The digital clock on the studio wall glowed a harsh, neon green: 3:42 AM.
Seventeen’s main practice room, usually a chaotic ecosystem of laughter, screeching sneakers, and overlapping voices, was suffocatingly quiet. The others had packed up and left for the dorms about forty minutes ago. Seungcheol had given a generic, sweeping, "Good work today, everyone," directed at the wall somewhere between Hoshi and Mingyu, before ushering the exhausted crowd out the door.
Nobody noticed that Y/N hadn't picked up her bag. Nobody asked if she was coming in the first manager’s car or the second.
It wasn't malice. That was the piece of glass that kept cutting deeper into Y/N’s chest it was never outright cruelty. If they hated her, she could fight back. But how do you argue against the slow, agonizing realization that you are simply invisible? For exactly six months, the thought of leaving had lived under her tongue like a bitter pill. She hadn't made a move yet, she hadn't signed anything, but the urge to slip away was growing heavier with every passing day.
When Pledis Entertainment announced the addition of a fourteenth member just months before Seventeen’s official debut, the backlash had been a tidal wave. The "17" mythos was already established.
Then came Y/N.
She was young, fiercely talented, and completely out of place. For the first few years, she told herself the distance was normal. They went through the green basement together, she’d remind herself. They have history. I just need to catch up. But you can’t catch up to a brotherhood forged in fire when you aren't allowed near the flame.
Line Distribution: 3.5 seconds in a 4-minute track."Your tone doesn't quite match the Vocal Unit's color this time, Y/N."
Choreography: Hidden in the back corners, acting as a human shield or a transitional pivot."We need to keep the odd-number symmetry looking clean, stand behind Jun."
Variety Shows: Sitting on the far end of the bench, smiling until her cheeks ached.Editors cutting her rare jokes for time, leaving her as a reaction-shot.
Every album cycle was a slow erosion. She had trained until her toes bled, stayed up writing verses that Jihoon would glance at for three seconds before saying, "It's good, but it doesn't really fit the Seventeen vibe," and practiced facial expressions in the dark.
The fans noticed, of course. The "Y/N Mistreatment" compilations on YouTube had millions of views. But the fans didn't see the worst part. The worst part was the casual, unintentional neglect from the thirteen boys she loved like family and the painful friction with the few she held closest.
The turning point had happened earlier that evening, during the final monitoring session for their upcoming comeback title track. They were all crowded around the small monitor. Hoshi was vibrating with excitement, pointing out a complex formation change in the bridge.
"Look at that transition!" Soonyoung beamed, slapping Wonwoo’s shoulder. "The diamond shape is perfect there."
Y/N had squinted at the screen. In that specific frame, she was completely eclipsed by Mingyu’s broad shoulders. If you didn't know she was in the group, you would think Seventeen was a thirteen-member act.
"Oppa," Y/N had spoken up, her voice small but clear. "During the second verse... I’m completely hidden. If I step out just half a foot to the right, the angle balances out, and I can actually be seen singing my line."
The room went quiet. Jihoon sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, we already locked the formation with the performance directors. If you shift right, you disrupt Chan’s pathing right after. It’s just three seconds."
"It’s always three seconds," she wanted to scream.
She looked desperately toward Seungcheol. As the leader, and as someone she had always leaned on when the pressure became too much, she hoped he would see her frustration. Seungcheol offered a gentle, tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Y/N-ah, Jihoon's right about the spacing," Seungcheol said, his tone dripping with that patronizing warmth he used when he was trying to manage a problem rather than solve it. "Don't get too sensitive about a quick transition. We'll look at it for the concert version, okay? Good job today, guys. Let's wrap it up."
The words stung. Sensitive. He didn't mean to be harsh, but he wasn't taking her seriously. To him, she was just the younger member making a fuss over a minor detail, completely blind to the fact that those "minor details" were erasing her entirely.
When the room finally cleared, only one person remained by the door.
Wonwoo hadn't joined the loud conversations about what to eat for dinner. He stayed back, leaning against the doorframe, his sharp eyes tracking Y/N as she sat frozen on the floor. Once the hallway quieted down, he walked back inside, his footsteps soft against the linoleum.
He sat down on the floor next to her, pulling his knees up to match her posture. He didn't offer a cliché platitude or tell her Seungcheol didn't mean it. He just slipped one of his oversized gaming hoodies out of his bag and draped it over her trembling shoulders.
"You were right about the formation," Wonwoo said quietly, his deep voice a grounding anchor in the empty room. "I watched the playback. You were hidden."
A choked sob escaped Y/N’s throat, the first crack in her armor. "Then why doesn't anyone care, Woo? Why am I always the one who has to compromise?"
Wonwoo looked at his hands, a heavy, helpless expression crossing his face. Out of everyone, Wonwoo understood the suffocating weight of wanting to disappear, but he also knew the delicate balance of the group. He hated seeing her like this, trapped in a limbo where she was technically part of a team but entirely alone.
"They care," Wonwoo murmured, stretching out a hand to gently ruffle her hair, pulling her closer so she could lean against his shoulder. "They're just blind to what they haven't experienced. Coups-hyung is stressed about the comeback, he isn't looking at the small picture. But I see you, Y/N. I always see you."
Y/N leaned heavily into his side, gripping the fabric of his sleeve. His presence was the only thing keeping her grounded, the only thread holding her to Seventeen.
But as she stared at their blurred reflection in the mirror, the terrifying truth remained. Wonwoo’s kindness was a bandage, but the wound beneath it was deep, infected by six months of silent alienation. She loved him, and she loved the small moments of comfort he gave her but she didn't know if love was enough to keep a ghost alive.
The ride back to the dorms was exactly what Y/N expected: a masterclass in unintentional exclusion.
She sat in the middle row of the second van, sandwiched between Seokmin and Seungkwan, who were aggressively debating a trendy restaurant they wanted to visit on their next day off. Their voices bounced over her head, a chaotic ping-pong match of laughter and exaggerated hand gestures.
Y/N kept her face pressed against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the passing Seoul streetlights. She had shrunk herself as much as possible, her shoulders curled inward to give the boys more room. Neither of them noticed. To them, she was just a quiet fixture of the car, a silent companion they assumed was simply tired.
When they finally arrived at the dorm, the apartment was a flurry of discarded jackets, the rustle of takeout bags, and the loud hum of the shower running.
Y/N slipped her shoes off at the entryway, carefully placing them in the corner. She began walking toward her shared bedroom, wanting nothing more than to crawl under her covers and pretend the world didn't exist, when a voice stopped her from the living room.
"Y/N-ah, wait a second."
She turned. Seungcheol was sitting on the couch, a tablet in his lap and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes prominent under the harsh living room light. He gestered for her to come over.
For a split second, a flutter of hope sparked in her chest. Maybe he realized. Maybe he wanted to apologize for brushing her off in the practice room.
She walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch. "Yes?"
"Management just sent over the finalized tracklist and the credit sheet for the digital booklet," Seungcheol said, keeping his eyes on the screen. "I noticed you submitted a few lyric drafts for the b-side track, 'Shadow.' I wanted to talk to you before the final print goes out."
Y/N’s heart did a nervous flip. She had spent three consecutive nights staying up until dawn writing those lyrics. They were raw, deeply personal lines about feeling caught between the light and the dark a desperate attempt to channel her loneliness into art.
"Did Jihoon look at them?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Seungcheol finally looked up, his expression gentle but holding that familiar, heavy layer of professional detachment. "He did. And I read them too. Look, Y/N... your writing has gotten really mature, and the metaphors are beautiful. But the theme is a bit too heavy for this album. Seventeen’s image has always been about hope and overcoming things together. These lyrics... they feel a bit too isolated. Too dark."
The spark in her chest died instantly, replaced by a cold, familiar numbness.
"Isolated," she repeated, the word tasting like ash.
"Yeah," Seungcheol said, completely missing the cracked tone in her voice as he tapped on the screen. "We decided to go with Vernon and Mingyu's verses instead. They keep the energy moving forward. I just didn't want you to be blindsided when the tracklist drops tomorrow. Don't take it personally, okay? You're still young, you have plenty of time to get your tracks on the albums later."
Don't take it personally.
You have plenty of time.
He said it so easily, like she hadn't already been in the group for years. He treated her like a trainee who was still learning the ropes, rather than a member who had poured her soul into a company that continually threw her efforts into the trash bin. He wasn't trying to hurt her he truly believed he was being a good, encouraging leader and that was what made it unbearable. He didn't see her as a peer. He saw her as a liability that needed gentle handling.
"Right," Y/N whispered, standing up from the couch before her face could betray her. "I understand. Thank you for telling me, oppa."
"Get some sleep, Y/N-ah. Big day tomorrow," Seungcheol called out, already looking back down at his tablet, effectively closing the curtain on her.
She didn't go to her room. She knew if she went inside, she would wake up her roommates with her crying. Instead, she slipped out onto the small, cramped balcony at the end of the hallway, closing the glass door behind her to shut out the noise of the apartment.
The night air was biting, cutting right through her thin clothes, but she welcomed the chill. It was better than the suffocating warmth of a home she didn't belong in.
She leaned her forearms against the railing, staring down at the empty courtyard below. Six months, she thought again. Six months of convincing herself that things would change, that the next comeback would be different, that she would finally feel like the fourteenth member instead of an asterisk at the end of a sentence.
The glass door behind her slid open with a soft click.
Y/N didn't turn around. She knew the footsteps. They were slow, deliberate, and entirely devoid of the frantic energy that characterized the rest of the house.
Wonwoo stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. He didn't say anything at first. He just stepped up to the railing next to her, handing her a warm, steaming mug of barley tea. He had changed into comfortable sweatpants, and his glasses were pushed up into his hair.
"I heard Coups talking to you," Wonwoo said softly, the steam from his mug rising between them.
Y/N took the mug, using it to warm her freezing hands, but she didn't drink. "He thinks I'm too dark for the group."
Wonwoo closed his eyes for a brief moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He had read her lyrics. He had been there in the studio when she was writing them, sitting quietly in the corner playing a game on his phone just so she wouldn't have to be alone in the dark. He knew those lyrics weren't just a creative exercise; they were a cry for help.
"He's looking at it from a producer's standpoint, Y/N. He's wrong, but... that's how his brain works right now. He's hyper-focused on the group's commercial identity."
"And what about my identity?" Y/N’s voice finally broke, a hot tear spilling over her cheek and freezing in the wind. "When do I get to be a person, Woo? When do I get to be a member of Seventeen? I’ve been here since the beginning, but if I disappeared tomorrow, the only thing the company would have to do is re-print the posters. The choreography wouldn't even change. The lines would just go to Seunkgwan or Dokyeom. Nobody would actually miss me."
Wonwoo turned completely, his back against the railing as he looked down at her. The usual calm, unbothered facade he wore for the world was completely gone, replaced by a profound, aching sorrow. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching her wrist.
"Don't say that," he said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with an emotion he rarely let anyone see. "Do you think I wouldn't notice if half my heart left this dorm? I don't care about the formations, Y/N. I don't care about the line distributions. I care about you. If you go... if you disappear into the background completely, I'm lose the only person in this house who truly understands what it feels like to want to hide."
Y/N looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears. Wonwoo was holding onto her wrist tightly, as if he could physically anchor her to the group, as if he could feel the phantom thread of her presence slipping away.
She wanted so badly to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him that she had been drafting a letter to management. She wanted to tell him that every time she looked at the Pledis building, she felt a profound sense of dread.
But looking into Wonwoo's worried eyes, she couldn't do it. He was already carrying so much. If she told him she wanted to leave, it would break the only safe haven he had in the group, too.
"I'm just tired" she lied, her voice trembling as she leaned her head against his chest.
Wonwoo wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, holding her so tightly it almost hurt. "I know," he whispered into the dark. "I know you are. Just hold on a little longer. Please."
Y/N closed her eyes, burying her face in his sweater. She held onto him like a drowning person, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. She loved him. She loved him enough to stay for one more day. But as the cold wind swept across the balcony, she knew that a single thread couldn't hold up a collapsing bridge forever.
The next morning arrived with the brutal, unyielding momentum of a typical comeback schedule.
By 7:00 AM, the dorm was a battleground of slamming doors and rushing feet. The managers were already waiting downstairs, their walkie-talkies buzzing with schedule updates for the day’s pre-recording. Y/N had barely slept. She had spent the remaining hours of the night staring at the ceiling, Wonwoo’s plea of "just hold on a little longer" looping in her head like a broken record.
When she walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, she ran straight into Seungcheol.
He was in full leader-mode, nursing a massive iced americano while scrolling through a tightly packed itinerary on his phone. When he saw her, his expression instantly shifted from stressed to that practiced, older-brother warmth. He reached out, gently squeezing her shoulder.
"Hey. You look exhausted," Seungcheol said, his voice lowering so the passing members wouldn't overhear. "Look, about last night... I hope you aren't still down about the lyrics. I talked to Jihoon again this morning before he left for the salon. We both agree your writing is getting sharper. We definitely want to utilize you for the Japanese release later this year, okay? The market there appreciates that deeper, more melancholic vibe."
Y/N stared at his hand on her shoulder. To anyone else, this was Seungcheol being an incredible leader reassuring a younger member, offering a compromise, planning for the future. But to Y/N, it felt like a tactical pacification. He was throwing her a bone to keep her quiet, pushing her contributions months down the line and onto a foreign release where her voice could be easily compartmentalized.
"Thanks," she said, forcing a small, compliant smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I’ll look into it."
Seungcheol patted her shoulder, seemingly satisfied that the issue was resolved. "Good girl. Go get ready, the first van leaves in ten minutes."
He turned away to bark an order at Mingyu about shoes, completely missing the way Y/N’s hand shook as she twisted the cap off her water bottle. Good girl. It felt so deeply patronizing. She wasn't a pet to be patted on the head for staying in her corner. She was an adult, a professional, but in his eyes, she would always be the fourteen-member variable that needed to be managed so the real machine could run smoothly.
The broadcasting station was a chaotic maze of idols, staff, and flashing cameras. Seventeen occupied the largest waiting room, a space crammed with clothes racks, makeup stations, and a massive catering table.
As the hours dragged on between the dry rehearsal and the actual pre-recording, the group naturally fractured into their usual comfortable pockets.
The BooSeokSoon trio was in the center of the room, loudly filming a challenge video with a junior group, their laughter booming off the walls.
The Performance Unit was crowded around a single phone, analyzing a minor timing error from the morning rehearsal.
The Vocal Unit was humming lines in harmony near the back, Jihoon directing them with sharp, precise nods.
And then there was Y/N.
She sat in the far corner of the sofa, squeezed into the tight space between a rack of stage outfits and a stack of plastic storage bins. She had her noise-canceling headphones pressed tightly over her ears, though no music was playing. It was her only defense mechanism a universal sign language that meant please leave me alone, though, in reality, nobody was trying to approach her anyway.
Except for Wonwoo.
He had taken the seat right next to her. He didn't try to force her into a conversation, nor did he make a scene of comforting her. He just sat there, his thigh pressed firmly against hers in the cramped space, a silent, unyielding boundary between her and the rest of the room. He was playing a game on his phone, but every few minutes, his thumb would absentmindedly brush against the side of her knee, a rhythmic reassurance that said, I’m still here. You’re still here.
Suddenly, one of the main managers clapped his hands, cutting through the noise of the room. "Alright, Seventeen! Wardrobe check in five minutes. Fans are already entering the studio, let's get moving!"
The room erupted into movement. Members began shedding their padded coats, revealing the intricate, heavy velvet stage outfits. Y/N stood up, smoothing down her skirt, trying to shake off the heavy lethargy pulling at her limbs.
As they lined up in the hallway to walk down to the stage, Seungcheol stepped to the front of the line, his hand raised.
"Listen up," he called out, his voice commanding the absolute attention of the hallway. "This is our first music show stage for this comeback. The fans have been waiting in the cold for hours. Let’s show them exactly why we're Seventeen. Energy high, smiles bright. On three. Say the name!"
"Seventeen!" the thirteen boys shouted in unison, their voices echoing off the concrete walls, full of a fierce, collective pride.
Y/N’s voice joined them, but it felt hollow, a ghost of a sound swallowed up by their collective strength. As the line began to move forward toward the bright, blinding lights of the studio stage, she felt a sudden, terrifying wave of vertigo.
She looked ahead at the backs of their heads. She saw the perfect symmetry of their steps, the effortless way they fell into formation even while just walking down a corridor. They were a masterpiece. A flawless, thirteen-piece puzzle.
And as she stepped out onto the stage, greeted by the deafening screams of thousands of fans chanting names that barely ever included hers, the realization hit her with the force of a physical blow:
She wasn't a part of the puzzle. She was just a piece from a completely different set, desperately trying to force herself into a picture where she didn't belong.
The stage lights were blinding. They were the kind of hot, unforgiving lights that baked the sweat into your skin before you even started moving.
As the familiar, booming intro of their new title track blasted through the studio speakers, Y/N’s body reacted on pure instinct. Years of grueling, repetitive training took over. She smiled where she was supposed to smile, her eyes locking onto the flashing red light of Camera 3, her arms striking the sharp angles of the choreography with mathematical precision.
To the untrained eye, she was flawless.
But internally, she was entirely detached from her own body. During the first chorus, she was executed as part of the back-line machinery, a shadow anchoring the explosive center moves of the Performance Unit. She moved into a deep lunge behind Jun, disappearing completely from the main broadcast view.
Then came the bridge the three seconds she had pleaded with Jihoon and Seungcheol to change.
As the formation shifted, Mingyu stepped directly into his mark. His towering frame completely blocked the center line. Y/N hit her position half a beat later, standing exactly where she was ordered to stand. She sang her line a single, fleeting vocal run that was supposed to bridge the gap between Seokmin’s high note and the final dance break.
She could feel the breath leaving her lungs, could hear her own voice echoing in her in-ear monitors. But when she looked straight ahead, all she saw was the dark fabric of Mingyu’s stage jacket. The camera tracking the center completely missed her face.
A heavy, suffocating wave of humiliation washed over her, right there on live television. She was singing her heart out to the back of a teammate’s head.
"Cut! Great job, Seventeen! That’s a wrap for the pre-recording!" The stage director’s voice boomed through the PA system.
The studio erupted into cheers. The fans in the seating area went wild, screaming the members' names, waving their lightsticks in a sea of rose quartz and serenity. The boys immediately bowed, waving back, sweating and breathless but radiant with adrenaline.
"Thank you guys for waiting in the cold!" Hoshi shouted into his mic, doing a little dance that made the crowd scream louder.
"Eat a good lunch, Caratdeul!" Seungkwan added, throwing finger hearts.
Y/N stood near the edge of the stage. She bowed politely to the staff and the audience, her lips curved into a stiff, generic celebrity smile. She felt like an imposter. They were cheering for Seventeen. They were cheering for the thirteen boys who embodied the spirit of the group. Her presence was just an asterisk a footnote the fandom had learned to tolerate over the years.
As they walked off the stage and into the dim, frantic chaos of the backstage corridors, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind a bone-deep, crushing exhaustion.
"Y/N-ah."
She felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. She turned to see Wonwoo walking beside her, wiping his forehead with a small towel. His eyes were scanning her face, filled with a quiet, intense scrutiny that made her want to hide. He had witnessed the bridge blocking from his own position on the left wing.
"You did well," Wonwoo murmured, his voice low enough to be buried under the loud chatter of the passing staff. "Your vocals were the cleanest they've been all week."
"Thanks," she whispered, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. "It doesn't really matter if no one can see who's singing it, though."
Wonwoo opened his mouth to reply, a deep line forming between his brows, but he was cut off before the words could leave his throat.
"Hey, Y/N! Wonwoo! Hurry up, we’re doing a quick group photo for the official Twitter!" a manager yelled from the end of the hallway, waving them toward a designated Pledis backdrop.
The group was already assembling. The shorter members were in the front, kneeling or crouching, while the taller members formed a protective wall behind them. It was a well-practiced routine.
"Y/N, go over to the right side next to Dino," Seungcheol directed quickly, his eyes darting between the staff member holding the camera and the time on his watch. He was already thinking about their next interview schedule. "Hurry, we only have two minutes before the next group needs the hallway."
Y/N stepped into the spot. Because of the tight space and the hurried nature of the shoot, she was pushed to the absolute edge of the frame. She felt Chan’s arm press against hers as he struck a playful pose, entirely immersed in the energy of the moment.
"Three, two, one Say the name!" the photographer called out.
The camera flashed.
Y/N smiled. It was the same smile she had practiced thousands of times in the mirror. It was perfect. It was empty.
Twenty minutes later, the waiting room was a blur of packing. The members were changing back into their comfortable clothes, eager to get into the vans and head to the next broadcasting station for a radio interview.
Y/N stepped out of the makeshift dressing room, now wearing her own oversized sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt. She needed a moment of absolute silence. Her head was pounding, the bass of their own song still vibrating in her ears.
She walked down the quiet, institutional hallway of the broadcasting station, heading toward the vending machines at the far end where she knew the staff rarely traveled.
As she rounded the corner, she saw Seungcheol standing by the window, speaking quietly into his phone. His voice carried in the empty corridor.
"Yeah, I saw the rough cut of the stage monitoring," Seungcheol was saying, his tone serious, his leader voice fully active. "I know. I know her blocking in the bridge is an issue. But look, we can't change it now. The choreography is locked for the entire promotion cycle. Shifting the camera angles manually during the live broadcast is too risky."
Y/N froze, her hand hovering over the brick wall. Her heart stopped.
"I tried talking to her about it," Seungcheol continued, sighing heavily as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "She’s just... she's taking it too personally lately. She's getting sensitive about her screen time and her lyrics. I get it, she's young, but she needs to understand the bigger picture. Seventeen functions because the machine works as a whole. If we start changing entire formations just to make sure one person gets three seconds of face-time, the whole balance throws off. I just need her to hold out until the repackage album."
He paused, listening to the person on the other end of the line likely a performance director or a high-ranking manager.
"No, she won't cause trouble," Seungcheol said, his voice dropping into a confident, dismissive tone that shattered the final, lingering fragment of Y/N’s heart. "Y/N is a good kid. She complains a bit, but she always does what she's told in the end. I’ll handle her."
He hung up a moment later, pocketing his phone and walking back toward the waiting room, entirely unaware that the "good kid" was standing less than ten feet away, hidden in the shadow of the vending machines.
Y/N slid down the wall, her knees hitting the cold linoleum floor.
I'll handle her.
She always does what she's told in the end.
To Seungcheol, her pain wasn't a crisis. It wasn't a cry for help from a sister who was drowning. It was a scheduling conflict. It was a minor logistical inconvenience that could be managed with a few sweet words and a promise of future opportunities that would never actually come.
She didn't cry this time. The tears had finally run dry, replaced by a terrifying, hollow clarity. The six months of agonizing hesitation, the lists of pros and cons, the desperate midnight prayers for things to get better they all evaporated into nothingness.
She wasn't a member of Seventeen. She was a liability they kept in the corner because it was too expensive to break the contract early.
Slowly, Y/N stood up. Her legs were shaking, but her hands were entirely steady. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her personal phone. She didn't open the notes app this time. She opened her contacts, scrolling past the names of the thirteen boys she had spent her teenage years with, until she found the direct number for Pledis's legal department a number she had saved months ago but never had the courage to call.
She looked back down the hallway, toward the loud, vibrant waiting room where Seventeen was currently laughing, completely whole without her.
Y/N’s finger hovered over the dial button, her chest heaving as she stared at the stark, clinical contact name: Pledis Legal Team 2. Every instinct in her body was screaming at her to just press it, to spark the fire that would finally burn down this beautiful, suffocating cage.
"Y/N-ah?"
The voice was soft, slicing through the ringing in her ears like a quiet blade.
Y/N flinched, her thumb jerking away from the screen as she quickly locked her phone and shoved it behind her back. She turned around to see Jeonghan standing at the mouth of the corridor.
He had already changed out of his stage attire, wearing a loose knit sweater that swallowed his frame, his hair a little messy from the frantic wardrobe changes. He was holding a half-empty bottle of vitamin water. To anyone else, Jeonghan looked like his usual relaxed, slightly mischievous self but his eyes were entirely focused on her.
Jeonghan was the observer of Seventeen. While Seungcheol managed the logistics and the pressure from management, Jeonghan was the one who quietly mapped the emotional currents of the room. He noticed when someone’s smile didn't reach their eyes. He noticed when a voice was a fraction of a octave too quiet.
And right now, looking at Y/N huddled against the vending machines, he saw right through the wall she had spent months building.
"What are you doing all the way back here?" Jeonghan asked, stepping into the dim corridor. His footsteps were light, making no sound against the linoleum. "The managers are already counting heads for the second van. Mingyu’s looking for his lost wallet again, so we have about a three-minute grace period."
He joked, but his voice lacked its usual teasing edge. He stopped a few feet away from her, his sharp eyes dropping to her hands, which were still trembling behind her back, clutching her phone like a lifeline.
"I just needed some air," Y/N said, her voice sounding desperately small even to her own ears. She tried to offer him one of her standard, compliant smiles. "The waiting room was getting a little loud. My head hurts."
Jeonghan didn't buy it for a second. He tilted his head, his gaze softening into something deeply paternal, yet terrifyingly perceptive. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them until he could reach out and gently touch her arm.
"Y/N-ah," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, comforting register he used when someone was genuinely breaking down. "Look at me."
She didn't want to. She knew that if she looked into Jeonghan’s eyes, the dam would break. Wonwoo’s quiet solidarity was comforting, but Jeonghan’s empathy was dangerous it had a way of pulling the truth out of you before you could stop it.
"I'm fine, oppa, really-"
"You're not fine," Jeonghan interrupted softly, his thumb gently rubbing a soothing circle against the fabric of her sleeve. "You've been hovering at the edge of the room all day. During the stage, during the monitoring, even when we were taking the group photo... you looked like you were already a million miles away. What's wrong? Is it your lines again? Did Jihoon say something?"
The mention of the music of the very thing that was systematically erasing her made something inside Y/N snap. The exhaustion of the past six months, topped by the crushing weight of Seungcheol's phone call just moments prior, suddenly felt too heavy to carry in silence.
"It's not just the lines, Jeonghan-oppa," she whispered, her lower lip trembling as she finally looked up at him. Her eyes were bright with unshed, angry tears. "It’s everything. It’s the fact that I’m standing right here, and none of you can see me."
Jeonghan blinked, a shadow of genuine confusion and hurt crossing his features. "What do you mean we don't see you? Y/N, we're always together. We're a family."
"Are we?" Y/N asked, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping her lips. She finally pulled her phone out from behind her back, holding it tightly against her chest. "Family members don't get hidden behind the tallest person in the group during their only three seconds of a song. Family members don't get told their feelings are just 'sensitivity' because they want to be seen. Coups doesn't think of a family member as a kid he just needs to 'handle' so the machine keeps running smoothly."
Jeonghan froze. The color drained slightly from his face as the pieces connected in his brilliant, calculating mind. He looked down the empty hallway, toward the direction Seungcheol had walked just minutes ago, and then back at Y/N’s tear-stained face.
"You heard him," Jeonghan realized, his voice dropping into a horrified whisper.
"I hear everything," Y/N whispered back, the first tear finally spilling over her lashes, hot and angry. "Because nobody thinks to lock the door or speak quietly when they're talking about the fourteenth member. To everyone else, I'm just a mistake Pledis made years ago that you all have to carry around like extra baggage. I’ve spent six months trying to convince myself that if I just worked harder, if I just wrote better lyrics, if I just kept my mouth shut, you would finally look at me like a real member. But I’m tired. I’m so, so tired of being a ghost."
Jeonghan stood completely paralyzed. For all his cleverness, for all his ability to smooth over conflicts within the group, he was entirely unequipped for the sheer depth of the despair staring back at him. He looked at Y/N the girl who had joined them when she was practically a child, who had quietly swallowed every piece of online hate, every unfair line cut, every back-row choreography assignment with a polite bow and a silent nod.
He had known she was unhappy. He had known she felt left out from time to time. But he had never realized that while they were busy celebrating their massive success, climbing higher and higher up the mountain, they had left her at the base, entirely alone in the dark.
"Y/N-ah..." Jeonghan reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed both of her shoulders, pulling her forward until her forehead rested against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his hand in the back of her hair, desperately trying to shield her from the cold corridor. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Coups didn't mean it like that... he's just stressed, he's stupid when he's under pressure, you know how he gets. But that's no excuse. We failed you. I failed you."
Y/N didn't hug him back this time. Her arms stayed limp at her sides, her forehead resting heavily against his sweater. The comfort felt nice, but it felt too late. It felt like a band-aid on an amputation.
"Don't leave us," Jeonghan murmured into her hair, his voice cracking with a rare, raw vulnerability. He had felt the distance growing between her and the group for months, but he had assumed it was just a phase, a side effect of growing up. Now, feeling the absolute stillness of her body in his arms, a cold dread began to pool in his stomach. "Please, Y/N. Talk to us. Talk to me. We can fix this. I'll talk to Jihoon myself. I'll make them change the formations for the next music show, I swear. Just don't shut us out."
Y/N slowly pulled back, gently but firmly breaking his grip on her shoulders. She looked up at him, her eyes completely devoid of the fire that used to define her. There was only a vast, empty ocean of exhaustion.
"You can't fix a puzzle piece that doesn't belong in the box, oppa," she said softly, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.
Before Jeonghan could reply, the loud, booming sound of Mingyu’s voice echoed from around the corner. "Hey! I found my wallet! It was in Coups-hyung's bag the whole time!"
"Everyone into the vans! Moving out now!" a manager's voice bellowed through the hallway.
Y/N took a step backward, away from Jeonghan, away from the warmth of his embrace. She gave him one final, tiny nod a gesture of profound respect for the brother who had actually bothered to look for her before turning around and walking toward the loud, chaotic energy of the lobby.
Jeonghan stayed rooted to the spot, the empty bottle of vitamin water slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull clatter. As he watched her small figure disappear around the corner, a terrifying truth settled deep in his bones:
Seventeen wasn't thirteen plus one. They were thirteen, and they were about to lose the only girl who had ever tried to love them through the silence.
The second van was loud, a stark contrast to the heavy silence left behind in the corridor. Y/N sat by the window again, staring at the blurred neon signs of Seoul. Jeonghan had tried to catch her eye before boarding, but she had purposely slipped into the back row behind the vocal team. She couldn't face his pity, and she certainly couldn't face his promises.
By the time they reached the next broadcasting station for a late-night radio appearance, the atmosphere had shifted into a dull, post-schedule haze. There was a three-hour gap before their live broadcast slot, leaving the members scattered around a secondary, dimly lit dressing room.
In the corner of the room, a ring light flickered to life.
"Is it connected?" Dino asked, squinting at an iPhone mounted on a tripod.
"Yeah, the notifications are going out now," Minghao replied, adjusting the collar of his denim jacket. He sat cross-legged on a low couch, looking effortlessly chic. "Look, the viewer count is already jumping."
Jun slid into the frame next to Minghao, waving enthusiastically at the lens with both hands. "Hi, Carats! We’re backstage waiting for the radio show!"
Wonwoo sat on the arm of the couch just behind Minghao. He had his glasses back on, his expression relaxed but quiet. His eyes wandered around the room for a split second, tracking the corner where Y/N had tucked herself away with her manager's padded coat over her legs. He caught her eye, giving her a small, questioning tilt of his head. Are you okay?
Y/N just offered a tiny, weak nod and looked down at her lap. She didn't want to ruin his mood.
"We decided to turn on a live because it’s been a while since the four of us did one together," Dino explained to the camera, reading the fast-scrolling comments. "Everyone is asking if we ate dinner. Yes, we had rice bowls in the dressing room earlier."
The Instagram Live was a massive hit. Within five minutes, over three hundred thousand fans were watching. The four boys fell into a comfortable, easy rhythm the kind of effortless chemistry that made fans fall in love with them.
Jun was reading funny comments and doing dramatic poses. Minghao was giving philosophical advice to a fan stressed about exams. Dino was passionately explaining a specific detail in the new choreography. Wonwoo chuckled softly at their antics, occasionally leaning in to deliver a dry, witty one-liner that made the comment section erupt in keysmashes.
They were a cohesive unit. A brotherhood.
Y/N watched them from the dark corner of the room. The glow from the phone screen illuminated their faces, making them look like a self-contained universe. She felt a familiar, hollow ache in her chest. She was in the exact same room, sitting less than ten feet away, but she might as well have been on Mars.
"Oh, someone asked what the other members are doing," Jun said, scanning the screen. "Coups-hyung and Jeonghan-hyung are talking to the managers in the hallway. The vocal unit is sleeping on the other couch."
He completely skipped over her.
It wasn't intentional. Jun’s eyes had just skimmed the room, seeing the sleeping vocal team and omitting the quiet girl sitting perfectly still in the shadows. But the omission hit Y/N like a physical blow. Even when they were actively listing the group, her name didn't naturally surface. She was a ghost in their peripheral vision.
Wonwoo’s smile faded slightly. He glanced over his shoulder toward Y/N’s corner, then looked directly at the camera. "Y/N is here too," he said, his deep voice cutting through Dino and Jun's overlapping chatter. "She's sitting right over there. She worked really hard during the pre-recording today."
The comment section immediately flooded with messages.
“Y/N-ah!!! Show your face!”
“We miss our 14th member!”
“Is Y/N okay? She looked hidden during the stage today.”
"Y/N-ah, come say hi!" Dino called out warmly, gesturing toward the empty space next to him on the floor.
Minghao turned his head, his sharp eyes searching the dim corner. Unlike the others, Minghao was incredibly sensitive to energy. He had noticed her heavy, suffocating aura all day. "Come here, Y/N. Sit with us for a bit," he encouraged gently.
Y/N felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck. Every fiber of her being wanted to refuse, to stay hidden in the dark where it was safe. But the phone was live. Thousands of eyes were watching. If she refused, the fans would instantly sense the tension, creating a massive wave of rumors and speculation that Seungcheol would have to "handle" later.
Slowly, she stood up, letting the padded coat slide off her lap. She walked over to the ring light, her feet feeling like lead.
She forced a bright, idol-grade smile onto her face and crouched down next to Dino, squeezing into the edge of the phone's vertical frame. "Hi, Carats," she said, waving small at the camera. "I'm here."
"Look, Y/N is matching with Wonwoo-hyung today, both wearing black hoodies," Jun pointed out, trying to create a fun talking point for the fans.
The comments were moving at lightning speed. Y/N’s eyes accidentally locked onto a string of rapidly appearing messages.
user7739: Why is she forcing herself into the frame? The four boys had such good chemistry before she walked over.
svt_carat_17: Honestly, the formation looks so crowded now. She doesn't really fit the vibe of this unit live.
solofun: Did you guys see the music show today? She was completely blocked lol. Even the directors know she's extra.
The words blurred together, burning into her retinas. It was nothing she hadn't read a thousand times before over the last six years, but tonight, her armor was completely gone. The comments felt like physical needles piercing through her skin.
"Y/N-ah," Wonwoo's voice sounded right above her ear. He had shifted closer, his hand coming down to rest firmly on her shoulder, a subtle shield against the invisible eyes of the internet. "Are you cold? Your hands are shaking."
"I'm fine, oppa," she whispered into the microphone, her voice tight.
Minghao was watching her face closely. He saw the subtle twitch in her jaw, the way her eyes darted away from the screen, and the absolute lack of life in her smile. He recognized that look. It was the look of someone who was completely drowning while standing in a room full of people.
Minghao quietly reached past Dino and gently tapped the screen, purposely shifting the focus of the live. "Ah, someone is asking about the choreography for the b-side. Dino, show them the hand movement you were working on."
Dino eagerly took the cue, leaning into the camera to demonstrate the intricate finger-tutting. Jun joined in, laughing as he tried to mimic the younger boy's speed.
Under the cover of their loud laughter, Minghao leaned forward, his voice a quiet murmur meant only for her. "Y/N-ah. If you're tired, go rest. You don't have to stay here."
Y/N looked at Minghao. His expression was fierce, protective, and deeply sad. He knew. He didn't know the specifics, he didn't know about her drafted resignation or Seungcheol's phone call, but he knew her soul was breaking.
"Thank you, Hao," she whispered.
Slowly, carefully, Y/N slipped out of the camera's view. She moved so quietly that the scrolling comments barely registered her departure, the fans quickly returning to their adoration of the four boys.
As she walked back to her dark corner, she felt Wonwoo’s eyes heavy on her back. She sat down, pulling the heavy manager’s coat back over her head, completely shutting out the light of the room.
The broadcast continued behind her. Laughter, jokes, and the bright, happy sounds of a successful idol group filled the air. They were radiant. They were perfect. And as Y/N pulled her phone out one last time in the dark, her thumb didn't hesitate.
She pressed the dial button on the contact for Pledis Legal Team 2.
The phone began to ring, a low, steady hum against her ear. She closed her eyes, listening to the laughter of her members in the background, knowing that this was the beginning of the end.
The phone against her ear let out a third heavy, mechanical ring. Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Hello, this is the Pledis Legal Department Entertainment Team 2-"
Before the voice on the other end could finish the greeting, a slender, ring-adorned hand reached into the darkness of her corner and firmly pressed the red end-call button on her screen.
Y/N gasped, her head snapping up. Minghao was standing over her.
He had slipped away from the Instagram Live while Dino and Jun were distracted doing a comedic dance battle for the viewers. The bright ring light was still casting long, sharp shadows across the room, but here in the corner, Minghao’s face was obscured by the dim lighting. His breathing was shallow, his shoulders tense beneath his denim jacket.
Without a word, he grabbed her wrist gently, but with an unyielding grip and pulled her up from the chair. He guided her past the sleeping vocal unit, opened the heavy soundproof door of the empty back storage room, and ushered her inside, letting the door click shut behind them.
The storage room smelled of cardboard, unused stage props, and stale air.
"What were you doing?" Minghao demanded, his voice a sharp, whispered hiss. His usual calm, meditative demeanor was completely gone, replaced by a raw, burning frustration. "Y/N. Answer me. Who were you calling just now?"
Y/N pulled her wrist out of his grip, stepping back until her spine hit a stack of plastic equipment crates. The sheer exhaustion of the last six months suddenly curdled into a defensive, bitter anger.
"It’s none of your business," she said, her voice trembling but cold. "Go back to the live. Carats are probably wondering where their cool, philosophical performance member went."
"Don't do that. Don't use that tone with me," Minghao said, stepping closer. His eyes snapped with an intensity that made her chest tighten. "I’ve been watching you for months, Y/N. You think you're being subtle? You think nobody notices the way you look at the company building? The way you look at us? You were calling legal. I saw the screen."
"So what if I was?" Y/N yelled back, though she kept her voice low enough not to pierce through the soundproof door. Tears of pure frustration finally blurred her vision. "What does it matter to you anyway?"
"What does it matter?" Minghao’s voice cracked, a rare slip in his pristine composure. He took a deep breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "We are a team. We are supposed to be fourteen. If you have an issue with the management, if you're upset about the stage blocking which was incredibly unfair, I know you come to us! You talk to Coups-hyung. You talk to the performance team. You don't secretly call the legal department in the dark like an outsider!"
"Because I am an outsider!"
The words ripped from her throat, raw and bleeding. The confession hung in the cramped space of the storage room, heavy and suffocating.
Minghao flinched as if he’d been physically struck.
"I am an outsider, Minghao," she repeated, the tears finally cascading down her cheeks, hot and uncontainable. "You tell me to talk to the team? I tried! I spoke up today during monitoring. I begged them to let me shift just half a foot so the camera could see me sing my three seconds. And what did Coups do? He brushed me off. He told me I was being too sensitive. And then I heard him on the phone in the hallway telling a manager that I’m a 'good kid' who will 'do what she's told in the end. "
Minghao opened his mouth to defend the leader, but the words died in his throat. A deep, troubled frown marred his forehead.
"He doesn't see me as a member," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking completely. "None of you do. When Jun listed the members on the live just now, he forgot I was even in the room. It’s not his fault it’s because I’m invisible. I’ve spent six months waking up every single morning feeling like a ghost in my own life. I write lyrics, and they’re 'too dark.' I practice until my knees swell, and I get put behind Mingyu’s back. If I stay here, there will be nothing left of me."
Minghao stared at her, the anger slowly draining out of him, leaving behind a profound, devastating sorrow. He had moved across an entire ocean from China to Korea to pursue his dream; he knew what isolation felt like. He knew the crushing weight of feeling misunderstood. But he had always had his brothers to lean on. He hadn't realized that for Y/N, the brothers were the source of the isolation.
"Y/N-ah..." he started, his voice dropping into a soft, aching murmur as he stepped closer. "We love you. Hoshi hyung loves you, Joshua Hyung loves you, Wonwoo Hyung loves you. I-"
"Love isn't enough to make me exist, oppa," Y/N interrupted, looking down at her hands. "I don't want to fight with you. I love you guys so much it hurts. That’s why I have to leave. Because if I stay, I’m going to end up hating you, and I don't want to hate my family."
Minghao stood in the center of the cramped storage room, the harsh fluorescent light casting a shadow over his face. He wanted to argue, to bar the door, to promise her that he would change the world for her tomorrow. But looking at the hollow, absolute defeat in her eyes, he realized the most terrifying thing of all:
He didn't have a single argument left to save her.
The heavy silence of the room pressed in on them, thick with the weight of things left unsaid. Outside the door, the faint, muffled sound of Dino’s laughter from the Instagram Live served as a cruel reminder of the world they were temporarily detached from.
Minghao closed his eyes, a single, sharp breath escaping his lips. When he opened them, the defensive anger was entirely gone, replaced by a hollow defeat that looked completely wrong on his usually sharp, composed face.
"Six months," he whispered, the number sounding foreign and heavy on his tongue. "You’ve been carrying this alone for six months."
"I wasn't trying to hurt anyone," Y/N said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned her head back against the cold equipment crate. "I just... I kept waiting for a sign. A reason to believe that if I just held out a little longer, the gap would close. But every time we take a step forward as a group, I feel like I'm being pushed two steps back into the dark."
Minghao stepped forward, the distance between them shrinking until he was standing right in front of her. He didn't reach out to grab her wrist this time. Instead, he slowly raised his hands, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently placing them on her shoulders. His touch was grounding, a stark contrast to the volatile argument they had just survived.
"If you press that button," Minghao said, his voice dropping into a register so serious it made her skin prickle, "if you let that legal team answer... there is no going back, Y/N. The company won't protect you anymore. The articles will come out. The solo stans, the antis... they will tear you apart online, and we won't be allowed to speak up for you. Do you understand what kind of hell you're walking into alone?"
"I'm already in hell, Hao," she replied, looking straight into his eyes, her gaze unflinching despite the tears still wet on her cheeks. "At least that hell has an exit sign."
A muscle in Minghao’s jaw twitched. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to claim that the thirteen of them would form a wall around her and protect her from the company, from the cameras, from the erasure. But he knew how the industry worked. He knew that even Choi Seungcheol, with all his fierce protective instincts as a leader, was ultimately bound by contracts and boardrooms.
"Does Wonwoo-hyung know?" Minghao asked quietly.
Y/N’s eyes dipped, her composure cracking slightly at the mention of the one person who had consistently tried to pull her out of the shadows. "He knows I'm tired. He doesn't know about the phone call."
"You need to tell him," Minghao insisted, his grip on her shoulders tightening just a fraction. "You can't do this to him, Y/N. Out of all of us, he... he watches you. He stays up in the studios just to make sure you aren't leaving the building alone at night. If you just disappear into a legal battle without warning him, it will break him."
Y/N swallowed down the lump in her throat, the guilt finally creeping in, cold and sharp. "I know. I'm scared, oppa. If I tell him, he’ll try to stop me. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to say no to him."
Before Minghao could answer, the door to the storage room clicked open.
The bright light from the hallway flooded into the cramped space, throwing their silhouettes against the back wall. Wonwoo stood in the doorway, holding his phone in one hand. His eyes darted between Minghao’s hands on her shoulders and the tear tracks on Y/N’s face. The live had clearly ended, and the calm, unbothered expression he usually wore was entirely missing.
"The manager is calling for us," Wonwoo said, his deep voice carrying a strange, tight undertone. He didn't ask what they were doing. He didn't ask why Y/N had been crying. He just stood there, his sharp eyes locking onto Y/N’s phone, which she was still clutching tightly in her hand. "The radio staff needs us in the studio for the mic check in two minutes."
Minghao slowly let his hands drop from Y/N’s shoulders. He didn't look at Wonwoo as he stepped past him, but as he reached the threshold of the door, he paused, keeping his back turned to both of them.
"Don't make your decision in the dark, Y/N-ah," Minghao said quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the concrete hallway before he walked away, leaving the two of them alone.
The storage room returned to a heavy, suffocating silence.
Wonwoo didn't enter the room. He just held the door open, his tall frame blocking the exit, his eyes fixed on her. He looked older under the harsh hallway lights, the shadows under his cheekbones prominent.
"You left the live," Wonwoo said softly. It wasn't an accusation; it was a statement of fact.
"The comments were... I just needed a second to breathe," Y/N lied, her voice lacking any real conviction. She tried to step past him, but Wonwoo didn't move. He remained an unyielding barrier in the doorway.
"Minghao doesn't yell unless something is seriously wrong," Wonwoo murmured, his eyes dropping to her phone again. "And you don't look at me like that unless you're keeping a secret."
Y/N froze, her heart stopping. "Like what?"
"Like you're already gone," Wonwoo whispered, a devastating crack breaking through his calm facade. He reached out, his long fingers gently capturing her hand the one holding the phoneand pulled it up between them. "Tell me the truth, Y/N. Please.
The raw vulnerability in Wonwoo’s voice was a physical weight, dropping between them in the cramped storage room. His hand was a warm, firm band around her wrist, but it was trembling just a tiny, microscopic fracture in his usual stoic armor that told her he was absolutely terrified of what she was about to say.
Y/N stared down at their joined hands. The screen of her phone was still dark, but beneath her palm, she could feel the faint warmth of the battery. It felt like a ticking time bomb.
"Woo..." Her voice was barely a breath, a fragile thing that threatened to shatter if she put any weight behind it.
"Don't lie to me," Wonwoo interrupted softly, his thumb shifting to press against the pulse point on her wrist. Her heart was racing, and they both knew it. "You promised me on the balcony that you were just tired. But Minghao looked like he’d seen a ghost, and you... you look like you’re trying to say something bad."
He gently pried her fingers away from the phone casing, turning the screen toward himself. Y/N didn't have the strength to hide it anymore. She let her hand go limp, allowing him to lift the device.
The screen woke up automatically, displaying the recent call log. At the very top, marked with a red arrow indicating an uncompleted, cut-off call, was the direct extension for Pledis Legal Team 2.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Wonwoo’s eyes locked onto the text. For a long, agonizing moment, he didn't move. He didn't blink. The breath seemed to leave his body completely, his broad shoulders dropping as the brutal reality of that single contact name crashed into him. He knew exactly what Team 2 handled. They weren't the team that managed copyright or social media compliance. They were the team that handled contract liquidations and member exits.
When he finally looked back up at her, the expression in his eyes broke what was left of Y/N’s heart. There was no anger, no confusion—just a profound, bleeding grief, as if he were watching something precious slip through his fingers into a bottomless canyon.
"Six months," he murmured, his voice dropping into a hollow, gravelly register. "When you said on the balcony that nobody would miss you... you weren't just venting. You were preparing."
"I can't survive here, Wonwoo," Y/N whispered, the tears finally breaking through again, tracking hot down her cold face. She didn't call him oppa this time; she spoke to him as a peer, as the only person who had ever truly tried to share her burden. "I’ve tried. You know I’ve tried. Every single day I wake up and I tell myself to just be grateful, to just push through it because I’m part of a top-tier group. But I’m not part of it. I’m just... I’m an extra on your stage."
Wonwoo let go of her wrist, but he didn't step back. Instead, he took the phone from her hand, turning it off completely, and slid it into his own pocket.
"Oppa, give it back," she pleaded, reaching out half-heartedly, but he gently caught her hands in his, holding them securely against his chest.
"No," Wonwoo said, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely let anyone see. "Not like this. You don't get to slide out the back door in the middle of a radio schedule because Coups said something stupid and the internet is cruel. If you're going to leave, Y/N... if you're really going to break my heart and walk away from us, you don't do it in a dark storage room while the rest of the members are waiting down the hall."
"What do you want me to do?" she cried out, a small, choked sound escaping her lips. "Stay until the repackage? Let them erase me for another three months? Listen to Coups-hyung tell managers how easy I am to handle? I can't do it. Every time I hear our music now, I feel like I'm suffocating."
Wonwoo closed his eyes, leaning his forehead down until it gently rested against hers. The proximity was overwhelming, filled with the scent of his familiar, comforting fabric softener and the shared, desperate warmth of their breath.
"I don't want you to suffer," he whispered against her skin, his voice trembling violently now. "God, Y/N, if I could give you my lines, if I could give you my position on the stage just so you could feel the light, I would do it in a heartbeat. You know I would. But don't do this alone. Don't let them handle this through a clinical legal meeting where they turn you into a statistic."
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his hands sliding up to cup her face, his thumbs gently wiping away the fresh tears.
"We have the radio show now," Wonwoo said, his gaze intense, grounding, and completely unyielding. "We have to go out there and we have to do our jobs. But the moment we get back to the dorm tonight... we are calling a meeting. All fourteen of us. You are going to look Coups in the eye, and you are going to tell him exactly what he did. You are going to make them see you, Y/N. Even if it’s the last thing you do as a member of this group, you are going to make them look at the hole they're leaving in Seventeen."
Y/N stared at him, her chest heaving as she swallowed the bitter flavor of his words. He wasn't asking her to stay anymore. He loved her enough to realize that staying was killing her. But he was refusing to let her vanish quietly into the night like she didn't matter. He wanted her to fight, to force the group to acknowledge the consequence of their casual negligence.
Before she could answer, the door behind Wonwoo knocked loudly, and the voice of a senior manager cut through the heavy air.
"Wonwoo! Y/N! What is taking so long? The PD is screaming for the mic check! Get out here now!"
Wonwoo didn't break eye contact. He kept his hands on her cheeks for one more second, a silent, binding contract between the two of them.
"Tonight," he whispered. "We do this together tonight. Okay?"
Y/N let out a long, trembling breath, her head nodding almost imperceptibly against his hands. "Okay."
He let her go, stepping back into the hallway and pulling his mask up over his face, instantly sliding back into the quiet, professional idol persona the world demanded of him. Y/N smoothed down her oversized sweater, wiped her eyes one last time in the dim light of the storage room, and followed him out into the corridor stepping toward the final, crushing climax of a six-month storm.
The two-hour live radio broadcast was a blur of plastic headphones, artificial cheer, and the distinct, bitter taste of adrenaline.
Y/N sat at the very edge of the long, curved table. The radio PD had assigned the seating quickly: the vocal unit took the center mics because they were doing a live acoustic performance of a ballad, and the leader line sat near the host to drive the conversation. Y/N was handed a microphone that shared a channel split with Dino.
Every time the host asked a sweeping question "How does it feel to achieve a perfect all-kill on the charts within twenty-four hours?"Y/N watched Seungcheol’s face light up as he spoke passionately about their shared vision, about the "thirteen brothers" who poured their souls into the tracks.
He didn't mean to say thirteen. It was a muscle-memory slip, a generic phrase he used in foreign interviews where explaining a fourteenth, non-traditional member took too much time. But tonight, with Wonwoo’s heavy, dark gaze fixed on the table and Minghao’s absolute silence from the back row, the word thirteen sounded like a gunshot in the small studio.
Y/N kept her hand on her lap, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sweatpants to keep from shaking. Beside her, Wonwoo’s foot was hooked firmly around the leg of her stool. A quiet, physical anchor.
The ride back to the dorms was different this time.
Usually, the ride after a late-night schedule was filled with the low hum of phones playing TikToks or the soft snoring of the performance unit. But tonight, a suffocating tension had leaked into the vehicle.
Wonwoo had explicitly demanded to ride in the first van with Y/N, swapping spots with a confused Seokmin. Minghao had quietly taken the front passenger seat, his eyes fixed firmly on the dark highway ahead, refusing to engage in any of the manager's casual small talk.
When the heavy doors of the two vans finally slid open in the basement parking lot of their apartment complex, nobody scrambled for the elevator.
"Coups-hyung," Wonwoo called out, his deep voice slicing through the quiet rumble of the parking garage.
Seungcheol paused, his hand on the elevator button. He looked back, his brow furrowed in exhaustion. "Yeah, Wonwoo? Let’s get upstairs quickly, the third van’s managers need to lock the garage."
"We need a full group meeting. Right now. In the main living room," Wonwoo said. It wasn't a request. The tone was completely flat, devoid of the respectful deference he usually gave the leader.
The remaining members stopped mid-stride. Jun, who had been laughing at something on his phone, slowly lowered his device. Jeonghan, standing just behind Seungcheol, met Wonwoo’s eyes and instantly went rigid. He looked at Y/N, who was standing a half-step behind Wonwoo, her eyes red-rimmed and staring at the concrete floor.
"Wonwoo-ah, it’s past 2:00 AM," Seungcheol said, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "We have a pre-recording at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Whatever it is, can it wait until the morning corporate briefing?"
"No," Minghao spoke up from the front, turning around to face the leader. His sharp eyes were cold. "It can't wait. Every single member needs to be in that room. Change out of your coats, but don't go to sleep."
Seungcheol looked between Wonwoo, Minghao, and the silent, shrinking figure of Y/N. The sheer weight of the atmosphere finally registered. His irritation morphed into a heavy, defensive caution.
"Fine," Seungcheol muttered, turning back to the elevator. "Upstairs. Main dorm."
Twenty minutes later, the main living room of Seventeen’s primary dorm felt like a courtroom.
The space was usually cluttered and lively, but tonight, the thirteen boys had distributed themselves along the sofas and the floor in a tense, fragmented semi-circle.
The Vocal Unit sat together on the long couch, their expressions a mix of confusion and building anxiety.
Hoshi and Chan were on the floor, their backs against the wall, sensing the absolute gravity of the performance team’s silence.
Jeonghan stood near the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed entirely on Seungcheol.
Y/N sat on a single wooden chair that Mingyu had quietly moved from the dining table for her. Wonwoo stood directly behind her, his hand resting firmly on the backrest of her chair, an invisible shield. Minghao stood to her left, his arms crossed, his face an unreadable mask of stone.
Seungcheol sat on the edge of the coffee table, directly facing her. He had taken off his makeup, and without the stage styling, he looked incredibly tired, his shoulders slightly slumped.
"Alright," Seungcheol started, rubbing his palms together. "We're all here. Wonwoo, Hao... you brought everyone down here. What's going on that’s so urgent it couldn't wait six hours?"
Jihoon sighed softly, leaning back. "If this is about the line distribution or the stage blocking adjustments again, we really should have the performance directors present-"
"Jihoon," Wonwoo cut him off, his voice dropping into a dangerous, warning growl that instantly silenced the room. "Shut up and listen."
Jihoon blinked, stunned by the rare aggression from the normally passive rapper.
Wonwoo reached into his pocket and pulled out Y/N’s phone. He didn't unlock it. He just placed it gently on the glass coffee table between Seungcheol and Y/N, the black screen reflecting the harsh ceiling lights.
"Y/N was trying to make a phone call backstage at the radio show," Wonwoo said, his voice echoing in the dead quiet of the room. "She was calling Legal Team 2 to initiate the termination of her contract."
The words dropped like an explosive charge.
Seungkwan let out a sharp, audible gasp, his hand instantly flying to his mouth. Seokmin’s eyes widened in sheer horror, his head snapping toward Y/N as if expecting her to laugh and say it was a joke. Chan stood up slightly from his position on the floor, his face completely pale.
"What?" Seungcheol’s voice was a ragged whisper. He looked at the phone on the table, then up at Y/N, his leader instincts instantly clashing with a sudden, violent wave of panic. "Y/N-ah... what is he talking about? Contract termination? Why would you... we just started the comeback. Why would you do that behind our backs?"
"Because she didn't think she had a front to face you with," Minghao countered sharply, his voice dripping with an uncharacteristic venom. "Tell him, Y/N. Tell him what you heard in the hallway today."
Y/N looked up. Every single eye in the room was fixed on her some filled with horror, some with confusion, some with a deep, dawning guilt. For six months, she had lived in fear of this exact moment. She had thought that showing her wounds would make her look weak, that complaining would make her a burden.
But looking at Wonwoo's steady hand on her chair, she found the final, desperate scrap of her courage.
"I was standing by the vending machines after the pre-recording today, Coups-hyung," Y/N said, her voice trembling but clear. "You were on the phone with management. I heard you tell them that I was getting too 'sensitive' about my lines and my screen time. You told them I was a 'good kid' who would 'do what she's told in the end' and that you would 'handle' me."
Seungcheol froze. The color completely drained from his face, his mouth opening slightly as the memory of his casual, logistical phone call came roaring back to hit him in the chest.
"Y/N-ah..." Seungcheol stammered, his confident leader persona completely evaporating. "That... I was talking to the performance coordinators. I was trying to explain to them that we couldn't change the broadcast angles on short notice without risking Chan's center transition. I didn't mean-"
"I know what you meant," Y/N interrupted, a single, cold tear escaping her eye. "You meant that my three seconds aren't worth the trouble of re-arranging the machine. And you're right. Economically, logistically, you're entirely right. The thirteen of you are a masterpiece. But what you don't understand is that I’ve been hiding behind Mingyu’s shoulders for three comebacks in a row. I spent three nights writing lyrics for Shadow, and you told me I was 'too dark' for Seventeen's hopeful image. You told me I have 'plenty of time' because I'm young."
She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on each of them.
"I don't have time," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I’ve been thinking about leaving for six months. Every morning I wake up in this dorm, I have to check the mirror to make sure I still exist. Jun oppa forgot I was even in the room during the live tonight. And it’s not his fault. It’s because I have become a ghost in this group. You don't see me when the music stops. You just handle me when I become a problem."
The room devolved into a devastating, heavy silence.
Seungkwan was openly crying now, his head buried in his knees. Hoshi looked like he had been physically beaten, his eyes staring at the floor in profound shock. Jihoon sat frozen, his hands clutched tightly together, the realization that his professional rejections had been slow-acting poison to his younger sister visibly shattering him.
Seungcheol looked completely broken. He reached out a hand toward her across the table, his fingers trembling. "Y/N... I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I didn't... I didn't see it. I thought I was protecting the group, I thought I was keeping things stable for everyone. I never wanted you to feel like baggage."
"But I do," Y/N said softly, standing up from the chair. Wonwoo's hand dropped from the backrest, but he stayed right beside her, his presence a silent wall of support. "I love you guys. I love Seventeen. But I can't stay in a family where I have to beg to be seen."
She looked down at her phone on the table. She didn't pick it up.
"I promised Wonwoo I would look you all in the eye and tell you the truth before I made my choice," she said, looking at the thirteen boys who had been her entire life. "I’ve told you. Now, please... let me breathe."
Turning on her heel, Y/N walked down the narrow hallway toward her bedroom, leaving the thirteen members of Seventeen sitting in the wreckage of their own silence, finally forced to look at the massive, aching void they had built around her.
The heavy wooden door of her shared bedroom clicked shut, instantly dampening the collective, suffocating grief echoing from the living room.
Y/N didn't turn on the lights. She didn't want to see the posters on the wall, the stacked albums on the shelves, or the neat row of matching group merchandise that served as a constant reminder of the life she was tearing herself away from. She walked straight to her bed and collapsed onto the mattress, burying her face in a plush pillow to muffle the violent, heavy sobs that finally ripped from her chest.
The confrontation had drained the last bit of adrenaline from her system, leaving her entirely hollow. She had done it. She had forced them to see her wounds. But the relief she expected didn't come there was only a deep, aching soreness.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open, throwing a narrow sliver of light across the linoleum floor.
The footsteps were soft, familiar, and entirely unhurried. The mattress dipped significantly under a familiar weight as Wonwoo sat down beside her. He didn't try to pull her into his arms right away, nor did he offer words of comfort. He just sat there in the dark, a quiet, protective sentinel, letting the steady sound of his breathing anchor her in the middle of her storm.
Slowly, Y/N shifted, rolling over onto her back to stare at the dark ceiling. Her face was sticky with tears, her throat burning.
"They're still out there, aren't they?" she whispered, her voice incredibly raw.
"Yeah," Wonwoo murmured, his eyes adjusting to the shadows. He was leaning back against her headboard, his long legs stretched out over the blankets. "Coups is sitting on the floor. I think it’s the first time in six years I’ve seen him completely speechless. Seungkwan and Dokyeom are a mess. Jihoon... Jihoon went straight to his room and locked the door. I think he’s rewriting the booklet credits."
A bitter, exhausted sigh escaped her lips. "It doesn't matter anymore. A rewritten credit sheet won't fix the last six years."
"I know," Wonwoo said softly. He turned his head to look down at her, his expression filled with a tenderness that cut through the darkness. He reached out, his cool, long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her damp forehead. "I didn't bring you out there to make them change the album, Y/N. I brought you out there because you deserved to leave that room carrying your dignity, not slipping away like a thief in the night."
Y/N looked up at him. Without his glasses now, his sharp eyes looked vulnerable, brimming with an unshed, heavy sorrow. "Are you mad at me? For actually going through with it?"
Wonwoo’s hand paused on the side of her face, his thumb gently resting against her cheekbone. A long, painful pause stretched between them.
"I am selfish," Wonwoo confessed, his voice dropping into a ragged, quiet whisper that vibrated with absolute honesty. "When I saw that legal contact on your phone... my first instinct was to delete it. To hide your phone. To lock you in this room and beg you to give us one more comeback, one more year. Because the thought of walking into that practice room tomorrow and not seeing you sitting in the corner... it feels like losing a piece of my own lungs, Y/N."
A fresh tear slipped from the corner of her eye, catching the dim light. "Oppa..."
"But then I looked at you," he continued, his thumb tracing the path of her tear, his voice cracking slightly. "I looked at how small you've been making yourself just so the thirteen of us could take up space. I remembered the balcony. I remembered how cold your hands were. And I realized that if I force you to stay here just so I don't have to miss you, I'm no better than the company. I'm no better than the people who hid you in the back row."
He slowly shifted, sliding down the headboard until he was lying on his side next to her, pulling her small frame tightly against his chest. Y/N didn't resist. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, her fingers clutching the thick fabric of his black hoodie as if she were hanging off the edge of a cliff.
Wonwoo wrapped his broad arms around her, holding her with a fierce, desperate tightness, burying his face in her hair. He was shaking now the stoic, unbothered rapper completely falling apart in the quiet dark of her room.
"I’m going to miss you so much," he whispered against her hair, his chest heaving as a quiet sob finally escaped him. "God, Y/N. Who am I going to sit with during the lives? Who is going to understand when I just want the room to be quiet? You’re the only one who never expected me to be 'Seventeen's Wonwoo' all the time. You just let me be me."
"You'll have Vernon," Y/N cried softly, her tears soaking into his collarbone. "You'll have the boys. They love you, Woo. They just... they forgot how to look down."
"It won't be the same," he murmured, tightening his grip, burying her even deeper into his warmth. "A fourteen-piece puzzle with a missing center is just a broken picture."
They lay there for hours as the clock ticked toward 4:00 AM. They didn't talk about the legal meetings that would inevitably start the next day. They didn't talk about the statements Pledis would release, or the chaos that would erupt when the fandom realized the fourteenth member was gone.
For tonight, in the quiet sanctuary of the dark bedroom, they were just two tired people holding onto each other before the universe pulled them down different paths. Y/N closed her eyes, listening to the steady, heavy beat of Wonwoo’s heart. It was the only rhythm she had ever truly belonged to.
And as the first faint, gray light of dawn began to peek through the window blinds, signaling the start of a brand new day she wouldn't have to survive as a ghost, Y/N took her first deep, unrestricted breath in six months. She was leaving the group, and her heart was breaking into a million pieces but as long as Wonwoo was holding her, she knew she wouldn't dissolve into the dark entirely.
when the fic writer writes a character scrolling through social media and the internet culture actually feels accurate to the era instead of sounding like a 45 year old ghostwriting teenager
Synopsis. First time he can’t pull out = first time he’s losing his mind.
Pairings. [SEPARATE] 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, not pulling out, FÉRAL men, creampíes, heats (Choso), knots, squírting, running from it, he’s BIG, matíng presses, making it fit, true form Sukuna, dp, ínnapropríate use of jujutsu, cúmplay, overstím, jealousy (Nanami’s side), they get REALLY pússydrúnk, pull out game WEAK, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. AIpha Tony just started her shark week, F
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Tight fit!
“Toji, why are you so big- oh.”
Your tear-glazed eyes scrunch closed at the force of one of his roughened palms pressing down on your tummy. Jade eyes widening, gruff breath hitching- “C-can feel myself from the outside, doll.”
Voice breathy like even he couldn’t believe it.
He’s hypnotized. That bumpy bulge only makes him plug up more of your entrance with his red, weeping tip, he’s furiously pushing and pushing against that snug resistance from behind. “M’big, she’s tight.”
So feverishly hot, so stuffed- the only thing you can do is thrash your weakened legs against the dampening mattress, “I kn-know that- hck! But what if you’re too-”
“Too big?” Toji’s cutting you off with a roll of his dilated pupils, “Well duh- m’gonna make it fit, silly girl. The only problem will be…” Broad chest shuddering as one of his hands wrap ‘round his swollen hilt with a squelch! “-whether I’ll be able to pull out.”
And oh…he knew he was playing a dangerous game.
Because it was a joke- really, it was a joke to make your cute, split-slicked lips fall into his favorite lil’ ‘oh!’
But fuck- if the very second those thick, rasping words depart from his scarred lips, Toji’s chiseled body didn’t buck.
Without him planning it, without even realizing until a singular, sopping thrust rams his bulging inches into you thoroughly- the sudden warmth of your dewy insides making the hulking man gasp.
“Oh, fuck- oh, fuck.” Panting out a shocked breath, the edges of his raven lashes tickle his cheeks as he’s blinking them urgently. Trying to clear his vision, trying to clear his damn mind. “Yer sucking me up s-so much I can barely even move-”
Experimentally, he’s reeling backwards and watching as your maw sags further open. Your pretty gaze turning all cross-eyed and misty, “Oh please- ngh i-it feels so good, Toji.”
He didn’t even have to try.
Simply massaging your gummy walls with the winding curves of his veins, they’re so damn thick that you can feel him scraping just below your g-spot. Filling out every tiny crevice and nook inside of you with his meaty cock.
“Oh yeah? T-tight little thing ya are. Sooo fucking tight, mama.” Sinking the sharp points of his canines into his lower lip, Toji’s forced to cling into your hips with one hand in order to sensually ease himself in and out.
Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing greedily, “O-oooone…” He’s babbling out, teasingly letting the plump ridge of his cockhead snag against your quivering hole. “Two- three…” Whilst you whimper, he’s hiking up one of his muscular legs to angle himself deeper - counting each inch he rummages inside you. “Four- and what’s that?”
“F-five!”
In and out - even the tiniest movements left you seeing stars already. “Seven-” The rounded cap of his mushroomy tip scouring your cunt open like a searchlight, all it takes is the cutest lil’ smooch near your g-spot to make you clench.
“There–!” You’re keening, fingers digging into the softness of your pillows as you gyrate your hips back primally. “So close- ngh- so close there, Toji.”
“E-eight- oh.” It feels so good that he’s losing count. Stuttering and heaving.
Your head’s so heavy and fuzzy whilst being pounded that you can barely even lift it up. Whimpering, it’s just about all you can do to gently swerve your hips downwards until you’re hitting Toji’s tensed core with a spank of your ass.
Feeling so entirely full that your knees are buckling-
“No-” Just the slightest few centimeters forwards until Toji’s grip on your hips turns bruising, draaaagging you all the way back the distance you’d been driven forward. And more. “Nonono come back.”
Toji’s scratching the very globes of your ass cheeks with his dark happy trail, now damn near bottomed out and yet - it still wasn’t enough. He needed more more more- and he’s ready to plant one of his firm feet straight on top of your sweaty scalp to get you to hold still.
Seething, saliva-glossed lips pulling back into a snarl– “E-easy there, doll. Yer pussy’s so damn filthy s’driving me craaaazy.” And you could tell, his sloppy cadence was ramming into you even faster, probin’ the button of your g-spot with his slimy tip. “Just a little more a- a little more n’ let me pull out.”
The tight press of his balls aching when you only squeeze around his length tighter, he’s melting on top of you.
Grunting, “Doll-” Bulging his swabbing girth, and you’re tightening so firmly that your trembly legs push together. “-m’serious.” Before he seriously loses whatever’s left of his sanity, that is.
So big that he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to, body refusing to - your bawling pussy too heavenly.
Tighter.
Tighter until his hoarse pleads stick clammily to your skin, “Let me pull out, mama–” The slightly broken crackle of his deep baritone was barely audible over the repeated squelch of his mazing cock. And oh- you’d made Toji’s voice break. “Let me pull out before I make a ngh- meeeess out of ya.”
Muffling something into the pillows-
He has to manually roam his foot off of your poor head, and you’re bolting up with a wettened pwah! of intaken breath. A puddle of saliva smearing down your lower face, “Want it inside, Tooooji.”
“I-inside?”
And before you know it, you’re being manhandled into a tough headlock by one of his swole arms, the muscles of Toji’s biceps dig into your neck, your throat, your pulse.
“Tell that to my hah- face-” Grouchy gusts of words strike your features, and you’re mewling as you feel his honed teeth gnaw on your sensitive ear lobe. This angle just perfect for him to smack sultry half-thrusts that make you dizzy.
Babbling, “Want- want it.” Keeping your body hostage even tighter.
Almost as if he was begging you to say otherwise, he’s giving you a taste of your own medicine and it makes your mouth flood with humid drool. Slobbering a slick sheen down the side of his vein-covered forearm, “Please, Toji…don’t pull out.”
“Don’t p-pull out.” Comes his echoing repetition, breathless. Shocked, gone at the very notion that he’s falling back on his knees ever-so-slightly - still unstopping with his cadence. In fact, going even harder. “I-if we make Megs a big brother then s’y-your fault- fuck!”
And Toji knew he was playing dangerously, he knew he could feel the feral twitch of his rock-hard length burying deeply against the door to your womb.
But what he didn’t know was that all it would take was that - the feeling of you getting even more lewdly wetter at the idea of him filling you up - for him to pump his hips in a vulgar stroke and cum. Heavy, hard.
More than he has in his entire life, Toji’s cumming and cumming so much that he’s almost dazed at how much webbed, white syrup sloshes into your readily awaiting pussy.
“Didn’t…pull out– oh, mama—” And it’s finally hitting him now, slithering down two of his knobbled fingers to toy open your saturated folds. Watching the mess triiiickle out, “Didn’t…pull out. S’really all inside.”
You’re whining, hazy pupils disappearing to the back of your head once he coats his fingerpads with a few sticky layers of cum n’ plugs it inside your mouth. Letting the salted caramel taste overtake your senses, “Don’t think you’re getting off easy now.”
And those words are abrupt - final.
“Wh-what?”
The questions rush to your larynx before he presses his fat, hefty cock further- “Gonna hafta let me feel her haaaa- alllll the time now-” Rutting, his sharp jaw droops pathetically open before he snaps it shut into a grin. “Gonna hafta let me fill her up. Hafta let me keep it-” Plop! He’s pushing a few dollops of dewy seed with his middle finger, “-inside now.”
Still painfully hard.
“Finish what you started, mama.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Creampie cutiepie
“Haaaa– stay quiet, my love.” Nanami’s guttural plead scorches your ears, tugging back your restlessly squirming hips with a gentle pinch of your drenched panties.
Rubbin’ his thick fingers right down your dampened folds as he’s puuulling you further down the sleek office desk. Whispering urgently into your popped ears, “Don’t want them to hear- though, I wouldn’t mind…just don’t want them to ngh- hear the noises made by my favorite girls.”
And as if on cue, your needy pussy lets out a slurp of greedy wetness when Nanami drills his fattened cock into you sensually.
Making your back arch off the frigid table surface at the feeling of his puffy veins tapping your sweetest spots, “K-Ken—” Struggling to wind your boneless legs around his toned waist, “A-are you jealous?”
“Shush, darlin’. And focus on- hah- me. Your husband.”
Not a denial. Nothing but the way he was sagging your plush, puckered pussylips open with his wide girth. With a rude pull on your flimsy underwear as leverage, he’s practically spanking you with his chiseled pelvis.
Roughly, probin’ your cervix.
But you knew better - your gentle, sensible husband wasn’t the type to suddenly pull you into his office and pound you right into his desk. All without a condom.
Not until he’d seen that all-new intern ogling you a little too closely, that is-
“Stop thinking.” The cold band of Nanami’s wedding ring sizzles against your cheek as he’s cradling your cute cheeks and squeezing. Mean. “Wan’ you only thinking about- hah- me. About…”
Trailing off- but he didn’t even need to finish his sentence.
He’s pumping all his swollen, aching inches into you like a madman. The sheer raw force of it mussing up his blond hair, curtaining his half-lidded gaze that told you he wanted to devour you right here. Wouldn’t even mind him knowing-
“Kn-knowing?” You’re blinking up in shock at what’d just departed from your husband’s slurring mouth, your entrance saturating a fresh new wave of arousal at the mere notion.
“Oh, did I say that out loud, my love?” Was he serious? He couldn’t be- ah, but he was. So hazy with how it felt to finally be inside you raw, Nanami’s swabbing your drooling mouth open to suckle lightly on your tongue. Groaning, “Wouldn’t mind them allll knowing, actually-”
Now that he started, he couldn’t stop.
Tawny, tufted ends of his happy trail scratching your back. He’s bottomed-out and still pressing deeper, resting the chubby curve of his balls on your ass cheeks. Spanking- “Wouldn’t even mind them all seeing- because I’m one fucking this pretty pussy, my wife.”
Like he was proving it - to you, to himself, to your sloppy cunt.
Every rugged whack of Nanami’s curved length makes your mouth froth with saliva. He was just so damn hard that each pulse of his reddened, bruising crown made your walls stretch even further.
Again and again.
“Wouldn’t mind carrying you out like hck! this- my cum dripping down those pretty legs of yours…”
And then you’re clenching with your snug, velvety-feeling walls and he all but collapses on top of you. Shifting down with a grunt- Nanami’s sweat-slicked abs massaged your front, pearly whites sinking into your neck and marking. Holding himself back.
Choking out- guttural, as if it made him lose his very sanity to even ask, “You…like that, darling?
Nodding, “Y-yes.” Spearheading himself even deeper it felt like - or maybe he was just growing even bigger inside your cunt. Nanami’s hefty cock was so staggering that he’s bruising your sponged cervix with a round, circular stamp. “Please- oh, mmm Ken–”
“Say it- say it again.” Breaths striking out quicker, voice tilting until he sounded almost crazed. “Say you don’t want me to ngh- pull out.”
“I- I don’t want you to- fuck!”
Barely even able to speak with the way he’s fucking the words from your lungs, sounding as if he himself was barely keeping it together. “U-use your words, darling.” But how was that possible when Nanami’s rovering one of his hands to saddle your thighs on his broad shoulders. “Please- want to make sure you can take it all.”
Bending you in half like a lawn chair whilst your limbs dangle over his firm deltoids, he was ravenous.
Resting a capped knee up on the desk to give your sultry g-spot a loooong snog with his split-ended tip, you could feel the circlin’ of his sobbing orifice pushing inside.
“Because d-don’t get me wrong- love when I cum here–” Letting go of your face with a steaming hot handprint, Nanami brushes your hardened nipples with the band of his cold wedding ring. “And…here-” Lovingly, on your stomach. “And here.” Down, down, down to your clit. “But…”
“But?”
Leaning in even closer, you could practically taste his sweet, sweet desperation for you. Like he was dreaming, “But I’ve hah! always wanted to make your pretty body remember the taste of my c-cum. Mine.”
Stuttering - he was stuttering, begging to not pull out.
And how could you refuse?
“Ken—” You’re whining, eyes sliding backwards until they’re pure white- and Nanami Kento’s stern lips wobble oh-so-cutely once you’re tugging him in close with a hand around his gulping throat. “Don’t pull out.”
And he doesn’t- oh, he doesn’t.
“O-oh.”
Voice crackling. Those very words are more than enough to make the stoic man burn with a blush, the first time that he’s hearing those words - and he has no idea what to do other than bury his face between your jiggling tits and suck. Breathing, “I don’t…have to pull out.”
Hips thrusting so meanly between your legs that you’re fluttering important documents to the ground. Over and over and over—
Harder. Sloppier.
You’re realizing it before he does when he’s crashing the both of you into your highs with a slap of his cock into your slick g-spot. Skidding a line of precum straight down your walls and into your womb-
“O-oh, Kento- not gonna-” Head thrown back, toes curled, maw ajar with so many copious moans and lecherous noises. And yet you have nothing on the wet sounds pulled from your pussy, “Cum—ing–!”
“Yeah? Yeah? My pretty girl—” He’s murmuring breathlessly into your skin, cheek nuzzling where a neat little pool of drunken drool was starting to formulate. “I-I’m not gonna ngh! last either- oh.” Looking down, it’s only then that he’s catching the way your driveling cunt was already stuffed.
The way you’re struggling to hold in the thick, ribbony gushes of seed he’s spraying out. The way he didn’t even think - didn’t even register to pull out.
“Inside…it’s really- really…pinch me-” Endeared by his request, you’re just about to when- ah, when your husband catches sight of your matching wedding ring. Molten eyes widening, “We’re married?”
Then when you nod- Half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open, “Was already…gonna propose…”
Just that pussydrunk, he can’t even decide where he wanted to watch you more.
Your prettily fucked-out face, your glinting ring, or the way those gooey splotches of white were splashin’ around inside of you, slightly leaking outside as he moves to tug on your cute office skirt–
“How about we go outside and announce our baby shower in advance, my love?”
♡ GETO SUGURU - “Again?”
And Geto was being mean, Geto was being rude– spanking the quivering slope of your pussy whilst you clench and clench around his barreling, hot cock. Oh-so-lecherously pounding you through your nth high of the night-
“Awww, look- you’re cumming again.” He’s snickering from behind you, trapping you in a full nelson so tight that you could barely even squirm your hips back. Barely even breathe- “My gorgeous girl just can’t stop cumming, hmmm?”
You’re helplessly thrashing your legs, body aching for any kind of friction- before Geto’s inhuman reflexes work to curl underneath your thighs and pull.
The curving veins of his forearms digging into your mounds of flesh, he’s snickering as you start whining into the heady air. “Seriously- look at this hah- mess.” The low, sultry tone of his voice curdling against the crook of your neck, Geto rovers the doughy soft tips of his fingers over the dollops of cum staining your front and smears.
Drawing a few wet hearts on your tummy from all his own orgasm from rounds prior, “You look s-soooo fucking pretty like this. Almost makes me want to not pull out- oh-”
And Geto didn’t expect his ravaged cock to react like that.
The tenderly leaking orifice on top of his crownhead twitching, he feels his teeth sink into his plush lower lip with a hiss. Sensitive pink slit rubbing up against the top of your slippery cunt in a way that made him want to cum right then and there.
Inside.
“I- fuck!” Geto doesn’t even know what to say, long inky hair falling like a curtain around you two. Panting. Heaving. The muscles of his deltoids ripple as he perks himself up on his elbows to look downwards. Did he seriously almost cum from the thought? “Fuck- what have you done to me, gorgeous?”
“D-didn’t do- ngh! anything…” You’re babbling out stupidly, the gummy channel of your cunt milking his veined cock.
A slow trickle of drool drips down the side of your glossed lips, one that Geto smears away with a low ‘tch-’ Grunting gruffly, “Don’t even know what you fucking do t’me.”
Oh- oh.
He didn’t mean to say that out loud.
But right now he was so hypnotized on your drooling pussy, just so drunk on the way your walls tenderized so softly. Gulping him up with greedy squelches that leave your teeth on edge, he was driving his hips up until he was heart-eyed.
“Wh-what do you hngh! mean, Suguru–?” You’re humming, a smug smile plastering across your face as his words finally register.
“What are you smiling all cockily about?” He’s seething from behind, pointed chin spraying with a few glittering droplets of spittle. Geto furrows his dark brows and snarls, “J-just because I said I didn’t wanna pull out- that I didn’t wanna cum a-anywhere but inside- hck! that I wanna fuck this pretty pussy forever—”
And he was so big- but his swirlin’, bulbous tip was only throbbing bigger with each word spilling from his mouth. Nuzzling right against your cute lil’ g-spot to slip and slide in mindless half-ruts.
Warm tears of overstimulation well up in your eyes, “O-oh, right there- right there! Feels so good, Sugu-”
“Oh yeahhh- gonna squirt for me next?”
“Only if you don’t pull out.”
Oh, fuck.
Just those words were enough for Geto to pound all his rummaging inches between your swollen folds, spine arching powerfully off of the creaking mattress for a good few seconds as he buries himself and holds it there.
Words warbling with a slight chuckle, with a slight tinge of madness. “Y-you don’t really mean that-” He’s spitting, fighting to keep the dopey smile far, far away from his rosy lips. Jabbing his crowned mushroom tip, pressing. “-do you?”
And Geto didn’t even need to hear your response, he just needed to feel the way you were streaming out even more gushing waves of slick. Mewling, “N-not gonna last–”
“Nuh uh- not what I asked, gorgeous, need you to tell me-” He didn’t even know what he was babbling anymore, only that the way you were whining and the way you were grinding left his brain feeling overheated. “Want you to tell me- can I…really…inside?”
Voice hoarse, almost small like he didn’t even believe what he was asking.
And all Geto Suguru can do is roll one of his cum-topped digits to skid over your perked clit, swervin’ right on time with the pinpricks of his globed tip. Draaaagging his warm tongue over your throat, “Tell me-” He teases, reeling all the way out until his geysering orifice kissed your entrance, “-tell me.”
“Please-” You’re prattling away, and he’s hanging onto your every word as if he was still in disbelief. “-don’t pull out.”
And he doesn’t- he doesn’t, he doesn’t.
He’s sinking his fat, pounding cock even deeper and still bucking until he bottoms out. Even after.
Once. Twice. Thrice- treating your poor g-spot like a dartboard until you’re bursting straight into your orgasm. Cunt bawling with a sparkling squirt- it left your head all stupidly white-hot to throw your head back and cum.
“Fuck- f-fuuuck– Sugu–” Your breath catches, heart racing once you’re feeling a splattered puddle of something wet on your shoulder. “Cumming- o-oh my god-”
Sluggishly turning your head around to find that oh- Geto was tearing up, his sensitively stinging length rubbing your sappy walls raw. The red, sheeny curve of his cockhead flinches- and Geto feels fit to burst.
And he does - squirting, splurging out a few messy wads of translucent white.
There’s so much of it that you’re feeling a few wettened wads splash all over your cervix, Geto’s cock pushing your pussy so wiiidely agape that your walls struggle to take up all of him.
Panting- pushing his tensed abs into your back, higher and higher until the curve of his ballsack spanks your cunt. His sweatily flushed forehead falls onto your shoulder with a plop!
“Gorgeous…” Overstimulated, run raw. You were gulping out every droplet of cum he’s pumping out, and Geto thinks he must be in fucking heaven. Kiss-bitten lips wobbling, voice breathy - he was never going to be the same again. “M’never pulling out now.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - HEAT
“This- this heat.” Choso’s spitting, the trembly curves of his fingertips latching underneath your thighs to hoist you into the sloppiest mating press possible. Bending you pliably into angles you didn’t even know were possible- you swear the cheeks of your ass weren’t touching the bed anymore. “It makes me so…”
Whimpering, you’re watching with unsteady breaths as Choso lazily falters his pummeling pace.
Letting his long, throbbing length slooow down, he’s making sure your hole can feel every carnal scratch of his zig-zagged veins, every pulse of his tip, every push.
Your sweet, half-curse boyfriend’s cock was so big that every reel backwards of his slender hips left your entrance flooding with syrupy slick. Pushed out of you once he’s filling up every nook and cranny-
Choso can’t help but swab his doughy fingerpads over that glittery gloss, lapping it into his mouth with a plop! “-thirsty, baby.”
“You’re so greedy, Cho.” You’re cooing out, wrapping your hands ‘round his neck and making him grunt. He was just too sexy whenever his cursed heat took over this time of year.
Fingers latching into his silken, brown hair, you’re using the lewd leverage to grind yourself down on his scouring cock. The dual spanks of skin-on-skin making Choso’s face droop into your neck and breeeeathe in that scent of you.
Slobbering with droplets of saliva, “N-ngh- I know, baby–” He’s whining, huffin’ and puffin’ in your saturated clouds of pheromones - he couldn’t get enough. “Can you p-please move your hips a little slower? S’gonna make me cum…”
“Awww, poor baby—”
“Don’t tease.” Nose crinkling, playfully caressing the splotchy area of your g-spot with a few more probing pushes, it’s like Choso was trying to make you just as drunken as he was.
But every thrust, every ram, every smooch into your deepest depths only made him more hypnotized. Push after push after push- he’s gnawing down on his cute pink cheeks to try and stop those wailing whimpers from leaving him.
Planting your feet flatly on the damp mattress, you can’t help but perk your hips and maze the bulging roundness of his mushroomed tip across your cervix. “Mmm– ngh, what’s that, baby?”
“No- n-nooooo, don’t do that- don’t look at me like that or m’gonna cum.” He’s squeezing his mahogany eyes shut, long lashes glinting with a polish of tears. Clamoring his v-line to glissade down your teary slit, “M’gonna cum m’gonna cum-”
And Choso’s just about to pull out his weeping shaft, he’s just about to let off the most pained grunt before he’s pouring out a steaming hot mess of seed all over your tummy- before–
“S’that sooo–?”
Without warning, without anything, you’re interlocking your ankles in a circle around his pretty waist. The flesh of your heels digging in deep against the dimples at the bottom of his spine, deeper.
“N-ngh- let me- pull out-” Choso whines, eyes frantic. Teeth snarling- his canines simply drip with mouth-watered saliva, “Pull out pull out– otherwise m’gonna make a mess of this pussy.”
You’re flinching once his thumb comes hovering back down on your sloppily lustrous pussylips, painting his digits in all the sap leaking from your entrance. Heaps of it.
Choso darts his half-lidded eyes away from your intense gaze and blushes such a bright, scorching red from the tips of his ears. “If I cover her in my cum I- hck! won’t be able to see her.” Another of his stray hands clawing onto your leg tight, his pace was hard.
Rough. More curse than man- every thrust of his powerful hips left you darting further up the mattress. And Choso with his urgent bucks followed- never letting you get away. “Can’t hold it in, baby—”
“Well what if I hngh- want it inside, Cho?”
His handsome jaw drops, he gapes- body moving before his mind as he shoves you down even deeper into this mating press, until your hamstrings were burning. Swollen lips moving up and down stupidly - soundless.
“Awww, do you want that too, baby?”
Yes- yes.
Stray strands of chestnut brown dangle to and fro once Choso can only nod fervently. Feverishly. And the only thing more out of control than him was his rummaging thrusts, leaving a firm thwack! on the door to your womb that just left you wanting more.
“She’s just so soooft n’ warm it makes me wanna make her- drool–” Drooling himself down the ends of his dopey grin, and it wasn’t just the heat talking. “Wanna make her a mama- s-so you better let me pull…unless…”
Swerving his hips into you even deeper, your ankles yank him until the ridges of his abs were bumping down your front.
“O-oh my god- ngh- baby–” He’s battering mindlessly, pre spilling out of him like a broken hose.
And you swear you see him slip out a few beaded tears at the raw tightness of your cunt. Jackhammering against the snug resistance of your hole-
Until you could feel his thighs shivering, until you were keening at the bulbous, utter fatness of Choso’s base.
“Y-you…” He croaks out, making you blink your heady eyes open in question.
Only to find Choso Kamo gaping down below.
“Baby…you just took my knot.”
Oh.
And it’s the last thing said before Choso lets his head fall back with a strangled jumble of your name. Over and over like a mantra while he cums–
“S-so this is what it feels like.” Looking genuinely dazed, eyes all glassy. “This- th-this? S’this even ngh! allowed? S’too good- m’filling you up. M’filling you up and it feels too good.”
“Fuck- fuck– m’so full, Cho.”
He’s shivering viscerally with your every squeeze, trying to claw down your legs. Nibbling on your throat, “You’re letting me cum- really? Really, really letting me cum just this once?” Watery eyes of his staring dead-on into yours, he’s letting his mouth drop into an oh! with every one of your nods. “R-really? But that means m’gonna cum inside you ngh- so fucking muuuch.”
“I-I know—” Body limp with the sheer pressure he was putting on you, scraping the ballooned-up curve of his crownhead down your mushy innards.
Your eyes roll back with a mewl just as soon as the splash of his ropey seed hits the bottom of your cervix, gluey wads of its sticking to your walls and making Choso shudder at the filthy second skin of it inside you.
“G-gonna pump you allll full-” Snarling, fighting against the way that the fat knot positioned on the base of his cock meant that he couldn’t properly fuck you into the bedsprings just the way he wanted to. Snagging on the tight hole of your cunt and gyrating to stir your goopy insides, “-fuck- fuck I can’t stand leaving this cute hole a-all lonely. Wanna fuck you properly soooo bad—”
You’re whimpering once one of Choso’s ringed fingers comes rovering down to squeeze his fattened hilt and swear.
Vision flashing white, blood manipulation seeping out, you can feel his barreling shaft harden-
He’s not even done with you before he’s preparing for more, “Knots o-only last haaaa– half an hour.” Before nudging your sultry folds apart to watch you drool. The hooded peripherals of his gaze locked onto where he’s pushing a knobbled thumb inside– “Until then…”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - You vs. Two
“Easy there- easy, brat.” Two of Sukuna’s big, beefy arms come curling around the small of your back, easily sprawling you out across his chiseled pecs with a simple tug. “Gonna fuck yourself stupid. Although-”
You’re whimpering, the only thing that you can manage to do right now while he’s manhandling you on top of his dual, throbbing cocks.
Clawing down a third of his palms on top of your sweat-matted crown to push you down his barreling lengths like some doll. It’s just so cute the way you’re shrilling yourself hoarse once he’s swirling your tight insides with both thick, globular tips.
Snickering, “-ya already are pretty fuckin’ dumb on my ngh– cocks, huh?”
Brows furrowing, you’re flapping your spit-glued lips a few times to slur out a coherent response. “F-fuck you–”
“Nooo, little human.” And the smile the King gives you is dangerous, both sets of his devilish lips quirking up into something sleazy. Sukuna slouches further backwards against the headboard and bounces his tattooed knees. Just once.
Just once to render you speechless on his plump lengths. So swollen that the tiniest rut leaves you arching your back and drooling– “I’m fucking you–”
“P-please-”
“Now now–” The pointed claws of his black fingernails scrape gently down your exposed throat, “Can ya feel me all the way up in that hah! pretty throat, huh?” Just probing your g-spot, once. Twice. Repeatedly. “Every vein? Every inch– heh, how about every drop?”
And you’re so far gone with just a few of his vulgar whacks to your sweetest, most tender spots.
Your heavy head is already starting to feel dizzy- so cockdrunk after every bullying ram that by this point Sukuna’s the one that’s moving you to meet his roughened tempo.
One clammy hand gripping either side of your restless hips, you ogle the sheer natural bulge of his biceps as he manhandles you. Draaaagging your dripping wet cunt all the way from the strawberry orifices of his tip n’ dooown to hug his twin bases.
Nestled cutely on the curve of his fattened balls, “I-I wan’ it, Kuna–”
“Want what?”
Lips wobbly once he knocks into your g-spot harder. He’s fucking you so thoroughly that you almost feel shy mumbling, “Want you to- mmm– not pull out.”
Oh.
His rude lips drop - both sets of them. Hips rutting, girths bulging to stretch your walls even further apart, the edges of his candyfloss hair beading with a lather of sweat. With only a few words you’d all but ruined him and fuck-
“What did you say?”
Sukuna wasn’t taking this lightly- no.
He’s promptly spanking the fourth n’ final of his hands across the lower half of your face, atoms in the air pressurizing with cursed energy when he manifests that infamous second mouth right across his palm to kiss you.
Sukuna watches you with a dazed glint in his crimson eyes as he thrusts. As he punishes your sopping wet pussy with his rummaging cocks, “Oooo- you need ta wash that mouth out, brat.” The slimy edge of his tongue slithers between your lips and makes you mewl- “What have I said about talking out of that ngh! pussy, hm?”
“But– mmpf–!”
“You better talk to me from this pair of lips, human.”
Knees weak with the sheerly raw points of stimulation everywhere, it takes you a few more gyratin’ bounces to gather your thoughts.
Maw ajar and stinging once he finally pulls his cursed mouth back with a claggy pwah! “B-but I want you to, Kuna.”
And shit- the minute those words register in his pussydrunken mind, the ancient lights of his chamber flicker. Some burst-
“F-fuck.” You’d made the King of Curses’ gruff baritone break, “Yer fucking serious about cumming…inside?”
“Yes- please.” You’re nodding, watching through your own hazy eyes as his mouth parts lewdly. “Not gonna l-last–!”
Sweltering breaths heaving, cocks fattening up until each nudging length was almost too much for your tight pussy to handle.
Lightning bolts of his veins bashing against your sides, he’s bumpin’ into his own pounding lengths and shivering. Two arms snaking up and down your arched spine, “Tch- d-don’t think m’this affected because of- of that. S’just so fucking tight I can barely even move.”
And it was true- he’s so big with both his twin, rock-hard cocks that Sukuna could only half-thrust into your gaping entrance at his point. The globular curves of his tips pushin’ into you so desperately that you could practically taste his neediness.
But you could see the way that the sharp edges of his ears painted a feverish red, tattooed inner-thighs glazing with so much of his syrupy, buttery precum.
Your jaw drops as you take in the sheer volume making you slip n’ slide into his battering rams, “Want it- want it, Kuna- ins-”
“Don’t.” Canines gnawing onto the plush edge of his bottom lip, one of his palms creeping up again to leave your babbling mouth slurping with kisses. He was ruined, bit by bit.
And he’s pumping his full, rounded crowns into your g-spot again. “Cum f’me instead, b-brat.” Making sure you won’t be remembering that little stutter with the way he was making your vision flash with pleasure. “Shut up and cum.”
When you did it was with Sukuna biting back a moan himself, guiding the mushy ends of his tips to swerve into your cervix once more. Your womb. Everywhere.
“Can’t pull out, huh?” He repeats to himself, almost breathless with a snicker. “Take it then- take it-”
It was bucketloads, absolute torrents of milky white that were flooding your tight channel. Sukuna wasn’t just covering your velvety cunt with all his seed, he was drenching you in it until it overspilled. Loaded up wads webbing down each of his lengths, soaking his pinkish happy trail completely.
So much of it that you can feel splosh around in your throat, that thickly cloying texture tasted on your tongue. “Th-there’s so much, Kuna–”
“Awww, c’mon girl. You can take- every- drop-” Punctuated with a rugged thrust that sent your spongy cervix bruising, the slightly-circular motions of his toned pelvis makes warm sap smear across spots you didn’t even know existed. “Fuck! Look at you- movin’ those ngh- hips like you’re swallowing it all up. Been greedy for it?”
Reaching your limp hands up to cradle his neck and hold on for dear life, Sukuna flinches at the splat! of cum that slips out of you and hits his v-line. “Can feel you mmm- filling me all inside, Kuna–”
“Oh…now that’s fun.”
Rapidly- urgently manifesting his second mouth to slash across his abs, “Looks so much better droolin’ from your cunt like this- n’not anywhere else, brat.” Monstrously tonguing the glutinous puddle formulating underneath you n’ your slick, “Look at it mixin’ all together-”
You’re sobbing out every time he slides the flattened edge of his tongue between your legs. Teasingly sliiiiding back and forth, “Tch- wish I had a third mouth.”
“For what?” As if you already didn’t know.
He was just hypnotized by what he saw below, only grinning- squeeeelch! goes the motion of his softened tastebuds slipping inside your hole. Fuck. “Itadakimasu”
♡ INO TAKUMA - Till it breaks?!
“Oh.” Comes out Ino’s dampened gasp, the soft puff of air scalding where his toned arms held you into a cute full nelson.
And your spine arches back into the way his washboard abs tense, into the way his broad chest heaves your boneless body up n’ down. Right in the very same angle that he first felt that heavenly taste of your slick, raw pussy walls. “O-oh.”
Startling your burning skin with a wet splatter! of drool from his ruby red lips, “I think the hah! condom broke, pretty.” Motioning to drag his sloppy length back, Ino bites back a sensitive hiss at the saccharine squeeeelch. “Lemme just-”
And then he does it again- that same little, addicted brush of the splotch where that flimsy rubber was torn. Right on top of where your sweet boyfriend’s flared mushroom tip was so big that he’d shattered the condom open, driving up a tentative dig into the bottom of your pussy.
You’re feeling your mouth drop into a softly panted oh! “T-Taku–?”
“Yes- yes!” Snapping right back into reality, Ino’s pressing the doughy fringes of his fingertips into your thighs to manhandle your hips. Almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to move.
“I should just-” Massaging and massaging the hot, reddened curve of his cockhead past your walls- it really doesn’t help that your sweet, sweet insides just kept on sucking him back up each time he’s carnally scraping his length down. Trying to pull out. “I reeeeeally should…”
Ah, he was so cute with his rosy lips wobbling in concentration. Chestnut brows furrowed whilst he tried to will himself to try and reel back from your dripping wet pussy.
You find yourself tittering, craning your neck to plant an innocent peck near the corner of his mouth. “You can just not pull out, baby-”
“B-but if I don’t pull out how will I- oh.”
You’re ogling at the exact moment it hits him.
When Ino’s molten eyes widen, his tawny lashes fluttering ever-so-slightly, the prettiest pink flush scorching all over the apples of his cheeks. And his cock- oh, his cock practically ravages your gooey innards with a throbbing jolt.
Mouth gaping open silently a few times before he’s finally, finally finding his voice. “Can I? I shouldn’t- I really sh-shouldn’t, sweetness-” And your heart almost pangs in disappointment when he’s pulling out of your dewy entrance with the loudest sluuuurp-
-only to toss away the useless remnants of that rubber and slam back in.
“B-but you just feel sh-shoooo good—!”
“Hck- oh!” Whines clog up in your throat once Ino’s pinning you to him with a strong forearm, the slippery glide of his length making sure you feel every patterned vein imprinted into your walls.
Ino swirls his cockhead in an experiment heart all over your cervix and gasps at the utter wetness that greets him. “H-how m’I even supposed to compete?” Comes out his pained whine, followed almost immediately by the thwack! of his rounded balls striking your treacly cunt.
Making him snap his head down- loud. Fuck- you were so much louder when he didn’t have a condom on. Squelch after squelch resounding like music in his ears every time he slams upwards. Scolding, “D-don’t talk back to me.”
“Taku, baby, are you okay–”
“That goes for ngh! you, too, pretty- do I look okay?” Hooded lids widened, his usual baritone was botched with cracks. Octaves higher. “R-raw? Seriously? S’fuckin’ unfair- who said you can feel this good- soooo fuh-fucking good.”
And you’ve never seen your gentle boyfriend like this before.
Never seen him so mindlessly rutting with his cadence, never seen him so feral every time he’s pummeling his hips into the mounds of your ass.
Bruising his thighs against yours, his ballsack against your entrance. Ino was balls-deep and still trying to rover his bawling orifice further across your plush cunt.
So harshly that you’re bowing your back and clamoring behind you to hold onto the headboard-
“Don’t run from me when you’ve been ngh! holding out-” Ino spits in a seething tone from behind, free palm gripping your wrists like adhesive. He tugs them down and hold you right at his complete n’ utter mercy, unmoving. “You’ve been holding out- th-this? Felt like this n’ you’ve been holding out, sweetness?”
“Fuck–!” Your spine aches with the white-hot ruts he’s bucking into you, the pointed globe of his shaft stirring your insides in a way that made you jostle with each swerve, too. “Mmm– right there, baby.”
And once he’s finding your g-spot he’s never leaving it alone.
Spraying out a thick battering of warm pre all over that particular bundle of nerves before he jerks his hips and bruises it. Making you throw your head back and clench–
“D-don’t!” Ino gasps, watery eyes drooping with the sheer heat inside your soppy pussy. He felt like he was just melting into you, abs almost melding into your back with each skim. “Makes me go crazy- m-makes me wanna haaaah- cum…inside.”
The very moment he admits this, you coo. Partially shifting your body around to take in his scorching blush, the way that Ino tries to hide away behind his unruly bangs.
You curl your fingers around one soft lock and pull- making him whine. “When I say don’t ngh- pull out- I mean don’t pull out, Taku–”
And that was it- that did it.
In all of two flutters of your lashes, Ino’s snapping.
All those long, hard years of training letting him trek his powerful forearms underneath your thighs and haul you all the way in half. The caps of your knees hitting your tits, his cock hitting the bottom of your pussy.
“Then…get ready.”
Crazed, babbling. It’s all the warning you’re getting before Ino froths out generous helpings of creamy white cum. The thickened dollops settling near your womb and sprinkling to and fro once he’s pumping it even deeper.
You’re whimpering, body jolting at the low hum of reverse cursed energy that seeps from Ino’s fingerpads. Without him even realizing.
“Taku– o-oh my god you’re ngh- cumming so much.”
More than usual - so much more than usual.
Ino’s wild tempo meant that your poor entrance was gaping with all the leaky knots of his seed, milking and milking every single ounce out of himself.
“Oh my god- you squeeze me even tighter when I cum inside, pretty- s-so I just have to…” Until his balls ached with nothing. The strawberry divot homed at the end of his length sputtering out once- twice- before Ino had wrung himself to cum dry. “Shit- don’t know if I can c-cum anymore. But I want to- I need to.”
“Nghhh– fuck!”
Every slurp! that echoed from your overspilling pussy whenever his cum leaked was speaking to him. And Ino was nodding– oh, what a monster you’ve created.
Lightly groaning as he finally pulls out with a filthy drag, it takes him all of two seconds to flip your buzzing body over and give you a pussydrunken grin. Raw n’ ravaged. “R-ride me dry, pretty?”
♡ GOJO SATORU - “J-just the tip.”
It’s about the fifth time Gojo’s breathily repeating that mantra - maybe even the fiftieth since he’d promised he could handle fucking you without a condom— with just the tip.
And your boyfriend’s deepened voice cracks numerous octaves higher every time he’s pinpointing your insides with the red, bulging tip of his cock. That rounded crown swirlin’ a sultry smooch right into the spots that make you cutely keen–
“T-Toru! Ngh- oh my god, you’re in so-”
“-deeeep, yeah?” He’s snickering from behind, clouded pants leaving the back of your neck humid. And your overworked bedsprings creak! once he’s sidling his shivering thighs from behind, jostling you up with each meaty limb. “S’alright, my girl. You can take it- you will. S’just the…”
And he can’t even hold his train of thought- can’t do anything but let the tender grooves of his veins tickle your pussy. Rubbing sweetly up n’ down across your walls, deeper. Harder.
“-tip.”
Teary eyes damn near bulging out of your head, “F-fuuuuck!”
So hard that you’re being driven further up the bed by his sharp hipbones - but he doesn’t let you move a millimeter. Immediately curling the right set of his long, pale fingers around your throat and draaaagging you backwards.
“J-just the tip.” Gojo’s gurgling - babbling. Syllables coming out just as unsteadily as he’s mindlessly rutting with his swollen, veiny cock. You’re so cute taking everything he gives that he can’t help but chuckle. “See? See?” Eyes wide, tone hoarse. “You’re gonna- hah! take it like my good girl. Take my fat fuckin’ tip until I pull out, m’kay?”
Splat! Splat! Splat! You’re so dazed that the only thing reeling you out of your cockdrunken little reverie is the spray of treacly saliva that leaks from between his clenched teeth.
He’s slobbering.
Your lips flap stupidly, sparkly beads of spittle decorating your own chin as you’re whirling your head over your shoulder. “H-huh? Oh.”
Oh, Gojo Satoru doesn’t look like he heard you.
He didn’t even look like he was breathing.
Half-lidded eyes oh-so-murky that it’s a goddamn miracle they’re even shifting downwards to stare at your puffy, puckered folds. Huffing out a little ‘oh’, Gojo’s slouching his toned bodyweight on top of yours n’ cradling you into a filthy, filthy French kiss as he pounds you silly.
“Just the tip-” And it’s a good thing he’s smearing his syrupy mouth over yours - because one particularly harsh ram leaves you screaming. Drinking in each of your pretty noises into his breathy mouth. “Shhh sh sh, s’alright s’alright. Don’t run.” You didn’t even realize that you were fisting the silky coverings of your pillowcase and attempting to crawl away until he clings tighter ‘round your throat, hauling you back down. “S’just the tip- just the- ngh-”
And usually - usually - you would’ve given him a piece of your mind.
Because it wasn’t just the tip. Gojo was so big - so long, and you could feel almost every inch of his hot, throbbing girth. Pushing open your plush walls until he’s filling up every nook and cranny; way, way past the flared ridge of his cockhead to stretch and stretch and stretch you out on his shaft.
Hell, you could almost feel the plump curve of his ballsack lazily nudging your puffy pussylips.
“Toru–!” Your lungs heave with the effort to raise your voice above a mewl, “This is more than the tip- hngh.”
“Wh-what do you…” Fat dollops of sweat beading down his temple, it takes him everything - every last shred of his sanity to finally look. To finally get his fuzzily sparking brain to realize- “…oh”
And you don’t know what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t for Gojo to plant yet another experimental whack to the bottom of your cervix. Letting your hips jitter underneath his palms, he’s groping a handful of your ass.
“Then…” You can only watch once he breaks away to tilt his head cutely, cherry-pink maw sagging as if he was hypnotized. “-halfway, sweetheart?”
Swervin’ straight into your g-spot with three spanks each second, he’s tunneling you open with such lecherous sluuurps. “Mhm, hngh- oh, halfway and-” Hissing, Gojo’s long, angelic lashes flutter once he’s feeling his aching balls squeeze. Close. “-and then I’ll pull out, okay?”
“But you’re shoooo—” It was music to his ears watching you stumble over your syllables with your adorable voice, and it only made him go harder.
“S-s-sooo mean, huh?” Mocking you, “But I hafta- can let myself go o-only halfway or I…won’t be able to pull out.” If he was in any better state of mind, he’d rather have died than confess to anything so pathetically drunk on your pussy. Laughing- “Just imagine, if I didn’t pull out…h-heh, imagine.”
Oh, that was a dangerous line of thought.
He’s never done that before. Anything more of that and he’s going to drive himself crazy already, feeling goosebumps raise on the back of his flushed neck as your cute, sappy insides clench.
Milking his prolonged length all the way from his fattened tip to the plump, split-ended circle of his tip. Still murmuring, “How cute- Imagine if I didn’t- pull- out-”
Deeper- he doesn’t even register it. Again and again until both you and the bed frame sing. Harder- he’s still thinking about what he said.
You’re almost sobbing once those tufts of ivory white at the base of his cock massage your skin raw, bullying you into the mattress with just his prominent v-line. You moan, “I-it’s more than- hck! halfway in, Satoru–!”
“Oh.” Gojo heaves, Gojo snickers. “F-fine. You win.”
And you didn’t even have the time to wonder what he meant by that before he tenses his abs and punishes your hole with a rugged slam. Animalistic.
“Y-you win- you win you win you- ngh- win-” He’s spitting through gritted teeth, so harshly that the strongest tastes pure metal on his sizzling tongue. “You win n’ this is what’cha gonna get.” Filling up with saccharine trickles of saliva, he scrunches his chin and now fully - mercilessly - gives you a solid few thrusts.
Gripping on tight to your left ass cheek with one hand, every hold he has on you is pulling you back after every recoil. A bubble of high-pitched laughter departs from his lips as soon as he watches himself siiink all the way in. Over. And over. And over again.
Groaning, “Can’t take it anymore- can’t- fuck!” He can’t even bear the thought of pulling out anymore-
“C-can’t pull out?” You’re whispering, eyes widening as soon as Gojo gasps, hit with the realization that he was rambling his thoughts out loud without even realizing. Just that pussydrunk.
“N-no.” Comes out the confessional response, brows furrowing as he’s reaching below to give your neglected clit a sweet, buzzing pinch. “You win, just don’t make me ngh…pull out. Please, sweetheart?”
You made the powerful, cocky strongest beg.
And as he says this he can feel himself cumming - can feel his cursed energy flare out of control. Bolts of tiny blue lightning straying from the edges of his peripherals, oh-so-thoroughly locked down on you and your sloppily thrusting cadence.
No- he was muuuch more focused on the way that he could see with his Six Eyes. Murked walls of your sopping pussy covering with layers of syrupy white cum as he counts underneath his breath, ‘one…two…’
Digging the clean-cut crescents of his nails into the side of your pulsating neck, harder. Sloppier. ‘…three.’
Exactly in time to watch you fall apart as your orgasm hits you like a damn freight train.
“Fuck- fuh-fuuuuck! Toru m’cumming m’cumming.” So pretty letting your thighs twitch with the white-hot pleasure, your toes curl in pleasure as you position your hips to let his steaming crownhead plunge.
Bottomed-out and still aching to go deeper.
Barrelling in a rummaging tempo so sinful that thick droplets of sap ooze out of you, sticky n’ pure white. It makes Gojo’s breath hitch to watch the slicked mess pouring from your stuffed hole, glazed shaft so blissfully reeling back- only to not pull out. “I…inside.”
“Y-yeah ngh-” You’re humming with delight at the cobwebs of cum his girth mixes like frosting, so warm and heavy inside of you. “A-all inside, Satoru.”
So far delayed - his melty brain stalls just a few more pumping shudders before he can even think of opening his mouth again. “Did you take the pill, sweetheart?”
“…no.”
And Gojo Satoru can only smile and oh- oh, the look in his eyes made you jolt right to your very core. You weren’t getting off easy. Or walking. “Good.”
summary: you meet joshua for the first time since he left the country as a teenager to pursue his dreams. you are sure he doesn’t remember you, despite the fact that you haven’t forgotten him for a single day in the last fifteen years.
word count: 8.4k
warnings: best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.
Sunset was your favorite part of the day.
There was something about the way it colored the ground orange, bathing everything in a warm glow, the waves glittering under the slowly fading sunlight that brought your young heart at ease. At fifteen, when every minor issue felt like the end of the world, Santa Monica pier was your escape. Every weekend you would end up on the same wooden boards, feet pattering against them and the swish of ocean waves roaring in your ears. Multiple other footsteps echoed beside you and behind you, the chattering and laughing of the teenage voices that belonged to your friends blending with the hustle and bustle of the weekend crowd at the pier. In your clearest memory, your eyes would meet warm brown ones, appearing a lighter hazel in the fading sunlight, skin tinted golden, and laugh like a melody echoing in your mind….
Your alarm is a jarring sound.
You startle awake as it cuts through the tranquility of your dreamscape, making you bite back an annoyed groan as it keeps beeping on, ripping you further and further away from the warmth of the pier and distant doe eyes that keep you company as you sleep. Your hand shoots out and slaps at your phone blindly, shutting it up. In the glare of the screen, you make out a blurred 10:00am. A heaving sigh leaves your body as it registers in your head that it’s Friday morning. You stare at the curtains covering your window, early morning light filtering through them and making your room visible. All is silent.
……. It is Friday morning.
You remember your dream, or rather, childhood memory. It’s been a while since you last thought of LA or Santa Monica, despite spending so much of your childhood in that area. You understand why you’re dreaming about it now though, considering what today is. As you stare at the ceiling, you mentally prepare yourself for the day. It doesn’t matter, though. You haven’t managed to prepare yourself in the last couple of weeks, so it hardly seems like you’ll turn it around on the morning of. Brown eyes flick through your mind again.
Showering and getting ready are a nervous affair. There seems to be a charge in the air, like static, ready to zap you the minute you make a sudden move. You contemplate stopping for breakfast, and choose to forego it when your stomach protests at the thought. Coffee would have to do. You can deal with the consequences of plain coffee on your bowels later. There’s much more important things to freak about now.
As you’re driving to the arena, you feel irritation replace your apprehension. Come on. There’s no way he remembers you. It has been fifteen years since you last saw him. You doubt he could recall you even if someone told him your name. Which, by the way, no one would have told him your name. You are sure that in his line of work, hair stylists come and go. How many had he worked with already, in his near ten-year career? You are just a blip, here to take care of the group during the American leg of their tour and then going about your life once again. That’s it.
You weren’t surprised when you were first offered the job to be the on-tour hairstylist for an idol group. You had worked with many in the past as they came to America for appearances or while on tour. In your near decade of working, you have managed to build an impressive portfolio. But you had been frozen solid when you found out who this particular client was. Of course you knew them. You had followed their careers since before they debuted. You had promised you would, just as he had promised to keep in touch before he left.
Only one of you had kept your promise.
The coffee is bitter on your tongue, and it wakes you up before it even hits your stomach. You let the GPS on your phone guide you to the location sent to you by one of the staff members. Already, you can see people outside the venue. No shock there. This was a very anticipated tour. The air feels crisp and charged, now with excitement rather than the fearful doomed feeling you experienced that morning in your room. The sun is already way up, announcing the arrival of midday.
It’s a blur of introductions inside the building. Everyone is extremely nice, and someone in a black button up and jeans finds you immediately, as if already looking for you, leading you down a corridor as they talk to you a bit about what’s happening.
“Usually we don’t have the hair and makeup staff come this early.” Her voice is cheery and light. “But the members have to film a bit before the show today so they need to get ready early.”
“I don’t mind at all.” You immediately jump to answer, eager to come off as a team player. Also, midday isn’t early at all for you, though it may be early for them considering the concert didn’t start for another six hours.
You are shown into a large room and you immediately feel at home as soon as you step in. The mirrors are large and the hair and makeup stations are well lit. There are too many chairs to count there, some facing the mirrors and others scattered haphazardly everywhere else. Towards the far end of the room, one chair is already occupied, and you can see a woman bent over the man in the chair, her hand making careful strokes with a brush over his closed eyelids. His hair is a bright blond under the glare of the lights, matted down on his head. He must have freshly washed it. Next to him, another seat is occupied, but this time with a brunette who is lazily scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears you shuffling about. You immediately recognize him.
His smile is bright as he pushes off the chair in favor of walking over to you. You bow courteously.
Lee Seokmin is as handsome as he always looked on screen. You would argue he is even more stunning in real life. His voice is friendly and warm, and you immediately feel at ease. He introduces himself even though he needs no introduction, and you return the pleasantries. The voices make his blond friend turn his head towards you curiously, and you recognize Soonyoung just as quickly as you had recognized Seokmin.
They are quick to make conversation with you when they learn that you are their hairstylist, talking to you as if they had known you forever. It’s slightly jarring how quickly they become comfortable with you, because while you had been staring at them on a screen for years, they didn’t know you before this at all. It is hard not to be charmed by them though, they are incredibly kind and engaging. They ask you about your job, tell you how excited they are to be there, ask for food recommendations and before you know it, you are somehow roped into dinner plans.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea….” You can’t help but feel sheepish. Seokmin waves you off immediately.
“It’ll be our treat! We take the staff out for dinner and drinks all the time. You had to show up this early. It’s the least we can do.”
You think it’s best not to say that you are paid to be here. It’s not like you are doing this for free. Both of them are so nice about it that you really don’t think your snark has any place in this conversation. You choose to switch the topic.
“Speaking of, why are only two of you here? What about the others?” You try to sound nonchalant. Try not to let your nerves creep in again. You can’t afford to freak out now. Not when he could walk in the door at any moment.
That makes Soonyoung snicker and Seokmin let out a painful sigh. He jabs a thumb backward to point at his friend, who is just about done with his makeup. “He spoiled something important while doing a live yesterday. He dragged me along by guilting me into it.”
Soonyoung seems proud of the fact, and you can tell Seokmin doesn’t mind as much as he is pretending to. You can’t help but smile as well. It’s crazy how comfortable you already feel around the two.
You are almost done with Soonyoung’s hair when other members slowly start to trickle in. Your heart speeds up. You try to keep your face straight and all your focus on the short strands of hair sticking up between your fingers. They greet you one by one as they show up. Wonwoo first, Chan right behind him. You introduce yourself to all of them, throwing some “nice to meet you”s in there. The room slowly swells with noise, multiple separate conversations and some laughs here and there. Some time passes. Seungkwan sits down in front of you. When Joshua walks into the room, everything stills for one small second.
He looks the same. Boyish charm and doe eyes. He sounds the same too, syrupy sweet voice, slightly deeper than you remember. He is running a towel through his wet hair. Some strands stick to the damp skin on his forehead. His face is bare, just the way you remember it. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle the same way. He laughs at something Soonyoung says to him. Same laugh.
But he is so….. different. He is taller, and much broader. You try not to let your eyes linger on his arms, bare because of the tank top he had chosen to wear. Heat rises up the back of your neck, and you run a small comb through Seungkwan’s hair, parting it down the middle. He is saying something about the content they are supposed to film before the show, and you feel a bit bad for not focusing on what he is talking about. But Joshua is right there, mere feet from you after nearly a decade and a half of being apart. It is hard to focus on anything other than the boy you had given your heart to when you were so young.
It seems he has chosen to focus on you too, in that very moment. He notices you working on his friend’s hair, and then he is walking to you. You freeze.
“Hi. Joshua.” He bows a little. You reciprocate, though it’s more jerky and not as smooth as his. You immediately kick yourself. Managing to return his smile, you tell him your name. His face shifts a bit, and you freeze again in shock. There’s no way….
He repeats your name, this time more questioning. You nod slowly.
“No way!” His eyes are wide, recognition flicking through them. Beautiful brown, rich like chocolate. You are reminded of your dream. Your heart skips. “I can’t believe it! You’re a hairstylist now?”
You laugh meekly, nodding. Your face still burns. Having his eyes on you feels almost unbearable. You wish he would go away, leave you in your head again to remember only the ghost of him still living in your memory. You also wish he would come closer, hold your hand like he used to and push your hair behind your ear when the wind makes it fall into your eyes.
You wish for a lot of things.
“You two know each other?” Seungkwan swivels in his chair to look at Joshua, who only nods enthusiastically.
“We were friends. We went to the same school when I was still in LA.”
So succinct. So brief. How something that means the world to you, something that changed your young mind so profoundly, could be summarized in two sentences. You try not to think about it.
“We have a lot of catching up to do.” His voice breaks you from your thoughts. His smile is still so wide. His eyes are…. gentle. Almost admiring. You realise he is genuinely happy to see you, and something in your chest settles. The nasty voice in your head silences itself. How foolish of you, to think for even a second that someone as sweet and down to earth as Joshua wouldn’t be happy to see you, his dearest friend, after he left LA. He isn’t wired that way. You almost feel ashamed at having doubted him. You nod your affirmation.
“You should have dinner with us after the show. Maybe some drinks too.”
You chuckle a bit. “Ah, yeah. Seokmin offered as well. I guess I will be there.”
He smiles wider, if that is even possible. “Great.”
When he finally walks away from you, you turn your head to meet Seungkwan’s gaze, already trained intently on you. Your neck heats up again.
“Something wrong?”
His eyes narrow just a bit. You get a strange feeling, like you are being prodded. He shakes his head, but the corner of his lip ticks up just slightly.
“No, not at all.” He settles back in his chair, an expression on his face that you can’t quite place.
Ah, fuck.
……………………………………………………………………..
An hour later, Joshua is sitting in a chair, typing something on his phone when you finally step closer to him to get a look at his hair. He turns his phone screen off, giving you a dazzling smile as well as his full attention. You try to smile back, but it comes off more as a grimace than anything friendly. If he notices, he doesn’t let it show. You are grateful for that.
“I didn’t know you left LA.” He comments, and you hum a bit, using a comb to smooth through his hair, trying to focus on your job and not on the fact that you are touching him, or that you can smell his aftershave. It’s flowery and light. It makes you dizzy.
You also try to bite back on the fact that there is no way he could’ve known, considering you hadn’t talked to him properly since he set foot outside the US.
“I’ve been all around.“ You answer, knowing how vague you sound. You can’t think of anything else to say though. You can feel Joshua’s gaze on you, and you wonder if he sees through you.
He used to. He knew you better than anyone else. Now….. now he’s a stranger.
“Weren’t you going to become a lawyer?”
You bark out a shocked laugh at the sudden jibe, mind thrown back into the past. “Oh god, no. I don’t know what I was thinking when I used to say that.”
Joshua chuckles a bit too. “And you were so passionate about it too. Though I’m pretty sure it was just because you thought it would help you win arguments.”
You can’t control your grin. “I was a kid. I still suck at them, by the way.”
“Do you still cry when you get angry?”
You roll your eyes and give him a look. “It’s perfectly normal to cry when you’re angry.”
He nods jokingly, pretending to contemplate. “Sure. Not when you are trying to negotiate prices on the pier though.”
You gape at him, shocked. “How the hell do you remember that?”
Joshua’s mock playfulness leaves his face, replaced by something softer, more melancholic. Your fingers freeze in the dark caramel strands of his hair, soft to touch.
“I remember everything.”
You feel something strong and bitter rise in the back of your throat. Like bile, but burning worse. You remember then, the grief of Joshua leaving. The dragging hurt of waiting for replies to your emails. How his responses would get shorter and shorter every time. How it fizzled over those few painful months. And then….nothing. Like he was never there.
You clear your throat and work in silence, trying to finish up on his hair quicker. You can see from the corner of your eye how his face drops. He doesn’t say anything more. When you’re done, he gives you a tiny smile and a thank you.
He’s a stranger to you once again.
……………………………………………………………………..
The show is spectacular, as expected. You watch as much as you can between giving touch ups as the members come and go from the backstage area. It’s overstimulating and fast paced, nothing you aren’t used to, but enough to get your blood pumping. You missed working shows like this. Despite the history you had with Joshua, you feel okay about taking the job.
The members are all hyped and looking forward to dinner and drinks afterwards. Some staff members go along, including you, and it is an energetic affair. You laugh and talk with other people on the crew, who are all very welcoming and more than happy to regale you with stories of their own. The members eat like a small army, and food disappears faster than you can blink. You are grateful for the amount of people, since it meant you didn’t have to interact one on one with Joshua. It is nearing dawn when everyone starts to slowly scatter to their hotel rooms on the same floor.
Your own hotel room, booked courtesy of the company, is not in the same building, and when you announce that you should head back, Joshua offers to drive you. You can’t really find a reason to say no. He is one of maybe two people who didn’t drink. So your options are limited.
You really don’t want to talk to him. You can’t even place why, exactly. You had missed him, thought about him periodically for so long. He is here now, accessible to you, and yet you want nothing to do with him.
The truth is, your small conversation threw you off. It’s like you had never been apart. He talked to you like he had left just a month ago on a little vacation and now he had come back, catching up on life updates. But the truth is that he has fifteen years worth of updates that he missed. This isn’t a brief pause that he can just ignore, something he was clearly trying to do.
Then again, maybe you are overreacting. It’s not like you two had fought. Things just didn’t work out. It happens. Maybe you are making a big deal out of nothing while he is doing everything to be nice to you.
In any case, you have a lot to figure out. And you can’t do that with Joshua in the driver’s seat, spending a good chunk of time in a confined space with him. The silence is strange and heavy. You close your eyes and lean back in your seat, hoping he just assumes you are tired and doesn’t feel as awkward as you. When the car slows to a stop in front of your building, you give him a little smile as you gather your things.
“Did I upset you earlier?”
You hesitate, movements slowing a bit. Joshua looks worried, but he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on staring straight ahead. It’s still dark outside. You take a deep breath.
“Not- not really. I was just surprised.”
Now he looks confused, tearing his eyes away from the road to look at you. “Why?”
You blink slowly. “What do you mean, why?”
He doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You aren’t really drunk, but you had a few. Enough to impair the filter between your brain and mouth just a little bit.
”We haven’t spoken in almost fifteen years, Josh.” Your voice sounds more stable than you are expecting. “But suddenly you’re acting like nothing’s wrong. Like you didn’t just…. disappear.”
Guilt washes over his features, and you try not to let it affect you.
“I didn’t mean to….”
You sigh a bit, feeling resigned. “No one ever means to. But I think I deserved a little more than nothing. For the sake of what we had.”
Your eyes meet, and this time, the exchange of looks is weighted, more understanding. Joshua nods.
”You did. I’m sorry.”
You nod slowly. You hadn’t expected such a quick and willing apology. It was almost anticlimactic. Joshua carries on.
“Training was….tough. I almost quit, you know? Multiple times. I stuck it out because of the members, and because I was determined to see it through. I know it isn’t an excuse but- I was overwhelmed and I missed home. I missed you. Talking to you just made it so much worse.”
He lets out a meek laugh, rolling his eyes. His stare is distant as he remembers the past. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It sounds insanely stupid in hindsight.”
You nod. “It does.”
He laughs again, this time a bit stronger. When he looks at you, there’s something sad behind his eyes. You can’t help but mimic it. It’s difficult to put a finger on it. There’s so much you want to say to him, but at the same time, nothing comes to mind. It seems that all along, you had waited to hear just these words from him, a form of explanation, a form of remorse, and he had finally given them to you. There is a sense of finality in this moment. Your lips slowly curl up into a soft smile.
“I understand, I think. I… I don’t know what to say though. I don’t know where we go from here.”
There it is again, that curled smile which makes him look five years younger than he is. In the dim light, he looks unassuming and gentle, almost angelic.
“Maybe you can give me a chance to be your friend again?”
You appraise him a bit before nodding. “I think I can do that.”
……………………………………………………………………..
Some parts of Joshua are exactly the same.
He is still snarky and mischievous under his gentle exterior. Of course, it’s more than just an exterior. He is a genuinely kind person. But you two were great friends before because he was such a wonderful mix of caring and annoying. You loved teasing him and he loved teasing you back. It seems those parts of him haven’t changed at all. When you observe him with his members, you can see how he thrives off their energy. He is especially a pain in the ass to Mingyu, who loves to dish it right back.
And then there are parts of him that are so new it almost catches you off guard. He is a lot more mature now. And more perceptive too. He has a little bit of a flirty thing going on now, and it often leaves you blushing and stuttering, unable to reply.
God, you really should have become a lawyer.
Four shows into the tour and in your second city by now, you have grown fairly comfortable in your job. With Joshua acting as a bridge, you get integrated into the team very easily. Almost everyone is curious about you and Joshua when he was still living in LA. None more so than Seungkwan, who seems to have taken a particular interest in you two ever since you met on the first day. You’re not very thrilled by it, since he isn’t exactly subtle about it either.
“Have you considered working outside the US?”
You hum as you pull his hair down over his forehead, trying to go for more of a messy look today. “Not really. Why do you ask?”
“You could come to Korea with us.”
You laugh and shake your head. “I can’t just leave the country on a whim.”
“It wouldn’t be a whim though. You would have a job.”
You give him a questioning look now, pausing your ministrations for a second. “Where exactly are you going with this?”
He shrugs, pouting playfully for a bit. “I’m just saying. It doesn’t have to end after this leg of the tour, you know?”
His stare is meaningful. Very briefly, his eyes flick towards Joshua on your left. It’s so subtle that you wouldn’t catch it if you hadn’t been looking so intently. Realisation dawns on you and you gulp.
“Nothing will end. Because nothing is going on.” You give him a pointed look, going back to his hair.
“That’s what I’m saying. Something could.”
You sigh painfully. “Seungkwan-”
“He likes you.” Seungkwan interrupts. “Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. Joshua puts a lot of effort in for the people he cares about. And he’s making a hell of an effort to fix things with you.”
“That’s because I was his friend.”
He gives you a blank look but doesn’t say anything more. You try to ignore his words, but when your eyes flick towards the man in question, you can’t help but wonder if there is any ounce of truth behind them.
……………………………………………………………………..
“I was thinking of getting a haircut before the next show.”
You give Joshua a surprised look, placing your drink on the table. It’s show number six of eight total, and the members had scattered to explore the city. You had been in your hotel room when Joshua called, asking you to come down so you could have a drink with him. The bar you end up in is small and cozy, barely crowded since it’s a weekday, which is for the best. You lean back in the booth to get a better look at Joshua sitting next to you.
“What are you thinking?” You ask.
A thoughtful hum follows. “I’m not sure. Just something different. It’s getting a bit long and it irritates my neck.”
“Do you wanna dye it?”
He winces. “Not really. The damage takes forever to recover from.”
You think about his face shape, wondering what to do with his hair that might look good on him. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to his head, fingers threading through the strands and pulling them upwards a bit, just to check exactly how long the hair is. Joshua just watches you. You blink when you notice the hint of smile on his face, pulling your hand back with a sudden jerk.
“Sorry!” You squeak out, feeling embarrassment crawl up your chest. “Force of habit.”
Joshua laughs. “It’s fine. You’ve done worse things around me.”
You gape at him. “Have not!”
He gives you a look, and you know what he is about to say before he even speaks. “You once peed while my back was turned to you.”
“Shut up!” You screech out, burying your face in your hands as Joshua laughs boisterously. You look around the bar, anywhere that isn’t him, trying to pat down the heat rising in your cheeks.
“That doesn’t count, by the way.”
Joshua blinks, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “And why not?”
“Because that was the old you.”
His eyes are wide with surprise and amusement now. His left hand swivels his glass, the liquid floating around in it. He leans his head on the other hand, elbow on the table. “I haven’t changed.”
“Yes, you have.” You immediately counter, downing the last of your own drink. “You’re all cool and suave now.”
He laughs again, uninhibited and bright. You grin at him, enamored by the way he throws his head back and how toothy his grin is. Liquid courage takes a hold of you.
“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially and Joshua follows your lead, playing along. “I used to have a crush on you.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You did?”
You hum the affirmative, face still close to his, like you are telling him a long held secret. It kind of is one.
The lights in the bar are dim, but you can see the glint in Joshua’s eyes clearly. “And now?”
You pretend to think about it. You are feeling playful as well. It’s so easy to feed off his energy. It reminds you of your childhood. He’s a lot bolder now, but he used to be just as cheeky. His flowery scent enters your nose again in this proximity. You feel that all too familiar heat on the back of your neck. A frequent occurrence now, ever since Joshua has stepped back into your life. You wouldn’t change it, not even for a second.
“Jury’s still out.”
Joshua’s smile softens a bit. “I’ll take it.”
……………………………………………………………………..
It’s very fitting, for the last show of this leg of the tour to be in LA.
In the days leading up to the last two shows, you wonder about the future. While it is unpredictable, there are some well established facts you need to come to terms with. Joshua would leave for Korea right after, rest for a bit, and then the next leg of the tour would kick off. Your contract would end, and you would rest as well before you find your next gig. The thought of it feels like a lead weight in your stomach, and you are reminded acutely of the time when Joshua had told you about him leaving fifteen years ago.
“Pledis?” Your voice had been suspicious. “I’ve never heard of them. Are you sure you aren’t getting scammed?”
He had laughed. “I’m sure. They are legit, and they are eager to have me.”
“I don’t know, Josh…”
It’s the same apprehension but now under different circumstances.
Briefly, you remember Seungkwan’s offer. You don’t know how serious he was, but you entertain the thought for a brief moment. It doesn’t last, though. It’s ridiculous. The teenage you would have jumped at the chance to follow Joshua to the other side of the world, but that was naïveté. While you and him are riding the line between platonic and romantic, it hasn't gone anywhere. You couldn’t pick up everything and run off with him. It just wasn’t realistic.
The LA air seems to change something in Joshua. It’s a fairytale notion, but you swear you can see him bloom in the city. It’s nostalgic for him, you know this, and this stop means the most to him considering this is where his roots are. You bask in his glow, reminded of your own childhood with him by your side. You had spent countless weekends hanging around Santa Monica with your friends, putting together your very little money to eat and enjoy yourselves. Now here as an adult, standing in a stadium is a monumental milestone for Joshua, and you can’t believe you get to share in it with him.
The last show is even more emotionally charged for both you and him, but for entirely different reasons. You remember the days leading up to Joshua’s flight back then. You had insisted you spend every waking moment with him. Now, you are watching him close out the show to uproarious applause.
Life has changed so much. But your feelings remain the same. You had told yourself at fifteen, that you would confess to Joshua when he came back, stupidly believing that he would come back at some point. You’re a grown woman now, and you still know you will chicken out. You won’t tell him how you feel, you know this. He will leave again, this time for who knows how long, and maybe your paths won’t cross. Maybe they will, for another brief stint in time, before returning to the way they had been for so many stale years.
Maybe that’s how fate intends you to love Joshua. Little by little. In scraps. In fleeting moments of happiness before his busy life sweeps him up again. Maybe you should accept that this is how it’s meant to be.
After all, a little love is better than none.
Drinks are flowing heavily as the group celebrates the end of a very successful leg of their tour. Your staff members insist on farewell drinks for you, and before you know it, you have downed shot after shot with them, talking and laughing your hearts out. You had formed somewhat of a family here with these people, and you would miss them all terribly. Having temporary jobs is always a bummer when it comes to goodbyes. The whole experience is bittersweet.
You are reminded of your first night when you stand up and announce that you will be heading out. Especially when Joshua stands up right after.
“I’ll drive you.”
You snort. “I’m booked in this hotel too, dumbass. I just have to go down one floor.”
Joshua pouts at the smattering of laughs at your comment. You grin at him.
“Also, you’re drunk as fuck.”
He nods as if he has come to an important, life-changing decision after contemplating a little bit. “I’ll walk you, then.”
Not even five minutes later, you are struggling to get your door open. Behind you, Joshua sways a bit.
“How much did you drink?”
He giggles. “I’m just a little tipsy.”
You roll your eyes. He clearly is way more than just tipsy. You can’t judge him though. Because you are in a similar situation.
You turn to face him when the door behind you finally squeaks open. His eyes are foggy but they focus on you regardless. He still has makeup on from the show, though it’s slightly smudgy now. His hair is still in place from the hairspray. You make a face at it and reach out to tug a stiff strand.
“I hate putting hairspray on your head.” You slur. “Your hair is so soft and nice.”
Joshua hums a bit, leaning against the door frame and letting you play with his hair. “Then get it out.”
In your drunken haze, you pull him into the room, and before you know it, you’ve ducked his head under the sink of the bathroom to wet his hair. Not the best way to do it but neither of you care at this point. Not only are your inhibitions dampened, you also know you are doing all this just to keep him here for a little longer. To be close to him just a bit more. His flight is tomorrow morning. This is the last time you will see him, and you are not ready to say goodbye.
You have a multitude of products with you that you lather into his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind that you are ruining his T-shirt. He is compliant, sitting obediently on the closed toilet lid as you work your fingers gently through the styled pieces of his hair. He hums a bit when you press on his scalp, eyes fluttering. You scold him to keep them closed so they don’t get irritated by the chemicals.
By the time you’ve made him rinse off in the sink again, his clothed shoulders are all wet. His hair is dripping all over the bathroom floor. Droplets of water roll down the sides of his face and down his neck. A silver chain glitters against his skin there, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are barely open, narrowed to slits. You crane your neck up to look at him, the scent of shampoo dense in your nose.
“Towel.” You mutter. He needs it. It’s too cold to be this wet. He could get sick.
Neither of you move to get a towel though.
This close to him, you can see the sprinkled pattern of freckles over his neck. His lips part and your eyes shoot down to them immediately. You’ve always loved his lips, weird as that sounds. Always wondered what they would feel like against your own. You don’t have to wonder long, because he leans down the next second, pressing them softly into yours.
There’s hesitation behind his actions, but you affirm him by pushing up a bit, fitting your lips into his harder. His hands brush against your sides and yours grip tight at the wet collar of his shirt. It is close mouthed and chaste, but it lights a fire in you, settling in your chest as a condensed warmth. A single droplet of water hits your cheek.
A decade and a half long anticipated kiss.
You nip a little on his bottom lip, hearing how his breath gets strangled in his throat. He squeezes at your sides. His lips part. His tongue moves languidly against yours, head tilted to get better access. You sigh into him, trying to feel as much of him as you can. The planes of his chest are firm, his shoulders are broad. Your fingers travel up his neck to his jaw, to his ear. You tug on the tiny silver ring wrapped around the helix, and he curses softly in your mouth.
“We should stop.” He gasps out, but his hands are tugging on the hem of your shirt, slipping under it to run across your bare skin. You moan at the feeling, offended by the clothes between you two now. You grip his wet hair a bit harshly, pull at it just a bit, and his reaction is instant. He groans loud and low, pushing into you until you are stumbling back. Blindly, you two shuffle out of the bathroom and towards the bed, not separating for one minute, planting a slew of messy kisses over each other’s lips. Your shaky hands fall to the button of his jeans, which you pop open, flying up under his shirt and pushing it up to his chest until he gets the hint and tugs it off. You stare at his bare torso, fingers exploring the newly exposed skin. He nips at the lobe of your ear, brushing soft kisses over your neck and jaw.
His hands are toying with the hem of your jeans, thumbs hooking into the belt loops to tug your hips closer. You feel his erection on your lower stomach, hard and insistent, and it nearly leaves you dizzy.
“Josh-” You manage to gasp out. He bites softly into the skin just below your ear and hums into it. Your eyes roll.
A flurry of hands leaves you shirtless soon, fingers tugging on the hook of your bra until the clasp is undone, discarding it as well. Joshua’s body doesn’t stay far from yours. He falls onto the bed with you, his weight insistent and reassuring on top of you. When he grinds against the heat between your parted legs, you feel electricity zip through you, back arching into him. You can feel how wet you are already, how you clench around nothing. There’s too many layers between you two.
You feel his hand unzip your jeans and slip between your thighs to where you need him the most. You can hear his intake of breath right next to your ear when his fingers make contact with the soaked cloth of your panties.
“I haven’t done anything yet, baby.”
You keen at the use of the pet name, and Joshua sighs into your neck, attaching his teeth to the skin and sucking hard. Your hips jerk. His index finger presses the fabric harshly against your clit and you cry out at the sensation.
“Stop teasing.” You whine, one hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist. His teeth release your skin so his tongue can run over the area, and you are sure you will have an angry mark there in the morning. You can’t care less.
“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.
Regardless, your panties are being pushed aside, careful fingers now running up through your slit until they reach your nub. His thumb rubs a few harsh circles into you, and you gasp again.
Joshua is unpredictable, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on your toes, figuratively. In reality, you are moaning and crying into his shoulder, hips chasing his touch with every flick of his wrist, until he finally takes mercy on you and sinks his middle and ring finger into your aching pussy. His thumb is still insistent, never once stopping its ministrations. His lips never stop moving, digging into any piece of you he can get between his teeth, a handful of kisses and licks all over your neck and chest. When the pads of his fingers finally hit your sweet spot, you nearly sob.
He quickly becomes relentless in his movements, rubbing, dragging, in and out, until you feel like you are on the brink of insanity. You can’t make sense of your own words, and you are sure it is all mindless babble, but Joshua seems to bask in it, encouraging you on until your back is arching impossibly deep, orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your legs jerk and pulse in the air, framing his waist as he coaxes you through your high, whispering sweet praises in your ear, a stark contrast to the fire he had lit in your body. When your eyes blink open again, you are met with a glinting, lustful gaze and a soft smirk.
You wipe it right off by pressing your lips harshly into his. He hums in approval, allowing your scrambling hands to push his jeans and boxers down and off his legs along with your own. His cock drags through the mess between your legs and he curses. You buck up into him.
“You’re sure about this?” His voice is raspy. He sounds as wrecked as you feel.
You nod and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer, but Joshua pulls his lips away from yours instead.
“I need you to say it. I can’t mess this up with you.”
You pause, blinking up at him, startled at his words. He is a vision in the dim light, swollen lips, smudged mascara, messy wet hair and all. He looks beautiful.
“You could never mess up with me.”
His smile is tinged with something bitter. “I already did once.”
You can’t help the playful smirk you give him in response. “And yet here we are.”
He does chuckle at that, forehead leaning against yours. You give him a soft smile, running a hand through his hair. This time in a different context, a different feeling.
“I’ve never wanted anything more than you in this moment.”
His face instantly relaxes, and his lips are on yours again. You sigh into his mouth, and you can feel something hard poke insistently at you, followed by a jerk of Joshua’s hips that finally breaches you, carving through your insides as you throw your head back. He is big, and impossibly hard, and he brushes over parts you didn’t even know you had. By the time he bottoms out, you are trembling in his hold, breaths coming in choppy gasps as he starts moving, slow at first and gradually picking up speed.
Joshua lifts himself off you, supporting his weight on his hands. Your watery gaze meets his and he bites his lip hard.
“Look at you, fuck.” He thrusts especially hard, making you cry out. “Wish you could see yourself, angel. So pretty for me.”
”Joshua.” You drag out the last syllable of his name, feeling your toes curl as he keeps going. He thrusts particularly deep and then suddenly stills in you, so you can feel every inch of him. Your jaw goes slack.
“What do you want?”
His lips are a ghost touch over your cheek. He grinds slowly, his pelvis brushing your clit, adding to the assault of sensations you are already experiencing. You feel a tear roll down your face and disappear into your hairline.
You whine. “You.”
His lips curl upward. “You have me.”
He grinds again. You sob.
“Please.” Your voice is thin, on the verge of breaking. “Need you to move. Need to feel you. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”
Then he is shushing you, and his hips are moving again, harder and faster until stars are bursting in your vision as you come again. You barely register when Joshua stiffens and buries himself deep in you, warmth flooding your insides as he pants and groans through his own release. Your entire body feels muted and numb, like someone had stuffed cotton in your head. You blink lazily, pressing a kiss into Joshua’s sweaty forehead.
He turns to look at you in response, and you can see the sluggishness in the depth of his eyes. A small smile plays at his lips. He looks at peace. You hope your face looks just as blissful to him. Tiredness tugs at your limbs.
You don’t remember falling asleep.
……………………………………………………………………..
Giggling. The slap of footsteps on pavement. The brush of a hand. Brown, doe-like eyes.
The sun is high in the sky when you wake up with a start the next morning. You stare at the window and the harsh light infiltrating through it, trying to shake the image from your dreams. When you shift under the covers, feeling them brush over your bare skin, you discover that you are naked. The events of the previous night come rushing back.
You turn to stare at the bed behind you. Empty. You sit up and look at the window again. Long shadows are casted by the sun over your room. It is easily past noon.
No.
He couldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. Not like this. Not after last night.
I can’t mess this up with you.
Something burns behind your eyes, and you try not to focus on how hard your heart is hammering. Your legs feel sore, but you push past it and move off the bed, ignoring your discarded clothes from the night before on the floor to walk to the wardrobe where you had temporarily stored your stuff. You tug on the nearest T-shirt you can find along with sweatpants. Your focus is to be out the door as quickly as you can. You know their flight has left, but you need to see with your own eyes if their hotel rooms are cleared out. It was the only way to accept what had happened.
You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself not to cry. You can’t believe it, genuinely cannot imagine that Joshua would sleep with you and leave the next day. It is a whole new low. You want to beat yourself up for trusting him, but your heart screams the opposite. You are reeling, still unable to believe what has happened.
You hear the door behind you open, jolting you from your thoughts. You spin around, eyes widening at the sight before you.
Joshua blinks at you in confusion, staring at your shirt clad figure, holding a pair of pants in your hands.
“What are you doing out of bed?” He asks, moving closer to you after shutting the door. “Don’t you have a hangover? You should lay down.”
You flinch back when he reaches for you, and his face twists at the action. You can see hurt flit past his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“You-” Your mind races. “Your flight….”
He nods slowly. “I canceled this morning.”
Feeling returns to your legs again, processing his words. Your hand drops, and you let the pants fall to the floor. Your relief is so great that it makes you feel lightheaded. When you look up at Joshua again, his face has settled into a sad realization.
“You thought I left.” He states, voice small. You don’t say anything.
“You thought I-” His laugh is sharp, bitter. Something clenches at your chest. “You really think I would do that?”
You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I would never. I just…. panicked.”
Joshua heaves out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. A flowery smell hits your nose. You discern that he probably just stepped out to go shower and change. You almost kick yourself.
“I’m sorry.”
Joshua has the grace to crack a small smile, taking your forearm and leading you to the bed so you can sit. You notice a tall glass of water on the bedside table, as well as two round pills. Probably painkillers. Your heart squeezes. You hadn’t noticed them in your stressed condition. He picks them up and offers them to you, and you take them with a grateful smile.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t exactly have the best track record.”
You shake your head. “Nah, don’t blame yourself for this. These are my issues.”
He flops down next to you, leaning back on his hands. You down the water and place the glass back, turning to look at him. He’s already staring at you. You feel shyness creep up on you.
Joshua’s hand reaches up to brush over the skin of your neck, and you realize that he is tracing the scattered marks he had left there last night. Your face burns, but you have no time to react before he is kissing you, so soft you barely feel it, but you lean in regardless. You sigh into it, wishing it would go one forever, this fluttering feeling in your chest, telling you that everything is fine.
When Joshua pulls away, you can’t help but pout, eyes still closed, mentally willing him to come back. He laughs a bit, a melody to your ears, and you can’t help when your own lips perk up at the sound.
“So you’re not leaving?” You ask, letting him continue brushing his fingers over your neck and cheeks. Goosebumps rise on your arms.
“Not right now. But at some point, yes.” He looks up to meet your eyes. “I couldn’t leave us like this though. Not this time.”
His eyes catch the sunlight, small flecks of gold dancing in the deep, rich caramel. He reminds you of Bambi sometimes, when his lips tick up like this and his eyes turn into the shape of almonds. You wonder if he knows how beautiful you find him, bathed in golden light and looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. There’s a rush of emotions, and you feel like you’ve stepped into gently swishing water, lapping over your skin and enveloping you in a cool tranquility you have never experienced before.
You lean in, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “Good.”
ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ. if you wanna come, give my brother some! (part 2)
synopsis: the one where you and choso have been ghosting each other. which is expected, after all, hookups aren't that serious. right? after yuji itadori drags you to a rugby match, you find out just how serious choso kamo is.
part two of this!
content: MDNI. frat!rugby!choso kamo x reader, college au, modern au, rugby au, top reader x sub choso kinda maybe we hoenstly will never know, established dynamic, pining, explicit smut, established relationship by the end, size kink if you squint, breast play, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, switch choso, wall sex, locker room sex, slight dom choso? maybe? he tries. also crack humor per usual y'all know my damn rodeo by now.
wc: 3.5k
a/n: art by vah_arina! HELLO as promised, part 2... i feel kinda bad abt this one because i didn't really write part 1 with a series in mind but honestly?? it was kind of satisfying and maybe i'll do a part 3 i lowkirkenuinely have an idea. LMK EYE EMOJI. also i kind of have to lock in on school this week so next upload will most likely be porn no plot, but get ready to be TOUCHED bc mama chanel is gonna feed you guys. okay have fun reading this mwah
two weeks, three days, and fourteen hours.
you set your phone down on the library table. it had been just a little over two weeks since you’d snuck out of choso kamo’s bedroom at the sigma tau party before it died down completely. the reason? it was just a hookup. that’s it. plain and simple. yuji had asked you to talk to him, just talk! not go up to his room, play video games, and hookup!
he hadn’t texted you despite you putting your number in his phone. and you obviously weren’t going to text him first.
which was fine! totally, completely fine. you'd gotten what you came for: a frat party, bragging rights, and the personal satisfaction of making a six-foot-something rugby player whimper a little. you weren’t pressed, you weren’t checking your instagram story views obsessively, and you definitely weren’t posting cryptic songs in your instagram notes.
“what’s wrong?” yuji’s voice broke you out of your mind-wandering.
“nothing’s wrong,” you murmured in reply, quickly scanning your lecture notes to appear busy. your pink haired friend, who happened to be the younger brother of choso and your unspoken wingman, looked up from his laptop and gave you a look.
“you’ve been checking your phone once every two minutes. obviously something is wrong.”
you didn’t respond, instead scribbling down something furiously into your notebook. yuji only sighed. “look, he’s bad at communication. between labs and rugby practice, he never even responds to the tiktoks i send him anymore. not to mention he’s never really had a girlfriend.” your head snapped up so fast you almost got whiplash. “what? he’s never had a girlfriend?”
yuji shrugged. “he’s had hookups and shit, but nothing serious.”
you blinked, unsure how to take that information. “right… speaking of, has he… mentioned me at all?”
yuji’s lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile and failing miserably at hiding it. “whyyy?” he dragged out. “you miss him or somethin’?”
you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “oh my god, relax, i was literally just asking.”
“right,” yuji nodded. “so you were checking your phone fifty times in the past fifteen minutes because you were… what? tracking the time?” you kicked him under the table. “i didn’t check it fifty times!”
“you did,” he groaned, rubbing his shin. “it’s honestly getting kind of sad.”
“shut up before i kick you again.”
“oooo, someone’s got a cruuuushhh…” yuji teased, bringing his legs criss-cross applesauced in his chair so you couldn’t kick him again. you only shot him a glare in response and buried yourself back in your notes.
the thing was (and you’d never admit this aloud, let alone to yuji) maybe you did have a crush on choso. it had been a surprisingly good experience, better than any experience you had with hookups in the past. the man had played overwatch with you, taught you how to use the controller, he studied blood, and mothered a bonsai tree in his dorm. above all, in that moment before he’d fallen asleep, he’d looked at you like you’d personally hung the moon. maybe it had been the alcohol talking, or maybe you really did like him.
two days later, your phone was still dry. you’d been curled up in bed watching some shitty netflix romcom when a rapid knocking interrupted your bedrotting. "i need you to come to something on saturday," itadori smiled, materializing at your dorm room door with two cups of dining hall coffee like a golden retriever who'd learned to use a meal swipe.
you snatched the coffee out of his hand. “what thing.”
“the… um… homegamerugbymatch…” he murmured at volume one.
“the what?”
“the home game rugby match…?” he smiled nervously. “yes, choso will be there, but he invited me and i don’t wanna go alone and i think it would be a good opportunity for you to-”
“absolutely not.”
"--and it's outside so the weather's nice and i'll buy you wendy's after–"
"yuji."
he stopped and slumped, then just looked at you with those annoyingly sincere, adorable brown eyes. "just come watch the game. you don't even have to talk to him. you can pretend you don't know him. i won't say anything."
you stared into your dining hall coffee.
the thing about itadori was that he was genuinely, aggressively hard to say no to. not because he was manipulative- he was possibly the least manipulative person you'd ever met- but because it was like telling a puppy you couldn’t take it on a walk or give it a treat or throw the ball.
"wendy's after? on you?" you asked.
he beamed. "wendy's after. on me."
it was unusually hot for october. the sun was beating down on your skin, drenching you with sweat. you were squinting underneath your sunglasses, arms crossed, thoroughly unamused.
“this is some bullshit, yuji,” you scoffed. “we aren’t even winning.”
“chocolate frosties… french fries…” yuji reminded you, practically drooling at the thought of the fast food run you two were going to grab afterwards. “shit, they’re bringing cho out. CHOSO I NEED THISSSS!! MY TEAM IS KINDA POINT-LESS!!!!”
you wanted to melt into a puddle as yuji stood and flailed the foam pointer finger in the air, attracting the entire mid-sized stadium’s attention to you two. choso, in his six-foot-something glory, jogged onto the field, and you had to squeeze your thighs together on the aluminum bench. his tan skin was slicked with sweat, his dark purple-ish hair pulled into pigtails, and his muscles bulging. eye black was painted in thin strips over both eyes, from his forehead to mid-cheek, and across his nose bridge, each stripe pointed with little arrows. you tried not to remember how he sounded when he whined your name, or the feeling of him thrusting up into you when he got close.
his gaze scanned the cheering crowd, then landed on obnoxious yuji itadori next to you. then, it landed on you. you looked away so fast you almost got whiplash. what an interesting popcorn kernel on the bleachers, you thought while yuji smacked your arm. “dude, dude, dude, he’s staring right at you!!” he smiled, “you missed it!”
“yuji. shut. up.” you groaned as the whistle blew.
choso was fast for his size, aggressive in a way that his quiet off-field energy hadn’t prepared you for at all. every time the ball got into his hands something shifted in him, in the crowd, in the bench underneath you that yuji was vibrating on like an excited chihuahua.
“LET HIM COOK!!” yuji practically screeched, and you yanked him down by his sleeve. the pink haired boy buzzed with excitement, shaking you by your shoulders. “come onnnn be excited! we’re winning now!”
you sat there and crossed your arms silently, your gaze following choso behind your sunglasses.
jujutsu uni was up by a lot in the second half when choso scored again: a brutal, clean run that made the crowd erupt and made yuji lose what little remained of his sanity. and this time, when choso turned around, breathing hard, his dark hair coming loose from its ties, your eyes met and held for a beat too long.
he didn’t smile exactly. but something in his expression settled, like he’d been waiting to confirm something and now he had.
“okay, you’re both down bad,” yuji grinned, elbowing you. “you’re welcome, by the way.”
the final whistle blew and the jujutsu university spirits had won. choso was tackled by his teammates, all of them celebrating in a clump of sweat and cologne. the crowd, including yuji, surged.
okay. game over. wendy’s time. time for a chocolate frosty, fries, and more bedrotting in your dorm. you decided to get up and make a graceful exit, and you’d text yuji to tell him you were at the car. huffing as you shoved past cheering parents and students, you realized maybe after this yuji would finally stop trying to set you up with his brother. your sneakers thudded against the grass as you made a beeline for the exit.
“hey!”
you froze, then turned slowly in hopes that you’d compose yourself before seeing him. you didn’t, of course. once he was only two feet away from you and you could smell his musk, sweat, and cologne, you almost threw yourself at him.
“choso… hi,” you opted for an awkward greeting instead. “good game.”
he panted softly and scratched the back of his neck, tilting his head at you. “you were leaving?”
“um… yeah, yuji and i are gonna go grab some food…”
choso nodded. “…oh.” then he stood awkwardly, digging the toe of his sneaker into the grass. he looked at you for a moment. his chest was still rising and falling from the game, his jaw doing that thing where it worked slightly before he figured out what he wanted to say. “can you just come with me for a second? i want to talk to you.”
you blinked. “oh, um… y’know, yuji’s probably wai-“
“he’s not. he’s talking with the team,” he cut you off. “please.”
and there it was: the same “please” as before, same low, quiet delivery, same effect on your ability to make rational decisions. you let out a long breath through your nose.
“fine,” you said. “make it quick.”
his shoulders dropped like he’d been bracing for a no. “c’mon,” he led you back past the gates and through the tunnel underneath.
the locker room was empty, the rest of the team still outside celebrating, the overhead lights flickering slightly before settling. it smelled like grass and cheap body spray and something that was very distinctly male, which for some reason sent your pheromones into a rage. you swallowed your hormones, crossed your arms, and leaned against the row of lockers.
choso set his bag down on a bench and stood in front of you. he looked you up and down, then opted for “you look nice.”
you blinked. “thanks. um… you too?”
he laughed softly, gesturing to his grassy jersey, bruised knees, and sweaty skin. “you don’t have to lie.”
finally, you cracked a smile. “i’m not lying.”
he swallowed and nodded, then inhaled heavily. “i… listen. i’m sorry. i’m really bad at texting,” he started. “i had so many labs to do and then practice was crazy, and also… i didn’t even know if you wanted me texting you, which was stupid—“
“it was.”
“— and you have every right to be annoyed with me about that. by the time i knew i wanted to text you, it had been a few days, and then a week, then two weeks… it just felt stupid to text you after that long. i thought i’d missed my window or somethin’.”
you were still, and his heart beat rapidly. no, not matter how badly you didn’t want to admit it, you weren’t annoyed with him. okay, maybe the tiniest bit, but if anything, it had just been a test of patience.
you smiled and stepped closer. “if it makes you feel better, i checked my phone every two minutes instead of just texting you first. but… i didn’t wanna seem desperate. so… we’re both a little stupid, huh?”
he huffed out something close to a laugh. “yeah, i guess so.”
you looked at him for a moment. rugby jersey, grass stains, the little scar on the bridge of his nose. “so just text me next time,” you took his dog tag necklace in your fingers and gently pushed at his chest. he didn’t budge, only chuckled. “okay. i will, i promise.”
and then neither of you said anything, and the silence stretched out. you became very aware of how close you were standing to him, how he was looking at you, and how his hands had drifted to hover near your waist the same way they did last time, like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he was allowed to yet.
“congrats on winning the game,” you murmured, smiling coyly up at him. “i almost thought we were gonna lose.”
he shrugged and smirked. “yeah, well, once you put me out there, the other team is cooked. besides, i had to lock in since you were watching.”
you rolled your eyes. “oh, shut up.”
he laughed and finally let his hands rest on your waist. “make me.”
you didn’t hesitate, tugging him down by his dog tags. his lips crashed against yours, moving with needy urgency. he pressed you up against the back of a locker, wet kisses smacking against your lips. he was already making little noises and trying to not grind against you.
“w-wait, your teammates-“ you stammered against his lips.
“we got time. five minutes, i’d say,” he murmured, trailing his kisses downwards now. “besides, yuji will watch for us.”
damn. maybe he was an annoying little shit, but you had to admit, yuji was a solid wingman.
choso thumbed at one of the buttons on your blouse. “can i…?” he just barely whimpered, and he almost ripped your blouse apart when you nodded. he undid your bra without hesitation and immediately buried his face between your tits, squeezing them and kissing up and down your sternum.
“c-cho—“ your back arched against the cold metal, and he shut you up by latching onto a nipple and suckling, the sensation making your bud perk up in between his lips. “missed you so fucking bad…” he whined against your tit, staring up at you with those goddamn puppy eyes. his fingers fumbled with your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them in a hurry.
your head tilted back against the locker. even just this felt too good. you hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed his lips on your skin, or his fingers trailing up your inner thighs. the pads of his fingers rubbed over your dampened lace, then pulled it aside and swiped through your folds. “god damn…” he grunted, easing two fingers in with a wet squelch.
a whine bubbled up from the back of your throat. “choso, s-shit…” you groaned, nails digging into his bicep. he wasn’t this dominant last time, but you figured he was probably pent up after the game. dark hair brushed against your neck as he moved from your tit to your collarbone, sucking hickies into your skin while he pumped his fingers in and out.
“need t’fuck you. now. please…” he begged, whining against your saliva-slicked skin. “please, baby… been fuckin’ dying t’feel your pussy around my cock again, pleeasee…” aaaand there it was. maybe he could take control, but at the end of the day he was still a whiny, desperate, pussydrunk man.
you nodded, gently tugging at his hair. “cho, ‘m not gonna stop you…”
his shorts dropped to the floor in a second, followed by his boxers. the fabric of his jersey stretched as he picked you up, biceps flexing to keep you pressed up against the locker, your legs wrapped around his waist. he slammed into you without hesitation, practically crying into your neck. “sorry– ‘m sorry, i need- need t’feel you- fuck, ohmygod…” he panted and whined. “you’re so tight, s-so good…”
your nails dug into his back, brow knit as he slammed into you. you hadn’t considered how strong he really was, considering you’d topped him last time, and now each thrust was dragging a pathetic moan out of you. a tingling feeling spread from your cervix outwards, only intensifying each time his tip kissed it, making you twist his jersey between your fingers and squeeze his hips with your thighs.
“when i saw you in the stands,” his voice broke, panting with effort as he rutted into you. “f-fuck, i couldn’t believe- you really came out t’see me–” his pace picked up, slamming you into the cool metal over and over again. “i-i wan’ you– hic– t’come to my games–”
he was twitching inside of you, his sack slapping against the curve of your ass with each thrust. you could feel how close he was. “cho…” you gasped. “i’ll come t’all of ‘em. be your– f-fuck– personal cheerleader or some shit–”
that seemed to set him off. the image of you in the stands, waving some cute little pom-poms and cheering for him in a little skirt? his cock throbbed.
“fuck! h-hngh!!” he whined against your neck, spurting hot ropes of white inside of you. his load was so heavy it seeped out of your hole and fell to the floor of the locker room with a splat! you followed close behind, whining into his neck and arching your back off the locker.
he slumped against you, not dropping you just yet, but relaxing his muscles. he panted against your skin, then pressed wet, soothing kisses to where he’d sucked purple spots into. “you’re amazing…” he mused, smiling shyly when he pulled away.
you actually felt yourself blushing. “oh, stop.”
“no, ‘m serious…” he mumbled, letting you down carefully. he grabbed a tissue from his gym bag and cleaned himself off, pulled his bottoms back up, then grabbed a tissue for you. he carefully wiped at your inner thighs and sensitive pussy, then squatted and pulled your jeans up, nimbly zipping and buttoning them back up. “there.”
he hesitated, scratching the back of his neck as he stood. “were you, um… serious? about coming to my games?”
“and being your cheerleader?” you teased, smiling. “sure. i’ll get a little kamo jersey and do the eye black stuff ‘nd everything. i’ll get yuji to do it too”
he swallowed thickly, gulping down the lump in his throat. “right, with yuji. i meant, um… like… would you maybe wanna be my, like… girlfriend?” he struggled to get the words out, unable to look you in the eye. he opted for staring at the floor like he was asking the tile out instead of you. his face had heated up a bright pink color.
you stared at him for a moment. choso kamo, the best rugby player at your school, who studied blood, took care of plants, and played video games, basically your exact type… was asking you out. “like… girlfriend girlfriend?”
“i mean… yeah,” he lifted his head. “i mean- if you want to, that is. i just figured because you said you’d come to my games, but i know it’s only been twice and if that’s, like, weird, i–”
“choso,” you cut him off, stepping forward and fixing a tuft of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes, then you smiled. “yeah. i’ll be your girlfriend.”
his shoulders dropped like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. surprisingly, a smile spread across his face. a genuine, warm smile that lit up his dark, tired features. “... ok,” he nodded. “cool.”
“cool,” you agreed. he laughed, actually laughed, ducking his head so his hair fell forward. you hadn't heard him laugh like that before. you brushed his hair away again, and he got that look in his eyes again, like you were his moon and stars and every plant in his garden, like he wanted to put you under a microscope and learn everything about you.
“what?” you grinned.
“nothin’. just…” he cupped your face and kissed your lips, softly and tenderly, like this time it was for real. you were stunned for just a moment before responding, cupping his face and–
there was a clambering and muffled shouting noise you two hadn’t even noticed. not until it was too late, when the locker room doors swung open. “YO–”
you two jumped apart like you’d been electrocuted.
“OH SHIT—”
“KAMO?!”
“AGAIN?”
“bro couldn’t even wait until after the post-match huddle.” naoya smirked.
“shut the fuck up,” choso snapped, voice cracking just slightly as his face went bright red. he turned away immediately, dragging a hand down his face like he could physically wipe away the embarrassment. you were pretty sure your face matched his.
“we’re leaving,” you muttered quickly, grabbing his wrist before he could spiral any further. “yeah. okay,” he nodded, not even arguing, letting you pull him along as you both made a very quick, very awkward exit past a group of grinning rugby players.
“wrap it up next time, kamo!” a deep voice called after you.
“fuck you, todo!” choso called back.
yuji was waiting by his dumbass modded honda civic when you two came hurrying over, still holding hands. he looked up from his phone and immediately gave you two a shit-eating grin.
“well, well, well. that took a lot longer than a quick ‘good game.’”
“shut up, yuji,” you and choso both muttered.
“ew, now you two are in sync,” he grumbled as he hopped in and started the car up. he gave you two a look as you both slid into the backseat. “leaving me alone up here? i'm hurt...”
“just drive,” you sighed, and he shrugged, backing up and roaring the engine as he pulled onto the university’s main road. “fiiine. so now i’m your plug, wingman, and personal chauffeur.”
“and wendy’s is still on you,” you replied snarkily, draping your legs across choso’s lap, at which he blushed and gently thumbed your thigh. yuji caught it in his rear view mirror, and scowled, but didn’t protest.
“alright, but we need to set some ground rules here. rule number one: no fucking in the backseat.”
you and choso both blushed furiously. “yuji!”
“rule number two: you both share your fries with me. y’know, since i set this whole thing up… yeah, yeah, you’re welcome, by the way. again.”
choso chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, then reached forward to ruffle yuji’s hair with his free hand. “sorry, little bro. both of those rules are gonna get broken.”
tags ♡: (I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TAGLISTS WORK FOR SPECIFIC FICS ON TUMBLR IM SO SORRY PLS DON'T STONE ME, so i just tagged everyone who commented asking abt part 2. if you want to be removed or added pls lmk!!) @kittyrainbow1016 @stykook @yuunachuu @shortnsweetsstuff @rhirhihehe @devilyevsky @mrskamikazekaito @d0nk3y-k0ng @clydethespectre @dazaisfavgf @noname2246 @eyrelo13 and my number one cutiemootie ofc @teenytinyparade2
PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ
𝐌⛧𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑#𝟕 — 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢
⛧ 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: nov 30th, 10:37pm
⛧ 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: garters + assistant manager! reader + pleasure dom! higuruma+ cunnalingus + fingering + office sex + overworked!higuruma + creampie + shower sex + squirting + use of squirt as coffee creamer + public sex + standing sex + fluff + higuruma courts you like an old man jdfbhsdb + higuruma folds you like a pancake + reader is a bit delulu and spirals lol.
⛧ 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 6390 (~4.5K of it is pure smut lol)
𝐚𝐧: sorry this took so long! i ended up changing the theme a bit on this one cause using the same got so boring to me after a while, ya know? i dont think ill do that again for a series if its not the same story. art creds: both @/reaperpie
𝐧𝐧𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
If this goes on any longer, you're going to have to apply for flood insurance.
For your panties.
And for what? Simply standing beside Higuruma?
Yup, that'll do it.
Mere proximity to the man who once had you bent over the very desk he's chained to now.
You busy yourself at the file cabinet, fighting to keep your breathing even. But it doesn't stop your eyes from drifting to him—his pen moving and brow furrowed while fully consumed in drafting a judgment entry.
He won. Well, the case got dismissed.
Same difference.
You're just relieved it's finally over.
It's been over a month since this case consumed him and consequently also over a month since you last had his fingers buried inside you.
Shit.
You can still feel the phantom strokes of them curling deep enough to rearrange your guts and dragging out moans you didn't know could be made in pleasure. "There. Right there, babydoll. Let it all go for me."
And you did—skirt bunched, stockings torn and your slick dripping down his hand onto cuffs he hadn't bothered to roll back—
"Grab me the folder with the October 3rd case files, please, dear."
Higuruma's request snaps you out of your daydreams—body jerking as heat burns your cheeks.
"O-Of course!"
You know exactly where to go, at least. Every misplaced document, every obscure reference—you've long since mapped the chaos of Higuruma Hiromi's filing system.
Locating the folder within seconds, the brief contact of his fingers grazing yours as you hand it over makes you clench.
"Thank you, doll."
Higuruma doesn't look up, his eyes are already scanning the document. Clearly your touch doesn't stir anything in him.
Right.
You get it. You do.
It's not cruelty—just a single-minded determination from a habitually overworked and underfucked attorney moonlighting as a sorcerer.
Higuruma is well practiced in putting his own needs to the side for others, his entire life has been dedicated to it—you can't bear to fault him for that.
So you retreat. Back to the sofa in the corner of his office, the sting tucked behind a tired smile. Higuruma isn't the only one who knows how to compartmentalize.
Still, the thought lingers—is there even a point in staying?
He doesn't need you. Not really.
Higuruma managed for years as a public defender before the Culling Games. He's more than capable of grabbing his own files.
Besides, it's not like the jujutsu higher-ups assigned you here for your legal expertise. The "Executive Legal Assistant" line is just civilian window dressing— a polite way of saying leash.
Your real title? Assistant Manager of Jujutsu Tech.
A handler for a newly ranked special-grade sorcerer too stubborn to give up his day job entirely.
Higuruma compromised just enough to move to private practice, but still takes most cases pro bono after a reduced retainer.
He knows exactly why you're here—and he's never once made you feel lesser for it.
Which makes the guilt so much worse. He's buried in this case: a scholarship kid bullied into a false confession, parents who scraped together everything for his retainer.
Meanwhile, you're sulking because he won't touch you.
God, his noble to a fault principles make you damn near feral though.
Pouting from your spot on the sofa, you steal another glance at Higuruma.
You decided long ago it's enormously unfair for a man to wear exhaustion as well as he does. The warm glow of the desk lamp traces his profile—his sharp nose, strong jaw, the thick column of his throat and the strain visibly knotted across his broad shoulders.
The same coiled tension he'd carried that night a month ago that obliterated all lines of professionalism.
It’d been straight off a mission. Higuruma dealt with dual first-grade curses, nasty work—and then went right back to his desk. But he was wound too tight and although determined to finish his work, could not keep his fingers from digging into the crook of his neck.
When you offered to help him, you were only being considerate.
A friendly massage. Honestly, that's all it was.
Higuruma even tried to refuse you but one firm press into his stiff muscles and he groaned. The sound was purely guttural, vibrating through your palms and straight to your cunt.
Immediately all protests silenced as his head drooped forward, breath going ragged. His grunts continued and by the time you fully worked out the second knot, you were dripping.
It took everything in you to steady your hands, to hide how much his pleasure was affecting you. But then you slipped—and a soft, needy sound fumbled out of you, impossible to swallow back. Your breath fanned warm across his neck, scattering goosebumps along his nape.
Everything after that blurred together.
His hands hauling you into his lap.
His mouth devouring yours.
The expensive oak desk slamming against the wall as he drove into you like a man possessed, your name caught between his teeth like a prayer.
You don't remember how it ended—only that eventually, Higuruma untangled himself from you and led you wordlessly to the private shower attached to his office.
One of the few perks of private practice he'd actually come to appreciate.
He washed you with reverence—slow, thorough, like you were something precious. And then he ruined that image entirely by dropping to his knees and lewdly slurping his cum out of your cunt like it was his last meal. Nose buried in your clit, tongue pushing deep, water pouring down his face. He was half-drowning—between the shower and your squirt—and couldn't have cared less.
Legs like goo, you still don't know how you remained standing through it all.
You were still catching your breath as you toweled off when he murmured something about feeding you, fingers tracing your hip.
Twenty minutes later: you were at an all-night izakaya, just the two of you.
Your first date, technically. Confirmed by the way he slid into the booth beside you instead of across—his hand finding your thigh like it belonged there. It never left. Only crept higher, fingertips ghosting over your clit through thin silk while you pretended to study the menu.
The owner lingered too long taking your order, teasing you for something as plain as eggs and furikake rice, his tone edging toward flirtation as he challenged if your date was too cheap to buy you a real meal. You stumbled over your defense of Higuruma as Higuruma's knuckle replaced his fingertips, grinding against your clit.
That's when you learned how possessive Higuruma Hiromi could be.
"That man is testing my patience," Higuruma murmured the second the owner turned away. His mouth barely moved against your ear, voice terrifyingly calm, knuckle still working slow circles through your folds. "Should I sit you right here in my lap? Let him watch you come undone, doll, hm?"
You were already plenty undone though—your slick leaking onto beat-up vinyl seat. “Don’t worry, I won’t. This noisy girl attracts too much unnecessary attention—” Higuruma leans forward to shield you from view as more patrons walk in “—we don’t need a public indecency charge, hm?”
He wasn't wrong. The slick click-click of your pussy squelches were already obscene—a few patrons' eyes flickered around, searching for the source—and it only got louder as he nudged past the lace, stroking you wider, fingertip dipping teasingly into your core.
“H-Hiro…”
With a sly quirk of his lip, he pulls back, reaching casually for his coffee before slipping the mug under the table.
“Alright, alright. At least allow me some of your cream for my coffee as a consolation, dear.”
He paid, of course. You tried to protest, but it's hard to argue when you can barely stand—legs still trembling from an hour of relentless teasing.
He'd ordered three cups of coffee total. Every single one required a fresh dollop of your cream.
By the time you reached his condo, you needed him desperately again. Engine off, keys still in the ignition—you climbed into the backseat and sank onto his cock. You rode him until dawn crept through the fogged glass and your legs gave out.
He invited you to stay but you were possibly in enough trouble already if your family noticed you hadn’t returned. Working late was understandable—but there’d be hell if you missed breakfast without prior notice.
That was a Saturday.
Come Monday, this case landed on his desk, and he hadn't touched you since.
Instead?
Fresh flowers rotating through the vase on your desk.
The occasional delivery of white strawberries.
Macarons from the French bakery Higuruma pretended to overbuy when you knew he only bought them for you.
The closest to real intimacy you got all month were stolen moments where he’d sweep your hand into his, lips brushing your knuckles when he was certain no one else could see.
Sure these breadcrumbs were enough to keep you hoping but not nearly enough to keep you sane.
Who the hell courts you like a Regency novel heroine—after you’ve already spent a night all over each other fucking like rabbits?!
You don't think even Elizabeth Bennet suffered this kind of agonizing tension—she certainly didn't have the memory of Mr. Darcy's tongue swirling in her cunt to keep her up at night.
But what could you do? You couldn't seem needy or immature—not to a man a decade your senior. Not if you wanted this to mean something.
You were doing fine. Keeping it together. Right up until last week.
Junior lawyers crowded the watercooler, loud and willfully oblivious to the fact that women also use the break room—braying about No Nut November like overgrown frat boys comparing notes. You kept your back to them, cursing the espresso machine to hurry the hell up.
Relief flooded you when Higuruma appeared in the doorway.
Finally, an escape.
Then he opened his mouth.
"Some of us don't find distractions quite so difficult to set aside when the work matters." His gaze swept over them. "I'd recommend you develop the same discipline, gentlemen."
Distractions.
You'd previously told yourself this case had forced you both into accidental celibacy. No Nut November participants by circumstance, not choice. But the way he'd said it—distractions—so cool, so clinical, like sexual urges were just clutter to tidy away.
You'd think a man who fucked you that desperately would be crawling back for more?!
But he hadn't.
And that distance made you wonder if you'd gotten it all wrong. Maybe the gifts weren't courtship—just consideration. The polite gestures of a man who'd used you and wanted to keep things friendly on the rare occasion he needed an indulgence.
Like a work wife with benefits.
The fact the office cleared out hours ago and he’s hardly looked at you for more than a few seconds convinces you of this more and more, the thoughts spiraling as—
"You know I hate to keep you late." The words yank you out of your head. Right. You're still here. He's still here. "If you need to leave, dove, I can manage."
Your stomach drops. Higuruma asked you to stay tonight, so you thought maybe—
"No, I'm fine. Really." Unconvincing, even to yourself.
"Mm." He nods—eyes already back on his files.
Dismissed in a syllable.
Trying to push aside the hurt, the files in your lap blur as you pretend to read them, legs crossing and uncrossing, the leather groaning beneath your restless shifting. Now on top of everything else, your feet are screaming—new stilettos, three inches higher than normal.
You'd dressed to kill all month hoping a part of him would be superficial enough notice.
Wincing, your arches are aching from your red-bottoms. You're starting to suspect it's less about the lacquer and more about the crime scene your heels will leave behind if your arches just so happen to split in two. Still, they make your legs look sinful—and you'll plead guilty to first-degree pick me-ism if it gets Higuruma to look up from his goddamn papers for more than a minute.
"Take them off.”
Flustered, your eyes snap up to see Higuruma appraising you over the document in his hands.
When did he start watching you again?
"Your shoes, dove."
Higuruma follows up when you don’t respond, faint amusement lingering on his words.
"It's fine, really—" You wave off his concern, gesturing vaguely at your feet. "They're still new. Haven't broken them in quite yet."
"You've been wincing for the last twenty minutes." Higuruma’s voice is firm but not unkind as he regards you. His eyes linger on your legs long enough for you to notice this time.
"Take them off."
"I don't want to be unprofessional—"
"It's nearly midnight." The corner of his mouth twitches a sly smile. "And…I think we're well past professional civilities, don't you?"
Are we?
You swallow the retort as Higuruma examines another folder on his desk. Part of you wants to be a big brat about it—to punish him for ignoring you. You want to crawl onto his desk force his eyes onto you.
But the thought alone makes you shy away. You're much too proud for that.
So you ease the shoe off slowly, quietly, propping your stockinged foot on the sofa's edge to reach the second strap. Your wool skirt rides up your thighs in the process—but you're almost certain he's not watching anyway.
Except you hear papers fluttering and when you glance up, Higuruma's pen is frozen mid-stroke.
His gaze isn't on your feet.
It's fixed on your thighs, more specifically, the black lace of your garters clipped to stockings that have your soft flesh swelling over them.
His throat bobs as he white-knuckles the pen in his grasp.
For a long moment, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Just looks at you as his eyes trail lower and the proof of how needy you've been for him all night is evident in the way your panties clinging to every fold.
Higuruma resembles a man who's been presented a ten-course meal after a strict fast.
Yet his next words still surprise you.
"You've been punishing yourself."
"What?"
"For my attention. You've been wearing new heels, every night this week." Higuruma’s tone is stripped of its usual composure although he's still clinical in his assessment. "You usually wear the round-toed black pair. Two inches, cushioned sole. These—" His gaze flicks to the discarded shoes, then back to you. "Your legs don't need the extra height, doll. Never did."
Heat floods your cheeks. He'd noticed?!
This whole time, drowning in case files, barely sparing you a glance—
"The blouse is new too." Higuruma notes, almost to himself, like he’s reading off the facts in a case file. "Tuesday it was the silk one. Wednesday, the black skirt with the small slit at the back."
Your heart slams against your ribs as he continues to recall your outfits.
"I-I thought you weren't paying attention."
"I wasn't giving you any." Higuruma’s mouth twists—bitter and self-directed in his ire. "That's not the same thing."
"It's okay. You've been busy—"
"Don't."
The word is soft but final as he rises from his desk walking over to you on the sofa.
"Don't make excuses for me—or I'll hate myself even more than I already do..."
Higuruma drags a hand down his face as he deflates with a tired exhale. "Watching you walk in every morning looking like that. Knowing exactly what sounds you make when I—"
He stops. You watch him swallow it down—whatever he was about to say, whatever he was about to do. His eyes have gone nearly black, looking like he may pounce on you at any moment.
"I couldn't only give you ten minutes between depositions. Couldn't touch you the way you deserve and then casually ask you to hand me a file or drive me to the next mission like nothing happened."
Your head is spinning at the revelations, wanting to say something but you are at an utter loss.
"So I kept my distance." He confesses. "Thought if I could just finish this case—I could give you a night where I could take my time with you. Take you apart properly, then put you back together after."
Higuruma is standing over you now, his presence like a physical weight. "Like a fool, I was so consumed with self-martyrdom I never stopped to consider if I was forcing yours."
You move to stand, to reach for him—
“Stay.”
It's less command than it is a contrite supplication.
"Stay right there, doll," Higuruma repeats—and the crack in his voice betrays him—as does the tent in his slacks.
The sound he makes when he catches you staring is barely human—a low, rumbling growl. You watch his cock twitch harder against his slacks.
You search for his eyes, but his focus is locked on your tongue sweeping across your lips.
Higuruma loosens his tie, slowly as his eyes begin their descent—down your throat, your breasts, your stomach—until it lands between your thighs and stays there. Fixed on the wet patch darkening your lace.
He crouches before you, hands finding your calf. His thumb strokes the curve of the stocking covered muscle with reverence, he's memorizing the shape of you not only by sight but touch as well.
"Bring the other up." You've never heard him sound like this—barely holding on. "Y-Yes, just like that. Now lay back—hips forward."
Pulse hammering, you sink deeper into the cushions, propping your leg up as his hands find your hips, guiding them forward, bunching your skirt around your waist.
"Good girl."
Your pussy is fully on display now and Higuruma makes a wounded noise as his eyes rake over the panties that have given up pretending to hold in your swollen folds long ago.
"Christ."
The word punches out of him. His fingers skim the lace edge—barely grazing—and still come back glistening with your slick.
Higuruma swallows hard. "It's criminal the way my girl's been hiding all this under those prim little suits."
His girl.
Higuruma lifts one of your legs, extending it slowly until your stockinged foot rests flat against his chest. His heart pounds beneath your arch, the beat syncing with the pulsating ache of your clit.
His hands work down your leg, firm and thorough, pressing into sore muscles until pleasure bleeds through the ache. Your head tilts back as you stifle a moan and his grip tightens in response.
"I know I don't deserve it, dove, but at least allow me to hear you while I worship you, my dear."
Simultaneously, his thumbs dig into the ball of your foot, and the tension you've been carrying all night unspools in a single, embarrassingly loud whimper.
From the devious look on his face, it's exactly what he wanted.
Higuruma presses a kiss to your Achilles—another apology—and you shiver. He sets your foot down gently, repeats the ritual on the other side. Just as slow. Just as thorough.
A knowing smirk tugs at his lips as he guides your legs up, stockinged feet sliding over his shoulders until you're spread open before him. He leans forward, nuzzling into the fold of your knee—and the scrape of his stubble makes your hips jerk.
“You know, at times I swore I could smell how badly she missed me.” He murmurs into your stockings. “Right through your pretty little skirts."
Higuruma’s actions follow his words, tracing a slow path with his aquiline nose from your knee to your pussy. "Mmm. I was right. She's been weeping so sweetly through your panties like a needy little thing for weeks, hasn't she?"
Your whines answer for you.
"What about No Nut November?" you whisper, breathless, raising your hips to push his nose in deeper. "I wouldn't want to be a distraction..."
Higuruma inhales deeply, savoring your raw scent. "Never." He exhales breathlessly.
"Everything else has been a distraction from you." His voice drops to gravel, vibrating through you.
You haven’t even savored the admission properly before there's a sharp snap and his teeth bite through one of your garters, tugging the ruined elastic away with a growl before repeating the action.
"Please, Hiro—" You mewl, thighs trembling.
He looks up at you with those dark, knowing eyes. Exhausted and hungry in equal measure.
"This is part of my sentence, doll." His thumb strokes the crease of your thigh, maddeningly gentle. "Trust me—it's far more agonizing for me."
You doubt that.
But you don't dare contradict him—not when there's something sadistic lurking behind all that apology. Something that tells you a part of him would get off on deny you just a tiny bit longer.
His tongue drags flat over your panties, pressing wet fabric into your slit, sucking your slick through the lace like he's trying to wring every drop out.
"These are in my way." He doesn't bother with his teeth this time—just hooks his fingers in the lace and tears.
Riiiip.
You squeal as cool air hits your bare cunt for half a second before his mouth replaces it. The second his tongue splits your folds, every other thought dissolves.
Your head falls back against the cushions as his tongue drags through your folds with long, broad strokes. Like he's been dreaming about this exact taste for a month and finally, finally gets to indulge.
His lips seal over your clit and suck, hard enough that your hips buck off the sofa. His hands dig into the meat of your thighs, pinning you open, holding you still as they quake in his grasp.
"Told you to stay."
The command growled against your cunt, but your body isn’t listening, still squirming as he dips into your entrance, gathering your slick before dragging it back up to your clit—then he spits, letting your own arousal drip onto your swollen nub before his mouth descends again.
"H-Hiro!"
Higuruma doesn't answer.
He's much too occupied with his repentance. Tongue extended, his face is pulled back just enough so you can see the exact pattern being cruelly branded on your sensitive bud as he roughly flicks under your clitoral hood, pushing it back. It's methodical and devastatingly thorough—like he's building a case with his mouth and your orgasm is the verdict.
Though for a defense attorney, the way he's attacking your cunt feels suspiciously prosecutorial.
Your hips tilt up, desperate to ride his face, and he lets you—lips releasing your clit only to plunge his tongue straight into your core, rimming your entrance before fucking into you rapidly. Every thrust grinds his nose further into your clit. His hands find your ass, gripping soft flesh, spreading your cheeks as he lifts your hips to help you rock against his mouth.
This man would happily perish between your thighs.
You're certain of it now.
His own broken groans echo inside your cunt, high off the fact of simply giving you pleasure—and that's what sends you over. You cum hard, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the sofa as the orgasm tears through you in waves, ecstasy coursing in your veins.
But he doesn't stop.
His tongue keeps working, lapping up your release, his face slick and shining with you. When you try to squirm away—oversensitive and trembling—his grip tightens on your thighs, dragging you back to his mouth.
"I'm not done with you yet, doll."
The words come out ragged, muffled against your puffy cunny as Higuruma's cheek rests against your inner thigh, lips swollen and spit-slick, still connected to your pussy by a thin string of your arousal. He's panting—actually panting—looking genuinely pained by the fact that he has to stop to breathe oxygen instead of burying himself deeper in your folds.
You don't think you could deny Higuruma anything like this.
"One more, Hiro." His breathing quickens at your permission. "T-Then fuck me. Please."
Higuruma doesn't bother with words. Just action—diving back into your depths like a man possessed.
One of his hands releases your thigh, finds your wrist and drags your fingers into his hair.
"Pull." The command is muffled but unmistakable.
You oblige—or rather, you're forced to when his teeth graze your clit and your nails dig into his scalp on instinct. Higuruma growls in pleasure, the sound rumbling through your core.
He has to be aching. Hard enough to hurt, trapped in those slacks. You can't see him from this angle, but you wouldn't be surprised if he's leaking through his slacks from the way he's moaning into your pussy, drunk on the taste of you. A pool of your creamy juices has already gathered on the leather beneath you, obscene and growing in size by the second.
Delirious words spill from his lips between licks—praise and filth whispered directly into your cunt like prayers.
"So sweet—"
A broad lick from entrance to clit.
"So pretty—"
His tongue fucks into you, curling.
"—my divine atonement—"
Your slick coats his chin, his cheeks, drips down his jaw, and he only gets hungrier. More desperate. More crazed. Every gush of arousal you give him is an aphrodisiac—he laps it up like a man dying of thirst, shows no signs of stopping, no signs this will be your last orgasm, only growing more feral as you unravel beneath him.
"P-Pleaseeeee ohh—!"
The second climax builds faster than the first—sharper, meaner, your whole body wound tight as a wire. His tongue relentlessly assaults your clit while two fingers sink into your cunt without warning, crooking against that spot inside you, and your vision whites out.
"That's my pretty girl."
Higuruma pulls back just enough to let you ride out the aftershocks, fingers still drawing merciless circles on your oversensitive clit.
Somewhere behind the roar of blood in your ears, you hear a belt click as fabric shifts. You force your eyes to focus—watching his slacks fall as he stands, his cock springing free—flushed and heavy, bobbing as his cockhead smeared with pre drips down the length of him.
Fuck. Somehow Higuruma looks even bigger than you remember, thick enough to make your whole body clench with want and fear in equal measure.
He kneels, dragging your hips to the edge. His hand wraps around himself, stroking, and you hold your breath—finally, finally—
But he just slaps his cock against your clit. Tap, tap, tap. Precum and spit and slick mixing obscenely
You squirm, clearly overstimmed which draws a smug chuckle from him.
"Is it terrible that I enjoy teasing you?"
"Hiro—" You whine, hips jerking toward him. You pout up at him sweetly—and watch his cock twitch in response. His resolve visibly cracking.
"Yes, doll. Say it again." Higuruma's cock notches at your entrance, pressing but not pushing. "Scream it this time, for me yes?"
You expect more teasing, more torture.
Instead, he snaps his hips forward in one brutal thrust—splitting you open until he's buried to the hilt.
You scream his name so loud you don't even hear it leave your throat.
You might have cum again—you only know because of the string of expletives spilling from Higuruma's mouth, his composure finally shattered.
"F-Fuck, dove—" He's panting, forehead pressed to yours. "She's choking me. You need to relax." A strained laugh escapes him. "She feels like a noose—and I'd prefer to avoid capital punishment tonight, if it's all the same to you."
You can't answer, tears streaming as you gasp from him filling you so completely. Higuruma leans down and licks them up too, tongue tracing the salt tracks on your skin. You're starting to think he's genuinely obsessed with your bodily fluids.
Higuruma pecks your lips gently, letting you adjust.
"Have you not been touching yourself?" His voice is softer now, curiously teasing as he admires the state simply sticking his cock in has reduced you to. "Have you been waiting for me all this time?"
"I w-wasn't g-gonna" You swallow, cunt fluttering around him. "B-But it wasn't enough. It wasn't y-you."
"'Wasn't gonna', huh?" He mocks you, his rich baritone tickling your senses as his thumb returns to your clit to flick over her languidly.
"Naughty girl." He kisses the corner of your mouth. "But I suppose I'll argue a plea deal in your defense this once. It was my fault after all for neglecting you."
Your thighs burn from being spread around his broad hips, the sheer weight of him pressing you into the sofa, his knees braced on the floor. When you finally loosen around him—walls relaxing, body surrendering to him—he slips his tongue into your mouth as his hips begin to move.
Small thrusts at first. Micro-movements. Like he can't bear to have even an inch of himself outside the warm embrace of your slick walls.
Then his hand presses down on your lower belly, and your eyelashes flutter as your eyes roll back.
"There it is." He groans, grinding deeper. "Can you feel how she makes room for me?"
Higuruma doesn't give you the chance to answer before he picks up the pace, hand staying pressed to your stomach, savoring every twitch of your muscles. The exact movement of your guts shifting around him—how your body so lovingly allows him to ruin her from the inside out.
His teeth find your bottom lip, biting down as his other hand slides up to your throat, fingers wrapping around the column of your neck. He squeezes lightly, rhythmically, matching the desperate clench of your pretty pussy around him.
Higuruma wants to cum with you. But he can feel you're already there—already tipping over the edge—
"Hiro... 'm gonna—"
"Oh?" He doesn't slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder. "Without me, dear? How inconsiderate." His thumb presses into the side of your throat. "Go ahead. But I won't be granting leniency. You cum now and then you're going to keep coming until I say stop."
"P-Pleaseeee, m-mercyyy—" You're babbling, desperate. The word slips out before you can stop it: "—Judge."
Higuruma almost cums right then and there, hips stuttering.
"Oh, you're pushing it now, princess."
Your doe eyes blink up at him, and somewhere beneath the desperation, you find the brat in you after all.
"What's wrong, your honor?" The words drip from your lips like honey, saccharine and deliberately provocative. "Did I say something I shouldn't have?"
Higuruma's grip tightens on your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who's in control here. His hips still, cock buried deep, twitching inside you.
"Careful, dove."
You clench around him deliberately.
Something in him snaps. No more warnings.
Higuruma pulls out and you're immediately feeling the loss of him—but before you can protest, his hands are hooking under your thighs and hauling your ass up off the sofa.
Drenched in your combined mess, and his grip slips once before he adjusts, hoisting you higher. Your legs end up over his shoulders, folded nearly in half, and you have nothing—no wall behind you, no leverage, nothing to hold onto but the thick column of his neck.
Completely at Higuruma's mercy.
Your nails dig into his skin on instinct—the only anchor you have.
"There we go." He groans at the bite of pain, positioning his cock at your entrance. "Hold on tight, princess."
He slams you down onto him in one brutal drop.
You scream.
The angle is devastating—deeper than before, impossibly deep, his cock splitting you open while gravity does the rest. You have no control here. Can't set the pace, can't shift positions—can't do anything but cling to him and take it. Every thrust jolts through your entire body, punching the air from your lungs.
Your nails rake down his neck and he hisses, but his eyes roll back in pleasure, not pain.
"Harder." He commands. "Mark me up. I want to feel you for days."
You're too fucked-out to process it fully—is he sadistic or masochistic? Both? Does it matter when he's bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing, arms flexing as he lifts and drops you with terrifying ease? You're nothing but a vessel now, suspended and speared utterly for his pleasure.
"I'm going to take care of you, princess. Take care of this pretty pussy." His palms grip your ass, fingers digging in white-knuckled, desperate for leverage as he fucks up into you. "Going to make sure she never goes hungry again. Every morning. Every night. Whenever she asks for it."
"Hiro—" You're sobbing, pleasure cresting unbearably high, just gasps and moans punched out of you with every thrust. "Please, I need to—I can't—"
"Not yet." Higuruma's jaw clenches, fighting his own release. "Hold it."
"I-I c-c-can't—" Your walls are fluttering around him, clenching involuntarily, and you see stars at the edges of your vision. "P-Please, please, J-Judge, I'll do anythinggggg—"
"Anything?" His hips stutter at the title, cock kicking inside you. "Dangerous words, doll. I'll hold you to them."
His grip on your ass tightens, nails biting into the soft flesh now—mirroring what you're doing to his neck. The wet slap of skin echoes obscenely through the office, your slick dripping down his thighs, pooling on the hardwood beneath you.
"From now on—" He's losing rhythm, thrusts turning erratic. "—this pussy gets what she needs... you'll come to me? You'll tell me exactly what she needs?"
"Y-Yes—y-yes!!! Jusss p-pleaseeee—"
"Every ache—" A brutal thrust. "—every need—" Another. "—you bring it to me. Understood?"
You're babbling incoherent confirmations, head lolling back, eyes rolling into your skull.
"Cum, then. Give it to me, babydoll—"
The orgasm tears through you like a live wire—blinding, violent, your pussy clamping down so hard he chokes on a moan. Your nails draw blood on his neck and he growls, burying himself to the hilt—
And then you feel it.
The first hot pulse of him flooding your insides. His cock kicking against your walls, swelling impossibly thicker as he empties himself into you. Rope after rope of cum painting your clenching cunt, so deep you swear you feel the warmth in your throat.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. The noises of your breathing filling the space.
His cock is still buried inside you, softening but not quite soft, and you can feel his cum leaking out around the seal of your bodies—dripping down your thighs, onto the floor, adding to the mess you've already made of his office.
Higuruma's forehead drops to yours, hips grinding through the aftershocks, working every last drop into you. "You feel that? How much I saved for you, dove?"
You can only whimper in response. You do feel it—the obscene heat spreading through your core, the way his cum has nowhere to go with his cock still plugging you full. When he shifts his hips, grinding deeper, some of it squelches out around the seal of your bodies.
"Taking it so well—" His voice is shot, barely above a rasp. "Milking every drop—good girl—"
Your legs are shaking. Your whole body is shaking.
"Hiro..." You're slurring, drunk on him. "Can't... can't feel my legs..."
A breathless laugh rumbles through his chest. "Mm." He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the tear tracks still drying on your skin. Unbearably tender after everything he just did to you. "That's what happens when you taunt a man who's been starving for a month, doll."
"Worth it," you giggle.
"Brat." But there's only fondness in his voice.
Slowly, carefully, he shifts his grip—one arm hooked under your ass, the other cradling your back as he finally lets your legs slide off his shoulders. You wince at the change in angle, cunt clenching involuntarily around him, and he groans.
"Easy." His voice is strained. "Keep doing that and we won't make it to the shower."
You're tempted to test him. But exhaustion wins out, your body going limp against his chest as he carries you toward the bathroom.
"Let's get you cleaned up." His lips brush your temple. "Then I'll take you home, hm?"
You pout. After everything—after a month of waiting, of longing, of convincing yourself you were nothing but a convenient release—you're not ready for this to end.
Not ready to go back to your empty apartment and pretend tonight didn't change everything.
Higuruma catches the look on your face and chuckles softly.
"I mean my home," he clarifies, nudging the bathroom door open with his shoulder. "We can clean up properly there. I'll cook you breakfast." He sets you down on the counter, and you shiver at the cold marble against your bare skin—but he doesn't pull out, not yet, his half-hard cock still nestled inside you like he can't bear the separation either. "Then I can worship you the way you deserve. Properly. Without a deadline or a case file waiting on my desk."
Your heart stutters. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and his eyes—god, his eyes are so soft now. Tired and tender and looking at you like you're something precious. "I should have done this a month ago. Should have made time. Should have told you what you are to me instead of assuming you'd wait."
"I would have." The admission slips out before you can stop it. "Waited, I mean. For you. I would have."
Something fractures in his expression. He doesn't say anything—just pulls you closer, pressing his lips to your forehead like he's trying to seal a promise there.
"You shouldn't have had to. No more waiting. No more silence. From now on, you tell me what you need—and I'll give it to you. Understood?"
"Understood, counselor."
His lips twitch. "Careful. You keep using titles and we'll never leave this bathroom."
You grin, exhausted and fucked-out and deliriously happy. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Both." He kisses you then—tongue gliding against yours, your taste still lingering. When he pulls back, his cock twitches inside you, thickening again.
"Definitely both."
"Mm." You pull back, pretending to consider. "I don't know. A month is a looooong time. I might need extensive compensation."
"Is that so?" Higuruma quirks a brow.
"Yup! Emotional damages. Pain and suffering." You tick them off on your fingers. "Loss of consortium—"
"You don't know what half those terms mean."
"I know what I want them to mean." you say slyly, clenching around him once more.
Realistically, you don't think either of you are leaving this office tonight.
𝐚𝐧: ahhh i love writing higuruma as an EATERRRRRRRR. this one was a lil bit more angsty, well not really angsty, reader is just super horny and it's making her a delulu pick me cjksdbfkjvhsb. i mean the way he dicked her down tho, who could blame her? lol this one was a bit more cute endings than im used to writing. i feel like its a bit cheesy but w/e, we ball. im tired of editing it hfdjkvhbf. so also sorry for any errors or duplicate sentences as i reworked alot of this fbsdhbsd.
𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼? then please 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 or 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! you can also join my gen. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 or contribute to the 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨$𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐝.
Synopsis. The Scent Companionship Program is an all-inclusive, 100% satisfaction-guaranteed solution for the more…carnal needs of unpaired alphas and omegas. Just send a swatch of your scent! It also comes with compensation for your time, and a soft-spoken, 6’2 prime alpha who wants more than just your scent. He wants you.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!omega!reader, aIpha!Choso, OMEGAVERSE AU, heats, rúts, pheromones, falling in love, CEO!Choso, rags to riches, office gossip, tension, pánty-steaIing, he goes FÉRAL, oraI (fem rec.), pússydrúnk Choso, face-sítting, fíngering, spítting, matíng presses, riding, makeshift gágs (for him), first times (Choso’s), making it fit, tummy buIges, manhandIing, rough s, p talking, slight chokíng, implied marathon, overstím, headIocks, knots, matíng bites, getting together, happy ending.
Word count. 16.2k (woah??)
A/N. Think this is the longest fic I’ve ever written babygirls-
“Alright so- female omega, unpaired, heat passed last month-” The brown-haired woman rattles off as she helps you sit down on the examination bed, her clinical doctor’s coat flapping with each stride. You think you could make out the faint gleam of ‘Dr. Ieri Shoko’ on her coat pocket. “-healthy essence.”
“Yay?” You say, feeling slightly dazed inside the stark-white office that you’d been led to. It was more formal than you initially thought it’d be.
And Shoko nods seriously, “I’ll be swatching your pheromones now.” She cracks her rubber gloves, making you flinch, and holds up two round cotton pads. “Don’t worry. It won’t sting, but your scent glands might feel a bit sensitive.”
“I can handle it.” You grin - if not you, then the crisp ¥50,000 notes you’ll be handed after this could. Just a little longer…
As Shoko instructs you to release your strawberry smell, you wonder which lonely, rut-imminent alpha might be paired with your scent.
Just who would be your mate?
Then you immediately tamper that thought—hah! You must be kidding yourself; as if you’d be meeting your fated mate through this.
You let slip a slight chuckle out of sheer ridiculousness, which you instantly stifle after catching the slightly-concerned look on Shoko’s face (honestly, she looked like she was contemplating numerous other exams to conduct on you instead).
Shaking your head, you urge her to continue. Which she does so methodically: coating either side of your neck - where your scent glands were - with some scentless blue gel, placing both cotton pads on those spots, jotting down something on her clipboard whilst she waited.
You were likely her nth college student of the day, and she sighed like it was so.
You knew that most of the others in your department had already contributed their pheromones to this program - why wouldn’t they? It was perfect.
The hot-pink flyer had just shown up one day. Smack-bang in the middle of the campus bulletin. Surrounded by club notices and weekly warning about suppressors and a froth of students and teachers alike that crowded around the strange new addition to their familiar wall of words: THE SCENT COMPANIONSHIP PROGRAM—SEEKING SCENTS (ALPHAS AND OMEGAS WELCOME). ¥50,000 PER SWATCH.
It boasted itself as some revolutionary new form of pheromone therapy, a way for unpaired alphas and omegas to share their scents with each other. To match-make, almost. And during those times of need, the organization would provide those partners with batches of scent-doused clothes to ease them through their needy heats and ruts. Those days when even smelling a member of the other secondary gender would help with those carnal pangs n’ twitches.
Some people joined the program out of sheer good will, some with the desire that perhaps this will lead them to their ‘fated mate’ - those almost mythical Prince Charmings and Princesses and everyone in-between that was to be one’s soulmate. The other half of your heart, soul, body. Two scents in such perfect harmony that they became one.
Most did it for the money.
Honestly, you get it.
But it looked too good to be true—fifty-thousand yen? You’d cautiously waited a few days after noting down the number on the flyer, doing your own research (all the reviews online were raving, surely that was rigged?)
Before finally - finally - it’d taken your landlord hiking up the price of your already-shabby, already-overpriced apartment over some ‘fixes’ (nothing was fixed), your second-hand washing machine breaking down, your bus being late, and your favorite boyband going on hiatus for you to cave and dial that number.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
And so here you were - seated statue-still as Shoko finished counting down on her watch and removed the cotton pads. They were now layered thick with your pheromones, wafting, and she squeezed them gently into a sterilized test tube.
“That’s that. Thank you for your contribution to The Scent Companionship Program.” She stated, and tapped her clipboard - filled with what, you weren’t sure. “Your swatched pheromones will be sent to our labs and examined thoroughly before being scent-tested against the alphas that our findings determine to be the most suited for your scent- I see here that you have opted out of the choice to scent-test against alpha scents yourself, is that right?”
“Oh- yeah.” You say, buttoning up your shirt- honestly, you only half-remembered all those menial technical details on the mountain of forms you’d filled out.
Shoko hums, expectedly she asked these questions a lot. “Right, and you understand that this means you will not be choosing your own alpha? You won’t smell the alpha’s scent to test compatibility. However the alpha shall choose you based on their compatibility with your scent?”
“Ah…” Well, when she put it like that…However, deciding that re-filling out all those monstrous forms was far too much trouble than it was worth (after all, if you ended up disliking the scent of your partner, you could simply not use those clothes during your heat), you only smile sheepishly. “I ah- I trust you guys enough.”
“Well, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.” You swear you could spot the beginnings of a smile on her deadpan face. “At Kamo Pharmaceuticals, we are the best of the best. And we’re proud to say we have a 99.99999% success rate in helping find suitable partners for both parties.”
“Wonderful.” You nod, as she finishes her recitation. Before fidgeting, “And about the uh-”
“The ¥50,000 will be handed to you at the reception.” Shoko smiles, knowingly. “You’ll be contacted in the coming weeks by one of our representatives regarding your scent match.”
And with that, she leads you fluidly out of her office. And just before you’re set to leave- “But, off the record-” You turn, somewhat surprised at her sudden conversation. “-do trust us. We really do excel in helping people find their perfect match. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be someone you don’t even expect.”
You smile, “Thank you. I look forward to it.”
But, really, you did wonder what sort of alpha would be paired with you.
.
.
.
“No- not for me.” Choso jerks back as fast as he’d leaned in, his nose crinkling with slight distaste. And then over the other tube, “Not this one, either.”
And he lets the bespectacled medical assistant pull away both vials of pheromones from underneath his nose, the seventh (maybe eight, maybe ninth, he’d lost count) scent that he was testing just today itself - and, yet again, it wasn’t a match.
No matter what their research told them.
Shoko sighs tiredly and looks down at her clipboard, and Choso thinks he could hear the familiar scritch-scratch of her crossing out yet another prospective match.
It’d been like this ever since they established The Scent Companionship Program.
His father, Itadori Jin, had insisted on his eldest son being one amongst the many contributors to it. Patient Zero—‘How can we expect our customers to trust our product if even we don’t trust our product’ he’d said. And Choso had thought that it was a fair enough argument.
At first.
He just didn’t think he’d end up being the 0.00001% that hadn’t found his perfect scent match yet.
Patient Zero and still hopelessly inflicted- he was starting to think he didn’t even have a match. Maybe his secondary gender was too picky, maybe it has something to do with him being a prime alpha (just the slightest step above your average alpha, said to be more dominant, apparently destined to be alone with the way that things were going).
But honestly, Choso didn’t even need someone else’s scent to get through his ruts - they weren’t even that strong!
But, alas, he knew that his father would be bouncing in his seat by the next family get-together. Asking him how his scent-testing has been going so far. Tutting with that disappointed look on his face if he ever said that he’d given up on it. Mumbling something about grandkids and ‘oh woe is me’ and- you get the point.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
And though it killed Choso to take even half an hour off of work to test omega scents, he still did it anyway. Leaned back against Shoko’s examination chair, he grumbles. “Honestly, at this rate I’m never going to find a match, Shoko. We might as well give up…”
“What- and have your father storm my office like last time?”
Dammit, it was worth a shot.
So Choso settles himself without (much) complaint as Ijichi reaches inside the cooler of vials once more. His gloved hand picks out what seemed to be the last of the bunch, a tiny concentration of colorless perfume at the bottom of it, an unreadable name tag at the top. “W-with this we’re done for today, Mr. Kamo.” The jumpy man says; even after a near-year spent in close proximity to him, scent-testing every day like clockwork, the assistant still was anxious around the young CEO.
Biting back a grin, Choso nods. It was going to be a trial like any other, like the countless before it.
Ijichi would flash a cautiously hopeful grin and uncork the glass tube, he would then let the pheromones waft for a few seconds, before bringing it under his boss’s nose. And then it would get sniffed, winced, and rejected in just a few seconds. Except—
Except that doesn’t happen this time.
In fact- it doesn’t even begin to happen. Because Ijichi struggles ever-so-slightly with the tight lid, finally managing to squeeze open the vial just the barest crack. The smallest.
And Choso Kamo felt like he’d just been struck by lightning.
He gasps. He closes his eyes. Then immediately snaps them open again just so he could heave in that refreshing scent pouring out of the vial like a whirlwind. A summer’s day. A beaming sun. A valley of strawberries. The ripeness of the fruit. The sweetness whence you bite into it.
And he was swept up in it with every whiff.
Choso’s large, clammy palm opens up and grasps the sugary air as if to hold onto something - to hold onto you. And he’s feeling the cold floor before he realizes it- he’d stumbled towards the pheromone swatch, knees weak, body moving before his mind.
Shoko’s at his side in an instant, “What is it? Do you feel something? Could this be-” Her breath hitches. “-could this be the one?”
Choso wants to shake his head - no, it’s just a fluke, it’s just his fatigue from overworking, it’s just—but he knew it. His body knew it. And every single fiber of his being would rather have him pass out right then, right there, than deny the obvious effect that this scent had on him.
It was calling to him.
The alpha’s chest vibrates, and he reaches out one trembling hand in the general direction of Ijichi. A low growl escaping from him- Choso can’t even control it, some primal part of himself had to make his point clear.
That vial of pheromones: he wanted it. Now.
The other man yelps, urgently moving to hand him the tube-
“No-” Shoko interrupts, and she waves off the black-haired man. Before turning back to her boss, “I’m afraid we can’t give it to you when you’re in this state, Mr. Kamo. You’re-”
“Give it to me.”
She shudders. Despite the two of them being betas, unaffected by most pheromones, a prime alpha still had that instinctual superiority. That dominance. That voice.
And she almost has half the mind to reach over and give him that vial herself, before she slaps herself out of it. Holding onto Choso’s broad shoulders as if to shake him out of it, too– “Listen- Choso, listen to me.” She mutters in alarm, “We can’t give you the vial when you’re in this state.”
“Give it to me.”
“Don’t you understand?” She shares a look with Ijichi, who’d come to the very same realization that she had. And the man gasps. “You’re in the early stages of rut-”
Choso jolts.
Rut? Now? Here? Like this? He blinks his bleary vision back into focus, it’s as if the office room was spinning. And it takes him a few seconds to raise his nose in the air and sniff - Ijichi had quickly closed the test tube at this point - to recognize the soft, vanilla-like smell of his own scent gusting out. It’s never been this strong before.
This needy.
Never.
And it was way before his schedule, too. He wasn’t due for another few weeks - did your mere scent throw him into rut?
Choso clutches onto the collar of his suit like a lifeline, loosening his tie- fuck, his entire body felt like it was sizzling in the aftermath of your pheromones. Though with your fragrance now safely locked away once more, he could feel himself cooling more or less back into normalcy.
Taking the time to gulp back the saliva rapidly filling up his mouth, he somehow manages to strangle out. “Who- haaah, who is it?”
And then Ijichi stutters out a name.
Such a beautiful, beautiful name. And Shoko’s eyes seem to widen in slight recognition.
“Arrange a meeting for me immediately.” He declares, taken aback himself by how demanding he was being. Choso Kamo was never quite dominant for an alpha. Was never quite a go-getter like the way most others his secondary gender was.
But right now he felt wound up. Fit to burst.
And Shoko nods agreeably, “It would be best for both parties if we do so before your upcoming rut - which seems to be quite soon. That was a close call.” She turns to Ijichi, “Please notify the communications department- stat.”
“O-on it.”
There’s the slamming of a door, and it sounds like it’s from miles away. The only thing that Choso could focus on right now was the faint traces of your scent that lingered in the room, like a memory. An after-image. The existence of you, in all your reality.
Were you the one he’d been waiting for?
He huffs out a chuckle to himself, “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”
And though the question wasn’t for her, Shoko nods anyway.
But he thinks he could see, from the edge of his still-blurred peripheral vision, that she was smiling.
.
.
.
You know, at first you thought you were being arrested for something.
The group of suit-clad men had showed up at your doorway the first thing in the morning. So large that they filled out the entire frame, and you felt locked inside despite having the front door wide open. They briefly confirmed your identity, after which you were informed that they were part of The Scent Companionship Program and a meeting had been arranged for you to meet your paired partner today.
“I- I thought they were going to call me?” You’d questioned after getting yourself refreshed and ready. Pulling on the comfiest sweater you could find, you balk at the Herculean group that led you out of your apartment and into the corridor. The narrow hallway felt even stuffier with this group of betas surrounding your every side, like some unsolicited band of bodyguards.
“Circumstances have changed.” One of them answered, holding the building door open for you. It almost felt good, you can’t lie - like a celebrity with your own personal escorts.
Pushing aside obstacles for you, leading you carefully down the stone steps of your apartment and into a damn limousine parked outside.
Even the doormen themselves were gaping openly at the vehicle - this part of town was usually never graced with such luxurious cards. All black with tinted windows. Gleaming like a star. A badge on the front bumper that you didn’t have the time to scrutinize properly, yet seemed to be in the shape of Kamo Pharmaceuticals logo.
There was an official air around the limousine, even more so than a usual one, and you admired the plush, cream-colored interior as you got inside. The escorts followed, forming a protective circle around you- “So…I presume I won’t be getting any hints about who my match is any time soon?” You attempt to lighten the mood.
And a few of them actually nod, “We’re afraid not, madam.”
“But rest assured-” One of them half-smiles, “-you won’t be disappointed.”
A part of you sure hoped you wouldn’t be. And by the crackle of excitement in the air, you doubted you would.
It was a quick ride to the organization building, it’s as if the traffic parted for the car, and you weren’t quite sure why. After being escorted out and checking in at the reception, you’d expected to be led back to the same clinical office you had been in last time.
But instead, the bodyguards (could you call them that now? They certainly felt as such) punched in the button for the highest floor on the elevator. And you quickly found yourself in a rich meeting room, on opposite ends of a dark mahogany table with a man.
An alpha.
And even from here, you could smell the faint whiffs of his deep scent, kept under wraps of his suit collar. Just the faintest traces - they told you he wasn’t just any alpha. He was a prime alpha.
Though, he certainly didn’t give the impression at first glance.
Sure, he had an imposing frame - his suit snugly outlining his well-built shoulders, his trim waist, and the way that his biceps flexed each n’ every time he clenched his fist. In tension, perhaps? Or worry? He certainly looked worried: dark brows furrowed, plump lips worried under his teeth.
It was obvious that he was someone important. And honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever seen an alpha that looked so pretty.
So, so pretty.
There was a certain delicacy in his features. Sharp but fragile. Lashes enviously long. Doey eyes turned downwards. He fidgeted with the curls at the end of his long hair, reaching past his shoulders in the glossiest chocolate color.
Practically jumping out of his seat once the personal assistant (his younger brother, actually, Eso) behind him clears his throat-
“Oh-” Choso snaps his head behind, as if remembering where he was. He’d brought Eso with him for moral support- fuck, he could barely even look you in the eyes once you entered the room. Just knowing he won’t be able to rip them away.
And as the other man urges him to go on, Choso clears his throat finally - finally - staring at you head-on. “Forgive my rudeness, today’s just been…a lot, you know?”
“Tell me about it.” You faintly chuckle, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard. Choso had been careful to wear two round bandages over his glands - scent suppressors - before meeting you, just knowing he’d be going out of control otherwise.
You introduce yourself and he does the same- “Choso Kamo. Please just call me ‘Choso.’”
“Kamo?” Your eyes bulged, and you tried not to sound too rude. “Kamo Kamo? Like- Kamo Pharmaceuticals Kamo?”
He cracked a grin, “Well- yes. One of my own personal endeavors. I always did love the medical factor, though I majored in business.”
Oh damn. “I- I see.”
“And what about you?”
“Ah, just in college. Trying to get that degree.” You explain a little about your own major, and he listens with such rapt attention that one might think you were telling him the truths of the universe. “It’s actually on campus that I saw a flyer for the program, I just never expected I’d be meeting you so soon.”
His eyes twinkle, “And I never expected I’d be meeting you.”
Silence falls. With the two of you shyly attempting to drink in the other’s appearance, the other’s scent, without making it seem as if you were doing so.
Though it was apparently more than obvious Eso who just had a way of melting into the background, making himself known whenever things had to be hurried along.
“A-hem—”
“So-” Choso starts, “About the ah- program.” And instantly you’re at attention, leaning forwards despite the fact that his low voice carried over to where you were sitting. “To be quite frank with you, I never expected to meet my match.”
You nod, as if in understanding.
“And I have to tell you that my rut will be starting soon.”
“Oh.”
He looks at you, intently. “Very, very soon.”
“Oh.”
Choso runs a hand through his hair, “Honestly, I fear that if I’m inside this room for a second longer, I might just start my rut right now.” But he hastens to explain- “Don’t worry- I have my brother here for that very reason, you’re safe here.”
And you ask, “So…how ah- long does your rut usually last? I’m aware that I have to keep providing you with pheromone samples as long as it does.”
He looks at you squarely, “Ten days.”
You balk—ten days? Most normal alphas lasted four days, maybe five. And if it was a prime alpha then they might just last a week - but ten days? Oh, you almost started feeling sorry for whoever was fated to be with Choso Kamo- before you promptly remembered that he was unpaired, and that you were the one he was scent-matched with.
It didn’t meet you were fated to be together, but still…
Choso squirms slightly at your open-mouthed silence, “Yes, I’m aware that it’s slightly erm- above average.” That was putting it lightly. “But trust that I will not overwork you, or overstep, and that you’re free to opt out any second you want to - just say the word.”
You nod, still slightly hesitant.
“And I promise that you will be compensated for every single day.” He beckons over Eso, and hands him a slip of paper - which his assistant walks over to hand to you.
And if your mouth was open earlier, then it practically unhinges at the paper - the cheque - that Choso breezily gave you. The sheer amount of zeroes. The sheer amount in general that might just be the biggest number you’ve seen on a cheque in your entire life—
“Oh- don’t worry, that’s just the advance.” Choso says, taking your silence for dissatisfaction.
“No no-” You hurry to explain, “It’s more than enough. Honestly, I can’t even accept this- please take it back and I can-”
“Please. Take it.” He firmly denies. Before a sudden blush takes over his face, and you watch in awe as the ruby-red rouge dusts over the tips of his ears, down to his high cheekbones, and then down the back of his neck. And he gingerly scratches behind it- “If possible- and- and only if you’d want, could I have ah…” He points somewhere at your figure.
“My…” You point at your chest, before realizing and tugging at your sweater. “Oh, this?”
Nodding you stand to give it to him, but Choso’s brother hastily stops you to hand it over to him himself. Realizing the effect that you had on his older brother.
The way he’d all but shatter if he got too close.
And Choso has to fight not to bury his face in the sweater the moment it’s handed to him. Thanking you fervently, “You’re helping me- so much.” He peeks at you through his long lashes. “So much more than you know.”
.
.
.
FIRST DAY OF RUT.
Expectedly, Choso had been thrown into his rut sooner than expected. In fact- the very second that you’d left the meeting room, and he’d gotten a chance to bury his face in your strawberry-sweet scent.
The very instant.
Your contacts had been exchanged, and you got a text from him soon after about meeting up the next day. Quickly arranging for your next exchanging spot to be in his office, where there were enough of his employees around so that Choso would be less inclined to make a fool of himself (it seems that even a rut couldn’t stop the young CEO from sticking to his workaholic schedule, and when you’d expressed concern in your texts, he simply told you that he wasn’t as affected by it, this was routine for him, a minor inconvenience).
You walked through the steely building, reminiscent of where you’d gone to get your pheromones swatched for the program.
“Hey there-” You say to the receptionist as you enter, and a few employees stare at you as they pass, an unfamiliar face in their lobby. “I’m here to meet Choso? Choso Kamo?”
She eyes you up and down, “Hah! Nice try, was this set up by that uncle of his?”
“No?”
“Oh- his father, maybe?”
“No? Not him either.” You sigh, holding up the bag of another one of your sweaters, and a scarf too - all doused with your pheromones, wafting. “Look, I’m just here to hand off a few things he needs. I’ll be in and out- you can even call him to confirm, so please, if you could help me.”
She takes one look inside the bag and sniffs, “Okay now I know you’ve been put up to this by that damn uncle of his-”
“I haven’t been put up to this by anyone but Choso himself-” You hiss, feeling the frustration bubble up in your body.
And the receptionist had far gone from skepticism to irritation now, she stares you down as she picks up the handheld telephone on her desk. Presumably to call security, what with the way she was eyeing you, and you almost contemplate walking out of this building right now and forgetting you were ever part of a stupid scent program in the first place before-
A call of your name.
“Choso!” You whip around with relief. You find the very man standing a fair distance away from you in the lobby- it seems he’d just gotten out of the now-closing elevator.
His projected voice had every eye downstairs on the two of you now - who knew their soft-spoken boss could raise his voice like that? And look so melty, so shy like that? Just who were you?
They snapped their heads as if watching a tennis match as the two of you raise your arms in greeting, and walk to each other. A short distance before stopping- and Choso quickly puts on a white mask designed specifically to block out pheromones.
And it killed him, oh it killed him to watch Eso close the gap with you instead. To watch you smile at him as you handed over the bag, to nod at something in conversation as he gave you a cheque-
“Choso.”
He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the very sound of his brother’s voice, and only then does Choso realize that he’d been growling. Canines bared. Face snarled.
At none other than the fact that his brother was interacting with you where he couldn’t lest he lose control—fuck, this year’s rut really was driving him crazy. And Choso shakes his head to clear his mind, which only partly works with the way you were smiling at him patiently.
He still felt giddy, and cups his mouth through the mask. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” You call back, making your way out of the building now. And he watches you through every single step, until you were nothing but a speck in the horizon, and even then he watches as you vanish. As if you were never there, other than the weight of the bag that was being pushed into his hands—
“You’re fucked, bro.” Eso snickers.
“I know.” Choso replies, looking down inside. And even with the mask on, the softly sweet scent of your pheromones reaches him, cools down his body, makes him sigh. “Oh, don’t I know.”
.
.
.
SECOND DAY OF RUT.
THIRD DAY OF RUT.
FOURTH DAY OF RUT.
The first two days of Choso’s rut had proceeded exactly as the first one had. It was methodical, almost; arrive at the reception, be greeted by Eso (and Choso, from a distance), hand over the bag of clothes you’d scented with your glands just earlier, and get handed a fat cheque in return.
It was easy, really. And you almost began to wonder whether this was how the rest of the ten days would carry out.
But oh—oh, you should have known better than to think that the universe would make it so easy for you. As if you were getting off that easy.
On the fourth day of stepping inside the lobby area (the receptionist had grown used to you by now, half-believing that you really weren’t some prank set up by Choso’s infamous uncle) your phone vibrated with a new message - one from Choso that told you to come up to his office this time, it seemed that he was overloaded with work, and Eso had called in sick today.
And with no one else close enough to him that was available to trust with your scent swatches, he had no choice but to meet you himself. In his office. A confined space. All alone.
Choso was practically ripping at his hair, wondering what he’d just done, when the stand-in for Eso knocked at his door and said there was someone to meet him.
“L-let her in.” He barely squeaked out, straightening up immediately.
And you yourself were raging with an internal battle - everyone in the office seemed to know you. At least, they seemed to know of you.
They balked once those elevator doors had pinged open, and you stepped out. Then started the stares. Then started the whispers.
‘Wait- wait, is that really the one? So Linda from reception really wasn’t lying- oh, she’s more gorgeous than she said.’
‘This is the boss’s beau? You know, I thought he was celebate but they say she gives him a bag of her more…scandalous attire every morning to the boss as a pick-me-up.’
‘Really? I heard that she’s why the boss has been spending more time cooped up in his office- yes, they’re planning to elope to Switzerland, some sort of luxury ski resort wedding. I don’t think his uncle Sukuna’s invited, no-’
Your skin prickled with embarrassment and bewilderment as you made your way through the throng of gossiping employees. They parted for you, and it almost felt like walking down the aisle.
Straight to the largest office of them all: Choso’s.
Who was waiting for you impatiently- “Ah-” He flinched as you entered, looking around urgently for his mask before- oh, fuck, he realized. Eso had the entire pack with him.
And Choso could do nothing but knit his hands together on top of his table, right beside the flashing gold nameplate of ‘CEO CHOSO KAMO’. His heart thundered, and his fingertips shook ever-so-slightly as he gestured to the seat in front of him. “P-please.”
“Oh! Thank you, but it’s okay.” You wave off, “I’m really just here to give you ah- this-”
You push the bag into his arms, and you swear both your bodies are zapped with something electric as your fingertips brushed while handing over. Your breath caught- you’d never seen him this close before.
And Choso Kamo was even prettier then.
Still seated, he stared up at you with sparkling eyes - something like awe in them. Something like adoration. And those plush, pink lips of his parted—
Before he immediately took in a whiff of your saccharine scent and blushed.
Turning away immediately, “Th-thank you.” He busied himself opening and closing his desk drawers, searching furiously for something inside. “Now let me just get your-”
“No no, it’s okay.” You insist, “You’ve been compensating more than you should, honestly. And the program isn’t supposed to have you pay like this-”
“I do it because I want to.” He stares up at you once more. Shorter this time. Breathy. Like this mere contact with you had him worked up like he just ran a mile.
And as you’re distracted by the spikes of gold in his hazel irises, Choso pushes a cheque into your palm. “For you.” Before he stands up, and oh—you almost have to stumble back. Because you knew that he was tall by his frame, but ah, was he tall. So well built that it didn’t matter what your own height was, he still managed to make you feel small. “Let me escort you out- with your scent so saturated in here, I might just go insane. And I don’t have Eso around this time so, hah…”
But it didn’t sound like much of a joke.
You languidly walk to the towering door of his office, the whispering chaos of outside still sibilating. It felt like a world away.
He reaches for the door, “Let me just-”
“Oh no, I can-”
Several things happen at once. Choso angles his sculptured body to open the door for you, you’d already been aiming to open the door for yourself. Thus, with his well-timed equation, what ended up happening instead was that you’re pinned against the door.
Both your hands on top of the frigid handle. Choso’s leaned-in body looming against yours. Both of your chests bumping against each other- he hoped you wouldn’t be able to make out the pounding mess of his heartbeat.
Ba-dump–!
Your own heart stutters, and something about this heated proximity made you feel slightly dizzy. Slightly drunk on his presence.
And, moving on instinct, you tilt your head into where the curve of his pale neck was. Prominent Adam’s apple of his bobbing. Ready to just inch in - just inch in - and sniff the scent simmering under his collar—
Before you realize just what you’re doing and stumble backwards.
Startling Choso’s hand off of the door handle - that tense moment from before was in fragments now. “I uh-” Your eyes glance to the door, “-thank you for leading me out, I can make my own way from here.” And you make to bow- what? You make to wave, you make to stammer out your goodbyes before you can kiss him goodbye- stop thinking like that.
In a few seconds, you’ve flung open the door. Pacing right outside, “Just text me when you need me next!” Calling out over your shoulder, even though that likely calls more attention to your pairing. You leave Choso Kamo standing at his doorway, dazed, as you leave.
Though a part of you wanted to go back…
No- you maze through the walls of peeking employees, barely even noticing who you have to dart around to get to the safety of the elevator.
Though, if you had, you might have recognized a certain pink-haired, middle-aged man from all those business magazines at the convenience store that you’d pick up but ultimately never read.
Staring at you through his glasses- and then immediately to his flustered son still standing outside his office.
Itadori Jin murmurs, emotions unreadable. “An omega. Leaving my son’s office. On office hours while everyone else is working-” He flares his nostrils to smell the air: the boredom of work, the anticipation of hot gossip, the excitement, the nervousness, the need.
Jin could smell your strawberry pheromones, and the creamy vanilla aftertaste of his son’s trailing after yours. As if in pursuit. “-he’s having a scandalous dalliance. Why- my own son, my own successor- I’ve never been so- so-”
Choso strides over to Jin and attempts to calm him down, “Dad, I can explain. I was just-”
“-proud.”
The younger man gapes, “What?”
“I am so proud of you, my son.” His father claps him on the back, “Why- I thought the day would never come, I thought you’d end up single forever like that ol’ brother of mine. So the program worked? So you aren’t completely maidenless, like all the kids say these days. Yuji taught me that, and oh- he’s going to be so happy for-”
“Dad. Please. Stop talking.”
.
.
.
FIFTH DAY OF RUT.
SIXTH DAY OF RUT.
“Y’know-” You start off, inside Choso Kamo’s office for the third time since you started helping him with his rut. Though - unlike that first time - he now had a mask on, and Eso stationed steadily behind him after his brief leave.
And as Choso raises a brow, urging you to continue, you flick your gaze to the wall of his office with a chuckle. “-you really should consider getting blinds or something.”
All three of you look at the faces pressed against the glass wall of his office, tinted; though that didn’t stop the most determined of employees from trying to pry into their boss’s personal life (you didn’t dare call it his love life, though you knew the rest of this office did. This was business, just business). And they wave excitedly as they feel the stares on them, friendly enough that you really couldn’t say a bad word against them.
Choso catches the action and sighs, “I know.” And he takes the bag from you, but doesn’t open it for everyone’s safety. “I have considered it but ah- nothing yet, as you can see.”
“Forgive me for interrupting, brother-” Eso coughs his way into the conversation, “-but might I suggest an alternative meeting spot for the two of you? One that is more private?”
His older brother grumbles, “Eso, don’t start-”
“Oh, that might be appreciated, actually.” You voice your own opinion - sure, the office was nice, and you’d even made acquaintances with some of the employees. But the gossip and constant asking for a wedding invitation did get a bit much sometimes (not to mention the increasingly odd hours you kept arranging your meetings, all in an attempt to avoid Choso’s bustling father who’d been insisting on meeting you). “Where?”
Eso smirks, “His penthouse, of course.”
Your stomach drops.
Choso’s mouth drops.
And the both of you protest out something that gets drowned out in each other, and the personal assistant’s indifferent continuation.
“It’s quite private. No neighbors peeking in, given the floor, and as much space as you need to keep a distance while you exchange your…things.” How practical. Even you found yourself nodding along as you listened, “And, best of all-” He points outside, “-no Itadori Jin.”
Oh shit-
You snap your head behind you, and through the heavy tint of the glass you could spot a familiar head of coral-pink hair stepping out of the elevator.
You’re immediately rushed to the door—“I uh- I’ll text you.” A hopeful grin on your face.
“I’ll be waiting.” And Choso smiles, softly, before a familiar coo of his name echoes from across the office. And he’s hurrying to help you escape through another one of the elevators in the back of the building.
As you wave goodbye with haste, Choso tugs on his expensive silk tie to loosen it. You always did leave him hot under the collar (literally). The rut was more bearable when he had those articles of your pheromones to go home to, to hold them up to his face, to sniff deeply as he let his hand slip underneath the hem of his sweatpants.
And usually that was enough.
Prime alphas had more control over their secondary gender. But as the days passed, and the ending of his session grew nearer, the tolerable fever of his rut kept turning more into a bonfire, a forest fire. It’s as if his body was fighting to let those animal urges grow stronger.
Needier.
Like it knew he had you so close…so why couldn’t he have you?
He wanted you.
He needed you.
And it wasn’t just because of his rut, these past few days a part of him ached for you and he didn’t understand why. Your scent, your smile, the soft rolls of your eyes as you bickered with him. He wanted it all.
Choso wonders whether it really would be better to have you come to his penthouse, instead - at least that would make it more convenient for you. You wouldn’t have to rush out of there like you did any time you came to his office.
Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?
In fact, he wanted you to-
And then it hits him.
He liked you.
.
.
.
SEVENTH DAY OF RUT.
You pressed the buzzer on the tall, black door. Barely even believing that you were allowed in here - you felt so out of place.
The building that Choso’s penthouse was situated in was one of those massive, high-rise ones that seemed expensive to even look at let alone be escorted to (yes, in the limousine once again). Gleaming windows. Gilded doors. The concierges bowed at you as you passed, and you were showered in complimentary drinks and towels before you even walked into the elevator (that, too, was gilded).
Ultimately, when you finally had arrived at Choso’s penthouse (he had the whole top floor to himself, a button on the elevator just for him), you were antsy before you made your presence known.
You’d texted him about arriving at the building, and was yet to receive a reply- strange. He always replied instantly, as if he really was waiting beside his phone for your message like he said.
But you didn’t think too hard about it, perhaps he just didn’t deem it necessary to respond when you were so close. And would instead just open the door and let you hand off the bag of pheromones like you were supposed to—click!
Ah, there he was. Slowly - agonizingly slowly - the door started opening, and you straightened up where you stood. A smile on your face, and a few words on the tip of your tongue about how fancy of a place it-
You’re in his arms immediately.
Burning hot skin. A needy layer of sweat.
Choso crushes you to his toned, shirtless body like he was adrift at sea and you were the only anchor keeping him above water. Above the storm. And he pants out against the crook of your neck like that was exactly the case.
Like he could finally breathe for the first time in years.
And all he wanted to do was heave in your sweet, sweet scent.
“You.” Raspy. Lower than usual. You swear you feel goosebumps go down your spine the very second you hear his voice. “You’re here-”
“Ch-Choso-” You gasp, feeling your head spin.
“Please.” He seethes, and something in your body twinges. Something primal. “Please- I want you.”
You’re so in shock that you barely even register anything other than him and his arms and his abs and him, him, him.
All around you. Choso was just so strong that the parts of your waist where he wrapped his arms around you began to ache. Where his canines began to prick skin, hovering just above your scent glands and oh- you knew you should move.
You knew you should step away.
But some part of you wanted to melt into the touch.
And in some tiny, unfocused part of your brain the slight pain registers with only one word: vanilla cream. The faintest whiff of it. You gasp, “Choso what happened-”
“Brother!” Eso’s familiar voice echoes out from inside the penthouse. And before long, you see his worried face appear to hold onto Choso’s broad shoulders. “Oh my goodness, I go to the bathroom for two minutes and- oh, you’re not hurt or anything, are you?”
“No, not at all.” You shake your head, your own arms coming up to replace the warmth of Choso’s as he’s pulled away. Somehow…it felt like a part of you was missing. “He was just cuddly.”
“Oh well, he’s been trying to claw my face off all morning.” Eso grumbles, and continues at your questioning look. “We’re not quite sure what happened. The rut seemed to have hit him particularly hard today, and this has never happened before. You know, today he took his first day off of work in years- his first ever since he joined the company.”
“Seriously?”
Affirming, “Seriously. Most alphas need to take them, that’s what a rut is- but Choso has never quite been like that lot. So to see him like this…”
“I understand.” And it really was a stark contrast to the way he was the last time you saw him. Choso was now pulled more or less inside his home now, turned away from you - as if to spare himself from your sugary scent.
His pale shoulders shaking, sweat clinging onto his hair and the back of his neck.
Just being in your mere presence seemed to make him tremble.
“Oh! And this is for him-” You thrust out your bag of clothes (it was a t-shirt and a skirt, this time—hey! You couldn’t help yourself, you really didn’t have anything else this time. Really.) which Eso took with a thankful nod.
“Thank you. This will help a lot, he hasn’t been letting anyone else get close to him - not even Jin, and he’s just out getting Choso some coolants. We think this will help a lot more, though.” And then he turns behind him, presumably to search for the cheque—
“Oh, please.” You step back, moving in the direction of the exit. “There’s no need for that, you’ve already compensated me far more than enough, seriously. Just consider it a friend helping out a friend at this point.”
Choso shivers.
Eso smirks, “A friend, huh?” And he lugs his tall, heavy older brother inside. “Hear that, bro? You’re quite lucky to have such a good…friend, huh?” To which Choso murmurs something dark that you can’t hear, and Eso laughs. “Alright alright.”
And with that, you’re waving off the two brothers (well, mostly Eso as Choso was quite…incapacitated at the moment) and making your way down once more.
But every step felt like weights were attached to your feet.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
As you head back down to the car waiting outside.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
When you still feel the tingle of his touch on your skin. You clenched your fists and tried to remember - only three more days of his rut. Only three more days that you two will be meeting like this. If at all. (‘You’re here. Please, I want you.’)
You want to go to him.
You want to go to him.
You want to go to him.
.
.
.
EIGHTH DAY OF RUT.
It was business as usual. You arrived at the penthouse building, nodded politely at the receptionist, and rode the elevator all the way up to the final floor.
Except, this time, when you pressed the buzzer on the door - there was no Choso.
And so you waited for a few seconds before pressing it again, for slightly longer this time. No Choso, still. And no Eso, either. Nor a beaming Jin, nor even that infamous uncle of theirs that you’ve heard much about.
You tried a few more times before opening up your chat with Choso (he hadn’t responded to you all morning, and you were beginning to feel slightly anxious). And just as you were about to shoot a text to Eso, there’s a rattle behind the thick door. As if something heavy had just rested against the plane of wood.
“Choso?” You ask, cautiously.
And there’s heavy breathing. A low, cracked baritone that says—“Baby.” Shivers run down your spine. Sparks. It seemed he was alone in his penthouse today. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Don’t you worry now.” He reassures you, likely scenting the concerned sourness in your pheromones. And you smell the faint willowy fragrance of him seeping out comforting pheromones of his own. “But m’gonna need you to leave that bag at my doorstep, okay? Just leave it there, Eso will contact you about the rest, and I need you to carefully get in the elevator and leave, alright? Don’t worry about me.”
Exasperated. “Choso, how can I not worry about you?”
“It’s just this hngh- damn- rut-” He replies, as if the very words pained him to say. A hand slamming down on the door—crash! “But you don’t have to worry about it, alright? I’ll be right as rain for you in about t-two days, it’s just a little hard right now…”
“I see.” And with that, you listen to what he has to say. You couldn’t fight against nature; and for a prime alpha that was likely even more true.
You leave the bag of clothes at his doorstep - a pair of your soft, cotton sleep shorts this time, and a skirt that you (almost) had no shame in putting in - and wade your way down. As you get in the elevator, you see the front door to Choso’s penthouse open- and his deep, brown eyes staring at you from across the hallway.
Before the doors shut, and it’s another day.
.
.
.
NINTH DAY OF RUT.
“Choso—” You’d forgone pressing on the doorbell and started knocking on his expensive door by now. Yesterday he’d answered your calls after a few minutes - today it seemed like he wasn’t answering at all.
And yet, you tried anyway.
It seemed that Choso had fully isolated himself from his well-meaning family by this stage of his rut. And they counted on you to hand off your fresh bag of pheromone-doused clothes - he seemed to be getting quite a bit of use from them.
The thought made your heart race.
You shook the notion away and focused on knocking once more - still nothing.
Eventually, your phone vibrated with a text from Jin. He was telling you to simply leave the bag at Choso’s front door like you had the day before, and that he’d pop in later to check that everything was okay with his son.
You sighed, “I’ll be leaving this here, Cho.” Enough so that he could hear. And you do as you said, the bag was heavy today with a t-shirt, and another flimsy skirt. You already start wondering what you’ll share with him tomorrow. “Just one more day- hang tight, okay?”
And with that, you walk away. Getting into the elevator, you attempt to peek through the closing gap for a glimpse of him, perhaps even his gaze, perhaps even the sight of the door opening - no such luck.
But if you had then you’d have been awe-struck.
Choso Kamo. Gone.
It takes him a few more minutes after you’ve left to even think of stepping out into the empty hallway. Once any and every trace of your scent had dissipated from the place. Once he could finally tug his hand out from underneath his pre-drenched pants, rock-hard at the mere sound of your voice. Twitching.
And as soon as Choso grabs ahold of the bag, he all but moans.
Your scent hits him as soon as he opens it up; inside was a t-shirt, a skirt, and a—oh. He really does moan once he realizes what it was. Reaching for that flimsy piece of fabric at the very bottom of the bag, bundled up like it wasn’t even meant to be there, Choso’s right hand furiously slips underneath the hem of his pants once more.
And later - hours and hours later - you’ll be finishing up folding your laundry for the night when you realize: one of your panties had gone missing.
.
.
.
TENTH DAY OF RUT.
It was the final day.
You didn’t quite know how to feel. Of course, you were glad for the fact that Choso won’t be under such agony after today, and that he’d finally have full control of his body. For the first time in ten entire days.
But then again, a part of you was…slightly saddened by the prospect of not seeing him anymore.
You had to admit that you’d grown to like him a lot more than you thought you would. A lot more than a simple scent exchange—no. He was a prime alpha. Unfocused on anything but work. Uncaring. And yet…that was entirely just the first impression he’d given you.
The fact of the matter was that he was much more than that.
Much, much more.
And you couldn’t explain away the slight pang in your heart as you realized that this might be the last time (ever - for who was to say that he’d want you as his partner for the scent exchange program next year, as well) you’d be leaving him your pheromone-drenched clothes. So you take your time nodding at the workers you pass on your way to his penthouse, steps as lingering as can be.
Until, finally, you boarded the elevator.
And you were outside his imposing door once more. Dark and looming. You didn’t even bother pressing on the buzzer anymore, your hand raising to knock—
The door was already open.
You halted. Hovering outside the doorway, unsure of what to do- “Choso?” Calling out, you carefully took a step inside. The door was unbolted yet not fully swung open, more like someone had simply forgotten to lock it. And yet, with the state he was in, you didn’t know what to expect. “Are you home? Are you alright?”
When there’s no answer, you actually go inside.
And the first thing that hits you: the fragrance.
The smell of vanilla vines. The sweetness of whipped cream. The airy feeling of its spread. The warmth that it brings to your body. You take it all in and you feel your knees go weak- fuck, you’ve never felt like this before.
Just because of a—you take an even deeper breath—scent?
Oh, and your feet move towards where the pheromones were more concentrated before you know it. With barely enough sense to close the door behind you, barely enough scent to watch where you were going, to register - it seemed you were walking to none other than Choso’s bedroom.
And it was a dangerous path you were following.
A dangerous path, indeed.
That slight rational part of your brain told you to walk away, to get a beta like Eso to check up on Choso instead. But no—you’d rather walk.
You’d rather stop- and blink yourself back to the realization that you’d just wound up outside the master bedroom. Its varnished wooden door ajar, just like the entrance had been. Streams of vanilla scent wafting from underneath it.
Wafting straight to your brain-
“Baby?” Choso’s guttural growl hits straight to your core, and you can feel your panties slowly soaking at his tone. Deep. Husky. Almost hoarse with need. “Baby- oh, baby. Are you there?”
Even from this distance, Choso could smell your pheromones - and you were sure that you’re puffing it out even more now. Soundlessly, you push open the door, and there he was.
Sprawled against the sheets of his king-sized bed.
Surrounded by your clothes. His skin flushed, covered with a gleaming layer of sweat. Head clammy and rested against his pillows. Stripped down to just his boxers. Hands twitching like they didn’t know whether to pull out of his pants out of propriety, or to grip his raging hot cock even harder. Broad pecs out as he panted—
Choso glimpsed the sight of you entering and threw his head back with a moan- “Oh-” He pleaded, and it almost sounded to you like a whine. “Oh, you don’t know what you’ve done.”
“Choso—” You whisper, hypnotized by the impressive length that was outlined in his underwear. You step into his room, and it feels like stepping into a sauna. Oversaturated with scent, and sweat, and the craving for sex. He flinches at the sound of your voice.
Like he’d just been electrocuted.
Mouth slack. Expression like he’d just seen a ghost.
“You don’t know what you’ve just done…fuck.” And with that, he beckons out one toned arm in your direction. Staring at you dead-on through his half-lidded peripherals, plump lips wobbling. Spit-slicked. And ready. “I beg of you…don’t deny me.”
You take two steps.
Two.
And on the third one, Choso’s effortlessly reaching out and tugging you to him. Straight into his bed. You land straddled on top of his toned pelvis, all wet with a puddle of sticky precum. Drippin’ down the inner parts of your thighs, just feeling your body on top of his makes his erection wad out with creamy pre.
Cascading in beads between your skirt, n’ down your drenched panties. “Sh-shit, Choso.” You whimper, and your inner luna coos. “How do you want me to help you? What do you want?”
And he hums as if he pretends to think - as if he could even formulate a coherent thought right now. Nostrils flaring as he takes in your sultry scent, he grins. “I’ve been dying of thirst these past few days, baby- have barely even had a proper meal.”
You nod, “I can whip something up for you- what would you like-”
“Oh no, baby. I want you.”
.
.
.
“N-ngh—oh.” Your spit bubbles out at the feeling of the tight, hot streeeeetch between your pussylips. Choso’s cracking open those cute, slick-covered thighs of yours.
His pinkish tongue stretching out with a slurp to lick up the mess made all over your skin. It covers you like a sheen, and Choso’s ready to lap up each n’ every drop of slick that clings onto you. Tongue dipping in and out.
And he drag-drag-drags the tip of his tastebuds over to where your panties were, slipping his tongue just inside-
“Oh my god- ngh.” You buck your hips wildly from where you’re straddling his pretty, pretty face. And just as you raise your cunt, Choso lurches his face up to chase it. You shiver as you feel his wet muscle against your panties once more, “Don’t tease, Cho- I thought you said you were hungry-”
“Baby, I’m starving.” He’s spitting out between your bloated folds, voice thick with need. “Oh my god. I’m ravenous. Famished- I think m’gonna fucking die if I don’t eat this pretty pussy right now.”
“Then why don’t you- hck…?”
“Because—” Choso whines out - as if having your treacly cunt so close to him and yet so far was killing him inside - and he looks at you through his long lashes. And you swear you see his lashes glitter with needy fuckin’ tears- “-because you need ta tell me s’okay to.”
“Oh.” Your mouth parts, a cloud of murky breath escaping. It only adds to the heat in the room, every inch of your skin is practically sizzling at this point.
And without further ado, you grip onto the crown of Choso’s scalp. It was drenched in needy sweat, and he whimpers as you tug on his glossy, brown locks. “Wh-what do you-” He mutters as you start to move, a line of drool tricklin’ from the side of his mouth. “-baby, what are you going to- oh, mmmgh-”
And then he’s just stuffed.
Then he’s just getting such a wet, candied mouthful of your pussy and he can’t stop himself from groaning into the taste. Can’t help himself from careening forwards and makin’ out with your pussy even deeper. Can’t help himself from slithering his long tongue upwards and slidin’ straight down your glittering crevice.
A single lick - a single one - and Choso’s suddenly pussydrunk.
“I- I think-” He mumbles away wetly, “I think you’re my soulmate.”
Choso then plunges his tongue into you like a madman.
Thick, salivating thrusts straight between your swollen pussylips. He seems to be aiming straight for your throat with his lengthy pushes, and you feel him stretch out your entrance with his sheer girth. Again. And again and again and again.
Plump n’ clingy.
The round tip of Choso’s tongue slips across your walls n’ and you shiver, you feel him perfectly fill out every hidden crevice. “Oh- oh my god, Cho—your tongue is just so long.”
“You like it, baby?” He’s fluttering his lashes, and you flinch as both of his clammy palms plaster onto either side of your thighs. Trembling. Holding you open. Choso holds onto you so tight that you feel his nail marks dig into your flesh, tugging you down onto his ajar mouth. “Please- please, I hafta know- you know, I was made to make you f-feel good?”
“It feels so good—” You shrill out, your throat botched with hoarse whines. And without you even thinking, Choso’s manhandling you into a steady cadence on top of his gaped maw.
Pushing and pulling.
Swervin’ and stirring.
You have your needy, oversensitive folds spread all open for him, and his tongue stickin’ its way inside your puckered hole. Oh, it was just so cute how you clenched each time he pulled out- it’s like you wanted him to stay so bad.
And his right hand inches in, pryin’ open your pussylips to further bare you to his thrashing mouth. “I’m glad-” He rasps out, “I’m s-so glad I make you feel good, baby. You know you can ride me h-harder, y’know?”
“Are you sure?” You weave a second hand into his scalp, and push away the perspired bangs sticking to his forehead. “But m’worried you won’t be able to breathe, Choso.”
He furrows his dark brows like he’s confused, “But I don’t need to breathe.”
“Y-yes you do?”
“No I don’t.” He insists, firmer this time. And you think you can hear the tint of dominance creeping into his shaky baritone. Tugging you down- “Just- harder. Please. Sit.”
Your body thrills at the idea of properly seating yourself on top of his handsome face. Because you were hovering right now, but he wanted you to sit sit.
Jerking you down- “Just- fucking- sit- who do you think ya are?”
“Your- breathing…”
And before you know it, Choso grips your poor, jittery legs so hard that now you’re sure they leave marks. Ones for days. Weeks. Months. And using his natural strength, he spreads them wiiiiide open—“Open for me- just open f’me. Please. Just a lil’ more…” Salivating at the heavenly sight above him, he then edges his heady head forwards and spits. Leaning in even closer. “I haven’t eaten anythin’ proper in days, my baby. So if I want you to sit, then I mean- sit.”
You properly situate yourself on top of his scorching maw with a yelp, and with this angle- oh. Choso’s able to angle his head even deeper.
Push after push.
Tuggin’ it back out with the most lecherous squelches. And then right back again. He lets his roverin’ wet tip scour every inch inside of you - fuck, he was famished. Letting the cloying webs of your slick seep all the way to the back of his throat.
And Choso groans at the friction of you riding his mouth like you were drunk on it: back n’ forth, back n’ forth, back n’ forth.
You’re leaving his pretty lips all red and raw with your vulgar tempo- and though it burns with the pressure, he doesn’t let up. He doesn’t even slow down.
He doesn’t do anything but pin you down onto his gluttonous mouth with one hand, whilst the other spreads open your folds. Thumbing down your crevice, Choso swabs your throbbing clit as he passes.
And he gulps back the spittle building up in his mouth once he sticks the forefront of his digit inside. Gutturally openin’ up your hole, “And look at her—oh.” You shake at his pants as he continues massaging his thick thumb inside. “My dessert.”
Dessert.
Fuck- you snap your head down in slight concern to check up on him. And what meets you is Choso’s barely-open eyes, his hazy peripherals, his cute blush, his babbling mouth. He flaps his lips open a few times and takes you in even deeper.
“O-oh.” You arch your spine into the perfect curvature, grindin’ your cunt down in sensual figure-eights. “Fuck yes- yes, it feels so good-”
“Fuckin’ tastes so good.” Choso grunts out, Adam’s apple bobbing after each heavy gulp of your syrupy slick. “Better than anything I’ve ever had-” You’re riding his face to madness, letting out slurp after slurp that echoes out each time you slide your tender pussy up, up, uuuup to the tip of his sharp nose. And then all the way down, just to do it all over again. “Better than anything I- oh, anything that I could possibly even imagine.”
And then he pauses - not the scourin’, slipping movements of his mouth - but the way he was prattling away.
For that moment, the only sounds in the room were the wettened slurps of your pussy and the way that you were struggling to catch your breath- Choso himself doesn’t even seem to need to respire. No, he was much too focused on entering his prolonged ring finger and middle inside your sappy cunt.
You feel the way he stretches you out on his single digits, the slightly feverish heat of them being tracked oh-so-perfectly inside.
Reaching even further than what his mouth was able to reach. Stirrin’ against every tiny nook and cranny. Stretching you out, out, out.
And like Choso was made to - like he solely existed to - his body manages to find your sweet spots so easily. Squeeeeelch. The curvy ends of his fingers digging against the sides of your walls, slickly, you smell the pure carnal satisfaction in his pheromones as you shiver.
Your mouth dropping into a breathy ‘oh’ at the feeling of him stroking your poor g-spot. “There- r-right there, oh my god…ngh.”
“Oh, you’re getting even wetter, baby.” He gapes his mouth open at the way you were dripping out like a waterfall. Like an open faucet. “Awww, s’this all f’me?” The most sugary-sweet sploshes of slick that’s targetted straight into his open mouth - but just because Choso was fucking you with his digits doesn’t mean that he’s letting you off easy with his tongue, either. “You- you know, I almost can’t keep up- heh. Ngh, but I will.”
“You- you will?”
“Fuck yeah.”
And there’s something growling at the back of Choso’s throat. Something primal. Something that makes him sound half-crazed- and he’s acting like it, too.
Wrenching you straight down onto his face like a seat. He’s making you sit all idly as he laps his flattened tongue all over the front of your pussy, drinking in each n’ every ounce of syrup that he was urging out.
And right in time with the way his fingertips probed into your tender g-spot, you could feel his tongue sliding everywhere. Almost as if he was painting. From the line of your slit, to the button of your clit- and then he’s even trying to thrust his greedy way inside.
Like he was trying to fuck you twice with both his fingers and his tastebuds.
Slurp after slurp. He uses the strong tip of his tongue to tug aside your pussylips, and slides in a third finger.
Now fucking you with all three—“And oh- look at her, she’s so soft. So sweet. So-” He could barely even speak with the way he was lunging forwards between breaths to leave such long, open-mouthed kisses on your cunt. “I wouldn’t mind even suffocating between these pretty thighs, c’mon- harder.”
And there it was again, that little mantra. “H-harder? Again? Choso, are you sure what you’re asking f-”
“I know too well, baby.” Pouting, “Want this pretty pussy to grind against me, please?”
“But I already am-”
“Even harder. And-” With a slight jolt that runs through Choso’s lanky body, he’s sniffing the air - or more accurately, your soaked cunt. And whatever he smells makes him grin. “-and you’re just so close- I need you to cream all down my tongue, m’kaaaaay?”
“Oh.” Your mouth drops, and surely- you could feel the twinges of pleasure that were rushing up your core. Sparking. “Yes-” You listen to him, and the luna inside you purrs. “Please- wanna cum- please please-”
And Choso’s listening. Choso’s nodding.
Accelerating the hammers of his fingers, it makes you throw your head back with a keen. Your body shaking- and each of these, the alpha below you takes happily.
Any time you pushed him around. Any time you were clutching onto the strands of his body and movin’ him to perfectly angle his swabs against your g-spot. Any time you crushed your pussy down on his mouth, he himself bucked—
“M’so close—” You whine through your tears, now that you knew your orgasm was impending. And he hears that confession like the prettiest melody he’s ever heard.
“So cum, baby.” Choso stares up at your tensing expressions atop him - so beautiful. “Please- c-can you cum on my face?” And then he’s tugging his slick, velveteen tongue across your clit. Bringing your attention to it- “Right here, baby. Cum riiiiight here…”
Not waiting any longer, you do cum.
Right then and there - exactly in the middle of his sizzling tastebuds, like he’d wanted you to. Your orgasm drags out in waves of bliss, and with each one he bullies his fingers upwards.
Strike after strike to your g-spot-
Your toes curl, you see stars.
“Oh.” You shake on top of his mouth, feeling so easily overstimulated by his ruthless pace. You run a hand through his hair, “You really are starved, Cho- easy there, you’ll choke.”
He giggles wetly through the whines n’ wads of slick you were letting out. “Baby, I told you- I don’t mind if I fuckin’ suffocate if it’s between these gorgeous, gorgeous legs.” As if to prove his point, he only surges you through your high even further. Letting it linger. “In fact, I’d be honored.”
It’s with these exact words ringing in your eardrums that you ride out the entirety of your high. Until you’re shaking and sensitive, until it’s nothing more than a fuzzy sensation at the pit of your stomach.
“I know you’d be honored, but-” You whimper, “-oh, baby. M’sensitive.”
Choso jolts at the nickname you’d just used for him- “Th-that’s unfair. You should know how much power you- fuck, have over me like this-” And it really doesn’t help that your candied pussy has him pussydrunk.
“You’re saying that when you have me like this?”
You’re noticing that his pheromones seemed to have tampered down from the unstable manner they were earlier. Sure, they were still just as strong and frequent - but they seemed to be more of a controlled roar than bursts.
Adoringly, you run your fingers through his needy scalp, chasing your touch- only, you’re so weak with the aftershock of your orgasm that your hand slips. It slides under Choso’s pillow. And soon enough, you’re holding onto the stringy hem of your panties.
The exact same ones that you thought you’d lost last night.
He’d somehow acquired them, and hidden them away under his pillow- perhaps at the sound of your intrusion into the penthouse. And you hold them up to his bleary line of vision with a huff, “And care to explain this?”
“Well you put it in my bag, baby.” He puffs out, gingerly. “And m’not gonna complain about something so sweet…”
“As expected.” You grumble out, half-heartedly, before you get a lecherous idea yourself. With a sloppy slurp! you extract yourself off of Choso’s ravenous mouth.
And he chases your pussy with a whine- only for that very gluttonous maw of his to get stuffed with your balled-up panties. Perhaps if this was any other alpha (especially a prime alpha, at that) then they might have been irritated, then they might have spat out the damn thing and gotten revenge instead.
But what Choso does is choke on your lewd panties and whimpers.
His hips thrusting upwards needily. Those tight, tight boxers of his had all but slid off by now, and your cunt scrapes against the rotund crown of his shaft. Feeling it dribble out in precum down your slit, you slide down his size leisurely- “And I guess you can’t complain about something else just as sweet, hm?”
He muffles out a moan through his gag - before he realizes that he wasn’t making any sense, and can only nod and nod and nod.
“Thought so.” You giggle out, before turning your attention downwards. “And now, to see whether it’s true that it’s always the quiet ones…”
And once you finally drop down his underwear, you finally have an answer to that.
Because Choso was big.
Mentally, you count up his swollen length - about seven, eight- no, over nine entire inches that throbbed and pulsed eagerly at the feeling of your gaze on him. And he was measurably as thick, decorated with a few winding veins that you run your fingernail down.
Just the slightest touch. You follow down the somewhat unruly line of his dark happy trail. Enough to make him spurt out in pearly beads of pre, that drip down your wrist.
He was blushed the cutest red on top of his tip, matching the flush that was overtaking his face. Choso gnaws down on his bottom lip, his hips bucking in impatience as you continue your teasing ministrations. “Come- come on-” Uttering through your damn panties still - it seemed as if he didn’t want to take it off. “Won’t you ride me- ngh, stupid, baby?”
“Oh- so is that what you want during your rut, Cho?” You balance yourself on top of him, guiding his fat tip between your folds. “Have you ever done this before?”
He shakes his head fervently- “No- no, ngh. It feels like I’ve been waiting for you my entire life so won’t you- hck!” Rutting. “Please just- fuck me.”
And so you do.
Well- almost. You plop your hips down to take in the first inch of his ruddied cockhead. It was honed just so perfectly to squeeze his way inside, pointed at the tip n’ then opening you sinfully up, up, uuuuup—
“Ohhh—” Your head falls back, lungs heaving. He was stretching you out until you were rendered speechless, and Choso was barely even trying. Having you drunk on the sheer size of his cock already. “Shit, Choso. You’re so big, it’s unf- oh.”
You stop short.
Because that’s when you crack your eyes open to take a good, long look at him.
The way that Choso’s flush was fuming at his point, the way his eyes were rolled so far back that you could only see the whites of them, the way his mouth was unhinged with such a ragged groan of your name-
“Fuh-fuck…fuck.” He could barely even manage out, and goosebumps bristle all throughout Choso’s clammy skin at the first feeling of your hot, drippin’ cunt.
Fuck, he even has to spit out that panty gag of yours that he loved so much.
Before you know it - before he even knows it, because fuck if he was in control of his own body at this point - he’s already rutting upwards into your heated pussy. Not even a proper thrust. Not even trying, actually.
Just wanting to feel you.
“Oh-” You gasp, “Easy there, Cho.”
“S-sorry, baby.” He groans, and stops himself just in time. To support his claim, both his hands reach above him and hold onto the wooden pillars of the headboard. Clenching. “Take all the time you need, okay?”
“Mhm—”
And so you do. Teasing. Grinding.
It was just so sensual the way you were taking him. And the thing was- you hadn’t even gotten used to his size yet. So all you were doing was feeling the resistance of your slick walls. Fighting back, gritting his teeth; he whines as he attempts to stay in control, “Take- all the- time-”
“I will.” You purr, and it makes him just melt. Oh, how badly he just wanted to hold onto you and fuck you stupid, until you couldn’t talk back to him in that sultry voice that left him as putty in your hands. “But it’s just so hard, that I…”
“That you what?” Almost sounding pain. A man with his life on the line.
And you take your time pretending to think, “-that I don’t even know if I can take it all, Choso. What a shame.”
His voice cracks, “Oh, that’s okay, baby. That’s okay- don’t have to do anything you d-don’t want to, honey. But oh—” And the bed creaks once he holds himself back from yet another thrust. “-p-please try.”
“I dunno…if only I had someone to help me.” You pretend to look around, “I just wonder who-”
“I can.” Eager. So, so eager. He’s trying to keep himself restrained n’ under control, but it doesn’t fucking work. His chest practically vibrates with the force of his secondary gender begging to enter you- “Let me, baby? I promise I can get it all the way-” One of his hands lets up the grip of his headboard, sliding down your middle. He marks an ‘x’ midway down your stomach, almost near your damn lungs. “-h-here. Does that sound good, ngh-?”
“Mhm—sounds perfect- oh.”
He doesn’t even let you finish your sentence - doesn’t even let you finish your train of thought before Choso then holds one side of your hips and reels his achin’ cock back to push and push and push.
Squelch after such lecherous squelch.
“Oh my god-” Choso moans out, hollowly, once you squeeze your gummy walls ‘round him. And he locks his eyes down to where the two of you were connected before he repeats his pushing motions. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. So this is what a p-pussy feels like…she can feel this good?” He murmurs, breathless. “That should be illegal- oh, this shouldn’t be fucking allowed- you could kill a man.”
You gape. The way he positioned his pistons was so perfect, grazing each ridged crevice inside your channel. “So you’ve really never done this- ngh, before?”
“No- never in my life. But oh, baby, if I knew it would feel like this then I’d have fucked you right in the- hngh, meeting room that I met you.” With that said, he fucks up into you primally. “So now will you h-hold still and take it alllll?”
Something in his crazed smile made you tremble. And you can’t stop yourself from responding back, “Y-yes?”
“Tha’s not good enough, baby. I need you to tell me you’ll take it-” Before you know it, he has one hand on your neck. “C’mon.” The other’s still holding onto the headboard, flexing in a way that makes you ogle his chiselled muscles. “Say it.”
Shocked by this sudden desperation, this sudden dominance. “I’ll t-take-” You can barely even breathe - not just because of the rough hold he had on you, but the way that his hand then slithers back down to your stomach now.
And Choso was pushing down where the most pressure was on you already, feeling for his cylindrical intrusion as he fits inside.
Feeling for himself as he does.
You’re being bucked and busked in tiny bounces upwards each time Choso’s ramming his hips into you. And he decides that he just won’t let you get away that easily. Cooing, “Yes? Please tell me, honey- please.”
“Gonna take it- ngh.” You whimper, your entire body shaking each time he slipped in yet another inch. His cock was so long that it felt like it was never-ending probing into your deepest depths. “-all- fuck! M’gonna take it all, Cho—”
And then something in him seems to snap.
Because with a final, furious rut- Choso’s bottoming out.
He’s hitting the back of your cervix with a wet thwack! He’s letting his entire veiny length throb inside you. He’s shattering the ancient wood of the headboard with his pure inhuman strength, before bringing his hands down to your hips.
He just broke the bed- and now with both of them glued there as if with adhesive, you’re pinned to him.
At his full, carnal (lack of) mercy as Choso drills into you at a speedy pace. You swear he’s hitting the goopy back of your pussy multiple times a second, burrowing his thick circumference deeply into the back of it.
“There-” He husks out with his smoky breath, and it sounds more like a grunt. “There there there there there-” Every syllable of his is punctured with a thorough push against your spongy cervix.
And his heavy, partially-closed eyes are simply latched onto where your pussy glistened around his thick hilt. You were stretched so widely open around him that he almost felt bad for that poor cunt of yours - “Fuck, m’r-really inside- ngh. Can you feel me all deep inside?” Hazy peripherals probing up at you for answers. “Does it feel like this pussy’s gonna n-ngh- remember me, baby?”
“Yes- fuck, don’t even joke about that.” You whimper, because it fully felt like he was molding your snug channel to his size. “M’feeling you in so deep.”
“Heh, and I can see that.” He chuckles, and you wonder what he’s talking about.
Snapping your head down, you realize just what it is - because it didn’t matter just how your body was proportioned or angled, the thickness of Choso’s shaft was so generous that he could see himself bulge from the outside.
Such a cute lil’ bump that he follows with one thumb, letting it linger above your womb to feel the vibrations of him hitting the back of your pussy. “Look at thaaaaat—almost makes me wanna fuck in a-another bump into you, my baby.”
Oh?
Oh.
Your jaw gapes, “Choso, do you mean a-”
“Yes.”
“You wanna fuck me pregnant-”
“Oh—don’t make me imagine it like th-that.” And you’re quickly understanding why: because it made his rock-hard cock swell even further. He was getting even harder. His pheromones gusting out. His already-incredible length snagging against the sides of your walls with his big he was getting.
He looked completely shattered at the mere thought.
An expression which you can’t help but get addicted to. And, slowly but surely, you find yourself melting atop his broad body. “Well- that- ngh, that is what ruts are for, aren’t they?”
Still not stopping, he just slightly blinks up at you.
Just slightly lets it sink in.
It takes a full five thuds against the back of your needy pussy before the words fully register in Choso’s buzzing brain. And he acknowledges them with a sudden, damp gasp- “So you…” Lovingly scraping his open palm down your front, your womb. “- you would let me cum inside, baby? R-right here?”
“Mhm, really.”
“Really really?” He repeats in disbelief, and the tips of his fingerpads shake as he holds onto you. As he flares his nostrils and sniffs- “Oh, baby.”
You look towards him at the hushed tone of his voice, the way he almost sounded as if he was in prayer. “Yes?”
“You’re in heat.”
He’d pushed you into heat.
And now he was pushing you onto your back. Your head pressed against the soft pillows, you whine as your limp legs are thrown over his shoulders, your heels digging into the divots at his Herculean shoulders. “And I’m- haaaah—” Honestly, he sounded as if he was in a daze. As if he was dreaming.
In an instant, you find your knees being pushed all the way up to your tits, and Choso’s clammy forehead sticking to yours. Burning hot.
He takes a few seconds to admire you like this, before his tongue flickers back to life- and so does his rough cadence. “-and m’gonna give you exactly what you want, my little omega.”
A baby.
Your inner luna was yearning for it- and by the way that Choso sniffs, you’re sure he could smell it on your scent.
Squealing at the stretch of both your hamstrings and your poor pussy, you throw your head back and take it- rapid, burrowing thrusts. More like pistons. Straight to your g-spot. Then push-push-pushing his crowned tip against every inch of your depth, he doesn’t leave a single speck of space inside you that isn’t dotted with his precum.
Choso spits against his snarling canines, “Gonna fill you up r-right till- here-” You find your throat in his clutches, bringing his face even closer against your swollen scent glands. “Gonna fill you up with my cum until you can’t even remember your name. And then- and then…”
“And then…?” You’re bawling out, feeling the sparks of your high start to simmer after each plunge. Each of his dirty, dirty sentences.
“And then—” And even though Choso was already so close, he’s bustlin’ himself even deeper against the heady crook of your neck. The edges of his honed canines nipping at your skin, as if to remind you exactly what he’s capable of. “-then m’gonna fill you up with my knot until you can’t remember anything but that.” He promises, “Honey, you’re not walking outta this room until you’re pregnant.”
“O-oh-” You shudder, your hands clawing down Choso’s scalp and down to leave red, red lines over his back. “I want that- hck! Oh, I think m’so close, Cho.”
He groans, “Fuck- seems I’ve filled you enough already that you’ve forgotten my name, too, hm?” Choso snickers as you look on in confusion, unsure whether it was your cockdrunken self or his pussydrunken self that was mistaken. “Why don’t you try sayin’ my hah- actual title as you cum on my cock- huh, baby?”
“Your- your actual name?” You see stars once he jabs your bruised g-spot.
“Mhm—” And he drags out his strokes so deliciously. Such windy, slurping noises that emanate every time he’s letting his shaft pull out and plunge all the way in - and what’s even worse?
Not only was Choso targeting your cute g-spot, he was doubly reaching over to pinch your clit. His thumb roverin’ wetly over it, “C’mon. Say it, baby.” As if you knew exactly what he was talking about. “Say it- call me…your mate.”
Something seems to twist and shatter inside of you - and in an instant, you’re hitting your high. Ending off the blissful burst of your orgasm with a broken call of that title.
Again and again.
The arrows of pleasure were just constant - you don’t think you’ve ever experienced an orgasm such as this. And perhaps it was on instinct, perhaps it was purely because he’d mapped out the mannerisms of your soft pussy so well, but Choso’s able to pinpoint the timing of your exact peaks.
Stabbing his rapidfire hips in before each one, he prolongs your high out until you’re seeing completely white. Your mouth falling ajar with ribbons of miry saliva-
“Ch-Choso-” You sob out, pulling him even closer to you. Your pheromones are seeping into his skin and yours, surging with each mountain of euphoria. Before you finish out shyly, “Cho- ngh, my mate.”
“Oh, f-fuck.”
And with a squelch, he’s pouring out in hot, ivory sap just like he’d promised to you earlier. So much of it- that you start to wonder where it all even came from.
Gluey lines of seed that streak your walls, Choso’s fucking each n’ every wettened wad inside until your walls surely look like such a mess. All webbed up inside, you swear you could feel the sploshes of it jostling with each jackhammer. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck-” He grits out, salivating through his snarl. Again and again, the round curve of his balls hit you with thwacks! “I need to…”
You urge your neck closer to his mouth, “Cho—”
“Fuck- I can’t- not yet-” He finishes off his orgasm, riding it out on your precious cunt. You were just so wet- so soft with the sprayed volumes of his cum, that it felt like heaven to even run his thumb down the swollen middle.
With his thumb, Choso slightly parts your folds and smears the creamy mess he’d made in the middle. It was dribblin’ all out now, forming a nice ring of his seed.
And - all buried to the hilt, still - he draws out a cute lil’ ‘C’ on top of your cunt. “I’m your m-mate.” He breathes out, and the vanilla scent of his pheromones turns more airy. Happier. “And I hafta fuck you like it.”
Before you know it, you’re being flipped over - easily.
And Choso pulls out for just the barest second to help you situate, before he’s back to pressing his fleshy cockhead between your pussylips once more. He squeeze-squeeze-squeezes that thick girth inside, letting out the huskiest groan as he does so- “Ah ah, where are we going, my mate?”
“Oh, I was just…” You’re lost for words. So dumbified at this point that you didn’t even know you were jerking your body away; stuck between wanting to run away and bucking your hips back for more, more, more.
But Choso helps you with your decision: he wraps his big, beefy bicep around your neck. Chuckling at the splash of saliva that escapes you at the restraint- you’re suddenly being tugged back against his hips. Back against the throbbing cock that enters you easily, his zig-zagged veins tickling your outer rim. “You didn’t think we were done yet, right, baby?” And he sounded as if he was genuinely confused.
You look over your shoulder at him- oh, Choso was ruined. “Ah- um, perhaps?”
“That’s cute, baby. But you’re gonna let me- hah, fulfill my duty n’ fill this pretty pussy up until she can’t take anymore, right?” He wanted to watch you struggle to take his sheer volume. His cum. From behind, you could feel his thick knot swelling already- “After all…you do remember that m’still an alpha, right?”
Right.
.
.
.
After that second round came a third, expectably. And after that third came a fourth. And after that fourth- oh, Choso couldn’t help himself.
He just kept going back for more.
Because there was then a fifth, a sixth, a- honestly, you don’t even know which round you were at right now. All you knew is that you were completely n’ utterly fucked, on top, your thighs screaming for rest as you straddled his slightly bucking hips.
And Choso himself wasn’t doing much better.
He was completely flushed the exact same shade of crimson as his cockhead, from head to toe. Darkened eyes almost shut. Mouth permanently agape. Only lolling open even wider after each press of your ass cheeks against his pelvis.
You were riding him crazy.
And Choso’s murky peripherals roll to the back of his head as he felt you cum - for the nth time that night. By now, it was just the slightest tingle at the pit of your stomach, and you sobbed as you rode it all the way through.
“Yes-” He whispers, almost to himself. Cock overstimulated, the skin on his pelvis all red and raw. And yet- and yet, he still couldn’t stop. Thinks he’d rather die than stop. Sniffling back tears of sensitivity, “Yes yes yes- use me, baby. Use me, my mate.”
Choso’s puffing out pleasurable pheromones, you’d long since come to realize that they almost worked like aphrodisiacs for the two of you.
And it made you shiver, placing your face against the perspired crook of his neck. “Ngh- cum inside.” You physically move Choso’s large hands over to the front of your stomach, where he’d stuffed you with so many wads of his ivory sap that it was starting to bloat a lil’. “Please- wan’ it, ngh, inside.”
“A-as you wish, my wife- fuck.” Choso throws his head back (oh, and he doesn’t know whether it’s because of his high or that mere image of you, vowing to be with him in this life and the next). “-I-I mean, my mate.”
With that, he’s stuffin’ your orifice so much.
It’s hot and splashing against your crevices, your womb.
Not enough space for it all, it drips out like a waterfall around his happy trail, which now glistened with your sweet juices. But he couldn’t have that- now, could he? And Choso slowly - agonizingly slowly - squeezes his fleshy knot inside you. Pushing and pushing. Just tuggin’ on your walls, your entrance is so tenderized by him that it doesn’t take him too long to get the wide circumference of his base to fit inside with a wet plop! A raw stretch that makes you cry out at the oodles of cum trapped inside you.
Until it geysers. Until he’s spurting out in enough ribbons of seed that he eventually cums dry-
Until he’s turning his face inside the crook of your neck and biting into your scent glands.
You gasp as you feel the bubble of it pop! underneath his sharp teeth, and a sudden burst of pleasure explodes through your body. Hard enough that you might just be crashing into your next few orgasms all at once- “Oh- oh, fuck, Choso- my mate.”
In turn, you let your own canines bite into the glands on the side of his neck.
It leaves a bite mark just as hard and desperate as his. Just as permanent. And before long, you’re basking the aftermath of your multiple rounds, the haze of your dual fragrances now melding into one.
It takes Choso raising his nose into the air and sniffing this gradual change for you to realize- “My…my mate.” You start out, intertwining your hands with his. He sidles up against you, as if both feverish bodies were trying to become one. “No- or should I say, my fated mate?”
“You noticed.” Choso smiles, eyes twinkling with tears. And it all made sense: the intense reaction he had to your scent, the way his moved yours, the connection you felt. “I thought you never would. Where have you been my whole life?”
You coo, “Of course, I would notice. M’sorry it took so long-”
“Never apologize.” He insists, shaking his clammy head. “I’d wait lifetimes for the one that completes my soul.”
After that, once his knot went down, you two went another round - slower, this time. Not quite as fogged by the lust of your pheromones and ruts and heats, you took the time to hold each other.
You were so overstimulated that you could barely even feel your high, and Choso was fully cumming dry by this point. And yet, he was still raring to go yet another round after that - which ended up with you falling asleep right in the middle of it.
Somewhere in the middle of that, Choso had gotten up to clean you off and gently place fresh sheets over your ruined ones. He’d tucked you into bed, and cradled your tired body- ending up being the small spoon somewhere during the night.
And somewhere in the middle of that, Itadori Jin had come to visit, after some time too long without either you or Choso answering your phones. He’d wondered where you were—and was given the answer to his question the moment he walked into Choso’s bedroom.
Ah.
Young love.
Careful not to wake the two of you, he’d cheered right then and there. He knew it! He knew it, he knew that program would be good for his son. Look at the two of you now! And he almost contemplated taking a picture to commemorate the occasion before thinking better of it.
He left the door cracked as he left.
Yes, probably not. He can take as many pictures as he wants at the wedding.
.
.
.
‘Did you hear that’s the boss’s mate- yes, the fated mate! I know! I thought those things were a myth, too, but everyone knows that they’re fated.’
‘I seriously thought Jin was lying, I mean- our workaholic boss with such a gorgeous mate? Oh, but look at that bite mark on her neck, it’s clear it’s true.’
‘They met on that Scent Companionship Program, didn’t they? You know I signed up the moment I heard-’
‘I still hear they’re planning to elope in Switzerland- yes yes, and they don’t plan on inviting Sukuna, mhm. Oh? You guess he’s going to crash the wedding anyway? Don’t be silly, you don’t have to guess- of course, he’s going to crash the wedding anyway.’
It seems that news of your new bonding had reached the ears of the office. And it was all thanks to Itadori Jin.
Or, well—you tugged on the collar of your shirt. You guessed that the numerous bite marks (and especially that one rather garish one right where your scent gland was) didn’t help, either.
They stared. They whispered.
They tittered as they noticed that you still couldn’t walk entirely straight.
Still, holding your head up high, you nodded your polite greetings at the ogling office staff as you waded your way through them; carefully dodging the probing questions, the stray phone, or the one that asked for an autograph? What was that all about?
Choso, too, seemed to have beared the brunt of the day’s hottest gossip as you finally met him inside the office room. Glancing at the tinted glass of his room that had even more peeping Toms than usual.
“I’ve contracted some people to build an actual wall of concrete there.” Choso sighs, rubbing his aching temples - though, that seems to remedy itself quite quickly when you press a chaste peck there. “Immediately.”
“Long overdue.” You hum.
He nods, “Yes, and I’m also working on getting some sort of barring policy - or perhaps a restriction, I don’t even know if that’s allowed in this case - on a certain someone-”
papa!kuna overhears your son's friends making comments about you and decides to remind them very quickly whose house they’re in.
the kitchen is warm with the quiet clatter of dishes and the soft hum of the refrigerator. sunlight spills through the window above the sink, lighting the counter where you’re slicing fruit and setting out small bowls.
from the living room comes the chaotic noise of a video game. shouting, laughing, the rapid clicking of controllers.
your son has friends over again. you lean slightly around the corner, raising your voice just enough to be heard over the tv.
“what do you guys want for lunch?”
“gyudon!” one of them calls instantly.
another groans. “not gyudon again, man.”
“burgers,” someone else says. “burgers would be good.”
your son sighs loudly. “anything but rice.”
you laugh under your breath and wipe your hands on a towel.
“okay. burgers it is. i need to grab a few things from the store though.” you slip your shoes on near the door. “i’ll be right back.”
a distracted chorus of “okay” and “yeah” follows you as you step outside and shut the door behind you.
the house settles into the background noise of the game. on the screen, characters run across a battlefield. one of the boys leans back against the couch and stretches his arms.
“your mom’s fine as fuck”
your son barely reacts at first, eyes still on the screen.
another boy snorts. “yeah, seriously.”
a third laughs quietly. “no wonder your dad is always on her.”
that gets a few chuckles.
“i mean, i get it,” one of them continues, glancing toward the kitchen even though you are gone. “if my wife looked and had a body like that i wouldn’t leave her alone either.”
your son’s character stops moving. the sound of the game continues but his controller slowly lowers in his hands. he turns his head.
“yo,” he says.
his voice is calm but tight around the edges.
“watch the way you’re talking about my mom.”
one of the boys shrugs. “what? it was a compliment.”
“it didn’t sound like one.”
the room grows quiet for a moment. then the front door opens. none of them notice at first. heavy footsteps move through the entryway. a tall figure stops at the edge of the living room.
“cut what out?”
the voice is deep. low. all four boys freeze. they turn their heads.
sukuna stands there, broad shoulders filling the doorway, one hand resting lazily against the frame. his expression is calm but his eyes are sharp in a way that makes the air feel suddenly heavier. “repeat it,” he says quietly.
no one speaks.
your son shifts uncomfortably. the other boys stare at the floor. sukuna’s gaze moves across them slowly.
“i asked a question.”
one of the boys finally mutters, “it was nothing, sir.”
sukuna steps into the room. each step is unhurried, controlled. “nothing,” he repeats. he stops beside the couch, looking down at them.
“i heard enough.”
his voice never rises, which somehow makes it worse.
“you’re in my house. sitting on my furniture. eating my food.” his eyes narrow slightly. “and you think it’s acceptable to talk about my wife like that?”
the boys shake their heads quickly.
“no, sir.”
sukuna studies them for a moment, then speaks again.
“let me make something very clear.” the room feels smaller.
“you don’t speak about women like that. not in my house. not anywhere if you have any sense in your heads.”
one of the boys swallows.
“she is my wife. she is the mother of my child.” sukuna’s gaze flicks briefly toward his son before returning to the others. “show some respect.”
“yes, sir.”
“understood?”
a chorus of nervous agreement fills the room. “yes mr. ryomen”
sukuna exhales slowly through his nose, irritation still clear in his expression. “good.”
right then the front door opens again.
“wait,” your voice calls from the entryway. “i forgot my wallet.” you step inside, already reaching for the counter where you left it. as you walk into the living room you notice the silence immediately. four boys sitting stiffly.
sukuna standing in front of them like a statue. you blink.
“what happened in here?”
your son looks like he wants to disappear into the couch. sukuna glances at you. the sharpness in his expression softens just slightly.
“nothing important,” he says.
you look between them again, suspicious but not pushing it. “...okay.”
you grab your wallet and head back toward the door. “i’ll actually be right back this time. don’t destroy the house while i’m gone.”
one of the boys practically salutes. “yes ma’am.” the door closes behind you. the boys slowly look back at sukuna. he is still staring at them.
people would rather complain about the lack of content with certain shows/characters than actually start making it themselves
it’s not always about disinterest, many people care about the feedback and the reactions their work gets so authors and artists shift their attention to bigger fandoms or more well known characters but of course it’s easier to whine about how no one “actually appreciates” your fave rather than making the content you want so bad yourself
blakekathryn
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
andulkaphoto
pixelskylines
stormborns
germansingergirl
origamiaround
kaledo-art
