#higuruma x nanami | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wibben · 4 months ago

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Occupational Hazards

Friends Nanami and Higuruma go on a duo mission together... and fall victim to some unexpected effects.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x kento nanami

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, bottom!higuruma, top!nanami, sexual tension, sex pollen, forced proximity, friends to enemies to lovers, rough anal sex, fighting, cum is lube, both a bit OOC but we can blame the pollen, generally feral behavior

↳ wc: 13,675

↳ notes: nanami art by @ hikonom on twitter, higuruma art by @ saksak_kazz on twitter. i hope you enjoy <3

“Ah, good, you’re here too!” Higuruma greeted amiably, sauntering into the meeting room with steaming coffee in hand, the kind of shitty, bitter stuff the staff room machine spit out. But at least it woke him up, so maybe that was by design. Sleepy sorcerers were more often than not dead ones. Sinking into the cushioned couch with an early morning groan, arm draped lazily across the backrest, he sighed into the steam.

He tapped, tapped, tapped his paper cup with dancing fingers. “Actually… any idea why we’re here?”

Smack!

Nanami dropped a manila folder onto the table between them with a sharp flick, his expression tight with irritation. “This.” He muttered, the frustration clear in his voice, offering no further explanation.

Higuruma raised a sloping brow and lifted his coffee to his lips, peering pityingly over the warped plastic lid. He is not as bothered by this intrusion to the beginning of his weekend, years spent tethered to work had numbed him to the inconvenience.

Unlike Nanami, who needed it pried away and leaves it with claw marks, spitting smoke like a raging dragon, he is not as jealously possessive of his freetime. Higuruma had long since learned to surrender it with little more than a resigned sigh and a wave in the rearview mirror.

Higuruma bent forward, placing his coffee on the table and knuckled it slowly across to Nanami, the way one might endear oneself to a stray animal. He needed it more, Higuruma thought.

The silence in the room turned meditative, broken by a deep grounding breath from the other man as he watched his plans of baking, and reading, and relaxing and no responsibility turn to dust. Deep breath in… he could bake next weekend and perhaps treat himself to a new book, luck permitting maybe he would even start it… and breathe out. It gave Nanami a moment to cool, to steady himself before—

Gojo burst into the room, all gale-force energy and unfiltered exuberance, with a complete disregard for any semblance of professionalism and ignorant of the air of resentment stewing from the rigid blonde-turned-gargoyle sitting in the chair across from him.

“Great, you’re both here!” Gojo’s voice was far too chipper for the hour. “Perfect timing. I’ve got a fun little job for you two.”

Nanami looked up, unimpressed, maybe a little murderous. “Are you well aware that it’s a Friday afternoon? Which means that tomorrow is Saturday, which is the weekend and I absolutely will not—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Gojo flapped a dismissive hand as he flopped into the chair opposite them, leaning back with an air of nonchalance that had a vein pulsing in Nanami’s temple. Higuruma watched on with warring amusement and pity, both hidden surreptitiously behind steepled fingers where he kissed his teeth, resisting the overtaking urge to laugh.

“Anyway, there’s this small issue out in the middle of nowhere. Some cursed incidents, blah blah blah, you know the drill. Strange happenings, couples murdering each other nearby— you get the picture, right? Easy peasy. Easy enough to send one of the students really, they could do it in their sleep! I really can’t stress enough how easy it’s gonna be.”

Higuruma raised an eyebrow, finally speaking. “You were supposed to handle this one, weren’t you?”

“Yes, technically,” Gojo grinned, not at all sheepish and wholly unapologetic. “But there’s this festival I’ve been dying to check out. They’ve got all sorts of sweets—mochi, taiyaki, ice cream, you name it! I mean, why waste my time on some low-grade curse when my time is better spent there?”

Nanami’s frown deepened, if that were possible. “This is below our paygrade, then.”

“Exactly! Very astute, Nanamin!” Gojo cheered, completely missing—or more likely ignoring —Nanami’s tone. “Which is why you two are perfect for the job. You can handle it in no time and be back before the weekend’s over. Unless you’d rather join me at the festival? But fair warning, you’ll have to keep up with me while I sample everything.”

He leaned forward, blinding smile growing wider as if offering the deal of a lifetime complete with spread open palms. But to both Nanami and Higuruma who glanced at each other, reading, it looked much closer to a threat. “So, what do you say? Curse or confections?”

Nanami didn’t even hesitate. “Tell Ijichi to prepare the car.”

Gojo sighed dramatically, as if truly disappointed they weren’t taking him up on his generous offer. “You two are no fun. But alright! You’ll be staying up there, got a place all set up for you. Should be a walk in the park—” he clapped his hands, standing and swaying forward—then back—on mile-long legs.

“Anything else we should know?” Higuruma asked, leaning back in his seat with clinical consideration. Details, details, details—

Gojo shrugged, already halfway out the door with a flippant wave over his shoulder. “Nothing you can’t handle. Just try not to kill each other before the curse does, yeah? Oh, and if you change your mind—”

“We won’t,” Nanami cut him off, already gathering his things.

Higuruma blinked, leaning forward now. Where were the details?

Gojo’s laugh echoed down the hallway as he disappeared, leaving the two men to contemplate the unfortunate turn their day had taken. Higuruma sighed. “He really has a way with words, doesn’t he?”

Nanami simply scowled. “Inconsiderate… incorrigible… no work ethic— ” he muttered, brushing his hands over a wrinkleless suit as he stood. “Let’s get this over with.”

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Sleek black wheels hummed along winding woodland backroads, the thick forest outside morphed into a smudgy, dark green blur. Ijichi was laser-focused on the drive, his hands gripping the wheel with his usual sweaty-palmed intensity.

Higuruma gazed out the window and traced the endless stretch of trees with his eyes until they swam with dizzy shapes. He watched until his head felt uncomfortably light, swooping his attention down to his stationary lap for a reprieve. This place was really out there… strange location for a curse.

“You know,” Higuruma's voice slipped through the quiet, “it could be worse.” He leaned back, letting the car seat handle him as he let out a slow breath. “At least this should be simple. We like simple.”

Beside him, Nanami was the picture of calm, a book delicately cradled in one long-fingered hand. He’d had enough time to calm down, to temper his frustration with resignation; it couldn’t be helped… and this was somehow still better than the alternative of a day stuck with Gojo.

He gave a small, noncommittal hum, flipping a page. He’d long ago trained himself out of car sickness, these drives now offering a rare slice of interim peace—a chance to slowly make dents in his ever-growing reading list.

“True,” he murmured, eyes never leaving the lines of text. “And I suppose the company could be worse, hm?”

Higuruma turned his head and the beginning of a smile swept over his mouth. “Oh, so much worse,” he agreed, letting his temple knock against the cool glass of the window. “We’ve been through enough to appreciate these quiet ones. In and out.”

Nanami’s eyes remained trained on his book, but there was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“In and out,” he repeated.

“Maybe we can unwind after this. Grab a drink, like last time.” Nanami's offer slipped out off-hand as he flipped the page, more a passing thought than a concrete plan. If his weekend was going to be hijacked, he might as well make the most of it. And really, drinking with the person he'd be spending it with anyway didn’t seem like the worst idea. Higuruma was good company, always had been.

Higuruma’s grin was immediate, approval reflected briefly in the window’s glass. “I like the way you think!”

As the forest thickened and the road ahead narrowed, their destination creeping closer, there was no tension, no unease. Nanami was not so foolish to ever feel safe on the job, but with Higuruma, he felt something suspiciously close to it.

It was just a simple in-and-out mission—nothing they hadn’t dealt with before.

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The sun dipped low on the horizon by the time they arrived, splashing the sky with dramatic strokes of orange and pink that belonged more in an ornately framed and hung painting rather than on the front lines of the job.

As Ijichi brought the car to a crunchy halt on the gravel drive, the sound felt louder than it should have—like the world itself held its breath the same as the three men wrapped in the security of their vehicle. Three heads cranked towards windows and their cheeks squished against fogged glass as they took in their lodgings with the sort of veneration of stumbling upon the carcass of a dead god.

This place felt lost.

Old and rotted wood, planks speared from the sides like splintering teeth, green with creeping lichen and constricting vines that curled around every corner and nook and cranny like veins; pumping life into that which is lifeless, keeping alive that which should’ve long been dead.

Nanami was the first out after a brief moment's hesitation, smoothing his hands down his front and looking prepared to walk into a boardroom rather than the mouth of potential doom. It served to swipe away the sudden sweat on his palms.

The cabin that stood before them looked deceptively quaint, even in its disrepair, like something he’d find on a postcard if he ignored the way it crouched amidst the trees like it was prepared to pounce on them. He also ignored the way it made him want to twist his neck in submission, the instinct to drop to his knees in dogeza and scrape his forehead against the gravel before the steps.

Silence blanketed thick, the kind that makes you strain your ears for something—anything—to break it. But there was nothing. No birdsong, no chirping crickets, no croaking frogs or snapping branches of unseen wildlife. Too quiet, even for somewhere this remote. Like this space existed in its own bubble.

His face remained neutral as he swept the area, taking in the unsettling stillness with a mild frown. He couldn’t sense anything—no curse, no cursed energy, none of the obvious residuals Gojo mentioned.

Quirky little cabin, quirky little mission—Nanami would’ve preferred to be at home with a quirky glass of whiskey instead… not here swallowing nerves like a knock-kneed boy.

Higuruma stepped up beside Nanami, tracing the lines of the cabin’s exterior. It was a shithole. He didn’t see the dissonant charm in it that Nanami did, however faint. It was falling apart, the roof looked a good wind away from caving, and somehow it looked designed that way, because surely it would’ve fallen by now if it was ruined by time.

Something about it felt too perfect, too staged, like it was posing for a picture it knew would be taken—just waiting for someone to notice the way the door seemed to yawn like a hungry mouth, welcoming them to step inside its belly.

He allowed himself a moment of frankly healthy mortal terror before he shook it off.

They were professionals, after all. There was no room for jitters before they’d even crossed the threshold. Especially not because of a house.

Ijichi, meanwhile, looked like he might bolt if given half a chance. His hand shook a little as he passed over their overnight carry ons, eyes darting around like he expected the trees to start whispering or something equally unnerving. Not somewhere he wanted to be at night.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up. Call if you need anything sooner,” he said, trying to sound official, though there was an unmistakable thread of relief that unraveled his voice that he at least gets to leave. He was already halfway back into the car as the last words left his mouth, and Higuruma had to check an eyeroll.

They all felt it, which made him feel marginally better… but that couldn’t be a good sign.

With a final nod, Ijichi took off, the crunch of gravel beneath his tires fading into the distance all too quickly as the sun dipped behind the trees.

Nanami took point after a few seconds more of silent calculation, leading the way up the short, gravelly path toward the door. The wooden door creaked as he nudged it open, a slow, ominous drone that echoed the wrapped hilt of his blade in his closing palm, the sound hung in the air as a sword of damocles—the whole scene balanced on the edge of a razor, expectant and waiting for something to tip it over.

The floors beneath their feet groaned, clearly unimpressed with the sudden intrusion. Nanami was certain the whole place would feel just as unsettling as the outside had, but when they stepped fully into the cabin, they both paused. It was… beautiful.

The room basked in golden light, courtesy of old-fashioned lamps that dotted the space with a gentle, inviting glow. Each piece of furniture advertised rustic charm, worn edges and sturdy frames that practically begged to be sat on. The walls, too, adorned with an array of knickknacks and decorations—each item meticulously arranged.

It was the kind of obviously lived-in space that could lull you into a sense of comfort if you weren’t careful, the kind of place where you could almost forget about the string of suspicious mariticides that had brought them here in the first place.

It was strange, but it was also nice. And in their line of work, nice was a luxury.

Higuruma twisted around Nanami’s back, breathing out a small surprised huh! as he took in the unexpectedly charming interior.

“Not bad,” he remarked, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he set his bag down on the worn wooden floor. His fingers slowly uncurled from his gavel, knuckles no longer white. “Looks like someone put some thought into the inside, at least.”

“Seems that way,” Nanami agreed, and he was already moving toward the heavy wooden table at the center of the room. He rummaged through his bag—though there wasn’t much to unpack, given the brevity of their planned stay.

Meanwhile, Higuruma allowed himself a moment to wander, not quite settled and seeking to stake out each and every corner of their accommodations, taking in the small details that made the place feel oddly inviting, idly picking up decorations from shelves with an appraising eye—

—and behind them, the door slowly hushed shut, the lock slipping into place with a soft click. Neither man noticed.

Higuruma plucked a ceramic owl from the mantle, his nose wrinkling; not at the decor, which really he found rather charming, but at the streaky, off-yellow trail of dust left in the wake of its removal. He huffed, mentally filing the complaint away.

It wouldn’t do to bring it up to Nanami, not when he was already less than thrilled about being out here at all.

He swiped a finger through the dust, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger, eyes narrowing in distaste. Filthy.

His nose twitched, and before he could stop it, a great inhale heralded the inevitable. Higuruma sneezed, the force of it sending up a poof of air that stirred the greater nest of dust bunnies, erupting the mantle into a cloud of yellow powder.

Coughing and cursing, Higuruma hastily set the owl back down and waved a hand in front of his face, stumbling back in a desperate attempt to escape the dusty assault.

Nanami only snorted, amused, offering a polite albeit unconcerned “bless you” over his shoulder. He only looked up when Higuruma continued to cough, bent at the waist and hands planted firmly on cocked knees.

“Are you alright?” He asked, already side-stepping the table to get to him.

“No,” Higuruma spat, straightening with watery eyes and a yellow dusted face. Nanami tried not to laugh at his misfortune.

“Gojo is a filthy, good for nothing liar,” he continued, and at that Nanami could only hum in sympathetic agreement.

“Got a place set up for us my ass, it’s not even clean—what if I had a dust allergy, huh? I could’ve died, right then and there!”

Nanami turned to the sink, wetting a sheet of paper towel and returning to Higuruma with a frown, handing it over. “Well it’s a good thing you don’t, then.”

“But if I did—”

“You don’t.”

Higuruma growled, mulish, but accepted the towel and scrubbed it over his face. Nanami, in an effort to be helpful, patted down Higuruma’s shoulders. But the dust was stubborn, it clung to his hands like childrens chalk, and it was already coating his own suit from how the dust was roused into the air, catching sunbeams as it swirled and resettled.

Beige was a forgiving color, and he found himself grateful for his preference of the shade over Higuruma’s black suits. Too easy to ruin. Impractical, really.

The more he cleaned, the more Higuruma’s initial anger waned, though a faint prickle remained—a persistent itch beneath his skin, in his nose, his hair, and even his mouth. It made him feel twitchy, uncomfortable, but nothing a hot shower couldn’t fix. He sighed, shaking off the lingering disgust with a few quick flaps of his hands.

“What do you think the odds are that we could get takeout delivered all the way out here? I’m starving.”

Nanami paused in his idle, and admittedly futile, attempts to brush the dust from Higuruma’s suit and sighed. “I wouldn’t count on it. No delivery driver would venture this deep into the woods for us. And if they did, by the time the food arrived, it would be cold and hardly worth the effort.”

“Hm.” Higuruma’s responding grunt was vaguely agreeable. Eyes slipped a longing look at the cabin’s surprisingly well-equipped kitchen. “Guess we’re on our own. I can whip up something decent.”

Nanami raised an eyebrow. “... Since when do you cook?”

“Hey,” Higuruma retorted, hands on his hips with offense and leaving yellow smudgy prints in the fabric. “I’m more than capable in the kitchen, thank you.”

Nanami couldn’t suppress a small smile at that. “I enjoy cooking, but if you insist.”

“Oh, I do,” Higuruma declared with exaggerated seriousness, though the competitively playful glint in his eyes betrayed him. “Just sit back and relax. Or sweep up some dust if you really need to be helpful. Now, shoo—out of my kitchen—”

Nanami laughed, allowing himself to be fluttered and pushed out of the room, shuffling along and casting a quietly fond look over his shoulder.

“Please refrain from setting off smoke alarms.”

Higuruma rolled his eyes, already moving back towards the kitchen. “Just watch. You’ll be begging me to cook more often after this.”

Higuruma started by rifling through the fridge, the pantry, and the cabinets above the sink; rattling glass jars and shuffling cardboard boxes. Gojo wasn't lying about this part at least: the kitchen was set up for them. Fully stocked, and Higuruma reckoned he might actually be able to make something of it. He grinned, feeling pretty confident about his odds. “Beef curry?”

“...mmm.”

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The cabin was all warm, sappy hues as the sun sank fully behind the trees, painting shadows that reminded Nanami of hot cocoa and knitted blankets, the kind of coziness that comes with soft lamps and fairy lights strung along high beamed ceilings. Outside, the dark now released from the creeping treeline pressed inky hands against the windows.

Nanami leaned back in his chair, eyeing the remnants of his meal on the plate with a neutral stare.

There was something off about it.

His desire not to discourage Hiromi’s good intentions naively outweighed his logic though, because he still ate it all, and maybe he would regret that decision later. It wasn’t bad, not even close—there was no taste of rot or spoil, but something that made his mouth tingle and heart thud unlike any curry seasoning he’d ever had.

“Not bad,” he said, setting his fork down with a measured nod. “Your choice in spices was a bit odd… but not bad at all.”

Higuruma felt awful.

He’d stomached it well, with pinched temples he quietly nursed the headache that crept up during the meal like a bad aftertaste, but stiffened ramrod straight at Nanami’s comment.

His brain thudded, thudded, thudded, each beat a jagged staccato as the words sank in, scraping like sandpaper against his nerves. “Not bad?” he echoed, biting through the cozy atmosphere with a bare-tooth grimace. “What do you mean not bad? It was delicious.”

Nanami blinked, surprised by the sudden sharpness and delicately ran a napkin over his mouth. He coughed awkwardly. “I was just offering feedback. It really wasn’t bad.”

The room suddenly felt warmer—too warm. Nanami dismissed it as the lingering heat from the stove, or maybe the spices from the curry, now irritatingly intense as he felt sweat gathering under his collar like humid, panting breaths against his nape.

Higuruma dug his fingers into his temples again, trying to rub away the tension that settled there like a thick fog. It made him woozy, he felt off balance. “Well, I didn’t ask for feedback,” he snapped, the words tumbling out with more venom than he’d intended. He wasn’t usually one to snap so quickly, but something about Nanami’s mild criticism was needling him tonight like a splinter under his skin.

Nanami’s frown deepened. “There’s no need to get so worked up; I apologize for my comment—”

“Worked up?” Higuruma’s dark eyes sparked like lit kindling with a sudden flash of anger. He shoved his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the wooden floor. “You’re the one who started nitpicking. If your standards are so damn high, maybe you should’ve cooked!”

The air between them was heavy with ozone, tension slithered in, curling around the edges of their fraying tempers like blotting vines feasting on their discomfort. The silence that followed was heavy, anticipatory, and those vines grew roots and then fingers, curling into Nanami’s limbs and tightening the muscles on his face into a silent glare.

Nanami gathered up the dishes with a little too much force, the plates clattering together in a way that made the small space shrink smaller, the echoes bouncing off the walls and settling in the corners like something dark and brooding. The darkness that licked at the windows oozed its way inside.

Higuruma crossed his arms, feeling his irritation spike when Nanami turned his shoulder, hot and irrational, a screeching tea kettle in very real danger of boiling over completely. Don’t you dare ignore me.

“Honestly, if your standards are so high, I’m surprised you tolerated it at all. My apologies for displeasing your precious palate.”

Nanami’s hands tightened around the sink basin, his knuckles paling as the metal dug into his skin. Slowly—deliberately—he turned to face Higuruma, meeting his glare head-on. Their eyes snapped together like flint striking steel, cold, unyielding, sparks flying. “Fine. Next time, I’ll cook. That way, we won’t have to worry about your thin skin getting in the way.”

Higuruma’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t answer. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he held his ground, the air between them thickening, charged, shimmering with a tension that hovered like static in the room.

If either of them had been of their right mind, they might have noticed the air almost gleaming—an iridescent shimmer, like the heat rising off the hood of a car on a scorching day, or the sheer coat of yellow that coated nearly every surface, the cutlery, the plates.

Every small movement—an impatient twitch of Nanami’s finger, the brief flare of Higuruma’s nostrils—crackled with a heat that wasn’t entirely their own. Something crept between them, feeding off their frustration, stoking and bolstering the growing fire with every passing second.

Nanami’s glare shifted to the dishes in the sink, smeared plates and bits of rice clinging to the edges. The food had been good—damn good, really—and he hadn’t planned on nitpicking. He’d all but decided not to, but the words grew legs and clawed out of his mouth of their own volition.

Cleaning the dishes was out of the question—his mood was too foul to even consider it.

Higuruma scoffed and turned on his heel, retreating to the living room, his footsteps heavy and banging against the old wooden floorboards. Each footfall landed like the gavel he wields and felt every bit as damning.

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As the night dragged on, the cabin’s cozy charm unraveled at its rotted edges. The soft lights, once warm and inviting, were both too dim to read by and too bright to relax under, casting shadows that twisted nauseatingly on the walls. The couch, which looked so inviting before, might as well have been carved from stone for all the comfort it offered.

And though the house was deceptively spacious, the walls inched closer, closer, closer; tightening the noose around Nanami and Higuruma and forcing them into needless confrontations—over the lights, over which room to claim, over the correct way to handle the fire poker by the chimney.

Higuruma, by this point, had a few creative ideas for its use that had nothing to do with stoking a fire.

Nanami needed distance. A breath. Something to stop the heat crawling up his spine like a fever. He planted himself back at the sink, hands plunging into the soapy water with the kind of force that turned a gentle rinse into an act of war. The clatter of utensils against the porcelain screeched through the small kitchen, each metallic scrape a little too loud, a little too sharp. Water splashed up and soaked into his rolled-up sleeves, each drop that seeped into the fabric felt like a personal insult. He felt positively unmoored.

Every squeak of wet porcelain seemed to mock him, irritation climbing with each stubborn stain he scrubbed that just wouldn’t come out—his sanity hung by gossamer threads.

From the living room, Higuruma’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and loaded with an eye-roll Nanami could picture without even turning. “You don’t have to murder the plates, you know,” Higuruma jeered. “I can hear you all the way in here—that’s how you ruin them.”

Nanami’s grip tightened on the dish, his knuckles blanching white. It was stupid—petty. They never bickered like this, never fell into the brand of mundane sniping reserved for divorcing couples or other miserable types.

He prided himself on keeping calm. Unshakeable. Especially around Higuruma, whose dry wit and effortless ability to slip under his skin kept things lively and interesting. Fun, even.

But tonight? Tonight, everything grated on him. Every word, every sound—the scratch of ceramic, the way Higuruma's voice seemed to curl around the walls and echo back, each bounce sharper than the last. It shredded through the quiet, gnawing at his nerves, leaving them raw and exposed to the stifling air that compressed from every direction like a vacuum.

Nanami thinks he must be sick and Higuruma must be too, because he has just enough clarity to recognize that he doesn’t recognize them at all.

Nanami’s fingers skimmed beneath the sudsy water, brushing against something solid. The unexpected chill of metal met his skin, and his hand stilled as he recognized the shape of the knife buried there. For a moment, it grounded him—quenched the fire licking at his palms, made him feel in control again. He let his fingers curl around the handle, the coolness radiating through his hand and sending a shiver up his spine that felt blessedly soothing.

The blade could make it all stop. Take it. Walk into the living room where Higuruma stands and—

Nanami blinked. The thought dissolved, evaporating as fast as it came back to the void it came from and leaving a sick churn in its wake. He gritted his teeth and dropped the knife back into the sink with a harsh clatter, the sound sharp and final. He wanted to throw it out the window.

Absurd. He was absurd. He’s sick. Surely he must be sick, because he would never think that. Not over something so… nothing.

His thoughts felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else. He wasn’t a beast. He wasn’t a murderer. He’d seen enough bloodshed to know better—he knew better.

The fact that it entered his mind at all almost made him retch.

He wiped his hands on the hanging towel, the rough fabric scraping against his skin and pulling him back from the irrecoverable edge he’d almost stumbled over. Without a word, he turned on his heel, leaving the dishes half-done and the knife abandoned in the sink, as if he could walk away from the sick impulse the kitchen inspired.

The hallway felt longer than it should’ve as he stalked back into the living room, each step heavy, ball-and-chained to his fracturing mind. And there was Higuruma—standing in the small living area, arms crossed, his expression unreadable, half-lit by both lamp and fire and waiting for him.

The shadows carved deep lines into his face, the hooked curve of his nose sharpened by the light, casting him as something almost predatory.

When Nanami stepped into the room, the tension between them snapped taut, a thread wound too tight and ready to break, pulling them closer, reeling them into each other's orbit. It was like standing on the edge of a flame, the heat unbearable and the burn inevitable. They were drawn to each other’s fury, like moths with no choice but to dance in the fire until they turned to ash.

“So rather than be gentler with the dishes, you’re just going to leave them? I suppose you expect me to clean as well as cook?” Higuruma’s voice carved through the room like shattered glass skittering across stone. He didn’t move, didn’t uncross his arms, but his entire stance was a challenge, daring Nanami to step closer, to meet his gaze head-on.

The way his eyes narrowed, locking onto Nanami with stripping intensity sent a fresh wave of anger surging through him, hotter, more vicious.

Nanami froze.

Just keep walking. Ignore him. Keep moving. Bathe and go to bed.

“I’m taking a break,” he said instead, each low word a bullet added to the smoking gun, the calm before a storm that could level mountains. It was a voice that should’ve sent alarms blaring in Higuruma’s mind and made his instincts urge him to back off. It promised reckoning.

If Higuruma weren’t so festered in the pit of his own irrational anger, he might’ve retreated—might’ve backed away from the brewing tempest in Nanami’s eyes.

If he knew that moments ago, Nanami had gripped a knife and entertained thoughts of plunging it deep between his ribs, he might’ve put distance between them.

But if Nanami was sick, Higuruma was sicker. His skin twitched beneath the tight fabric of his dress shirt, shoulders rolling and shuddering in a futile bid to relieve the tension that knotted between them. Sweat slicked his body, glistening in the firelight that painted him in violent hues of orange and red, setting him ablaze from the outside in. He was burning.

His vision dimmed, draining of color until the world was a muted blur—all except for Nanami. Nanami snapped into focus, vivid and pulsing with life, a beacon through the haze of Higuruma’s dilated eyes. He panted, breaths heavy and ragged like a slathering dog, muscles twitching with the need to lunge, to close the distance between them. Restraint frayed at the edges, but all he could think about, all that consumed him, was Nanami. Going to him. Tearing into him.

"Can’t ever—" Higuruma’s voice cracked, struggling to force the words out between teeth clenched so tight he felt a pop in his jaw. "Ask for help, can you?"

A bitter scoff slipped, choked off as his throat seized, the dry walls of his airway sticking together and making his vision swim that much more as he missed another heaving breath. "Always have to be—"

He turned away sharply, a shudder running through him, the effort to keep speaking almost painful; and with it, he hoped to hide his shame at the grossly obvious erection snaking down the seam of his thigh, just as it had been for the past fifteen minutes. "—the lone wolf, thinking you’re so… so independent and fucking cool—"

His breath hissed, a harsh sound that scraped the back of his throat raw down to the bitter copper tang beneath. "So fucking cool—"

Nanami resisted with everything he had, every muscle tensed against the invisible binds that drew him in, demanding he act on impulses that should never see light; should never have been conceived at all.

His fingers twitched at his sides with the urge to act. To do something he’d regret. Wrap them around Higuruma’s throat, maybe, and squeeze until the hate drained out of them both.

He watched as Higuruma began to unravel, each tremor, recognizing the succumbing happening before his eyes as what he felt incubating within himself. It was like staring into a mirror, seeing his own fate playing out in front of him, knowing that it was only a matter of minutes—if he was lucky—before he would break too.

His pulse pounded in his temples, each beat syncing with that silent, relentless pull, dragging him recklessly toward oblivion.

Nanami stalked forward.

Higuruma whirled back around, a sharp animal snap of his neck with teeth bared like a cornered beast. His body jolted upright, spine straightening and meeting Nanami’s advance with a challenge that was all raw instinct—no hesitation, no retreat, only the need to assert dominance.

“What the hell are we really fighting about here? Dishes? Dinner?” Higuruma’s laugh was cold, a bitter thing that didn’t suit him at all. “Or are we dodging the real issue, Nanami? Because I’m begging for an excuse. Give me one, and I swear—” he leaned in as close as he dared, eyelids fluttering at the smell of him even at this distance. “I’ll fight you.”

Nanami didn’t know why they were fighting. Only that they were. And that the scorching compulsion inside him demanded it, devoured him and any dissent whole, certain he would be reduced to ash and hollowed to a bitter husk if he so much as raised a finger against it.

He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. The need to push this until something snapped was compulsive. The only end was cremation in this hellfire, one or both, and his desperation for it ripped him apart from the inside out.

“This isn’t about dinner,” Nanami growled, his voice thick with hot coals. His chest felt tight, air scorched by the words he could barely spit out. “Or losing my weekend to be here.” His fists clenched, nails biting so deeply into his palms that blood welled in the half moons, but the sting was nothing compared to the flames ravaging his veins. He’s in hell—he must be.

“This is about you.” Nanami spat the fever in his mouth, callous and cruel. His shoulders quivered and betrayed him, frenetic pulse having him swooping down towards Higuruma’s face a little too fast, a little too close, nearly eye to eye now before he could reel himself back upright; drunk on the heat of it all.

“About how you are a burden. A constant, incessant, mind-numbing waste that I’d be better off without.” He wanted this. The confrontation and the catharsis that vitriol promised, even if it meant sinking deeper into the hell he was creating.

The space between them nearly evaporated, the air growing so thick they were both choking on it. Nanami could feel Higuruma’s breath ghosting over his skin, gulping for air, his throat bobbing, warm, uneven, alive—a siren call, seductive and dangerous and ruinous.

Break him. Rip, tear, flay—spill blood into the floorboards, let the cellar drink from him.

The thought scorched through Nanami's mind, twisted and raw, and for a moment, neither dared moved, both possessing an instinctive knowing it might provoke the other to pounce. The only sound was their breath, ragged, and the ratcheting pound of the other's heart, both animalistically attuned and tracing bulging arteries up their throats.

Hurt him. The insidious whispers slithered through Higuruma’s mind like smoke, curling around his thoughts, sick with rabid infection. Hit him. You’ve done it before. He despises you. Use the gavel. End it.

Sweat gleamed on Higuruma’s forehead, mirroring the dampness on Nanami’s neck. The air was suffocating, clinging like napalm, thick and oppressive. It was rage—pure, unadulterated rage—but something else too. Something that begged for pain, for release, for an end.

And then Nanami hit the wall.

The impact was savage, brutal. No time to brace. Higuruma slammed him back, the force sending picture frames clattering to the floor. The walls groaned, the very bones of the cabin trembling under the weight of their collision.

Higuruma didn’t hesitate. He was on Nanami in an instant, hands lashing out, cold fingers like steel vices around Nanami��s throat. The pressure was immediate and crushing—but Nanami didn’t flinch. His eyes gored Higuruma with deadly resolve, steel against steel, waiting for the other to break.

Nanami’s eyes narrowed, excitement seeping through his gaze as heat furnaced low in his belly, his breath coming out ragged. Higuruma’s fingers were still wrapped tight around his neck, but Nanami could feel something else—a thrum, a pulse. His cock strained painfully against his slacks, pre-cum already staining the fabric; the matting feel of his hair both enraged and delighted him.

He wasn’t sure when that happened.

He wasn’t sure he cared.

His hand slid up to Higuruma’s wrist, and with the deliberate force of bending iron, began to pry those vice-like fingers from his throat. Higuruma clawed for him, fist shaking with resistance, and every inch of fight only fueled the arousal that snapped sudden through them both like rubber bands.

A cold, metallic chuckle thundered in Nanami’s red throat, mocking with threat. "... Idiot."

He didn't waste another breath—there was no time. With a sharp twist and a powerful surge of his shoulder, Nanami shoved Higuruma back with enough force to send them both crashing into the floorboards.

They thrashed, clawing and bodying into furniture and light fixtures. Higuruma’s knee shot up, slamming into Nanami’s stomach, sending a shockwave of force that knocked the air from his lungs and his cock twitched, pre-cum seeping in thick rivulets down his thigh. Nanami grunted, but the ache only sharpened the edge of his need. Higuruma, too, felt the burn.

In one fluid, desperate motion, Higuruma rolled them over, breaking free from the hold, chest heaving with exertion, straining and throbbing in his pants with every ragged breath. His eyes blazed with fury, but beneath the rage there was something raw and ruinous. His gaze raked over Nanami, lips curled into a snarl, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to rip him apart—and fuck him into the floor. How much he needed to do one or the other or both.

Yellow clouds shaken from surfaces whirlpooled in the humid air. With each breath, Higuruma felt it more acutely—his clothes clung to his skin, and heat laid siege to his body, unbearable, searing. The pollen, the fucking pollen—he could feel it now, twisting his thoughts, his body, and all he wanted was Nanami beneath him, writhing and begging.

Nanami roared and lunged at Higuruma again, throwing him back into the wall with enough force to crack the old oak paneling. The cabin rumbled, books toppled from shelves, and somewhere in another room something glass shattered.

But all Nanami could see was the way Higuruma’s body shuddered at the impact, the way his pupils dilated, his lips parting in a wet gasp—so fucking pretty.

Higuruma choked, the breath knocked from his lungs, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His vision blurred, but the moment it cleared, he saw Nanami standing over him—panting, chest heaving, cock straining visibly against his pants, fabric stained dark and dripping. The visual sent a shiver through him, his stomach clenching hungrily and own body desperately reciprocating.

Each thrash and bit of fight only compelled the other to fight back harder. A cyclical prey-drive, hammering and hammering in the forge until someone broke into the coals.

In the charged, suffocating space between them, the air thickened, pulsing with a desperate craving that bordered on madness. Nanami’s grip tightened, punishing hands clasped around Higuruma’s shoulder and the fine bones of his neck. His fingers curled with creaking slowness against the soft skin and fabric, teasing the promise of bruises and ripped clothes.

Higuruma scrabbled for purchase against Nanami’s arm, spitting and clawing, nails raking down skin and leaving red lines that did nothing to deter the iron-grip on his neck; like the bite of a flea for all the attention Nanami paid it.

Their faces were inches apart, close enough that Nanami could see the fine particles of dust chalking Higuruma’s flushed skin, could feel the heat radiating off him in molten waves. Everywhere they touched the yellow mist was spread to him too, and where it was spread Nanami burned.

His breath juddered in his throat, billowing against Higuruma’s cheek his nostrils flared bullishly. Cologne, sweat, and dust that smelt oddly floral… pollen. Not dust at all.

It was the pollen. It had to be. But there was no time to think about that, not when every nerve in his body was on fire, every muscle twitching with the need to lay claim and consume, because Nanami is certain, so certain, of only one thing: the hellfire raging in his bones was going to kill him if he doesn’t whet it.

The muscles in Nanami’s back convulsed, rippling beneath his shirt as he bent lower, his breath ghosting over Higuruma’s throat. “You smell so good,” he groaned, voice rough and fractured and barely coherent. Had Higuruma always smelled like this? It was intoxicating and overwhelming and Nanami needed him.

He smelled too good. Too irresistible. Too much.

Nanami groaned and pushed Higuruma harder against the wall, the force of it rattling the entire cabin as if trying to shake loose whatever wild thing had taken hold of them both. But it was lodged too deep, its hooks set and curved too permanently.

His knee shoved between Higuruma’s legs, pressing up—hard—right against the throbbing bulge in Higuruma’s pants. Nanami felt the way it pulsed, wet and leaking, pre-cum staining the crotch of Higuruma’s pants so thickly that he felt it through the layers on his knee. And with the way his hips jerked forward, rutting against Nanami’s leg—he liked it.

Higuruma writhed, his body twisting and turning, but it wasn’t rage anymore. The way Nanami’s breath hitched, the way his muscles tensed and twitched—Higuruma felt it all, and it was driving him insane, breaking him down until all he could think about was the way Nanami had him pinned to the wall, how Nanami’s knee ground into his weeping cock, Nanami, Nanami, Nanami.

The clawing desperation to peel himself away was tossed in favor of frantic tugging, nails catching on rolled sleeves to yank Nanami closer.

Nanami’s world narrowed, everything outside the two of them fading into a tunnel of pulsing, seething hunger. Irreversibly dialed to the slick heat of Higuruma’s body pressed against his, the frantic beat of his pulse beneath Nanami’s hand, the sweat that trickled down Higuruma’s temple. He wanted to taste it, drag his tongue across that feverish skin, feel Higuruma’s pulse in his mouth and swallow it down gluttonously.

He leaned in closer, breath scalding against Higuruma’s ear as he gritted out the words, each one clawing its way from the depths of his chest and leaving the cavity bloody. He was gone—too far gone to reel himself back, yet somehow, impossibly, not quite lost. There was just enough of him left, clinging by a thread, enough to ask—beg, really—and pray that if the answer was no, he could resist just long enough for Higuruma to hit him and knock him blissfully unconscious.

Even if it killed him. Even if he were to self-immolate. It would be better.

“Tell me you feel it too… shit, I—” His voice broke, shivering, “I need you—”

The words barely left his mouth before Higuruma lunged, crashing his mouth against Nanami’s in a collision of lips and teeth. It wasn’t a kiss—it was raw, violent, a clash of urgency and rage. Their teeth clacked, tongues desperate and frantic, and Nanami groaned, low and deep, as he shoved Higuruma harder against the wall, hips grinding forward in a furious effort to fuse them together.

There was no room for dignity or restraint—just the unbearable need to fuck, to tear each other apart until they were satisfied.

Nanami’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he gripped Higuruma tighter, fingers digging into the muscle beneath his shirt. The fabric tore beneath his grasp, threads snapping, and Nanami relished in the sound of buttons skittering somewhere across the room and lost to corners, the sensation of skin bared to him.

Higuruma’s hands clawed at Nanami’s back, fingers digging into tense and quivering muscles. Every nerve in his body was on fire, skin too sensitive, cock hardened to the point of pain with every desperate twitch of his hips. “Nanami—” The sound that came from his throat was jagged, agonized and barely comprehensible.

“I know—fuck—I know,” Nanami rasped, shushing and pacifying in a way suddenly tender in his understanding, each word dragging as if ground over sandpaper. He leaned closer, lips brushing Higuruma’s ear, his breath billowing and hot.

“You’re going to take it. Every inch, every bit of me until you can’t think straight—” nevermind that they already can’t think at all. Nanami hardly recognized himself. “—can you do that for me?”

Higuruma’s nails raked down Nanami’s back, whining and blinkered by lust to the point of muteness. Nanami could’ve asked him to peel his nails off and he would’ve if he thought it would feel good.

It spurred Nanami on, feeling his heart drop to his diaphragm to instead beat between his thighs. He didn’t waste another second, his hand shooting down between them, fingers trembling as he fumbled with the waistband of Higuruma’s pants. The button snapped free with a sharp pop, and Nanami tore the fabric apart, shoving his hand into Higuruma’s boxers without finesse.

His hand wrapped around the base of Higuruma’s cock, and the slick, hot pulse of it was almost enough to send Nanami over the edge right there. It was drenched, pre-cum spilling in obscene amounts, leaking down his hand, coating his palm in slippery warmth that dripped between his fingers. Fuck, he’s soaked. Higuruma was trembling, hips jerking into Nanami’s grip, chasing the friction with desperate, needy little thrusts.

“Fuck—Nanami, it hurts—” Higuruma gasped, voice cracking and jumping in Nanami’s fist, dripping onto the floor in the beginnings of a milky puddle.

“I know, I know,” Nanami groaned, voice low and wrecked, half-mad. He released Higuruma’s cock only long enough to yank his own pants down, fingers catching on the waistband in his rush to bare himself. He sprang free, and the sight of himself—hard as steel, already oozing to mat the honey blonde curls of hair on his belly—made him groan, muscles twitching with the need to bury himself inside Higuruma now. “I’ve… I’ve got you. Gonna help—”

There was no time for slow, no time for careful. None of the things he would’ve liked to do. No courtship, no gentle touches, no wining and dining, no chance to savor the feeling of peeling Higuruma away from the realm of friendship.

Nanami’s thoughts scattered like fractals, catching briefly on things like sunflowers—would Higuruma like if he bought them?—but the descending fog swallowed them whole.

Nanami groaned, he spun Higuruma around, slamming him chest-first into the wall with a force that rattled the entire cabin. The sharp sound of breath leaving Higuruma’s lungs was like gasoline on an open flame, and Nanami felt his erection twitch painfully, expanding more, oozing in a steady drip from the swollen tip. So much it felt like he might’ve cum already, but the ache in his balls told him otherwise—he hadn’t even begun.

Higuruma braced his hands against the wall, panting, his whole body trembling under Nanami’s weight. “Do it,” Higuruma snarled, thick with desperation and edged with defiance… or maybe just bravery in the face of what he knew was coming; both were equally admirable. “Please fuck me—I need it… it hurts—”

Nanami whimpered low in his throat, his hands gripping Higuruma’s hips, yanking him back roughly, aligning his pelvis with Higuruma’s ass. The head of his cock was so swollen it raged purple, slit weeping a thick coat that dripped down his length, soaking the base of Higuruma’s spine. It wasn’t normal—none of this was normal—but Nanami couldn’t bring himself to care.

He pressed the tip of his cock against Higuruma’s rim, smearing pre-cum over the tight ring of muscle and creating a slick runway as he dragged the head up and down, coating Higuruma in it. A small mercy, all things considered.

Higuruma’s body tensed, muscles bunching up beneath his skin as Nanami pushed against him, testing the resistance and hissed at the stars that blew across his eyes. The pressure built, intense, unrelenting, until Nanami thrust forward in one hard, savage motion, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke.

Higuruma howled, fingers gouging into the wall, tearing the lacquer as his body arched violently, breath coming in jagged, broken rasps. It was too much—too intense, too fast—but exactly what he needed and Nanami knew it.

Pain blurred into pleasure, the overwhelming fullness inside him, the brutal stretch—until there was no distinction left between agony and ecstasy. It all melted, streaming him into a state beyond either. He was euphoric, and the way he immediately shoved back into Nanami made it abundantly obvious.

Nanami froze, eyes rolling to their whites in a way that obliterated any semblance of dignity, the scalding heat inside Hiromi nearly buckling his legs. The way Hiromi squeezed, quivered, and trembled around him had Nanami teetering, hand lashing out to the wall for support and crushing over Higuruma’s knuckles instead.

“Fuu-haah—” The curse fizzled and died on his tongue, useless and defunct. And then Nanami moved, a brutal, unrelenting force, each thrust shaking them both to their very foundations. Flesh pounded against sticky flesh, echoing in the space in a way so pornographic that it might’ve made Nanami blush under regular circumstances.

But this wasn’t regular. His fingers slipped between Higuruma’s pinning them both to the wall.

Dinner and sunflowers.

Nanami’s mind flickered with a different fantasy altogether—far sweeter than the damnable pollen on his tongue, the softness he had wanted to offer Hiromi. That calm domesticity, the gentleness Nanami thought he should’ve given. But here they were, drowning and clawing at each other to stay afloat.

Higuruma’s body rocked with every thrust, his own cock dripping against the wall, smearing in gooey, messy trails. He was completely lost, undone by the feeling of Nanami inside him—stretching him, molding him. Every stroke sent a wave of pleasure-pain through his body, chipping moans from his throat, making him claw at the wall, desperate for more, desperate for anything and everything, and he took it greedily.

Nanami’s free hand slid around, wrapping firmly around Higuruma’s length. He squeezed, stroking in time with the thrusts that had Higuruma corseted to the wall. “You’re mine,” Nanami murmured, voice thick and tongue useless in his mouth, far better suited for lapping at Higuruma’s neck than talking, and so he does.

If Higuruma was his, Nanami would spend the rest of his life making it up to him. He’d worship him. Take him out for dinners, make sure he laughed, filled his life with comfort, and this—this would be a secret they’d share. A private thing to laugh about and remember rather than the source of shame Nanami feared. He’d—fuck, he’d get him sunflowers everyday. During the winter he’d grow them himself if he had to—

“Please say it,” he crackled, desperate, impeaching. Suddenly this mattered to him.

Higuruma’s breath caught, quivering with each brutal batter into his body, already cracking like pressured glass. “Yours,” he gasped, his voice staticky with gravel, shredded from the moans that never once stopped dripping helplessly from spit-slick lips.

“Fuck, Nanami, I’m yours—”

That was all Nanami needed.

Higuruma’s submission wasn’t just some indulgence of lust. It was deeper than that, something in his very bones. Nanami saw it clearly now—the dormant part of Higuruma that craved being tethered, the wolf who wanted to be collared, domesticated into a dog. And Nanami was more than willing to bear the leash, to hold it firm and tender in his grip, to guide Higuruma through his surrender.

Nanami possessed Higuruma so beautifully, so thoroughly responsible for him, that it inspired nothing but heart-stopping adoration in the delirious mess of a man beneath him.

The thought shot through Nanami like a bullet, inspiring furious determination to do away with the awful edges where Higuruma ended and he began. His hips snapped forward, thrusting with brutal purpose, hammering into Higuruma with a force that sought to unmake them both, return them to stardust or whatever primordial pool they crawled out of. And Higuruma, with every ragged moan, took it. No, more than that, he welcomed it.

Drool slid unashamedly down Higuruma’s chin, cheek squished to the wall, his throat convulsing with every slam of Nanami��s cock inside him so deep he swears he feels him in his ribs. His voice was nothing but a mess of broken syllables now— “Na-na-mi—!”—barely managing his lover’s name in the mess of spit and pathetic mewling.

“Harder,” Higuruma gasped, voice shredded beyond recognition, hips rutting desperately into Nanami’s hand, chasing that final bit of friction, that last agonizing piece just at the tip of his tongue. “Fu–uu–uu-ck, please—m’gonna—”

Ever his servant Nanami’s fist tightened around Higuruma’s cock, knuckles white with the force of his grip as he stroked him, rougher than he liked it himself, but exactly how he thought Higuruma needed it because he thought he might appreciate a firm hand. So salaciously determined is he to milk every drop of pleasure from him, to exorcize this feralness from their bodies.

That’s all it took. Higuruma’s entire body went rigid before shattering gloriously—

He convulsed, spine arching violently off the wall as his orgasm tore through him, ripping a raw, choked cry from his throat. Hot, thick ropes spilled over Nanami’s fingers, and the rest splattered messily against the wall. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp as the overwhelming mix of pain and relief threatened to drown him. His legs buckled, but Nanami held him upright, speared by Nanami’s cock and the firm grip that kept him from crumbling entirely.

Nanami slowed just for a moment, enraptured by the ruin beneath him, feeling the others' orgasm with ferocious synchronicity like a punch to the gut.

Higuruma was still trembling, breath uneven, each gasp shaky and erratic. “Please, just—” Nanami gripped his hips, dragging him back into place, and with a breathless choke, “—please don’t stop me—I can’t… I still need—”

Nanami bent him, his forearms flexing in a restraining pin around his chest and waist; Higuruma curled and arched back, and back, and back into him like some lewd figurehead of a ship.

“Fuck, Nanami… please—more.” Higuruma’s voice was impoverished, hands clawing at the walls until wood splintered beneath the blunt bite of his nails, desperate to hold onto something, anything, as Nanami drove into him, the force of it pushing him further up the wall with each sloppy thrust as his cock continued to sputter against frayed and scratched wood—impossibly unspent.

The tension in Nanami’s gut coiled tighter and tighter, a spring wound to its breaking point before finally—

It snapped with a final, brutal thrust, and he met his first orgasm with an embarrassing cry—raw, desperate, echoing through each fierce contraction that tore through him. His grip on Higuruma’s hand tightened as he whined against the damp skin of his neck, shuddering with every hot, thick pulse that spilled deep inside his lover. He gasped raggedly, gulping for air over flushed, bitten skin as he rode out the last shivers of release, clinging to Higuruma as if the world would fall away without him.

Their bodies slumped together, breaths mingling. Higuruma’s forehead pressed against the wall, and for a moment, everything was still except for the lingering tremors that juddered them both. Nanami’s breath was hot against his neck; his lips dragged over the skin, pressing kisses of apology, gratitude, pleading.

But it wasn’t enough. The insistent burn beneath their skin, the gnawing ache, still simmered. They could both feel it—this madness that refused to release its grip, no matter how hard they tried to bury it.

“Nanami,” Higuruma panted. His hands, now trembling, scraped roughly against the splintered wood. He forced himself to turn, just enough to catch a glimpse of Nanami’s face—flushed, tense, eyes squeezed shut in agony. “Are you… are you okay?”

Nanami’s answer was a slow shake of his head, breath bitten between clenched teeth.

“I… still feel it,” he confessed, voice rough, strained, composure stripped and leaving him shamelessly wanton. He swallowed, trying to regain some control of only his voice, but it was useless. A frustrated groan slipped out, his hips twitching forward unconsciously, still buried deep inside Higuruma, hard as iron and showing no sign of letting up. “It’s not enough… fuck, it’s not enough.”

Higuruma’s heart pounded, the reality of their situation sinking in. He should be sated, exhausted even, but his body was already responding to Nanami’s words, the fire rekindling with a vengeance—the refractory period of some debauched god, not the exhausted thirty six year old man he knows himself to be. He’s never been so hard in his life.

Without another word, Nanami tightened his hold on Higuruma, stumbling back on shaky legs until they sank to the floor. There was a brief, fleeting moment of tenderness as Nanami held Higuruma close, twisting him around so they could face each other.

Higuruma was ruined. Spit wet his chin and cheek, his hair spiked in all directions beyond repair, and eyes dilated so eclipsing of their pupils that Nanami can barely see the whites either.

Supple, pliant, and so beautiful.

“Higuruma…” Nanami’s voice was breathless and heavy, but there was a new softness to it—a plea woven through the desperation like wicker baskets, only hoping they’d hold the weight of emotions he was too addled to carry.

His hands found Higuruma’s, guiding them to his broad shoulders with a gentle insistence. He yearned for him with a presence of mind he lacked before. He’d needed a body, that was all, and that hadn’t changed… but Nanami wanted him.

“Please—”

The word broke from him, cracked and vulnerable, as his fingers tightened around Higuruma’s hip, trembling with the effort to stay anchored. He slid his hand down, cupping the curve of Higuruma’s ass and giving a firm, urging push, his wide, desperate eyes locking onto Higuruma’s, beseeching and pained.

Higuruma cupped Nanami’s face in his hands, the same hands that ruined a wooden wall possessed with something more gentle now, he cradled him like something fragile.

He looked at Nanami like he’d never seen him before, and in a way, he hadn’t. Not like this—not so ruined.

He leaned in, capturing Nanami’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, pouring every ounce of weight and nebulous bit of emotion into it. His thighs tightened around Nanami’s hips as he lifted himself up and then dropped back down onto Nanami’s cock. Fire met with the gasoline in his blood, reigniting anew.

He was always meant to be burned by Nanami.

He would give and take until there was nothing left.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

When the sun rose it did so sluggishly.

Like it too was afraid of what it might find inside the unassuming little cottage. Its eye rose hesitant over the trees, golden spears shot through windows and sheer curtains, illuminating the carnage strewn about the floors.

Anything not nailed down was toppled, the knick-knacks so meticulously arranged knocked to the floor or shattered, books indecently fluttered their pages in dead air, and the floors, the walls, and the upholstered leather of the couch were thoroughly destroyed.

Claw marks and stuffing, the odd bite taken out of the arm of a chair and left punctured with teeth—but no blood, no murder, no bodies—except for two, very much alive and tangled in a mess of limbs and sticky flesh on what remained of the couch.

Nanami’s leg dangled off the edge, one arm limp against the floor, while the other curled a cradle around Higuruma’s back where he slumped on his shoulder—drooling, snoring, and finally sated.

The man was peaceful—vulnerable in a way that tugged something deep in Nanami’s chest.

Nanami didn’t sleep.

Not much, at least.

He stayed vigilant, his thoughts churning like a storm at sea. Once they were both… “well” … he’d agonized, he’d thought, he’d theorized. He’d seethed and spat in his head like a rabid animal, every part of him on edge, because he knew this wasn’t right. This wasn’t simply an explosive culmination of little repressed desires—though he did take some time to consider the implications of what this would mean for his relationship with Higuruma tomorrow. No, this was something done to them.

He remembered reading the report about a curse Gojo exorcized once—one that could induce euphoria, passivity, bending the mind to its will through flower fields. If a curse could do that, then why not something more sinister? Something that could twist emotions, heighten them to the point of madness. Rage, hate, lust… such a curse wouldn’t need to act violently itself; it could simply turn its victims into weapons, feeding off the very emotions it created. The implications set a chill in his gut, heavy and unsettling.

Couple murders. One survivor. Confusion. The details were sparse in the file, but Nanami recalled those morbid little highlights, and with a new day dawning he knew he had to settle the theory that stewed in his head all night.

With a careful touch Nanami’s arm tightened around Higuruma’s shoulders, supporting his back as he rolled them over as gently as he could manage.

Higuruma grumbled inarticulately, Nanami inhaled and froze, hovering… the snoring resumed, and so too did Nanami exhale. He arranged Higuruma’s limbs so he’d be more comfortable, making sure long legs and bruised arms were tucked properly onto the fluff-bleeding cushions. His hand lingered a moment longer as he lifted Higuruma’s head to place on a pillow, fingers dipped in inky hair with soft consideration.

His palm brushed once, easing the tufted cowlicks on his head before he withdrew.

Nanami stood, his chiseled jaw clenched, determination hardening his features as he turned away from the couch. Without a backward glance, he marched to the front door, each step measured and purposeful.

Nanami didn’t bother with clothes as his feet pounded the floor, the cool wood unforgiving against his bare skin. He gripped the door knob like it was the throat of an enemy, twisting and flinging it with a force that should’ve sent the door flying—yet it didn’t budge. “Hah…” he chuckled, darkly amused. He tried again, muscles flexing, veins bulging with effort— how embarrassing, he mused, only if he hadn’t expected exactly this.

He moved to the kitchen. The window above the sink brightly lit with cheerful morning gold, dripping jewels from dewy grass on the gravel drive. He reached for the small metal latch, hope flickering in his chest like a dying ember—sealed.

“I fucking knew it,” he laughed despite himself, near hysterical at his idiocy. His hand found its way to his hip, the other raking through irreversibly tousled wheat hair.

“Knew what?”

Nanami’s flinched to hear Higuruma speak. He whirled around, finding him propped up on the couch, one arm slung over the torn and fuzzy backrest, his expression groggy but attentive.

“The door won’t open,” Nanami said with a derisive snort.

“—and you wanted to go outside naked because—?”

“The windows too. I can’t open them.”

Higuruma’s brow furrowed, sleep slowly ebbing away as he propped one knee up, hooking an elbow around it while resting his head atop the makeshift pillow. “And…?”

“They’re not real, Higuruma.”

Oh, so he’s lost it, Higuruma thought.

Higuruma blinked, a moment of confusion flashing in his eyes before he smothered it beneath a well-practiced mask of calm. His lips curled into a placating smile, the kind one gives to a person on the verge of breaking. “I see…” he didn’t.

“... are you feeling alright?” His voice was steady, honed by decades of smothering nerves beneath layers of practiced indifference. But he could feel the exhaustion pulling at his edges, the dregs of whatever had been in his system finally clearing. If Nanami wasn’t good, if he had truly lost it, then…

Nanami groaned, shaking his head as he strode back to the couch. “We’re in a domain, Higuruma. We probably have been since we walked through the door.”

That pulled Higuruma out of his spiraling thoughts. He scoffed, disbelieving that that was the conclusion Nanami arrived at. “No—no, we would’ve noticed.”

Nanami grunted in response, his focus on the rubble scattered across the floor. He crouched down, rifling through the mess with a single-minded determination until he found his boxers. He stepped into them with the kind of force that spoke volumes about the rage simmering beneath his skin. “Mess with my fucking head—my fucking body …I don’t fucking think so.”

“Wouldn’t we have noticed?” Higuruma insisted. He scrambled off the couch, the cool air biting at his skin as he tried the door, then the windows—no dice. He blinked owlishly. How hadn’t they noticed?

“Wait, where are you going?”

Higuruma watched, a mix of awe and concern tightening his chest, as Nanami, clad only in his boxers and wielding his signature black-and-white blade, stormed across the living room. The destruction underfoot crunched with each step, like the ground itself was trembling beneath his ire. He moved with the purpose of an angry deity, his eyes narrowed in determination. “I’m going to find it, of course.” The rest of his ensemble seemed irrelevant, the sheer force of his anger making everything else redundant. At the very least, Nanami refused to face his quarry with his dick out.

Higuruma scrambled for his clothes, now little more than torn scraps, but managed to yank on a pair of boxers, matching Nanami’s hurried attire. “Try going up,” he suggested, breathless, hopping in place to work an uncooperative leg through the leg hole.

“Is there an attic?” Nanami’s voice was sharp, all business as they moved in unison down the hallway, weapons gripped with white-knuckled determination, intent on receiving their pound of flesh in return for their dignity.

Higuruma nodded, still catching his breath. “I believe so. The house looked taller from the outside.”

Heat rises. The thought flashed between them, unspoken yet understood. The sweltering flames that burned them from the night before would have naturally ascended, carrying with it the intoxicating miasma that fueled whatever twisted curse that ensnared them, up to the highest point. Simple physics.

Nanami for all of his composure (last night notwithstanding) was always careful on the job. You would not know this by how he kicked down the door at the top of the stairs, blowing it clear of its hinges and obliterating it with a violent explosion of splintered wood.

“Where are you…”

The thing skittered down from the rafters, a grotesque, spider-like abomination with far too many limbs that clicked and chittered as it descended. Its body was an obscene, fleshy mass, swollen and pulsing as if ready to burst, its skin stretched thin over the bloated form beneath. It laughed in that eerie, tinny way curses do, mandibles clicking and many eyes rolling to devour the two men in the doorway.

It was slow, fat and sluggish, engorged on the feast they’d unwittingly provided, dragging itself across the floor with an unnatural, bone-crunching crawl. Its limbs twitched sporadically, like it couldn’t quite control them, its movements erratic and nauseating to watch.

Nanami liked to take his time, usually. Liked to assess his enemy and make sure there were no nasty surprises waiting for him once he engaged. Because Nanami was a careful man, even moreso when he isn’t alone. But not this time. There was no patience left in him.

Nanami’s eyes blazed with the cold, righteous fury of a vengeful god. Ratios lined his vision, spinning and locking into place with terrifying clarity. He swung his blade in a wide, brutal arc.

The strike was perfect.

Wooden boards shattered beneath the force of his blade as it sliced through bloated curse flesh, spewing rotten blood across Nanami’s bare skin. The creature shrieked and twitched violently, its many legs flailing in a grotesque, desperate dance before it seized up and fell still. The curse evaporated into dust… but not the usual gray ash he’d come to expect.

Yellow spores billowed into the air, and Nanami immediately hurled himself backward, instinctively bodying Higuruma aside and away from the cloud. The panic was swift and visceral, propelling him out of harm’s way as he crowded Higuruma into a safer corner.

Higuruma staggered slightly from the force but quickly steadied himself, feeling the air around them clear, becoming lighter, easier to breathe. The light filtering through the dusty old window seemed a little brighter now, cutting through the gloom with a newfound sharpness.

Nanami’s shoulders were tense, muscles flexing as he adjusted his grip on the blade’s fabric-bound handle. Higuruma couldn’t see Nanami’s ratio lines, but he could see the red welts and scratches marring his back, the way the skin stretched taut over them and surely must sting—but Nanami didn’t flinch.

Higuruma is silent for a moment, neither of them speak, letting the feeling of closure dawn well and truly over them before finally Higuruma sighed and relaxed his grip on his own weapon, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. “Well… I suppose that’s taken care of.”

Nanami straightened, his exhale feeling every bit the exorcism he’d just performed. His hand reflexively reached for his throat, adjusting a tie that wasn’t there, on a suit he wasn’t wearing. He grimaced, prickling.

“...It would seem so.”

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Scalding shower water and floral-scented soap that made Nanami’s stomach churn and skin shiver with thoughts of flowers, and petals, and pollen, and Higuruma—they took turns cleaning themselves one after the other. Nanami first, scrubbing his skin with a fervor that bordered on obsession, as if the force of his hands could erase not just the icy streaks of purple curse blood, but the memory of how it got there and every other substance that clung to his weary body.

After him, Higuruma took his place in the steamy room, letting water pound against his bruised and aching back, head bowed under the spray and washing away far more than dust and grime. It was a baptism, a cleansing, until the water that swirled down the drain ran clear and took with it the last bit of curse-induced grit and fucked dumb-ness from his brain.

The house invented its own gravity well, warping all sounds and emotions, all feelings except for what it wanted them to feel. But now that pull was gone. Their feet were no longer nailed down by that otherworldly weight; they were grounded once again by the earth's natural pull, back in the same plane as everyone else, free from the almost-world of the domain.

Nanami had already called Ijichi, arranging their extraction with the kind of professional detachment that belied everything that transpired within these walls. “We’re both fine,” and “it’s been dealt with,” and “yes, at your earliest convenience, thank you.”

Now, with nothing left to do but wait, Higuruma and Nanami moved around each other with dancing steps, choreographed avoidance and refusal to so much as bump into each other—because what if one thing led to another, and what if they weren’t quite right yet and it started again, and what if they said something stupid—

Higuruma ran a hand through his still damp hair, grimacing at his inability to bridge the gap. There was no precedent for what they’d done, no documentation for him to point at and say “hey, here’s what we do now”.

Things had never been tense with Nanami. Their connection had always been easy, natural��colleagues by circumstance, friends by choice. They shared the same burden, the same grim determination to do what needed to be done and the understanding that someone had to do it. Misery loves company, and theirs had always been more than just a shared duty.

But that was before they’d fucked like their lives depended on it.

Funny how that changes things.

There was a carefulness in the way they moved now, an awareness that hadn’t been there before. Nanami was stiff and brittle, seeming almost afraid to get too close, like he couldn’t quite reconcile what he’d done with who he thought he was.

Higuruma, perceptive as always, kept his distance; not wanting to push too hard and break whatever fragile equilibrium they’d managed to find; because this wretched silence was still preferable to the breakup of their friendship.

It was almost comical, really, how they could teeter so close to the precipice of something meaningful and yet Higuruma found himself holding back. Like a cat eyeing a fishbowl, the temptation there, the desire to reach out and take the leap, but deciding against the jump because he was afraid he wouldn’t stick the landing.

But Higuruma had never been one to shy away from the truth. He’d made a career out of cutting through bullshit, and he wasn’t about to stop now even with potentially catastrophic consequences. So, with a resolve that brooked no argument, he weed-wacked the silence and leveled Nanami’s turned back with a look that would’ve dismantled a lesser man.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” He began abruptly. “But you’re a good friend of mine, Nanami—and if it’s up to me, that won’t change. So if we’re going to forget that this happened, just tell me so I can do the same. We need to be on the same page at the very least.”

Nanami surveyed the world outside the wide open living room window as if it were his kingdom. Quietly and greedily inhaling the fresh air that swept in, and with it went out the sordid smog that clung like film wrap to his brain. He’d been eager to confirm the windows would indeed open now with the curse exorcized—they did. He also wanted an excuse to silently gather himself—the window provided.

Nanami didn’t turn to face him, but the way his head lifted just so made it clear he was listening intently.

His gaze stayed riveted on the horizon outside, where the morning sun bled gold into the sky. Wishing that same light would illuminate the jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings he’d agonized over while Higuruma slept and highlight the way forward.

He thought he could handle it—both the mission and the man with him—but the pollen stripped him raw, naked to the soul. It was ugly and far from what Higuruma deserved; both physically and the cold words traded before it.

If Higuruma was his…

The thought alone made his stomach knot, a quiet yearning twisting inside him like hemlock. Nanami wanted so much more than what they’d been forced into—wanted to take his time, to show Higuruma the care and consideration he was worth. There should have been dinners, quiet conversations over wine, the slow unfolding of something deeper than friendship. It should’ve been a courtship, not a violent collision of hunger and curse-driven madness.

But what was done was done. No amount of wishing could undo it, and now, standing on the other side of the night, Nanami knew he had to make it right. He wanted to with a sincerity that bordered on desperation.

Because if Higuruma was his…

Nanami felt the longing bloom again, a poison that seeps closer and closer to his heart. He would give him everything. Anything he wanted—days filled with small comforts and nights spent wrapped in the quiet intimacy of just being together. He would repair Higuruma’s suit, take him out for the best meals, buy him flowers, and pour his drinks. He would worship him in every way a man could be worshiped, not just in moments of passion but in all the mundane, unspoken ways that truly mattered.

He indulged those thoughts while Higuruma slept, when the yearning of the body surrendered to the yearning of the heart. Nanami allowed his brutally thick arms to hold him just a little tighter, relishing those small hours of peace before he knew everything would change. It was as inevitable as watching the sun slowly rise through the windows, shedding light on the destruction they’d wrought; change would come, and he didn’t know from which direction he should protect himself when the path diverged.

But those hours of clandestine coveting seemed a lifetime ago, more a fantasy than a possibility. Higuruma’s voice was firm, almost clinical, as he tried to set the parameters of their future interactions. We need to be on the same page, he said, and Nanami felt a stab of regret that they weren’t already.

We don’t have to talk about it.

Nanami knew that was true, but it was the very thing that gnawed at him. They could sweep it under the rug, pretend it hadn’t happened, and go back to the way things were—but Nanami wasn’t sure he could. Not when he thought he felt something, saw something, in Higuruma. The path split before him now—safety and risk, retreating back or shouldering forward. Maybe he’d lost his mind a mile or so back.

Nanami finally turned to face him, the morning light catching whiskey eyes and flambéing them with ardent certainty. He didn’t know how to say it. He’d always been good with words but never this kind, but words didn’t know that when they tumbled out anyway.

“I don’t want to forget,” he confessed.

It was a start.

“I will not just brush this aside, Higuruma. You… mean a great deal to me.” What a pisspoor excuse of a confession, he thought bitterly.

He cleared his throat, met Higuruma’s shrewd eyes and fought against every impulse to look away. He forged ahead.

“Last night… wasn’t us. And I know that that is not how I would’ve wanted things to go if ever we were to…” he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely. But Higuruma nodded, understanding the words in the silence and encouraged him on.

“But it felt like—to me, at least, like maybe there was something there. Something worth doing differently, if you feel the same way.”

“I want to make it right. In fact, I insist on making it right, if you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken truths, the kind that couldn’t be easily unpacked in the span of a few seconds or weakly uttered confessions and pleas. Nanami’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat a tolling bell with the hope that maybe, just maybe, Higuruma would understand—that he’d see through the mess of it all to the sincerity underneath.

Because for all his equanimity, Nanami couldn’t shake the truth he’d arrived at while Higuruma slept that seeded itself in his chest: If Higuruma was his, he’d never stop trying to make him happy. He’d never stop wanting this.

“And I’d like to start with that drink… if you’re still amenable to that.”

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The first tentative days turned to months, and then years.

Work-related dinners with the occasional bar visit to unwind effortlessly transitioned into intimate date nights. A strange bond formed in the crucible of something neither of them could ever explain, tempered with time and the endless patience of two men lucky enough to know what they have. Higuruma and Nanami repaired their relationship with gold, filigree filling the cracks and turning it far more beautiful than it began.

Now, when the two found themselves on the sun-drowned beaches of Malaysia, toes buried in hot sand with matching skin-warmed gold bands clasped in woven hands, they might mention that one time and laugh.

A humorous anecdote from a lifetime ago where Higuruma insists that that one time is the cause of his persisting back pains, and Nanami asserts that the scars that litter his back and arms are not from a curse at all but from that one time.

And when Nanami glanced at Higuruma, face turned toward the sun with a blissful smile on his face, Nanami allowed himself to smile too. He’d made up for it in every way that mattered so long as he could see Higuruma smile like that, and he would keep doing so for the rest of their lives.

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aliorsboxostuff · 1 year ago

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Soft Morning ☀️

#higunana #higuruma hiromi #jjk higuruma #jjk nanami #nanami kento #higuruma x nanami #hiromi x nanami #nanami x higuruma #jjk art #jjk fanart #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen art #im in DENIAL of my wifes death #so he gets a nice revival

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baobei-bu · 4 months ago

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happy halloween

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo smut #geto suguru #geto x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma smut

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tonycries · 1 month ago

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STUFFED.

Synopsis. How many inches until he can see his díck in you from the outside?

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, tummy buIges, cúmflation, cervíx kíssing, d imprints, fitting it, they’re BIG, PÚSSYDRÚNK MEN, matíng presses, dúmbification, p talking, spítting, Choso’s powers, cúmplay, headIlocks, marathons, bréeding, GOJO’S POWERS, creampíes, true form Sukuna, dp, overstím, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 9-inch nudge

“T-Toji–” Your loosened lips gloss over with a thin trickle of mindless drool, heart-filled eyes struggling to keep open and take a long look at the sight right below you. “What- what are you doing?”

Well, rendering you completely thoughtless with repeated thrashes of his vulgar inches is what.

And Toji Fushiguro would have tittered out those words just to see the way your features scrunch in cute irritation. He would have rolled his verdant eyes merely to feel your clingy grip around him tighten needily - but the man was busy right now.

Barely even straying his half-lidded gaze up at you - instead, he’s planting three smearing taps on your weeping slit. Stretching out his thickly-padded thumb and his index wiiide open to measure-

You’re heaving in murked clouds of breath, heedlessly counting eight- no, nine inches through glassy eyes. “What are you even hah- m-measuring?”

“Tch, y’know.” Pinkish tongue darting out drivel along his jagged scar - that’s all it takes for you to know that you were in for it. “Jus’ how deeply m’gonna make that cute tummy bulge w’me, doll.”

Oh.

Just those simple words were enough for your straining thighs to tremble with yet another sheeny geyser of syrupy slick. Lathering Toji’s bulky base with all sorts of velvety droplets that make him groan, flicking over a calloused thumb to tease your pussy into making an even bigger mess.

“Oho?” He’s raising one brow, pressing on the perked button of your clit and making your head tumble back with a keen. Thumbing wet little writings of his name on it over n’ over, “Ya liked that, huh? The i-idea of me ngh makin’ a mark from the inside? Filthy giiirl, ‘course ya did.”

“M-me?” And you don’t know just how cockdrunken you are at this point to think that bickering with a sultry, taunting Toji would do any good. But, hey, he always did love a feisty woman. And the way your lower lip wobbles into a pout as you huff and puff makes his swollen cock stretch your muggy walls only wider, “You’re the one hah- m-measuring and- and talking about a bulge-”

“-and m’dead fucking serious.” Toji’s willowy eyes narrow, ravenous gaze hidden away by a curtain of long lashes and inky bangs. But you still feel your heart race at his utter intensity, “Lemme show ya, ma.”

He was serious - he is.

In less than it takes your dewy pussylips to throb with a depraved ba-dump–! Toji’s clawing down one engulfing hand right onto the perspired crown of your head. Warm skin meeting your tizzy head harshly.

Snarling his sleazy grin up at you with a slight snicker, before flexing his mouth-watering biceps and pushing- “Stretch. F-fucking stretch now-”

“Fuh-fuuuck–” Your eyes leak steady rivulets of tears at the sheerly raw reach, the way he didn’t even have to try to swab milky gumdrops of pre at your innermost orifices. Fucking you open with just the gluey scour of his bawling tip trying urgently to fit inside, “Fuck me- fuck me, Toji–”

“S’what m’ ah- doing, silly girl.” Now, he’s rolling his eyes once your jiggling ass perches on the solidly full curve of his breeder balls and squirms. “So be my good fuckin’ girl and t-take it.”

And it’s all that you can do.

Bowing your spine into the perfect semi-circle curvature to angle your hips even deeper. Jittery thighs gyrating against Toji’s toned obliques with every striking pap! he skids viciously against your goopy depths. It was maddening, and you’re finding yourself latching precariously onto his voluptuous deltoids to try and regain some semblance of balance - and your sanity.

Flinching slightly once he tilts your hips to let off a particularly harsh grind against that magical spot. You’re whimpering through deliriously crossed-eyes, “There- ah!”

“Yeahhh, fuckin’ knew it-” Comes the husky answer, mean. And then an even meaner set of pounds that batter and bruise your tenderest spots precisely with each minute motion. You feel Toji curl one massive palm on the delicious curve of your waist before leaning you back, back, back- “-can see it.”

See it?

“What-” You’re gasping once you angle your head just enough to sneak a few glimpses below at where Toji was feeding your pretty pussy with his veined girth. In and out.

Because right then and there - etched exactly onto the middle of your tummy - was a cylindrical bulge. Pushing past your fleshed mounds n’ edges to carve out a deeply scouring indent. Spearheading into you with each soppy plap! of Toji’s glissading body.

Long. Girthy.

And you didn’t know if you were just that stupidly cockdrunken but you swear you could even count every single throb of Toji’s furiously hard cock meshing it’s way through your pried insides.

He’s holding those rudely measuring fingers up once more, ranging from the slobbery ends of your slit all the way up to where you’re feeling his painfully hard shaft plant pretty pecks on your pussy. Eyes widening briefly, “Oh? S’even hngh- bigger than I predicted.”

Sloppy. Painting sloshing streams of precum and nudging you oh-so-full with his scorching length until you were sure you could feel his bloated circumference brand your rubbery cervix. Until you could almost taste his salted caramel with every blissful explosion on your tastebuds.

So much. Too much. “More. Want- need more–”

“Shhhh sh sh, that’s it- Cry your lil’ heart out, ma.” Toji’s humming out gutturally, free hand gliding upwards to smear away your spilling salivation. Nodding along with every sweet noise you make when his split-ended cock thrusts inside your hot core, “Thaaat’s it, that’s a good girl- Look at you all hck! stuffed until you’re about to explode. Cute.”

“Ngh- it- you’re so deep.” You’re mewling out, viscous globs of slick slipping and sliding down Toji’s length until your fattened clit coasts easily across those very same puddles.

And you could feel him and every ballooned-up vein of his raking around your gummy walls. You could feel the bumpy outline of him bludgeoning past your saturated folds.

“Yeahhh, s’a biiig fuckin’ s-stretch, isn’t it?” He’s gruffing out with a few playful spanks to your drooling pussylips, as if you weren’t already being fucked dumb. Instantaneously guiding your hand to caress the rollercoaster messing up your insides - reclining right over the contour of where his globular tip plummets into your g-spot with a thunk!

“Here’s where ya won’t stop ah- drooling.” He twiddles your sensory fingertips to brush against your sensitive folds, showering in a generous heap of your sappy juices. “Like a f-fuckin’ ocean, I swear.”

Before lugging your boneless limb up, up, up- “-and here’s th-that hngh- cute spot ya love so much-” Pressing down over a certain delicate spot near your abdomen. And as if to prove his point, Toji’s quirking one brow and smashing his puffy tip hard in a dewy French kiss with your g-spot. Blissful. “And here- ohhh, here–”

He sounded so gone at this point. Rough. Cracking. You swear you catch a fleeting glimpse of his pearly whites watering with saliva, drooling as he hikes your hand about halfway up your tummy.

Wedging pressure right above an invisible line on your tummy. Where his stuttering hips were forced into halting, crownhead drenching the awaiting door to your womb with soppy molasses.

Toji’s mutters sound painfully close to a plea - to a whine. “H-heh, this is where ya better ngh- hope yer on fuckin’ birth control after this, ma.”

“...”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Capital B.D.E.

Effortless.

It was effortless how every sensual scrape of Nanami’s veined shaft had you seeing stars behind your shuttered eyes. Prying apart your gluey lips with a single daubing swipe of his plump, ruby-red tip; your cute cunt was practically crying all around his hefty girth.

“M-mooore- oh-” Your legs are ever-tightening around his dewy skin, surely slipping n’ sliding haphazardly if it wasn’t for the beefy arm pinning them behind Nanami’s slender hips. “Kento- I want…”

“Shhh. I know I know, my love.” He’s hushing away the pearly tears spilling over from the corners of your crossed eyes, the fat pad of his thumb collecting all the salty droplets and plugging it into your lolling mouth for you to suck. “But a-any more n’ this pretty girl right here’s gonna ngh-”

Break.

Both your needy cunt and your dear husband’s sanity, in fact.

Because saying that Nanami Kento was massive would be the understatement of the century - all long, proud ten inches. Twitching and leaking, sinking in such a sultry tempo past your tight, tight ring of muscle.

Desperately, your adhesive-like walls cling onto his throbbing length with not one, not two, but three barely-there squeezes. Spraying his scorching hot cock with a gleaming lather of slick, your heart races when you realize that he hasn’t even fully bottomed-out yet.

“I can t-take it, Ken–” You’re insisting with a cutely jutted-out lip that you already know he’s ruined for. His biggest weakness. And that cockdrunk little expression on your face makes him groan, “-give it all t’me, please?”

Nanami can’t say a word.

Can’t do anything but let his pretty amber eyes glaze over with something…feral. Oh, he was going to ruin you.

Tawny strands of his bangs stick to his perspired forehead and disarray into a brief curtain over his deep stare, and you’re catching the way that Nanami’s lower lip quivers.

Wordlessly, he’s smearing two greedy palms underneath your thighs. They were so jittery in his grasp, being manhandled easily over the delicious curvature of Nanami’s broad shoulders.

“Ken- oh!” Every single ounce of breath lodged in your chest leaves you instantly in a murky gasp when he snaps his huling body in half and bends you down, down, down. Folding you into the most pliable mating press that leaves your under-thighs burning, and your head spinning.

“Deep breaths-” He’s drawing an invisible line over your womb, where he’d measured he’d be thumping soon. Whispering, “Deep breaths, darling. Deep breaths- gotta it like a good girl. Take e-every inch–”

With one sharp smack! he’s bottoming out to hit the split-ended tip of his mushroomy cockhead against your deepest depths. Streaking down a buttery stream of possessive pre that splashes around your sponged cervix.

And that’s when Nanami’s doughy, latched-on fingerpads shake right on your velvety skin, Herculean body feverishly hot, lowly rasping gruffs leaving him in billowing gusts that fan your face. He was gone. That’s when he mutters, “Oh.”

Then - only then - do you realize that your lovely husband isn’t even looking at you. Heavily lidded eyes locked somewhere down in the hidden-away depths where his washboard abs were glissading against your front with every resounding pap! pap! pap!

“I…I can see it.” Nanami spits out and it sounds more like a growl. Hoarse. Broken. A warmly engulfing hand caresses your tummy - softly, softly. Before he’s flicking a thick thumb to nudge that lewd cylindrical bump and push-

Faster. Faster. Eyes never once looking away as if he was hypnotized by now. And he was - honestly, you’re wondering whether Nanami thinks he’s dreaming when he clasps your trembly hand to plant a pretty peck against your wedding ring. “I can- I can see it. Can see m’self inside ya- Fuck- what a slutty girl ya are, my love.”

Nanami Kento never stuttered.

Blinking away the sticky lacquer of tears on your lashes to see that your pussy was bloated - filled to the brim with so many numerous inches of Nanami’s ballooned cock that you’re seeing him swell against your tummy. Your eyes widen at the perfect curvature of his globed head leaving wet smooch after smooch on every hidden nook n’ cranny.

Fuck.

Nanami was so big that he was making you bulge.

“D-didn’t even know that could- didn’t even-” In hurried, jerky motions, he’s pushing up his condensely fogged-up glasses even higher. Long lashes fluttering as he takes in the lecherous outline again. And again and again and again- “Shit- shit, darlin’. Hold on, I can’t- fuck s’making me lose…composure.”

It was doing so much more than that.

It’s like something in the ever-stoic Nanami had shattered into a zillion pieces.

Bustling you higher and higher up the springy mattress with each and every unapologetically battering ram. You swear you hear your joints pop! He’s mazing into your sweetest spots, leaving wet dashes of pre cum topping soppy orifices that you didn’t even know existed.

Harder. Still pushing down for that bulge of his cock messing up your insides.

Before you can even blink, he’s locking your bouncing ankles together with a single hand behind his head. Making you ogle at the rawly tight grip printing onto your skin, and the way that Nanami’s big, shimmery biceps flex.

God- you blame the way he looks so unintentionally sexy for the way your stomach twists with your incoming orgasm. And the way your cockdrunken mouth slops open stupidly to utter, “More. Rougher, Kento.”

Nanami’s glassy eyes snap open- you were going to be the death of him. “R-rougher?”

SLAM!

The bed sings off a few splintered creaks! when Nanami strikes his freely open palm against the mahogany headboard and thrashes his teary, rotund tip against your most favorite g-spot - and so do you.

“Shit- shit shit shit-” You’re shrieking out in a waveringly shrill tone, a glowy trickle of saliva spilling from the loosened sides of your maw once you’re throwing your head back and cumming. And it hits you by surprise almost as it does your pulsing pussy. “-mpfh- c-cumming, Ken—”

Your fingers rover their way to scratch at Nanami’s attractive blond undercut, as he fucks you through every white-hot spark of pleasure. So many.

And he’s skimming his own back over that sexy bulge, feeling the way the peaks of your bliss only make his cock thud your goopy core harder-

“S-sooo pretty when you’re full n’ dumb on my hah- cock, my love.” He’s husking down at the sinful outline still pumping underneath your tummy, and it takes you a few sloppy seconds to realize that this is your Kento. Your sweet Kento - eyes crazed, lips snarled, blushing tip splitting you open when he only gets bigger. Animalistic. “But you’ll be even prettier n’ fuller as a mama, darling.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Earned it!

“Suguru- b-bulge—”

“Oh? Wha’s that?” Geto’s hot breath wafts right along with his heady cologne when he inches in just a bit closer to your tender ear. Sultry snickers clouding your brain, he dips his thumb gently up and down the base of your cunt. “Can’t hear ya over this talkative pussy, gorgeous. Speak up.”

And you couldn’t even if you wanted to - your loosely-hanging mouth flooded with fresh waves of mindless saliva, Geto’s own thick fingers prying your maw firmly shut. He was having such fun listening to the pretty noises still spilling stupidly from between his digits.

“Ngh-” You’re blabbering away, hips still bouncing on and on in his favorite reverse cowgirl. “Th-the bul- ah-”

“Th-th-the what?” Geto rolls his amethyst eyes, irises positively filling up with hearts at the way your ass was jiggling haplessly down onto his toned abs. Not that he’d admit it, of course. Each plap! of skin-on-skin making his unfairly attractive leer widen, “Don’t make me say it again. Honestly- s’this needy cunt the only thing you can hah- speak out of?”

And maybe it was the way that he’s leaning even further backwards to watch you - maybe it was the way that he’s letting his slender hips tilt just right to scrape a deep indent down your plush g-spot.

But it makes you halfway scream, “Bulge! Th-the bulge, Suguru–!”

Bulge? Bulge?

The only answer he’s letting off is one-too-many whopping thrashes of his plummy, mushroom head that ravenously scour open your slick-flooded walls and kiss right at the target of your womb. The runny patterns of his inflated veins scraping your sweetest spots. Again. And again. And again.

Honestly. He’s grabbing both your arms behind your back to pound into you until your mouth runs over like a fountain. Dark brows raising at the way you’re still drivelling on and on about some b-bulge-

“Did I fuck ya hngh! stupid already or what?” The way his drawling words are seeped with such greedy rasps make your spraying cunt gush even more. With a low tut, he’s manhandling your glissading bodies until you’re facing that floor-length mirror specifically installed in front of your bed. Taking in every inch of that heavenly sight before him, “Now now, what’s got you so-”

And then, for the first time ever in his life, Geto Suguru’s breath hitches.

Eyes widening, cerise, spit-glossed mouth parting - fuck, if he was any lesser man then he might just have been too dazed to stop from sinking his teeth into his lips and letting off a strained whimper.

Because right there about halfway down your pretty tummy - inches n’ solid inches about where he was drilling his swollen cock between your leaking slit - there was a bulge.

A puffy cylindrical outline that glues apart your saturated folds, bumps and grinds with every one of his ragged pounds. Big and true to what you’d been prattling nonsense about - was still prattling about. And Geto swears he could almost see the split-second his rounded, strawberry-pink tip hits your magical spots with a thundering squelch!

“O-oh.” He’s breathing out, sculptured muscles flinching when his entire towering body wracks with a shudder. And it’s as if on autopilot - as if he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing - when Geto traps the column of your neck into a rough headlock from behind. “You really are…filthy, girl. What a cuuute cock bulge.”

You’re practically plastered against Geto’s muscled front now, head lolling drunkenly back against his cushy pecs. Spine bowed the perfect semi-circle, “Can- can feel you so ngh- deep inside, Suguru.”

“W-well–” Geto’s groaning, as heaving and roughened as if he’d forgotten exactly how to speak. And he’s not that mean - rewarding you with a weighty wad of spittle right onto your bumpy tastebuds, “-I can see m’self all deep inside.”

And he could. And seeing it only made his penetrating stare cloud with even more absolute arousal.

Fuck- Geto couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t look away. Oh, the things he could do…

Couldn’t do anything but outspread the curved rests of his kneecaps even wider across those damp, silken sheets. Angling his hips to hit the gooey bottom of your cunt with a few scorching hot spatters of pre, bloated balls hitting the dripping edge of your pussy with such cutely noisy thwacks!

You can feel the gentle mountains of his palm splay out over that particularly cylindrical outline, pressing down until you thought you were about to burst.

Bottomed-out - but now it’s like Geto was crazed. Pushing and pushing even when his bulky base hits your puffed-up lips in an innocent peck. Cobwebbed walls molding around his heated cock furiously-

“Now that you can h-heh- see…” Geto sighs out the words in a deep reverie, and yet the only thing deeper was the way that he’s rummaging your insides. Each stroke accompanied by a lazy drag of his veined shaft round n’ round your pussy. “How’d you want me to fuck you- like this?”

With a wet spank right on the dewiest spot of your cunt, he’s straightening his spine before you can string together an answer.

And you’re fully at his mercy. Held up with one big, beefy forearm curled around your throat to manhandle your vision back, “Or like this- ohh look, gorgeous, m’reachin’ even deeper now. Your bulge got even bigger- Orr–”

Your vision tinges briefly with black when Geto pulls out with a swift fwop! Making the disappointed whine barely formulate on your lips before he flips you over onto your back and buries himself until you feel like you’re split-apart-

“-or this?” You’re hearing from somewhere above you, and if you were any less mindlessly fucked then maybe you’d have realized the mean mating press that he’d folded you into. Dredging a palm ‘round that bloated bulge of his cock still there, “Because we have alllll night to figure out which position takes me the- hngh- deepest.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - #EMO BOY

Choso looked so pretty like this - eyeliner smudging with every beaded tear slipping from his half-lidded eyes, his silvery split-slicked lips hanging open, dazed gaze never straying from your gorgeous face.

Well, your gorgeous face and the sight of those knotted masses of creamy white gushing like a fountain from between your thighs. Making Choso’s red-tipped cock slip n’ slide with every splash of ribbony cum leaking from your cunt.

Such a mess. But he’s gotta make more space, right?

“P-pretty giiiirl.” He’s giggling - giggling - at the curvaceous bulge outlining on your tummy. A delicate trickle of saliva sneaking its way down from the ends of his curled smirk at the bump, “P-prettiest girl in the entire world, baby. Got the prettiest lil’ pussy, too–”

He always got so greedy whenever he stole a sneaky look at where your tummy was filled to the brim with all of him. Where he could stare at himself.

Depraved.

You’re fluttering your lashes, never getting used to the way your sweet boyfriend could fuck you into the soft mattress until you felt shy. And the way he pumps out a few throbbing inches of his lustrous cock to leave three smack! smack! smacks! on your bawling pussy makes you whine. “Such a sweet-talker- ngh, Cho.”

Oh, but Choso Kamo wasn’t just sweet-talking you. He was dead serious.

Plumpened lips wobbling at the way you would even suggest such a thing, your breath hitches when Choso dexterously curls numerous slender digits around his hefty hilt to drag his fat cock up n’ down your clingy lips. Up and down up and down-

Right with the perfect aim to kiss the hooded tip of your pulsing clit with repeated smooches of his icy Prince Albert’s piercing. Only making you gush even more torrentials. Choso was filthy.

“M’s-serious—” He’s panting out a few heady whimpers, chest rumbling with a low ngh! after every stinging smack. It was driving the both of you completely mad. “Prettiest girl e-ever with my ngh- cock makin’ a mess of you a-and–” Your heart races at just how much he was babbling right now, cheeks burning brightly blossoming red. “-and that tummy bulge. Fuck- fuck jus’ looking at ya is gonna make me cum.”

“Ah- Choso–” You’re squealing once he pumps you viciously full again, tight curvature of his thoroughly full ballsack hitting your cunt with a sharp spank!

And that wasn’t all - oh, Choso was addicted to you- you really think that would be enough?

No, in the matter of mere nanoseconds, he’s rolling your gyrating bodies over until you’re straddling his slenderly toned hips. Thighs digging onto either side of his smooth mounds of flesh when Choso latches a needy hand onto your waist and pulls-

“Shit- shit.” He feels himself getting oh-so-dizzy, chestnut locks splaying out like a halo all over the comfy pillowcase. Through long, dark lashes he’s gazing up at you with such sticky adoration, syllables lilting octaves upon octaves higher and choking. “Ride me. P-please ride me s-so I can take my time ngh- admirin’ you.”

You’re riding him and Choso doesn’t think he ever wants you to stop.

The stretch is so massively wide that it takes you a few seconds to finally catch your breath, eager hips slipping n’ stumbling with the help of gravity to swallow up every long and girthy inch he could give. It was such a wonder he could even manage the words out - what with the way your gushing walls were milking him till Choso felt his heart stutter. “Mmm– so inflated w-with my cum n’ that big fucking cock, right? Right?”

Mewling, “Y-yess–”

Rock-hard length heating up a few degrees more sweltering, he swears he can pinpoint the exact millisecond he spots that outlined protrusion and twitches. Letting off the barest whimper, “F-fuuuck I-I can still see it-”

“Mhm–?” You’re humming out, fussing on your lower lip like a gummy to keep the breaking tremor from entering your voice already. You already knew how it drove him wild when you graze a few fingertips over the knobbly end of his mushroomed tip probing at your tummy. “You mean- this? C-can’t help that you’re so- ngh- big, baby.”

“No- no no no- fuck!” He’s gurgling out wetly, stubbly silver of his piercing scratching such a deeply parched itch at your geysering g-spot. “Don’t…don’t touch ah- it like that, baby– s’gonna make me…cum.”

And he wants to swat your hands away - he wants to. But the only thing that he can manage to do is cover your fingers with his much-longer ones, practically drowning in his needy touch when he pins your hands to that contoured bump and presses down.

Lacing his fingers with your own, Choso can’t believe that that was what had his ears ringing with a carmine-tinted blush.

The forecast was wet - and Choso was sure to keep it that way. Hooking one doughy pad of his digits to bully your bloated folds open and let trickling rivulets of cum weep out. They puddle out in buttery splotches on his flexing abs, rippling with every meeting drive up to meet your perfect tempo.

Glazing and flowing off the sides of his body and into the drenched mattress, “And- and I dunno if anymore will hck! fit inside your cute cunt if I cum again.”

He sounded so adorably genuinely worried, button nose crinkling at the way a few more globs of seed hit his drenched tufts of dark brown with every stripe of his piercing drawn on your inne spots. But Choso still couldn’t take his eyes away from you - couldn’t take his eyes away from where he could see himself-

“S’alright, Cho–” Your hips jerk in sensual motions, still never faltering after each plap! Never slowing down even when Choso hoists his cottony head closer to make you grace his lolling tongue with a nice stream of saliva, “Give it a-all. Give it all t’me.”

“Th-then take it-” He’s snarling, and your body breaks out in a severe bout of goosebumps as the air stiffens and the lined tattoo on Choso’s face elongates. “Milk me- hngh- m-milk me, pretty baby, ‘ntil you’re s-so full you can’t think…”

When he cums it’s with his digits pressing powerful pressure down onto yours, groping and adoring where he was spurting out wiry ribbons of sloshing seed. That bulge. Adding to the mess of your sloppy pussylips painting little rings around his thickened base.

Once more. Twice more. Until you were a dripping wet mess. Fuck- at this point he’s registering the crackling work of his own cursed technique running into overdrive. Blood manipulation only making his aching cock harder and harder-

“Fuck- I love you.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - “Just the tip.”

“Or, well…” It was almost infuriating just how much Sukuna didn’t even have to try to make your needy pussy even needier. Merely wafting off a sleazy smirk, “-tips.”

“B-both?” Your arms weakly dangle onto his luxurious royal throne, lips pouting just the way it did when you got extra extra needy for him. And, damn, was that true tonight.

A hallowing spank right on the fleshy nub of your clit, “Yeah- fuckin’ both. Gonna stretch this pretty lil’ hngh- pussy out ‘till she’s stupid.”

You’re practically draped over his solid, sculptured body - eager hands palming at his rippling abs, head buried into the cushy valley between his pecs. His musky scent takes over your senses and makes your cunt twitch.

Every blabber spilling from your maw only lets the king know just how much more cockdrunk you’re getting with each passing second. Toying a few elongated nails over your hardened nipples as you’re heaving out an adorable, “Kuna- don’t know if s’gonna ah! fit- Gonna be ‘nough-”

He seethes, “Not gonna fit?”

And all you can manage to do is shake your head stupidly, shivers sliding down your spine at the feral intensity of his deep stare upon you. “N-no?”

“Tch-” Sukuna’s drawling in a primally smug tone of voice, and something about it already had your perked ass shivering downwards in repeated sensual grinds. Rolling his devilishly crimson irises with such sass, they’re matching the exact tempo he swirls his second, stacked divot around and around your tight entrance, “-my deepest apologies s’not ‘nough’, spoiled brat, but when I say m’gonna make it fit-”

Oh.

With a sappy pop! he’s feeding you the fatly rounded curve of one more cock - neverendingly big, it felt like. And you couldn’t get enough. No matter how much it felt like he was ruining you from the inside out.

“-I fucking mean it.”

Topping his mushroomed crowns with a quick lather of your flooding slick, he wastes absolutely no time bouncing two powerful knees to jerk your hips in a sloppy cadence. So hot and needy around him that Sukuna can’t help but slip his twin hard cocks just a bit past the tip-

“See?” Sukuna jerks his head to rest on top of one palm, tilting away mere degrees that would let him admire all of you. Well- not that he’d tell his puny human so. “Taking it like s-such a ngh- good girl– take a few more inches like I know that filthy cunt wants to. She’s like a damn waterpark.”

“More?” Your cries are shrill, pure anticipation and need cracking your words when two big, beefy arms latch around the fleshy mounds of your ass to push. “Shit- shit, s-so biiiig- Kuna-”

“Stop talking outta ya pussy, silly girl-” He’s gritting his teeth at the clingy resistance, lavish second tongue open with want to plant a few pretty pecks on your plump clit. Letting your knees weaken, “S’only gonna make me bigger. Good luck.”

And he wasn’t lying.

Oh, no. Your leaden lids snap open once you’re feeling the probing throb of his ballooned-up shafts pry your gluey falls further and future open like his own personal puzzle, only getting hotter. Harder. Bludgeoning through your gluey walls and leaving cratering indents of his proud circumferences on your pulpy g-spot.

You’re arching your spine into such a delicious curvature when your thunderous orgasm looms ever-closer. Trekking your palms onto his toned deltoids with a yelp-

“Oioi- where’d ya think you’re hah- runnin’ off to?” Gifting a thorough spank on the side of your plapping ass, and a hand clawing the crown of your head to push you down. Unable to escape. Sukuna couldn’t believe the way that only made you more drenched. Practically sobbing all over his lap, dirty girl. “Yeah. Yeah. Big fuckin’ cocks, heh- aren’t they, ma?”

With the barest head tilt, he can already spot a few inches more to go until he was really sunken into your warm depths. Careening up a hand to measure with two fat fingers - one steady at the base of your teary silt, the other stretching wider and wider - just to show off how far he’d be rummaging inside you-

Only to find out that- oh. He doesn’t need to measure with his fingers after all.

Because sitting all prettily right then and there was such a lecherous bulge.

A proud inflation about halfway down your tummy where he was padding on a sultry outline of his bulging cocks. Stretching out your stinging pussy flaps, where he was disappearing in sappy thrusts, way past that- So big that he could count every fat thud into the syrupy orifices of your cunt from the outside.

“C-curses.” Sukuna whimpers - whimpers.

And the utter shock of it is so great that you find your dazed gaze tumbling downwards to where he was staring intently. Toes curling at the heavenly sight of him - making an indented bulge from all the way inside. “Fuck- Kuna…more.”

“M-more?” He’s whispering, narrowed eyes widening just a fraction at your words. And he’s looking and looking at you as if he can’t look away. Crazed. Depraved. “More? When ya complained about th-that?”

Of-fucking-course, Sukuna’s gonna fucking give you more.

And he’s gonna make you cum while he’s at it, too. Needing only a singular, vulgar stroke to stuff himself snugly between your glutinous walls until you swear you could feel his stacked shafts smooching your lungs. Finally bottoming out.

The stretch so tight - so maddening - and that bumped bulge at your tummy so much worse.

You simply can’t help but collapse your shivering body down into his ready embrace, sinking the fringes of your teeth into your bottom lip when you throw your head back and reach your high. Finally.

Making such a filthy mess. Torrenting out a fountain of sheen that glimmers Sukuna’s muscled body until he was glistening in the dimmed lighting of the throne room. Until it pools at your knees and all over the luxurious cushion.

God- you think you’re seeing fractals explode all being your drunkenly shuttered lids. Bursting to and fro with every swipe of his leftly curved cockhead raking translucent streaks of precum along your cervix.

Every swashing smack of the gummy end of his tongue stretching past your pursed pussylips and lapping ounces upon ounces of your webbed juices. Your- fuck, it finally hits you, did you squirt?

With an abashed huff, you’re blinking your eyes just a crack open - but Sukuna didn’t complain. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Wanna find out if y’can heh- ride my tongue, too, brat.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - Bottoms out- up?!

“W-woah.”

And it wasn’t like any other of Ino’s usual moans - no. Right now, he sounded as if he was reverent. Lilting baritone straining away into nothing but a whisper, nothing but a prayer.

You could barely even hear it over the saturated squelch! of his hips finally bottoming out. Reeling back mere centimeters to bully back through your folds with a gluey snog. Decorating your sobbing entrance with a few wadded jets of precum once. Twice. “Woah—”

You’re cracking your weightily-lidded gaze open, boring up at Ino’s crinkled sepia brows with a coo. Tugging through the stray flecks of chestnut strands plastered to his perspired forehead, “Something wrong, Taku?”

And he can only shake his head. Furiously.

Words still a ball of lead in his throat - even more so when you’re staring deeply into his heart-shaped irises like that.

“I-I just-” Various strings of glistering drool detach when he throws his head back and lets off a husky groan. Eyes crinkling with something that looks like oh-so-feral pain, he’s resting his weight onto yours. Collapsing. Head tucking between your jiggling tits, “-just that- mommy- fuck! Pretty, m’makin’ you h-have a…”

Shit, he couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

Couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than latch his eyes down towards where he could see that…bulge once more. Fuck, Ino was going to cum just from the sight of it.

“What do you…oh.” Oh, was right - was just about the only syllable accumulating on your lolling pinkish tongue. Right along with a freshly slicking wave of saliva at the way that Ino’s fattened cock was making your tummy bulge - a thick, cylindrical knot bumping up n’ down every time he was battering you with repeated rams. “Y-you’re so pretty, Taku.”

The blush that dusts his handsome cheeks is adorable, and you can feel him pump your cushy walls full with copious parching webs of needy pre. It’s like he was bawling inside of you. “Is…is this really me?”

Speaking to himself more than you at this point.

And it’s as if Ino’s in a trance - fully drunken on your pussy. Those mahogany eyes of his glaze over with a thick film of arousal, movements slow and sensual as he cranes inches down to give the sweltering skin near your extra-bumped tummy a lingering peck.

“H-hellooo, sweetness.” Murked pants tumbling out one after the other, and breezing over your papping mounds of flesh heatedly. After each and every pound. “-s’this me? Am- am I the one giving you this cute ngh- belly bulge? Tell me- tell me, please-”

So impatient, so wild for you that he can’t even wait until you’re gathering all your leftover breaths to formulate a coherent sentence.

He’s rovering over one hand to tap at the buttony nub of your plumped clit, rolling in syrupy hearts that drive you breathless. “M’beggin’, pretty. T-tell me how Taku here’s making you feel with his ngh- cock, hm?”

“Love it- love it- ngh!” You’re hiccuping through thickly viscous bouts of tears that warm your skin. Lapped up eagerly by a loving Ino, watching you with wide stricken eyes. “Love how you’re in so deep s’makin’ me haaaah- have a tummy b-bulge.”

Ah, music to Ino’s ears.

You’re pinned to the springing bedcoils by all of his lean muscle, meaty thighs shifting over yours to jostle your wrangle thighs even wider. Washboard as maddaging your front, fuck- he can’t stop himself from pressing his weight down even harder to feel the bludgeoning back and forth of his long shaft.

“Can- can feel myself in there so deeeep–” Words shaky and tinging on a whine, you’ve never ever seen Ino this flustered. This sloppy with every shovelling inch - he’s barely even pulling out, just pressing rapid, tight pushes of his rounded ruby tip against your elastic cervix. Like he couldn’t even bear thrusting back. “-so h-heh…big. M’gonna ruin this cute cunt, sweetness. She’s never gonna forget me.”

Oh, and when Ino promises you something then it’s as good as done.

Because right now you can feel your sanity cracking bit-by-bit, a slow treacling spring of spittle making its way from your helplessly flapping mouth. Even more so when he unabashedly nuzzles closer to your mouth and spits.

You pant, “Fuck- fucking me s-so good. Keep going, baby, keep going–”

He was always so weak to the way you’d call him baby in that sweetly honeyed voice of yours. “S-say that again n’ m’gonna…”

A hand of yours glides down to give his tensed abs a smooth caress, and he flinches at the rays of bliss that bolt like lightning down his curved spine. Melding into pure euphoria when you drag one of his splayed-out hands to rest on your body - more specifically the bloated bump he was fucking into you. “Mhm– better not miss, Taku. Want it to make an even ah- bigger bulge.”

“Oh.” Heart beat stuttering to the very same ba-dump as his aching pink tip was, sobbing out in wet spatters that stream from the very geyser in the middle. He’s in love. “C-can we…hold hngh! hands when I cum, pretty?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - X-RAY.

“-extrasensory p-perception by my Six Eyes that shows all that cursed energy n’ beyond anything anyone else could see, so, I can see that-” Gojo’s cutting his own pussydrunken babbling off with a lazy scrape of his ruddied cockhead down your buttery-sheened walls. “-I’ll show up riiiight here.”

Oh, and true to the strongest’s words you’re blinking through your nth orgasm of the night to glimpse at the bloated tip of his furious cockhead, caving a lecherous indent right then n’ there on your tummy. A bulge.

And you swear that Gojo has never looked more smug, “Mhm— there. Fuck- right there. Don’t even need this cute lil’ ngh- belly bulge ta know m’fucking you proper, sweetheart. But I wanna show off for my pretty girl, heh.”

He’s insatiable.

Rubbing the thickened pad of his thumb over that pre-topped mushroom crownhead of his. Leaving repeated sappy kisses down your targeted magical spots - every single one that he doesn’t even have to try to swab a sultry circle down.

“S-such a freak, Toru—” You’re finding yourself whining - so much more breathless than you’d have liked but what can you do when he’s pinning you to the bouncy mattress with battering rams. Your poor pussy practically leaking, “-y-you probably know when m’gonna cum, too.”

And, you were prattling off any snappy syllable you could string together. Really. You weren’t serious.

But when Gojo arches one immaculately cloudy brow, skidding a sticky thud thud thud of his ballooned strawberry divot right into your sweetest spot, you already know you’re fucked.

Shit.

Completely and utterly soon-to-be ruined when he’s wrenching out a streaming spray of sappy slick from right between your thighs. Rendering your orgasm building up desperately with only numerous indecent strokes, “Oh, you thought that was a haaah- joke?”

It’s all you can do to blubber through, knees weakening with disbelief. “I-I…”

“The st-strongest fucked you hngh! stupid already, huh?” Lapis lazuli irises rolling- fuck, he had to hide the way your gummy walls made his eyes slide to the back of his lids some what or the other. Slender fingers buzzing with a tinge of cursed energy when he swipes over your clit and taps. “Already know this turns ya on, filthy girl.”

You’re squirming helplessly on the bed, your gooey thighs cracking further and further open with every cute lil’ heart he’s painting on that pulpy nub. “Th-that’s just cheating…”

But Gojo Satoru wasn’t done.

“And I knooooow—” God, if he didn’t have his meaty thighs pressed up against yours - reeling back n’ forth to pump your velvety walls all full of his veined, girthy inches - then you swear he would’ve been kicking his feet. Sing-song baritone cracking with a crazed giggle, “-oh, sweetheart, you h-have no idea what I know.”

Did you even want to know at this point?

Roughened groans only growing more ragged, sloppy strikes prying open your glutinous walls even wider. Until your bawling folds were puffy and raw with every peaking massage of his inflated veins.

Until he’s letting off two straight thwacks! of his mountained fingertips right where he’s tunneling past your sappy entrance and molding out an addictive tummy bulge.

“I know you’re oh-so-close right now- ngh-” He’s drawling, inching over to nip his teeth dangerously down the urgent throb of your pulse. Huffing and puffing breath as hot as his flushed body was right now. Rumbling purrs tremoring down your curved spine, “That it makes this cute ah! cunt f-fucking horny when I doooo– this.”

Making you gasp with a bulky bash of Gojo’s rounded tip against your g-spot, probing a little crater deeply into your sponged depths. Before silking out a stringy bout of pre and dragging a loooong line up to your cervix.

Again. And again. And again and again-

“N’ right here-” Daubing over his favorite outlined bulge, “S’where m’ruinin’ this tight pussy with a hck! biiig stretch- and here-” From the hazy hinges of your eyes you’re catching his own adorn with stray bolts of lighting. With stray strands of insanity. Leering grin growing ever-wider and wider, he draws an invisible line over where his rock-hard cock was hammering the very door to your womb. “-s’gonna be where I make- make you my c-cumdump. Hehhhh, yeah- can see it a-already.”

Your hips jerk off of the cottony sheets, now puddled with your geysering slick and sweat. Perching your legs even higher upon his naked waist, your heels dig into his sculpted obliques had enough to bruise.

“Want it–” You’re letting your head loll stupidly, pathetic whines the only thing that can drip intelligently from your tongue at this moment. “-want it so bad! Ah!”

Gojo snickers something mean, tiny dimples denting his smirk. “Already know that, sweetheart.”

Sloppier. Faster. And by the trembling little crack in his deep octaves, by that unintentionally sexy look on his face he only gets in battles, you’re wondering which one of you is the most gone right now.

He rovers a palm over to cup your perked clit, “Already know that ngh- Can see that this s’gonna make your hngh- cunt swell even cuter and this-” Freshly lacquered tips of his digits twirling ‘round and ‘round that swollen hood, you’re counting one crash - two - three - six right into your tenderized g-spot. Before he’s pinching- “-this is gonna make you cum.”

And when has the strongest ever been wrong?

Before you know it, you’re sugarcoating Gojo’s entire length with flooding torrents of slick. Eyes flashing hot white and red before your head throws back with a shrilling moan of Satoru–

Trembling legs being plastered and glissaded ever-tighter against his rippling muscles. Spurting jets of your bliss crashing into you headfirst. Maybe you’re squirting, maybe you’re not - you can’t even see because fuck- when did the lightbulbs shatter?

The thought barely articulates in your mind before Gojo snatches you out of your fuzzy reverie by drilling his index hard against his silhouetted jackhammers.

Manicured fingernail drawing a languid line up, up, up-

“Right here-” He’s putting a mere fraction of his strength into pressing down a circumference of pressure right where Gojo’s vicious cock was fucking you through your high. Right where he was ending off each thrust with a resounding thud! against your cervix - your womb - that leaves your mind blank. His favorite girl. His favorite place. He’s all but giggling “-here- s’where my favorite domain ta expand is, sweetheart.”

“...”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Stuffin’ 3

“Awww, angel, don’t tell me you’re heh- tapping out already?” Higuruma leaves off numerous sharp spanks against the plapping mounds of your thighs. The meaty plane of his greedy palms covering little massages, “After I just fucked this ngh- cute lil’ tummy bulge into ya.”

Higuruma thinks you’ve never looked prettier - well, his dear wife is always beautiful.

But something about the way you’re huffing and puffing at him, splayed out all on his lux office chair, grappling your nails to rake expensively all over his leather cushion.

But he didn’t give a shit. Not when he had you exactly where he wanted like this.

Thighs straining with tired ache, spine curved oh-so-sweetly into his ready touch, your sopping cunt bouncing to taste each n’ every inch of his reddened cock. Oh, this was heaven. Fucking his currently-annoyed lil’ wife until you couldn’t even remember your own name.

And he’s finding himself looking over a busy document he’s sure is important, cocoa eyes dusking over with a lecherous twinkle.

“Mmm– still mad at me, sugar?” He’s drawling with that rasped tone that makes your adhesive-like wall clench, fat pearls of your sticky slick escaping from the sides of your sappy slit and puddling into a glossy ring around his hefty base. You’re gasping when he rubs his ice-cold wedding ring against your dripping lips, “Y’know m’sorry I ngh- took overtime on our date night. But m’here- hah- haaaah–”

You’re squirming at just how adoringly he leaves with a few thorough smears of his fat thumb down the teary line of your cunt. Wetting a viscous layer of slick that dribbles all the way down to his flexible wrist, he draws a translucent line of gloss up, up, up till he’s smudging the rotund bump leaving heavy-duty nudges against your weeping walls. “-heh riiiight here. N’ m’gonna make it ah- up to you. Promise.”

Your brows furrow so adorably- fuck, it makes him dewdrop a few gummy puddles of scorched pre. “Hmpf–”

Bouncing his muscular thighs - clothed thighs, still in his smart office slacks - so that you’re forced to jerk along with his rugged tempo. Higuruma always fucked so filthy.

Hot, vicious pounds. A few doughy tips of his thick fingers stroking the thumping ends of that tummy bulge he loved so very much. Nuzzling at just the right angle for his silver suit cuffs to nudge your fleshy clit.

It didn’t help to even sink the edges of your teeth into your unsteady lower lip. Because solely a long, harsh drag down your soppy g-spot - that your husband knew too well - makes you whine, “Fuck- ngh- there, Hiro–”

Up and down until your slobbery hole was latering a candied layer of sweet, sweet juices all the way from his leaking strawberry divot till that neat black happy trail. Grinding your plump clit along his flexed abs, “There there- let it out, let it alllll out for your Hiromi here.”

Shit- he’s wondering in the melty depths of his brain whether you even realized you were bustling yourself to milk his furious cock that way.

Spraying out an overspilling squirt of slick with every slam! you’re planting down on his lap. Mazing apart your muggy walls to pry into every hidden orifice you could find - even ones that you didn’t even know existed until Higuruma’s swollen girth probes a few lightning-bolted veins into those exact bullseyes.

“Sh-shit- hah!” You can’t stop your traitorous tongue from echoing out, leaning in to gulp in flavored breaths of Higuruma’s heady cologne. “M’s-still a-angry at–”

“Mhmm–?” Oh, he knew what he was doing. Hiding away the devious edges of his sleazy smirk with that document, you were just so adorable when you’re teased like this. Fluttery eyes narrowing once he keeps pretending to read, “Oh? What was hngh- that, angel?”

Fucking you stupid.

You couldn’t feel anything other than the purely cottony bliss that came with his splotchy circle being drawn on top of your battered and bruised womb. The sugary taste of your high building up and up and up- “Th-that m’still- oh, Hiromi- feels so good-”

“Exactly what I thought, sugar.” He chuckles out something dark, curdling at the raspy back of his throat. Tilting back in his chair ever-so-slightly to let you lean your weight into his toned front. Teasing his paper in front of you, “Now now– let me get back to my hah-”

Shit- Higuruma Hiromi’s searing eyes widen, he catches his sexy bass wavering, cut off for the first time in thirty-something years when you’re bringing up a hand to your bloated tummy bulge and pushing-

“O-oh.” He’s scrambling with a few webbed wads of saliva to coat his parched throat, struggling to keep the pure whimpering awe away from his words. “Angel- angel, what are you- oh.”

But your sultry smirk only gets wider, your gyrating motions only sloppier. Thumbing over where you’re sure you’d mapped out the sneaking ridge of Higuruma’s sensitive slit, “What was that, dear husband?”

Ah, he can feel the pearly beads of sweat spattering along his forehead now. A slow trickle of thin drivel springing from the wobbly corner of one mouth, hips perching off of the dampened seat in a one-two-three staccato. “Angel…angel- m’s-sorry I teased- ngh!”

Two could play that game - and Higuruma was completely n’ utterly failing right now.

Such a pretty loser with his uncharacteristically-dishevelled locks, steadily flushing cheekbones, staring right into your eyes with every pound of his mushroomy tip leaking against your innermost depths. Hot. Sopping. Shivering after every clench you were mercilessly bestowing on his puffy shaft.

“My wife-”

“Hmmm?”

“Fine- fine-” Higuruma grits out, jaw clenched so tightly that you were half-wondering in a cockdrunken little haze whether he couldn’t taste iron already. Plush pecs rollercoastering in repeated heaves after every buck, “G’na fill you u-up, sugar.” Palming his own set of fingers over yours, over that rummaging cylindrical outline. “Make you even fuller- would ya like that? Would that make you happy, hm?”

His vigor so dizzying and addictive that it takes you every ounce of will in your boneless body to nod your unbalanced head, “Yes- yes. D-don’t miss inside, Hiromi–!”

“Well then…” And you swear you catch the barest curl of such a saccharine sweet smirk on his kiss-bitten lips. “-get ready. Here it comes, angel.”

And no warning in the world could have ever prepared you for the steadily gushing waterfall of buttery seed that invades your insides. Gooey patches of cum drip down to his formal pants, helping you slip and slide down his reddening shaft to milk out every single creamy ounce possible.

So sweltering hot. So much of it - it’s as if he’s never cum this hard in his entire life.

Higuruma can feel himself shaking, sensory tips of his fingers digging and budging that bloated outline being fucked deeper n’ deeper into you. Fat balls clenching once your velvety walls clamp down clingily and you cum-

“Tha’s it, thaaat’s it–” He’s droning through wet chuckles. Thumbing over to feel for the splats! of fountaining cum that slosh about your every nook. Overtaking you. His pretty wife. Flooding your mushy tastebuds when he plugs your whining maw shut with those very same lustrous digits, “Soon yer gonna be even more stuffed, mama.”

A/N. Anatomy? What anatomy?

Plagiarism not authorized.

12K notes · View notes

tojisdove · 9 months ago

Text

"TW1TTER P0RN LINK5: PT4" — jjk men.

☆ cw : nsfw twt links w your favorite jjk men. afab reader. minors do not interact. ( make a request here! )

☆ note : kinda done with tumblr fucking up my posts, but wtv,,, comments and reblogs are appreciated!! mwah <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO / SUKUNA RYOMEN

cw: unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, fingering (4).

adores seeing the mess he's made inside of you

he's just so, so fucking big compared to his love

guess he gotta prep you nicely for both of his cocks

finally getting pounded like his darling deserves

"would you take it all?"

NANAMI KENTO / HIGURUMA HIROMI

cw: fingering, spanking, size kink.

"relax and let daddy take care of all your needs"

"ever so pretty when I leave you red"

gotta definitely brag about his new watch

ever so comfortable bent over his lap <33

another one just bc my size kink is going crazy

GETO SUGURU / SATORU GOJO

cw: riding + yourself on the shelf, jerking off vid.

always gonna make you work for it

he loves showing you off to the camera so much

little things he likes to send you when he's away ♡

better keep that arch deep for him

"bend over and take it like the pretty girl you are"

CHOSO KAMO / INO TAKUMA

cw: unprotected sex, oral, jerking off, body worship.

eating you out oh-so-slowly and oh-so-nicely <3

pretty boy will never be able to get you out of his mind

will ask to worship you every single morning

maybe spooning it's even better than you'd think

his princess always tastes so, so sweet on his tongue

31K notes · View notes

connorsui · 1 month ago

Text

He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.

Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”

He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”

His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

11K notes · View notes

candy69gurl · 9 months ago

Text

TWITTER LINKS!! ~JJK

MDI

◈ SATORU GOJO

⋆ 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘵 ^-^

⋆ 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 o-o

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ^-^

⋆ 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘴 <3

⋆ 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 0~0

⋆ 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 ^~^

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 <3

⋆ 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 v-v

⋆ 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 o-o

⋆ 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘴 'v'

◈ TOJI FUSHIGURO

⋆ 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 o-o

⋆ 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥 °v°

⋆ 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦 ^-^

⋆ 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘺 <3

⋆ 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 ^-^

⋆ 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 ＞-＜

◈ NANAMI KENTO

⋆ 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 ^-^

⋆ 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 >-<

⋆ 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬 *~*

⋆ 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘴 ~v~

⋆ 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 ^-^

⋆ 𝘵𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘵 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘨𝘨 O-O

⋆ 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩 -V-

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 '-'

◈ GETO SUGURU

⋆ 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘷 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘺 ^-^

⋆ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 >~<

⋆ 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 ^o^

⋆ 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥 ^~^

⋆ 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘮 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴 O-O

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 *v*

⋆ 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 ^-^

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣 u-u

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘣 u~u

⋆ 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹 ~o~

⋆ 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 "v"

◈ RYOMEN SUKUNA

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘪 o~o

⋆ 𝘵𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘷 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 ＞~＜

⋆ 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 O~O

⋆ 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘩𝘪𝘴 2 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴 ~w~

⋆ 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 ^-^

◈ SHIU KONG

⋆ 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 O-o

⋆ 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 '~'

⋆ 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 ^~^

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 ~o~

⋆ 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 ~v~

⋆ 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 ^-^

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ^~^

⋆ 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 <3

⋆ 𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 o-o

⋆ 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘵 <3

◈ HIGURUMA HIROMI

⋆ 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 O-O

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 ^-^

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘴 ^o^

⋆ 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦 *V*

⋆ 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 ^-^

⋆ 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 o~o

⋆ 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 ＞-＜

⋆ 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱 ^~^

⋆ 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 v-v

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 ~v~

⋆ 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 ^~^

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘴 vov

◈ CHOSO KAMO

⋆ 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘴 ^-^

⋆ 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 ^0^

⋆ 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 ��𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 v-v

⋆ 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 o~o

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 v0v

⋆ 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘵 ^~^

⋆ 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 owo

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 v~v

⋆ 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘴 >-<

⋆ 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 /v\

⋆ 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 -o-

⋆ 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 <3

⋆ 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 •o•

part 2

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gojosprettyprincess · 6 months ago

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Kento loves posting couple photos and selfies of the two of you together on Instagram because he wants the whole world to see just how beautiful his dear girl was, he posts them all the time and everyone likes and comments about how adorable the two of you look smiling together, even Gojo teases him about it in the comments.

To everyone you two were this shy, innocent well-put-together couple but what they didn't know was that the sweet darling blond had the hem of your pretty sundress all brunched up on his lap with his cock stuffed soo deep to the hilt inside your warm fluttery walls, where you had huffs of blond pubic hair grazing against your clit soo deliciously that had you grinding against him needily for friction.

In fact about 80% of the selfies you two post together he always has his cock nestled inside of you because he thinks it's such a perfect moment to take a photo with his pretty girl because you look soo perfect and sweet while you're keeping your loving husband's cock, snugged and warm.

He'd be planting soft gentle kisses on your neck trailing up to your ear before whispering "You look so cute right now my love, why don't we take a quick photo yeah?" and then you get all shy telling him just one photo as your cheeks start heating up. His cock twitches against your walls relentlessly as he taps "post" for everyone to see. It's like your dirty little secret that no one else knew but the two of you, They assume that the you two were this innocent and novice couple smiling together happily, not having a single clue what was happening just mere inches below the camera.

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mahgyu · 6 months ago

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𓄴 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒 + 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐒

. ˙ ❐ Satoru Gojo

. ˙ ❐ Suguru Geto

. ˙ ❐ Kento Nanami

. ˙ ❐ Choso Kamo

. ˙ ❐ Toji Fushiguro

. ˙ ❐ Ryomen Sukuna

. ˙ ❐ Hiromi Higuruma

. ˙ ❐ Shiu Kong

. ˙ ❐ Ino Takuma

©mahgyu

⠀

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pseudowho · 6 months ago

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Asking the JJK Men if it's in yet

"Is it in yet?"

feat. Nanami, Toji, TrueForm!Sukuna and Higuruma

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami:

Kento stopped dead in his tracks, his cock only pressed halfway in. Embraced beneath him, cuddlefucking in missionary, you tried to keep a straight face, as if you weren't about to eep! from the delicious stretch of just half in.

Without glasses on, Kento still, somehow, managed to look over his glasses at you. His voice was mild, almost conversational, as he sought clarification.

"Is it...in?"

"...yeah, is it in yet?"

Something prickled over Kento's shoulders. He scoffed, heaving a sigh and bracing himself on his elbows. He unclipped his watch in one deft movement, laying it on the pillow beside your head.

"Ask me again in one minute. Then three. Then five."

You felt a droplet of sweat run down your soul.

"...Kento, I was just fucking--"

"--no, no, I insist. One minute."

"What are you going to--"

Kento slammed his cock into you so hard, you jolted up the bed with a shriek. If his abs hadn't held you in place beneath him, you'd have hit the headboard. Shocked, groaning from the wet slaps of Kento absolutely railing you, bottoming out until you could hardly see, you couldn't help but let out a breathy giggle.

"--c-can't...can't-- haaaaah, Kento!"

Time lost all meaning. Kento braced on his elbows, dragging his cock halfway out again with a grunt, and stopping. He glowered down at you.

"Ask me again."

You whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders. You swallowed, trembling in anticipation.

"Is...is it, uh...in yet--"

Kento slammed into you again, creamy white lube squelching out of you onto the bed as you muffled your cries into the pillow, swearing you could feel him in your ribs.

Kento continued this for three, five, seven, nine, eleven minutes, until you were forced to admit, begrudgingly, that he and his seed were definitely in.

Higuruma:

Hiromi's eyes fluttered open. Having just released a sinful whimper from you sinking down onto his length, his brain suddenly short-circuited in fractious self-doubt and hyper analysis. In the end, nothing he could think took precedence, apart from a dumb:

"I'm-- I'm sorry? Is it...?"

Hiromi grasped your hips, pulling his shirt up and gripping it between his teeth so he could see where you were joined in his lap. He bucked up, just once, pausing for just long enough to shiver and moan at the slick, wet velvet of you. His head tipped back again with a weary sigh.

"You know," Hiromi chastised, grasping your hips to roll you over his cock, his hands strong, confident, "I'm so fucking tired, I'd have believed you. That I wasn't in."

You smirked above him, eliciting hushed whimpers and groans as you started to ride him. Hiromi allowed you to settle into your rhythm, before he berated you again.

"But also," he bickered, "how dare you, you cheeky cow, 'is it in yet', like I don't rail you blind every night with my 'is it in yet'--

You laughed, his chastisement turned punishing as he bounced you on him with glee, comedy turned feral.

"Oooo-ooohhh fuck-- love it when you-- when you think you're being funny-- love it--" Hiromi groaned, his voice muffled, his shirt hem between his teeth again as his eyes fixated on your stretched pussy sliding down his cock. You laughed, whimpering, breathless.

"I--I am funny--"

"--yeah yeah, alright, sweetheart-- keep telling yourself that--"

Toji:

Intending to hold onto your hair just a bit, Toji instead pulled you up fully, from your hands and knees. With your back to his chest, speared upon him, you squealed. You felt the bulbous tip of him bully against your cervix, and squirmed, gasping his name.

"The fuck you mean, 'is it in yet?"?"

You groaned, regretting your decision already. Toji reached up and gently slapped your cheek, until your eyes opened, and he pointed to the mirror in front of you. You could see him smirking over your shoulder.

When he saw your eyes drift to the base of his cock, slick with your arousal, deep inside you, and angled upwards so you could see the bulging underside, he smirked again, twitching his erection once, twice, three times so you could see.

Snapping your moan in half, Toji fucked upwards once, hard.

"Is it in yet?" He mocked, his breaths heavy as he fucked, and you squealed, and he fucked, laughing.

"Is it in yet? Come on baby, tell me. Is it in yet? Is it? Shit, kid. I dunno, I need you to tell me. Is it in yet? Is it in yet?"

If only he'd stop impaling you on him for long enough for you to answer.

True!Form Sukuna:

He laughed. He actually laughed. He only stopped laughing when you, sweating with fearful uncertainty, started laughing too. Then, he grabbed your face, rough in one long-nailed hand.

"What do they teach girls these days?" Sukuna rumbled, tsk-ing, batting your cheek from side to side with his palm and the back of his hand; a cat with a mouse.

"Whatever they teach you," he sighed, with your thighs spread upon his, sat on his throne, "I will offer you the chance to be untaught."

You nodded, panting as he let go of your body, and you choked out and whimpered as you slid further and further down his lower length. You felt the heavy, thickening weight of his upper length, resting against your back.

Sukuna left you like this, hands-free, to be slowly impaled as he watched, almost bored. He seemed to be waiting for something.

"Well, come on then," he drawled, his jaw leaned on one hand, with one finger lazily circling your clit, just to feel your cunt flutter around him, "beg me."

Your brain stuttered, your pussy so stuffed you could hardly think; "Beg--b-beg for...for what...my Lord?"

"Beg me to unteach you whatever drivel it is they taught you, that you should think it funny to ask your master 'is it in yet?'"

You didn't hesitate, babbling, one of his hands circling round to grasp you by the throat as you did. "P-please unteach me, my Lord, I was just being silly, just--just--forgive me--"

Sukuna hummed, his half-smile almost gentle as he began to lift you off him again, enjoying the way your pussy clenched around his lower cock as you choked.

"Lovely manners." He purred. You jolted, gasping as you felt the thick tip of his upper cock begin to squeeze into your ass. You saw stars, blinded by the enormity of him, made dumb by your own stupid attempt at comedy.

"Let's make sure you understand the perils of the situation you chose to place yourself in, hmm?"

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nanaslutt · 7 months ago

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showing off your new nails by cupping your tits

ʚ cont: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, higuruma, shiu, ino, shoko, uraume, ijichi

ʚ cont: suggestiveness, crack, fluff

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ ࿔

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wibben · 5 months ago

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Strange Bedfellows

An overnight mission leaves Nanami and Higuruma sharing more than just a professional rivalry.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x kento nanami

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, bottom! higuruma, top! nanami, sexual tension, rivals to lovers, one-bed trope, pining, frottage, (m) mutual masturbation, sexsomnia, wet dreams, dry humping

↳ wc: 11,355

↳ notes: another ao3 cross-post! this was written for day 5 of @higunanaweek, and I think it's one of my favorites of the bunch! nanami art by @/xu_bx7 on twitter, higuruma art by @/amico173 on twitter

“What do you mean there’s only one room?”

Higuruma’s voice cut through the sterile lobby air, sharp and unyielding. He stared down his nose at the nervous young woman behind the desk, shrewd, stern, who seemed to shrink under the weight of it. She wrung her hands, her brows knitting together in a silent plea for forgiveness as she fumbled for the right words. Her eyes flickered nervously between Higuruma and the glowing monitor, her lips parting in a desperate attempt to conjure an explanation.

“I—I… let me check again. I’m so sorry…”

“Please do.”

Higuruma exhaled a longsuffering sigh, the weight of his frustration settling deep in his weary bones. Leaning heavily on the reception counter, he pinched the bridge of his nose as the clatter of keys behind it grated on his nerves. It felt like the universe was conspiring against him today.

First, the car ride—a torturous stretch of road that seemed designed to fray his nerves with every bump and jolt. The mission briefing in his hands blurred in and out of focus, tense, unable to think with the silent, brooding wall beside him.

Poor conversation was made even worse by the fact that his companion’s silence wasn’t even peaceful. It was sharp-edged, judgmental, like he was silently cataloging Higuruma’s every fault and flaw before he’d managed to do anything. As if being cooped up in a car with someone like that for hours wasn’t bad enough, the higher-ups decided that person was to be his babysitter; as if he weren’t a grown man himself and so what if he’s new to jujutsu, he’s good at it—a prodigy even—and he gets jobs done and—

“I’m really sorry, sir, I only have one room for you.”

Well, shit.

Higuruma was a proud man, but even pride had its limits; and when it came to something like this he’d throw it to the wind. His fingers steepled before his face, his stress reaching a peak, tired eyes blew wide with exasperated pleading. “Please, you don’t understand—I need another room. Hell, I’ll sleep in the goddamn lobby. I just can’t be stuck with—”

“... Is there a problem?”

Higuruma stiffened, the roll of suitcase wheels on wooden boards sounding more like the drag of an executioner’s axe.

He turned to face Nanami, who carried their bags with the same unyielding stoicism that seemed a permanent feature of his countenance. The air of unflappable calm that surrounded him only grated further on Higuruma’s thread-bare nerves.

“I assume there’s a problem, for you to be bothering the front desk already.”

Higuruma shot him a look that clearly screamed: ‘of course there’s a fucking problem,’ but before he could put his irritation to words, the receptionist interjected.

She looked to Nanami with desperately friendly eyes, silently pleading that this man—the quieter one—might be less inclined to bite her head off. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. There’s been a mix-up with the bookings and we’re short a bunch of rooms. I only have one left…” She cast a nervous glance back at Higuruma, who looked positively steamed, then back at Nanami as he came to a stop at the desk.

A wave of annoyance and dismay washed over him, a cold tide that mercilessly drowned the small comforts he had carefully planned for the evening. He’d envisioned a quiet, solitary night—a long bath, the crisp pages of a book he’d been eager to start, and the simple pleasure of fresh bread from a bundle he had tucked into his bag. The prospect of sharing a room, and with someone as high-strung as Higuruma, was far from appealing.

“...I see.”

Higuruma’s frustration boiled over, though he kept his tone measured. “Is there really no other option? We’re here on important business and need proper accommodations.”

Nanami’s calm gaze shifted back to the receptionist, who looked as if she might melt into the floor under the weight of Higuruma’s glare. “We’ll take the room,” he spoke suddenly, spurred by pity for another of society's downtrodden, brooking no argument. “We don’t have time to find other lodgings.”

The young woman nodded quickly, relieved to have someone decisive to address. She offered the key to Nanami with a quickness, desperate to get it and them off her overworked and overtired hands.

Nanami accepted the key with a curt nod, passing it to Higuruma, who snatched it like it was the last scrap of his pride, muttering a stiff, “Thank you,” through clenched teeth. He looked for all the world like a deflated balloon, all the air of authority he usually carried now leaking out in a slow, miserable hiss.

Nanami adjusted his grip on their bags, the plastic handles groaning in protest under the weight of his hand. Of course something like this would happen. When it came to Higuruma, nothing ever went smoothly. The man had an uncanny knack for turning the simplest tasks into a tangled mess, stirring up trouble where there should be none.

If Nanami said left, Higuruma would inevitably go right. If he said up, Higuruma would dive down. It was as if the man took perverse pleasure in jamming the square block into the circle hole, and any attempt Nanami made to exert authority was met with the immovable resistance of a brick wall. Higuruma was a force of nature—unpredictable, uncontrollable, and more stubborn than any beast Nanami had ever encountered.

And that’s exactly why Nanami resented him.

He resented the higher-ups for thinking his diligence could somehow fix the unfixable, resented this ridiculous mission, resented this shit job—and most of all, he resented this shit inn, with its one-room nightmare.

Deep down, Nanami knew it wasn’t really Higuruma’s fault. But as they climbed the narrow staircase and navigated the threadbare halls, it was all too easy to shoot a derisive glance at him through the sea-glass green tint of his glasses, certain Higuruma’s mere presence had cursed them both.

Higuruma, for his part, was steeling himself, jaw set in determination. It was just one night, maybe two if the mission dragged on longer than expected. He resolved then and there to make it quick, no matter how much Nanami might chastise, berate, or hinder whatever methods he employed to get it done.

They reached their room,and Higuruma cupped the doorknob, giving it a jiggle before the door finally creaked open. He stepped forward, fully intending to hold the door for Nanami and the bags—because that was the polite thing to do. But all thoughts of courtesy evaporated as his stomach plummeted to and then through the floor.

Nanami, following close behind, nearly collided with Higuruma’s back. “Please keep moving—” he began, but the words stuck in his throat as his gaze locked onto the scene before them.

Their eyes hit the single bed simultaneously—pristine, white sheets meticulously tucked, and—was that champagne? Higuruma’s ears lit up red, heat crawling up his neck as mortification spread like wildfire. Rose petals? Was this some kind of sick joke? Blood pounded in his temples, the absurdity of standing in what was so clearly a honeymoon suite with Nanami making his skin crawl with blistering embarrassment.

“No, absolutely not.”

“…This is highly irregular—”

“—Unprofessional, more like—”

Higuruma shook his head in vehement denial, already turning on his heel and nearly colliding with Nanami’s chest in his haste. “I’ll go back to the lobby… there has to be something else… a coat closet, maybe—”

“Higuruma.” Nanami halted him firmly, blocking his path with the bastion of overnight bags hoisted upon flexed shoulders. He stared down his nose at Higuruma with a sternness that made the ex-attorney feel inexplicably cowed.

“I will not allow you to bother that girl again. We’ll make do.”

Higuruma’s attempts to leave, awkwardly failing to thread the needle around the wall that was Nanami, were halted when the man stepped past him and deeper into the room, taking his belongings hostage.

Nanami was the picture of calm. His movements deliberate, precise, each action executed with the same meticulous care he applied to everything. He entered the room with steady composure, placing his bag on the foot of the bed without a second glance at the rose petals scattered across the duvet or the champagne chilling in a silver bucket. To him, they might as well have been invisible.

He unzipped his bag and began to unpack, methodically unfolding his clothes for tomorrow and hanging them neatly in the closet. His fingers moved with the same practiced efficiency with which he approached all things, smoothing out any wrinkles with a quick, deft touch and brush of his hands over ironed fabric

Higuruma watched with the faintest quiver of his shoulders. The door was still open, and he stood closest to it. He had half a mind—no, closer to two-thirds of a mind—to just march back through it and bolt down the hall. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not when Nanami was practically rubbing his unruffled feathers in his face, appearing so calm that it made him itch to piss him off, just to see if he could make Nanami crack, just to know there was a man beneath the metal.

Higuruma’s blood burned with staggish pride as he closed the door, a declaration if only to himself that he wouldn’t be outdone by a man who exists with a perpetual pole up his ass. He marched over and grabbed his own bag, dropping it on the bed beside Nanami’s and unzipped it with a flourish. Nanami paused his own unpacking, glancing sidelong; he isn’t oblivious to this dick-measuring competition Higuruma issued, even if he chooses not to rise to it.

And he chooses not to rise to it because he’s utterly horrified. A singular room was bad enough, a single bed even worse. But the room is flavored so intensely romantic, such a glaring breach in professionalism that he doesn’t know how he hasn’t fallen to his knees and wept. His outward serenity is tempered by holy rage, already considering how hot the coals would be that he intends to rake Ijichi over for this appalling mix-up.

Somewhere, many hours away back on campus, Ijichi shuddered.

The room misted thick with suffocating silence, disturbed only by the occasional rustle of fabric or the quiet thud of a drawer closing. Nanami took to ironing tomorrow's shirt with a precision just shy of obsessive, each stroke and hiss of the iron a desperate attempt to transfer the heat of his frustration to the steam billowing from the board.

On the other side of the room, Higuruma pretended not to watch, busying himself with anything that kept his hands moving and his mind occupied. He found himself flipping through the pages of the complimentary Bible he’d pulled from the nightstand, not out of piety but sheer desperation for something, anything, to do. His devotion to distraction could almost be considered religious if one squinted.

The minutes dragged, each one heavier than the last. Nanami, finding himself finished with the shirt far too quickly, awkwardly shuffled a deck of cards he’d discovered in a drawer. The quiet slap of cardboard against cardboard only plucked at both mens nerves all the more.

So awkward was the silence, that even a practiced enjoyer of it such as Nanami finally felt the need to break it. “Are you… enjoying that? I didn’t take you for the type.” Nanami shot a pointed glance at the leather bound book in Higuruma’s hands.

“Riveting.” He grunted, not looking up.

Silence reigned once again.

The unbearable tension finally snapped, like a too-tight wire fraying under pressure. Nanami cleared his throat, and set the deck of cards down with an air of finality, as if conceding defeat to the invisible force between them. “I’ll go shower,” he announced, a shade too quickly, seriously considering drowning himself. He caught the absent hum of acknowledgment from Higuruma, who was still pretending to read the same line for the hundredth time.

Higuruma waited, counting the seconds until the distant sound of running water reached his ears, and then let out a long, shaky breath, his hands dropping the Bible like it burned him. His face fell into his palms, heart hammering against his ribs with the frenzied desperation of a caged animal, desperate to claw its way out. A low, rough groan rumbled in his throat as he scrubbed a weary hand over his face, trying to erase the relentless tension etched into every muscle before Nanami returned.

In the bathroom, Nanami pressed his forehead against the cold tile, water pouring over his bowed head. His hands braced against the wall, blunt nails digging into the slick surface in an effort to ground himself in the midst of this waking nightmare. His heart pounded with a cocktail of stress and humiliation so potent that it twisted his stomach to the point of nausea. He was horrified by the situation, mortified by the implications, and the longer he stood there, the more he questioned how he would ever face Higuruma again without wanting to crawl out of his own skin.

Nanami wasn’t a vain man. His appearance, in his mind, was a reflection of his dedication to the unremarkable—a clean, professional exterior polished just enough to blend into the background, to become one with the sea of suits and silent efficiency. He took a certain pride in this ordinariness, in presenting himself with a uniformity that drew no attention, commanded no second glance.

But there were simple standards he abided by, boundaries that should never be crossed. A colleague should never see him with his hair undone, loose and unkempt. A colleague should never see him outside of work. A colleague should certainly never see him in his sleepwear, prepared for bed, prepared to share a bed—

The thought struck like a blow to the gut, stopping him dead in his tracks, his breath catching so sharply that he inadvertently inhaled a mouthful of water. He choked, the sound quickly muffled into the crook of his muscled forearm as he hunched over, a silent curse slipping from his lips.

Fuck.

When Nanami finally emerged from the bathroom, it was with a gust of steam, a billowing cloud of vaporous heat that curled around his bare feet and clung to the frayed hem of his plaid linen pants. The transition from the damp warmth of the bathroom to the cooler air of the room sent a shiver up his spine, making him feel exposed, more so than even the loose drawstring of his pajama bottoms or his bare chest ever could.

His hair, usually meticulously combed, now hung damp and tousled, a rebellious mess that only added to the sensation of exposure gnawing at him, fraying the edges of his carefully constructed self-assurance. He stepped forward, gaze fixed resolutely ahead, avoiding Higuruma’s eyes as if by sheer will he could erase the fact that this—this woeful breach of boundaries—was happening at all.

But there were no eyes for Nanami to avoid. Higuruma’s back was turned, his shoulders hunched over a thick wooden desk on the opposite wall, swaying idly in the creaky rolling chair. The faint clink of ice in the bucket and the soft hiss of champagne fizzing to life came from his side of the room. Higuruma’s arm shot up in a lazy backwards greeting, bottle neck firmly gripped, the champagne already half-drunk straight from the source. A decidedly unromantic way to enjoy the drink—about the only thing in this entire mess that seemed fittingly appropriate.

“Ah—good. I was starting to think you’d died in there—” Higuruma grunted with weary annoyance, spinning himself further in the chair to cast what would have been a bemused glance toward Nanami—if he weren’t suddenly so focused on keeping the champagne from erupting and scorching his throat and nose, nearly choking on the frothy surge at the sight of him.

Like this, Nanami appeared strikingly younger. His usual air of immaculate professionalism was absent, leaving him looking closer to his actual age—or at least, what Higuruma guessed his age to be, since their exchanges had rarely ventured beyond barbed remarks.

Without the constriction of his suit and carefully combed hair, his features softened, the severe lines of his face yielded to be almost approachable. His hair was tousled, the wet strands clinging together, a stray towel draped haphazardly over bare and broad shoulders.

“Unfortunately I did not.”

When their eyes met, there was a moment of shared surprise; both men reflexively turned away, Higuruma back to the desk and Nanami towards the bed. Nanami ran a hand through his hair, his bicep flexing with the motion as he grimaced in embarrassment, hidden from view.

Nanami slipped into the bed, the crisp sheets rustling softly as he maneuvered himself under them. He pulled the covers up to his chin, as though the fabric might offer some shield against the awkwardness that turns the air humid. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning, and the glassy grind of the champagne bottle as Higuruma shuffled it back and forth between uncertain hands.

After a long stretch of silence, Nanami finally broke it, his voice nasally and rough as he reached for his book on the nightstand. “Thank you.”

Higuruma flinched, snapping out of his thoughts. “For?”

Nanami sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his own reluctant gratitude. He hesitated, debating if it was even worth acknowledging, but eventually gave in. “For cleaning up the… mess,” he added with a rueful grimace. The rose petals that had once littered the mattress and floor were nowhere to be seen.

“It’s much better.”

Higuruma let out a low, dismissive noise, flicking his wrist as if to swat away the words. No, he’d rather not think about the rose petals—or the fact that he’d scrabbled on hands and knees to pick them up, one by one, and buried them at the bottom of the trash bin like some feral teenage secret.

So he changed the subject with a sledgehammers subtlety, taking a deep breath and stealing a glance at Nanami who seemed effortlessly absorbed in his novel. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over his damp hair, burning it a darkened gold. And maybe he was drunker than he realized, because the sudden urge to cross the room, crawl onto the mattress, and run his fingers through that hair hits him like a freight train—

“I’m taking the chair,” he blurted out, meeting Nanami’s gaze, both of them equally startled by the sudden declaration. “If you wouldn’t mind just sparing a pillow.”

Nanami frowned, nudging his glasses higher to peer over the top of his book. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “You’ll injure your back and be a liability to the mission. You’re sleeping in the bed.”

Higuruma’s lips pressed into a thin line, bristling indignantly. “My back will be just fine, thank you very much.” Though he wasn’t so sure he could say the same tomorrow after carrying the weight of this entire mission.

“Look, I don’t need you to babysit me,” Higuruma continued on. “I can handle myself just fine.”

Nanami simply shook his head, infuriatingly calm. “You’re being reckless. You always are. That’s why you’re stuck with me in the first place—to keep you from getting yourself killed.”

Nanami spoke so certainly, so matter of factly, as if it were a guarantee that Higuruma would sooner or later stumble and need a pair of experienced hands to catch him, that it made Higuruma see red. He bristled, nose curled with bitter defiance. “Reckless? Please. You play it too safe all the time, Nanami. That doesn’t make you better equipped, that makes you boring.”

“I’m not here to be exciting. I’m here to do my job without unnecessary risks,” Nanami shot back, his tone icy. “And right now, the only unnecessary risk is you trying to sleep in that chair and harming yourself.”

Higuruma’s jaw clenched, his irritation mounting with every word Nanami spoke. “I don’t need your approval to do my job. Maybe I’d be better off without you hovering over me.”

Nanami’s grip on his book tightened, his patience wearing thin. “You’re a loose canon, Higuruma. And I refuse to let you put me in harm's way just because you think you’re invincible.”

“Maybe I am invincible! Maybe I don’t need you watching over my shoulder every second. I’ve got this handled. I don’t need you or your damn bed—”

“You do need the bed, and you’re going to sleep in it,” Nanami interrupted, his voice firm, cutting through Higuruma’s tirade like the blunt blade he himself wields. “I won’t have your blood on my hands because you decided to be stubborn.”

Higuruma opened his mouth to argue again, but the conviction in Nanami’s tone gave him pause. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a kernel of truth in what Nanami said. He knew he was capable, but the last thing he wanted was to end up injured—or worse, dead—because of something as stupid as a lack of sleep or a slipped disk. He wouldn’t allow Nanami the satisfaction.

He met Nanami’s eyes the entire time as he stood and stalked over to the bed, each step slow and deliberate, like he was daring Nanami to say something. The air was thick with tension, a silent standoff where neither man seemed willing to back down. But Nanami just watched him, calm as ever, that infuriating poker face giving nothing away; an icy counter to Higuruma’s fiery defiance.

Higuruma yanked back the covers with a quick, sharp flick, keeping his gaze locked on Nanami’s. He slipped into bed, making a show of settling as far from Nanami as humanly possible. The mattress dipped under his weight, the distance between them barely a foot, but it felt like mere centimeters with how he’s immediately engulfed in Nanami’s furnace-like body heat beneath the covers.

Nanami didn’t rise to the challenge, but he didn’t bow to it either. He held Higuruma’s gaze with an unflinching steadiness, an unspoken acknowledgment of the battle being fought in silence. Neither blinked, neither wavered, ever the unmovable object to Higuruma’s unstoppable force.

But for now, at least, he was in the bed. And that, Higuruma told himself, was his decision. Not Nanami’s.

He finally turned away, his back to Nanami, but the so-called victory left a sour taste in his mouth. “Sanctimonious prick,” Higuruma grumbled, voice tight as he yanked the sheet up to his shoulders, frustration knotting bitterly in his chest.

Without warning, Nanami snapped his book shut, the sharp clap of it cutting through Higuruma’s grating rant. His patience, thin as it was, finally wore through after the fifth attempt to read the same damn paragraph. He didn’t bother with words, just rolled over and clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“Insufferable egoist,” he muttered, voice low and rough with irritation.

It was as close to a ‘goodnight’ as either of them was willing to offer.

The room simmered in the thick silence left in the wake of their argument, the air steeped with the remnants of their spat. Neither of them moved, both stubbornly clinging to their respective sides of the bed, the earlier heat cooling into uneasy embers buried beneath ash.

Higuruma’s fists slowly loosened their death grip on the sheets. He could feel the frustration ebbing away, replaced by a dull, persistent slightly-buzzed fatigue that tugged at him, heavy and insistent. His eyelids grew heavier, his breath evening out against his will, and before he could fight it, sleep crept in, stealing him away with the last lingering traces of his irritation.

Across the bed, Nanami lay unmoving, his eyes locked on the ceiling, unblinking as the minutes stretched into what felt like hours. He listened, every slight sound amplified in the stillness—Higuruma’s breaths gradually deepening, the rustle of sheets as he shifted in his sleep, the steady drone of the AC that filled the gaps in the silence.

It wasn’t until he heard Higuruma sigh softly in his sleep, a sound so unguarded and peaceful that it almost startled him, that Nanami finally felt the first threads of his tension begin to unwind. The rigid lines of his shoulders softened, his body easing into the mattress as the room exhaled around them. It wasn’t a competition to see who could outlast the other, but he’d won it anyway.

The darkness shifted, becoming less of a burden and more of a balm, lulling him into a state of reluctant relaxation. Only then, after what felt like an eternity, did Nanami allow his eyes to close, surrendering to the slow, inevitable pull of sleep as it finally claimed him too.

The night wore thick with hurricane's-eye quiet, the sort that made every small sound swell. Every sniff, every slight shift of mattress springs, every rustle and tug on the blanket was a gunshot in the dark, unheard by either of them through the veil of unconsciousness. The tension from before had finally ebbed, leaving the room heavy with uneasy peace that would last until daybreak; until they woke and remembered themselves and, unfortunately, remembered each other.

Higuruma’s sleep was restless, warped by murky and unpredictable dream logic. He was a tired man, worn down and beaten to a vaguely human-shaped pulp by each day's end, and so he didn’t often dream. His brain struggled with the unfamiliarity, twisting in dissonant directions that blurred the lines between reality and nonsense.

It’s just his luck that tonight he dreams, and of course he couldn’t escape Nanami, even there.

“...Guilty!”

Judgeman’s voice rang with authority, echoing off the dreamscape walls of the courtroom. Higuruma stared at Nanami on the stand, whose eyes flickered with something between disbelief and annoyance.

Higuruma could feel a vicious pride swelling in his chest as Judgeman called the verdict. It didn’t matter what Nanami had done—whether he’d swiped a candy bar from a corner store or toppled an empire; it was all irrelevant. The sweet thrill of victory was what he savored. This was his domain, a theater of justice where every misstep Nanami had ever made played on an endless loop for Judgeman to scrutinize.

Nanami sighed, pushing the bridge of his glasses with a practiced flick to nudge them higher up his nose. “That’s hardly fair, Higuruma. This is your dream, after all—”

“Ah, ah,” Higuruma interrupted, eyes narrowing into glittering slits as he held up a hand in triumph, silencing Nanami's protest with a smug grin. No, he would be savoring this victory, even if only in the recesses of his subconscious. Here, his word was law, and Nanami was the subject of his courtroom drama.

Confiscation? Death penalty? Higuruma’s mind raced through the possibilities, savoring each like a connoisseur sampling a fine wine. For as much as Nanami grated on his nerves, he sincerely hoped it wouldn't be the latter—the man doesn’t need to die for being a snobbish, holier-than-thou, mother hen—

“Kiss.”

What?

“What?”

Nanami’s voice mirrored Higuruma’s thoughts perfectly, both snapping to attention, eyes wide as they turned to the shikigami that hovered kite-like and oppressive just behind Higuruma. Judgeman, with its impassive stitched gaze and cryptic presence, remained ever silent, the verdict and the punishment both declared. Its job was done and would not be repeated.

The absurdity of it all tickled at the edges of his consciousness, tugging at a laugh that threatened to spill over. A kiss? In the grand theater of his mind, that was the punishment meted out by his subconscious?

He’s somewhat offended by himself that kissing him would be so bad as to be deemed corporal.

But when he turned back to Nanami, he found the man already watching him with a steady gaze. Prideful as ever, chin held high, Nanami stared Higuruma down with a confidence that skirted dangerously on the edge of intimidating—a quality that was indeed daunting in the waking world, if he were honest with himself. Arms crossed and seemingly unbothered by the verdict, Nanami cocked his head. “So, are you coming to me, or shall I come to you?”

Higuruma stared.

And then he stared a little longer. This was undoubtedly the weirdest dream he’d ever had.

True to life, his hackles raised at Nanami’s challenge, a gauntlet thrown down between them, and Higuruma’s alcohol-thinned blood simmered beneath his skin. Nanami had a way of forcing him to bend the knee, but not this time. Not here.

Higuruma descended from his platform, leather shoes clicking sharply over the polished stone tile as he stalked toward Nanami’s stand. He propped a foot on the bottom rung, hoisting himself up and curled his hands around the mahogany railing that separated them. Braced on strangely sweaty palms, he leaned forward, almost nose-to-nose with Nanami now.

In the dark of the hotel room beneath chilled sheets, Higuruma shifted, rolling to his other side with an outstretched leg to knock socked-toes against Nanami’s ankle.

Nanami's eyes gleamed with a challenge as he reached over the railing, fingers curling into Higuruma's shirt, yanking him forward with surprising strength. Their lips crashed together, a collision of heat that sent a jolt through Higuruma's dream-self.

The intensity of it took him off guard, the force of Nanami’s mouth on his leaving Higuruma reeling. This was meant to be punitive, a slap on the wrist—or lips, rather—but it was hard to remember why when Nanami kissed him like this.

Champagne and mint.

He couldn’t possibly know what Nanami tasted like, so his mind helpfully supplied the sharp concoction from his own tongue. His hands moved before his mind could catch up, tangling in Nanami’s hair and pulling him closer, pressing deeper into the kiss. There was something beneath all that resentment—a spark, a flicker of treacherous attraction Higuruma had never let himself consider. But it was there, buried under a mountain of irritation and petty grievances.

The kiss morphed, a messy thing turned messier and god, Higuruma didn’t ever want it to end. He hadn’t known he wanted this at all and if he won’t remember this when he wakes he’ll make the most of it now. Higuruma’s grip tightened, pulling Nanami in, erasing the line between them until it didn’t matter where one began and the other ended. There’s a vibration in his mouth—a groan, he thinks—but from who he wasn’t sure.

Higuruma was lost in the dream, and his body was quick to betray him in the waking world with shameful ferocity. Unconsciously he inched closer until he was pressed snug against Nanami, his body seeking the flesh-warmth he so reveled in within his dreamt domain. His arm hooked lazily around Nanami’s middle, nose pressed tight into a prickling honey-blonde undercut.

His hips jerked, orbiting in uncoordinated circles. It was sloppy, a messy grind choked by rust and time-lost inexperience, devoid of rhythm but steeped in the urgency of need. The friction, the coarse slide of fabric against fabric, was enough to quicken his breath and set his blood thrumming. Nanami’s thigh was warm enough, firm enough, and it penetrated that purgatorial barrier with enough ease that it didn’t matter to him one bit.

Nanami woke slowly, dragging himself out of sleep with sandy slowness, eyelids heavy and mind sluggish as he blinked against the groggy blur. It wasn’t the usual sounds that roused him—no birds chirping, no insistent alarm beep—but rather the disorienting sensation of near-perfect darkness that left him momentarily unsure if his eyes were even open, and warmth and pressure tugging him further into awareness.

His brow furrowed in confusion as the warmth pressed against him again, incoordinate and inconsistent, paired with the soft, breathy exhale of something that sounded suspiciously like a sleep-garbled attempt at his name, the unmistakable hardness nestled against his hip—

The sluggish cogs in Nanami’s brain started to click into place, oil applied to bleary gears, and when the reality hit him it hit him like a bullet.

Oh. Oh.

His eyes snapped so wide they hurt, panic flooding his system and catching his breath in an iron fist to be yanked forcefully down his tight throat. Higuruma ground against him again, and Nanami should move, should stop him from embarrassing himself.

But worse yet—much worse—was that Nanami didn’t want to stop him. His thickening cock was proof of that, treacherous was the growing tent in his pants that made frenzied sweat bead on his bare chest. Mortification clawed at him, it left him paralyzed.

This couldn’t be happening

“Higuruma,” Nanami croaked, voice thick with sleep and arousal that settled so hot and heavy over his brain that he couldn’t begin to school it out of his tone. He shook him, a bit too roughly in his haste, desperate to stop this before it spiraled any further out of control. “Higuruma, wake up.”

Higuruma grumbled, fingers tightening their burial in wrinkled linen sheets when they failed to find purchase on the smooth skin of Nanami’s arm. His head bowed, tucked low and determined as he rutted against Nanami again, mouth pulled taut with displeasure as the source of the warmth grew firmer and less pliable, more distant, and he’s shaken.

Higuruma’s eyes cracked open, rolling white as he’s gracelessly tugged from his dream. He could cry, he wants to claw it back until it’s marked with the blunt bite of his nails, hoarding it jealously in his mind where none may take it and none may know. So desperate is he to keep the slipping memory alive and in his grasp, to hold possessively to the fabricated flesh memory that his eyes slip closed again—until his name is barked into his ear like a clap of thunder.

He blinked, suddenly much more awake, sleeps fog lifting as if he were hot pavement, and with that heat comes the cold, cruel, crushing weight of reality. The heat was not his own, and his eyes were filled with the dark silhouette of a muscular back and half turned shoulder. The weight against his front, another's leg pinned between his own, the pressure against his fully erect member—though it isn’t rare for Higuruma to suffer from morning wood—it isn’t morning, nor is he alone.

He froze, horrified as the reality of his situation dawned clear, sentenced under the weight of his own dreamt gavel.

Oh no. Oh god, oh fuck, no.

Panic surged through him with the violence of a live-wire. Higuruma practically convulsed with his clawing to escape, scrambling back and almost tumbling off the bed in his rush to put much needed space between them. Sheets tangle in his legs, yanking them free from Nanami who jerks in response, grabbing a pillow and forcing it tightly down over his own lap.

“I—oh my god, I’m so sorry—didn’t mean to… fuck, shit—I wasn’t—” The words tumbled in a frantic stream from Higuruma’s mouth, mortification burning through him like wildfire, setting each nerve ablaze until his whole body grew slick with terror-induced sweat. It left him dizzy and desperate to crawl into a hole and disappear forever, and he knew he should’ve slept in the fucking chair—

Nanami’s silence was deafening, but it wasn’t the steady, composed kind that Higuruma had come to expect. No, this was an awkward, uncertain sort. The kind that made Higuruma’s stomach hurt—he expected Nanami to punch him with every second that ticked by without a word, and god he would deserve it, would relish it even as some sort of penance for this egregious trampling of bounds and he’s sure Nanami feels absolutely sick.

But Nanami would not punch Higuruma, nor would he speak. Nanami is a quiet man, but that has always been by choice. For the first time in his life, he was at a loss for words. Everything he should say flees him, anything he could say slips like water between his fingers, and everything he wants to say simply isn’t an option. He struggles to process the situation, but his body certainly doesn’t, cock hard and insistent against his thin pants and pillow shield.

Higuruma wanted to die. He wanted to sink into the earth and never be seen again. But more than that, he wanted to forget that he’d been grinding on Nanami like some desperate animal in heat, laying bare something he hadn’t known he wanted in the most humiliating way possible.

“I’m so sorry,” Higuruma repeated, voice shaky and impossibly small in the dark. His heart beat erratically, pounding behind his ribs with a concerning force—maybe he’ll have a heart attack, drop dead right then and there and that would be merciful, wouldn’t it? He felt like a fool, an absolute idiot, and the shame was suffocating, and he’s wholly undeserving of Nanami’s forgiveness but he silently pleads for it anyways. Forgiveness, punishment in the way of a broken nose, he would accept it all but this silence eroded his nerves down to the quick and made him nauseous.

Nanami finally spoke, his voice low and uncertain, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “It’s… fine,” said through clenched teeth, though his expression was anything but. His brow furrowed, caught between confusion and the unwelcome heat simmering beneath his skin, emotions tangled and unspooled messily and he couldn’t begin to figure out how to put them back together.

Both stared up at the ceiling, hearts jackhammered against their cages in a way that may have been bonding—this shared feeling of horror—if not for the gulf forcibly carved between them via blank mattress space. Higuruma allowed himself to be lost in the sea of white linen sheets where he hoped to drown, and Nanami clutched to the raft that was the downy pillow locked very conspicuously over his lap.

Both willed their very obvious predicaments to go away, but thinking about them only made it worse. Unsexy thoughts didn’t work, when the only thought either of them had was about the ache between their legs, and Nanami considered how much easier it would’ve been to not have woken Higuruma at all and slipped away to the bathroom, jerking himself to calmness in a harried palm; while Higuruma wonders how thick the glass of the nearby window is, and if he might be able throw himself through it.

He chanced a glance at Nanami, eyes skittering surreptitiously in the dark. Bare chested and devoid of the blanket, one knee bent upward with a forearm flung over his forehead, Higuruma is just as quick to look away because fuck had Nanami always looked so good? Surely not, surely it’s just the dark, and the residuals of a dream he should never have had and would never have had if not for the alcohol in his system, but he looked good and the pillow in his lap makes Higuruma want to move it to see what’s underneath—

His gaze flickered downward, inexorably drawn to the pillow where his heart thumps overtime. Oh fuck.

Higuruma is a man. He’s fully aware of the tricks he might deploy and has deployed in a situation like this. His old desk made for great cover when his body went neglected in favor of late nights pouring over cases, cock thickened and twitching down the seam of his thigh. A well placed file, though more obvious, could serve just as well until he had a chance to adjust himself. A clipboard, his coat slung over his arm, a pillow—

Higuruma’s eyes zeroed in on the pillow perched awkwardly on Nanami’s lap, a wordless understanding crashing over him that leaves him breathless. It was a man’s intuition, the kind that muddled both heads—the one on his shoulders running on empty, while the other swelled with smug satisfaction. Nanami was just as affected, and Higuruma felt his cock give a hopeful jump that maybe not all was lost… what else does he have to lose with his dignity already in shambles?

An idea—stupid and reckless—flashed through Higuruma’s mind, and he couldn’t quite quash it, couldn’t quite suppress the tiny flicker of something that wasn’t quite panic and wasn’t quite desire. Maybe it was madness. Maybe he’d finally lost it.

“Nanami—”

“Excuse me,” Nanami interrupted, palm clasped tight over his mouth and nose, and shuffled to the edge of the mattress with jerky and robotic movements. Feet hit the floor and he bent, shoulders hunched and muscles tense as he prepared to force himself up and away as quickly as possible. But before he could make his escape, Higuruma’s hand shot out, clutching Nanami’s wrist in a desperate grip.

“Wait,” Higuruma gasped, voice barely registering above a whisper, inaudible above the pounding of his own heart. This was stupid, mortifyingly so, but somehow the idea grew legs and ran from his mind and out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Nanami doesn’t turn, but he freezes, paused and straining but not pulling away.

Higuruma’s eyes are wide and pleading, thoughts spiraled to oblivion with not a hope in hell of getting them back. “What if—” he swallowed. “We could—maybe we could…?”

The words slipped out before he could think better of them, and he cursed himself for being so weak, so utterly incapable of keeping his treacherous mouth shut. He wanted to take them back, swallow them down and pretend they’d never existed.

If Nanami could grow stiffer, he did. His shoulders expanded with the slow sucking inhale he pulled between his teeth. So too stiffened the turgid length between his legs, hard enough that he feels he might bore a hole through the pillow in his lap.

He feels like a teenager. Feral, and stupid, and so wildly out of control. Higuruma can’t say that. He can’t say things like that because if he does then Nanami wouldn’t be able to quash the thoughts of agreeing out of his head. And he can’t agree. They’re coworkers, and in some strange sense Higuruma is a mentee. His stubborn, infuriating, good-for-nothing, good looking, hopelessly distracting mentee.

Higuruma stared, Nanami avoided, reaching that familiar impasse but this time was unlike any other. “Wildly inappropriate—” Nanami muttered. “Ridiculous. I can’t believe you would even—absolutely not, no—”

“Fuck, say it again.”

Higuruma froze, his grip on Nanami’s wrist tightening. “Say what?” he ventured.

Nanami didn’t turn, but even in the dark Higuruma could see the muscles in his back twitch. Where Higuruma saw anger, Nanami felt restraint. Horror… temptation. Disgust… desire.

“Tell me what you want.” Nanami elaborated, voice breathless from the oxygen that flees his lungs and head, and with it goes his last chance to flee as well. Nanami is not a spontaneous man, but the act of surrender, of slipping the leash choked so tightly by his own hand, was nothing short of euphoric. This would be enough, even if nothing more—

Higuruma’s breath caught, snagged and lured on every word Nanami spoke, and every insult he didn't. He dared to let his grip slip on Nanami’s wrist, the calloused tips of his fingers brush over the sensitive inner skin beneath his palm, marveling at the veins and tendons that flex under his touch. Nanami didn’t pull away, and Higuruma almost groaned when he felt Nanami’s fingers twitch, moving to loosely tangle with his own. “I…”

Higuruma found himself lost for words. A rarity for him. “I, ah—you.”

Nanami’s blood roared in his ears. Yes, yes, oh fuck yes please—

“Can I… can I touch you…? I’m so sorry—fuck, we can just go to sleep, this is too awkward—”

No, no, no.

Higuruma’s grip slackened on Nanami’s wrist and retracted back into his own space. Nanami wasn’t sure what compelled him, a sudden surge of panic powered his body without his input and he twisted, spun around to face Higuruma who flinched with the surprise of it. He grabbed Higuruma's arm, holding his elbow, his other hand braced atop Higuruma’s knee through the blanket. He hadn’t meant to touch him, but he can’t find it in himself to move his hand either.

“No, please wait.”

They both stared face to face now, the dark doing little to conceal the burning red that stained both of their faces. Nanami felt that same panic slither down his throat—Higuruma stared at him, expectant, and now he had to be the one to push. Nanami silently cursed the way his hands shook as they drifted down Higuruma’s arm, loosely circling his wrist and drawing his hand to his chest.

His heart pounded violently, a dying animal trying to escape his ribcage for somewhere safer than inside him. “...Touch me.”

The air whistled from Higuruma’s nose, shaky palm and splayed fingers pressed against the bared skin he hadn’t known existed before a few short hours ago. His hand doesn’t move, frozen and paralytic as skittish eyes flicked up to meet Nanami’s for approval that he’d already received.

Stone faced as ever, Nanami made every effort to soften his edges. His brows lowered light and gentle, and his lips twitched in a rare up-tick, a hesitant smile and Higuruma had never seen such a thing on the man's face before. “Do you not want to…?” Nanami’s fingers brushed lightly over the fine bones that latticed the back of Higuruma’s hands.

“I…” Higuruma’s tongue was still struck dumb, breathless at the hot feel of skin beneath his palm. How long had it been since he’d touched somebody? Since he’d wanted to touch Nanami?

It crashed upon him, the realization that he’d buried after their first introduction was exchanged months ago, and every exchange since being one of barely restrained dislike at best. Even back then, and every time after, he wished circumstances were different; because truth be told, he thought he could like Nanami. His ideals, his determination, his ethics—they had all the ingredients to make for good friends.

They might have met over coffee or a drink stronger than espresso, they could’ve bickered over bread brands at the grocery store rather than how to best safeguard their lives. If things had been different, maybe they could’ve been different too.

It scared him, this sudden epiphany that he may have been wrong—or worse, a fool.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“That’s irrelevant and not what I asked,” Nanami insisted firmly. He gave Higuruma’s hand a small push, guiding it against his sternum and sliding slightly lower. He wasn’t sure where his sudden boldness came from—maybe it was the exhaustion, or the fact that the blood in his head had fully migrated south to his cock and that’s the head he was thinking with.

Maybe it’s because he’d dropped the pillow in his haste, and Higuruma’s eyes dropped with it to sweep shamelessly along his erection. There’s a savage pride Nanami harvests from Higuruma’s eyes, black as oil but far more valuable.

“Do you want to?” He repeats, eyes piercing, impeaching.

The look in Nanami’s eyes, the loosening of the harsh lines of his face in favor of an uncertain smile, all things point to this not being the trap Higuruma was half convinced it must be. There was no fist imbued with licking blue flames crashing into his nose or mouth, no vitriol spat for him being some sort of accidental pervert… it was okay. It was actually okay.

“Fuck yes, Nanami. I want to.” Higuruma gasped, and it was as if a spell had broken. For the first time since their meeting, they were finally on the same line of the same page. Higuruma’s hand drifted lower over the firm planes of Nanami’s abs, muscles flexing beneath his touch as Nanami moved to mount Higuruma’s thigh, wedging his own between the other man's legs. In sync, they moved with the same determined purpose.

Nanami’s head dipped, casting a shadow over Higuruma’s face before sealing out that little light entirely with the first tentative brush of their lips. He can feel the shake of Nanami’s muscled shoulders as he hovers, holding his weight high above Higuruma and those tremors reflect in the satin softness of lips he’d only ever seen pulled taut and disapproving.

What Nanami offered as a gentle introduction, a second chance at first impressions, Higuruma took and ran like a wild dog. His hand not currently entrenched within the lines of Nanami’s abs curled into bed-mussed blonde hair and pulled him down, delighting in his surprised grunt.

The kiss Higuruma sought was painted with the same brush as his dream. Angry, aggressive, hungry—but Nanami would have none of that. He wrenched himself away with a breathless bark, lips curled in the widest smile Higuruma had seen yet which almost soothed the sting of having been rejected. “Easy,” he murmured, pressing his nose to the corner of Higuruma’s mouth instead. “There’s no need to rush.”

Higuruma snorted, not the derisive and bitter sound Nanami was used to but the prelude to what would quickly evolve into a gravelly full-belly chuckle. Wonderful, Nanami thought. Higuruma had a wonderful laugh… he would like to hear it more. “Sorry,” he offered. “Must be the champagne.”

“Mmm—” Nanami hummed spiced with mirth, unconvinced as his lips returned to Higuruma’s. “Must be.”

Despite the tentativeness and undeniable awkwardness of fumbling with an unfamiliar body in the dark, they found themselves eventually moving in sync, as if they hadn't spent months just barely tolerating each other.

They fit together easily, Higuruma’s nose brushing and bent against Nanami’s cheek while Nanami savored the lingering taste of champagne on his tongue. There was an unspoken synergy that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, if only they hadn’t been so stubbornly blind to it.

The world narrowed to a gravity of their own making, a push and pull just as they’d always been but devoid of the friction that left their edges rough and raw. Smooth stones in a riverbed their mouths tumbled, exploratory lips and tongues as they mapped this uncharted territory, thorough and thirsty and uncompromising in this burning consumption of each other.

Higuruma nipped at Nanami’s lip, grinning against his mouth as the subsequent gasp allowed his tongue to slip beside his.

He felt like a teenager again. Higuruma isn’t old but the heart-pounding anticipation in his chest is that of a much younger man. His eyes cracked open to admire Nanami, only for his heart to judder in his chest to find their eyes locked. Lost in the hot whiskey depths of Nanami’s gaze, half-lidded and more relaxed than Higuruma had ever seen him.

He wondered if it had been as long for Nanami as it had for him—if Nanami needed this as desperately as he did. He wondered if Nanami’s eyes stayed open out of concern that he might disappear out from beneath him, just as Higuruma feared he might still be dreaming after all.

Nanami’s hand drifted along his arm, fingers tangled and plaited together and pinned above Nanami’s chest. He gets his answer then in the erratic rhythm beneath his palm, pulse vibrating as desperate as his own. Nanami shares his vulnerability wordlessly—he isn’t as unaffected as he seems.

Nanami guided his hand lower, Higuruma’s fingers twitching and sandwiched between Nanami’s broader hand and the board of muscles beneath. Lower, and lower still, Nanami doesn’t break eye contact as he pressed Higuruma’s hand hard against his straining erection with a low groan, eyes closed with the instant relief of such a small touch.

Higuruma’s eyes leave him in favor of watching his own hand, the experience is almost out of body, his hand operated and guided by a force separate from himself. His anxiety left him then, replaced by a hunger that gnawed with vicious teeth at his belly.

His fingers curled instinctively, catching the fabric of Nanami’s pants with a sharp tug—pulling them down without resistance.

Nanami’s cock sprung upward, smacking against his stomach, bobbing and leveling at Higuruma in accusation. Thick and long and engorged an angry red from inattention, Higuruma decided with humor that Nanami’s dick looks a lot like the man himself. Big, and angry, and something he suddenly and desperately and carnally wants in his mouth.

For as long as Higuruma stared, Nanami looked down at him with the first inklings of trepidation. He’s staring, but he isn’t touching—is he displeased? Inadequate? Nanami’s eyes searched Higuruma’s face, flicking between his eyes and the neutral set of his mouth—should he kiss him again?

Insecurity made for the catalyst that flew his mind back to him. Maybe this was a mistake. Nanami swallowed, throat bobbing as his lips part with apology (for what, he doesn’t know but was resolved to figure it out), he started to withdraw—

At the same moment the wires connect in Higuruma’s brain that this was actually happening and hungry fingers finally reach out, tracing Nanami’s cock from ball to tip and cupping his palm over the sensitive head.

Nanami’s hips buck, lashes fluttering and a surprised groan ripped from his chest as he collapsed down onto his elbow, barely catching himself from crushing Higuruma beneath his full weight. His withdrawal was halted, finding himself shoving forward into Higuruma’s hand instead of away.

With a newfound confidence, Higuruma wrapped his fingers around Nanami’s cock, marveling at the velvety smoothness of the skin stretched taut over rigid flesh. He felt Nanami’s pulse beneath his fingertips, a steady beat that mirrored his own racing heart. Higuruma’s grip tightened slightly, earning him a deep, rumbling moan that made his skin tingle and his own cock throb with need.

“Fuck,” he cursed, forcing his lids back open—he looked between Higuruma’s eyes, beetle-black and flashing like flint in the dark, darting between his hungry stare and the connection between their bodies, the slow slide of Higuruma’s grasp around his cock. He doesn’t know where he’d rather look, or how to unknit his eyebrows, or how to stop the gravitational pull of his mouth back to Higuruma’s with desperate insistence.

His tongue teased the seam of Higuruma’s lips, coaxing his mouth open and Higuruma was quick to oblige. Their tongues tangled, and this time Nanami did nothing to chill the heated fervor with which Higuruma drank him in. His fingers dug into the pillow beside Higuruma’s head, muscles flexed and veins bulged as he fought to keep from losing himself in Higuruma’s hand so soon.

Some things would never change, the hot spirit of prideful competition blazed in Nanami’s blood and his hand drifted, dragging with obvious intent down Higuruma’s body, leaving more than enough time for him to be shoved off, to be stopped, but it never came. He needed Higuruma to cum first. Nanami refused to accept otherwise.

He palmed the bulge through Higuruma’s pants, swallowing the earned gasp down his throat and breaking the kiss just long enough to ask: “S’this okay?”

Higuruma nodded so hard he feared his head might snap off his shoulders.

Nanami hummed his acknowledgment, dipping his head away from Higuruma’s mouth to plant kisses along his jaw, leading back towards his ear to nuzzle against the sensitive hinge, buried against the clinging spice of yesterday's cologne and aftershave, and Nanami’s brain goes a bit fuzzy.

Soft skin and downy hair tickle his nose, nibbling distractingly at Higuruma’s pulse as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of Higuruma’s pants, hooking his cock out into the air, pointed up towards his navel against the fabric of his shirt.

That brief touch alone was enough to have Higuruma seeing stars, a strangled gasp stripping his throat raw and breaking into a drawn out moan when Nanami gripped him fully.

Nanami took a moment to admire Higuruma’s cock, appreciating the weight and heat of it in his hand. It was beautiful in its own way, the smooth curve and the throbbing vein that traced a line beneath the silken skin. Nanami’s thumb swept over the tip, gathering the beads of pre-cum that glistened there and spreading it over the head with a gentle stroke that made Higuruma jerk up into his palm, his own grip on Nanami inadvertently tightening.

"Sensitive," Nanami murmured, eyes gleaming with an intensity that could melt steel, the heat of his gaze stripping Higuruma down to his very bones.

Higuruma flushed, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks as his nose wrinkled in embarrassment. He turned his head into the pillow, trying to hide the uncontrollable reactions of his body. “It’s been a while,” he admitted, voice barely more than a whisper as he gave Nanami’s cock a tentative pump. The motion drew a low moan from Nanami, his eyelids fluttering, breath stuttering warmly against Higuruma’s cheek.

“No time… no interest,” Higuruma continued, words spilling out between panting breaths. “Not into flings… too impersonal.” Excuses tumbled from his lips, broken by the rhythm of Nanami’s hand stroking him into gasping pants. The wet sucking sounds of pre-cum between Nanami’s fingers only made Higuruma throb harder in Nanami’s fist.

"Me neither," Nanami confessed, his voice muffled as he buried his face into Higuruma’s neck, inhaling the warmth of his skin with a shaky breath. The wet rhythmic plap plap plap’s of his hand grew faster until Higuruma’s back arched off the bed with a frantic whine, a string of curses slipping unbidden from his lips.

Nanami had never imagined Higuruma to be a whimperer, always so composed and sharp-eyed. Then, he never dared allow himself to imagine Higuruma like this at all.

Except for that one time, maybe… or perhaps twice. Maybe he’d lost count after thrice.

He thought those sounds might be irritating, wax annoyingly and decoratively pornographic, but from Higuruma, they were intoxicating. They made him crave more. He wanted to chip away at his composure, to draw out more of those desperate noises, to capture them and keep them close. Because Nanami didn’t do flings, and if that’s what this was, he at least wanted something to remember it by.

It was instinct driven the way he moved next, shifting to straddle Higuruma more completely, head bowed to watch the narrow space between them. It’s clumsy, it’s dark and they’re new to this and Higuruma’s body was as alien to him as anybody else's. His ears burn in time with the heavy thump of his cock thudding into the cleft of Higuruma’s thigh.

With clenched teeth, Nanami pressed forward, his movements deliberate but unsteady. A slow, grinding thrust dragged the underside of his cock against Higuruma’s, exhaling sharply at the fresh sensation.

Higuruma's lips parted in another moan, but the sound was swallowed by Nanami’s mouth before it escaped. It’s an opportunity for authority Nanami relished, a chance he didn’t often get. He didn’t hesitate to explore the warmth of Higuruma’s mouth, snagging the sharp of his canines against soft velvet lips, the slick of his soft palate lashed by Nanami’s seeking tongue.

Nanami’s fingers extended, thumb and palm hooking around his own cock while the remaining four stayed devoted to Higuruma—jerking them in tandem, a shared rhythm that drew out breathy gasps and muted moans.

Higuruma’s mouth was hot against Nanami’s, full of urgency and an unspoken plea and promise. So much potential with that mouth—quick wit, arguments, warm, inviting. There’s a kind of intoxication in the way Higuruma responds, each hitch of breath and stuttered exhale fueling Nanami’s quiet resolve to be good to him. He wanted Higuruma to remember him; a matter of ego.

Nanami does not do flings, and neither does Higuruma, but maybe this is an exception. Maybe it’s more. Maybe they’d wake in the morning and Nanami would find the courage-tempered cowardice to flee the life of a sorcerer for a second time—this time out of embarrassment—or maybe he would treat Higuruma to breakfast. Either felt just as likely at that point.

Higuruma found his hands rendered obsolete, defunct palms still slick and sticky from Nanami but with nothing to occupy them. His heart raced, hips bucking up into Nanami’s fist, grinding his cock against Nanami’s as he murmured muffled encouragement into Higuruma’s neck. Higuruma’s hands moved frantically, grabbing for any part of Nanami he could reach.

Fingers tangled in his hair, raking through the undercut at the nape of his neck, carding through blonde locks as if to stay tethered. His hands roamed over Nanami’s back, tracing the firm muscles that quivered beneath his touch. He scratched constellations into the sun-dappled freckles decorating Nanami’s skin, a galaxy amidst the scars. He’d never considered the life Nanami lived before, never quite cared.

Maybe it was the near-orgasmic rush of dopamine clouding Higuruma’s brain, making him tender and soft, but he found himself leaning into Nanami’s shoulder, planting his mouth there. He kissed and licked, laving his tongue over every mark and blemish, every scar that marred the tanned skin with silver, pink, or fresh purple, each one undeserving of the canvas they existed upon.

Higuruma’s breath quickened, each gasp a desperate plea for more, his body straining towards the edge. Nanami’s hand worked them both at a relentless pace, the wet sounds of their cum-slick skin shlick-shlick-shlicking in the hot air. Higuruma could feel the pressure building, a knot tightening in his belly, ready to snap.

“Nanami,” he gasped into a spit-slick shoulder, voice trembling with urgency, his hips stuttering as he chased the release that felt so close, so inevitable. His grip tightened on Nanami’s hair, anchoring himself as his body tensed. He was a live wire, all nerves and sensation, and Nanami’s quiet, focused attention only made it sweeter.

The briefest moment of consideration crossed wires in Higuruma’s head, shakily tugging his own shirt up and pinching the fabric between his teeth, stomach bared and muscles clenching, unclenching, then clenching again—

“Kento,” Nanami corrected, pleading, impeaching, driving the slick, urgent rhythm of his hand. “Please—” It felt different that way, more intimate. Nanami wanted to erase the last traces of anonymity, eradicate impersonality, to fill the room with the weight of something softer, something real. He didn't know what compelled him, but the mere thought of Higuruma gasping his name, lips parted in desperate need, sent a hot thrill down Nanami’s spine, his balls tightening with a searing want that took his breath away.

The heat between them was unbearable, each stroke of Nanami’s hand pushing Higuruma closer to the edge, unapologetic in his destruction of his restraint. His body bowed, fingers tangling desperately in Nanami’s hair, a silent plea for more, just a little more—

His spine tensed, fingers gripping tightly in Nanami’s hair as he finally gave in, spilling over Nanami’s hand and his own stomach with a shrill bark of his name. Pleasure hit him hard, blurring his vision as sparks of ecstasy sparked behind his eyelids like stardust, every nerve galvanized past capacity. So long since it had been his own hand or some impersonal silicon device, Higuruma had simply forgotten. Forgotten what it was like for it to be someone else.

Nanami watched him, enraptured by the way Higuruma fell apart beneath him, the way his chest heaved and his eyes fluttered shut, the way his skin flushed with orgasmic afterglow. It was enough to tip him over the edge, the sight and sound and fuck even the smell of Higuruma’s orgasm drawing his own from him with a deep, guttural groan.

He ground their cocks together once more, the slick mess of their combined cum making it all the more intense as he followed Higuruma dope-eyed into oblivion, his own climax spilling hot and wet between their bodies. Higuruma’s stomach hollowed with each gasping breath, a basin in which their combined cum pooled, mixed and hot.

They lay there, breath mingling in the heated space between them, Nanami still bracketing Higuruma’s body with his own. Both panting, skin glistening with sweat and the final ropes of cum stringing between Nanami’s fist and Higuruma’s stomach. Higuruma’s cock twitched with each pulse, oversensitive and alive with lingering sensation.

Nanami nuzzled into the crook of Higuruma’s neck, breathing in the musky warmth of his skin, while Higuruma wrapped an arm around Nanami’s shoulders, fingers splayed possessively, as if to keep him from pulling away—not that Nanami had any intention of moving.

“Stay,” Higuruma murmured, voice still breathless, tinged with the raw edges of satisfaction and something suspiciously softer.

Nanami chuckled, a low rumble against Higuruma’s ear, and pressed a gentle kiss to the curve of his jaw. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Higuruma shifted, a satisfied glint in his eye. “Good. Because I’m not sure I can move,” he admitted, a smile tugging at his lips.

Throughout the night, every inch of Higuruma’s body came to know Nanami’s hands, his lips, his touch, and Higuruma explored Nanami with the same enthusiasm. When the sun rose, it found them not on opposite sides of the bed in a cold war but tangled together, limbs more origami than man, an ouroboros where it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

They prepared for the mission ahead, no longer the awkward and begrudging roommates they had been, not quite friends, not quite lovers, but something decidedly more pleasant than they were just the day before.

As Nanami fixed his hair, Higuruma brushed his teeth with a casual ease. While Higuruma tied his tie, Nanami laced his shoes, relaxed, satisfied. Pleasantries exchanged were more than mere obligation, carried out with a quiet contentment and softened shoulders. The glances they shared were not of sharp edges or bitter abrasion but of thoughtful kindness.

“I shouldn’t think we’ll be here another night,” Nanami commented, donning his jacket from the closet and rolling his shoulders, loosening the threads around muscles that felt more limber than they had in a long time. “Make sure you’ve repacked your bag.”

Nanami’s words were met with an odd sense of regret, cold and dousing was the wave that washed over Higuruma as he hummed his acknowledgment, swallowing his disappointment. “Yeah, already done,” Higuruma assured, raking fingers through his hair in the mirror one last time. He found himself caring a little more than usual today, the lines of his suit sharper and picked of lint, not a hair out of place. There was no good reason for that, of course.

He didn’t want to leave.

Sudden was this change of heart, where before he wanted to blaze through this mission and get away from Nanami, the sooner the better. But now, with them finally on decent—dare he say good —terms, he wasn’t ready to go back. Not to campus, not to the way things were before, marked by prickling anxiety and petty competition.

So lost in his thoughts and buried beneath a tortured brow, he didn’t notice as Nanami approached him. Only when his hand tentatively grazed his waist, jolting Higuruma back to reality did he blink at the other man reflected in the mirror over his shoulder.

“Hiromi…” Nanami began, hesitant and stilted, unused to the taste of anything other than Higuruma or a muttered insult, unsure if the request for familiarity was still in effect.

“When we get back—”

Higuruma is already shaking his head, expression schooled into neutrality. He would have to practice it again, learn how to be unaffected. It would be hard but he would learn, and it would be like nothing ever happened and god that was a tough pill to swallow… because Higuruma Hiromi doesn’t do flings, and he didn’t think Nanami Kento did either.

“I don’t kiss and tell if that’s what you’re worried about,” Higuruma chuckled, placating, strained.

Nanami simply smiled at him in the mirror. Slowly he reached around, snaking an arm to Higuruma’s front, gently adjusting Higuruma’s collar and the knot of his tie.

“Actually… I was thinking about dinner.”

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ridingthatd · 25 days ago

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you loved having a fat cock throbbing underneath your finger.

the lewd feeling traveling from your heart to the core of your wet pussy as you gaze at the swollen head of his girthy cock. hot precum leaking, drooling from his red sensitive tip down to the veins that surround his heavy cock.

your delicate thumb slowly smearing the hot fluid that was spilling from his clit- smearing it around his swollen tip before pushing down. ripping a hiss out of the breathless man next to you. his warm breath was fanning against the shell of your ear as his nose trail up-down your soft neck.

eyes clenched tightly, nose scrunched up as if he's in pain. you can hear the wet grunt that leaves his mouth as you grip his fat cock tightly before pulling down. wet sloppy sound of your hand stroking his fat cock filled the room, his head was snuggled up your neck as he groans and whine.

your heart pace picks up as you feel the way his warm body was trembling against yours. the way his swollen cock was twitching, so warm so wet.

his wet tongue peaks out leaking his dry lips before huskily speaking out, almost like a whine- a beg.

"no more-". you don't stop, your pace only picked up faster, the squelching sound of his fat cock smacking against your palm only got louder. his cock was swollen red so close to exploding.

"please-". a whimper. he doesn't know if he's begging you to stop or to continue. you place a kiss against his soft hair, shushing him, reassuring him.

"it's okay baby, let it out mhm cmon". you coo at him, never in your life have you spoke to your boyfriend like that during sex.

that triggered something in him, he jolts, groans and grunts leave him as robes of hot cum shoot out of his cock. coating your hand with his cum.

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frenchcoucou · 6 months ago

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overworked men ♪

ac: Urielbeaupre15 on twt

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tonycries · 16 days ago

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ABRACADABRA

Synopsis. No one else made you cúm before? No problem! Of course, he’s there to help.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, JJK men making you cúm after your ex couldn’t, PÚSSYDRÚNK MEN, matíng presses, cervíx kíssing, dúmbifícation, TALKING YOU THROUGH IT, biiig stretch, creampíes, spítting, chokíng, oraI (f), exhíbitíonism (Gojo), use of jujutsu, doctor!Higuruma, p examinations, true form Sukuna, dp, Sukuna’s second mouth, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Happy early VaIentine’s day lovelies <33

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - COCK(Y)

“M’almost insulted, doll.” Toji’s letting his muscular back slouch heftily against the padded pillow, pinkish tongue poking out to drag a slow lick across his scar at the way you straddled him. “Let your dear Toji here take gooood care of this pretty pussy now.”

“B-but Toji–” Your hands ghost down his tensing abs, rock-hard and so sculptured underneath your sensory tips that you can’t help but ogle. Whispering, “None of my exes have ever made me c-”

“So what, girl?”

He’s latching a strong hand onto the side of your waist, letting your eager hips slip n’ slide all down that girthy length of his. Scorching hot, lathering your entrance in a slobbering layer of pre at just the thought of being inside you.

A puffy vein catches on your sappy entrance and you find yourself letting off a moan, spine arching into his bulging pecs. And all you can hear are his rasping chuckles, something dangerous. “Ya seriously think Toji Fushiguro wouldn’t be able to make ya cum?”

And it was a rhetorical question - something to make your bottom lip wobble oh-so-cutely just the way he liked.

But when you’re steeling your hazy gaze on him and shaking your head? Oh, if Toji was any lesser man then he might’ve just cum right then and there.

Aching shaft throbbing out a rapid little ba-dump–! right around your gummy ring of muscle. Stretching you out agape, Toji’s of such staggering size that he has to splay out his feet flat on the springy mattress - rutting up in sloppy strikes to your mushy walls just to fit inside.

He takes a fat few fingers to pry open your leaky maw, thumbing apart your kiss-bitten lips until your tongue lolls out automatically for him to spit-

“See that?” Toji thumbs away the see-through splatter sprayed at the edges of your cockdrunken grin, murmuring. “Show me- show me.”

“Ngh- s-so dirty, Toji.” You whine, jittery body wracking with shivers after every inch he slipped inside of you. After every moment spent basking in his heady gaze, willowy eyes narrowing down when you dart out your tongue to put that webbed mass of saliva all on display.

“H-heh, yeahhhh, atta girl. Mine inside n’ out now.” Your eyes slide allll the way to the back of your weary lids when he splats your tastebuds with- not one, but two more weighty wads of spittle. Closing your slackened jaw shut with one hand, the other finds itself cushioned underneath his sweat-dampened locks. Biceps flexing sexily, your stomach tightens in need. “Ride yerself stupid on me now, why don’t ya- Make that pussy cum.”

He’s pounding up into you like he hated you - like he hated those stupid memories of faking your orgasms in the years before. Wanted to prove himself with every syrupy peck at goopy pussy.

Breaths spilling out in clouded puffs, your nose crinkles at the way that you’re stumbling to take such copious inches of him. Every bounce swabbing Toji’s rounded mushroom tip at the deepest sponges of your cervix, “Shit- shit, s-so big–”

“Yeah? Big, huh? Just big?”

Babbling away, “Really, really big.”

And that only made him harder - bulging out your tautly stretched walls until you were wrapped around him like a clingy second skin. Until you were molding to every bit of his circumference and bumpy veins. Meeting your pap! pap! papping! cadence with mean bucks of his own, Toji wastes no time rolling the plump hill of his thumb across your clit. “See her? That cute, needy clit? Ever had her played with?”

“O-only on my own.” You’re sinking your teeth into your quivering lower lip to stop the overspilling squeals - but it doesn’t work. Not when every lil’ calloused heart being drawn on your bundled nub makes you see stars, “Feels so good Toji—”

“What’d I tell ya, silly girl?” Oh, he’s so smug. Stray hand grazing down your spine in a little massage that makes your hips stutter down even harder. Faster. With a quirked brow, Toji feels himself grin at the wet little slurps slurring from between your bloated lips. Your other ones. “Damn, real hngh- chatty she is- hold on, you’re gonna loooove this, doll.”

Your head bobbles stupidly, mewling. “Love wh-wha- oh.”

In the split-second it takes the honeyed syllables to fall from your mouth - Toji’s fucking them out just as fast. With a jagged, drilling thud! of his fattened cockhead against your g-spot.

For the first time ever.

“Tha’s your g-spot.” Rovering up the globed pad of his index all up your tummy, you flinch when he presses hard down where his length was striking the very bottom of your pussy. “My favorite.”

“H-hit it again-”

“Tch, greedy.”

Your throat is rendered so very parched with every soppy French kiss he planting on your magical spots. Once. Twice. Thrice. You were addicted. So many times that you can’t help but lose count and drool- “Fuuuuck. Oh my god, th-there. There- I’m so close.”

“Shush, girl.” A bulky hand plasters over your noisy mouth, seeping Toji’s steaming hot skin with glossy lathers of your spilling saliva. He nods downwards, where you were screaming out squelches. “Give ‘er some respect, she’s bein’ fucked properly for the fist time n’ wants to speak.”

You were being fucked properly for the fist time.

And it seemed like Toji had no thoughts of stopping - no thoughts of even slowing down from the way he was spearheading every tender orifice homed inside of you. Making you dizzier and dizzier and dizzier with each passing second-

“Toj- mmpf- Toji-” you’re sobbing, like a little mantra. Like the only thing in your mind right now - and he knew it, smugly.

Pulling the curved edges of his fingers away with a slick few strings of juices connecting them, it’s the last thing you register before the solid spank. “Cum.”

You were so pretty when you hit your high. He thinks he might be in….love.

All throaty moans of Tooooji, and your lashes glazing with thick layers upon layers of tears. Hitting headfirst into the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had, it’s all you can do to throw your head back and clench around Toji’s thick, throbbing length tightly.

Dirtily. Until he was hissing and fighting to drag you n’ your gripping cunt with one big, beefy arm to fuck you through your high.

“Tha’s why you couldn’t ngh- c-cum, doll.” He spits into your open mouth, letting you claw and bite and ruin the steamy plane of his sweat-simmered flesh. “Wasn’t fucked properly- wasn’t- s’alright. Toji’s here, Toji’s makin’ you cum. Gonna take gooood f-fucking ah- care of you.”

And your vision tinges with black, treacly slit grinding back against the delicious curve of his plumpened balls. Head static, entire body still wracking with shivers when you feel it-

He’s teasing an innocent kiss near the curled corner of your mouth. Feverish. “Now…have ya ever heard of squirting, doll?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Ladies first.

“Never?”

“Never.”

Fuck- a gorgeous girl like you and none of those boys have ever even made your pretty pussy cum?

Your coworker finds himself gulping, thickened digits trekking up to his yellow tie and loosening. He feels so…feverish at the thought.

Thank god it was just the two of you working overtime tonight.

And even clearing his throat doesn’t make that ragged edge of his words bate, doesn’t make him sound any less feral. Eyes molten and hot on yours, you catch the way the tips of Nanami’s ears scorch bright red. “I-if you would like, darling…I could show you how a real man fucks.”

That’s how you found yourself like this - pinned face-down on your corporate cubicle desk, maw leaking saturated waves of drool onto documents you were sure were important. Struggling to squirm against the shackles of his tie with every pressurized pound-

Ptwah! A messy wad of something slick and slippery strikes your overstuffed pussy, spittle smeared across your bulging folds with a sultry swipe of Nanami’s fat thumb.

“Kento–”

“Almost hah- almost there, my love.” He’s gruffing out in a roughly condensed pant from behind you, hot breath hitting the back of your neck and making your skin simmer with goosebumps. The doughy curve of his length twitches, “Just a little longer.”

“L-longer?” You’re babbling away stupidly through flooding strings of saliva, head able to lift only a few centimeters off of the cool plane of your office desk. “Are you gonna c-cum too, Kento?”

“Ladies first.”

And, shit- Nanami Kento might be known around the office as the perfect gentleman - but when he fucked, he fucked you so filthy. Like no one else ever had before.

You swear you could feel your goopy walls contracting and molding to every hot, weighty square inch of him.

Curling a few dexterous fingers underneath where your wrists were pinned haplessly behind your back, all it takes is the tiniest of jerks for Nanami to lift you cleanly off the desk. With one hand, weightless.

Pressing a sweet, sweet kiss against your sweaty temple, he was hunched over you so close now with the changed angle. And you could count every flex of Nanami’s thick thighs pushing you from behind, every scratch of his tawny happy trail against the jiggling curve of your ass.

Humming, “Mhm— this cute cunt’s tellin’ me that she’s gonna cum right about…” One soft peck at the corner of your mouth, and then another one from his globular tip against your g-spot. Hard. “-now.”

And when has Nanami ever been wrong?

It takes one- two thuds! of his bulky tip crashing into your most tender spots before your vision closes and you see black. Jaw dropping open to gape n’ close soundlessly, brows furrowing at the heat in your tummy because shit, it feels so good.

Your melty walls clinging onto his shaft so cozily- “Fuck, s’f-fucking tight. Can barely even fuck you through your cute high. How are ya even ngh- taking this big fucking cock, darling?”

“Wait-” you’re trilling away like his favorite song. Every dab of his weepy orifice into your cunt making you sob, “Oh my god- feels so- so good. So fuck! D-does it always feel like this, Ken–?”

“Awww, poor girl missin’ out.” Nanami’s glissading pecs stick to your back like a cushion, rumbling. Hips hitting yours with a thwack! thwack! thwack! that leaves you craving carnally for more. “Gotta teach her proper- teach- teach her properly.”

Before you can even ask what he means - before you can even register Nanami’s moans - he’s latching on a few fingertips onto your plump clit. Rolling over and over in lazy circles-

“Cute lil’ clit- poor thing’s never been given ngh- loving before.” Oh, he’s been holding this back - heart racing at the way you’d cum all over his cock and nothing but his cock. And Nanami sounds desperate now. “Clench ‘round me, my love- clench. Please.”

Heedlessly, you’re listening to his exact words before you even register them.

Dewy walls squeezing around Nanami’s girthy length, massaging every lightning bolt of his veins. His slit. Everything. And he’s losing his fucking mind-

“Ohhh—” Planting kiss after kiss on your neck, he tugs you with that lecherous tie wrapped around your wrists until you were just plastered all across Nanami’s Herculean front. “Good, huh? Good? Can you say biiig stretch?”

“B-big-”

“Mhm?”

“Biiig s-stretch-” God, he was fucking you until you felt shy.

“Atta girl.”

“Feels so w-weird, Ken–” You’re yelping, pearly gumdrop of tears welling up behind your lids at the way you feel so raw. Your sensitive walls pried apart with Nanami’s flaming red tip, probing inside until it felt like he was jackhammering your very lungs. “M’all- ngh- extra s-sensitive and- ah!”

And you don’t know what you expected Nanami to do - you don’t know how you expected him to react. But it certainly wasn’t for him to snicker.

Octaves higher, reverent.

“Awww, my overstimulated girl.” Murked clouds hit your prespired neck, and it’s as if his strokes get impossibly deeper. Faster. Sloppier. So, so messy on your clit that your syrupy ribbons of slick puddle on the ground with a spattering splat! “Don’t worry, m’g-gonna make it allll better- ya here? Gonna make you feel so good.”

You can’t even think at this point. “Good?”

“Mhm–” Within only a few blinks, a tannish veiny forearm takes up your blurry vision. Nudging your slobbering lips, “Now bite.”

Your teeth sink into his muscled mounds of flesh before you can stop yourself - and Nanami’s letting his head fall before he can. A grated f-fuck! escaping him once he graces your snug pussy with a thrust so harsh that it leaves your legs dangling in midair.

You think you’re cumming again for the second time - you think you’re blanking out. But the only thing you can feel right now is the scorching hot dripping of Nanami’s warm cum seeping into each nook n’ cranny inside you.

Overspilling from your puffy lips. Sloshing around with every drilling stab-

“Now that’s called a c-creampie, darlin’.” He’s groaning out - and you know what it is. You can feel it swashing down in buttery rivulets from the insides of your thighs, sticking to your warm innards like a sloppy second skin. And he’s still pounding you utterly stupid- “Say ngh- ‘creampie’ f’me?”

You’re whimpering, wrung so tautly that it felt like you were about to snap. “C-creampie.”

“Good…good girl.” Nanami’s purring, sneaking in a thumb to pattern little drawings all over the ivory splatters of cum topping your clit. Plugging those very same fingers into your mouth- “Now can you ngh- say ‘Ken, please b-breed me’, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Never enough?!

“S-Suguru, I’m gonna-”

“Damn right.” He’s spitting glinting speckles of spit past your slackened lips, narrowed eyes boring down at you deeply through an inky curtain of bangs. The look in them is animalistic. “Again- cum f’me again. Cum goddammit-”

With your head striking the ends of the puffy pillow with a thud! you swear your entire body shivers as if shocked by a thousand volts of electricity. Crashing headfirst into so many white-hot peaks of bliss that it makes your head spin.

Over and over.

And it’s just about all you can manage to force your boneless limbs right now to throw your hands around Geto’s sweat-glistened back and claw your way back to sanity. “M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming.”

“Fuck!” He hisses at the agonizing sting that only makes Geto’s puffy cockhead twitch ‘round your gooey insides. Tight. “Got ya fucking addicted now, huh? Needy lil’ slut.”

It could’ve been your fifth orgasm of the night - hell, it could’ve been the five-hundredth and you wouldn’t have known at this point.

Because Geto Suguru wasn’t just making up for a single round of missed orgasms - he was well and fully intent on making up for all of them.

And you’ve barely stolen back heady clouds of your breath, barely even blinked the woozy vision back into your eyes before Geto gives your fluttering cunt a sharp spank. Snickering mercilessly at the way you’re flinching your spine into a deep curvature.

Cute.

Padded kneecaps smearing your helpless thighs ever-wider in a mating press so filthy it couldn’t even be called one right now. You can only watch as Geto’s toned hips slow down until he was barely even grinding. Lazy, sensual drags of his swollen shaft up n’ down your tender walls.

He smears the doughy fringes of his fingertips all over where you were simply bulging to desperately accommodate his size, “Not gonna s-say ‘thank you’ for your fifth orgasm, gorgeous?”

“Wh-wha- thank- ngh!” Your veins boil with embarrassment at how you can only gurgle and gasp right about now, a thick stream of drool flooding from the edges of your mouth. “Sugu—”

“Oh?” Before you know it, there’s a searing grasp on your scalp - Geto. His perfectly manicured fingers clawing onto the sweat-dampened crown of your head and dragging you mercilessly off of the drenched mattress. All the way until your tears cooled with his murked puffs, “What was that?”

Teeth drawn, canines glinting. He was snarling.

You’re squirming impatiently, jostling his split-ended tip in wet swivels around your greedy cunt. Still throbbing. Still unmoving. “Said- ngh-”

Bent alllll the way back - he’s angling his ears to face your fucked-out face with a grin, tightening that shackle-like hold on you until you were keening. Enjoying this way too much. “What? What was that? How bad do you hah- want it because m’not moving an inch.”

You didn’t even know if you could cum at this point - whether you could physically even handle it. Stringing endless beads of tears from your eyes, skin breaking out with heaps upon heaps of shivers.

Sensitive.

“Can’t- can’t even-” And the only time you’re seeing his rude façade splinter is once your trembly fingers trek upwards to clasp around Geto’s own slender throat. Tight. His breath hitches, bumpy Adam’s apple bobbing underneath your touch-

Fuck.

And he can’t fucking stop himself from giving in to slash your slick-buttered cervix with a sudden thrust. Arching off of the soaked-through bed with a slightly singing creak! the clammy skin of Geto’s pelvis sticks to your own like glue. Smearing and oh-so-sloppy.

All that it takes for the words to be fucked out of you cockdrunkenly, still twitching with the remnants of your previous orgasm. “Th-thank- Thank you, Suguru–”

Oh, what a sight it was.

With Geto’s eyes glazed over, long Stygian lashes flickering like they were about to screw shut. High cheekbones radiating off scorching waves of his bright blush, and- and he was drooling.

A thin, silvery line of saliva that spattered from the edges of his oh-so-feral snarl. “Y-yeah?” Oh, his pretty baritone cracks many multiple octaves higher. “Now you can sh-show some fucking ngh- appreciation, can’t you?”

“Sugu-”

“Shut up.” One push. Two. Three. Until it felt like the scratch of Geto’s drenched black happy trail against your pelvis was going to brand permanently on your skin, scratching something deep and primal seated inside of you. He darts out his candied pink tongue, “Suck on m’tongue.”

And when you do it’s like your favorite bubblegum candy, he tasted so sweet - and he was fucking you the exact opposite. Quick, rugged thrusts that rendered you speechless-

“S-stupid girl- isn’t that right gorgeous?” Muffled and mean. It takes you a few tizzy seconds to realize that Geto wasn’t even talking to you at this point - clouded amethyst eyes locked on your saturated pussy. The way she was swallowing his reddened length endlessly, “Doesn’t even know what she m-missed out on ngh-”

Each pressurized force of his pounds left your heart racing, swabbing to leave geysers of pre in softened spots that you didn’t even realize you had - hell, you might just be falling in love.

Fingers dipping away from the prespired column of his flushed neck, just a mere slippery inch before you’re startled by his parched voice. Shaky. Begging. “No- nooo you d-don’t-” Geto’s clasp on your wrist is bruising - permanent. Wrapping your fingers back where they were beginning to form red banded marks ‘round his throat. Tightly. “Ch-choke me- choke me while I make you cum a sixth time, gorgeous.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Sweet Expresso

“Oh, baby…” Choso’s drawing out in a sweet, simpering sigh - entire mouth just watering at the sloppy bucketloads of slick pouring from between your sappy folds. It was like he had his favorite meal all laid out in front of him. “Baby baby baby—”

Your legs splayed apart on the soft mattress, twitching ever-so-slightly with every hot cloud of breath that your awestruck best friend was panting out.

In love with you. In love with your drooling cunt.

Back arching off of the sticky sheets, you’re lifting your hand to run over Choso’s long mahogany locks. Lower lip jutting out in a way that makes him almost whine-

“T-told you, Cho- no ex of mine has ever made me cum before by eating me out- ah!”

And Choso Kamo wasn’t one to interrupt his lovely lady. He wasn’t one to cut off the pretty noises you were making before they’d finished ringing in his ears - but now?

Oh, now he’s promptly bludgeoning his clammy head between your heated thighs. Stealing a hypnotized little kiss right on the edge of your puffy clit. Again. And again. And again and again and-

“F-fuck.” He’s gurgling in a hoarse little tone all the way from the back of his throat, a thin line of drool spraying from the upturned corners of Choso’s plump lips because he just couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m gonna m-make you cum, baby- me.”

You’re almost breathless at the way he sounded so desperate that it was pained; dark chestnut brows scrunching together as if in prayer. “R-really?”

It didn’t matter to him what your tch- exes have failed to do before, he neve thought they were good enough for you anyway.

Choso saw a pretty pussy he wanted to kiss over n’ over again and he couldn’t stop.

Pointed peak of his button nose pressing right into the perk of your clit, the scratchy pads of his tastebuds everywhere. Every vibration of Choso’s tremoring your snug outer ring, whimpering. “Yeah. Yeah, want you to cum- need- need you to cum.”

“Seems like you want me to cum more than ngh- I do, Cho–” You’re giggling out, eyes hazy with the curling swashes of his mouth pressing repeated French kisses on your puffed-up pussylips.

“Ngh-” God, he sounded so pretty - whining the very moment you comb your trembly digits through Choso’s velvety strands. Cheeks painted red with a delicate blush, his breath hitches just darting his eyes up to meet your own. Fully heart-eyed. “I do. Need to show m-my best friend what she’s been missing, baby.”

Thumbing apart the gluey fringes of your folds with a squelched pap! You’re feeling his plump tongue swirl out saturated hearts right on the sultry target of your clit - and he’s never looked more like he’s in heaven.

“Gonna f-fuck her now, m’kay–?” Just the thought of filling your snugly winking cunt up with his tongue is enough to have Choso’s hips rutting down on the mattress mindlessly. Groaning.

Needy.

He wanted you so badly - he’s been wanting you so badly for years and years and years - that you’ve barely even started your lazy nodding before he snarls back his teeth to swipe swiftly into your leaky hole. Ragged texture of his tongue swiveling into every ridge and crevice-

“S-so warm–” you hiccup, fingers tangling into Choso’s perspiration-matted hair because he was moving ravenously. Animalistically. Your oh-so-gentle best friend- you couldn’t even control him at this point.

And he couldn’t control himself.

Pinning you down with his powerful upper body, the curve of his sculpted deltoids dig into your rutting mounds of flesh once Choso grinds his chin underneath your treacly slit and roughly shoves your thighs apart. Further n’ further until it burned.

Groaning into the weepy mound of your cunt, his tongue slashes in an urgent in and out that makes your hips jerk- shit, you can’t help but think mindlessly that you wanted this…forever.

“H-hold on–” Choso darts out one hand to guide both of your own - allll the way until you’re steering the soft spheroids of his dishevelled spacebuns. Tightly. “Hold on t’me, baby. Use me- use me.”

He wanted you to use his hair to guide him. Faster.

And doing it so fervently. Folding to your every want and whim when you’re angling your hips into a tempo just the way you like it - Choso’s chin clacking into the base of your pussy, his nose rovering all over your sensitive clit. With squelch after squelch, you swear you feel him stall over that fleshy nub to take a loooong sniff of your cunt-

“Shiiiit- d-didn’t know you were s-so good-” You’re practically shrilling out, ogling the bob of his Adam’s apple after every gulp of your sweet, sweet sap. Your slick overfloods his mouth and puddles right up to his cheekbones. “Where did you even learn this?”

And for perhaps the first time ever in his life, your best friend doesn’t answer you immediately.

He doesn’t do anything but let the bed sing out splintering creaks! when he increases the speed of his motions - until you’re rendered spellbound.

You’re tugging more forcefully on one of his knotted spacebuns and he gives you the sweetest full-bodied whine.

“I i-imagined it.” Comes the shy answer, and a long few inches of two of Choso’s ringed fingers pumping your goopy cavern doubly full. He makes your tummy lurch just by gliding over your pretty g-spot, whispering. “With…you. With you all the time.”

And you don’t know whether it’s that little confession, you don’t know whether it’s the sudden press off of his doughy fingerpads into the sweltering hot bullseye of your g-spot - but something about it makes you cum.

All of a sudden.

“Choso-” Your breath hitches, pushing him ever-deeper between your legs. Spine electrifying with something white-hot, seeing fucking stars. He was right - you were missing out. “Choso.”

And if you were surprised, then Choso was enchanted.

Hips coming down hard to hump against the puffy sheets on the bed - feral. Through the crack in your woozy eyes, you sneak glimpses at the way his dark eyes twinkle, tips of his ears blazing red.

So pretty. The sight was enough to make your hips twitch with more and more sparks of euphoria - yeah, you were really missing out before this.

Long tongue slithering out to gyrate over and over fucking you through your high, your skin beads with blissed-out sweat with every peak he’s trawling out. Brows furrowed, Choso just couldn’t decide between licking his lips for the voluminous ounces of slick clinging onto his skin or fucking his wet muscle back into your wet mess again and again and-

“Fuh-fuck—” You’re hearing from above you, still so numb from your orgasm that it takes you a long few seconds to even realize that Choso had pulled away from his favorite spot making out with your pussy. And was now hovering over you with his red, furious cock clasped in one fist-

Your mouth lacquers with a fresh wave of greedy spit, dryly. “Cho?”

“Fuck fuck fuck m’sorry m’cumming–” He’s spitting hotly, fingers flying furious down the tender edges of his girth. Hunching over until his washboard abs were rippling almost painfully, every inch of skin burned an aroused red. “I can’t stop- I can’t stop, baby—!”

“Give it t’me.” You’re managing out, giggling at the strained whine it makes Choso spill out into the air. “Give it all to me, baby.”

His hulking body jolts like he’s been shocked with a million bolts of lightning at the mere sound of your voice. Gasping, “Don’t- don’t call me that or m’gonna-”

But it’s too late.

He’s not even given the mercy of finishing his sentence before Choso’s frosting your open entrance with such thick globs of cum. Ribbon after ribbon that sprays over your drooling slit in such a viciously syrupy sheen.

“Look- look what you’ve done.” He babbles away, slurring over the very curve of his mushroomed tip down your pussy - and it makes such a mess that Choso just can’t help but imagine how much messier it would be if he plugged you full of his seed from your deepest innards. Coral pink mouth slacking into an oh! at the puddles oozing below you. “Fuck- cumming jus’ from eatin’ ya out- ngh- o-only you, my baby.”

Sloppy.

But what was even sloppier was the way that it takes only two seconds for Choso to sift down till he was back lips-to-lips with your ballooned pussymound. Smiling. Giggling to himself.

You can only watch in awe when he takes a looong lick up your overstimulated slit, purposefully showing off the creamy layers upon layers all over his tongue. So much of it that you can barely see any usual bubblegum pink-

“C-can we kiss, baby–?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Big, big O

“Hm? Have I got ya babbling like a cockdrunk lil’ slut already or what, ma?” Sukuna’s entrapping your cheeks between two fat fingers in an embarrassing little pout. The curled edges of his nails poking your heated skin, and he looks into your heart-eyes deeply. “Because I swear I heard ya say no one else has ever made ya cum.”

“I-it’s true–” you’re stuttering out, barely louder than the sappy squelches ringing from below. Your hips were rutting almost mindlessly into his and he found that so cute.

Well, if he wasn’t fucking irritated right now, that is.

Not at you - no, never at you even though he’ll never ever admit that. More so at those pesky lil’ losers before him that didn’t know how to work your pretty pussy properly.

So instead the king of curses slouches back on his decadent throne room, and if someone was to walk into his court - let them.

He’s leaving a stinging little swat! right at where your pussylips were spewing out the most ribbons of sloppy slick. Tugging your plump folds apart to give a thorough few slides of his dually aching cocks, “Stupid girl. I’ll be fucking damned if I never make my human cum.”

“Wh-wha-” Your eyes are snapping open with a gasp, immediately darting down to where Sukuna’s lengths stood hot and throbbing. He was certainly staggeringly bigger than anyone else you’ve had before…both of him.

“Nuh uh- are you second-guessing your king, girl-” Pointed, you’re rewarded with numerous spanks upon spanks that leave your perked clit stinging. His globular tip cleaning off the geysers of slick leaking out of you, “Now spread those legs n’ take it.”

Hands clawing precariously onto the mountain of his broad shoulders when Sukuna’s meaty thighs start bouncing to inch you down-

Fuck, you can’t help but lean all back and- god, it felt like you were being split apart. Two plummy crownheads mazing past your snug entrance, Sukuna was bullying up into every single sensitive orifice inside you without even trying.

“Gonna do more than make you c-cum, brat- just you fuckin’ wait. ” He’s spitting out into your drunkenly open maw, face twisted into a feral growl. “Just watch, ohhh just you watch.”

So hot inside of you, every wiry string of precum leftover in your gummy walls after each papping ride was scorching - and the only thing hotter was that fat, glutinous brush of something wet. Squelching.

Sukuna’s cushy pecs rumble instantaneously with a thunderous groan, “Mmm tastes as sweet as sh-she looks.”

“Wh-what is–” And you don’t know where to look - Sukuna’s handsome face, where he looked so very fucked, or down where his second monstrous mouth was making out with your overstuffed pussy.

He’s inching back even further on his throne to let the large glistening tongue - almost the size of your face - loll out. Drawing deft little circles on your teary slit, honing down right on the button of your clit. Tasting you. Savoring you. “Oh.”

“Oh? Oh?” Rolling his crimson eyes, “That all you can say? Maybe I really have fucked ya stupid.”

“N-no, I–” But you were - ah, you were.

All it takes is for Sukuna to lurch off of the sticky cushion of the throne with a creaking schwaf! Sultry hipbones smacking into the backs of your thighs, up n’ down. He’s hitting the very back of your dewy cervix with a resounding thud! drawing long, long lines with the sprinkling ends of his cocks.

God- pounding into places you never even knew existed before. Rubbing his puffed-up veins against the grazing area of your tender g-spot. Sukuna was having the time of his life making you break-

“H-heh, yeah right— S’that why you’re all drooling f’me, ma?” A plump palm comes down on your spit-flooded mouth to lather itself in a filthy glaze of saliva, all trickling n’ spilling down the sides of Sukuna’s wrist. “As if the king wouldn’t be able to make this pretty pussy cum- a-as if m’like those useless bastards.”

Speaking more to himself than you at this point. He’s muttering underneath his breath, light coral bows pinching together and concentrating.

Concentrating on striking your bulging magical spots with each second of his ruthless staccato - he wasn’t letting up just because it was your first time about to orgasm from someone else. He wasn’t going to go easy on you- no, you only find yourself growing ever-spellbound with each slip n’ slide of his matchingly rock-hard shafts.

Plap! The curved edge of his tongue swirls around your clit, and you all but sob. “F-faster, Kuna—”

Kuna, huh? He’s finding his brows quirking up - and if there was a faint pinkish blush breezing across his cheeks, well, then he was just glad the increasing pace of his hips is enough to drive you crazy ‘nough not to notice. Growling, “Greedy greedy.”

With two hands latched onto your hips, and another on the crown of your head to push you rudely into each one of his incoming thrusts, you’re being fucked like he had a point to prove.

“H-harder—” Your arms wrap in a wobbly semi-circle looped around his thick neck - and if there was anything that could get you even wetter right now, then it was a firsthand eyeful of your size difference.

“As you wish, ma’am–” Gazing down at his slobbery second tongue below, “Jus’ that way- make her scream.”

Scream you did.

Because Sukuna was monstrous, in both size and the rugged circular brandings he was leaving on your cervix. And the drag of his scratchy tastebuds down your pulsing clit- Oh, you could feel your thighs starting to shake already.

“S’gonna be a big one–” He’s tittering from above, something dangerous glinting in both sets of his cursed eyes. Peering in even closer - until you could count each heady pant of his - something catches Sukuna’s eyes and his breath hitches. “Oho? A reeeeal big one.”

And when he meant big - he meant big.

Because in only a few merciless hits, you’re not just cumming - you’re squirting. In thick, generous heavals of sloshing slick that drip down the sides of his sculptured front. It glazes all the way down to puddle at his throne, it makes such a slobbering mess that you can’t rip your ogling eyes away from it.

Gasping for air, head lolling from side to side at the sheer intensity. The buzzing electricity that sprints down your spine goes on for ages.

“What’d I tell ya? Love when you’re filthy, ma.” Sukuna gives your quivering cunt another spank of good job with the flattened base of his velveteen tongue.

Shit, how his second mouth was enjoying every peak of your orgasm.

Lapping out graciously to catch every fountaining squirt, the entirety of his pinkish muscle coats with a lather of pure gloss. He was drinking you in like he was addicted.

He is.

And you thought that might be it, you didn’t think with all your cottony mind that he would continue edging his tongue to slip right past your mushy hole. Smearing your entrance widely agape until your vision was flashing blissful white, “Do that f’me on my hah- tongue again, ma, n’ I’ll breed ya until you can’t remember your name.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “She jus’ came.”

And that’s what makes you finally pry your gluey eyelids apart, batting tearily up at the filthy, filthy image of Gojo still plastered to your phone.

Pert, bubblegum tongue peeking out when he plugs his puffy pink head between your bawling folds and lets out a drawling sigh— “Fuck- y-you get me so hard, sweetheart.”

It’s almost as if he’s forgotten the yelling from your ex on the other end of the phone already. Forgotten everything but how warm n’ soft you were - you always did have that effect on him.

And it’s with leisurely, drunken motions that the strongest takes a looong few seconds to swab the doughy edges of his pale thumb over your slit. Up n’ down. Making you throb in a rapid ba-dump–! as soon as he smears the scorching hot ounces of sappy slick escaping from you.

Before darting them into his parched mouth with an exaggerated slurp!

There’s another tinny crackle from the call that makes Gojo’s pretty features twist in dark delight-

“T-Toru…” You’re squirming your hips impatiently, giving his pre-glossed, oozing tip treacly peck after peck. You might’ve just cum, but with Gojo your body always wanted more. “‘Nough teasing.”

“Ohhh? What’s that? This c-cute cunt wants me that bad, huh?” He’s snickering out into the speaker, a cute lil’ dimple embedding itself onto the edge of his smirk. “Bet you never had her begging for you like that, huh? Not when you’ve never even made her cum.”

Shit, as if to prove his point, he’s leaving a few generous heaps of sappy precum on your bloated folds.

Streaming out layer after layer that makes Gojo slide in even deeper. That makes him swipe down a few fingers across where you were most puckered and forcing out a saturated squelch. “Heh, that’s the sound of ‘er agreeing with me.”

Gasping, you’re swatting at the bulging curve of Gojo’s bicep - something that only makes his mushroomed tip even more achingly hard.

“Ah ah- hold on, buddy.” Before you know it, you’re feeling the sultry pap! pap! pap! of Gojo’s rounded thumb circling your overwhelmed clit. Sensitive. Buzzing with a few stray dredges of cursed energy, “M’about to do something your loser ass had never even hah- heard of.”

You were so pretty like this - his gorgeous girl. And you only ever deserved the best. So what if he made a show for that bastard ex of yours that just wouldn’t stop blasting your phone with calls?

He was going to make you his star.

“Prettyyyy fuckin’ pussy.” Gojo’s whispering - low, hoarse. Almost to himself when he slips apart your adhesive-like lips to steal a solid eyeful of your perked hood. “You’re missing out real bad, y’know?”

He really, really can’t help the few vibrating sparks bleeding through his thickened digits. Pressing down hard on that buttony tip of your clit, twisting n’ turning in all the right lazy circles, over and over. Just a single ounce of Gojo’s touch is enough to make your tummy lurch heedlessly, to make your thighs shake when he rovers ravenously to your nub-

And pinches.

“Sh-shit.” You’re gurgling out, head bent stupidly backwards into the velvety pillowcase. Hands clawing red all over the supple mountains of his deltoids. And you swear you can count each and every flex- “Toru- Toru, I’m–”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence before Gojo’s narrating it all.

Cerulean eyes glazed over with something…feral, coral pink lips loosening into a stark oh! Ones that Gojo himself has to lick over before he can even begin to rasp, “O-oh? Look at thaaat-”

Your maw slackens with free rivers of saliva that Gojo leans in and licks clean off. Giggling - giggling - once your gooey walls clench around the rock-hard crown of his cock, snug with that fat circumference. “Made her c-cum with jus’ my ngh- tip in her. She had to ngh- fake that all the time with you, didn’t she?”

He was in awe.

You wonder whether he’s even breathing at this point. Thinking.

But it was like Gojo had lost all control of his body - moving yards and yards in front of his melty mind. Because as soon as you can manage to jerk your head off of the perspiration-drenched pillow, he’s moving. Washboard abs tensing deliciously. Rutting.

All hot, plump inches of Gojo’s shaft rub your every tender orifice through and through. He’s pushing and pushing past your weepy pussylips like he never ever wanted to stop. Couldn’t stop.

“Fuck yeah–” You’re startling at the sudden syllables wrenching out of Gojo’s bobbing Adam’s apple, a slow line of sweat starting to trickle down his throat. But he simply flashes you one more sleazy grin, and two more pinches. “Show me wh-where I am, sweetheart- can you do that for Toru?”

“Y-yeah.” You’re whining, and somewhere in the distance sounds a gasp. The unsteady ends of your fingers curve all the way to about halfway up your tummy, pressuring a nudge at the cylindrical globe of Gojo’s crownhead mazing through you. Only halfway still. “Here, all the way u-up in my ngh- womb.

“Good girl–” He’s holding your mushy folds tighter together in a squeeze, so that his veiny cock was smearing even cozier - even louder. Squelch after squelch. Voice hardening, “Hear that? Fuck- fucking lucky you didn’t video call.” Slurring with every rugged thrust, it’s so hot inside you that he feels like he’s melting. Head lolling ever-so-slightly, “M’about to hit her cute g-spot now, but you wouldn’t know h-heh anything about that, right?”

If there was a response then you didn’t hear it. You can’t, because your ears are popping the very next second. Blurry vision tinging with black no matter how much you fluttered your heavy lids-

You think you’re cumming again. Once more. Twice more - so many years and years of missed orgasms crashing into you all at once until all you can do is latch onto Gojo’s muscled back and whine.

And he loved every second. Meaty thighs massaging against yours, your boyfriend pounds you through every peak. Harshly.

Tears bursting from the edges of your hazy eyes, head oh-so-cottony with the sheer burning stretch - it takes you a few seconds to realize.

To realize that he’d finally, finally bottomed out with a stinging plap! of skin-on-skin, brushing a fat glide down that magical spot. And Gojo finds himself shivering, he finds himself hunching over.

SLAM!

Your veins boil greedily at the way you get even wetter once he reaches up to strikes a powerful hand down on his mahogany headboard and splits it in half. Easily. Tensing abs rubbing down your front, “That sound? The s-sound of me about to make her my wife n’ fuck her full of my ngh- kids, asshat.”

Then suddenly your ears resound with that familiar ending tone. And it was just you two.

Eyes darting syrupily upwards, “G-glad he’s never going to c-”

Oh.

You were fucked.

Because Gojo’s eyes were blown wide - crazed. Smiling, and you think he’s never looked more like he was about to rack up a kill list higher than could be counted.

Stray bolts of lightning curl at the ends of his snowy lashes, flickering when Gojo leans down to give the tummy bulge he was fucking into you a slow kiss.

Lips grazing over his outlined puff, your heated skin gets hit with the splat! of something…wet. And it’s only then that you realize that you just made Gojo Satoru so pussydrunken that he was drooling.

“Jus’ you n’ me now, girl.” His chuckles make your most sensitive spots vibrate, and Gojo bucks into you mindlessly. Half-way through, like he couldn’t even bear the thought of pulling out. Could never. “Jus’ say the word n’ you can use the hah- s-strongest like a fuh-fucktoy.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - EMERGENCY, DR.~

“Hm, labia majora and minora are supple and soft.”

“Dr. Higu-” You barely even have the time to catch your breath before you can catch the tail end of your sentence. Voice breaking off into a lecherous whimper the moment the stern man hovering above you swipes a thick thumb over your throbbing clit.

Humming at the glossy rivulet of slick that seeps from between your puffed-up lips, it slathers a thick coating down his digits. “Good lubrication, clitoris is reactive, too. Spread yourself nice and open f’me?”

Before you even have the time to blink, Higuruma’s leaning back mere inches to take a looong, solid look at your splayed-out legs. You’re arching off of the cool examination table like such a slut-

“And above all–” He’s drawling away, and you swear you catch his lips quirk up into a sultry smirk. Dark brows arching, his strawberry pink tongue nips out at the heavenly sight of you. “-she’s pretty.”

This inspection was both such torture and heaven for you.

You’re whining, fists balling up mindlessly in his cottony medical coat - you can’t think. You can’t even say anything other than a few clouded pants of, “I- I need it- I just want to cum, but no one else has ever…”

“Ohhh, s’that so, sugar?” Your bottom lip wobbles like heedless jelly as soon as he caresses the side of your cheek. So close now that your tits heave against his rock-hard pecs, he’s boring into your yes so deeply. Pretty. “Then let Dr. Hiromi here help you.”

It took only mere minutes for Higuruma to have your face bullied down into the chilling plane of the table, a puddle of drool already ever-growing when he swabs his tip sensually down your slit.

“Easy there, easy there- spread your legs f’me.” Just about all you can do to listen to listen to his every word, your capped knees smear until Higuruma was getting a sinful eyeful of your glistening cunt. Already aching and so, so wet. “Atta girl- so needy…so, so needy.”

You’re flinching - full-bodied and gasping - the second he strikes your slick-flooding entrance with three exact wads of messy spit. Rolling the wadded mess over your bloated clit, “Pubovaginalis is tight- reeeeal tight, heh. Wonder if I’d even fit, angel–?”

Veering your head back to catch sight of his painfully hard cock, your eyes travel down his veiny length - the way it seems never-endless. Massive.

And suddenly you can’t help but let your mouth water at the way you want him inside you oh-so-badly.

“Oh?” Higuruma’s deep bass sends shivers running down your spine, and you can’t believe how you’re so positively soaked and he hasn’t even put it in yet. “Lubrication increased significantly- s’this turn you on, sugar?”

“Yes- yes.” You can’t even lie- fuck, you can’t even stop yourself from pushing your hips back in repeated ruts that graze Higuruma’s slender, expert fingers against where your core was the hottest.

Needy.

Cooing down at you, “Awww, s’alright—” The very sounds sends your heart racing, and your thighs shivering once he measures out a looong few inches from the very base of your treacly entrance to about halfway down your tummy. “S’gonna fit- m’gonna make it.”

Your jaw loosens as if you were stunned, “W-were you measuring out just how deep you’d be inside me- ”

“Of course, angel.” Dark tone much too smooth for the way that Higuruma was swashing aside his formal white coat to make room. “The muscularis will feel better ah- raw…” You needed him. To barely crown your drooling hole with the very rotund fringe of his fat tip, pushing. “Count now. Count every inch m’inside you.”

And a sudden dab into a bundle of nerves in your weepy orifice told you that he was serious. “C’mon- with me now. Oooone–‘

Your voice shaking as you whimper, “O-one…two.”

“Good girl.” Comes the response, and of course Higuruma was a good doctor. Of course he was rewarding you with a pinch to the hood of your nub, “Keep counting. Three–”

Drawing little patterns of his name right where you were most sensitive, he was poking his swollen veins saccharinely into every nook and cranny inside of you. Scouring.

It just makes you melt.

“Four- six?” The disbelief just kept piling on, and with a low moan into the hard surface of the table you’re bucking. Eager to find out for yourself just how many inches he was hiding away, grinding the plump of your clit over into his palm - all slathered in an oozing layer of slick now. “Sev- eight…eight!”

You swear you hear Higuruma snickering, “Close, but…” Right before he sucks in a sharply condensed breath and ruts- “-it’s nine.”

Bottoming out - finally. Until your spongy cervix recoils back with the sticky French snog of his readily puckered head, until your clit stings with the impact of his buxom balls thwacking!

And when Higuruma strikes, he hits. Dead-on into the bulging target of your g-spot, he’s laying on long n’ girthy inches that take up every square centimeter of space inside your snug pussy. Stretching out your glutinous walls to his exact shape until you almost feel like sobbing- “Hiromi–”

“Rhythmic muscularis contraction, body heart, heart rate increase- There we go, thereeee we f-fuckin’ go-”

Did you just make Higuruma Hiromi stutter? You don’t know what you’re reeling from more - that, or the fact that you didn’t know who was cumming first. You feel him shiver above you, “You’re cumming, angel– congratulations.”

Were you? Fuck- you were, riding your hips back into his swollen inches to drag out the burning stars bursting behind your heavy lids.

And Higuruma was just collapsing right down with you, his muscular body pinning you helplessly. Washboards abs practically melding into you and making your orgasm only increase with intensity.

Your mouth wrenches open with breathless whimpers upon whimpers and drivel, ones that Higuruma plugs up easily with just a few fingers over your maw. Tutting, “Hydration is important, sugar- though, you’re already like fuckin’ waterpark d-down hah- there.”

Not just with your own sugary juices - but Higuruma had cum, too.

Sloshing around a warm river of cum that knocks on your womb, it was so thick frosting your hole and way down into your thighs below. Streaming out until you felt like you were bawling from below, feeling the weight of his seed stick to your walls all filthily.

But Higuruma doesn’t mind the mess - he fucking loves it. Loves how it paints glistening rings on his bulky base, loves the way your cunt twitches once he scoops the escaping ribbons back in with two fingers. “Now for a full body check-up, sugar.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

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