😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭I WANT JEAN KIRSTEIN TO BE REAL😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭PLEASE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭I NEED THAT HORSEFACE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
bf!fratjo and you met while he was in your favorite cafe. you sat by the window, sipping your drink and typing away at your keyboard. satoru, was busy trying to woo a barista.
bf!fratjo first saw you in that cafe. he saw you with your headphones on, hair falling in your face, and decided he had to have you.
bf!fratjo who everyone knew.
bf!fratjo who didn't care to know everyone.
bf!fratjo who cared to know you.
bf!fratjo whose usual flirting tactics failed miserably. he slid into the seat across from you, taking up all your leg space under the table. you moved all your stuff to your half of the table and pulled your legs in.
bf!fratjo who was completely enamoured by you from the moment you spoke to him. your quiet, "um hi. can I help you?"
bf!fratjo who replied cockily, "yeah, how come I never see you around? come to my party tonight."
bf!fratjo who's face drops when you look away and reply, "oh. I think I should leave now."
bf!fratjo who, for the first time in a very long time, feels embarrassed??
bf!fratjo doesn't laugh when his friends howl behind him and clap him on the shoulder.
bf!fratjo who, first goes to his friend shoko, then all his frat brothers, then all their girlfriends. shoko tells him a bit about you and that she shares a single class with you and you two are on friendly terms.
bf!fratjo, who's brothers are of no use. but he gets from yuki that you go to the same library every other weekday and that cafe on Thursdays. satoru ignores how she could possibly know that.
bf!fratjo who stays up all night. he's looking for your Instagram and when he finally finds it... you have a private account. his whole mood deflates instantly.
after that one encounter, you start seeing satoru everywhere. it sort of freaks you out although it doesn't seem intentional.
sometimes it's just bumping into him as you turn a corner, or seeing him across campus, or he happens to be at the library every single day that you are. yeah, it's totally intentional.
bf!fratjo has a plan. well, not really. he's doing anything to get your attention.
you don't get it. why does he care so much???
satoru doesn't get it! why does he care so much???
bf!fratjo, who at your next encounter is trying his hardest to not fumble!
satoru bumps into you and instead of the gentle knock he was going for, he completely slams into you! you stumble back and fall straight on your butt! shit, he's so embarassed!
"oh my god, i'm so sorry!" you both say at the same time.
"god no, its totally my fault." immedietly, satoru outstretches a hand to help you up. you don't look at him as you shift your bag back over your shoulder and take his hand.
once you're up, you quickly let go and wipe the dust off your skirt and tights before nodding and starting to walk away.
bf!fratjo cannot let this opportunity slip away! "wait!" he turns and reached for you wrist.
you're a bit alarmed at you turn back, not meeting his eyes.
"you... your hair clip fell out." he said quietly. was he... nervous??????
you looked to his hand, and yeah, but he didn't hold it out for you, nor did he loosen his grip on it.
"can i.... have it..?" you asked quietly, looking up to see his eyes trained on your face.
after a second... he finally registered what you said. "..oh! yeah. yeah, for sure." satoru held it out for you, and you carefully slipped it into your pocket.
just as you're about to turn again, "and, wait," he had let go of you but he took a step towards you.
"can we, like, get coffee sometime? maybe?" satoru asked. was this a date? satoru gojo, the notorious frat guy and fuckboy never asked anyone out on dates!
bf!fratjo waits for your reply, studying your face.
"um. yeah, sure. do you... want my insta or something?" you asked, fingers fidgeting with your jacket.
god, you are so cute. it made satoru so hard.
"yes! yeah, yeah, for sure."
you giggled for a second before pulling your phone from your pocket. satoru wished he could capture that moment and keep it forever.
later that night bf!fratjo was telling all his friends about the interaction (but leaving out the part where he embarrassed himself) and bragged that he got your Instagram.
as he looked through your profile, he saw only a few posts. you never included your face though. most were candid shots and pictures of (who he assumed to be) your cat.
actually he did find one photo of your face. you were sitting on the floor, looking at someone behind the camera and smiling brightly.
with his natural nonchalance and charm, he saved the photo to his phone.
ok its like 1 am so like for part two and it might be granted
a/n: by habits i mean holding u ur boobs while you go down stairs
fluff, kinda suggestive, aged up characters, afab reader
getting up in the morning always went the same.
first, with your boyfriend moving and squirming and eventually waking you up.
next, his cheek resting on your chest, looking up at you apologetically. "oops.. sorry babe."
and soon, you'd go downstairs together as he makes breakfast for you. but today, he noticed something he never has before.
as you jog down the stairs your hands immediately go to hold your boobs. he giggled when he saw it and you just looked back at him and kept walking.
when you got to the bottom, he came up behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder. "what was that?" yuji asked, still amused.
"what was what?" you asked back, rubbing your eyes and moving to the kitchen.
"that thing you did!" he was clearly still tickled by it. he moved his hands to cup your boobs, showing you what you had done. "when we went down here."
"oh," you smiled, "habit, I guess. they like... jiggle if I don't." that made yuji laugh again. you smiled too, his mood always had an effect on you like that.
"quit laughing!" you swatted his hands off you, he just laughed more and circled his arms around your waist instead. "it is not that funny bro." you giggled, and yuji started to kiss over your cheek and neck.
"don't call me 'bro' bro," he held on tighter and you quit fighting him. "I wanna try holding them too." he murmured into your hair.
"you are so weird."
ok I had this idea because I realize how much I do this and 🥺 I love yuji🥺so naturally🥺I combine the two
today, you were having a bad day. nothing was going your way and everything was being so inconvenient. you had texted your husband throughout the day just venting. you were just looking for comfort, not anything in particular you wanted from him.
you were sitting on your shared bed, cuddling with your cat and circled in your PJs with a movie in the back, you heard his keys jingle and the door open gently.
"sweetheart princess babydoll my one true love for infinity! I'm home!" satoru called. you heard him rustling with something but you paid no mind.
"I'm in the bedroom." you called back, tired and lacking enthusiasm.
moments later, he was crawling up beside you, bed dipping under his weight and he slid himself behind you, his head circled into your neck and arms circling your torso.
honestly, you already felt better with him home and in bed with you. he threw his leg over yours, pulling you into him completely. he didnt say anything, he didn't have to. he closed his eyes for a while, just breathing in your scent.
"i have a surprise for you." satoru murmured, his voice muffled by your hair. "c'mon. let's get up." he said softly, pushing himself up and sitting you up with him.
reluctantly, you sat up with him, holding his hand and ruffling through your messy hair.
satoru led you to the kitchen where he had set up a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a box of donuts, and a box of cookies. all of them were your favorite flavors. he knew you so well!
"satoru! really?" you looked up at him and hugged him tightly.
"of course! did you forget who you're married to?" he laughed, peppering kisses atop the crown of your head.
you let go to pick your favorite donut and he picked a cookie. satoru pressed more kisses to your face just to see you smile and laugh.
a/n: so I requested this to like three of my fav authors on here and decided Id make my own too
this is very self-indulgent btw 👀
fluff, college au, y/n is kind of a self insert here ig
"babeeeeeeeeeeee" satoru called from across the apartment you two shared. as of now, you were trying to study for an upcoming quiz, but your boyfriend was notorious for being a distraction to you.
nobody would guess you two are together. even if he kissed you in front of a crowd, they'd still question it (despite the two of you living together) you with your dark eye makeup and sidepart and him with his golden boy smile and reputation as a frat boy.
"what? satoru you know im studying." you replied dryly, not looking up for your textbook. he found it hypocritical that you let your cat crawl into your lap but not him. being the grown, sensible man he is, satoru pouts.
"who is vic fuentes?" he asks, looking at his phone.
that made you turn around.
"what? why? he's the lead singer of pierce the veil." you looked at him for a few seconds before he looked up at you to show you a video that mentioned him.
"what's pierce the veil?" satoru asked, genuinely confused.
"are you kidding me? we listen to pierce the veil all the time."
"no way. when?" he asked like a challenge
"dude literally on the way home from the cafe this morning. how have you NEVER heard that name before? ptv isn't even a niche band." you were literally dumbfounded at his lack of culture, i mean seriously??
you spent the rest of the afternoon educating him on emo culture. you went over bands, emo origins, video games, anime, and anything alternative you could think of.
safe to say his plan to divert you attention to him worked.
I mean, of course, who didn't know vic fuentes?
YES I know anime and video games aren't alt or emo I just wanted to add them because
reader has piercings, fratjo w/ a tongue piercing, both sfw + nsfw themes
more like this
Nobody ever, ever expects you and bf!fratjo to be dating. Like, nobody. Everybody usually expects that a six feet tall (and throw a generous few more inches on top of that), extroverted, extremely loud frat president would end up with somebody who matches him more. Visually, that is; you’d probably anticipate his girlfriend to be a ditsy sorority girl, one who he can take to all of his parties and flaunt her new bleached-and-toned hair.
And her personality would probably be the same too, they imagine.
Instead, if somebody wants to find Gojo’s girlfriend, they have to take a diversion from the frat house and walk half an hour around to the liberal arts college, where they’ll probably find you perched in a quiet corner of the cafe sketching something into a book with your head down.
Bf!fratjo, who met you totally by accident. He was trying to find the best place to balance a bucket of ice water on a doorway to soak the new pledges, which just so happened to be the door you needed to pass through for your lecture on art restoration. Because he was so engrossed in squinting at the doorframe, stupid backwards baseball cap catching the light, he didn’t actually realise you were there until you sidestepped him.
“Sorry.” You’d murmured, “I need to get past here.”
“Oh, sure, sure.” He’d said breezily, confidently waving you past like any other student- but then he saw your face, and almost choked on his next sentence.
Bf!fratjo, who was instantly smitten with your precise wings of eyeliner and reams of interesting jewellery, chunky cuffs stacked up on your arms that catch the light in the building as they grasp your pin-covered bag on your shoulder. “Are… you okay?” You’d said, eyeing him up suspiciously. “Yes!” He’d said back immediately, “yes. A lot. Very.”
Bf!fratjo, who saw you again the week after, balancing the bucket of icy water above the same doorframe as last time. Gojo stands back, proud of himself, before his perfect face immediately drops when he sees you walking towards the door. And, more pressingly, the absolutely huge bucket on top of it.
“Wait, don’t-“ Gojo shrieks uncharacteristically, shoving you out of the way. You stumble sideways and turn back around, pissed off because just who the fuck does this frat president think he is? “What the hell are you doing- oh!” You blink, makeup-shimmered eyes wide in shock.
Gojo stands in front of you, soaked and shivering in icy water, leaking right through his shirt so it clings to his sculpted chest and arms. But you’re more concerned about his face, the way he looks genuinely embarrassed and just a tad proud of himself for managing to save you. You laugh right in his face, and Gojo just keeps grinning abashedly. “I’ll buy you a coffee in thanks.”
Bf!fratjo, who eagerly accepts your invitation and bounds all the way after you to your favourite artsy cafe in the building, then gets told to ‘shush!’ by at least two different guys pouring over science textbooks and receives multiple dirty looks from all the history students working on their essays. But, you just smile and pay for his coffee- and the rest was history, if you ask him.
Bf!fratjo, who pleads for months to get you to attend a frat party, only to choke on his own breath when you knock on the door. If he thought you couldn’t look any better, he was wrong (as usual)- because here you are, your makeup meticulous and nothing like most other girls in the building, your outfit even more of an alternative to all their clothes. Which aren't necessarily bad, but you look so stunning it dazzles the rest of them out of the way completely. And Gojo can’t get enough.
Bf!fratjo, who’s favourite activity is to rifle nosily through your wardrobe as your playlist hums in the background- he’ll add some of those songs to his later- and pick out combinations of clothes you wouldn’t have considered otherwise. He also likes letting you practice your eyeliner on him, but he struggles with keeping his eyes open long enough for you to do his waterline.
Bf!fratjo, who comes with you to any concert and stands behind you for the full set, biceps wrapped around your chest as he protects you from the crowd surges. He doesn’t look like he should be there at all, a mess of white hair and expensive jeans, but when people see you holding hands they tend to understand.
Bf!fratjo, who also acts as a stand-in muse for your classes, allowing you to gently angle his face into different lighting and sits there for hours as you sketch his features onto paper.
“Hey, babe, maybe I could be a nude model next.”
You snort. “Yeah, I think my professor is good.”
Bf!fratjo, who- while he loves your eyeliner as it is- unlocked something inside himself the first time you turned your face over your shoulder during sex and he realised how much it was smudged across your face; along with eyeshadow and whatever else you’d applied beforehand, all of it rested smeared against your cheeks and temples.
And Gojo came immediately, of course, but you were so fucked-out he didn’t think you cared.
Bf!fratjo, who also has a penchant for fucking you in the outfits you wear. He likes bunching fabric up, tearing through fishnets and patterned tights, thumbing over the ruffled fabric of your layered shirts and grabbing at bracelets. “Such a shameeee,” he coos, voice singsong and irritating as usual. “I really liked these tights on you, baby, the purple looked super sexy.”
You roll your eyes the best you can while scrabbling at his back. “Buy me another pair, then, a-asshole- shit, there!” You gasp, hips bucking as Gojo manages to rub his veined length across all of your sensitive spots.
You have many piercings visible, ones decorating your ears and nose and one punctured through your eyebrow; you're also debating on your lips. But that's the one category your boyfriend beats you in, but he only has one piercing- and it's on his tongue. Bf!fratjo likes to take his time dancing the silver orb over your clit and grinning as you squirm on his mouth.
Bf!fratjo, who's greedy with the way you taste. He'll rip through whatever underwear you're wearing before shoving his already glimmering face into your swathes of slick, head shaking obscenely side to side as his hands reach up to yank your bra down and play with your tits.
Bf!fratjo, who almost went insane when you got your nipple piercings done and had to wait the agonisingly long healing period before you let him touch them. And when he was granted permission, finally, he almost sobbed tears of joy at "just how fucking pretty they are" before swiftly swiping his fingers over the sensitive peaks of skin.
"I love you," he sighs happily, kissing profusely along your spit-slicked chest. "You're the hottest girl I've ever seen."
Bf!fratjo, who generally refuses to study at all, but takes great pleasure in distracting you from your work. “Not now, Satoru, I’m writing my essay.” You groan, trying to shove his wandering hand away from your chest. “Well talk to me about it, then.” He whines petulantly, “please?”
“No!”
Bf!fratjo, who likes listening to you talk. It could be anything- your favourite bands, lore of a game he hasn’t heard of (like, ever), and even lore of games he has heard of, because you always manage to know more about it than him.
“What do you mean you didn’t know Henry Emily and William Afton is like, one of the biggest ships in the fandom?” You say, “that’s almost sacrilegious. I bet you’re gonna tell me you don’t know about warrior cats next.”
Gojo blinks at you, wide blues heavy with confusion. “What?”
“Oh my god,” you despair, absentmindedly fidgeting with your eyebrow piercing, “how are you so uneducated on this? Not even Brendon Urie? Not even-“ you gasp, “-Deftones? Surely you know Deftones, a lot of people don't even count them as emo-“
“Oh, no I know those.” Gojo nods proudly, “I posted an insta dump to ‘I watched you change’ last week.”
“That’s... not the song name.” You groan.
Bf!fratjo, who loves you in full makeup, dressed up with styled hair and shoes and stacks of jewellery and handmade bracelets- but he also loves when you’re just you. Not to say he doesn’t think you’re you when you’re fully ready, but he likes when you collapse on his bed after a full day of classes.
Bf!fratjo, who lives for when you scrub off all your makeup and scrape your hair back, clatter your jewellery on the side, then crawl into bed next to him in one of his shirts and your underwear. “Bad day.” You murmur into his chest, and his arms gladly accept you to pull you closer. “Terrible, even.”
“That suuuucks, babe.” Bf!fratjo sympathises, “we should, like, watch a movie or something, and I have some of those snacks you kept asking about in my minifridge.”
You look up at him, barefaced and hopeful. “Really? Can we watch The Craft this time?”
Gojo flashes you his perfect, frat-pres smile. “Whatever you want, babe.”
masterlist
a/n: disclaimer that I’m not emo in the slightest so I tried to make this as ambiguous as I could to every possible subculture of the style <3 + this was a req- ty anon for the idea!
plane ride with fratjo!!!!!!!!!!!! yay I was just on a plane so that's what inspired this
college au, fratjo is low-key whipped, sweet reader
today, you and your boyfriend, satoru, are flying to your home for holidays. getting him through TSA was easy, boarding had been long completed, now its just time for... him to fall asleep drooling on your shoulder... okay.
his phone was sitting in your lap, and, you know, sometimes its fun to just remind everyone of his undying love for you!
so, grabbing his phone, you open Instagram and open the camera to take a quick video. you point the camera at his face, squishing his cheeks and running your nails (the ones he paid for) through his hair. next you move the camera to fit both of your faces to show you peppering his face with kisses.
you watch through, satisfied, and post it to his very public story AND his highlight of you (aww). you knew his little fan girls followed his insta so sometimes you just like to show off, you know? and of course show his friends how absolutely whipped he is.
within minutes, his friends were liking his story and replying.
"frat pres. btw and proclaimed "womanizer'" Suguru replied
"bro omfg go to the gym or smth dude" Sukuna replied
"aw u guys r cute" choso replied
"OMG who is this hottie 👀😍 and satoru ig bruh" shoko replied
"send 10 bucks" toji replied
satoru woke up delighted.
ok this is rlly short but I hope you guys liked it
modern era, picture yujikuna but its sukuna, nsfw, dry humping
sleeping next to your husband was the norm, so was sleeping with him. though, combining the two, was not.
the two of you laid down hours ago, and hours before you wake up. sukuna was usually a super heavy sleeper, but when he started sleeping with you, it changed. a sniffle, a whine, or a sigh that sounded a little too gruff, would have him rubbing his eyes.
so it wasn't a surprise to wake up to you humping his thick thigh, but it was a surprise to him you are still asleep.
"baby, its 3 in the morning." he groaned but still watched with a stupid expression on his face. he moved one hand over to brush your hair out of your face and found... your eyes shut and drool seeping from your lips?
"are you awake?" he asked quietly, smirk growing. and when it was evident that you weren't, he reached for his phone. oh he was definitely teasing you about this in the morning.
sukuna made sure the flash wasn't on, still considerate of your sleep.
he began recording where your hips moved back and forth, slow and sloppy. then he moved up to your face where he pushed your hair back to show your sleeping face. whimpers and whines slipped from your mouth and he knew you were getting close, but he didn't help you.
your sleeping self got needier, hands sliding up his bare chest and whining louder.
"s'kuna kuna.. hngg" now that surprised him. he whipped he camera back up to your furrowed face. teasing you even while unconscious.
"awww, having a wet dream about me?" he cooed, voice laced with mock sympathy. he kept the camera on your face as your movements became more erratic and your hips moved faster.
he watched as your face twisted and your hips slowed and almost stopped and he knew you were cumming. you started breathing heavier, clinging to him, and he smiled.
okidokie omigosh I hope you guys like this. I have up with it before I fell asleep and tried so hard to remember it this morning
you practically drool watching your husband do anything.
fixing lightbulbs, washing the dishes, reading… the list goes on. but god — watching him cook? that was on a different level.
you can’t help but let your gaze linger on the way he has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, meaty forearms flexing slightly as he stirs the sauce. you bite your lip hungrily as you watch him cut the onions into fine, precise pieces, his finger occasionally dipping into the sauce to taste it — tongue darting out to lick it off. "mm," he hums, "the sauce is coming along well."
your panties were wetter than that damn sauce.
there was just something so sexy, so domestic about watching him cook — every movement was so skilled and precise.
it was only natural to squeeze your thighs together as you recall what else those big, proficient hands can do.
noticing your silence and lingering gaze, nanami turns to look at you, addressing you casually. "are you alright, my love? you’re quiet this evening."
quietly thinking about his hands all over you.
"…yeah, just… thinking."
he sets his wooden spoon aside, closing the lid around the sauce, padding over to you as you lean against one of the counters. nanami furrows his brows after looking at you more closely, "you’re red. are you certain you’re alright?"
he brushes his hand over your shoulder.
you can’t take it anymore.
suddenly, you tug him forwards by the hem of his shirt, accidentally ripping a couple buttons in the process, crashing your lips against his.
nanami doesn’t return the kiss immediately, slightly stunned by your sudden neediness. when he starts kissing you back, he matches your energy, humming against your mouth as you allow him no room for air.
"i need you. now. please," you pant, tugging at his belt desperately, reaching up to thread your fingers through his soft blonde hair.
your husband cages you against the counter with his large frame, hands steady on you hips as he breaks his lips away from yours briefly, "tell me what you need, darling.”
hastily, you begin to unbuckle his belt. "need you to fuck me. right here."
whatever his wife wants, she gets.
with that, nanami spins you around, bending you over the counter, tugging down his pants and boxers before hiking your skirt up around your waist.
he reaches down, rubbing your needy clit through your soaked panties, drawing a shameless mewl from you.
"you’re soaked,” he says, dick now painfully hard and poking against your ass.
"need it now, mmn — please—“ you whine, too desperate to let your husband take his time with you like he usually does.
"i know, beautiful,” he says, tugging your panties aside, lining up his cock with your sopping entrance and pushing in slowly; a low groan escaping him.
two large hands grip your hips, tugging you back against his length as he sets a standard pace.
“feels so — aghnn — good," you moan, clawing at the counter in front of you as nanami snaps his hips forward relentlessly, effortlessly hitting all the right spots.
the kitchen was filled with the sound of skin slapping together, along with the forgotten sauce and pasta bubbling away as your husband ruins you on his dick.
"darling," he groans, "you feel— mm —amazing.” he forward down to press slow, deep kisses to the side of your neck, burying his dick deeper inside of you in the process. "ohmygod!—" you moan sharply, the new angle making you see stars.
"good girl, that’s it," he encourages, thrusting harder, feeling you clench around his dick as you reach your much-needed orgasm.
you press your face against the counter, still panting, kneels bucking. nanami holds you up with ease, continuing to drive his cock into you — "where do you— hah— want it, my love,” he asks.
"inside — need you to f-fill me up," you plead, meeting nanami’s thrusts by bouncing your ass back against him.
with a horse groan, he snaps, releasing a thick, warm load of cum into your pussy, whispering your name sweetly as he empties every last drop from his balls.
maybe someone poisoned you, maybe another sorcerer killed you; whatever the matter, sukuna feasted on your still-warm corpse. although, first he'd have his way with you.
outside, in your garden, he laid your body down and took his time stripping you bare. he untied all your robes and slid them down your body until he could feel your smooth skin.
he knew dead bodies cannot feel arousal, but he made up for it with his warm saliva. he rubbed his semi-hard dick against your legs first, before he slowly pushed inside. what? did you think he'd lose all respect and just ram inside? your pussy was still warm, still a tight fit.
when he was buried deep inside, he finally looked at your face. he had closed your eyes for you, he wasn’t able to bare you looking at him so coldly. he reached out to touch your cheek, yearning for any reaction. but of course there wasn't.
he was so hungry for you.
all of today, he had consumed nothing. and after he eats you, he will consume nothing else. he couldn't bare the thought of your delicious flesh mixing with anything else.
slowly and gently, nothing he was usually, he began to pump his crying cock inside you. with a tender touch, he'd caress your face the whole time.
the truth is, sukuna loved you.
you were just another concubine at first, and when he took you as a wife, everyone in the estate was shocked. the two of you had been wed for years and years and now what was he to do?
surely it’d be at least another hundred years before he took a another wife.
sukuna came inside you, of course. but his orgasm lasted six seconds. six whole seconds. if you were alive, you’d tease him. and he’d pretend to hate it and threaten to send you away despite him not being able to spend longer than a day away from you.
he stayed inside you for a long time before finally pulling out. and when he finally did, he though his heart might break.
his four arms ran up and down your body before he leaned his head down.
he presses his lips to your shoulder before sinking his teeth in and ripping out a piece of your flesh. it was animalistic, countering the way he looked into your eyes as he swallowed. sukuna lapped up ever drop of blood, he wouldn’t let a single piece of you go to waste. maybe he’d even keep your bones in his chambers.
next he ate your arm, licking your beautiful bones clean and setting them in a neat pile.
none of the servants were anywhere to be found. he’d sent them all away for three days.
once he’d finished all of your limbs, he dug his teeth into your plush hips, feasting on your skin, muscle, fat and everything underneath.
blood covered the entire bottom half of his face and neck and his chest and his hands. it’s filthy, disgusting, and so so so beautiful.
sukuna saved your heart and perfect face for last. by now, it had been hours. he savored every piece of you, forcing himself to keep your body in good condition over mutilating you.
behind him, was a pile of your bones. later he'd clean them and move them somewhere else.
sukuna looked at your face for a very long time. caressing your cheeks, stroking your hair, and planting slow kisses. your skin was smooth and sweet and smelled of camellia. by now, you were almost cold. your body is finally losing its warmth.
he cradled your head in his big hands, feeling melancholy.
sukuna missed you.
slowly, he ate away your face. while he did so, it sunk it that he’d never see it again, except maybe in his dreams. of course he had paintings, oh so many paintings. but it wasn’t the real thing. but he didn’t keep your face. he had no way to preserve it and keeping it without rot. he did keep your eyes though.
he placed them carefully next to your bones, he’d find a jar for them later.
finally, the last piece of you, your heart.
as sukuna sank his teeth into your heart, he savored it.
he savored the drip of blood down his chin, the way it had gushed, and its perfect taste.
when it was finally all gone, he stared at your bones, more specifically, your skull.
sukuna decided bath would be appropriate, both for him, and you clean your bones. he briefly left your remains outside to start a bath and came back out to collect them.
sukuna took his time cleaning. he cleaned all 206 withe careful precision and left them out to dry. it had been almost 14 hours since he’d began eating you. usually he wasn’t careful or caring about anything, this was a new side he’d wished you saw.
and after drying, sukuna looked over each bone, inspecting them carefully and moving all of them to your chambers. he decided no one would be allowed in there again. no servants, no cleaners, nothing. he wanted to preserve the scent and energy of your room.
he placed each bone in its place. all except your skull, which he’d keep for himself along with your preserved eyes. and when he was done, he locked the door and closed of the entire wing. he’d be the only one allowed inside ever again.
and back in his own quarters, he placed your skull next to his sleeping mat, and your eyes on a jar by the window.
sukuna hasn’t spoken since he was alerted of your death.
sukuna missed you dearly and decided everyone would feel it. all of japan, all of his enemies, and all who reside in his estate.
ok number one, i am not attracted to dead people.
number two i really love this fic and i hope you do too.
vampire boyfriend Choso x reader !!!!! yippee I've been waiting to write this one I'm so excited
established rls, some mature themes, both parties are 18+, reader is a little bit of a bimbo, sososososo sorry if its ooc
c'mon! help a girl out!
"chosososososoooooo" you said, sliding next to him, elbows resting next to his thigh. "pleasepleasepleaseturnmeintoavampire!" you said it so quickly he almost didn't catch it. almost.
he didn't respond for a few seconds, confused by your sudden request. "what? no." he managed. you sat up and dramatically threw yourself over him, arms around his neck and laying over his thighs.
"WHAT???? why?????? sad face." you whined, nuzzling closer in hopes of winning him over.
"because," he started, about to put his arms around you too before you made a show of pushing him away. "I don't want you to be a vampire. and why do you say 'sad face' out loud?"
"chosoooooo why would you say that?!??!??!?!?!???? you don't want to be with me forever? is that what you're saying? sad face." you crossed your arms, sitting up straight and turning your head away from him. clearly pouting.
"no, baby, c'mon," he tried, moving so you would look at him but you refused. "that's not what I meant, I just-"
"hmph!!!" you interrupted, huffing dramatically. ugh you're the cutest in the world to him.
"baby please, I'm sorry," he started, resting his hands on your hips and unconsciously smoothing your skirt too. "anything else, anything."
now THAT got you to look at him again, your shoulders dropping and arms coming down. "anything? you mean it?" you questioned hands now resting on his abs.
he just nodded, happy he won you back over.
"okayyy wellllllllll, there's this cute bag I've been looking at and-" oof. this was gonna hurt his wallet.
but baby!
choso sits on your bed, watching you at your vanity while you complain about your makeup not looking good today.
"I think it looks the same as always, sweetheart." chose tries to comfort you, not knowing that'd have you fuming.
"what????? do you mean that???" you whipped around in your chair so fast he was surprised you didn't get whiplash. "you are so mean to me!"
"wait what? no it just looks the same?" choso tries again, sitting up and brows furrowing.
"ugh! stop!" you whined, slamming down the makeup brush but quickly picking it back up to make sure you didn't break it. you look back to the mirror, examining your face again. "it'd probably look better if I didn't have this wrinkle forming." you huff, "gosh I WISH SOMEONE WOULD TURN ME INTO A VAMPIRE UGHHHHH" you say loudly, sighing.
"baby, you do not have wrinkles, you're 22." he says flatly, trying to calm you.
"shut up, old man. you've been 23 for like 50 years, you don't know what's its like to be me." you huff, crossing your arms and lifting your chin.
"yeah, i-i guess I don't but still, your face is still cute and you're not old." gosh Choso is REALLY bad at this whole comfort thing, huh.
"WHAT THE HELL??? I DIDNT SAY I WAS OLD!" you exclaim, waving your arms dramatically. "so you admit it, huh? that's what you REALLY think of me." he's so confused at this point "you DO think I'm getting old and ugly."
"nonononono baby of course not!" choso tries desperately to defend himself, although youre not really mad at him. "c'mon, I swear, I'll bite you before you get any wrinkles." he promises quietly.
"yay! good!" you clap, your face brightening with a smile.
dont worry! I came prepared!
"chochososososo" you sigh, plopping your head into your boyfriend's lap.
choso sets everything aside, full attention on you. "what's going on, sweetheart?"
"choso I want you to bite me." you say flatly.
ugh. please not this again. choso thinks.
you sit up almost immedietly, "no choso wait, before you say no, I want to show you something!" he doesn't say anything, so you lean over the couch, reaching for your laptop, and successfully flashing him your panties in the process. (its all going according to plan)
"sooooooo, I made a presentation!" you said, opening your pretty pink laptop to a slideshow titled 'why my boyfie needs to lock in!'
"wait what? I am locked in?" "right, uh-huh," you cut him off and turn to the first page
'if he wanted to he would!'
sigh. sad face. maybe choso doesn't wanna be with me forever. I mean, clearly not if he doesn't wanna make me a vampire with him.
you read aloud, dramatically, emphasizing and sighing each syllable.
"baby, stop, obviously I wanna spend my millennia with you, but you don't understand being a vampire." choso tried to reason before you sighed and made a show of closing your laptop.
(you're glad he told you to stop because thats all you had written!)
"fineeeeeee," you mumbled, tossing it to another cushion before nuzzling up to choso. "I really really really really really wanna be a vampire with you." you murmured into his shirt.
"I know you do, someday, okay?"
wait? that actually worked????
as of now, choso was all over you, drunk off your scent and touch, he kisses sloppily over your face and (stupidly) to your neck.
youre holding choso's face with your palms, pulling him back up to you before crashing his lips to yours. its sloppy. tongue, spit, and teeth. when you pull away, you press your forehead to his, panting and sweating. hands shaking as you mumble, "choso, please bite me.."
your voice was too sweet and smooth and he couldn't take it. right now, he didn't care about consequences as long as it meant he'd get to hear your honeyed voice for centuries.
choso craned his neck down, opening his mouth, and sinking his sharp fangs into your soft neck.
you gasped, fingered curling in his hair. it hurt, but not exactly in a bad way. it was like nothing you'd ever felt before. the puncture, the gush, his shaky, hot breath on your skin. it was so perfect.
you whined as he sucked your blood from the puncture, feeling your head become light with how much he took. and when he finally calmed down, wiping your blood from his chin with the back of his hand; he looked up at you, eyes prickling with tears and drool seeping from his mouth.
SUMMARY # Loner Choso Kamo finally gains the courage to show up to a frat party… unfortunately he gets caught staring up your skirt like some sick perv by none other than your own boyfriend. Now he’s dragged up into Satoru Gojo’s bedroom along with you to ‘punish’ him for his shameless perversion.
WARNINGS # smut, porn with like next to no plot, threesome, gojo tops choso, oral sex (f! receiving), sub!choso, dom!gojo, dom!reader, humiliation, hair pulling, photos taken during sex, reader and gojo are mean lol, choso’s alt dressing cause that’s sexy
WORD COUNT # 3.8k
If there was one thing Choso Kamo was not a fan of, it was frat parties.
The hype around them confused him. Sticky flooring, overly loud crowds, random women yelling ‘emo boy!’ to him and trying to get him to take his shirt off. But worst of all, those stupidly obnoxious frat boys who all had some hive mind superiority complex. Count the sorority girls who follow them around like their dogs in too.
Really the only reason he’s here is to get the few friends (including his brothers) he has off his back about “wasting his last year of his bachelor’s.” And just of course, they all pulled out their plans to meet him here last minute.
He stares at the messages from Yuji, Yuki, Eso and Kechizu, all seperate, on his screen, squinting at the list of previewed ‘sorry’s.
He stands in line grumbling to himself for about 20 minutes before he finally gets in—not before the frat guy at the door looks at his id and says, “Still wearing eyeliner in your license photo? damn, emo boy.” He hates that stupid nickname that apparently every holier-than-thou Greek life dickhead has branded to him.
About 50 drunken people knock into him before he can even scurry to the kitchen with his face scrunched and shoulders tensed up. He even almost gets hit with a misdirected beer pong ball, the apology of “my fault, man!” following behind him.
He’s able to slink past a couple more people to grasp at the tequila bottle and shot glasses sitting on the counter. He doesn’t even like alcohol, but maybe this will drive him not to walk out of here after barely 10 minutes.
Choso’s hand flicks back a shot without care for a lime or salt or whatever bullshit people do when they take tequila. He squints his eyes both at the pungent taste and the group of people that cheer behind him.
His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and his throat feels dry and raspy, still laced with the yucky aftertaste of the shot. He brings down the glass back down to the counter with a soft thud and underlying ‘clink’.
Feedback rings throughout the house, leading Choso to quickly slap his ring-cluttered hands over his ears in surprise. He snaps his head around to find out where all the commotion is coming from, slowly dropping the hands over his ears when he grumbles breathlessly immediately at the sight.
Satoru Gojo. Satoru Gojo, standing atop a table with microphone and speaker set. The same patronizing dickhead he has the displeasure of knowing the name of like nearly everyone on campus. The same guy who wraps his arm around Choso everyday in class like they’re friends (which Choso promptly pulls away from every time) just to mock his eyeliner and messily done buns. The same guy who apparently has no sense of manners and pushes past Choso on campus walkways with his little boy-toy Geto like he’s the owner of the place.
He doesn’t even have the time to be concerned with what that white-haired jerk off is even saying before some oversized tatted guy with pink hair recklessly pushes past him. Choso’s not even sure whether it was purposeful or not based on the sheer force that hit him—and sent him straight to the ground.
Coincidentally, he lands scrambling on his hands and knees…right behind you. Dressed in a tight fitting short black skirt and bunched up tank top he’s pretty sure you won from a wet t shirt contest. Though more importantly, he gets a straight shot view of the fiery red lace panties you’re dressed in and the outline of your cunt to match.
See, if this was a cartoon, he’d have a stream of blood streaming out of his nose and, admittedly, hearts beating out of his eyes.
He’s not even a virgin, but he feels like one where he stops all his scrambling on the floor under you. He stills completely and stares. He stares like a filthy pervert at your—what he considers— perfect body in such a sultry pair of underwear. Are you wearing a bra to match too?
Slick saliva pools at his chapped lips while he open mouthedly ogles your pussy. His tired, normally sleepy eyes lie wide and unblinking at the view. All Choso knows is that he’ll be thinking about this for the rest of his month. No, no— rest of his life.
And at that point in his thoughts, he gets interrupted because Gojo sees him before Choso does.
“Hey! The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Gojo yells, hurrying down off the table and flinging the metallic microphone somewhere else. His bright eyes that still peer through his dark sunglasses beam down angrily at Choso, face struck half in awe and otherwise in disgust and anger. His huge hands grip at Choso’s neckline and yank him up before he can even look away from your perfect pussy under your skirt.
Choso’s face is now inches away from Gojo’s. Gojo breathes heavily against him while his pale fingers bunch at the hood of Choso’s stark black hoodie. He shakes as his yelled words pour out to Choso.
“Are you fucking INSANE? You think it’s just chill to be some creepy perv and stare up my girls skirt like that?” He asks, still just barely apart from Choso. Choso’s eyes dart to you, with a disgusted grimace on your face as you stare right back at him. Then his eyes land on the rest of the crowd fostering around you all. What—20 people? All crowded around you and staring at the scene of campus favorite Gojo ripping into campus loser Choso. “I’m fucking speaking to you, pervert!” Gojo continues to yell.
Shit.
Your manicured nails tap at Gojo’s toned arm before whispering something to him, just quiet enough Choso can’t hear. Your eyes linger on Choso disgustedly the whole time. Whatever you said makes Gojo squint, still staring at him but atleast stopping the yelling. Choso’s mind racks and it seemed Gojo’s is too. His vibrantly blue eyes jitter around and squint even tighter while his eyebrows cinch, likes he’s fighting back the urge to hit Choso. Atleast before he tilts his head to whisper something back to you.
Gojo grits his teeth before he speaks up again, sounding a lot calmer now.
“You’re coming with us. Upstairs. Got it?”
Choso nods before he can even think. Because in all honesty, he’s petrified at the thought of Gojo. He’s mulling over ways to get of this before Gojo pushes at his back roughly and guides him to the stairway.
There are still a million eyes shameless staring at them, at Choso, eyes wide and lips quivering because he’s convinced he’s gonna get his ass beat by Satoru Gojo and his kinda scary girlfriend in his frat house.
You step in front of Choso, hips swaying as he fights back the urge to look down any further than your shoulders in apprehension. A flushed color dusts over his face when your worm through people lounging and loitering on the upstairs steps. He has to shoot his head back down to ignore your panties on display again, taunting him. Gojo still pushes on his back to lead him forward until they reach his bedroom door. Choso grimaces at the poorly drawn penis in black marker that streaks across the otherwise plain white door. He grimaces even harder when he notices how confident you look with a smirk creeping up your glossed over lips.
“Look it was an accid—” Choso tries to reason, only to be met with Gojo stepping closer to him and menacingly staring down at the formers meek demeanor.
“Save it.” Gojo then looks over his shoulder, back to you, gesturing with a point of your finger towards the bed.
“Get on the bed, Choso.” You say, almost sweetly.
Choso’s brows furrow, confused and lost in thought. Gojo looks back to him.
“You heard the woman. Bed.”
Choso wants to say how confused he is, wants to ask why the hell he needs to be on the bed. Maybe it’s some power trip thing to make him feel like a kid getting scolded. All he really knows is that if he doesn’t, Gojo’ll probably do something worse, so he obliges. He sits, hunched over on the navy sheets. His eyes don’t know whether to look at Gojo, across the room, leaning on the door to his fancy en-suite or you, stepping over to Choso now. He settles on you for now, considering you’re probably less likely to murder him if he looks at you for too long.
He anticipates you to stop infront of him and maybe yell, or slap him, or something. What he doesn’t expect you to do is sit right beside him and yank his chin to face yours barely inches away. Your tight grasp and the dig of your nails into his skin feel almost intimate.
His heart races, eyes scrambling all over your face to get any sense of what you’re going to do. Yet you’re completely unreadable. For a moment he forgot Gojo was even there, or even existed at all.
And now he forgets anything but you and him are there when you collide your lips together. His eyes widen in surprise while your glossy lips smack to sloppily meet at his. It’s sloppy but somehow it’s still the most euphoric moment of his life. None of this even makes sense, but fuck if he cares. He leans into the kiss, letting your hands trail to the back of his neck and tightly grip at the hairs along his neck.
You suddenly pull back, spit pooling at your lips from the messiness of the clash.
“Satoru.” You smile so prettily at him, your boyfriend, like you weren’t just eating at another guys face two seconds before. “C’mere, baby.” You gesture to Gojo. Oh how Choso wishes you would call him baby.
Choso’s head flicks to Satoru, then back to you.
“Relax, Kamo. I’m not mad.” Gojo tells him. Though it seems more lika a lie with the pout he has laced on his face. Before he walks fully over to you and Choso on the bed, he tops to take something out of his top dresser drawer. He tosses it behind you two on the bed before Choso can look to see what it is.
Gojo leans down to peck you on the lips, essentially reminding the very confused Choso you’re still his girlfriend, before he redirects his attention back to Choso.
Then, he slams both his hands flat against the bed he’s leaning halfway over, on either side of Choso’s hips. Choso immediately leans back but Gojo just leans forward to match, just inches between them again.
“Kamo.” He simply says above him. Choso’s begins to chew at his lip again while the beaming blue eyes beat down on him again. He smirks down at Choso’s nervousness. “Y’know we’re not just lettin’ you off the hook here, right?” Choso anxiously nods at his words, still biting at his chapped lips.
You lean over to interrupt.
“We’re not gonna hurt you, Cho.” He feels a vat of relief flood his body. You lightly rest your hand on Choso’s arm while his nearly black eyes stare at you almost like a puppy. “You know, if not we can do a lot worse.”
“Y—Yeah, of course.” He nods and stutters out so quickly the speed almost surprises you.
“See!” You point out, targeted at Gojo. “Told you he was a good boy! He’s kinda like an obedient dog.” You chuckle out. Choso blushes and squints embarrassedly at the comparison. Does the cooperation include being humiliated by a hot girl right in-front of you? Gojo still remains with that anticipating smirk above him.
That’s when Gojo’s large pale hand wraps around Choso’s neck. Choso’s eyes widen almost cartoonishly in surprise, befuddled at Gojo’s movement. He stares up at him, deep eyes contrasting bright ones. It seems almost like a repeat of a minute ago when Gojo smashes his lips onto his.
He melts into it just as easily as the first time with you. Gojo’s is even sloppier, though. His tongue breaks through Choso’s lips almost immediately and starts lapping the latter’s own. He leans further, almost lying fully on top of him. Choso leans back onto his elbows as he lets Gojo do whatever, hands still holding at his neck. His breath hitches as he feels Gojo’s cock through his jeans and push against the boner Choso’s been trying to hide since he first saw your underwear. Gojo’s hands move from his neck to pin Choso’s arm above his head. He doesn’t even struggle— he’s sort of starting to understand what you’d said about him being obedient.
Gojo pulls back, face still lingering above him and not centimeters away.
“Get your pants off now and I’ll let you touch her again.” He grumbles, before fully pulling back and giving Choso room to strip. Now it’s easy for Choso to stare up at the boner Gojo’s fostering in his barely concealing jeans. Gojo looms infront of him while Choso scrambles to shuffle out of his jeans and kick them off to the floor.
“Shirt too, dumbfuck.” Gojo snarls like it’s the most obvious thing ever. Choso follows his words and worms out of his t-shirt, branded in some unknown local band. He rests back on his elbows again.
You come up to Choso’s side, having shuffled and removed your dress, sitting in just those panties that caused this, when Gojo and him were enveloped in their kiss. He seems to stare at Gojo’s body when Gojo starts to strip himself. You slink your arms around Choso’s abdomen, worming them so your hands can sit atop his throbbing cock through his tightening boxes.
Choso thinks he’s got to be dreaming.
You knead the ball of your hand down onto his cock firmly. Choso whimpers out, bucking up into the touch with his chest heaving.
Gojo snickers infront of him. You’re no better, snorting at his noises as he feels surrounded. Surrounded by the top of the social class and essentially being their bitch for whatever they want him to do in fear.
“How pathetic.” You quip from behind him, resting your head on Choso’s bare shoulder. “Were you ever like this Satoru?”
“Was never a fucking pervert.” He snarks, staring firmly into Choso’s eyes. Choso feels embarrassed from how hard he’s getting from this. Gojo leans back over Choso’s frame again, the both of you caging him in between you two.
Your hands knead harder at Choso’s dick, drawing pathetically pitchy moans out of him. Gojo’s calloused hand moves your hand out the way before resting almost fully on Choso’s again.
He grinds his hips down to meet Choso’s.
“Gojo!” Choso gasps out. His voice is squeaky and pained but it’s clear he feels nothing but utter pleasure from this.
Gojo’s thick, clothed cock traces over Choso’s, colliding roughly. They throbs at eachother as the dribble of pre-cum through Gojo’s boxers leaks along the meeting of their dicks.
“You fucking love this, don’t you?” Gojo asks above him, smirk yet again coating his perfect face. His breath falls down into Choso’s face, hot and impatient as he waits for an answer.
Choso’s answer forms to make a word before he gasps out again. Your teeth sink into his vampirely pale skin from behind, sucking deep into his bare neck. You suck a clinging bruise into his skin. He moans through the painful pleasure like some pathetic virgin.
You move to suck another one, farther up his neck and Gojo’s hips continue their rolling.
The room fills up with pitiful little ‘ah’s and ‘fuck!’s, all from Choso in seconds.
You pull back for a second while Gojo still stares down at him.
“Flip him over. Wanna feel his mouth already.” You whine, annoyed and impatient. You scoot out the way and Gojo immediately obliges, forcefully manhandling Choso to flip him over and prop him up on his hands and knees, pathetically flushed face sitting between your legs. The panties he craved earlier sit right at his fingertips. And just like that he’s drooling again.
You toss Gojo something Choso doesn’t even catch because he’s too caught up in staring at your underwear.
Your hands yank at his pigtails, pulling his face to sit right infront of your dripping panties. He breaths heavily like he’s witnessing god himself infront of you when you gently pull the lace to the side.
“Go on.” You say impatiently. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, pervert?” Choso doesn’t have to be told twice before he vehemently laps at your folds. He slurps and noses into your cunt like this is the best meal of his life. You yank his pigtails again to push him up against your pussy even further.
Is this some reward for opening the door for an old woman the other day? He’ll become the goddamn care taker for that lady if it meant he got to taste your pussy again.
Choso’s so enveloped in you he doesn’t even notice Gojo’s now unsheathed cock bouncing out of his boxers behind him. Choso’s hands move to pull your hips closer to wrap your legs around his face when Gojo suddenly peels Choso’s boxers down.
Gojo’s hands push at the small of Choso’s back, putting him into an even further arch while he flips open the cap of the bottle of lube with the other hand. He pours the runny liquid over his fingers before dripping a hefty amount along Choso’s hole, some even dripping all the way down along his dick and balls.
Choso jolts up at the cold feeling as Gojo’s girthy finger probes at the rim. Choso’s pulls his head back, looking back over his shoulder before Gojo’s finger cuts him off.
“What are y—” Gojo’s finger pushes in, opening up Choso’s once virgin hole. A loud, whiny moan rings out into the room when Gojo’s finger glides in. Even his moan is cut off when you pull his head back to work at your cunt again.
His vibrating moans against your pussy and squirms against the bedsheets, leaking pre-cum all over, don’t stop even when Gojo drives his digits deeper, or adds another and another and kneads through his gummy walls.
“Think this is perverts first time up the ass.” Gojo quips from behind him as Choso’s tightens around the digits and pushes his ass back onto them.
“Makes sense. He’s whimpering up into me like a bitch.” You joke back breathlessly. Choso’s tongue still laps at and moans into your pussy like he doesn’t ever plan on stopping. “Eats pussy like a dog too.” Choso’s takes some level of offense to how you don’t mention how he made you cum.
Is it wrong of Choso to say this is the best experience of his life? He feels any normal person would argue being humiliated and essentially spit roasted by an entitled frat boy and his equally bratty girlfriend isn’t the ideal sexual experience. But he’d trade normalcy for this a million times out of ten.
Gojo places his now lubed up tip against Choso’s rim. His head falters from your cunt and lands against the sheets, whimpering in anticipation, arching up against his cock.
Gojo’s large hands grips along the sides of Choso’s hips, heaving to lean over him and pulling him taut to his dick.
“Say you want it.” Gojo grumbles into his ear. Not even condescendingly asking, telling him to say it because he knows he’ll fucking do it.
“..I—I want it.” He whines, eyes squinting while Gojo smirks excitedly behind him. The humiliation coats him, assuming that’s the intended effect from the man behind him.
“Good boy.” And then he pushes in. Choso throws his head back, giving Gojo the perfect opportunity to grab at both his pigtails with one hand. The moan he yells out is near pornographic, loud and pitchy, pathetically screamed out for anyone to hear. His hands claw that the sheets while Gojo groans behind him, not stopping and still driving forward into him till his cock bottoms out in Choso’s tight walls.
The feeling of this is better than any phsyedelics Choso’s ever tried. It feels fucking euphoric, like pure ecstasy injected into his system. He’s so hazed he doesn’t even notice you’re pulling out your phone until you have it positioned in front of his face.
“Say cheese, Choso!” You mock, voice overly happy and giddy for the compromising position you’ve got him lolled in. For gods sake Choso’s face’s still got your slick and cum dripping from his nose to his lips. Gojo’s hand yanks Choso’s head back up, holding up his fucked out face to the camera like some sort of trophy while he widely grins.
When the flash finally clicks, Gojo wastes no time slamming Choso’s head into the mattress and driving in deeper thrusts into him. His moans are even still audibly through the sheets he’s that vocal.
“Fuck he’s tight.” Gojo says inbetween labored breaths as he pounds into Choso, slamming their hips together. “You know, people’d pay good money for this ass. Fuckin’ amazing.”
You’re the first to notice Choso’s tears leaking into the bed. And then you fucking laugh at him.
“Awww, ‘Toru, look.” You point. “He’s crying!” You mock before pulling his hair up for the umpteenth time this night and turning his neck forcefully so Gojo can see the sheer amount of tears pouring down his face while he still fucks into him firmly.
You slink of your slick panties and bring them up to Choso’s face.
“Here, I’ll wipe ‘em up for you.” You shove the red lace into his already ruined face.
You expected a whimper maybe, not for him to instantaneously orgasm and shoot out thick white ropes of cum against the contrasting bed sheets.
When you and Gojo start laughing at him like it’s the funniest joke of all time, all he can think is how he’ll be jerking off to this tomorrow morning.
︵ ೀ mdni. satoru finds your secret sketchbook full of him and in a haste to explain yourself, he offers to be the nude model for your assignment ( artist!reader x sports!satoru / college au / wc 5.7 k )
satoru finds your sketchbook on the library table, left behind in the rush to make it to class on time. he almost doesn't open it—almost. but his name catches his eye, written in pencil at the corner of a page peeking out, and curiosity wins.
the first few pages are normal. simple shapes, little notes about elbows and shoulders, the kind of boring practice sketches he has seen you do countless times. he almost closes it, kind of bored. but he keeps flipping, and then he stops.
it's him. there's no mistaking it.
his jaw, drawn in a few quick lines. the way his head tilts when he's only half listening to someone talk. his eyes are on the next page, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair the way it sometimes is. you got the little crease at the corner of his eye right, the one that shows up right before he laughs.
he turns the page again. his hands this time. three different versions, like you couldn't decide which one you liked best. then his shoulders. the curve of his neck. a quick sketch of him stretching after practice, his shirt riding up a little at his side.
he keeps flipping. faster now. and then there's a full body drawing. him, shirtless, soft shading along his stomach and chest. his hipbones. the dip of his waist. it's not messy or rushed. it's careful. like you spent real time thinking about where the light would hit him and where the shadows would fall.
satoru sits down on the edge of the table, the sketchbook open in his lap, and stares at it for a second too long. he's not sure what he's feeling. he's used to people looking at him. he's not used to being looked at like this—slow, careful, like every detail actually mattered to the person drawing it.
he's so caught up in it that he doesn't even hear you walking up until you're right next to him, out of breath and a little panicked.
"satoru, have you seen my—"
you stop talking. your eyes drop to his hands, to the sketchbook open on his knees, to the exact page he's on—the shirtless one—and your face goes white for a second before turning bright red.
"oh my god."
he looks up at you, a grin already pulling at his mouth. "you draw me?"
"give it back." you reach for it, but he just lifts it out of your reach, way too entertained by this.
"wait, wait, wait." he flips back a page, holding it up. "are these abs? i don't think i actually have abs like this."
"satoru—"
"i mean, kind of," he says, grinning even wider, "but you really went all in here. there's shading. you gave me a six pack i don't fully have."
you try to grab it again. he holds it just out of reach again, smiling down at you.
"you drew my hands three times. why does a hand need three tries."
"because hands are hard, okay? that's not weird, hands are literally one of the hardest things to draw, ask anyone—"
"never said it was weird." he finally lowers the sketchbook, though he doesn't hand it back yet. he just looks at you for a second—your face completely red, your arms crossed tight like you're trying to disappear. "it's flattering."
you groan and cover your face with both hands. "it's for class. i'm not being weird about it."
"didn't say that either." his smile softens a little, more curious now than teasing. "but seriously. why me?"
you peek at him through your fingers, like maybe if you don't fully participate in this conversation it'll just end on its own. "we started a new unit," you mumble. "figure drawing. like, anatomy, proportions, the whole body. they bring in models for class and it's just—it's so awkward, satoru. you're sitting there for three hours trying to draw a person you've never even talked to."
"so you draw me instead."
"my professor said it's easier when you draw someone you actually know," you say quickly, like talking fast will make this less embarrassing. "like, it helps to already be familiar with the person. and you're a sports major, you're literally built like the examples in our textbook, so i thought... i don't know. it made sense."
"so you thought, 'oh wait. i've got a pretty handsome friend. i'll draw him.'"
"i did not think about it like that."
"you basically did."
but he's not really laughing at you. there's something kind of warm in the way he's looking at you now, the sketchbook still resting on his knee like he's in no rush to give it back. "you know," he says, his voice a little quieter now, "you could've just asked me."
"i didn't want to make it weird."
he raises an eyebrow. "weirder than it already is?"
you groan and bury your face in your hands again. "stop it."
he chuckles, finally closing the sketchbook but still not handing it back, just holding it loosely against his chest like he's claimed it now. "so what's the assignment actually for? like what's due."
you hesitate. this is the part you really didn't want to get into. "it's, um. it's a full figure study. like, a finished piece, not just sketches."
"okay. so like what you already drew?"
"kind of. except—" you stop, feeling your face heat up all over again.
"except what?"
you sigh, giving up on hiding it. "it has to be a nude study. that's the whole point of the unit. like, the body without clothes, the way the muscles and proportions actually work without fabric getting in the way."
his eyebrows go up, surprised, but he doesn't say anything teasing this time, just listens.
"and everyone else in class already has their reference done," you continue, the words spilling out faster now that you've started. "they've all been going to the model sessions for weeks. i missed like three of them and now i'm behind. i don't have anything to actually work from, and it's due monday, and i don't know what i'm gonna do."
he's quiet for a second, turning the sketchbook over in his hands like he's thinking. then he shrugs, easy, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "so draw me."
you blink at him. "what?"
"draw me," he says again, like he's repeating himself for someone a little slow. "for the assignment."
"satoru, i don't think you understand what i just said—"
"i understood it fine." he leans back against the table, arms crossed now, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "you need a body to draw. i have a body. solves your problem."
"that's not— you don't have to do that."
"you didn't ask. i offered."
"satoru."
"what? you already drew me shirtless without even asking," he points out, smirking. "feels like i should at least get a say in it this time."
your mouth opens and then closes again, no actual argument coming to mind.
"so," he says, holding the sketchbook out to you now, finally, "when do you want me."
you stare at him for a long moment, waiting for the joke to land, for him to laugh and say he's kidding. it doesn't come. he just watches you, sketchbook held out between you, patient in a way that's almost worse than if he were still teasing.
"you're serious," you finally say.
"dead serious." he wiggles the sketchbook a little, like he's reminding you it's still there, still yours to take. "i mean, unless you don't want it to be me. i get it if that's weird."
"it's not that i don't want it to be you," you say quickly, before you can think better of it, and then immediately wish you could take the sentence back the second you hear how it sounds out loud.
his grin widens. "oh?"
"shut up. you know what i mean." you finally take the sketchbook from him, hugging it to your chest like it might protect you from the rest of this conversation. "i just don't want you to feel like you have to. it's a big ask."
"could just say thank you, you know." he checks his phone, then looks back up at you. "okay, so. when's good. you said it's due monday?"
your stomach does something complicated at the thought of this actually happening, of him actually meaning it. "i mean—if you're really down, friday night could work. gives me the whole weekend after to finish the piece."
"friday night works. come by my dorm, like, eight?" he says it so casually, like he's inviting you over for a movie and not offering to sit there while you draw every inch of him. "more privacy than the studio anyway. don't gotta worry about randos walking in."
"right." your voice comes out a little higher than you mean it to. "yeah. that makes sense."
"bring your stuff. pencils, whatever you need." he's already turning to go, slinging his bag over one shoulder, looking far too unbothered for someone who just volunteered for this. then he glances back at you, smirk creeping in again ""and hey—make sure you get the good angles. i have a reputation to maintain."
"i make no promises."
he laughs at that, walking backward a few steps before finally turning around fully and heading off down the hall, leaving you standing there with your sketchbook clutched to your chest and friday suddenly feeling very, very far away and not far away at all.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
you knock on his door right at eight, sketchbook tucked under your arm. when the door swings open, you almost forget how to speak entirely.
he's standing there in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, hair still damp and pushed back messily from the shower, a few stray drops sliding down the side of his neck. he looks completely unbothered by it, leaning one arm against the doorframe like he just answered the door for a pizza delivery and not for you.
"hey," he says, grinning at the way your eyes immediately snap up to his face. "you're early. or i'm late. one of those."
"you said eight," you manage, voice coming out a little strangled.
"yeah, and it's eight." he steps back to let you in, completely at ease, while you do your absolute best not to stare at the water still tracking down his collarbone. "wanted to shower first. figured you'd want clean reference material, not sweaty me."
"right. that's—considerate." your face is heating up fast, and you hate how obvious it probably is.
he notices, of course he notices, smirk pulling wider as he shuts the door behind you. "you're already red and i haven't even dropped the towel yet."
"i'm not red."
"you're very red." he says it gently, almost fond, like he's enjoying this a little too much. "relax. you're gonna see me naked in like, five minutes anyway. no point getting shy now."
"that's—that doesn't make it less weird, satoru, that makes it more—" you cut yourself off, setting your bag down on his desk a little too forcefully, mostly to give your hands something to do that isn't fidgeting.
he just laughs, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering. "you're the one who's been secretly sketching me for who knows how long without even telling me. i'm just catching up to the project at this point."
you need something to say, anything, because the silence stretching between you feels too loud, too charged, like it's just waiting for you to do something stupid like keep staring at him. "so, um." you clear your throat, eyes darting anywhere that isn't directly at the towel. "how was practice?"
he glances at you over his shoulder, clearly clocking the fact that you're filling dead air for the sake of filling it, but he humors you anyway, padding over to the little kitchenette tucked in the corner of his dorm. "long. coach had us running rounds for like two hours straight. my legs are gonna hate me tomorrow."
"sounds rough."
"it was fine." he pulls a shaker bottle down from a shelf, dumping in a scoop of protein powder with one hand while the other holds the towel in place at his hip. "you get used to it after a while. body adjusts."
"right. makes sense." you nod way too many times for someone agreeing with such a simple statement, perching yourself on the edge of his desk chair, flipping your sketchbook open.
he adds water, screws the lid on, and shakes it, the muscles in his forearm shifting in a way you absolutely do not need to notice right now and notice anyway. then he tips his head back and drinks, and you watch—you can't help it, your eyes just go there on their own—the long line of his throat moving as he swallows, a bead of water from his still-damp hair sliding down the side of his neck and disappearing somewhere past his collarbone.
you realize you're staring a full two seconds too late.
"you're staring," he says, lowering the bottle, that slow grin spreading across his face like he's been waiting for an excuse to call it out.
"what?" your voice comes out a little too fast.
"you heard me." he sets the shaker down on the counter, leaning back against it. "staring. at me. just now."
"i wasn't staring," you say, way too quickly, your face heating up all over again as you fumble to look anywhere else—the ceiling, the floor, the stack of textbooks on his desk, anywhere that isn't him.
"you were so staring." he pushes off the counter, walking closer with that unhurried way he moves, like he has all the time in the world and fully intends to use it to torture you. "it's fine. i get it. i'm a lot to take in."
"oh my god."
"i'm just messing with you." he laughs. "relax. you look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm fine."
"uh huh." he doesn't push it further. he turns and heads toward the open space near his window, where the evening light is still soft and golden enough. he glances back at you over his shoulder. "okay. so how do you want me. like, pose-wise."
"oh—right." you fumble for your sketchbook, flipping it open to a blank page, grateful for something to focus on besides the fact that he's still only in a towel. "um. standing's probably easiest to start. maybe just—natural. however you'd normally stand."
"natural how. like this?" he straightens up, shoulders back, doing this exaggerated, stiff superhero pose that's clearly meant to make you laugh.
it works. a small laugh escapes you despite everything. "no, not like that. just—relaxed. like you're not thinking about it."
"hard to not think about it when you're staring at me with a pencil." but he loosens up anyway, settling his weight onto one leg, one hand coming up to rest at the back of his neck. "this work?"
your pencil is already moving before you fully register deciding to start. "yeah. that's—that's good. don't move."
"wasn't planning to." his voice has dropped a little, quieter now, watching you work. "you gonna tell me when the towel needs to come off, or am i supposed to guess."
your pencil stutters against the page. "right. um. whenever you're ready, i guess. it's—it's for the assignment, so."
"so professional," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's fighting back a grin. "okay. you ready?"
"yeah." you swallow, gripping your pencil a little too tight. "ready."
he reaches up and tugs the knot of the towel loose, and it drops to the floor without any of the fanfare your racing heart seems to think the moment deserves. he doesn't flinch, doesn't make a big show of it—just steps back into the same easy stance from before, one hand resting at the back of his neck, weight settled onto one leg, completely at home in his own skin in a way that makes your nerves feel almost silly by comparison.
you keep your eyes on the page for a long moment before you let yourself actually look, telling yourself it's just reference, just anatomy, just the same thing you'd be doing with any model in class.
but it doesn't feel like just anatomy. it feels like every line of him is something you've already know from the sketches you didn't think anyone would see, except now the soft pencil shading has nothing on the real thing—the actual shape of his shoulders, the dip of muscle along his stomach, the lean lines of him standing there like an italian renaissance sculpture.
and god, he's better than you imagined. better than he looked in your head late at night when you couldn't sleep, which—not that you dream about him, obviously, that would be ridiculous, that's not a thing that happens—but if you did, hypothetically, this would still somehow be better than that.
it's almost unfair, really. the way his body looks like it was carved out of stone, like michelangelo himself spent way too long getting the proportions exactly right—shoulders broad and strong, the muscle down his arms, the curve where his waist narrows into his hips.
it's the kind of body you'd expect to see behind glass in a museum somewhere, with a little plaque underneath, except this version breathes and makes dumb jokes.
you let your eyes trace lower, the way you would with any reference, you tell yourself, purely for the sake of the assignment. his cock rests heavy between his thighs, thick and full, and bigger than you thought it would be (not that you'd ever thought about his dick, obviously, that's not a thing you do.)
the head shows a soft flush where it brushes against his leg, and the fair hair trails down from his navel and gathers in pale curls at the base. the sharp v of his hips frames it all in clean lines that make your fingers itch to draw every shadow and curve.
"you still with me?" he says, a little amused, like he's clocked exactly how long you've been staring without actually drawing anything.
"yeah—sorry, yeah." you blink, snapping your eyes back up to his face, pencil finally moving again.
"should i have, like, shaved or something?"
your face goes instantly red all over again. "what? no—it's fine. you're fine. it's not—that's not a thing you need to worry about."
"figured i'd ask." he shrugs. "usually i shave when i've got a girl coming over, but i was running late today, so."
"oh my god." you cover your face with one hand, pencil still somehow managing to keep moving against the page with the other. "i did not need to know that."
"only wanted to clear the air."
you peek at him through your fingers, deciding two can play this game. "so what you're telling me is you haven't had anyone over in a while, huh?"
a short surprised laugh, like he wasn't expecting you to fight back. "wow. okay. didn't think you had it in you. but—i mean, i have someone over now."
"to draw you. that's different."
"you're still seeing my dick or whatever."
"that's not the same thing and you know it."
"feels pretty similar from where i'm standing."
"so, the other girls sit across the room admiring you for twenty minutes with a sketchbook before anything happens? is that what you're telling me?"
"oh, so you're admiring me."
"that's not what i—i meant artistically."
"sure you did."
"i hate you."
"just so you know—they're not usually sitting across the room admiring me for twenty minutes. they're usually under me about thirty seconds after they walk through the door."
"oh my god, satoru."
after another ten minutes or so, your pencil finally slows, then stops altogether, hovering over the last few finishing strokes before you sit back to actually look at what you've got. it's good. better than good—the proportions feel right in a way they never quite did with the strangers from class, like having an actual person in front of you instead of just a body made all the difference.
"okay," you say, clearing your throat. "i think i've got what i need. you can relax."
"oh thank god." he drops the pose immediately, shoulders slumping, rolling his neck out with an exaggerated groan like he's been holding some kind of intense athletic stance this whole time and not just standing there looking effortlessly good. "puhhh. finally. you have no idea how hard it is to stand still that long."
"you literally do athletic training for two hours a day."
"that's different, that's moving. this was just—" he shakes out his arms, grabbing the towel off the floor and wrapping it back around his waist, "—standing there being stared at. way more exhausting than it sounds."
"you're so dramatic."
"i'm a very dedicated model, is what i am." he flops down onto the edge of his bed, finally looking properly relaxed for the first time all evening, then immediately perks back up, craning his neck toward your sketchbook. "okay, lemme see it."
you instinctively pull the book a little closer to your chest. "it's not done done. it's just the reference sketch."
"i don't care, i wanna see." he's already getting up, padding over. "c'mon. i posed for, like, twenty minutes straight. i've earned a peek."
"fine. but you can't make fun of it." you hold the sketchbook out, a little reluctant, watching his face carefully as he leans over to look.
he goes quiet for a second, which is rare enough on its own that you almost want to comment on it. his eyes move slowly over the page, taking in the lines of his own shoulders, the careful shading along his stomach, his easy stance you'd worked so hard to get right.
"huh," he says finally.
"what? is it bad?"
"no, it's—" he tilts his head. "it's really good, actually. like, you made me look good good. not just accurate good."
"that's literally just what you look like."
"i don't know, i feel like you're being generous with the shoulders." but he's smiling now, something a little softer underneath the teasing, still looking at the drawing instead of you. "you're actually talented. like, properly. i wasn't expecting it to be this good."
"you say that like you thought i was bad."
"i didn't know what to expect! you draw secret abs sketches of your friends, forgive me for having questions about your technical skill." but he says it gently, nudging your shoulder with his again, and when he finally looks up at you there's something warm in his expression that wasn't quite there before, something that makes your stomach flip a little. "seriously, though. this is really good. you should be proud of it."
"thanks," you say, feeling a little warm under the actual sincerity of it, fumbling slightly for something to do with your hands besides just standing there basking in gojo satoru's approval like it means something. "i mean, it's still rough. i've gotta clean it up before monday."
"still." he's still looking at it, then glances up at you with a grin starting to spread. "can i take a picture of it?"
"what? why?"
"i don't know, for personal use." he's already reaching for his phone on the nightstand. "this might genuinely be the most insane nude i could ever send to a girl. like, nobody's topping that."
"satoru, oh my god, no." you yank the sketchbook back against your chest, half laughing despite yourself. "you are not sending this to anyone."
"think about it though. any other guy sends a regular picture, basic, boring, zero creativity behind it. i send this and i'm instantly the most romantic man alive." he's grinning, clearly enjoying how flustered you've gotten all over again. "it's basically a love letter. you put thought into this."
"it's an anatomy assignment."
"a very thoughtful anatomy assignment." he reaches for the sketchbook again, more playful than serious about actually taking it. "c'mon, one picture. i won't even send it to anyone. probably."
you let him, mostly because you know arguing further is a losing battle, and he snaps a quick picture before setting his phone back down, looking entirely too pleased with himself about the whole thing.
"okay," he says, dropping back down onto the edge of the bed. "anything else you need from me? more poses, weird angles, you want me to flex my biceps?"
"no, it's fine." you start gathering your things. "i think i stressed you out enough for one night."
"you didn't stress me out." he watches you for a second, head tilted, clearly not buying the way you said that. "spill it."
"what?"
"you've got a face. the 'i want to say something but i'm not gonna' face." he leans back on his hands. "what is it."
you hesitate, fingers tightening slightly around your pencil case. "i mean—maybe we could do one more pose? like, a different angle or something. just so i actually have options when i sit down to finish it properly. i don't wanna hand in the first thing i drew if there's something better i could've gotten."
he blinks, then grins, already pushing himself back up off the bed. "yeah. sure. why not." he rolls his shoulders out, stepping back toward the open space by the window. "you're the artist. tell me where you want me this time."
he settles into the chair this time, leaning back with his head tipped against the top of it, one leg stretched out, the whole thing far more relaxed than the standing pose from before. one hand comes to rest loosely in his lap, fingers resting near his cock without much thought behind it.
"oh, this is way better. way less work than standing there like a statue." he glances down at where his hand landed, a flicker of realization crossing his face, and he laughs a little, shifting like he's about to move it. "oh—sorry, that's just habit. didn't even think about where i put my hand."
"no, it's—" you hesitate, voice catching, face going hot all over again. "it's, um—it's fine. really. genuinely fine. do whatever's, uh—whatever's comfortable for you. i'm not—this isn't a big deal."
he looks at you for a second, like he's checking you actually mean it, then shrugs, settling back into exactly the same position, hand staying right where it was. "okay. if you're sure. i'll stay like this, then."
your pencil is already moving, eyes flicking between him and the page. it takes you a few minutes to notice that he's stopped looking out at nothing and started watching you instead, head tilted slightly against the back of the chair.
"what?"
"nothing." but he doesn't stop watching you. there's something almost soft about the way he's looking at you now, the corner of his mouth pulled into a small smile, like he's caught himself thinking something he wasn't planning on. "you get this face when you're drawing. all scrunched up and serious."
"i do not."
"you so do. little furrow right here." he reaches up, tapping a finger lightly between his own eyebrows to demonstrate, careful not to actually shift out of the pose. "it's kind of cute."
your pencil stutters against the page. "don't move," you mutter, mostly to give yourself something to say that isn't reacting to that.
"i'm not moving."
he settles back again, and keeps watching you. his cock twitches once under his hand where it rests in his lap. he feels the slow thickening start before he can stop it. oh fuck. the words stay stuck in his throat but they echo in his head as he presses his fingers down a little harder. he tries to hold the growing length discreetly against his thigh but it is no use. another twitch makes the head nudge up against his palm.
your pencil pauses on the page. you see it. the subtle flex of his fingers. the unmistakable twitch that makes his cock strain despite the way he tries to keep it down. heat spreads low in your stomach and between your legs so fast it leaves you dizzy.
"sorry about that," he mutters. the flush on his neck deepens and his hand stays pressed over the twitching length like he can will it back down. but it twitches again anyway. slow and heavy and impossible to ignore. "long day, i guess. lot on my mind."
you swallow. "it's fine."
"i don't know, i normally kind of—wind down at night. on my own. you know. guess my body didn't get the memo that tonight's schedule looked a little different."
"oh! uh—i can go," you blurt out, already half reaching for your bag, face burning. "like, seriously, if you need a few minutes or—whatever, i don't want to make this weirder than it already is—"
"no, no, you don't have to go." he sits up a little. "it'll pass. it's fine. i'm fine."
"are you sure? because i really don't mind waiting outside, or coming back tomorrow, or—"
"i'm sure." he gives you a small, almost sheepish smile, the most genuinely embarrassed you think you've ever seen him. "just finish your drawing. i swear i'm not gonna combust."
"okay." you sink back down slowly, still not entirely convinced, sketchbook settling back into your lap. "if you're sure."
"i'm sure." he resettles into the chair, head tipping back again, doing his best to look casual about it even though his ears are still a little red. "c'mon. let's just—finish this. pretend it's a normal tuesday."
"it's friday."
"pretend it's a normal friday, then. work with me here."
you pick your pencil back up, trying to focus on the page instead of the very obvious tension radiating off him from across the room. for a minute or two it almost works, both of you pretending pretty hard that everything's fine.
the quiet stretches between you. you try to keep drawing but your focus slips every time he shifts in the chair. his hand presses down harder in his lap. he is trying to push his cock fully flat against his thigh now. his breathing turns heavy and uneven like he cannot quite catch it. you hear every inhale, every slow exhale. he is getting so worked up just from sitting there while you look at him. his cock under his palm thickens and twitches against his fingers no matter how he tries to hold it still.
then his fingers move slower. deliberate. he touches himself a little. just the barest drag of his thumb along the side like he is checking how hard he is getting. it twitches again under the touch. bigger this time. he presses down quick to try and calm it but it does not help. his breath catches on a low sound he does not quite manage to swallow.
your pencil stops moving. heat floods through you so fast your face burns.
"okay," he says, dragging a hand down his face. "okay, i think i actually need a few minutes this time."
"oh god, yes, okay." you're already on your feet, sketchbook nearly sliding off your lap in your rush. "i'll just—i'll wait outside, or—"
"you can stay." he says it quickly, almost too quickly, like it surprises even him. "i mean—if you want. it won't take long."
"satoru."
"what? i'm just saying, you don't have to leave the building over this."
"i'm not waiting in here while you—"
he does not look away from you as his hand slides back down between his legs. he is already painfully hard. his cock stands thick and flushed in his palm, the head dark and wet at the tip. he wraps his fingers around the length and strokes once slow and tight like he has been holding back for too long.
"i think i like it when you watch," he almost moans.
"i'm gonna—" you don't even finish the sentence, just grab your bag and bolt for the door, nearly tripping over your own backpack strap on the way. "air. i need air. i'll be right back."
"wait! you don't have to run—"
but the door already slams shut behind you, and you stand in the hallway for a solid ten seconds just catching your breath, face burning, heart absolutely pounding, before you let yourself slide down against the wall and bury your face in your hands.
you stay quiet. your breathing slows but your heart does not. then you hear it, muffled through the door. the low rough sound of his voice. a groan, and the wet sound of skin moving on skin. another sound comes through, sharper this time, and a low fuck.
you press your thighs together where you sit on the floor. the noises do not stop. they get a little louder like he has stopped holding back now that you are gone. you can picture it perfectly, his hand moving fast on his thick cock. another groan filters through the door and your body reacts hard, heat flooding between your legs.
you sit there against the wall, staring blankly at the hallway carpet while your brain refuses to move away from his door and not listen to his moans and groans anymore.
how. how are you supposed to look him in the eye after this. how are you supposed to sit across from him in the dining hall next week, or wave at him across campus, or exist in the same general vicinity as gojo satoru ever again without your whole face just instantly catching fire.
you bury your face deeper into your hands, groaning quietly to yourself. it was one thing when it was just sketches. it was even survivable when he found the sketchbook, mortifying as that had been. but this. this is a whole new tier of humiliation you didn't know existed until tonight.
you're going to have to transfer schools. change your name. move to another country, probably. there's no version of monday where you walk into the dining hall and he's there and you don't immediately die on the spot.
somewhere behind the door, things have gone quiet.
you really, really don't want to think about what that means.
hiii everyone sorry abt my long break buttttt im back!! yay!! anyways…
i present to you… How True Form Sukuna Fucks his Wife!
pwp, multiple positions, husband Sukuna, heian era
Sukuna isn't one to try new things... except when it comes to fucking your brains out! Some of his favorites usually include hands all over your body, and being in control.
Example A :
Sukuna has your back pressed to his chest and your legs by your ears in full nelson. He loved this position because you were forced to squirm and take it! there is nowhere to run from his two cocks pummeling into your holes.
drool seeps from your parted lips as your husband's sharp canines bite deep into your shoulder. His hand on your neck squeezes firm as your needy pussy sucks him deeper and deeper with every thrust. your ass aches as your puckered hole twitches and squeezes him so so so tight.
"dammit woman," he grunts, his hips jumping to slam into you harder. the two hands on your thighs grip harder, you're convinced you'll have bruises blooming by morning.
your nails dig into his forearms, your moans and whimpers increase in pitch as your tummy tightens. "kuna..-" you gasp out between labored breaths. "sosososo close.. mmhmm.." you whine, back arching, and hips bucking. a few seconds later, and your pussy is fluttering around his cock as your warm cum squirts and leaks and drips down to your ass.
sukuna cums too. thick, hot cum spurts into your pussy and your asshole. he pulls out slowly and reaches one big hand between your shaking legs to rub your cunt while he waits for you to come down from your high.
Example B :
this time, Sukuna has you in missionary. one of his hands cradles your head gently, contrasting with his mean thrusts. one of his dicks is deep in your pussy while the other lays in your tummy, spurting precum. two of his hands are holding your hips in place while the last one rubs little circles on your clit.
your legs lock around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. your arms are around his neck, nails digging into his flesh, forming red lines in their wake. one of his hands on your hips snakes up to wrap around your waist, holding you firmer.
your breathing is shaky and you eyes are squeezed shut, bottom lip jutting out and quivering. "'kuna..!" you whined and pulled him down closer to you so you could push your face into his neck. Sukuna's hips thrust harder, his balls slapped your ass while your pussy leaked.
"how's yer pussy so tight, woman? am I not fucking her hard enough?" he mumbled against your warm skin. he lifted your hips higher so he could hit deeper. his thick cock rubbed over and over against that spot that makes your head spin and combined with the synchronized stimulation to your clit, he pushed you over the edge.
"c..cumming..!" you gasp out, legs shaking and hips bucking. he doesn't last long after you, the squeezing from your pussy was just too good. Sukuna hips kept moving, albeit slower and shallower, until you were spent. he pulled out slowly, and untucked you from his chest. everywhere from his collarbone to his jaw was littered in bite marks and wet with tears and spit.
you looked up at him, eyes wide and teary, "good?" you asked quietly, voice straining. he hummed and kissed your forehead as a response.
Example C :
sukuna has you pressed face down in the mattress. one cock is stuffed in your crying pussy and the other rubbed against your ass with each brutal thrust. Sukuna always fucks you hard until you couldn't take it and then some. right now, he's pushing you past your limit.
your loud moans of pain and pleasure echo through the large room. he always liked it when you were loud, never caring who might be around to hear. right now, you were crying his name over and over like a chant.
"kunakunakunakunakuna" it was muffled by pillows, but to him, there was no greater sound. his hand in you hair tightened, pushing your down harder and slamming his hips against your plush butt. his hands on your hips held you up, angling them for you and holding you still. his last hand switched back and forth between massaging your ass to stroking his own dick.
your arms wrapped around a pillow, face smushed into it. it was wet with tears and drool and stained with makeup he ruined. you knew this wing was probably empty of servants at this time of night, but you couldn't help but be embarrassed with how loud you were being!
sukuna was pummeling you. to the point where you were shaking and incoherent. to the point where you couldn't lift your own head. your toes curled and your back was in a mean arch, you tried to lift your head and when you couldn't, he did it for you. "'s too much, kunaaa" you slurred, gasping and whimpering.
"I know it is. take it anyway, yeah?" he said, you could practically hear his grin. and yeah you loved the way he talked to you when you were like this, and yeah it pushed you to your nth orgasm. you couldn't even warn him before juice gushed out of your pussy and sprayed his dick and thighs. your squirting forced his dick out, but not before he spurted a good amount of his cum into you before letting the rest leak onto you ass and back.
when your body was done shaking, he lifted your head up by your hair. and when you looked back at him, eyes hazy and glazed over with pure love and adoration... he wanted to do it all again!
ugh I hope you guys like this one! again, sorry for inactivity. love you all!
baratheonpilled
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
prguitarman
gracieabrams
theartofmadeline
