May

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writing fic while listening to les mis soundtrack and getting distracted bc I'm trying to sing both parts of the confrontation

toji is many things, but he's not a romantic -- and he's never claimed to be such a thing. he told you as much the night you met, a mere thirty minutes before you both fumbled your way inside your apartment and he went down on you on your tiny ikea loveseat.

you were fine with it, truthfully. you work eighty hour weeks and don't have time for a consistent sleep schedule, much less a boyfriend, and so this arrangement is honestly the best thing you could've asked for.

when you have an evening free and you're not in the mood to spend it alone, you just send him a text about ten words long. then, toji replies with an even shorter answer, and within the hour, you're grinding on his thick muscular thighs like your life depends on it.

so it confuses you when toji starts to assume the doggy position during hookups -- only doggy, and nothing else -- fucking you from behind as if to avoid meeting your eye. he never initiates a kiss, letting you take the lead in that regard. he even cuts the pre-sex smalltalk short, offering monosyllabic answers, if any at all, to your polite and friendly questions.

is he ... mad at you? you've never even shared a full conversation, so you're not sure you've even done anything to anger him.

but tonight, with toji's hips pressed flat against your ass as his thrusts start to become messy and uneven, he lets his inner thoughts slip.

"so fuckin' pretty, you know that?" he mumbles, each syllable laden with a lust you've never heard before. "so pretty it pisses me off, fucks with my head a bit ... in a good way, i guess. makes me fuckin' finish too quick, though, y'know that?"

a particularly deep thrust has you gasping into your pillow. when your breathing evens back out, you decide to call his bluff; peering over your shoulder, you see him looking at you with a gaze so reverent it tells you he's being truthful.

"even just talkin' to you, seein' you when i walk in ... it gets me so hard that it fuckin' hurts. i get hard just thinkin' about this ..." he trails off, shaking his head as if disbelieving. he keeps fucking you, keeps his firm grip on your hips as he pulls you back up onto him, but it's as if his facade his cracking, his internal monologue spilling out. "you call and i come runnin', at your beck and call, but i wouldn't change a goddamn thing," another pause for him to groan against gritted teeth, "...think i might be fucked ... think i want this more than --"

snapping back into his senses, he trails off and picks up his pace; it's not long before his name is spilling from your lips as you tip over the edge, and his front cracks again as he finishes deep inside.

"so, so, so good for me. just fuckin' perfect for me. want to make you m -- want to do this forever, fuckin' you like you deserved to be fucked."

his movements slow and, just as your heartrate returns to normal, you hear him once again, far clearer, more lucid and intelligible this time:

"so fuckin' perfect for me."

my masterlist is appallingly out of date i promise next order of business is updating that ancient tome

without even meeting him, you agreed to marry nanami kento without any expectations of future love, romantic or otherwise.

the pairing is advantageous for the both of you; you get access to the impressive nanami family fortune that has grown substantially now that kento is managing it, while he gets to enjoy a close association with your prestigious family and the subsequent educational opportunities that your children will benefit from. it's sensible and by far the best option you'd been presented with.

you've exchanged letters with him, polite and concise. you can read between the lines and see that he shares a disillusioned view of jujutsu society, but is more than willing to step up for the good of his family.

you weren't coerced by anyone. far from it -- your mother and father had sat you down and asked if you were sure, that they would understand if you wanted to take more time or to choose a different path for yourself altogether.

but you know the rest of society would not be so kind or understanding. marriage between two sorcerers, as antiquated as it seems, is how you survive amongst all of these competitive, power-hungry families.

from what you've read and heard about him, nanami will provide stability. he's progressive in his thinking, and so wont expect anything from you that he wouldn't be willing to do as well. you've learned that he's a teacher at tokyo tech, and has received glowing reviews; he'll be a good father.

and so on this misty thursday morning, you lay eyes on your fiancé for the first time as he slips a ring on your finger and promises to stay by your side forever.

took me half the day to write a 500 word assignment for my writing class yet took me just over an hour to write 2000 words of nanami smut

I have a marriage of convenience!nanami fic cooking atm ... Simmering nicely ... Very indulgent and I can't apologise for it ...

your study-buddy choso who shares three of your postgrad classes, who took about three months to start up a conversation despite you waving at him every morning as he sat at the desk next to you. it took another month for him to ask if you wanted to meet for coffee, and it wasn't until winter break that you came to your current arrangement of meeting for two hours every second night to help each other with assignments.

after that, you took pity on him; it wasn't fair for you to expect him to make all the first moves.

and so, at your university's valentines party, you'd been the one to close the distance and pull him in for a kiss, feeling him stiffen with surprise before relaxing into it, his silver tongue piercing brushing against your lower lip and making you shiver.

since then, you'd managed a balance: every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night you study together, and every Tuesday and Thursday, you work out your stresses together. this usually consists of choso driving his hips into yours until your throat is hoarse from crying out his name, or going down on each other until your legs are too shaky to support you.

sometimes, especially around midterms, you do weekends, too.

but recently, things have gotten a bit blurry. it started when he kissed you goodbye on Monday, which was unusual but not unpleasant. then, on Wednesday, you felt his hands drift to the small of your back as he guided you out through the library bookshelves, his thumb tracing soft circles against the exposed skin above the waistband of your jeans.

and now it's friday night in the library, the atmosphere quiet and studious as always, but even though he had his face buried between your thighs not twenty-four hours ago, you can't help but want more,

as the clock ticks closer to midnight, you worry he's lost his nerve. maybe he's realised things work better with rigid boundaries. or maybe (and your stomach drops at the thought) ... maybe he's losing interest. maybe there's someone else.

but then you feel his fingers brush against your thigh - you'd worn the same skirt you'd worn on valentines, shamefully hoping he'd notice - and they don't stop there, trailing up slowly and slowly until they're --

you gasp as his index finger trails over your underwear, glancing around to make sure you're alone on the library floor.

you are.

"want me to stop?" he asks gently, mistaking your caution for reticence. you shake your head no before the words even settle in the air.

when choso's fingers slip inside you, you bite down on your lip to keep quiet, your back arching against the uncomfortable wooden chair as your thighs spread under the table.

you should feel embarrassed, ready to cum on choso's fingers in public, especially since you've been hooking up for weeks now. he shouldn't still have this effect on you.

but he does, and when you finally come down from the high, when he finally pulls his hand away from your puffy clit only to be rushed into packing up his books so you can escape to your apartment and return the favour, you realise those original rules are now dead in the water.

and you can't wait.

it's been a while since ive added a character to my rotating roster of deep desire . i might need to dip my toe into new media ..

the fact i thought i was gone from here for not more than two weeks only to find out it was closer to two months . what the !

ahhhhhhhhh hello lovely, this is so so so kind thank you so much!!! <3 so unbelievably nice to hear, i so appreciate this and YOU! 😭😭

"you've got an eyelash on your cheek."

the statement is delivered in a direct yet cheery tone as if you were expecting to hear it, even though the person saying it is a complete and utter stranger to you.

"excuse me?"

"you've got an eyelash on your cheek," the white-haired guy repeats with a beaming grin, tapping his finger against a spot on his own cheekbone that you figure mirrors the location of this alleged eyelash.

from the few but notable stories you've heard from the host of this party, your coworker-turned-nearly-friend shoko, you'd guess this is satoru gojo.

you brush your fingers against your cheek, hoping it won't smudge your carefully-applied Halloween makeup.

you were conflicted about attending this party in the first place, given that shoko has been working with you for all of three weeks. the bar you call a workplace is more of a 'we're all family' sort of establishment, so you felt your attendance was expected instead of anticipated.

you'd even been talked into putting on some pink and blue detailing on your face, tacking on a pair of dollar store wings over your black dress to go as a very low-effort butterfly.

still, as last-minute as your costume choice was, you hope you haven't destroyed the minimal makeup on your cheekbones.

"did i get it?" you ask, deciding to trust this assertive stranger's judgment.

you give him a once-over, still unsure how he even noticed an eyelash on your cheek from several feet away.

he's wearing all black -- dark jeans and a loose black button-up, sunglasses that he's wearing even though the only light sources in shoko's apartment are a few lamps and a disco ball in the corner. though, to be fair, he's mostly looking at you over them, his eyes almost fully visible over the rims.

"nope," he answers in a tone nothing short of perky.

a pause. you attempt again.

"now?"

"nope," he repeats, grin reaching his icy blue eyes. "want me to get it?"

you open your mouth to object, but find no reason to. he's a stranger, a bit over-confident, sure, but no reason to distrust him.

"please don't smudge my makeup," you answer by way of confirmation.

somehow his smile grows, and he closes the distance between you, reaching up a hand to graze his thumb across your cheek.

he lingers, the pad of his thumb trailing soft enough to not disturb any of the blue-pink streaks but you can still feel it, a trail of soft heat following the movement of his hand.

goosebumps prickle on the back of your neck and you step back, surprised at how close he'd gotten --

-- or was it you who had bridged the gap?

"so who are you supposed to be?" you blurt to fill the silence, "your ... costume."

as soon as the words leave your mouth, you're not even sure it is a costume. there's nothing particularly distinctive about it, except for the parts that are entirely him -- the hair, the eyes.

the personality.

he steps closer again, and you don't move back.

"not a costume, really," he grins. "last minute invite since i just got back into town."

"that's not very festive," you mumble, barely audible.

he hears you.

"you'll have to forgive me, 'because you still need to make a wish."

"hm?"

he holds out his thumb.

"eyelash, you gotta make a wish," he insists.

against your better judgment, you dip your head in and blow, soft gusts of breath blowing the invisible eyelash into the stuffy party air.

"excellent," he beams. "what did you wish for?"

and maybe it's because he's mere inches away, maybe it's you getting caught up in the festivities, but you feel very tempted to tell him.

"i don't do dress-up," toji huffs, not even wanting to dignify your request with an eye roll.

you, on the other hand, have no problem turning your eyes up, sighing partially from frustration, partially out of fondness.

"it's a costume party, toji. it's the one and only requirement. and you promised you'd make an effort with my friends!"

"effort means helping 'em move or something. not ... fuckin'... putting on cat ears or some shit like that."

"the cat ears are for me, actually," you sigh again, starting to shove the contents of your shopping haul back into the paper bag.

you'd picked up a few cheap and simple ideas for toji, laying them out on your bed for him to pick.

a simple black eye mask (for a bandit, masquerade, whatever). some sunglasses and overalls (top gun pilot). even some flimsy little plastic vampire fangs that he could wear with his regular clothes --

anything. anything to show he's making an attempt at participating.

but in the midst of all your enthusiasm, you'd accidentally tossed your recently purchased pair of fluffy cat ears on the bed. before you can grab them to put them away, toji hooks them with his finger, holding them up for closer inspection.

"what are you gonna wear with these?" he asks, voice calm and low, skillfully hiding the thoughts suddenly filling his head.

you pause, setting the bag back down. "for my costume?"

he nods, still holding the cat ears, but his full attention is now on you.

realising the opportunity, you grin.

"probably this," you say nonchalantly, fishing the lacy miniskirt out of the bag and setting it down on the covers.

clearly exercising a great degree of self-control, toji's expression doesn't change, but he can't hide the look in his eyes as his gaze travels over the fabric.

pupils blown, he darts his eyes back to you, following you as you take a seat on the bed next to the skirt.

he swallows thickly, setting down the cat ears and running a hand through his tousled hair, a sign you've seen a hundred times before.

the room is silent, overwhelmingly so, until he finally breaks it --

"can you try it on for me?"

"suddenly interested in costumes, are we?" you retort as your smile returns, delighted to see his facade cracking before you.

just as he gives in, leaning over and manoeuvring you exactly how he wants to, you hear him whisper roughly;

"maybe i can get behind dress-up."