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choso hated the university gym with a passion that bordered on holy. if he wanted to be perceived by thirty different guys named brad whose entire personalities revolved around creatine, shattered glass pre-workout, and casual misogyny, he would have joined a fraternity.

instead, he willingly paid forty dollars a month out of his miserable student earnings just to lift in a damp, dimly lit basement three miles off campus. there, nobody looked at him, nobody spoke to him, and nobody cared that his black nail polish was chipped or that his hair was tied back into two messy, ridiculous space buns.

it was his sanctuary. it kept the anxious, hyper-fixated noise in his brain at a manageable volume.

but on a miserable tuesday afternoon, the universe decided to test him. a laminated sign taped to the front door of his beloved off-campus haven delivered the devastating blow: closed for the next seven days for emergency plumbing maintenance and floor remodeling.

choso had stood in the rain, staring at the paper, feeling a slow, icy panic creep up his spine. a whole week without lifting? absolutely not. his mind would eat itself alive. desperate times called for desperate, humiliating measures. he was going to have to use his student id card and step foot into the university's recreation center.

he didn't just walk in blindly, though. choso treated the dilemma like a tactical covert operation. he spent the next few days calculating the exact peak hours of the campus social scene, charting the behavior of the obnoxious herds he so desperately wished to avoid.

friday night, he realized. 11:30 pm.

by that hour on a friday, the entire campus greek life was guaranteed to be blacked out at off-campus house parties, suffocating in a haze of cheap beer, or lining up outside bars downtown. the gym closed at 1:00 am. it was a golden, ninety-minute window of safety.

when friday night finally rolled around, the campus was damp and quiet. choso walked toward the massive, glowing glass building of the university gym, his heart beating a little too fast against his ribs. he felt exposed, even wrapped in his usual armor—a thick, completely shapeless black oversized hoodie with the strings pulled tight, and a baggy cargo sweatpants that dragged slightly against the pavement.

he approached the front desk, his jaw set, and swiped his student id at the turnstile. he braced himself for the worst, fully expecting the smell of axe body spray and the echoing shouts of gym bros to hit him the moment he rounded the corner.

instead, when he stepped onto the main gym floor, he was met with a ghost town.

the harsh fluorescent lights hummed quietly in the silence. the long rows of treadmills sat dark and stationary. the heavy iron weights were all neatly stacked in their racks, undisturbed. aside from a lone student employee half-asleep behind the towel counter on the far side of the building, choso was entirely alone.

a wave of pure, intoxicating relief washed over him. he had been right. the frat guys were gone, busy poisoning their livers elsewhere.

allowing his shoulders to finally drop, choso walked over to a secluded corner in the free-weight section, far away from the main mirrors. he pulled his heavy, noise-canceling headphones over his ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the facility with the familiar, aggressive comfort of his favorite post-hardcore playlist. he yanked his hoodie hood up over his hair, completely shutting out the rest of the world.

for the first time all week, choso relaxed. he grabbed a set of dumbbells to start his warm-up—completely, blissfully unaware that this was the very last night his gym sessions would ever be peaceful.

by midnight, choso was completely in his element. the heavy, screaming vocals blasting through his headphones blocked out everything else, creating a private wall of sound that matched the slow, deliberate burn in his muscles. he had moved over to the flat bench, adjusting his posture and gripping a pair of heavy dumbbells. his gaze was locked entirely on the speckled rubber flooring between his shoes, his mind blank, focused only on the rhythm of his breathing.

he leaned back, kicking the weights up to his chest, and began his set. one, two, three. he was halfway through his fifth repetition when a sudden, unexpected shadow fell over him. choso barely had time to process the shift in lighting before a light, tentative touch tapped him right on the shoulder.

the physical contact startled him so badly that his core completely unlocked. his grip faltered, his left wrist buckling inward as the heavy iron dumbbell threatened to slip from his hand. a sharp spike of adrenaline shot through his veins, and he practically fumbled the weights, dropping them onto the floor with a loud, echoing thud that rattled through the empty room.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry! are you okay?"

choso scrambled into a sitting position, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. his pale face flushed with an instant, burning embarrassment as he hastily yanked his headphones down around his neck—the muffled, angry music now tiny and weak in the open air. he wiped a hand across his forehead, preparing his best, most intimidating scowl to ward off whoever had just ruined his peace.

but the words died in his throat the moment he looked up. standing right in front of him was you.

you were holding a small gym towel, your skin lightly flushed and glowing with a thin sheen of sweat from your own workout. you looked genuinely worried, your eyes wide as you looked at him, adjusting the strap of your tank top.

"i really didn't mean to scare you," you said, your voice soft and breathless, a contrast to the aggressive screaming that had just been filling his ears. "i just wanted to ask if you were using the forty-pound weights next to your bench?"

choso stared at you, his throat suddenly feeling as dry as sandpaper. his dark eyes took in the messy way your hair was tied up, the slight rise and fall of your chest, and the polite, apologetic curve of your lips. his brain, usually so loud and overanalytical, completely went blank. he forgot how to speak, he forgot how to breathe.

"n-no," he stammered out, his voice a low, raspy gravel that he quickly tried to clear. he cleared his throat, pulling his hood down a fraction lower to hide the flush creeping up his neck. "i'm not using them. all yours."

you offered him a small, relieved smile that made his chest feel dangerously tight. "awesome, thank you so much. sorry again for the jump scare."

you leaned down, effortlessly grabbing the weights, and walked back over to an adjustable bench just a few yards away. choso sat frozen on his bench, watching your back as you walked away. his heart was still racing, but it wasn't from the adrenaline anymore.

he pulled his headphones back over his ears, but he didn't restart his music. instead, he just sat there in the silence of his own head, his eyes locked onto the floor as a single, terrifying thought bloomed in his mind: he was never going back to his old gym.

choso was a creature of habit, but habits could be easily rewritten when the incentive was high enough.

the following tuesday, his off-campus sanctuary sent out another automated email announcing that the renovations were finished ahead of schedule and the doors were officially reopened. choso didn't even look twice at the notification. he deleted it, swiped his screen shut, and stared at his ceiling, counting down the agonizing number of hours left until friday night.

he was completely, utterly gone for you.

during the week, choso reverted to his normal ghost-like state on campus. he moved through the fine arts building like a shadow, buried in the depths of his oversized, frayed black hoodie and wide-leg cargos, his fingers permanently stained with charcoal and oil paint. his long bangs fell into his eyes, a perfect shield from the rest of the student body. he didn't want to be seen by anyone.

except you.

when friday finally arrived, choso was a ball of nervous, vibrating energy. by 11:30 pm, he was swiping his student id at the turnstile, his heart doing a ridiculous, heavy flip the moment he stepped into the free-weight section.

and thank god, there you were.

for the next three weeks, this became your unspoken, late-night ritual. the gym was always a dead silent ghost town, save for the rhythmic hum of the ventilation and the occasional clink of iron. you had your routine on your side of the floor, and choso had his on his side. you would exchange a small, polite nod of acknowledgement whenever he walked in—a tiny gesture that secretly made choso's entire week—but otherwise, you left each other alone.

at least, physically.

internally, choso's mind was a dangerous, hyper-fixated place.

he pretended to be entirely absorbed in his own workouts. he would sit on the bench with his headphones on, staring blankly ahead like a stoic, brooding statue. but behind the dark fringe of his hair, his eyes were locked onto you.

as an art student, choso was trained to study form, anatomy, and lighting—but with you, it felt like an agonizing form of torture. he analyzed the way your muscles shifted and flexed under your skin when you lifted, the tight strain of your thighs and glutes when you did squats, and the delicate, sharp line of your collarbones. his brain automatically translated the view into a series of raw, unedited figure drawings, tracking the trail of sweat as it rolled down the side of your neck, soaking into the collar of your sports bra.

a heavy, dark ache would pull tight in his lower stomach every single time you let out a low, breathy pant after a heavy set. his body tried to betray him, threatening to grow hard right there on the gym floor.

but choso forced it down.

every time his thoughts started to cross the line into something genuinely filthy, he would fiercely bite the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, forcing his gaze back down to the rubber flooring. he felt an intense, protective wave of guilt whenever his mind wandered too far. don't do that, he would tell himself, his chest tight. she's just trying to work out. don't be disgusting. don't disrespect her.

when he returned to his dark dorm room at 1:00 am, throbbing and completely overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume and sweat that seemed to linger in his nose, he didn't touch himself. he would lock the bathroom door, strip out of his clothes, and force himself into a freezing cold shower. he would lean his forehead against the damp tiles, his fists clenched as the ice-cold water sprayed over his burning skin, ruthlessly killing the desperate ache between his thighs that threatened to drive him mad.

he told himself he could control it. he told himself he could keep you on a pedestal, purely as a beautiful, distant muse.

he had no idea that his fragile self-control was about to completely shatter.

by week four, choso's luck finally pushed him over the edge.

it was a quarter past midnight. choso was finishing up a set of lat pulldowns, his hood down for once because the gym felt unusually warm. he was breathing a bit heavily, wiping his neck with a towel, when he felt that familiar, intoxicating shift in the air.

a shadow fell over him, followed by a light tap on his shoulder

choso turned around, his chest fluttering immediately. "hey," he said, his voice dropping into that low, quiet rumble he only used when speaking to you.

"hey," you smiled, looking a little out of breath yourself. you bit your lip slightly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder toward the bench press station. "sorry to bother you, but i'm trying to hit a new personal record on my final set, and i really don't want to crush my windpipe. do you mind giving me a quick spot?"

choso's brain stuttered. a spot. after three weeks of forcing himself to stay away, to keep his hands to himself, you were asking him to stand directly over you.

"yeah—yeah, of course," he managed to say, standing up quickly before his brain could talk him out of it.

he followed you over to the bench. you lay down, settling your shoulders against the black leather, while choso stepped up to the head of the bench, planting his feet firmly apart on either side of the metal frame. from this angle, looking down, his view of you was devastating. your chest was rising and falling, your eyes locked up at him, trusting him completely.

"just help me lift it off the rack on three, okay?" you murmured, reaching up to grip the barbell.

"i've got you," choso promised, his voice tight. "one, two, three."

together, you guided the heavy bar off the pegs. you took the weight, pausing for a second before lowering it slowly to your chest. choso hovered his hands right beneath the bar, his fingers curled, completely focused.

but as you pushed the weight back up, your muscles straining—a low, guttural groan escaped your throat.

the sound hit choso like a physical blow, fracturing the wall of restraint he had spent three weeks building. combined with the view of your arched back, the flush of your skin, and your absolute vulnerability beneath him, his body bypassed his brain entirely. all that suppressed, backed-up desire rushed straight to his crotch in a hot, violent wave.

within seconds, choso developed a massive, raging boner that pushed hard against the fabric of his baggy grey sweatpants.

oh, fuck, choso panicked internally, his eyes widening—because he was standing right above your face. the prominent, thick ridge in his pants was dangerously close to your line of sight. three weeks of cold showers vanished in an instant. he immediately hitched his hips backward, awkwardly arching his spine away from the bench to create distance, his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer terror that you would see how pathetic he was for you.

you pushed through the final rep with a sharp exhale, and choso quickly gripped the bar, helping you slam it safely back onto the rack.

"oh my god, thank you," you panted, sitting up immediately and rubbing your arms. you laughed a little, looking up at him with a bright, grateful smile. "i definitely would have died on that last one without you."

choso kept his hands casually draped over his crotch area, shuffling half a step back into the shadows, his entire body trembling from the effort of holding his composure. "you did fine. great form."

you didn't stand up right away. instead, you tilted your head, studying his face. "you know… i've been meaning to ask. you look really familiar. do you have classes in the fine arts building? on the studio floor?"

choso's heart did a violent stutter. "uh, yeah—i do, i'm a printmaking and painting major."

"i knew it!" you said, your eyes lighting up. "i'm a year below you in the sculpture program, but i see you in the halls all the time. you're always tucked away in the back corner of the studios, wearing those huge hoodies with the strings pulled tight. it's funny seeing you here without charcoal all over your face."

choso felt a burning blush crawl up his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. you noticed him. you knew who he was outside of this empty gym. you shared the same late-night, messy, creative world.

"yeah," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his knuckles still strategically shielding his front. "i, uh… i like it quiet. both in the studio and here."

you smiled, stepping just a fraction closer as you casually offered your name, introducing yourself properly for the first time since you'd started sharing the floor. choso's entire body went completely rigid at the sound of it. your name felt heavy in the air between you—a beautiful, sharp reality replacing the nameless fantasy he'd been harboring for weeks. "choso," he managed to choke out in return, his voice thick as he gave you his own name. "nice to meet you."

"nice to meet you too, choso." you murmured, your voice dropping into something a little softer, a little more intimate as you looked up at him through your lashes. you took a slow step backwards, your eyes lingering on him for one final, devastating second before you turned to gather your things. "you know, i usually hate late-night workouts… but knowing you're always there? that's why fridays are my favorite."

choso felt the air leave his lungs. he couldn't tell if he was genuinely imagining things now—if his own pathetic, desperate fantasies were finally bleeding into reality and making him hear things that weren't there. but the soft, knowing look in your eyes felt entirely too real.

choso barely remembered how he walked back to his side of the gym after that. his self-control wasn't just broken; it was completely demolished, his mind spinning in a chaotic loop over your parting words. had you meant it? or was he finally losing his fucking mind?

the moment he stepped inside his dark room, there was no cold shower. he didn't even make it past the entryway. choso slammed the door shut, locked it with a frantic click, and shoved his grey sweatpants and boxers down to his knees right there against the wood.

his cock snapped free, completely upright, throbbing violently and weeping thick, heavy drops of pre-cum from the sheer agony of the twenty-minute walk back. he let out a low, ragged sob into the empty room, his hand wrapping around his length in a brutal, iron-tight grip. he squeezed hard, a sharp whine tearing from his throat as his hips jerked forward, instantly smearing his own slick up and down his shaft.

he closed his eyes, and the darkness behind his eyelids immediately filled with you.

because he was an artist, his memory was devastatingly vivid. he didn't just fantasize; he reconstructed you. he pictured the exact way your lower lip looked trapped between your teeth when you were straining under the barbell. he pictured the heavy, glistening sheen of sweat coating the delicate dip of your collarbones, the way your sports bra squeezed your chest, and the tight, mouth-watering curve of your thighs arched on that leather bench.

but what truly made his blood boil, what made his thick cock throb with a vicious, demanding ache against his palm, was the sudden intoxicating realization of your size difference. standing right over your face on that bench, he had felt so devastatingly big.

his artist's eye automatically compared the two of you—his broad, heavy-boned frame, his wide shoulders, and his massive, blunt hands against the softer, giving curves of your body. he imagined how effortlessly he could engulf you. he pictured your body pinned completely beneath his dense, imposing weight, swallowed whole by his shadow. the sheer contrast of it—how he could completely overwhelmed you with his height and mass, forcing you to look up at him while he held you down—made a low, feral sound rip from the back of his throat.

"fuck," he whined, his pace turning fast and punishing. his knuckles, still stained with a faint trace of charcoal from his afternoon studio class, rubbed friction against his burning skin.

he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, desperately chasing the auditory memory of your workout. he wanted your sounds. he was completely, helplessly addicted to them. that low, guttural, breathy groan you had let out right beneath him—he replayed it over and over in his head, matching the rhythm of his fist to the memory of your breath. he imagined what it would feel like to force those exact noises out of you himself. he wanted to push himself so deep inside you that you'd make those heavy, strained sounds against his ear, over and over until you were entirely spent.

his mind took a darker, filthier turn as the friction started to blur his thoughts. he looked down at his own hand, but in the fever-dream of his arousal, he imagined it was your hand. he imagined you gripping him, your small, soft palm slick with his pre-cum, looking up at him from the floor with those wide, trusting eyes while you made him stroke himself.

and then, the smell hit him.

the faint, intoxicating ghost of your scent had transferred onto his hands when he adjusted the barbell, or maybe when your shoulders had lightly brushed. it was a heady mix of clean vanilla perfume and raw, warm skin-musk. choso's breath hitched. completely unhinged, he brought his free hand up to his face, pressing his knuckles hard against his mouth and nose. he took a deep, shuddering inhale, practically drinking the scent off his skin.

god, he was an absolute freak. a disgusting pathetic pervert. if he could have stolen your damp, sweat-soaked gym clothes right out of your locker just to bury his face in them and inhale you until he suffocated, he would have done it in a heartbeat. he wanted to track the scent of your sweat with his tongue, licking it off the curve of your neck, tasting how salty and warm you were.

but more than anything, his mind was utterly enslaved to the memory of your introduction. having your actual name in his possession was a dangerous, lethal upgrade to his madness. it wasn't just a fantasy anymore; you had a name. and it tasted like absolute sin on his tongue.

he started chanting it into the quiet darkness of his room. he whispered your name against his trembling knuckles, his voice a low, ruined prayer that matched the frantic, bruising rhythm of his hand. every time your name left his lips, a fresh surge of hot pre-cum leaked from his tip, his body physically reacting to mere syllables of your identity as if you were casting a spell over him. he repeated it over and over, faster and louder, turning your name into a dirty, desperate plea.

"ah—shit… please…"

the vocalization of your name snapped the last thread of his sanity. choso's movements became completely frantic, his hips slamming blindly against the door as he stroked himself with an unforgiving, desperate speed. his toes curled into the carpet, his entire body trembling as the pressure behind his hips reached a breaking point.

he imagined you standing right there in the dark, your hands guiding his hips, whispering that fridays were your favorite, too.

with a choked, breathless gasp, choso's knees completely buckled. he threw his head back against the door with a dull thud as his body spasmed, blowing a thick, hot, messy white flood all over his charcoal-stained fingers and the floor. he whimpered, his chest heaving violently in the quiet room, his leaking cock still twitching weakly in his hand as the heavy waves of pleasure wrecked him.

he slid down until his thighs hit the floor, completely covered in his own mess, very aware that he was entirely, hopelessly enslaved to you.

the next two weeks were a slow, agonizing descent into madness for choso.

ever since the night he had broken his restraint in his dorm, his mind was entirely corrupted. his sketchbooks were no longer filled with abstract layouts or still-lifes; instead, the pages were cluttered with charcoal studies of the human form—the curve of a waist, the flex of a thigh, the precise angle of a neck arched back in a phantom groan. he was losing his grip, completely consumed by the ghost of your vanilla scent and the memory of your voice.

he still played the part of the quiet, stoic classmate during your friday sessions, but the air between you had shifted. it was thicker now. every time your eyes met across the empty gym floor, choso's stomach would coil with a dark, expectant heat.

which brought him to this particular friday.

choso had run out of clean laundry—or perhaps, deep down in the desperate, pathetic corners of his soul, he was simply tired of hiding behind his armor. he dug through the very bottom of his dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of light grey sweatpants and a tight, black, long-sleeved compression shirt.

when he walked into the university gym at 11:30 pm, he didn't have his oversized hoodie to protect him. he was completely bare.

you were already there, finishing up a warm-up stretch near the free weights, when the turnstile clicked. you turned your head casually to nod hello, but the moment your eyes landed on him, you froze completely.

without the baggy fabric of his hoodies, choso's true physical form was devastating. his shoulders were incredibly broad, tapering down into a surprisingly narrow waist, and the thin, elastic material of the black compression shirt clung to the heavy, carved planes of his chest like a second skin. the fabric stretched tight over his thick biceps and long arms, mapping out every cord of muscle.

and those grey sweatpants were doing him absolutely no favors. the soft, light cotton left nothing to the imagination, casting a prominent, heavy shadow right down the front of his thighs that made it very obvious how much weight he carried between them.

choso felt your gaze like a physical brand on his skin. he watched your eyes dilate, your jaw going slightly slack as you traced his silhouette before quickly looking down at the floor, your cheeks flushing a violent, sudden pink. the shy, swallowed-up emo boy you thought you knew was actually fucking jacked.

for the first time, choso felt a sudden, dark thrill pierce through his veins. you weren't just casually looking anymore. you were staring. you were flustered. the power dynamic had just completely shattered.

"hey," you said as he walked over, your voice sounding a little tighter, a little more breathless than usual.

"hey," he mumbled, adjusting his grip on a set of heavy dumbbells.

for the next forty minutes, the gym was a total disaster zone for your focus. you kept fumbling your sets, your eyes helplessly glued to the way his broad back flexed under that black fabric. choso noticed every single glance, his heart hammering against his ribs, his body humming with a dangerous, quiet confidence he didn't know he possessed.

finally, as the clock crept toward 12:45 am, choso moved over to the deadlift platform to finish his workout. he was loading heavy iron plates onto the barbell, his chest heaving slightly, when you slowly walked over. your gym towel was clutched tightly in your hands, your knuckles white.

"um, choso?" you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes.

he paused, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "yeah?"

"i… i was thinking," you began, your eyes momentarily darting down to his chest before snapping back to his face. "you've been helping me out for weeks. you always spot me, and you're always so nice about it… i kind of feel bad that it's only been you helping me. do you… do you need a spot on these? or do you want me to help you stretch out afterward? you look really tense."

choso's breath hitched, the heavy weight in his sweatpants twitching violently at the offer. help him stretch. the mental image of your hands pressing against his thick thighs, guiding his legs, or leaning over his back made his head spin. he looked down at you, acutely aware of how his looming height entirely shadowed you under the gym lights.

he looked around the gym. it was empty. the digital clock was ticking down to closing time, and the air between you was practically vibrating with unsaid desires.

"yeah," choso whispered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made your core throb. he leaned down slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it feel like he was branding you right then and there. "i'm almost done. i could use your help."

your chest heaved as you nodded, unable to find your voice under the heavy weight of his gaze. you turned together, falling into step right beside his massive frame. the transition from the open weight floor to the stretching mats in the far corner felt like stepping directly into an active furnace.

you had laid out a heavy foam mat in the dim, amber shadow of the room, offering to guide choso through a cool-down stretch since his shoulders looked so tightly coiled. but the moment you stepped close, the physical reality of his frame hit you like a wall of heat. when you pressed your palms against the dense, burning expanse of his back, your breath caught. under the smooth, slick fabric of his black compression shirt, his muscles felt like carved, unyielding stone. he shattered your rhythm the second your skin met his, letting out a low, ragged exhale as his broad chest heaved under your hands.

when you stepped around to his front to help guide an overhead arm stretch, your bodies brushed. the sheer, towering height of his looming frame completely eclipsed you under the dim emergency lights. you looked up, your pupils wide and completely dilated, only to find choso staring down at you. his dark eyes were pitch-black, his irises swallowed up by a gaze so raw, intense, and heavily possessive that it made your core violently throb with a sudden, weeping ache.

he didn't wait for a verbal answer. his large hand slid down to wrap firmly around your wrist, guiding you away from the clanking iron of the lifting racks.

the restraint he had spent a month building was officially gone.

with a single, unyielding tug, choso hoisted you up and herded you backward through the heavy, double doors of the communal locker room. the thick door clicked shut behind you with a definitive, echoing thud, sealing the two of you into absolute isolation. the air inside was already thick and humid, heavy with the rising, damp steam from the automatic ventilation hooked to the shower stalls in the back.

he didn't waste a single second. choso pressed his massive body forward, driving you back into the narrow aisle until your spine met the cold, hard metal of the lockers. before you could even utter a word, his restraint completely snapped.

choso buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, letting out a deep, shuddering, almost violent inhale. his nose dragged roughly against your hot skin as he practically drank your scent in, entirely feral for it. his mind flashed back to the quiet agony of his lonely dorm room, to the pathetic weeks he had spent sticky and shaking in his sheets, imagining this exact smell. but this was real. he sniffed you deeply, trailing his nose up the sensitive line of your throat, completely intoxicating himself with the heady, sweet mix of your vanilla perfume and the raw, warm musk of your workout sweat.

"god, you smell so good," he groaned against your skin, his voice breaking with a desperate, ragged edge.

his large hands came up to frame your face, his calloused palms tilting your head back as he slammed his mouth down onto yours. it was a messy, ravenous, completely drunk make-out. choso was entirely intoxicated by your lips, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth, tasting you with a desperate hunger that made your knees go weak. he kissed you over and over, his lips bruising yours, sucking on your lower lip until you were both gasping for air, the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth completely filling the quiet locker room.

he dropped heavily to his knees on the tiled floor, his hands instantly reaching up to grab the hem of his black compression shirt. with one swift, fluid motion, he pulled the tight fabric over his head and discarded it carelessly.

your breath left you entirely, your eyes widening in absolute awe. without the shirt, choso was a towering, breathtaking canvas of raw, imposing anatomy. his smooth skin was covered in dark, heavy ink—intricate, black surrealist tattoos wrapped completely around the thick meat of his forearms, climbing up his bulging biceps, and tracing the hard, carved cuts of his chest and obliques. he was built like a god, a terrifyingly large giant, yet as he looked up at you, his eyes were wide and full of a shaking, reverent vulnerability.

with steady, trembling fingers, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your gym shorts and undergarments, stripping them down to your sneakers. his brain completely shut off the moment your naked body was exposed to him. he stared, his jaw slack, his chest heaving as his eyes mapped out every single inch of you.

"you're… you're really here," he rasped, a look of pure, euphoric disbelief washing over his features. "i'm not dreaming. you're actually letting me touch you."

he effortlessly parted your thighs, his large hands gripping the back of your knees to pull your legs up, pinning them wide over his broad, tatted shoulders. choso didn't care about being neat; he was hungry and completely desperate.

before even touching his tongue to your center, he buried his face in the soft meat of your inner thighs, trailing heavy, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. he dragged his nose roughly against your folds, inhaling deeply with a sharp, ragged gasp that shook his entire frame, completely unhinged by your scent and warmth.

when he finally slid his tongue straight up your soaked folds, the heavy, silver barbell piercing split right through the middle of his tongue hit you completely unaware. you’d been so entirely consumed by the bruising, desperate heat of his mouth against yours earlier—so utterly drowned in the taste of him and the dizzying rush of his hands on your skin—that you hadn't even registered the faint, metallic slide of it against your own tongue.

you hadn't expected it at all—the sudden, piercing contrast of that cold, hard metal bar sliding right over your swollen, sensitive clit sent a violent, shattering jolt of electricity straight down your spine. your back arched completely off the lockers, a loud, broken gasp tearing from your throat.

it was a lethal sensory overload. choso drank in your reaction, using the metal to rub and vibrate against you in wild, heavy strokes that smeared your wetness all over his chin and lips. your hands flew blindly to his head, your fingers tangling desperately into the messy, damp strands of his hair to pull him even closer, pinning his face against your cunt.

you were already so worked up from a month of tension that it didn't take long at all; under the ruthless, heavy friction of his pierced tongue, your body tightened instantly. a devastating, screaming orgasm crashed over you within seconds, your thighs trembling violently against his neck. choso groaned into your pussy, sucking you softly through your release and swallowing every single drop of you, completely euphoric that his darkest, loneliest fantasies were finally coming true.

he slowly stood up, panting heavily, his chin glistening with your slick. without a word, he stripped out of his grey sweatpants. when his length snapped free, your breath gasped out. he was terrifyingly huge—thick, heavy, and weeping dark drops of pre-cum. your eyes widened, a sudden spike of nerves hitting your chest at the sheer structural size difference.

sensing your fear, choso's expression softened instantly. he lifted you effortlessly, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he herded your trembling body into the communal shower stalls. he snapped the metal handle, and a steady stream of warm water beat down on his tatted back.

choso braced your back gently against the wet tiles, lifting one of your legs and pinning it securely against the thick meat of his hip to open you up completely. before pushing in, he paused, his breath hitching as he dragged the head of his cock directly over your weeping entrance. he rolled his hips in a slow, agonizing circle, running his slick tip up and down the length of your soaking center, teasing the sensitive skin until your hips automatically buckled against him, begging for the friction.

"i'll be gentle, promise," he murmured softly against your lips, his voice a soothing, quiet contrast to his heavy size. "just tell me if it's too much—i've thought about this every night... i don't want to hurt you."

he pushed forward slowly, an inch at a time, and the tight, agonizingly perfect stretch made you sob out loud, your forehead burying into his neck. he was too big, filling you so deeply that it felt like he was bottoming out against your very soul. you could feel every ridge of him stretching your walls to their absolute limit. choso let out a low, gravelly groan, his entire body shaking as he stopped, completely motionless, letting you adjust.

"you're okay," he whispered softly into your ear, his large hands coming down to heavily grope and worship your body. he squeezed your hips, his tatted fingers digging into your skin, before sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs rubbing your nipples through the running water. "shit, look at you... you're taking me so well. so perfect for me."

he began to pull back, almost all the way out, before plunging back in with a slow, devastatingly heavy weight. he hammered into you with a desperate but careful pace, his hips pressing firmly against yours. he didn't just push; he worshipped you with every stroke, tracing his lips along your jawline, biting softly at the pulse point on your neck whenever a particularly deep plunge made you cry out his name.

"fuuuckk, that's it," he murmured, his voice cracking with pure emotion as your walls clamped desperately around his length. "say my name again, baby—let me hear you."

"mnghh—choso... choso," you sobbed, completely unraveled by the rhythm, awestruck by how someone so massive could hold you with such tender, protective care.

"i've got you," he whispered, his large hands lifting you slightly higher to change the angle, sinking even deeper into your softness.

with the new angle, choso plunged all the way in, the massive, thick head of his cock bottoming out completely and hitting directly against your cervix. the sudden, deep ache was a lethal spark; the friction inside you shifted instantly, and a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure began building up with terrifying speed. you could feel every single thick ridge of him stretching you open, driving you completely over the edge. your mind fractured as you came undone for the second time, your vision blurring as a loud, echoing cry tore from your throat.

the devastating orgasm caused your walls to spasm and clamp down ruthlessly around his dick, tightening around it like a vice. the intense, crushing suction completely shattered choso's control. he threw his head back, his tatted shoulders bunching tightly as a deep, guttural groan tore from his chest. his hips slammed forward one last time, pinning you flush against the wet tiles as he came violently inside you, pulsing thick and hot, filling you to the absolute brim with his release.

he didn't pull out. even as the water washed over his inked skin, his length stayed thick, hard, and demanding inside you, his cock still twitching and pulsing deeply against your raw, swollen walls. you could feel every single throb of his aftermath inside you, making you let out a weak whine as you buried your face into the hot crook of his neck. he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily, the steam rising around your bodies.

"don't move," he breathed softly, his lips brushing yours. "don't move yet. i want to stay inside you."

choso shifted his weight, gathering your trembling body entirely into his arms and pulling you up off the tile wall. he guided your other leg around his waist, holding you completely flush against his massive, wet chest, trapping you entirely in his shadow. since you had already come twice, your entire body was completely spent, and a jolt of pure shock ran through you when choso’s hips gave a sudden, slow, experimental roll.

"hmph—choso, wait..." you gasped, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes.

he looked down at you, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and completely glazed over with a dark, terrifyingly needy lust. he looked so soft, yet so entirely unhinged by the taste of you. "one more... just one more, please, sweetheart?" he begged, his voice a gravelly, trembling whisper against your lips. "you're so tight—i can't get out."

you were already so incredibly overstimulated that you couldn't even form words, able to make only broken, needy little sounds against his chest. your fingers curled blindly into the damp skin of his shoulders, your nails scratching desperately down the dark ink of his back—but the stinging friction only made him growl, his grip tightening ruthlessly around your ass as your resistance turned him on even more.

with your bodies pinned chest-to-chest, he dragged his tatted hands through your wet hair, tilting your head forward to bring your mouth to his for another deep, heavy, sloppy kiss. your tongues tangled, the hard metal of his piercing sliding heavily against yours, making you taste the intoxicating mix of your own sweat and release on his lips.

he didn't rush. choso backed up just enough to prop one of his heavy feet on the shower bench, tilting his hips back. his gaze dropped down, his pitch-black eyes tracking lower to look directly at the point of connection between your bodies. you watched through blurred vision as he stared, completely fascinated, watching his massive, dark shaft plunge all the way into your dripping cunt, churning up the filthy, frothy ring of your combined releases and his own thick cum. the wet, sloshing sounds of him fucking you were amplified by the echoing shower stall, white cream bubbling out and smearing over his tatted thighs with every agonizingly deep stroke.

"fuck, look at you," he whispered between heavy, wet kisses, his voice thick with a profound, quiet awe as his eyes stayed glued to the messy, ruined sight of your pussy. "look how much of me you're holding. all ruined for me—can't look away from you."

"nghh—choso, you're... you're still so big," you gasped out as he began to roll his hips again. the second expansion felt even deeper, more thorough than the first, the thick head of his cock ruthlessly punishing your cervix over and over.

"'m sorry," he murmured softly, though his actions contradicted his apology as he sank all the way in, bottoming out completely and burying his balls flush against your wetness. "you just feel too good—i can't help it. let me love you like this, just a little longer."

he rolled his hips forward again and again, sinking into you with an agonizingly slow, deep rhythm that made your vision blur. every push was accompanied by a soft, reverent kiss—on your eyelids, your cheeks, your mouth, and the sensitive skin under your ear. he turned your entire body into a canvas, worshipping you with a gentle but unyielding stamina, his heart completely overflowing with the euphoric reality that you were finally, beautifully his.

the automatic shower ventilation hummed a low, droning bassline as the steam slowly began to clear from the room, the heavy mist settling into a damp, quiet warmth.

choso stood mid-dressed in the narrow space between the shower stalls and the benches. he had managed to pull his grey sweatpants back on, the thick waistband sitting low on his hips, but his massive upper body was still completely bare. his smooth skin was flushed dark pink, the heavy black tattoos on his chest and arms glistening under the dull overhead facility lights.

you sat on the wooden bench right in front of him, a large, fluffy white towel draped loosely over your head to catch the dampness of your hair. your body was still completely spent, your inner thighs aching with a heavy, lingering numbness.

despite the water being off, choso hadn't moved away. he stepped in close between your knees, leaning down so his massive frame completely shadowed you. his hands came up to gently frame the sides of your face through the fabric of the towel, and he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. both of you just breathed together for a moment, the quiet, synchronized sound of your exhales filling the empty locker room.

choso slowly opened his eyes, looking at you from beneath his messy, damp bangs. the terrifying, pitch-black intensity from the showers had completely faded, replaced by that familiar, quiet softness that usually hid behind his oversized hoodies. his cheeks pulled a sudden, dark pink flush—not from the heat of the room, but from a sudden wave of sheer, boyish bashfulness.

he cleared his throat, the sound low and gravelly in the empty space. carefully, almost timidly, he reached into your gym bag and pulled out a fresh, dry set of clothes you had brought along.

"here," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, hesitant register.

he didn't just hand them to you. instead, his massive, heavily inked hands gathered the soft fabric of your clean t-shirt. his touch was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to how ruthlessly he had been holding you against the tiles just minutes ago. he carefully guided the shirt over your head, his blunt fingers catching on the collar to make sure it didn't snag on your damp skin, before pulling your arms through the sleeves with a quiet, domestic focus that made your heart melt.

he paused, his eyes darting down to the floor, then back up to your face through the towel still framing your head. he rubbed the back of his neck with his tatted forearm, looking suddenly, hilariously out of his depth now that the primal fog had cleared.

"um," choso began, his voice cracking slightly. he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the heavy, dominant monster from the shower stall completely transforming back into the shy art student who didn't know what to do with his hands. "i know... i know the timing is really bad. and it’s probably not very gentleman-like of me to ask this... especially right after we just—after what we just did."

he took a deep breath, his dark eyes looking down at you with a completely endearing vulnerability.

"but there’s a 24-hour diner and cafe just two blocks from campus. they have really good iced coffee, and... and sweet pastries. i was wondering if... if you wanted to go grab something to drink with me? like... a date. a real one."

you stared up at him from beneath the towel, your heart swelling so violently it cut off your breath. hearing this massive, fully tattooed, pierced giant softly ask you out on a proper, polite date while his bare chest was still flushed from your touch was the most charming thing you had ever experienced.

"i would love to, choso," you whispered.

a small, breathtakingly genuine smile broke across choso's face, lighting up his features. "okay," he rumbled softly, bending down to press one final, sweet, lingering kiss to your lips before reaching for his own hoodie. "let's finish up. i'll buy you whatever you want."

It’s been an incredibly long day, and by the time you went to leave the gala, you were dead on your feet, eyes heavy on the cusp of much-needed sleep. You stumbled as you stepped out onto the sidewalk. And Wriothesley, having experienced your deer-like composure in heels when you were tired far too many times to count, made the executive decision to scoop you up into his arms and carry you the rest of the way to the waiting limo.

Which would have been fine, really.

If you hadn’t ended up clinging to him. 

If you hadn’t ended up in his lap, wrapped around him and pawing at his black suit jacket. Yawning and sniffling and whining the second he tried to gently pry you off of him. 

He stares at the dark roof, listens to the sound of tires on asphalt as the car rumbles along. He tries to think about anything but the fact that you’re in his lap in a soft pink dress and another pair of those goddamn thigh high stockings that he hates.

Well—hate isn’t really accurate. 

He’s fucked his fist to the thought of them too many times to call it hate. Pumped his cock dry to the thought of splattering hot, thick ropes of cum all over the cute little bows that adorn the back of each one. 

And now—

Two unfortunate things happen simultaneously.

The first, the car hits a pothole that jostles you, dropping you further into the cradle of Wriothesley’s lap.

(Right over his dick, to be precise.)

The second, well.

“Mmmph.”

You exhale a breathy, sleepy little sound, hands sliding under his suit jacket to cling to the warm fabric of his black button-down shirt, and you rock your hips into his.

Fuck. 

“I need to buckle you in,” he says.

You shake your head, yawning again. “‘m comfy.”

“I’m not a seat.”

Your lips brush his skin as you talk, meeting the ink that wraps around his throat. “You’ll protect me if we crash.”

Wriothesley pinches the bridge of his nose and wishes he never gave up his ridiculous childhood dream of becoming a professional boxer. 

The car hits another bump, and this time, you gasp softly, hips swaying with the motion. The apex of your thighs sits right atop the outline of his ever-hardening cock, and he knows you feel it. Knows his shaft is aligned perfectly with whatever torturous pair of panties you’re wearing today. 

The amount of times you’ve fucking bent over in front of him—

He grasps your hips with both hands firmly, stilling you. 

“Wriothesley,” you whine, trying to wiggle against him to no avail. 

It’s the same small, petulant, needy voice you use whenever you want something from him. 

He ignores you.

Your lips graze his earlobe. 

He thinks about the steps to carefully disassembling his gun piece by piece. Cleaning it. 

Your fingers trail down his sides.

He thinks about filing his taxes. Waiting in line at the DMV. 

You twist your ankles, the pointed ends of your heels prodding his legs.

He starts counting backward from 100—

“You’re supposed to take care of me,” you mumble.

He can hear the fucking sleepy pout in your voice. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

Fuck it. 

(Because he’s too hard to think straight.)

(Because your driver is too goddamn afraid of him to open his mouth if he hears anything.)

(Because he might actually lose his mind if he has to listen to you touching yourself instead later—)

One of his hands slides to the small of your back.

It’s too much and not enough all at once—the pleased little noise that he’s met with when he releases his tight hold on your hips. The scratch of your nails as one of your hands cards through the hard at the back of his head. 

The plush, supple warmth of your pussy as you shamelessly start to grind down against him.

The first real moan of pleasure that you shiver with, that you exhale into the hollow of his throat. 

Wriothesley cock throbs, begging to leave the confines of his slacks. To shove aside your panties and bully its way through your dripping folds. To fuck into you deep and slow and see what kind of sounds you’ll make for him then.

But this will have to be enough—you desperately humping his cock through your clothes like you’ll fucking die without it. 

(He wonders if you’re wearing the white panties with the little pink bows on them. If they’re soaked through with your arousal yet. If the center has folded in on itself, gotten caught between your plump, creamy pussy lips, if they’re molded to your swollen clit.)

“‘m gonna—” you whimper, pulling his hair.

Wriothesley’s balls are on the verge of needing their own zip code. 

He cups your ass, making the executive decision to use his large, tattooed hands to drag you back and forth over his erection.

“Yeah, go ahead. Come for me, princess,” he murmurs.

A broken, shuddering moan punches out of you as your entire body shakes with your climax.

—

Wriothesley doesn’t even bother taking off his pants later.

“I thought you were going to quit,” you grouse, flopping down onto the couch beside Aki just as he begins to tug a cigarette out of the open pack sitting on the coffee table. 

An amused huff escapes his lips as he deftly spins the white stick between his fingers, leaning back against the couch cushions and lifting his hips, his other hand digging a lighter out of his front pocket. The action itself is mundane, and yet it’s so reminiscent of the way that he’d roughly bucked upward into your mouth in the very same spot yesterday, a rushing flood of warmth pools in your gut at the sight.

He catches you staring, the corner of his mouth tilting upward with a knowing smirk as he brushes the soft, loose strands out his long hair out of his face. As with most days, the topknot was quickly dismantled after he arrived home, your fingers tugging away the elastic while he pressed you against the kitchen counter and kissed you thoroughly in greeting. 

“I seem to remember you saying how sexy I looked when I smoked, once upon a time," he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Well yeah, before we were dating. When you were just that serious, broody Devil Hunter, looking all…” You trail off, waving your hands in the air for emphasis, “...mysterious and dangerous with your katana and cigarettes.”

Cigarette now propped loosely between his lips, he raises an eyebrow as he speaks around it, “What changed?”

“Now you kiss me with that mouth,” you pout, reaching out for the offending object.

Aki leans sideways, just out of your reach, chuckling as he intercepts your hand and threads your fingers together. “I help protect the world from fucked up supernatural entities for a living. I feel like I should be allowed to have one vice, at minimum.”

“You snore,” you retort without missing a beat.

He clicks his tongue. “Not as loud as you do.”

An indignant noise escapes your mouth as you launch forward to make another pass at the cigarette dangling from Aki’s lips, catching him off guard this time. The couch groans in protest beneath you as your limbs weave and tangle, and the resulting scuffle somehow finds you straddling his thigh as he holds the stick just out of your reach in an outstretched hand.

At a stalemate, you sigh dramatically, “No sex till you quit, then.”

Aki’s eyes widen, and he doesn’t hesitate to flick the cigarette clear across the room, going so far as to kick the rest of the pack off of the table as well. 

“That was disturbingly easy,” you snort.

He shrugs, “I might struggle without cigarettes, but I think I’d actually die without fucking you.”

Both of his hands now free, he brings them to rest on your hips, fingers sliding up the hem of your shirt—his shirt. It takes you a moment to come up with any sort of a comeback, your senses distracted by the slow, deliberate drag of his fingertips along the waistband of your panties. You hadn’t quite made it back into pants after showering earlier.

All you can manage on an exhale is a slightly shaky, “Is that so?

He levels you with a stare, suddenly tugging at the right side of the waistband and letting it snap against your hip bone. “As if you’d be able to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Ignoring the way every nerve ending in your body goes alight at even the slightest suggestive touch from him, you mutter, “I could.”

Aki’s responding laugh is warm and rich, an edge of mischief in his tone as he grasps your waist more firmly and drawls, “I don’t think so.”

Any trace of an argument dies on your lips when he subtly shifts the leg that you’re straddling, a smug grin tracking across his face when he watches your back arch at the feeling of his thigh pressing firmly against your cunt. He holds your gaze, pushing his leg directly upward this time to pointedly increase the pressure between your legs.

“I—” 

Aki slides two fingers between his leg and your mound, dragging them against your cunt to feel the damp arousal already soaking through your cotton panties. Leaning in, a shiver courses through your body as his lips brush against the shell of your ear to murmur, “Are you really going to try to lie to me when you’re this wet?”

A whine crawls up your throat as you ever so slightly rock into his touch, and Aki’s responding chuckle is like kindling to the embers churning in your gut.

“That’s what I thought,” he rasps.

He can read you like a fucking book.

You let out a sound of frustration as he pulls his hand away, only to inhale sharply when he grasps your hips once more and begins to firmly drag you along his leg.

“Aki,” you moan, fairly certain that your slick arousal has soaked its way through to his slacks but far too turned on to care.

And given the sight of his own lust-blown pupils, the way his chest has begun to heave, you know he wants you to make a mess.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, repeating his previous motion as his lips go to your neck, all but begging you to ride his thigh.

It’s not worth the effort of trying to save face, trying to act like you’re capable of mustering up the wherewithal to deny him. As insatiable as Aki Hayakawa is for you, the sentiment goes both ways—and fuck if he doesn’t know it.

There’s something that feels particularly filthy about this—rutting against the firm muscle of Aki’s thigh, whimpering like a bitch in heat while he loosens the knot in his black tie and flicks open the top buttons of his pressed, white shirt. The peek of his chest reveals a fading red mark you’d left behind days ago, and the memory of your teeth sinking into his soft skin as he edged you to the point of tears makes you clench against his leg. His fitted black slacks, meanwhile, have been reduced to a wet, slippery runway for your eager cunt.

You reach down to untuck Aki’s shirt from his pants, and he inhales sharply when your fingers brush over the erection that’s straining painfully against the confines of his zipper. His answering moans as you grasp him through the material spur you on, thrusting you near the edge of the precipice of your rapidly building arousal. 

“Come for me.”

His rough, commanding tone is all it takes to send you toppling into searing waves of pleasure, his mouth capturing your own in a heady, messy kiss while his hands guide your hips through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Your nerves are still humming when Aki gently takes you out of his lap and lays you down across the couch cushions, eyes remaining ablaze with lustful intent as he hovers over top of you. There’s a sensation crawling along the curve of your jaw—Aki’s finger. He slowly makes his way across your face, pausing to press down against your bottom lip when he reaches your mouth.

There’s a satisfied look in his eyes when he tracks the unconscious movement of your tongue darting out to swipe across the tip of the digit as your lips automatically fall open.

“You give me a hard time, but you like having things in your mouth, too, don’t you?” He asks huskily. 

He slides his finger further between your lips, groaning quietly in satisfaction as you moan for him, tongue greedily wrapping around the digit. Knowing just one isn’t quite enough, he adds another, his other hand cupping your sensitive pussy. Drool pools in your mouth as you suck on his fingers, need blistering through your body again as he firmly presses into your fluttering entrance through your ruined panties, the slick, wet material sliding against your tight walls.

You shamelessly whine when he pulls his saliva-covered fingers from your mouth, though the disappointment is quickly replaced by a sharp pang of need when cups your chin, drags his thumb over your bottom lip, and murmurs, “Open.”

Your lips part for him as Aki leans down, spitting roughly into your mouth at the same moment that he tugs your panties aside and slides a finger into your soaked cunt. The dual sensation has you writhing beneath him, moaning his name and jerking your hips into his touch.

Dizzy with need, all you can do is nod when he groans down at the sight beneath him and chuckles, “You want more, don't you?"

More fingers.

More spit.

More warm, sticky arousal staining Aki's pants and the couch cushions beneath you.

More everything.

Your mouth falls open wider with a moan when Aki slides another finger into your pussy, thumb massaging your throbbing clit as he pumps the digits in and out. He spits in your mouth again, and you eagerly swallow it down. 

But your entire body is on fire, and it’s not enough. So he stretches you open even wider with three digits, muttering with a boyish smirk how greedy you are as you begin to outright fuck yourself on his fingers. You lift the upper half of your body toward him, lips still hanging open, and something feral flashes across his face as he pulls his fingers all the way out of you, spits in your mouth, and then plunges them deep back into your pussy just as your throat bobs.

Aki makes a rhythm out of it—pump, spit, pump, spit—until the tightly-wrapped coil in your gut snaps, and you sob in pleasure as your climax gushes from you, squirting all over his palm and up the white sleeve of his shirt.

“Fuck,” Aki exhales, dragging a hand through his hair as he looks down at your debauched form, tits spilling out of your rucked up t-shirt, cum dripping from your glistening folds.

And even though your limbs feel entirely boneless, your cunt pulses with anticipation anyway at the clink of his belt as he takes out his thick, flushed cock and rubs its leaking head against your overstimulated clit.

megumi being a simp 01:10 ─●──────── -08:50

Megumi’s viewers were just as attentive as he was.

They noticed how Megumi visibly perked up the moment you entered his gaming room. They heard the tiny squeals you tried to suppress. It's almost always inaudible, but unmistakable.

“You got this,” you whisper, and Megumi smiles instantly.

Chat explodes.

[m__ki] yo stop simping you're about to die HELLO

[p4nda] save the couple content for later pls end itadori first

[salmonroe] jealousy is a disease and i have it

“What the hell?” Yuji laughs, “your whole contribution tonight is just smiling?”

Megumi scrunches his nose as he chuckles, right as he kills Yuji on his own stream.

Yuji holds his head on his hands and yells, “BRO—”

“That’s on you,” Megumi sighs, leaning back. “Getting on my nerves is a personal choice.”

Yuji inhales sharply as he reads the chat. “Itadori's sleep deprived and bitchless – Fuck you?" He continues to scroll through the chats and finds a message that makes him grin, “Megumi, someone’s asking when the girlfriend reveal is.”

Megumi blinks. “Huh? Why would I— this isn’t even that kind of channel.”

The chat immediately spirals, urging Megumi they would love to see what his mystery girlfriend looks like.

"Yuji, don't you need to sleep?" Megumi

"But I–"

"Sleep?"

"Okay, okay." Yuji's already doubled over laughing. “Before we end, Megumi, do you have something heartfelt to say to the viewers?”

Megumi nods with a playful smirk. “Not really.”

megumi being a simp 02:37 ──●────── -07:23

Every so often, new subscribers would ask if he was single. Megumi always answered with that same shy smile and a short nod, the kind that already felt like an answer.

Just like now, in the middle of playing Elden Ring, another batch of new subscribers ask him the same question again.

[itadorislut] just one chance megumi

He doesn’t look away from the screen when he replies, “No. I have a very affectionate and caring girlfriend.”

Megumi stay silent for half a second before reading a new chat.

[today_is_todo] tf u gatekeeping your gf for?

Megumi chuckles. “I'm the jealous type.”

megumi being a simp 03:21 ───●────── -06:39

Lowkey, but never a secret.

Megumi never imagined his streaming career would take off the way it did. What grounded him, even with the sudden success, was knowing how to keep his personal life private.

Still, sometimes his fondness slips through.

Megumi usually plays loud, high-energy music to stay focused, but today’s stream is different. Cherry Wine plays softly in the background and chat notices immediately.

[bbmai] interesting song choice

“Oh,” Megumi says casually. “It’s my girlfriend's playlist.”

[bbmai] feels personal

He smiles to himself. “I like it, though.”

He hums under his breath while playing.

A moment later, the faint sound of the door shuffling makes him glance sideways. His lips curve instinctively as he reaches for mute. Megumi looks softer when he turns back to you.

“Hey, you said you didn’t like this song,” you whisper with an amused smile.

“I never said that,” he shrugs. “I just didn’t get it the first play.”

“And now?”

“I get it.”

You grin. “Wow. He's a playlist connoisseur overnight.”

He laughs softly. “Please don’t let chat hear that.”

You cup his face and squish his cheeks playfully. In response, he grabs your wrists gently, pressing quick kisses to your knuckles like it’s instinct. You fix his hair, nod reassuringly, then quietly slip out of the frame.

On-screen, the stream stays muted with barely any context, but chat goes feral anyway.

[mmmiwa] WHY DID HE SMILE LIKE THAT

[today_is_todo] this is emotional edging

[mxchmaroo] bro hit mute like it was muscle memory

[dastrongest] that man is IN LOVE your honor

“Okay, relax,” he mutters. When Megumi unmutes and refocuses, the chat is still screaming. “Huh?”

He glances at his other screen to find that his game's ended.

“Shit. I just died.”

megumi being a simp 04:05 ──────●─── -05:55

“Fuck,” he mutters, exhaling sharply as he blows the stray hairs out of his face.

He’s already thinking of ending the stream, except he’s only been live for an hour, when he usually goes for five.

What’s more off is his unusual silence. Megumi’s naturally reserved, but he usually tries to talk a little just to push himself. Today, though? Nothing’s landing, and probably the worst gameplay of his life.

[p4nda] nah megumi's NOT locked in today

[y-okkotsu] shut up let him cook

“We're cooked,” Yuji groans into his mic.

“I told you we should’ve joined with Nobara!” Megumi snaps with brows furrowed. “This stupid game suc—”

He cuts himself off mid-sentence the moment you peek in and press a finger to your lips. He tilts his head toward the door, and gives you an apologetic look.

“Sorry, love,” he softly says instantly with guilt flickering across his face.

You step in quietly, trying not to get picked up by the mic, but the LED lights betray you. Your shadow flashes across the wall, and it was too late for you notice it too.

You give up eventually, and proceed to walk behind him to tie his hair.

[kirarare] i just opened the stream why am i blushing and kicking my feet likeee

[heatkari] this is the kind of content that makes men shave their heads

And once again, chat loses its mind, not just because you’re there (well, that too), but because you’re wearing that white hoodie. The one Megumi wore on stream before. The sold-out one.

Megumi doesn’t even look away from the screen, so focused he lets you tie his hair into a neat little apple without question.

“There,” you whisper. “All done.”

“Woah, I needed that,” he grins, boyish. He ducks behind cover, glances back at you. “Thanks, love.”

He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck with a satisfied groan.

“Alright,” he snickers, competitiveness snapping back into place. “Time to annihilate these fuckers.”

[nkamo] suddenly considering growing my hair out again

[nkamo] nvm who am i kidding nobody’s tying mine

[itadorislut] oh he’s back BACK

“Chat, should I get a haircut?”

“Hey!” you clutch your chest dramatically. “Why would you do something so offensive to me?”

He chuckles at your over exaggeration, and does the chat.

[ozawasan] someone hide the scissors from him

[junpyosh] i agree with her even if she’s dramatic

Megumi reads the chat, amused. “They’re telling me to stay away from scissors.”

You grin. “See? Even chat’s on my side.”

You step out of frame, but his eyes follow you instinctively.

[rikascurse] DID YOU SEE THAT LOOK OML

[rikascurse] CUT THE CAMERA'S DEADASS

“Megumi, focus!” Yuji yells. “Stop oggling at—”

“Watch your mouth.” Megumi cuts in fast.

“Oh— uh— your girlfriend!” Yuji recovers.

You giggle softly before closing the door.

Megumi is smiling like an idiot now, landing headshot after headshot, and climbing ranks effortlessly. All because you tied his hair back so he could see better.

As soon as the video ends, Megumi snorts. "It was that obvious, huh?"

"What? It's cute," you tilt your head and smile at him. "You're cute."

Megumi smiles to himself and plants a soft kiss at the top of your head. "I'm actually surprised that didn't make it to the edit."

You furrow your brows. "What didn't?"

"The livestream?" He says with an arched brow. "From last year?"

"Oh. That stream."

⏸ DELETED CLIP — YUJI'S LIVESTREAM

Yuji’s stream is chaotic as usual with him yelling at chat, chat yelling back, and his gameplay hanging on by a thread. On the other hand, Megumi’s window sits in the corner of the screen. All black, no cam or audio.

[junpyosh] where's megumi?

[mxchmaroo] he said bathroom break bro

[heatkari] nah but why is it taking THIS long

Yuji reads the chat and says, "Probably shitting himself to death."

Chat laughs it off.

For some odd reason, Megumi's window flickers, but Yuji doesn’t notice at first because he’s too busy reading chat.

[p4nda] AYO

[p4nda] MEGUMI'S GLITCHING

Before anyone can process it, Megumi’s feed snaps back online.

The room comes into view at a bad and slightly tilted angle. Only his empty chair is on camera, but the whole chat can hear the static mic crackling, chopped up heavy breathing, and mumbling in the background.

“— squirt for me —"

The audio dips, then spikes again.

“…I’m—”

The feed stutters, pixels freezing for half a second before the sound punches back in.

“Cum—”

Chat is no longer typing, they are smashing their keyboards.

[y-okkotsu] ???????????????

[kirarare] WHY IS HE BACK

[m__ki] THIS FEELS ILLEGAL

[dastrongest] PAUSE– DID HE SAY SQUIRT

At that very moment, Yuji’s soul exits his body.

His eyes widen in shock and goes completely still. He's so shocked that he immediately ends the stream without any warning.

wia says: Ws in the chat for Megumi and his secret girlfriend!

You claw at the sheets, the pillows, anything within reach. Your fingers curl to a fist because he feels too good that you can't stop your body from fucking yourself on his cock.

“I gotta pull out,” he grunts. “M’gonna cum.” Then softer and breathless. “M’really gonna cum, dove.”

“N-no, not yet. I’m close.” You whimper with panic while rotating your hips faster. “Please let me cum. I've been a good girl, I promise.”

Your hands find his wrists, nails digging into his skin as your eyes squeeze shut.

Toji presses his forehead to yours. “Open yer eyes, dove.”

When you do, his mouth pulls into a crooked, dangerous grin. Then he snaps his hips forward, hard and sloppy, drilling into you without mercy. The sound of skin slapping fills the room.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Instead, he lets out a low chuckle, “Never had a pussy as fuckin’ insane as this.”

Your body locks up as both of you tip over the edge together. He scoffs at first, then spills himself out of you. His load is thick and messy, and it's trailing down your skin. But when he pulls out of you, he freezes. He’s still hard.

“Toji…” you breathe. “Want more.”

Curiosity gets him.

His finger follows the trail without thinking, smearing it slowly, almost lazily. You shudder, and a soft moan leaves your throat.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

That snaps him back. “Ah— wasn’t plannin’ on—”

“No, my ass…” You look away, and mumble in embarrassment, “it might crave you too.”

His lips curl. “S’that so?”

He turns you gently, pressing you flat against the bed. His hands move with practiced ease. He then spits into his palm, works it along his cock, then nudges his fat towards your hole.

“Say, that cute little co-worker?” He mutters darkly. “Looks like he wants you bad.” You gasp as he pushes in, the stretch from his cock burning along your walls. “Bet he wants this too.”

"Don't care. Only want... you," you mewl pathetically. "I'll– hngf– leave that job just to– just to get fucked everyday."

Toji chuckles. "Fucked by who?"

“By– ah– you. Because... I'm your cum slut,” you choke out. “I’m— I’m yours. Even... even my holes."

“Both of 'em?” he asks, pressing you down further.

“Yes,” you say, muffled. “All yours.”

His hand slides to your shoulder. “What are you?”

The words stick in your throat, pleasure making your head spin.

“Your— your toy. I'm your toy,” you gasp. Something shifts in his eyes at that. “Feels so good,” you sob softly, rocking back into him. “I feel so filthy. Love it w-when you fuck me like... this.”

“You'd really look good on video, dove. Gonna make ’em wish they could hit you like this.” Both his hands spread your ass wider, holding you open as he watches himself disappear inside you again and again. "Wanna do it? Show everyone how cock stupid you are?"

“Yes, let's show e-everyone,” you nod mindlessly. “Want them to see— me like this.”

His rhythm turns sloppy, desperate. “M’gonna fill you up here too, dove.”

“Please,” you whimper while your eyes roll back in pleasure, "Make s-sure you dump it all in– oh– okay?"

Your orgasm hits fast and brutal. You cry out his name as he drives in deep one last time, cum flooding inside you. Your body trembles under him, helpless and spent.

Toji collapses beside you, breathing hard.

“…That too much?” he asks quietly.

You laugh weakly, draping an arm over him.

“No,” you murmur. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”