled, grinning bitterly.

“You sure that’s it? You weren’t…I don’t know, looking for something that makes good black mail?” 

You chuckled nervously at the idea, hugging yourself. “No, I…I wouldn’t do that. Why would I do that?”

Suguru frowned, sighing. “I have a good reputation. A lot of people would try to ruin that for me. Especially losers with no life that are jealous of others.”

“Look, Geto. I…I was already planning on leaving.” You stuttered out, gulping slightly.

Suguru nodded. He was sure that you were going to snitch. He felt like a dick about it, but at least him basically bullying you into not snitching would be better than whatever his manager, Toji, would do. 

“Right. You do that. And don’t come back. I don’t need your sorry ass ruining everybody’s vibe anymore, dork.” He said, walking back to the couch to smoke.

You stayed quiet, repeating all his hurtful words back in your head. 

It wasn’t the first time someone had said you were a nerd. Or a loser. It just hurt more because it was someone you were actually trying to be nice to. 

Not long after, you felt those small drops of water fall from your soft cheeks. You mentally chided yourself for crying, taking your fogged up glasses off and wiping whatever pathetic excuse of makeup you had on your eyelids off along with your tears.

The chorus to a rock song blasted as you quickly walked to the exit, passing by a confused blond man with emo hair and Choso, a friend from your anthropology class, and his girlfriend. 

As you received the fresh air from outside, a choked sound came out of your throat, and you realized that you were probably sobbing the whole way to Gojo’s lawn.

Utahime’s Toyota Prelude pulled up to the curb and you could only think one thing as you looked at the party inside the fabulous house.

You fucking hate Suguru Geto.

a/n: Geto is actually a dick cuz I miss having a super angsty enemies to lovers

A few minutes passed, and you still had nothing to show for it—just a blank doc and the nagging suspicion that someone out there was actively praying for your downfall.

Next to you, Armin suddenly froze mid-solve on his Rubik’s cube. He sucked in a breath, set it down, and leaned closer.

“Told you I can just do it for you,” he said, shaking his head as he scooted his chair beside yours and rested a warm palm on your thigh. “I hate seeing you stressed like this, angel.” His voice was low, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

Except… you weren’t buying that one bit.

Your boyfriend was notorious for distracting you anytime you tried to study or get through assignments. “Can I come over just to be your emotional support?” always had a fifty percent chance of turning into your roommates hearing blaring moans through the wall—not that you were exactly complaining.

You folded your arms and narrowed your eyes, throwing at him, “You think you’re so slick—you just want some pussy!”

“I–I–what? You don’t gotta put it like that,” he gasped, feigning innocence like he hadn’t been plotting this the whole time.

“Maybe I just wanna help relieve my pretty girl’s stress,” he shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Besides, it’s been a while since you had me over, y’know?”

But your eyes caught exactly where his was cemented: your chest—specifically, your hardened nipples poking through your grey tank top.

It felt like he accidentally let you tune into his thoughts for a second, “Code red, code red, look away, Armin.” playing on a loop.

Quickly pretending he hadn’t been caught red-handed, he pushed up his glasses and avoided your gaze, forcing himself to study the band posters plastered around your dorm like they suddenly became fascinating.

“Hm, I wonder why?” you muttered, forcing down a smirk, trying to sound “serious” despite the amusement bubbling in your voice.

But Armin was already onto you.

And he took that as his green light—leaning in with his next array of words.

“Let me at least massage your tits for you,” he responded eagerly, tilting your chin with his finger as he grinned. “I’m sure the brain juices’ll start flowing after that!”

For a moment, Armin studied your face—your baggy, sleep-deprived eyes catching his attention. He leaned in and pressed soft kisses to each of your eyelids, like he was gently announcing that you deserved a break.

You swore your heart melted into a huge inescapable puddle right then and there.

He pulled you closer, hands sliding up slowly, until they cupped your breasts—fingers kneading tenderly.

“Fine,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, “just a few minutes, and I’m getting back to—mmph!”

Your own moan cut you off as Armin rolled his thumbs over your stiff nipples, already teasing with featherlight strokes that sent a jolt right down your spine.

He kneaded your breasts like they were soft, warm dough under his fingers and he was the baker annoyingly skilled at his job. His slow, snail-like pace made one thing painfully clear, a few minutes wouldn’t be enough.

His palms pressed into the swell of them through your thin tank top, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles that coaxed tiny gasps from your lips.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your voice already more aroused than you meant it to be.

“See? Told you,” he smiled, confident as ever, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “Your brain’s already working better.”

He dragged his thumbs across your nipples again, firmer this time and the friction through the flimsy fabric made your thighs shift involuntarily.

Your body was already betraying you, leaning into his hands like it’d been waiting all day for this, causing him to chuckle at your hesitant nature before.

Peeking over at your laptop, he caught the time at the bottom corner of the screen: 9:36 p.m. The perfect opportunity to be petty.

“Alrighty, a few minutes is up.” He announced retreating his hands, almost going back to his Rubik’s cube until you yanked his wrists, with a deadpan look.

“Armin, don’t piss me off. You’re not funny.” You replied in a dull tone, unimpressed by your boyfriend’s antics. As much as he loved you, he seemed to love getting on your nerves even more.

“What? I thought I’d leave you to your assignment, we agreed on a few minutes, no?”

He lightly snickered, attempting to not full on laugh, but his dimples hinted he was edging towards that route.

You glared, eyes slowly raking over him from head to toe.

“Jeez, you’re so indecisive,” he teased. “Make up your mind, baby. Ask nicely if you want me to keep going.”

Your pleading eyes softened, pouring into his blue ones.

“Babyyy, you’re being a jerk,” you whined, giving him the face of a kicked puppy.

“Yeah, yeah. What’s the magic wordssss?” he sing-songed, almost desperate to hear you beg. Just the thought of being needed had already carved an aching bulge into his jeans.

“Please, please, please—keep going. I need you so fucking bad.”

“That’s my girl,” Armin murmured against your neck, voice low and sugary. “You’ve been like this since I walked in, huh? All tense and pouty. No wonder your boobs are this sensitive.”

He pinched one nipple lightly between his fingers, making you whimper, jaw slack as he twisted just enough to make you twitch.

“Keep making those pretty little noises,” he cooed beneath your jaw, tone drizzled in silk and mischief.

“Let me take care of you, Y/n. Just relax for me…” He began to steadily lift your tank top, like this was a private show made just for him.

He groaned at the sight—like a little pervert—but you weren’t surprised. This was the same man who once shamelessly admitted to sniffing your sweaty bras.

Armin toyed with your hardened buds one last time, giving them a final pinch before trailing kisses all over your bare chest—slow, messy, and greedy—until his mouth latched onto a nipple.

“Armin, aah, fuck…” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers tangled in his blond hair.

He knew exactly what he was doing the moment his tongue joined in—his piercing flicking your sensitive nipple while his spit traced hot circles around it. Saliva dripped down in thin, wet lines as he closed his lips around you, sucking harshly like a man possessed.

“F–feels so good, baby,” you sighed, stuttering as he gave the same treatment to your other breast.

Armin only smiled, mouth still blended into your skin, lips dragging heat across your chest while his piercing teased every tender spot. Then he let his hand trail lower, slipping down to your navy-blue panties adorned with a dainty bow.

“Fuck, I don’t get how you expect me to behave—sitting there in just a tank top and panties like that.”

You gasped the second his fingers brushed over the soaked fabric, his thumb lazily circling the damp patch right over your clit—like he already knew exactly where you needed him most.

“God, you’re so soaked, baby,” he whispered, voice steamed with awe. “Just from me playing with your tits?”

His lips curled into a smirk. “What would happen if I gave your pussy a little attention too?”

You whimpered when his fingers finally slipped past the waistband, his fingertip dragging slowly between your slick folds—like he was savoring the first touch.

“Armin—” you breathed, slightly worried about the deadline, yet your hips wriggled, already desperate for more.

“I’m not gonna be long, promise,” he declared, shushing you with a wet, sloppy kiss that left your lips tingling.

You couldn’t even argue—Armin was already lowering himself between your thighs before you could get a single protest out. You were supposed to be working on your assignment, but instead you had your legs spread open, basically inviting him in.

Your hand gripped the desk for support, chest rising as you watched him with anticipation. But then he made one critical mistake—his fingers went to the arms of his glasses, starting to slide them off.

“No!” you whisper-shouted, swatting his wrist.

“Can you keep your glasses on, please?”

You tried to keep your voice down for the sake of your roommates, but your tone made it clear—this was non-negotiable. You always made Armin wear his glasses during sex, so you weren’t sure why he was trying to act brand new now.

To which he only rolled his eyes. In a way, you were like one of his puzzles—he could solve you in seconds.

“Baby, I could definitely eat you out with blurry vision. Shit, maybe even with my eyes closed.”

Your jaw dropped, eyes wide like his words had smacked you in the face. “Oh? Someone’s cocky…”

“You just look so attractive with them on though…” you added softly, fingers threading through his chin-length hair. You massaged his scalp gently, using it as your way of convincing him—knowing full well how easy he was to win over when you got a little sweet with him.

“Fine. You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered with a grin, trailing kisses along your inner thigh. “Kinda wanted a challenge though.”

Just as he hooked a finger around your panties to pull them aside, you interrupted him.

“Wait! don’t you want me to get you a pillow or something?” you asked from your spot in the cushioned wooden chair, eyes locked on the way he knelt in front of you, already on his knees.

Armin tilted his head, raising a brow like you’d asked the dumbest question alive. “I thought you knew I don’t care if my knees hurt. Or if my jaw’s sore. Just let me please you.”

You would’ve said something else—but he shoved his glasses up and promptly buried his face in your cunt.

“Shit!” you mewled, nails faintly scratching the desk as he teased you with the tip of his tongue—soft, kitten-like brushes against your throbbing nub. Your body squirmed, thighs twitching with every pass, toes curling when Armin lifted your leg to rest on his shoulder.

“Hah—wait, Armin, that’s not fair,” you whimpered, breath shaky. His piercing kept nudging your bundle of nerves, and you knew if he kept this up, you’d cum way too fast.

He only giggled in response—a gentle, wicked sound—before spitting a heavy glob of saliva onto your aching cunt. It landed with a wet smack, so loud you wouldn’t be exaggerating to say it echoed.

Warm spit dripped slowly down your folds, making you gasp as your hole fluttered around nothing. Armin groaned like a porn star at the sight of you already so messy for him.

A string of spit bridged from your clit to his bottom lip, rubbing his thumb across it lazily while trying to catch his breath.

He’d never been high before—but off your taste? Absolutely. Every time he went down on you, it was like your sweetness intoxicated him. And right now? He was on another planet.

“You taste so fucking good,” he whined, voice hazy and low.

“Are you creamin’ on my tongue? Fuck, that’s so hot.” His words rumbled against your slit before he dove back in, the hum of his voice almost like a vibrator—except ten times better.

By now, Armin was absolutely wrecked. Glossy-eyed, chin soaked, completely obsessed with your drooling core.

His eyes drooped, half-lidded, tongue darting like he was chasing your orgasm out of you.

Armin loved your moans, but he resisted the urge to touch the boner straining in his pants. Instead, he got even more animalistic with the way he devoured your pussy—like he was starving.

He swished his head side to side, lapping you up like you were his only source of water in a desert.

Your mouth fell open, gasping, eyes fluttering as you struggled to stay present.

Armin wrapped his plump lips around your bundle of nerves and slurped pretending your core was soup, letting the piercing press into it, lugging his wet muscle back and forth. He switched for a moment, lewd noises ringing when he scattered kisses all throughout your slit.

You weren’t exactly sure how your boyfriend got so good at what he called his favorite hobby—especially considering he was basically a virgin loser when you first met.

But that’s exactly why he mentally thanked the Reddit thread with 1.2k upvotes that dubbed this move “the ultimate clit hack.”

He never actually told you that he got the piercing just for your pleasure… but you figured it out eventually, especially once it started working like a damn near cheat code.

“Armin, just like that,” you sighed, like you were stuck in a dream. Your voice was nothing but breathy encouragement as he alternated between quick, eager licks and measured, indulgent ones.

He flattened his tongue on purpose—just so the metal ball could make love to your puffy swollen bud.

You didn’t mean to rut against his face—your body just had other plans. The chair screeched across the hardwood floor as your hips rolled forward, your pearl bumping into his mouth with every desperate grind.

“Am I—” he uttered, yet was too busy gulping you up, “doing a good job?”

Armin asked, he already knew he was doing more than a good job, he was just craving to hear it from his favorite girl.

“Y-yes, yes, yes! You’re… doing s’good,” you squealed, breath hitching as his nose buried deeper into your folds like a bookworm devouring his favorite chapter.

You grabbed a fistful of golden hair, back arching violently when he plunged his wet tongue inside your hole.

That familiar tight coil began to build, inching to snap.

“Arminnn, I’m… aahh—close.” Your tank top strap slipped down your shoulder as you bucked, his face jostling with your movements. One of your legs hit the desk, making it slam against the wall—you just hoped you wouldn’t crack your expensive laptop.

“Already? I haven’t even used my fingers yet,” he mentioned, lifting his face for air, his smirk glistening with you.

“So damn mouthy,” you huffed, biting your lip before grabbing his head by his blond hair and slamming it back down into your needy cunt.

“Put that energy into making me cum.”

Armin wasn’t sure how you went from hesitant to bossy in seconds—but he knew this would be the memory he jacked off to later.

“Mmffph, that’s it—u-use me, angel,” he groaned, voice barely audible as he jammed back into your hole. You rolled your eyes back, vision going white at the way his piercing stroked your velvet walls. Your mind turned to complete mush, like someone was launching rockets inside your head.

The tension snapped like a rubber band.

Your legs shook violently, broken sobs spilling from your throat as your core gushed around his tongue—tsunamis of euphoria soaking him while he kept thrusting his muscle like overstimulation was the goal.

You couldn’t even speak to warn him. Just his name fell from your lips in ragged gasps as he licked you through the high, refusing to stop until your body finally went slack against the chair.

Your chest heaved with each breath, still wrecked from your release. For a moment, your mushy brain almost believed none of it had been real.

Eventually, fanning yourself with a shaky hand, you finally found the words.

“Whew,” you breathed. “That was… a lot.”

Armin lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the fog off his glasses, sliding them back up with two fingers.

His face was flushed—almost appalled his frames weren’t completely flooded from how wet you were.

He peppered smug kisses along your damp thigh, voice hinted with pride as he whispered like he worshipped you, “I know, baby.”

He let you sit there, still trying to compose yourself—though you could feel the greed radiating off him. His gaze flicked to the drenched seat beneath you, a half-smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“That’s too bad though,” he murmured, tilting your chin up and pulling you into a deep, messy kiss.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

You kissed like you were famished—like you’d been torn apart for years, despite it being only a week since you last invited him over.

His tongue snuck past your lips with practiced ease, like he could read your mind and knew you wanted to taste yourself on him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t—because the moment your tongues met, long, helpless moans spilled into his mouth.

His taste, tangled with your own, spun your head so hard you could’ve fainted.

Armin swallowed the sound eagerly, pressing closer—like he wanted to float into your lungs, like kissing you was a privilege only he was allowed to fulfill.

One hand curled at the base of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw with reverence, while the other gripped your thigh with possessive heat.

The kiss grew messier—lips slick, breath shared, each gasp and whimper passed between tongues.

Your nose bumped his glasses. You parted your lips wider, letting him kiss you deeper—filthier. He groaned into your mouth, tongue coaxing yours into slow, wet laps, letting you taste exactly what he’d just done to you.

Your bracelets rattled as your fingers fisted his shirt, body arching into him like muscle memory—like you belonged there.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathless. His face was tinted a soft rose pink, bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, as a slick string clung between your lips like a thread of want still trying to keep you attached.

Armin didn’t hesitate. He eased his slender middle finger into your soaked entrance, his palm grinding against your clit in slow, deliberate circles—slick already dripping down onto his hand.

“Oh my god…” You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out, though it was no use—your roommates were certainly going to have a little chat with you tomorrow.

“S-Still… sensitive…” you whimpered, though your hips betrayed you—rocking forward with need. One orgasm hadn’t even come close to satisfying the ache. Not with the way Armin touched you. Not with how his pianist fingers moved like they’d hypnotized you.

He showered your lower stomach in featherlight kisses, practically mocking you. “Awwh, c’monnn, you can gimme one more, right?” he murmured with a soft grunt, his finger curling as your walls clenched around him—squeezing like they never wanted to let go.

“We have plenty of time to spare.” He blinked at you slowly, teasing, blond lashes catching the light like they knew how pretty he was.

At first, his thrusts were maddeningly slow—shallow to the point of cruelty. It felt like he’d sell his kidneys before giving you that second finger, just to drag out your desperation.

Your cunt throbbed with each beat of your heart, fluttering around his teasing touch—yearning for more.

“A–armin, please…”

Your voice came out as a tiny croak. Cupping his flushed face, your fingers brushing against his drenched chin, smearing your own slick across his skin like a mark of ownership—or maybe it was the other way around.

“Yes, baby?” he asked delicately, tilting into your touch like he didn’t just have you spread wide open for him.

His voice was sweet, but his eyes burned with thirst. He adjusted his skewed glasses lazily, with a free hand, your body still trembling around him.

His middle finger paused inside you, then barely moved in slow motion like he was waiting for you to beg.

“Tell me what you need.” His palm bumped into your clit repeatedly, like he longed for your reactions. Your hips writhed, instinctively trying to chase it.

“More—your other finger.” You pleaded, needy for him.

Armin’s cock twitched in his pants at how soft you sounded, how polite your begging had become. He loved when you got like this—fucked-out and obedient, all for him.

“Mmm, so good for me.” He leaned down to kiss your thigh again, lips brushing your skin as he whispered, “You sound so pretty when you beg.”

He rewarded you instantly, sliding in the second finger with an obscene squelch that had your legs twitching around his wrist, your body jolting like it couldn’t decide whether to pull away or draw him in deeper.

Sometimes, Armin was still in disbelief that he went from being terrible at fingering to being so good you didn’t mind begging for more—loudly, without shame.

All it took was thinking of your body like one of his rhythm games, each high-pitched squeal, whimper, mewl was a “Perfect.” Or each toe curl, quiver, and back arch was a “Great.” Just like the scoring system in the game.

It was pattern based, reactive—and it quickly made sense why he’d be so fixated on playing them and getting an amazing score, project sekai prepared him for moments like these.

His fingers began to pump, slow at first, curling slightly each time he bottomed out. The heel of his palm never left your clit—it ground into you with every movement, a steady, deliberate pressure that made your thighs quake and your lips part around gasped moans.

“Woah, look at that,” he cooed, voice husky and airy, awe and cockiness tangled together. “It’s so thick today… my smart girl must’ve been really pent up, huh?”

You couldn’t remember what the essay was about—hell, you barely remembered your name—but you knew Armin had just rewritten your brain chemistry.

“Gonna cum,” you gasped. “So close!”

The wet squelch echoed every time his fingers plunged into your entrance, so eager it clung to him like it never wanted to let go.

“Yeah? Make a mess for me, baby.”

He curled his fingers just slightly and your back arched. The pressure was electric—like he pressed some hidden button inside you that made your brain stutter and seize.

“I love you so much, Armin.”

You whined, grinding down onto his hand with a desperation you couldn’t control, chasing that pressure like a woman starved.

Then he hooked his fingers just right, dragging them along your fluttering walls like he knew exactly where your sweet spot lived—had mapped it out, memorized it.

“Love you so much, f—fuck, fuck, fuck…”

You didn’t even mean to cum this fast—it just snapped. Your body clamped down around his fingers so tightly he groaned, your release soaking his palm while you moaned his name like it was the only thing tethering you to this world.

“I love you too,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as he slowed his hand, easing his fingers from your soaked pussy with a soft, wet pop.

He kissed your temple gently, his warm palm rubbing slow circles into your thigh like he was trying to anchor you back to earth. “You okay?”

You nodded against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Wait…” Your body jolted slightly. “Shit, it’s eleven?!”

Your hand slapped over your mouth as your eyes darted to the time glowing from your laptop screen. If the Google Doc had a face, it’d probably be staring back in quiet, judgmental horror.

“Don’t worry about it,” Armin murmured, already shifting into solution mode. “Told you I’ll do it for you.”

He pulled up the chair beside you with a wince, rubbing the soreness from his knees before sitting down.

“I don’t want you to feel like—“ You started, concern slipping into your tone, but Armin didn’t let you finish. He scooped you up effortlessly and plopped you onto his lap, facing him.

“Sit,” he said casually, pulling you close like you weighed nothing, your thighs draped over his waist.

He kissed the top of your head and reached around to scoot your chair in toward the desk. One hand rubbed soothing circles into your spine, the other already moving toward the keyboard.

His fingertips were a little wrinkly and doused with you, but he didn’t seem to care—focused only on making sure you rested.

“Shhh. Just rest. I got this,” he whispered, his voice gentle like a sleepy birdcall.

“Oh my god, are you hard?” You broke the stillness like a scratched record, suddenly very aware of the boner beneath you trying to break free.

“Uhhh, ignore that. Little Armin gets excited whenever I eat you out.” He answered, completely flustered.

The tips of his ears flushed a powder pink, like he was embarrassed even though he’d just made you cum twice.

You only giggled at him, secretly hearing wedding bells in your head.

Knowing your boyfriend got hard while eating you out only confirmed what you already suspected—he was a keeper.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, cracked his knuckles dramatically, and started typing up a storm, like he could finish the whole essay in ten minutes if he really wanted to.

You slumped against his chest, listening to the quiet tapping of keys. Your eyes drifted shut again, cheek resting right where his heartbeat thudded beneath his shirt.

You just hoped your professor wouldn’t notice your essay suddenly had a different writing style than usual.

Then again… maybe she’d be too impressed to care.

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𓇼 ·⠀· art is the kind of kook who seems like he has it all—generational wealth, beach houses on both sides of the island, and the kind of charm that makes moms want to feed him and dads want to mentor him. 

𓇼 ·⠀· beneath the polished image, art is quietly at war with himself. he plays the role well: parties, surfside bonfires, midsummers. but he often feels like a visitor in his own life. especially among the other kooks, who are mostly about image, money, and dominance.

𓇼 ·⠀· you met unintentionally. it was just another night on the beach where he ditched a charity dinner early and took a walk to escape the noise. you were sitting in the sand alone, hair wild from the sea air, completely unbothered by the world around you. he didn’t say anything at first, just watched. something about you didn’t belong and he liked that.

𓇼 ·⠀· you aren’t a kook, not really. maybe you’re a pogue, maybe somewhere in between, but you live without pretense—and that shakes him. you say what you mean, don’t bow to money, and don’t care if your clothes match or your car stalls. you’re all instinct and gut, and he loves it.

𓇼 ·⠀· he starts finding excuses to be where you are, claiming he wants to "experience the real outer banks." you roll your eyes the first time he says that, and he laughs, but he still shows up. 

𓇼 ·⠀· he’ll offer to help you fix your bike, even though he’s never held a wrench. when you invite him to a bonfire with your friends, he’s awkward at first but earns their trust faster than he expected. turns out, under the country club polish, he’s just a boy craving realness.

𓇼 ·⠀· he’s not proud of it, but he keeps your relationship quiet in the beginning. kooks don’t date “down,” and he knows the kind of backlash he’d face if he was seen with you. not just from his friends, but from his parents, who still measure success by marriage prospects and family names. you find out when you spot him at a club event, smiling beside a kook girl his mom has been pushing onto him since they were thirteen.

𓇼 ·⠀· when you you call him out? he doesn’t deflect. he listens. that’s the night he shows up at your place barefoot, hair a mess, eyes soft. no driver, no excuses. he kisses you like he’s never kissed anyone before. and from that point on, he doesn’t hide you again.

𓇼 ·⠀· he’s not the type to fight someone at a party or key someone’s car. he's a little too timid for that. art protects you with his presence—an unspoken signal that you're off limits. he won’t start drama, but he’ll stand in front of you when someone sneers, and he’ll shut down his kook friends with quiet, lethal words when they make offhand comments about pogues or “people like you.”

𓇼 ·⠀· he listens to your stories, your opinions, your anger. when you rant about the class divide or how kooks ruin the natural beauty of the island, he doesn’t try to fix it or argue. he just takes it in. 

𓇼 ·⠀· sometimes he looks shaken, like he remembers you go against everything he was ever taught. other times, he looks like he finally understands why he’s always felt like something was missing.

𓇼 ·⠀· the first time he invites you to a party, you're hesitant. kooks and pouges don't mix, it's basic logic. but he promises he'll be by your side the entire night—a promise he keeps. he holds your hand and introduces you as someone important. the kooks don’t know how to handle you, and you don’t care. you notice the way art watches you the whole night—protective, proud, maybe a little in awe. you fit into his world like a storm rolling into a sunny day—unpredictable, powerful, and impossible to ignore.

𓇼 ·⠀· art starts talking about leaving outer banks. not because he wants to abandon his life, but because for the first time, he sees another way to live. you challenge him. you make him think. he confesses he doesn’t want to take over the family business. he wants to start something of his own. maybe a surf shop or a nonprofit for underprivileged kids on the island. something that means something.

𓇼 ·⠀· one night, you’re lying on his family’s yacht. the stars gleam above, his arm rests under your neck, and he whispers that if you asked him to run away with you tomorrow, he would. you believe him.

𓇼 ·⠀· art is composed in public—shy, poised, a master of masks. but behind closed doors, he’s something else entirely. he leaves notes in your bag with maps to secret beach spots. the notes are always something along the lines of "MEET ME HERE AT MIDNIGHT AND WEAR THE SUNDRESS I BOUGHT YOU. PLEASE. -A." when you fall asleep on him during a movie night, he doesn’t move—even if his arm goes numb. he brushes hair from your face gently, like you're some beautiful sacred being and he's worried he'll break you. you call him out when he’s too guarded, and he lets himself crumble with you, because you’re the one person he doesn’t need to impress.

𓇼 ·⠀· by the end of summer, the kooks don’t really know what to make of him anymore. he still dresses like one of them, still shows up at parties and fundraisers—but he’s different. he speaks up more. he pushes back. he spends more time in the cut than in figure eight.

𓇼 ·⠀· people whisper. some say he’s throwing his future away. some say he’ll realize far too late. but when he looks at you—sun kissed, salt laced, free—he knows he’s never been more certain of anything in his life.

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