eternity

It was common knowledge that the man with the crooked nose was intelligent. At the top of most his classes, he was like a small celebrity within his own law graduate program. Everyone seemed to like him, except for you.

You and your smart mouth and witty remarks, not that he minded much. Technically, your med courses would never have overlapped with his law ones if you had not decided to take a Bioethics and Health Law course as an elective. And the world liked to remind you that this thorn on your side shaped like a tall man in a suit was all your fault.

You fall into your seat in the lecture hall, pulling out the sorry excuse of wood parading as a table as you pull out your laptop. You’re at the front row of the massive room that can fit somewhere around 600 students, and yet he always seems to find a seat next to you. At first you hadn’t minded it, you had tried to find a friend in the dark haired boy, most of the people unfamiliar to you in this course as most of the students in your program liked to avoid anything to do with writing essays like the plague. He wasn’t rude per se, more standoffish than anything, responding to you in curt words and sliding narrow eyes at you whenever you got really into a case, sharing your knowledge regarding the health and operation side of the situation. He had not met anybody as driven as you were, not in the way that made his heart beat just a bit quicker at a glance from you. So he opted to observing you most of the time, watching you do some flashcards before lecture started or how you would type furiously into your laptop as you hung at every single word your professor uttered. He wasn’t much of a talker, and your eagerness overflowed out of you in the way that forced him to close in on himself out of instinct, which you took as animosity.

Today he’s earlier than he usually is, barely anybody in the huge hall as he walks down the stairs to his seat. You’re hunched over the small table, biting your lip in concentration as you stare at a diagram — something to do with cell function he thinks — arrows pointing at random combinations of letters and numbers that mean nothing to him. You look up as he slumps into his seat, he’s wearing a dark green vest over a white collared shirt, sleeves pushed up his forearms as you stop yourself from staring. He blinks down at you, wondering how early you usually come as lecture starts in twenty minutes, eyes subconsciously sliding over to your form. Oddly enough, he notices how the faint sunlight from the windows reflects off your hair and how you look more tired than usual, dark bags under your eyes. It’s midterm season and Higuruma has had his own share of all nighters and caffeine consumption but you always looked put together, you always looked good, which is something he’d rather not admit.

“That seems complicated,” he murmurs and you look up to meet his eyes. He looks bored, but little did you know his own words even startled him.

“No, really?” you raise an eyebrow at him, sarcastic. The edges of his lips quirk up in something akin to a smile you had never seen on him.

“Explain it to me,” he says, leaning forwards for a better look on whats on your screen.

“What?”

“Explain it to me,” he repeats, you can’t tell if he’s patronizing you.

“Why are you interested all of a sudden?” you ask him and he shrugs.

“You seem smart enough to explain it to someone who doesn’t know anything about biology,” he responds in a genuine voice.

You take it as a challenge, showing him the metabolic pathway, the importance of it’s function for the body and what could go wrong. He listens to you, nodding along and asking relevant questions until lecture starts and the hundreds of students rush into class, drowning out your voice as the professor starts class.

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

At the end of class you pack your bag quickly, biting your lip as you look at the bus route times, with the way the buses were delayed, you were going to be late to your lab all the way across campus. You ponder running the 30 minute walk to your lab building before you hear Higuruma’s voice.

“In a rush?” He’s still in his seat, looking up at you.

“I think I’m gonna be late for my lab,” you murmur, “the buses are delayed,”

“I’ll give you a ride,” he says easily

“Oh! You don’t have to do that-”

“The lab buildings are across campus no?” he interrupts you as he stands up, he dwarfs you in height embarrassingly.

“Yeah, but-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says easily, jerking his head to the exit, urging you to follow him as he walks off without a word. You quickly swing your bag over your shoulder and hurry after him and his long strides. He leads you out of the law building and you follow out into the parking lot, he’s got a small black car that looks sleek like him.

“Nice ride,” you murmur, hands brushing over the black handle in admiration.

“Thank you,” he says, starting the engine in a low hum as you settle into the seat next to him. He glances next to him, eyes searching your unsure ones. “You uh, you look tired,” he says from a lack of other words to say.

You snort, “Thank you captain obvious, I am tired,” His lips quirk up a bit, it’s a sight you think you could get used to. The rest of the drive is quiet, comfortable silence settling into the air as he pulls in front of your lab building. “I really appreciate this,” you say, stepping out of his car.

“Anytime sweetheart,” he smiles at you as you shut the door, watching until you’ve disappeared into the building before driving away.

The next week, he brings you a cup of coffee to lecture without explanation.

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

You had tried not to make it a habit to rely on Higuruma for a ride after class whenever you had a lab, but he’d made it a part of his routine. His car now has one of your hand sanitizers on his console, and it smelled more often of your perfume than it didn’t. Today was no different, walking side by side out of the building, only having to run to the car as the rain pours down onto you both. You shiver as you shut the door and he immediately turns up the heat, his dark hair dripping as his eyes slide over to you, as they often do nowadays. A ding comes from your phone and you open it to see a message saying lab was cancelled due to the thunderstorm but you suspect your lab coordinator just didn’t feel like it.

“My lab is cancelled,” you say, teeth chattering.

“That’s convenient,” he hums, “do you want me to drive you home?” you open your mouth, and shut it. You were honestly expecting him to kick you out of his car.

“Are you sure? Don’t you hate me?” you ask, looking down at your hands. He barks a laugh, an unfamiliar sound to you.

“Do you think I would drive you to your lab every week if I hated you?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaim, exasperated. “You never say anything to me and you look like you hate me.” He runs his hand through his hair, understanding you.

“Ah shit-” he looks up, back of his head hitting the back of his seat, “That’s uh, that’s just my face” his eyes find yours again and see something genuine in them, “My friends always say I look like that”

You blink, unsure if he’s lying but you find it difficult to see if he is. “So you don’t hate me?”

“No” he affirms.

“Are we friends?”

“Were we not already?” He asks and you giggle.

“I guess we are,” You say with a smile and he returns it easily.

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

You realize it’s easier to talk to Higuruma than you thought. He’s a good listener, and he’s observant, his lack of words is not due to the fact that he doesn’t want to talk to you but because he likes to gather all of his thoughts first before responding.

He is definitely going to make a good lawyer.

You’ve slowly taken over parts of his life, your things in his car, the extra charger he keeps in his bag for you, your coffee order etched into his brain. With the little time the two of you spend together, you have managed to crawl into his life without intention to leave.

You’re next to him in the library, sighing in exhaustion. It’s sometime around nine at night, you’d been sat at this exact spot for the past twelve or so hours. Something else he’s learned about you is that you get clingy when you’re tired. You had fallen asleep against him on your couch while watching a movie more times than he can count; so when you lean your head against his shoulder and loop your arm around his, limbs tangling, he almost doesn’t react.

Almost.

His fingers on the keyboard freeze for a second as he looks down at you. You’re reading his paper lazily, muttering under your breath the carefully written lines. It’s almost painful for him to look away from you as he tears his eyes off of you and onto his screen, continuing to type. You two sit like that for a bit, you asking him questions about the case, him murmuring the answers to you, patient if you don’t understand. You stay like that for a while, by the time he’s finished, he realizes you haven’t said anything in a while and looks down to see your eyes shut, breathing soft.

Once again, he freezes, making sure he doesn’t move so as not to wake you. He looks down at you in a way that might be considered staring, his eyes looking at how your lashes rest against your cheek, how your hair is soft on his shoulder, how your right arm is still wrapped around his left one. He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, feelings swelling in his chest that he’d rather not confront right now.

You shift a bit and wake yourself up with a bit of a startle.

“Shit I fell asleep,” you say, untangling yourself from his side, the warmth of you lingering.

“Lets go home,” he smiles.

You notice his laptop has been shut and wonder how long he sat like that.

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

You blink at the bottom of your glass, alcohol coursing through your body as you feel your blood pump with the bass of the beat of the club. Utahime had dragged you out of the library and shoved you in a tight dress, saying something about how you needed a night where you passed out because of alcohol, not exhaustion from studying. You had obliged, too tired to argue, and she had promised to buy drinks!

You’re standing in a corner, taking a minute for yourself from dancing, weighing if you should risk trying to bum a cigarette off the guy that just stepped out the back. You were honestly glad at the distraction and the shiny lights, hips swaying and jumping up and down with your friends. You feel a small buzz throughout your body that felt good, taking a breath before making your way to the dance floor again when you bump into a shoulder, losing balance on your heels.

“Whoah, easy-” you hear a familiar voice before you feel Higuruma’s hands on your waist to steady you. He holds you for a beat longer than he should, looking down at you and your blown pupils, the pink on your eyelids and glitter on your collar bones. He’s speechless, and is glad at how you seem to fill the silence easily.

“Sorry Hiromi,” you say stepping back and brushing something off his shoulders, “What are you doing here?” you tilt your head up at him. Even with your heels, he dwarfs you, shoulders broad as he leans forward to hear you better out of instinct. You’d never seen him out, at least not really. The black button-up he’s wearing is really doing something to you.

“Ah, Gojo dragged me out,” he says, eyes still stuck on you as your eyes sparkle with excitement. Before you could reply, someone comes up behind Hiromi and slings their arm around his shoulders. With a grunt, Hiromi realizes he’s still holding onto you and lets his arms fall, glaring at the man behind him.

“Who’s this Hiromi~” Gojo starts before he sees you and exclaims your name in excitement, to which you laugh. You had met Gojo a couple times in passing, sometimes at Higuruma’s, sometimes at the library along with Geto and Nanami. He was probably the most approachable out of the group — albeit a chatterbox — you liked him.

“Hi Gojo,” you smile as he clings to Higuruma, he asks you about your day as the three of you walk back to a booth where you see that the rest of the boys had found Shoko and Utahime. Higuruma has gone quiet, back to observing as you sit down next to Geto and Shoko, giggling as you order another drink.

“Hey,” Geto bumps your shoulder playfully. He leans down and whispers in your ear, “Are you and Hiromi a thing?”

You blink, more surprised than anything and shake your head. You had never really thought about your relationship like that. Geto hums in response as he meets Higuruma’s eyes before he backs off out of your space and goes back to arguing with Gojo. The group bickers a bit more, you and Utahime doing shots and Gojo annoying Nanami to what looks like the brink of explosion, trying to get him to go dance.

“C’mon Nanamin! You’re only young once,” Gojo leans into Nanami as the blond desperately tries to shake him off.

“Gojo, you know I don’t-” Nanami starts before Geto pushes him out of the booth and practically strangles him onto the floor. Gojo follows, stumbling drunkenly as he laughs at Kento trying to escape. The group starts to filter out of the booth, Shoko and Utahime going to get more drinks, leaving you with Hiromi.

“Are you going to dance?” you ask, eyes glinting, unable to imagine the serious future lawyer on the dance floor.

“Are you inviting me to dance with you?” that catches you off guard as he looks at you with the same mischievous look he gets before he knows he’s going to win an argument.

“I didn’t think you were much of a dancer”

“I’m not,” he leans forward, forearms on the table as he gets closer to you “I can be for you though,” the alcohol is making his tongue loose.

Before you know it, you’re pulling Hiromi by the wrist into the crowd of people. The music is just right as you find yourselves surrounded by sweaty, glittery people and his large hands find your hips, to keep you within arms reach he rationalizes in this head. You throw your head back onto his shoulder, hands coming up to play with his hair and he sways with you, breaths heavy as you look up at him. It feels like it’s just the two of you and the music, pumping through the speakers and into your heartbeats as they beat together. He’s surprisingly good at keeping up with you, his hands right where you need them to be, his body against your back perfectly. You’re closer than you should be, his breath mingling along your shoulder but even then there’s an air of respect. If you were any more sober, you would’ve had a sorry excuse and been halfway home already but you can barely form coherent thoughts as the warmth of his body feels electric to the touch.

Without thinking, you turn to face him and he’s already looking at you, strobe lights flashing so you can’t quite tell what expression he’s wearing. You’re smiling, and he thinks he could die a happy man holding onto you right now.

“You’re a good dancer,” he says, without thinking.

He’s got to stop blurting shit out in front of you before he says something he can’t take back so easily.

You tilt your head at him in confusion, the music too loud and the crowds pressing you in not helping you hear him. Instead of repeating himself, he twirls you, and you giggle.

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

You find yourself outside of the club, sharing a cigarette with Suguru. The night air is cool and your legs ache in the best way possible. You had left Hiromi at the bar when a girl started talking to him trying to ignore the strange feeling at the pit of your stomach you desperately didn’t want to address. Ringed fingers pass you the cigarette and you take a long drag, letting it fill your lungs, the tranquility perfect.

“Higuruma likes you,” Suguru says, always one to get straight to the point. You blink, trying to process the words in case you heard them wrong.

“What makes you say that?” You look at the long-haired man beside you. He had always been the calmer analyzer to Gojo’s firecracker of a personality, it was no wonder they were best friends, the yin and the yang.

“He’s got this look like you slapped him in the face and he’d let you do it again willingly,” at that you bark out a laugh to which he just smiles at. “Just think about it,” he says before tossing the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it, tilting his head to urge you back inside.

You let the words wash over you as you go back in behind Suguru, the alcohol in your system making it hard to focus on what exactly he meant not that the words were even remotely spoken in code.

You gravitate to the bar again, getting another drink or two before losing yourself in the music again, trying to forget what Suguru said. You dance with Shoko and Utahime for a bit before you start to feel a pounding headache and a familiar feeling at the pit of your stomach. You find Higuruma and Nanami as you stumble into the booth and Higuruma steadies you with a hand on your arm.

“I think I better go home,” you slur, blinking rapidly to regain your balance. Hiromi looks at Kento and the blond nods as Higuruma stands up, hand in the small of your back as he leads you out of the crowded club.

“Did you have fun?” he says as you try not to lean too much on him.

“Mhmmm,” you say, trying to pull out your phone, having trouble even unlocking it. “I gotta get an uber,” you murmur, getting frustrated as the password you keep entering keeps rejecting. He lets out an amused exhale through his nose at you, you’re leaning into his side like nothing else is holding you up. You’re still glittery and your makeup is smudged perfectly. Angelic, he thinks.

“Here, I can take care of it,” he says before pulling out his own phone, practically sober compared to you. He calls an uber and sits beside you on the curb. You lean your head on his shoulder and he drapes his jacket over your shoulders. He was sure to find glitter on his clothes tomorrow, and your perfume clinging to his skin.

“Geto said you like me,” you say, not truly sure of what you’re saying.

“Did he?” he muses. Your eyes are shut and he would bet anything on you not remembering this conversation tomorrow morning.

“Is he right?” you look up at him with doe eyes. Hiromi feels as if someone shot him in the heart, cupid must be cruel to think him composed enough to deal with his feelings for you when you look at him like that.

“Do you want him to be?”

“I meannn,” you slur, struggling to put your words together. You reach for his hand and play with his fingers, his hand is warm and much larger than your own. “You’re hot,” he snorts at that. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know he was attractive, in reality, he was just not keen on pursuing a relationship with how busy he was studying. Women come up to him all the time, at the library, at the club earlier, hell, even one of his TAs had approached him in the past.

“You think so?” he murmurs and your eyes drift down to his lips.

“I mean I’m sure you know,” you huff, looking away. “I don’t wanna boost your ego but like—” you bite your lip, “You’re so smart, and like” you frown and he wishes nothing but to smooth the wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Composed, and I like that”

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. If you were any more sober you would’ve teased him not knowing you were the only one who truly left him speechless. Before you notice, the uber pulls up and he practically lifts you into the backseat and steps in after you.

“You’re coming with?” you ask, surprised he was leaving as well. He only gives you a nod; if he hadn’t ran into you tonight, he would’ve left hours ago.

The ride to your apartment was quiet and Hiromi is hyperaware of your warmth. You cling to him as you ride up the elevator, quiet, and you lean on him as he grabs your keys from your bag and helps you into the apartment. The two of you stumble in and he switches on the light just in time to see you stumble in and fall face first onto the couch. He laughs out loud, and you grumble, finally free of the ache in your feet. As you sit up, Hiromi brings you a glass of water and you nearly spit the water out when he gets on his knees in front of you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What are you doing?” You whisper. Everything is spinning still and you’re warm all over all of a sudden. He reaches for the straps of your heels, hands gentle as he undoes them for you. He massages down your calf and finally takes your right heel off and you let out a satisfied exhale.

“Better?” you nod, and he undoes the other heel. You reach forward without thinking much as he sets your shoes aside, cupping his face as he looks up at you.

“Hiromi,” you whisper and he melts into your touch.

“You’re killing me, you know that right?” his voice is low, gruff as he stands up and pulls you up before he does something stupid. “Lets get you to bed sweetheart,”

He helps you into your room and helps you with your dress zipper before practically running out, wanting nothing but to stay and watch you undress but his rational side takes over. As you change, he goes into your medicine cabinet and finds some Advil for your inevitable hangover in the morning and fills another glass of water for you. He waits in your kitchen for a bit, not willing to risk seeing you in less than he should, his forearms are on the kitchen island and he looks around your dim apartment. Your roommate was away on a work trip so you were alone. He considered sleeping over, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to do that, your roommate was nice enough to him and the couch wasn’t too bad. He lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, you were sure not to remember anything about tonight, it wasn’t a good idea.

“Hiromi?” he hears your voice, tired through the wall and peeks into your room. You’re sitting on your bed, legs dangling. You’re in one of his shirts you stole from him and what looks like just your panties but he doesn’t look close enough to confirm. Your room is messy, your dress tossed on the ground and your bag spilling out onto the floor. He places the Advil and glass of water on your beside table.

“You okay?” he asks, and you look up at him.

“Mhm,” you bite your lip, “thank you” you whisper.

“Always,” he says and you tuck yourself under the covers.

“You should stay, cuddle with me,” you look cute he thinks. Your blankets up to your chin and your hair tangled all over your pillow. He smiles weakly.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea sweetheart,” he mumbles, and before he can stop himself, he leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead and your eyes flutter shut.

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

You wake with a pounding headache as the sun filters in through your blinds. You remember flashes of last night: Gojo’s white white hair in the crowd, Geto’s knowing glances at you, a rare smile across Nanami’s mouth as the night moves on in a flash.

Hiromi’s warm hands on your hips.

The feeling of your head on his shoulder.

Hiromi looking up at you.

You groan and you rub at your eyes and sit up, trying desperately to remember what might have happened last night for him to be looking up at you like that. Your feet still ache from the heels you wore and your mouth is dry, you notice the medicine on your bedside table and a sticky note. You down the Advil with a hefty swig of water and look down at the note:

Get some rest today, left a box of bandaids out on the table for you. — H

It takes you a bit to read as your eyes try desperately to focus. You reach down at your sore feet and notice how the backs are open and red with raw flesh, you always did like heels that destroyed your feet. You try not to read too much into the note.

You stretch and check your phone, squinting at Utahime and Shoko’s messages, scrolling through stories absently. A certain message catches your eye, it’s from Geto, just a slightly blurry photo of you and Higuruma under the club lights, no other message attached. His hands are on your hips and your head is against his shoulder looking up at him, he’s looking right back at you, it’s as if nobody else exists. You stare at if for a long time, cursing Geto for being the sly fox that he is and leaving it on read, tossing your phone away and burying your face in a pillow. You don’t remember dancing with Hiromi, hell, you wouldn’t even know how you got home if not for the note.

Before you can overthink yourself into oblivion, you pull yourself out of bed and pad into the kitchen, making some breakfast for yourself before pulling out your laptop to study.

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

Higuruma wakes up later than usual. His usual 6am wakeup ruined by thoughts of you flashing through his mind late at night by the time he got home. He laid in bed for a long, long while before falling asleep, eyes glued to the ceiling in the dark. His hands are still glittery from touching you.

God, what was he doing touching you?

Dancing with you?

He drags a hand down his face in frustration as the morning light beams into his room, forcing itself through his eyelids. He didn’t even like to dance, and yet he keeps replaying how your hips pressed against his, how your hands played with his hair, how your eyes practically hypnotized him under the flashing lights. He groans, like it physically pained him to think about you, his dick already half hard. He trails a traitorous hand down his stomach and he grips himself over his sweatpants. He bites his lip at the thought of touching you in the dress, at the thought of what the fabric would have felt like if he’d helped you undress in your room.

Fuck!

He lets out a low groan.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, he shouldn’t be thinking about you like— Like how you would look if he took you from behind, would your back arch like you’re aching for it? Like how you would sound when he licked your clit just right Like how your pretty cunt would grip him so good

Before he can stop himself, he lowers the waistband of his underwear enough to free his cock. It slaps against his stomach, heavy. He thinks about how you might hold his dick as he wraps his fingers around himself, squeezing the shaft before jerking his hand up to the tip, teasing himself as he jams his thumb into the slit. Would you be mean? Tease him? Maybe you would bite your lip as you jerk him off with both hands.

Shit, those pretty lips.

His hips jerk up in desperation.

He would kiss the fuck out of you, your pretty lips open for him, his tongue wet against yours. He would tilt your head up to look at him and spit into your mouth before bending over you and tasting his cigarettes right off your tongue. He would let your lipstick marks stay on his collar for the day for people to see what you did to him, if you wanted. He would let himself indulge a little and have you on your knees in front of him as you slowly lick up his shaft, those eyes of yours so seductive to him.

God he was pathetic.

He’s thrusting up into his own fist now, feet planted on the bed. He grits his teeth and groans, a guttural, lustful sound, wonders how you would react if you saw him like this. God, how was he supposed to face you now? His mind wanders again to how you look on his kitchen table during late nights, your hair messy as you force yourself to study, how you look in his shirt and sweats he let you borrow, how focused you get when you study for an exam, how you curl up against him on the bed in the early morning when he’s awake and you’re not after having argued that you should sleep on the couch. He wondered when he started to see the girl that thought she hated him as somebody he wants to be around all the time.

He squeezes his eyes shut and cums with a low groan he has to bite his arm to muffle himself. His hand wrapped around the base as his release paints his stomach, down the divots of muscle he’s got there is pearly white. His eyes flutter open slowly, images of you still flashing behind his eyelids still. Regret hits him immediately, shame washing over his face as he sits up and cleans himself up. He busies himself with cleaning his room and tries to forget you, murmuring under his breath about his mock trial coming up that he has to prepare for as he jumps in the shower, your smile etched into his mind.

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

To Hiromi’s credit, he had felt like a perverted degenerate for thinking of you in any way other than as a friend, however he did also decide to absolutely ghost you for a month after the outing, as he tried desperately to forget his feelings for you.

For the first couple weeks, you figured he was busy studying for midterms just like you were, only finding time to think about him when you were about to fall asleep from exhaustion during the night. You had spent enough days awake with only short naps to ease your exhaustion that you hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t texted you. Hiromi never texted often, usually just texting people if he had something specific to say or to respond to someone. With you though, he let himself text you when he randomly thought about you, sending you pictures of flowers he sees and thinks you might like and replies to the random thoughts you send him throughout the day. So you only realized that you had been practically texting nobody after your midterms were over and you had had a good day to catch up on sleep. You scroll up and down the text history, most of the recent messages are blue as you scroll up and down. You were left without even a reaction or a read receipt. You decided not to think too much about it, he was likely still not done his own midterms. You figured he would let you know if something you did bothered him.

Except he didn’t. He had answered and messaged in group chats and he didn’t seem to have fallen ill all of a sudden. So you found yourself in the doorstep of his apartment on a Thursday night. Geto (the bastard) had sent you what would be an ominous text about how the two of you should just talk it out and you decided to listen to the motherfucker for once.

You knocked twice, hoping he was home and after a second, the door opens and you’re met with the tall hulking figure of Hiromi.

Before he could react, you yell, pushing him backwards into his apartment with a finger to his chest.

“How dare you Hiromi?” you say through gritted teeth, “You can’t just ghost someone without an explanation like that!”

He looks shocked, looking down at you, as the back of his waist hits the edge of the kitchen island, you’re looking up at him with tears in your eyes.

“I thought we were friends,” you whisper, wiping at a falling tear with your palm. He looks down at you before bringing you into a hug, his tall figure bending over you as your face hits his chest and your arms wrap around him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry I didn’t know what to do,” that makes you look up, your chin on his chest as your search his eyes.

“Did I do something?” you tilt your head, “God, did I do something stupid that night we went out? I can’t fucking remember anything, I’m so sorry if I—” you start to ramble but the words die in your mouth when he cups your face in both hands, tilting your face up at him.

“Oh, only told me you thought I was hot,” he murmurs, his eyes finding yours and the heat of it makes your face hot. You start to remember how your back arched for him, practically clinging onto him the entire night “Only fucking ground your hips on me where everyone could see,” his thumbs trail over to play with your bottom lip and you instinctively open your mouth and suck.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you ask, and he thinks you might be an angel in disguise.

“Fuck,” he practically growls before bending over and kissing you. You yelp in surprise before melting into him, he’s kissing you just like he’d been thinking about for the past month. You taste sweet, and he thinks he could get addicted to the clashing of your teeth and the warmth of your lips on his. He pulls away before he can get carried away with the touch of you.

“Please tell me I didn’t read into it,” he says, your breaths mingling as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You didn’t read into it Hiromi,” you whisper and he spins you around and sits you on the kitchen island.

“Say my name again,” he murmurs against your mouth as your legs part to make space for him to step into you.

“Hiromi,” you whisper and he kisses the words right out of your mouth. His hands are on your waist and yours find his face, tilting his face just how you like it. You’re vocal, soft whines escaping you and he makes it his mission to see how many more sounds you can make.

His lips are still on yours as his hands trail under the hem of your hoodie, pulling away just enough to make sure it’s okay with you before capturing your lips in his again. His hands are large, warm against the skin of your stomach as he reaches up and squeezes your tits, feeling your nipples pebble through your bra. You let out a breathy whine as you pull at his hair and his eyes roll to the back of his head. When you wrap your legs around him, he lifts you up, hands on your ass.

“Let me fuck you properly like you deserve,” he says against your lips before taking the two of you into his room, he drops you on the bed and crawls over you as you pull your shirt off. His lips are on your tits before you can take off your bra and you throw your head back in a moan, his teeth graze at the black lace and his tongue soaks the pretty fabric.

“So pretty,” he murmurs before pulling the cups down with his teeth, staring at your perfect nipples, standing upright for him.

He sucks like no man you have ever been with, you whine and buck your hips as you feel his tongue circle around the pert nipples and he grunts as his hands try and keep your hips still while your back arches for him.

“Greedy arentcha?”

“Sh— ahh! — shut up” you give him a pout he cant help but kiss. Once his lips are on you again, you reach down and palm his cock through his sweatpants and he lets out a hiss. You grip it and see the stain of his pre on the crotch of his pants and let out an amused giggle.

“I’m greedy?”

“How could I not be greedy with you sweetheart?” He murmurs and the heat in between your thighs makes you clamp them shut. He smiles against your lips and goes to undo your pants. He pulls them down slowly. sitting back on his haunches as he takes you in, on his bed, in just your panties. He reaches down and cups your aching pussy, the fabric is damp and you let out a whine, desperately wanting more of his touch.

“Hiromi please,” you look up at him and he smiles. He reaches down and licks a stripe up your panties, where your slit is and you look down, resting on your forearms to see his face in between your legs. Your smell is driving you crazy he thinks as he makes out with your clothed pussy. Tongue poking into your slit, teasing you as the fabric curbs to the shape of his tongue, preventing him from entering. He’s groans against the fabric and a pretty moan escapes your lips as your head falls back onto the bed, your hands in his hair. He makes out with your panties, the already soaked fabric now sticking to you with his spit and your pleasure.

“Such a pretty girl you are,” he says as he pulls away, lifting up to look at you. Your eyes are screwed shut, your head fallen back, neck practically asking for him to bite at it. And that he does, his teeth grazing at your pulse point before latching on and sucking. You let out a needy sound as he grounds his hips into yours, his body engulfing yours on the bed.

His mouth is gentle on your neck as he licks and sucks on your pulse point, the weight of his body enough to make you dizzy with want. Higuruma licks up your collarbone and finds your lips again, to which you happily interlock with a messy kiss. You buck your hips up involuntarily, and he pulls away just enough to look down at you.

“Hi,” you whisper, breathless.

“Hi,” he smiles and moves your hair out of your face. “Can’t believe you even gave me the time of day,” he murmurs.

“You acted like you hated me,” you tilt your head at him with a smile. He rolls his hips down on you and you let out a whimper.

“Never hated you sweetheart,” his voice is low.

“You’re hard to read!” you pout up at him and he can’t help but press a chaste kiss to your lips. When he pulls back you crane your neck up to kiss him and he lets you. Your tongue meets his in a clash of need, you kiss him like you can’t get enough, he kisses you like he’d let you take anything you want from him. You faintly taste your arousal off his tongue and let out a moan that he gladly swallows.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs against your lips as you push him back so that his back is against his headboard and you’re straddling him. You look down at him and his eyes are blown, dark with need as he looks up at you. Your wet panties grind just perfect against his jeans, the friction making you whine as you circle your hips.

“You’re hard,”

“You’re wet,”

“You’re annoying,”

He smiles.

You think you would get annoyed with the way that he always has a response but you don’t find it in you when his hands on your hips help guide you against his lap. It’s sensual: you’re practically naked for him in the dim lighting of his room, the moonlight spilling in now and the smell of arousal faint in the air, Higuruma thinks the sheen of sweat on your body makes you glow.

“Are you needy, baby?” He hums as he helps you circle your hips, tone a tad condescending but his hips buck up into yours in tandem. Your hands grip his shirt and you’re slumped forward, cheek against his chest as the sounds of your pussy squelch against his crotch.

“Please,” you whisper, broken, and thats all he needs before he gently sets you down on your back again, reaching back to pull off his shirt and unzips his pants before crawling over you.

“I’ll give you what you want pretty girl,” he says it like its a promise.

You look up at him, hazy, as he gently spreads your legs and pulls your soaking panties down. The wet material plops heavily against the sheets and his lithe fingers spread your pussy lips apart in awe.

“Stop teasing,” you pout but it falls on deaf ears as his fingers trace up your slit, your arousal practically leaking out onto the sheets. He watches you flinch as he runs a finger over your swollen clit, rubbing circles. You’re dripping so much so that two of his fingers slip in easily; he watches in awe the way your pussy swallows up his fingers as his knuckles sink in.

“Been thinking about this for the past month,” he murmurs as his thumb comes up to tease your clit. The sounds of squelching echo loudly in your ears and you struggle to keep your legs open.

“Hiromi…” you whine with this voice that echoes in his head and sends a rush of blood down to his cock. Your legs shut around his arm, locking his fingers in place and you grind your hips.

“You like that baby?” He hums as his fingers curl just right and you let out a pathetic moan. “My pretty girl,” he whispers as he pulls out, met with a desperate protest from your lips. He gives you a look that you can’t quite name as he gently folds you in half, your knees hitting up beside your head as he lines up his dick to your entrance. He thrusts forward with one move and your legs fall onto his shoulders as he kisses the moans straight out of your mouth.

He lets you adjust, looking down at you and your eyes screwed shut. He’s long, nudging right against your cervix, and your mouth falls slack against his.

“You can move,” you breathe out, and he grants you a thrust and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He thrusts into you slow and deep. The sounds of wet squelching fills the room as his hips grind gently against yours. When you open your eyes he’s already looking down at you.

“Good?” he practically growls, holding himself back to only shallow thrusts.

“Mhm,” you practically whine and he leaves you speechless as he pounds into you more steadily now. You think you see stars as your cunt grips his dick. “Faster,” you murmur, dazed.

He gives it to you. Oh he gives it to you, and just like he promised. His thrusts are rapid as his hips slap into yours, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s groaning against your mouth as your tongue lazily makes out with his. When the two of you pull away to take a breath, he sees your eyes blown out for him and the sight makes his dick throb inside you. He’s sensual about the way he fucks you, his back ripples underneath your nails and his hips snap into yours. When you guide his hand down to your clit, he rubs in circles, your legs locking around his hips so as not to let him go. He groans when you whine his name, hips losing rhythm as they slap into yours frantically now, the pads of his fingers abusing the swollen bud of your clit.

“Cum for me baby,” he growls, “Let me make you feel good,”

Your orgasm hits you in a flash, you see stars as the rope pulled taught on your lower belly snaps and your release feels like heaven. Your pussy pulses around his cock and he has to use every ounce of will he has to pull out of you. He watches the way your legs shake and your mouth is open letting out a loud moan for him. He pumps is hand around his dick, harsh, twice before he cums all over your stomach. The pearly white fluid settling onto the divots of your skin. Exhausted, he falls on top of you and you let out a soft oof as he wraps his arms around you and rolls over so you’re on top of him. You’re still dazed, blinking a few times before looking down at Higuruma who is already looking at you.

“Let me take you out proper,” he always gets straight to the point. His voice is low, tired and he tilts his head up to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. You indulge in the taste of him lazily.

“Okay,” You whisper before resting your cheek against his chest and your eyes flutter shut.

toji. f

You’d been asking him for twenty minutes, shamelessly relentless, until Toji finally let out a heavy sigh and shifted over you. Even then, he refused to give you his full weight. He braced his knees on the mattress on either side of your head, his thick, scarred thighs framing your vision as he hovered just inches above your mouth.

"You're annoying, you know that?" he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the dark room.

You didn't answer, just tilted your chin up and caught him. The moment your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, the tension in Toji's heavy frame snapped. He didn't stay hovering for long. As you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes, his hips started to drop. He began grinding down against your mouth, a slow, desperate roll of his hips that forced you deeper against his center.

His breathing roughened, turning into sharp, jagged hitches. He gripped the headboard, his knuckles turning white as he chased the friction. You added two fingers, sliding them inside and hooking upward. Toji's breath hitched violently. He was practically riding your face now, his heavy muscles twitching with every frantic thrust of his hips as he ground down onto your tongue.

Then, without warning, his entire body stiffened up.

Toji let out a sharp, breathless gasp. His back arched, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth and cheeks. It wasn't just a leak; he was actively squirting, his internal muscles pulsing frantically around your fingers as the sheer volume of it coated your lower face.

The room went dead silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

Toji froze completely. The strength gave out in his arms, and he dropped down, his knees taking his weight as he stared blindly at the wall. He looked down at you, his usually sharp green eyes blown wide in absolute, stunned disbelief. He was completely speechless, a dark flush rapidly climbing up his thick neck and spreading across his scarred chest. He just stared at the wet mess on your face, his mouth slightly parted, trying to process what his body had just done.

You pulled your fingers out slowly and swiped the back of your hand across your chin, catching the slick fluid. You looked up at his shocked, flushed face and smirked.

"Damn, Toji," you said, your voice low and cocky. "Didn't know I could work you out like that."

His jaw snapped shut. For a long, heavy second, he just stared at the wet mess covering your lower face. The deep red flush burned all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Shut up," he finally grated out, his voice a full octave lower than usual, completely raw. He dragged a heavy hand down his face, deliberately breaking eye contact. "Don't act like you did something special. I just... it's been a long week."

You didn't wipe the smirk off your face, letting your eyes drop meaningfully to where his thighs were still trembling against the mattress.

"Stop looking at me like that," he snapped, though the harshness of his tone was completely ruined by the way his breath caught at the end of the sentence. He shifted his weight, suddenly hyper-aware of his own body and the undeniable evidence he'd left all over you. He reached down, his large, calloused thumb aggressively wiping at your chin and cheek, trying to scrub away the proof. "Wipe your damn face. You look stupid grinning like that."

You chuckled, catching his wrist and leaning up to kiss the inside of his palm. He flinched, but he didn't pull his hand away.

"I'm serious," he warned, his chest still heaving as he finally forced himself to look back down at you. His green eyes were dark, defensive, but blown wide with lingering heat. "You utter a word of this to anyone, and I'm putting you through a wall. You just caught me off guard. Don't let it go to your head."

He let out a rough, shaky breath, trying to summon his usual intimidating aura, but he was still straddling you, completely laid bare and visibly shaken.

"Now are you gonna get up," he muttered, his voice dropping into a needy, impatient growl as his hips twitched involuntarily against you, "or are you just gonna lay there looking smug all night? Because I still have an ache you need to take care of."

You didn't argue. You just reached up, gripping the back of his thick neck, and pulled him down. He didn't resist, collapsing his heavy frame over yours. He caught your lips in a quick, rough kiss, tasting the salt and slick of himself on your mouth without a single complaint.

He broke the kiss just as fast, turning his head to bury his flushed face deep into the crook of your neck. He let out a long, heavy exhale, his massive chest expanding against yours as he snuggled closer, his solid weight pinning you to the mattress. He was still trembling slightly, his arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight, grounding hold.

"Just shut up and touch me," he mumbled into your skin, the last of his fight completely drained out of him.

satoru .g

The sheets were a tangled wreck underneath you both. You were twisted up in a breathless 69, Satoru’s ridiculously long legs straddling your shoulders while his face hovered right over your hips. He had your cock in his hand, his lips parted to finally take you in, but the second your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, his jaw just slacked.

He was far too distracted by what you were doing to his pussy to actually focus on sucking your dick. He tried, ducking his head down, but as you dragged your tongue right over his most sensitive spot, he let out a sharp gasp and lost his grip entirely. He ended up just panting hot air against your thighs, his long fingers abandoning their task to twist deeply into your hair instead.

"Hold on, let me—ah!" Satoru gasped, a breathless, exhilarated laugh bubbling out of him as he failed to focus for the third time. "You’re doing that on purpose. You’re not even letting me start."

You didn't let up. You gripped his thighs, holding him steady as you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes. Satoru was incredibly vocal, his hips rolling eagerly and shamelessly against your mouth as he completely surrendered to the sensation. The room was filled with the wet, heavy sounds of the friction and his ragged breathing.

He arched his lower back, pushing himself deeper against your face. You took the invitation, sliding two fingers deep inside him and hooking upward to hit that internal sweet spot, keeping a relentless, punishing pace with your tongue.

Satoru’s breath hitched violently. He completely abandoned the idea of the 69, his head dropping back against the mattress as he practically rode your face. His long frame arched completely off the bed, his thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks as the overstimulation built up higher and faster than he was ready for.

"Yeah, right there," he stuttered out, his voice pitching higher. "Don't stop, don't—fuck!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through his long frame as the last of his control completely broke.

Satoru let out a loud, sharp cry, his fingers pulling taut against your scalp. His hips buckled hard, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth, chin, and cheeks. He was shaking, his internal muscles clenching in frantic, wet waves around your fingers, completely coating your lower face.

He collapsed down onto your legs, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. For a split second, there was total silence in the room, except for the sound of the bed creaking.

Then, Satoru shot up. He pushed himself onto his hands, craning his neck to look down at your face. His bright blue eyes were blown incredibly wide, but there wasn't a single hint of embarrassment in them. Instead, a massive, thrilled grin broke out across his flushed face.

"Holy shit!" he laughed out loud, completely breathless and amazed. "Did I just do that?!"

You pulled your fingers out slowly, swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his wide, excited eyes and smirked, your tone perfectly cocky and satisfied.

"Damn, Satoru," you teased, your voice low. "Didn't know I could make you flood like that. Look at the mess you made."

"Are you kidding?! That was incredible!" he beamed, completely unashamed of the sheer volume of slick covering your face.

He shifted his long frame immediately, abandoning the 69 entirely to slide his legs down and fully straddle your waist. He leaned down over you, practically vibrating with lingering adrenaline, and didn't even hesitate before pressing a wet, messy kiss right to your lips. He tasted himself on you without a second thought, his tongue swiping lazily at the corner of your mouth.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his flush deepening but his grin turning distinctly teasing. He reached out, tapping a finger right on your slick chin.

"You look really good wearing me, by the way," he hummed, his tone playfully arrogant. He let out a happy, exhausted sigh and dropped his weight, snuggling his face right into the crook of your neck. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your chest, and his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.

"You're an absolute genius," he murmured happily against your collarbone, his hips still twitching involuntarily against you. "But now I have to clean up my mess. So lay back, because it's my turn to focus... and I'm going to take my sweet time draining you completely dry."

choso. k

You had him pulled right to the edge of the mattress, his back flat against the sheets while you knelt on the floor between his legs. It was an incredibly vulnerable position, and Choso was visibly hesitant. His hands were gripping tightly at the bedsheets, his knuckles turning stark white, and every time you leaned in even an inch, his thighs would reflexively try to snap shut against your sides.

"Wait," he breathed, his voice tight and nervous. A dark, heavy blush was already dusting his pale cheeks, spreading down his neck and over his collarbones. "It's... I'm already too sensitive right now. Maybe we should just—"

You didn't let him finish. You reached out, gently but firmly catching his wrists, prying his fingers away from the bunched-up fabric of the sheets and pinning his hands flat to the mattress by his sides. Then, you slid your arms under his knees, hooking his pale legs securely over your shoulders. It opened him up completely to your view, leaving him entirely exposed.

Choso let out a shaky, embarrassed whine, turning his head sharply to the side so he wouldn't have to look at you. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling in shallow, nervous hitches.

"Just relax for me," you murmured, leaning in close enough that your breath fanned over his slick skin.

The moment your tongue traced a long, slow, deliberate path right over his center, Choso let out a startled, high-pitched gasp. His entire body jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. He was so incredibly pent-up and sensitive that even the lightest, teasing pressure felt like a massive shock to his system. He tried to squirm backward, instinctively trying to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, but your grip on his hips kept him anchored right at the edge of the bed.

"It's too much," he whimpered, tears immediately welling in his dark eyes and spilling over the bridge of his nose. "Please, I can't... I can't take it, it's too much..."

He was pleading, shaking his head against the pillows, but his body was completely betraying him. Even as he cried out for you to stop, his hips were instinctively bucking upward, his breathing turning into wet, ragged gasps as he chased the very friction he claimed was too intense.

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, curling them upward to hit a steady, rhythmic pace while your tongue worked him over without a single ounce of mercy.

Choso became a complete wreck. He was sobbing openly now, sweet, musical sounds of pure sensory overload leaving his lips. His head thrashed against the pillows, his dark hair a tangled, sweat-dampened mess. His stomach muscles jumped and twitched with every stroke of your tongue, the overstimulation rapidly pushing him past the point of rational thought.

"Please!" he sobbed out, his voice cracking as his toes curled so tight they cramped. "Ah! I'm—I'm gonna—!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him as he finally shattered.

Choso let out a loud, ruined wail, his back arching off the mattress so hard he practically lifted himself into the air. A sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your face.

The heavy, intense rush of it left him completely drained. His body went limp, collapsing back onto the mattress with a heavy thud. His chest rose and fell in sharp, desperate gasps as the last of the tremors worked their way through his thighs.

All Choso could do was lay there and pant.

Then, Choso slowly opened his tear-filled eyes, peering down at you through his damp lashes, his chest still heaving. When he finally focused on your face—when he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your cheeks—his breath hitched violently in his throat.

He froze completely. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his pale features, his lips parting in silent horror. The red flush on his face that seemed to consume him entirely.

You pulled your fingers out with a soft, wet pop, slowly swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his horrified, flustered face, letting a slow, incredibly self-satisfied smirk cross your lips.

"And here you were begging me to wait," you teased, your voice low and perfectly cocky in the quiet room. "Look at the absolute mess you just made of my face. You must have really been dying for this."

A pathetic, utterly mortified squeak left his throat.

"I—I'm so sorry!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic, shame, and overwhelming embarrassment. He immediately scrambled upward, his shaking hands reaching out to frantically cup your jaw, his thumbs trying to wipe at your slick-covered cheeks. "I didn't mean to—I don't know what happened! I'm so sorry, you're covered in it, I ruined everything, I—"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy apologies. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting him up instantly.

Choso melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his blind panic instantly replaced by a heavy, adoration-filled heat that he couldn't hide.

Before he could find his voice to start apologizing all over again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the pillows to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, tear-stained face deep into the crook of your shoulder, absolutely desperate to hide from your cocky gaze.

"You're terrible," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs still trembling where they bracketed your waist. "Please don't look at me right now... just hold me for a second."

mahito

You had him hoisted up onto the edge of the heavy wooden desk, standing squarely between his legs. Mahito was leaning back on his hands, swinging his bare heels against the back of your thighs and giggling that manic, grating laugh of his. He was treating the whole thing like a game, his mismatched eyes bright with chaotic amusement as he looked down at you.

"Is this supposed to be intimidating?" he teased, a wide, stitched grin stretching across his face. He tilted his head, completely unbothered. "C'mon, you look so serious! Are you really going to just stare, or are you actually going to—ah!"

His mocking laughter was completely cut off the second you stepped in close and dragged your teeth lightly up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. You didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, you took your time, deliberately teasing him. You mapped out the patchwork lines of his skin with slow, agonizingly light laps of your tongue, completely ignoring his slick center while hovering just inches away from it.

Mahito shifted on the hard wood of the desk, his grin faltering. "Hey. Stop messing around. That tickles."

You smirked against his skin and traced a slow circle just outside his heat, blowing a warm breath over him. Mahito’s breath hitched, a sudden, involuntary shiver running down his spine. His hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter.

"I said stop playing," he grumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, dipping into something much more impatient and needy. "Just do it already!"

"Impatient, aren't we?" you hummed.

Then, you finally gave it to him. You gripped his thighs, your fingers digging firmly into his pale skin to hold him in place, and buried your face against him. The second your tongue swiped firmly and relentlessly against his core, the change in him was instantaneous.

The playful arrogance melted entirely off his face, replaced by a look of wide-eyed, frantic overstimulation. He jerked backward, his spine snapping straight, but you didn't let him retreat. You worked your tongue in sharp, demanding strokes, refusing to let up the pressure. He wasn't used to being overwhelmed, usually twisting and reshaping himself out of any corner, but his body was completely betraying him.

"Wait, wait—stop!" he gasped out, his fingers tangling desperately into your hair. He tried to squirm away, letting out a series of high, breathless whines, but his hips were instinctively bucking forward against your mouth. "I can't—it feels too—!"

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, hooking upward to hit that deep, internal pulse.

Mahito’s entire body went completely rigid. His breath caught violently in his throat, his jaw dropping open in a silent scream as the sheer intensity of the overstimulation shattered his chaotic facade. His heels dug sharply into your lower back, his pale thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks.

Then, the tension finally snapped.

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him. Mahito let out a loud, high-pitched cry, his back arching off the desk as a sudden, splash of warm fluid sprayed onto you.

The heavy rush left him entirely drained. He collapsed forward, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his forehead coming to rest heavily against the top of your head.

Mahito slowly pushed himself up, blinking rapidly as his dazed eyes finally focused on your face. When he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your shirt, his breath caught in his throat.

He froze completely. The manic, unhinged curse was rendered completely speechless. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his patchwork features, his mouth falling open. A dark, violent flush erupted across his pale cheeks, burning right through the stitches on his face and spreading all the way down his neck.

You looked up at his horrified, flustered expression, letting a slow, incredibly cocky smirk cross your lips as you wiped his essence off you. You didn't wipe all of it away, letting him stare at exactly what he’d done.

"Well," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "That’s certainly one way to finally shut you up."

A pathetic, mortified squeak left his throat.

"You talk all that big game," you continued, stepping into the space between his thighs and crowding him against the edge of the desk. "But you completely flood the second I put a little effort in. Didn't know you had it in you to make such a massive mess of me. Look at you. You made a puddle."

"I—what?!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic and overwhelming embarrassment. He looked entirely stripped of his usual bravado, his shaking hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I didn't—I don't even know what just happened! You—you cheated! You did something weird to me, you must have used a cursed technique, I—!"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy excuses. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting his rambling up instantly.

Mahito melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. All the fight left his body. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his panic instantly replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could find his voice to start arguing again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the edge of the desk to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his chaotic energy entirely snuffed out.

"You're so mean to me," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs wrapping securely around your waist to hold himself up against you. "Shut up... don't look at me right now... just carry me to the bed."

suguru. g

You had been begging him for weeks. Every time you backed him against a wall, cornered him in the kitchen, or tried to pull him down onto the bed, Suguru would just offer that perfectly serene, frustratingly composed smile of his. He’d brush a hand through your hair, gently kiss your forehead, and murmur, "Soon. I just want it to be the right time and place. We shouldn't rush these things."

He was incredibly private, highly protective of his own vulnerability, and utterly obsessed with maintaining total control over himself and his environment. He hated the idea of feeling exposed or caught off guard.

But tonight, his elegant little excuses had finally run out.

He was seated deep in the plush, dark velvet armchair in the corner of his dimly lit bedroom, his long, dark hair tied back loosely. You were kneeling on the floor right between his parted thighs. Even now, with his legs spread for you, he was trying so hard to maintain that aura of untouchable grace. He rested one elbow on the armrest, his chin propped on his knuckles as he looked down at you through half-lidded, heavy brown eyes.

"Satisfied?" he hummed, his voice smooth and incredibly patronizing. "You’ve been relentlessly impatient, and now you finally have me exactly where you want me. Just do try to be gentle, won't you? I'd prefer not to make a mess tonight."

His arrogant, perfectly constructed little speech died instantly in his throat the second you bypassed his thighs and buried your face directly against his soaking heat. He tried to quickly muffle the sharp gasp that escaped him, biting down hard on his lower lip, but you weren't going to let him stay composed. Not after making you wait this long.

You gripped his thighs, your thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle as you dragged your tongue in long, deliberate, punishing strokes over his center. Suguru tensed violently, his hips involuntarily jerking upward against your mouth as his lower back arched completely off the cushion.

He tried to recover his composure, forcing a shaky exhale through his nose. He reached a trembling hand down, his palm finding the top of your head in a soft, patronizing pat—a desperate attempt to pace you. "Ah... you certainly don't hold back, do you?" his voice wavered, entirely losing its smooth edge. "That's... slow down a little, sweetheart, I can't—"

But the gentle head pat immediately turned into a white-knuckled, bruising grip in your hair the second you slid two fingers deep inside him, hooking upward to find the deep, internal ache he’d been so desperately hiding.

Suguru’s facade entirely crumbled. His hips buckled, lifting completely off the velvet cushion as he tried to chase the angle of your fingers.

"Wait, please, you're—ah! God, fuck!" he choked out, his voice cracking into a high, ruined pitch.

He was completely overstimulated, his long, muscular legs trembling violently against your ribs. He tried to pull you closer by your hair and push your shoulders away at the exact same time, his body entirely confused by the sheer volume of pleasure. A ruined, desperate whine tore past his lips, his head throwing back against the chair as his toes curled into the carpet.

Then, the final, stubborn thread of his control snapped.

Suguru let out a loud, melodic cry. His entire body locked up tight, and a sudden, rush of hot fluid met your awaiting mouth, completely coating your tongue in the sudden.

The intense rush of it left him completely hollowed out. He slumped forward in the armchair, his chest heaving with ragged, wet gasps. His hands slipped out of your hair, falling limply into his lap as the last of the intense tremors wracked his frame.

For a long, heavy moment, the only sound in the quiet bedroom was his open-mouthed breathing.

"So this is why you've been avoiding me for weeks," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "You were terrified I'd make you completely lose your mind. I've never seen anyone drench a chair this fast. Look at what you did to my face."

A pathetic, utterly mortified groan escaped his throat.

"Have a little mercy..." Suguru rasped out, his usually eloquent vocabulary completely deserting him. He looked utterly stripped of his pride, his shaking hands coming up to frantically drag down his burning face. "I had no idea I was even capable of that. God, you're wearing half of it. Please, don't gloat, I'm already entirely humiliated."

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face, refusing to let him hide. You leaned forward, crowding into his space between his thighs, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips.

Suguru melted the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating deep in his chest. All the tension drained out of his rigid posture. When you pulled back just an inch, his brown eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his intense embarrassment entirely replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could try to find his composure again, he just completely surrendered. He slid right off the edge of the armchair, his knees hitting the floor right in front of you as he wrapped his long arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his perfectly kept facade completely destroyed and abandoned.

His trembling hand came up, instinctively finding the back of your head to offer a soft, shaky pat—his usual comforting gesture, though right now, he was entirely the one who needed it.

"You win," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs bracketing your waist on the floor. "I severely underestimated you. Now just... hold me, and let me pretend this didn't happen."

naoya. z

The bedroom was stifling, the air heavy with the frantic, wet sounds of his undoing. Naoya was pinned against the headboard, his pale legs hooked over your shoulders and his ankles locked behind your neck in an involuntary, white-knuckled grip. His hair was a sweat-slicked mess, and his dark eyeliner was completely ruined, dragged across his cheekbones in jagged streaks by the tears he couldn’t stop.

"Stop... I said stop!" he choked out, his voice cracking. He tried to shove at your shoulders, but his arms were shaking so violently his hands just slid off.

You didn't listen. You gripped his thighs tighter, your fingers digging into his skin, and buried your face back into his soaking heat. While your tongue swirled in heavy, demanding circles over his center, you slid two fingers deep inside him, stretching him wide and hitting that internal sweet spot with a punishing pace.

The double assault was too much for his nerves. Naoya’s entire body spasmed, a sharp, broken cry tearing from his throat. His hips buckled, his muscles clenching greedily around your fingers even as he tried to pull away from the friction.

"Just one more, Naoya," you murmured against his skin, your voice a low vibration that made him sob.

"It’s not... ah!... how you won't stop! You're... ngh!"

He was completely overstimulated, his nerves frayed, yet he arched further into the touch. His toes curled, and his breath came in hitched, needy whines. You increased the pressure, your tongue flickering faster as your fingers worked him into a frenzy.

"One more," you repeated, your teeth grazing him lightly.

"No! No more, please—Aaaah!"

He went rigid, his back arching off the bed as the next wave hit him. His thighs twitched uncontrollably against your ears as his body finally gave up, then came the gush of slick, coating almost the entirety of your lower face.

He let out a ruined, melodic cry, his hands flying up to cover his face in shame. He was sobbing openly now, his frame vibrating with the force of the climax. You finally pulled back, tasting the salt of him on your lips as you looked at the state of him—the smeared makeup, the trembling limbs, and the soaking mess on the bed.

"You're such a pretty mess, baby," you murmured, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. "Look at you. All that big talk, and you’re just a leaky little girl for me, aren't you?"

Naoya visibly cringed at the endearment, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. A deep, frantic blush climbed all the way to the tips of his ears. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson.

"What are you looking at, idiot?" he snapped, though his voice was entirely too shaky to carry any real weight. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson. "Don't call me that... it's pathetic. I'm not some dumb woman or a bitch for you to talk down to."

"Funny," you teased, your tone perfectly cocky as you deliberately let a drop of his slick run down your chin. "Because you're the one on your back, drenching the sheets because you couldn't handle a little tongue. For someone who hates women so much, you sure do scream like a girl for me."

Naoya visibly recoiled, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. "I do NOT—!"

"You do," you interrupted, leaning in until your nose brushed his. "You’re pouting like a bratty little princess just because I made you lose your mind. It’s cute, Naoya. Really."

"I am NOT cute!" he hissed, his voice cracking with indignity. He reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing your collar and tugging you upward with a weak, desperate jerk. "Wipe your face. You look disgusting. You're filthy, and it’s your fault I’m like this anyway."

Despite the insult, he didn't let go of your shirt. His legs remained wide, his heels digging into the mattress as he pulled you closer. His eyes darted to your zipper with a desperate, impatient hunger that betrayed every word of his bratty protest.

"Well?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a needy, demanding rasp. "Are you just going to stare at me and say stupid things all night, or are you actually going to finish this? I'm not waiting any longer. Hurry up and give it to me."

"Say please, then," you hummed. "Tell me you want it, pretty girl."