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[rawme-price]

Imagine stressing about the date you plan to go on with your captain, Price...

Sure, he's sweet and affectionate with you in the hidden corners of the base, but you never wear anything too revealing around there. Nothing form-fitting, always geared towards comfort.

On base, there's at least the illusion that you're skinny enough to be the pretty thing he wants to chase after.

But...not now, as you stand in the mirror. You frown at how every dress you've tried on just..doesn't work. The pudge of your lower stomach hangs out, fat rolls on your sides. It's a simple black dress, but form fitting. It looked nice on the model.

You're tempted to call it off, tell price to cancel his plans, when you hear a knock on your door. Price is here. You can't avoid this.

You open the door, resolutely staring at John's shoes to avoid seeing his reaction. He's dead silent for a long, agonizing moment. You're not sure what to think besides please don't be disgusted.

"...bloody hell, kid," he huffs, voice low and stunned "yer not plannin' on wearing that out, are you?"

Your stomach drops, lips trembling. Before you can force out an apology, price is stepping into your space, hands finding your hips "christ– i won't be able to stop myself if you do. Yer trying to kill yer old man, huh?"

Your eyes dart up to his face, and with a startling realization you note that price is smiling. Face red, brows pinched, but smiling. "you like it, then...?" You ask, unable to stop your doubt.

"Like it? Love, ahm about ready to bend you over right now," price chuckles, warm palms sliding over your pudgy stomach. He freezes over your hips, and you're sure he can feel how your lingerie hugs and pinches your fat in ever so slightly.

"Fucking hell–" he groans, head dropping with a rough exhale. Price pushes you further into the room hurriedly "actually, how about we postpone, eh kid? I wanna see what else you've been hiding–"

Well...turns out price is more than happy about your weight. He makes sure you know that, thoroughly and several times over that night.

[decay1ngstatic]

────⟢ you don’t know him, but 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍.ᐟ𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 knows you— doesn’t matter which lifetime. gn!reader. this reader is from another universe, but the same person he fell in love with. satoru has very unhealthy coping mechanisms. reader cannot be bothered LMFAOO. angst. (?) fluffy banter, although he’s a lil. . y’know.

satoru gojo had always worn arrogance like a second skin.

not the obnoxious, mocking kind— no. this coat of his was slippery; insufferable hands meddling about in business that isn’t his before leaving without a trace in sight. no, this layer speaks in hushed whispers of his doom. doom will be, even if it isn’t. for now.

and, well.

pride does get into your head sometimes, doesn’t it?

even if the sting doesn’t numb him as much, it’s still enough to make his senses reel. stop. and then spiral completely. just a taste, he thinks. just a taste, then never again.

and yet, when he finds himself crawling back at your porch for yet another glimpse— all the broken records melt away.

you’re a little different from what he remembers. have you always worn your hair that way? one that makes the sunlight stick to the strands like they want them to become one? the little quirk of your lip is missing, like something sacred breathing in death. but that’s okay. at least your eyes still hold his the same way he knows. you’re still you, different universe or not.

(and he’s still satoru.)

“. . you really can’t catch a break, can you,” his eyes trail over the slope of your nose, the way it scrunches up the slighest bit when you look up at him. look at him with daggers, drag them down his chest, but just look at him. please. “i thought i told you to stay away from my apartment.”

now it’s his turn to scrunch his nose— although he does it a tad bit later than he would’ve liked. “hey, it’s not my fault some bozos tried to off the manager,” gloved fingers drum across your door, matching the rhythm of the bird locked away in his chest, “who, somehow worked at the bank next to your apartment.”

you raise a brow. “sure.”

“besides,” satoru wriggles his eyebrows, ignoring the orange screen on his wrist screaming at him to leave the dimension, “we’re best friends, aren’t we?”

“you met me last week.”

did he? it feels so much longer.

it was only yesterday when your blood had stained his jaw. only yesterday when he’d had the sticky glass shards pulled out of his skin by hands that weren’t yours. only yesterday when they took your body away, although he stole some pieces to let them rot at the back of his mind.

(it was only yesterday when he had his. . canon event.)

so why are you sounding so far away?

“a lot happens in a week,” satoru argues, pointing a scandalized finger at you, “that’s a luna moth’s entire lifespan, y’know.” the pride gnaws at his ankles, but he lets it.

“and that will be your remaining lifespan, too, if you keep showing up here.” a pause, before you offer him a smile— sweet and acidic. “now please get off my face, stalker.”

his smile lingers even when the door slams shut, hollow eyes seeking the ghost of you. how funny, really, that he could cross dimensions— and these silly wooden barriers would stop him from cradling your painting. your painting, even if it’s coloured differently. still yours.

“satoru, get the fuck out of there,” beeps a voice from the watch. he doesn’t know whom it belongs to, but that’s okay. having too many names on your hands can make them rust, after all.

and as he leaves your porch, he checks his hands for your blood. sweat, satoru thinks. only sweat. because you’re here, aren’t you? glaring at him from your window. even if you aren’t there, you’re here.

“coming,” he sing songs, flashing a dimpled grin at you before the mask comes down once again.

✦ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⨾ @satorus-princess / @mimuju / @besidesjustmyamour / @naf3211 / @jelxqa / @helloxkittylo / @nimbusonik / @sugurusladyknightt / @maybemethebeloved / @mikaari0 / @gravecyte / @gojoswaterbottle / @lawverrmango / @kurtcokeaine / @mayyhaps / @descargueestoporgojosatoru .

[rawme-price]

Kyle "uh...what's the difference between a pad and tampon??" Garrick who has absolutely no experience with menstrual cycles before you. He's an only child and his only exposure to periods is the concept that you should be nicer to people when they have one. Which means he ends up coming home with five different types of pads and tampons as well as every snack he could think of because he noticed the empty candy wrappers in the trash. He is doing his best :(

Vs

John "of course I got chocolate for our period, dove." Mactavish who grew up the middle child and only boy of six children. He has heard and witnessed everything out there and nothing phases him. Soap isn't making a run to the shop because he already keeps supplies stocked. He keeps track of your period even when you don't. Yes, he has asked to put your tampon in for you. Please, don't let him unless you want some kinda gross and horny commentary the entire time.

[bluukive-deactivated20260523]

⚘ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬

Hurray for body positivity. #projecting

Toji was a big man, and that meant he had a big appetite.

Not in terms of food, though. Toji could probably clear an entire buffet alone, granted — but his real hunger came out when you were around. It was obvious in the way those jaded eyes of his dragged down each soft inch of your body with clear intent.

He was a goner for the way the curve of your waist dipped in ever so slightly, then flared out into a full set of hips.

Not only that, Toji found that being able to worship your body with his very hands was nothing short of ecstasy. His palms were large, complete with sets of thick fingers that were able to mould into your plush skin with ease.

Then there was that slight pudge over your lower belly. Your husband liked how it was never fully flat — relaxed on some days, bloated on others. Regardless, Toji found it to be the place to leave a peck, imagining his future child nestled deep within one day.

Oh, and your thighs? That was a different conversation entirely.

"Fuckin' perfect," Toji would mumble to himself, loud enough for you to hear as your thighs spread out once you sat down. You'd laugh his words off, crossing your legs out of self-consciousness — a habit of yours.

Toji was having none of it.

"You don't really mean that, do you?" You'd question, which was something he found utterly ridiculous.

It was then he'd drag you on top of him, groaning at the way you were finally pinning him down with your weight instead of the other way around. "You're just saying that so that I'll let you fuck my thighs for once."

"Partially."

Yes, Toji did want to fuck your thighs. He wanted to grip onto them, knead the flesh with his fingers as he rocked frantically against you. He wanted to glaze them with his cum, all whilst you whimpered from overstimulation below him.

But more importantly, Toji wanted you to be content — to embrace the femininity he'd seen you flaunt in front of him in your more confident moments. He knew you had it in you.

Toji was more than happy to remind you. With wandering hands and a set of lips nipping at the soft curve of your jaw, breasts, stomach, and lower still — Toji felt grounded.

When your thighs were around his head, however, Toji knew he was home. The man was shameless in his worship — tongue swivelling in filthy circles and mouth sucking in each and every plump surface of your mound.

He'd draw hearts with his wet muscle, spitting atop of your pussy as you writhed. Then Toji would dive back in, pointed nose, nudged up right against your poor clit as he ate you out with vigour.

Toji wanted to drown in you, to put it bluntly. All he wanted to hear, to see, to taste was you at your most vulnerable, where you were tugging on his hair and using him for your pleasure — regardless of whether you were sitting on his face, his thick fingers sinking into your ass, or laying on your back.

Toji could handle it because he was a big man with an even bigger appetite.

[rawme-price]

Now imagine dropping by the shop late at night to grab some pads for a friend, and this giant of a man approaches you.

For a split second, you think you're about to get stabbed. He's tall as fuck, wearing what looks like three jackets and a fucking mask. The picture of looming, terrifying appearance...until you notice the brightly colored boxes in his hands.

"You a bleeder?" He asks, blunt. Before you can reply what the fuck does that mean, he holds up the boxes "which one is for lot's o' blood?"

In his hands are panty liners and wingless pads. Fuck...you cannot let this man buy this for whoever it is that sent him. You gingerly grab both boxes, trying to ignore how intensely he stares at you "neither of those. If you bring these home you might end up in a ditch with your head four miles from your body."

You startle at the sudden laugh he lets out, almost dropping the box you grabbed. You pass it to him, and watch as he inspects the label "alright. Do I need two?"

"Those things could pack a bullet wound." You shrug, to which he grabs three off the shelf. You mildly wonder what state this person is in to send this guy. Grabbing your own box, you study him for a moment, then add "you should grab snacks too. Like chocolate or something."

Ghost stares at you, wonders if him eating all the chocolate ice-cream has anything to do with soap sending him here, and nods. He doesn't ask for your name or number, but he does silently memorize your plate number in case he needs more advice...

[rawme-price]

Imagine being the nurse in charge of drawing gaz's blood for some tests, and he looks absolutely miserable, right?

He refuses to look anyone in the eye when you call his name, so you assume he's just scared of needles and embarrassed about it. You recognize him from around base, though you doubt he remembers you, gaz was the one who helped you find your way on your first day.

"...I'm really sorry about this," he tells you with a tense smile. You...don't really understand why he's apologizing when all you're doing is drawing blood. Maybe he's going to throw up. Wouldn't be the worst reaction you've seen.

"Ah. Your veins are really nice," you comment distractedly, palpating his arm before grabbing your needle. Kyle makes a small, mortified grunt. Assuming he's nervous, you warn, "small prick here."

His whole body shudders at the pinprick, something easy to mistake as fear...if it weren't for the small moan he lets out.

What.

Kyle keeps his chin tucked down, eyes resolutely glues to the floor. He refuses to acknowledge the hard-on he's sporting. Oh. Oh that's why he's sorry.

Yeah. Turns out, kyle is maybe a little too into a cute thing like you hurting him. He makes a horrified, miserable noise when you hum in amusement and pat his shoulder.

[sweethearticism]

˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓟.𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𓂃 ⭒ is your toxic ex who's now making your student life hell.

⤿ ꒰ satoru knew that his sweet girl couldn't last without him. he just had to make you realise that :: college au :: smut :: age gap ( 40s / 20s ) :: toxic dynamics :: kinda yandere behaviour :: dumbification :: p in v :: m.masturbation :: phone sex :: thigh riding :: rough sex :: degradation :: praise :: creampie :: overstimulation :: financial disparity :: mean!toru ꒱

♡ ₊˚‧ beta read by my pookie baby @aves1018 <3

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ was your scandalous little secret. all heaven smiles and devil eyes. blue. bright and brutal in the same way he carried himself. he was as charming as he was cunning. the right mix of taboo and terror that made your little heart flutter whenever he cast you a glance over his rimless glasses as he set your perfect-score down in your table. muttered a “that's my girl” to your ear when brushed by him to leave the class. spanked your thigh under that skimpy little skirt when no one was looking— but anyone could see.

being professor gojo's favourite was something dangerous. something fun, something frightening, and the infinity in between.

he took care of you. showered in you in spoils. took you back to his apartment after stressful hours and fucked you into his leather couch until you left pretty red scratches down his back. with the same nails that he paid to manicure. you were always seen. always praised. you lacked nothing when it came to being in his arms.

but you couldn't do it any longer.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ was twice your age. in his forties with silvers slipping between his white strands. creases setting in the corners of his eyes. his tongue tasted like aged wine. his hands laced with experience you could only dream of. but with all the pros of dating an older man— came the deep, dreary insecurity.

insecurity that you wouldn't be enough. that you weren't permanent. that you were just a little taste but not the one that'll quench his thirst. really, what did a man with his qualification and achievements need from you other than something to pass the time?

and to top it all off? his possessiveness knew no bounds. it was quiet, not violent, but sharp. the kind of thing that left you paranoid whether you were toeing a line or not. he didn't approve of your friends. couldn't handle your classmates. hell— he failed the boy that sat next to you all semester just because you flashed him a smile.

so with all facts considered? you were gonna leave him. it was for the best rather than drag you both down a love that was doomed.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't too bothered when you told him it was over. it was in the car. he saw it coming. knew you were reaching a limit. he still snapped at the waiter who dared to laugh at your little joke that was meant for him.

but sure. you wanna break away just because he loved you so much? not an issue. he could see the tears in your eyes. the tremble in your fingers as you took the bag that he bought you as he dropped you off at your dorm building.

no. he wasn't too bothered. why would he be? you'd always be his. and little miss daddy-issues-and-academic-insecurity needed his validation to function.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ started in class. a week after you left him. your assignment was handed in with shaky hands rather than confidence. and he was more than happy to mark you down. why should he glance over your little mishaps anymore? you didn't need his special treatment. so, yeah, he didn't bat an eye as his hand sharply pressed your assignment sheet your desk as he passed. not even casting you a glance. looking on ahead as you crumbled at your B-.

“try harder next time. you're better than this.”

he said it so easily. as if he was always capable of seeing you as nothing in those cutting blues eyes.

it seemed to be a trend. he'd hand you back your assignments. they weren't what you expected. and when you slipped the spot of top ranked student in his quantum physics class?

well, he didn't bother looking up at you as you stood before his desk. hands gripping your newest assignment. almost hesitant to hand it in.

“how's that even possible?” you asked, soft.

“awww baby.” he only tilted his head. pinched his brows at the centre. looked at you with that soft look that was oh, so condescending now. “people change. you know that better than anyone, huh?”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew that his validation meant everything to you. now you weren't his top student, weren't the object of his praise. no more mouthed “atta girl”s or treating you to your favourite restaurant after another stellar score.

you were struggling to get by. scraping to get back to your straight a's. to achieve even a hint of his favour.

you never did. it was a downhill spiral. and everyone knew what an asshole professor gojo could be. so of course no one batted an eye when he belittled you in class.

“guess I expected too much,” he'd sigh after calling out your marks for the last test. he didn't have to. but you knew what he did.

as he leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head. cutting that stare that you'd grown to flinch at over.

“so much for star student, huh? try better next time. know you can do it.”

he knew you could.

but knew you wouldn't. not now that you were spiralling.

not when you weren't his favourite girl anymore.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ caught you outside at the steps that day. night time. you probably spent all afternoon in the library studying to make up for the embarrassment. for your sin of slipping in your grades. he knew you would. knew how you operated.

knew you'd be all teary as you walked down the steps with your hand tight on your book bag. trying to ignore him.

“awww baby. what's wrong? you crying?”

you didn't flinch when satoru caught up to you. when he cradled your face in that way he knew you loved to be comforted. bit back a grin as you resisted the urge to press your head into his palm and fall into his arms.

“oh c'mon. you crying over me? didn't say anything bad. you know how I operate.”

all low and gentle. in that voice he used when he used to tutor you and you just couldn't grasp what he was saying. like you were his silly girl. his sweet girl.

long fingers slipped around your jaw. gripped on your cheeks and squished them as he tilted your head up. towering over you but leaning over so that his white strands tickled your tears.

“don't look like that, princess.” he muttered. pressing a firm kiss into your lips and smearing your gloss. not tender, but taunting. not comforting, but still charming enough to have you whimpering and clinging to his shirt.

and as he pulled back, a grin split his lips still hovered over yours. half-hung lashes batting at your falling tears.

“just try harder next time, yeah?”

before he patted your cheek and you left you stranded on the stairs.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew that you needed him in more ways than one. not only did he soothe that insecurity in your heart but he also sealed the hole in your wallet. and now? he knew you were struggling. you didn't order out as much. didn't have the luxury to. you walked back to the dorm. lifts must be costly. you sure as hell didn't have your nails done every other week. he missed the acrylics and blue you'd insist on. but hey— you made your bed.

didn't mean that he didn't feel sorry for you when he spotted you at your favourite cafe. probably ordering a tea like you did now. not your favourite sweet treat and hot chocolate.

yeah. it was pity. definitely not the need to remind you what you were missing— as he called to the barista from behind you. “get the lady a hot chocolate and a strawberry crepe, please?”

as he leaned over your stiffening form, arm grazing yours as he slid his black card over. murmuring a soft, “I've got you, sweetheart,” to your ear when the barista turned.

you let him sit with you that day. spoke to him properly for the first time in months. even if you couldn't hold his eye contact. even if you thanked him a hundred times and over.

while he gave you a gentle look, inwardly? he was grinning.

bingo.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew he had you slowly wrapping around his finger again. that's why he had no shame when he leaned back in his couch that day. remembering your weight in his lap. swiping through his folder that he refused to delete. full of your pretty body, your slutty expressions and your messy thighs.

that's why he didn't feel bad as his hand wrapped around his hard dick that slapped back on his tummy, smearing some pre on his abs.

why he groaned your name without care as he squeezed in his angry tip. remembered the way you'd whine as he rubbed it on your little clit. how you'd cry out as he kissed it in your cervix.

fuck. he remembered how your thighs would quiver for him. how that smart mouth of yours would reduce to a babbling, stuttering, slutty whimper of his name as he ragdolled you on his cock.

his hand sped. his other swiping to your contact. you hadn't blocked him. it's your fault for the voice note you'd receive. of his harsh grunts and his rasped gasps accompanying that wet shlick shlick shlick.

of his voice, groaning your name low like it was both his sin and salvation.

“sweetheart, fuck. look at what you do to me— fuck. still work me up so fuckin' much even when you aren't mine. miss your pretty pussy. miss my sweet girl so soooo bad."

he'd whine. he remembered how much you like that. liked hearing him lose himself as he slammed all the way in and rutted as he frothed you up.

now? it was all over his hand. and he made sure the voice note heard just how much he wished it was in your sweet little cunt instead.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ expected you to not answer him. but you still didn't block him. still didn't report him. you wouldn't. you loved him too much. loved the thought of him. did you think that while you touched yourself to his voice note?

he knew you did. knew you didn't get yourself that. knew you probably sat there playing with your cute clit and whining his name all pitifully as you tried so desperately to cum the way he'd make you squirt back then. back when you were his.

you know what else he expected? you to storm into his office and accuse him of marking you down purposefully. your mid term marks were sent out that morning. he made sure of it. made sure you'd have to face the man, your ex, who sent you a five minute long voice note of him fisting his big cock to you.

“such accusations, sweet girl.” satoru drawled, lazy, as he leaned his head on his hand and his elbow on the desk.

“if you think so, I'm not opposed to you sitting with me while I mark your next assignment. I've got the next stack set for this afternoon. wanna come confirm your claims?”

his brow arched. his diamond eyes invited you. his velvet voice dared you.

and you did. of course you did. he expected that too.

his fourth expectation? that you'd find your way in his lap. with that skirt he loved so much. with your thighs slotted over his knee and his hand cradling your ass while his other graded papers.

you were soaking through his pants. he could feel it. the same way he felt you tremble as he flipped to your assignment. squeezed your ass and bounced his knee to grind up on your cunt.

“those poor panties must be so drenched, huh pretty?” he crooned to your ear, squishing you down onto his bounces and grinds. enjoying your whimpers. your whines as your hands fisted on his shirt.

“look at that,” he pouted, dragging the edge aside of your panties aside so that your clit ground perfectly on the fabric of his pants. “such a slutty student. think this is gonna get you extra credit?”

swat! his fingertips came down in your clit. his leg bounced again to force your needier grinds.

he grinned. cruel and cold on your ear as the sharp strokes of his red pen sliced through the air.

“mm. you're gonna need it. my sweet girl's become a stupid girl in my absence.”

he laughed as you whipped around. as you looked over. saw your assignment littered in red.

and the worst thing is? as he unbuckled his belt and manhandled you over his thighs so your back faced his chest to give you a better look— as his cock slapped on your cunt and dwarfed your folds as he slid between them. as his tip rubbed on your clit in that same way that had you trembling—

you saw it.

saw that he wasn't marking you down in any way that you didn't deserve.

and as his cock plunged in and your back through in an arch. as he snatched your waist and bounced your little cunt on his cock that split you open and had you creaming in seconds. . .

he taunted you. squishing your thighs and biting on your ear. “poor girl. poor, stupid girl.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't even surprised when he got a call the next week. an internship at that institution you'd always prattle so excitedly about. poor you. you probably thought just because he had you in his lap and called you his sweet girl— just because you were his once upon a time, that he wouldn't give you a bad reference to the job of your dreams, huh?

poor, sweet, stupid girl.

he was beginning to like your tears. your eyes looked pretty when they were glossed and your lashes were all damp. as you blinked up at him after you burst into his office again. face blotched and hands clenched.

“how could you?” you croaked. “I— you know how important that is to me—”

“you were important to me too.”

“that's not the point! so what you sabotaged me because I broke up with you? what don't you get satoru? we can't do this! what kind of person would—”

you trembled so prettily when he stood. when shook his head with a sigh and slipped his glasses into his hair.

“sweetheart, sweetheart," he tutted, circling his desk and backing you into it once he got in front of you.

“you don't get it, do you?” there's that condescending tone again. the one he used because to him, you were just his dumb, naïve girl.

big hands came down on the edge of the desk that you pressed into. trapping you against the wood and his wickedness as he leaned over. towering you as always. face pressing closer. brows pinched and knitted upwards. face that mockery of sympathy.

“baby, sweetheart, my sweetest girl. here's the thing.” his lips brushed yours. you tensed. teary eyes wide and staring into his.

“I realised. I'm not a good person when it comes to you.”

velvet and diamond. smooth and cutting. like it was simple fact. a set fate.

his head crooked. glasses slipping down his nose and brutal blues pinning you from over the rim.

“y'know. if you come back to me, you wouldn't have to worry about all this. . .”

his sly fingers brushed your hair back. a kiss pressed to your temple.

“I'd take care of you.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew you were on the brink. knew it wouldn't take long before you were in his arms again. he just had to wait. even when his fingers ached for your skin. when his lips burned for yours. when his palms itched to just grab you by the waist and drag you back to him cause you were such a stubborn girl.

but he'd wait. wait for you to make the decision. wait for you to realise that you were always his and he was the best you ever had.

so you could imagine his grin when you stayed back after class. when you stood in front of his desk with your eyes batting at him. hesitant. shaky. when you asked him for extra credit in his class that you were now borderline failing. but most of all, when you offered your pretty body to him without him even uttering a word.

this is what he meant. what he waiting for. for you to make the moves. to miss him. to want him.

he fucked you into your dorm bed that night. with your face shoved down and your fingers clinging to your pillow. ass clapping and brushing with his brutal thrusts that smacked his heavy balls on your folds. cock splitting you open and spilling your creamy mess all over the wrinkled sheets.

his hand in your hair. his voice rough in your ear.

“like that, sweetheart? want it like that?” he grinned, feral and cruel as you mewled when he angled right. shoved into a sweetspot and ground so filthily until your eyes rolled back as you drooled his name into the pillow.

“missed how I fucked you— right here?”

“r-right there! please!”

“uhuh? righhhttt here?”

he drawled. hand smacking down on your ass and leaving a sting, before he reached around. pinching and pulling on your spasming clit. as he slammed! all the way in. jamming his hips with yours and rutting on your messy, creaming folds. so a lewd, clickclickclick muffled from your overly-stuffed cunt.

“fuck—” satoru rasped. eyes wild and dilated as his fingers bunched your hair tighter. shoved your face further into the pillow. “take it. take this cock like you were born to. like this slutty cunt missed it.”

he missed your squirts. missed your sobs. missed the way your hand tried to scramble back and grip on his hair as he pummelled your pussy all raw and rough into the ruined sheets.

his eyes fluttered back as you squeezed him again. as you struggled on his name and squirmed beneath him.

“s-sato— sat— hngh.”

“say it, sweetheart.” he grit, twisting your head up. slamming his hips faster. bouncing your body on the bed and slamming the headboard into the wall. making your cunt all puffy and his cock all creamy in your cum.

“say my name. say you missed you. tell me whose pussy this is.”

“satoru— toru! toru torruuuu.”

“and don't you ever—” he whined, cock plunging deep as the knot within him snapped. as he frothed him up the way he's been missing. lashes fluttering and eyes rolling back. a filthy, wet, thrust smacked on your bruising ass emphasised every word.

“— ever. fucking. forget it.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ thought you would have came back to him after that, but he guessed you were more stubborn than he gave you credit for. that's fine. you just needed one more push. one more and then you'd be back where you finally belonged: in his arms.

so, yeah. he was responsibly fucking pissed when he saw you chatting up the campus fuckboy. hell— when he heard rumours that you two were a thing.

but he calmed himself down. enough to not snatch you by the wrist in the hallway and shove you into a wall. kiss you until your knees trembled. shoved his tongue into your mouth for all to see until he lost his job. that what you wanted? wanted him to be ruined for you?

calmed himself down enough to wait until the day ended. so he could back you into an empty corridor's corner. his hand on your jaw. tilting your face up. so that you could stare into the eyes of the man who had you squirting all over his cock just a few weeks ago. the man who was always yours no matter how much you tried to admit otherwise.

“you know he's not me, right?” he spoke, that nonchalance breaking for the first time in these wretched months you've been apart from him.

he leaned close. didn't kiss you. not your lips, but your temple. as he stared you down. cold. calloused. a warning cracked in those brutal blues.

“he'll never treat you like me. never know how to handle a sweetheart like you.”

his voice shook. breath thinned.

and for the first time since you left him, satoru shattered.

not pitifully, not pathetically, not violently nor catastrophically—

but sharp. and soft. and the kind of breathlessly that made you think his lungs were giving out— as he slumped over you. free hand trembling on the wall right beside your head. still holding your face. cradling it now.

“guys your age won't treat you like I do baby. not like you deserve.”

his thumb brushed your lower lip. he whispered. raw and wrecked.

“won't love you like I do. I love you sweetheart. I fucking love you. don't leave me here.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ really underestimated your stubbornness. your resolve. he was almost proud when you shoved him off and he let you go. when you walked away from him.

fine. he just had to wait a little longer. a little longer and you'd come back to him.

next week. a friday night. a phone call.

he didn't blink when he saw your name. when he answered. when he heard your soft, choked sob.

his voice melted into tenderness. soothed your cries. asked you where you were. came and picked you up, because he always would. you'd always be his sweet girl, after all.

satoru warned you about that guy. so he wasn't surprised when he pulled up to the street that you were dropped off on. in the middle of the night. cold and alone. all teary eyes and trembling knees. wasn't surprised when you scrambled into his car and clung to the jacket he gave you.

he listened. as he always did. listened as you cried and ranted and raved about how that guy broke your heart several times tonight. then kicked you out of his car and left you stranded. like you were nothing.

he took you into his arms. as he always did. took you into his arms after he cradled you into his apartment. held you close as you clung to him. hiccuping into his chest and sobbing into his shirt. apologising, crying, apologising, sobbing.

apologising.

begging.

“ssshhh I've got you sweet girl.” strong arms looped you closer. cradled you in that protective warmth with one hand cupping the back of your head and the other one your hip. as he hushed your cries. assured you. squeezed your hip and whispered so tenderly.

“I've got you no sweetheart. not gonna let you go again, okay? I promise baby.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ who cradled your head closer and pressed his lips to the top of your head.

who held your close. who promised to never let you go.

who slipped his phone out of his pocket and held it up behind your head. still cradled by his other, big hand. with his soft kiss still on your hair.

his thumb slid across the screen.

transaction completed.

the final half paid to that bum of a guy you insisted on. who broke your heart for some cash. funny how a little bit of money was all you needed to have your way.

and as satoru held your close. with his arms snuggling you to his chest, and his eyes finally fluttering shut. he relished.

because yeah. you're finally back into his arms. just needed a little nudge.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

♡ ₊˚‧ enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

[decay1ngstatic]

────⟢ you see 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 for who he is. gn!reader. fluff. hurt/comfort. reader loves satoru too much and he does too. domestictoru propaganda. satoru uses ‘girl’ once but it’s more like the emotion giiiirrrluhhhh rather than the gender WWW.

the kitchen pulls you in before you can suck in a breath.

it’s just the kind that makes everything else go still. gentle hands guiding you to a place you’ve never been to. or maybe you have— not that you know, of course. the tiredness that your weary head bleeds all over the place is getting rather hard to clean up.

still, you let it. let it have its little moment of peace— however conflicted your own hands are, in its hold, they never linger too long to make you change your mind.

“look who’s back home,” oh, so that’s what it is. or who is it. when it came to satoru, you couldn’t quite fathom how so many things could fit inside this silly god you have for a lover. even when he’s six foot something, the fullness that his hands cradle makes your chest ache with something akin to a hollow shell.

you stare at him from the porch.

“heeey there, sexy,” maybe he can see the red lines around your eyes, because that drawl of his softens the slightest bit, “oh. not having a sexy day?”

you scrunch your nose, but make your way towards him, anyway. “don’t call me that.”

“oh?” satoru raises a brow, before waggling an accusing finger at you. “oh. so i’m not allowed to refer my feral squirrel as sexy anymore? got it.”

(oh, god. not that nickname again.)

it makes you scowl, of course it does. but there’s a softness at the cracks of your being, a tender line that carves itself into your gaze the moment your eyes kiss his skin. an aftertaste on your tongue, something that’s sweet— it doesn’t overwhelm you, but it lingers for as long as you’d like. as long as you’d need.

setting down your bag on the chair, you watch him for a moment. the words cling to the tip of your tongue longer than necessary, but you don’t push them out.

(whether it’s the weariness or just satoru, you can’t tell.)

satoru has always been an ever moving painting. you weren’t that special to think that way, anyone would— just one glance at him across the streets would make them stop and stare, eyes wide with wonder.

maybe he’d stay for an hour in their minds. prowling about with his lazy smirk, flicking on the lights which they didn’t know existed. or maybe he’d stay for a day— a self proclaimed emperor of a stranger’s brain, trying to bits of him that they could only ponder about. or maybe a week, if he bleeds just right.

(but then again, paintings fade away, don’t they?)

yet, satoru doesn’t wither. he leaves. steps aside from a golden frame that was never his in the first place. it’s as simple as that. and maybe that’s why, a part of you slumbers contently each night— a selfish little puzzle, no doubt— that you see the satoru gojo they could never think of.

the way he’s always humming when he’s paying attention. not focused, just skimming over the surface— like now, when his hands absent mindedly toss the onions in the pan around. the way he tends to forget to wear the furry slippers you got him— not because he doesn’t like it, but because it slipped off his mind when he dried his feet after using the shower. the way his gaze lingers a tad bit too long on everything, from the bubbling noodles to the half full bottle of chili oil— like an artist in search of a muse.

(like now, when he’s staring at you.)

and you let him. you let him stare, you let him take. because you’re the only thing that makes his mind go quiet, while he sets fire to your own.

“. . girl,” satoru mutters, shaking his head. “don’t stare at me like that, i’ve mentioned you in my will.” a pause, before he snickers at his own joke. yet another thing only you know.

of course i am, you try to say. but this lump in your throat won’t let you. it grows more and more you stare at him, feet a bit numb from hanging off the counter for so long. oh, when did you even sit down? you hadn’t realised.

“hey,” a blink, before you look at him, really look at him. his voice feels closer, somehow. like a whisper just within the crook of your neck. “look at me.”

“i am looking,” you finally say. finally manage to push the words down your tongue.

“no,” satoru says, and you feel his hand cradle your cheek. his scent blows a breeze between your bones, like something painful and familiar. “look at me, baby.”

and yet, he doesn’t let your eyes hold his for long—because satoru’s mouth finds yours, kissing you like an apology for something he hasn’t done. it undoes you and stitches you back in place at once. like you’re a serendipity he can’t quite believe just yet.

(but he knows that he shall.)

“i want you to look at me,” you feel satoru’s voice melt against your nape, right where the lump had once wrapped its teeth around. “all of me.”

and so you do see satoru, even when his eyes trap all the dim kitchen lights. even when his hands steal every bit of breath away from your lungs. even when his skin whispers your name, when his lips don’t.

even when the knife buried at the back of his mind bleeds songs all about you, instead.

✦ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⨾ @satorus-princess / @mimuju / @besidesjustmyamour / @naf3211 / @jelxqa / @helloxkittylo / @nimbusonik / @sugurusladyknightt / @maybemethebeloved / @mikaari0 / @gravecyte / @gojoswaterbottle / @lawverrmango / @kurtcokeaine / @mayyhaps / @descargueestoporgojosatoru .

[etherealangell1]

ᥫ᭡ LOVE FEVER

Shota Aizawa x fem! Reader

Fluff! Established long time friendship, doting Aizawa.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

You don’t remember calling him.

Later, he’ll tell you your voice sounded wrong. Not panicked. Not dramatic. Just… small. Like you were speaking through cotton and heat.

You’re on the couch where he’s seen you a thousand times. Legs tucked wrong. Blanket half on, half kicked off. Your breathing stutters, sharp little huffs between shallow breaths, like your body forgot the rhythm.

“Hey,” he says, already kneeling.

"You look worse than I do," you croaked, voice scraped raw from fever. The words came out as more of a wheeze than anything intelligible.

Your skin is burning. Fever hot. When he presses the back of his hand to your forehead, you make a faint sound, something between a whimper and a sigh, and try to turn your head away. Utterly defeated in the sight of this wonderful man.

Shameful Y/n.

Aizawa blinked at you, slow and unimpressed. "That’s not possible," he said flatly. His gaze flicked over your face, lingering on the sweat damp hair sticking to your forehead, the way your hands trembled where they clutched the blanket. "You’re burning up."

You would’ve shrugged if moving didn’t feel like lifting concrete. Instead, you let out a miserable, involuntary whine as another wave of heat rolled through you. The sound was embarrassingly pathetic, the kind of noise you’d never make in front of anyone else. But this was Aizawa. He’d seen worse.

You’ve been friends forever. Long enough that he doesn’t ask permission anymore when he decides to act.

He slips his capture scarf off, sets it aside, then gently but firmly gathers you up so you don’t slump sideways.

You protest weakly, a confused noise.

“You’re okay,” he says, low and steady. “Just gonna help you.”

Toddler level fever. That’s what it feels like. Your head lolls. Your words tangle. Every sensation is either too much or not enough.

Aizawa exhaled sharply through his nose, the way he always did when he was forcibly reminded that other humans required basic maintenance. That didn't mean he was annoyed with you. It would be stupid to judge you for falling ill.

He just hates inconveniences, for him and you. He's sure you had plans for today.

He didn't though, so he would stay here and watch over you. It brought him some rare comfort, knowing he was the one that you called in a state like this.

He was the one that could hoist you up off the couch to your bedroom, and keep you safe in this vulnerable state.

"Don't - " you started, then coughed, throat seizing painfully. "Don't you have class?"

He shot you a look that clearly said 'don't be ridiculous' and vanished into your kitchen. The clatter of cabinets and running water filtered through your dorm, punctuated by the occasional thud, he wasn’t known for his gentle touch.

But you've received it from him. And a tiny, itty bitty part of you wasnt so angry that you were sick. Well thats until it gets worse...

He gets you water in a cat shaped mug. You forget how to drink it.

Aizawa sighs, not annoyed, just resigned in the way of someone who has done this before. He supports your head, brings the glass to your lips.

“Small sips,” he instructs. “C’mon.”

You obey, because you trust him entirely. Even now, fever-drunk and half gone, your body still recognizes his voice as something safe.

When you cough and make another distressed little sound, he sets the glass down immediately.

You let your head fall back against the pillow, focusing on breathing through the furnace in your chest.

You were becoming more incoherent by the passing second.

The sight made something twist in your chest. Aizawa perched on the edge of your bed with the same stance he used for rooftop surveillance, his absolute favorite thing in the world.

He does everything without commentary. Cold cloth to your forehead. Thermometer. Medication crushed and mixed because you absolutely will not swallow pills like this. He hums under his breath while he works, barely audible, something old and tuneless he picked up years ago and never stopped.

"You got a tank top on under there?" he said, not looking at you.

Your heavy hoodie was starting to feel suffocating, and he could definitely tell by the heavy breaths and whines you let escape.

You made a noise that was half-protest, half-defeat. "I can -"

"You can't even sit up without whimpering," he interrupted, voice flat. "Don’t waste my time."

You surrendered, letting him peel the sweat soaked hoodie away from your skin with clinical detachment.

But when he lifted you by your back with his strong arm, he seemed a lot closer rather than detached. You let your head wobble as he helped you out of your hoodie. Arms up, then you were free.

The cool wet cloth he placed on your chest made you gasp, your muscles unlocking in increments.

Aizawa worked in silence, his fingers calloused but careful as he wiped away the worst of the fever sweat. You closed your eyes, focusing on the rhythmic press of the cloth, the way his breathing evened out as his hands roamed you.

"You’re terrible at this," you muttered, just to break the quiet. He wasnt, in fact, every touch he made against your hot skin made you shiver. And your heart squeezing every time he looked into your eyes with such care, despite his brash comments.

The comments and tone was just a face. He was actually being very comforting right now.

You were reminding yourself to hold back how bad this fever was getting. Hold back any tears.

Letting a fever get the best of you felt embarrassing

His answering hum was noncommittal. "Mm. Next time, don’t get sick."

The fever spiked sharply then, like a knife twisting beneath your ribs.

You gasped, it sounded more like a defeated moan though. Your fingers digging into the sheets as your vision whited out for a terrifying second.

Aizawa’s hand paused mid swipe across your collarbone, his grip tightening imperceptibly on the washcloth. When you managed to blink back into focus, his face was closer than before, his dark eyes scanning yours with an intensity that made your already racing pulse stutter.

“You’re getting worse,” he stated, voice low and rough. It wasn’t a question.

"Thank you, captain obvious," you mumbled. Your voice hushed and depleting as your breaths became quick and shallow. Words becoming lost the more you tried. Your body was suffering.

You wanted to argue, to prove you weren’t some helpless child, but another violent shudder wracked your body, stealing your voice. The whimper that escaped you was pathetic, but Aizawa didn’t scoff or roll his eyes.

Instead, he dropped the cloth into the bowl with a quiet splash and reached for the hem of your tank top.

“Up,” he ordered, hands already sliding beneath the fabric before you could protest.

His hands were under your shirt. And somehow it ended up being so respectful.

The cool air against your overheated skin was a relief, but the vulnerability of being half naked under his steady gaze made your breath hitch, in a flustered way that didnt help with your agonizing temperature.

His fingers grazed your ribs as he pulled the damp fabric up - letting your skin see some cold air, and for a delirious moment, you swore they lingered, just a second too long, before he tossed it aside.

“Stop trying to fight it,” he muttered, "You’ll give yourself a headache."

You choked out a weak laugh, but it dissolved into a cough that burned like acid.

Aizawa’s free hand came up instinctively, cupping the back of your neck to steady you as you doubled over. His palm was warm against your sweat slick skin, his thumb brushing absent circles at the base of your skull.

The gesture was so gentle, so uncharacteristically tender, that your throat tightened with something other than sickness. You wanted to open your eyes more and make eye contact, see how he was viewing you right now. But you were becoming very weak.

The fact that you were practically missing this rare Aizawa moment hurt worse than the sickness.

You slumped against him, too exhausted to care about the way your forehead pressed into his shoulder. Or how at some point he had come to sit on the bed next to you instead of the floor.

His signature scent was familiar. Bringing some welcomed warmth to your heart as you relaxed in his presence. You felt his breath catch, his body going unnaturally still beneath yours. Then, carefully, his arm slid around your back, pulling you closer until your cheek was nestled against the crook of his neck.

“Sleep,” he said, the word a rumble against your temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You wanted to ask why, why he’d canceled his classes, why he was holding you like this, why his heartbeat sounded just as unsteady as yours, but the fever dragged you under before you could form the words.

You woke to the sensation of fingers carding through your hair, slow and methodical, the way one might soothe a restless animal. The fever hadn’t broken, you could still feel it simmering under your skin, but the world felt less fractured now, less like you were drowning in your own body.

Aizawa’s hand stilled the moment you stirred, his other arm still a solid weight around your waist.

His fingers resumed their movement through your hair, slower this time, fingertips grazing your scalp in a way that made your breath catch. You kept your eyes closed, pretending sleep hadn’t released you yet, unwilling to break whatever fragile peace this was. The room smelled faintly an herbal tea Aizawa must’ve brewed while you were out, something bitter and medicinal he’d forced down your throat earlier.

He knows your awake though.

"Y/n, you were only asleep for 30 minutes. Go back to sleep." He grumbled, his voice etched with exhaustion. You wouldnt be surprised if he was about to fall asleep right here and now. But your in the way.

Are yall even close enough for that? You hoped so. Something you'd never admit out loud, a more recent type of thought when it came down to him.

Your eyelids fluttered open despite his order, finding Aizawa’s face inches from yours.

He hadn’t slept in a while. You could tell by the way his shoulders slumped just slightly, the kind of exhaustion that came from hours of endurance, not physical labor. But knowing him, probably both.

His fingers tightened imperceptibly in your hair before he exhaled through his nose, a sound that wasn’t quite frustration but something closer to resignation.

"You too then?" You mumbled. Voice soft and delicate, your barely attempted to lift your chin to say it to his face. Under his gaze.

Aizawa's gaze didn't waver, but something flickered in his eyes, something tired and fond and painfully human. "Don't start," he warned, but the words lacked their usual edge. His thumb brushed your temple where sweat had gathered again, wiping it away with a roughness that shouldn't have felt so tender.

The silence stretched, broken only by your uneven breathing and the distant hum of your dorm's faulty AC unit. You wanted to tease him about staying, about the way his fingers absently caressed your scalp, but your thoughts moved like molasses.

Instead, you let your fingers curl weakly into the fabric of his shirt.

"You're staring," he muttered, shifting just enough that the dim light caught the shadows under his eyes. You hadn't realized you were.

"Sorry," you murmured, though you weren't.

Aizawa exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. "Liar." His hand slid from your hair to cradle the back of your skull, pressing your forehead against his collarbone again. "Close your eyes."

You obeyed, but not before catching the way his jaw clenched, like he was fighting something. The fever made it hard to parse, but you thought, maybe, it was the same thing that made your chest ache when his breath hitched as you nuzzled closer.

Somewhere in the haze, his fingers traced idle patterns down your spine, the touch light enough to be accidental. You shivered, and his hand stilled.

"Cold?"

You shook your head minutely, lips brushing his throat with the movement. His pulse jumped beneath your mouth.

Aizawa went rigid for half a second before his arm tightened around you, pulling you flush against him like he could press the fever out through sheer willpower. His voice, when it came, was rough with something unnamed. "Then sleep."

You wanted to ask, wanted to understand, but his fingers were in your hair again, and the world was soft at the edges, and it was enough, for now, to be held.

You didn't see this often in him. You wanted it all for yourself for as long as you could have it.

The room was too warm, but you pressed closer anyway, chasing the solid weight of his body against yours.

Aizawa let out a slow breath through his nose. He was calculating whether to push you away or pull you closer. In the end, he did neither, just adjusted the blanket over your shoulders.

“You're thinking so loudly,” he grumbled, thumb swiping absently over the hinge of your jaw. The callouses on his fingers caught against your skin, a sensation you’d memorized years ago during sparring sessions gone too long.

You wanted to laugh, but your throat was raw. Instead, you let your fingers curl tighter into his shirt. “Mm. What am I thinking then?” You rasped, half daring him to answer.

Aizawa’s gaze flicked down to yours, dark and unreadable. For a heartbeat, you thought he might actually say it, whatever it was that hovered between you in these quiet, stolen moments.

But then his expression shuttered, and he nudged your forehead with his knuckles from his free hand, a silent command to close your eyes. “Nothing useful,” he muttered.

The fever made you reckless. Or maybe it was the way his pulse jumped when your nose brushed his neck. “Mhm” you whispered, echoing him.

His exhale was almost a laugh, almost pained. The hand at your back slid up, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades like he was mapping the shape of you. “Sleep, dont be stubborn,” he said.

You could’ve fought it. Could’ve pressed until he cracked, until the careful distance he maintained finally splintered. But his palm was warm against your spine, and his breathing had slowed to match yours, and for the first time in hours, the ache in your bones felt manageable.

So you let your eyes fall shut, let your forehead rest against his collarbone, and pretended not to notice the way his lips brushed your hairline when he thought you couldn’t feel it.

Aizawa stayed perfectly still, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. Outside, the world moved on. Inside, he held you like something worth keeping.

Definitely worth it.

[dreamdragonkadia]

we have to have a talk, chat, this man is a man among men.

Oh, to be loved by Shouta Aizawa.

A man who the author himself described as “actually kind of doting,” even if he’d rather be caught dead than admit it out loud. A man whose love starts long before he ever names it. It’s silent, insidious, settling into his bones without permission. He notices first. Always does. Your routines, the way your voice changes when you’re tired, the exact look on your face when you’re pretending you’re fine. His brain clocks it before his heart catches up, files it away as important long before he understands why.

By the time Shouta admits (quietly and begrudgingly) that yes, he likes you, he’s already gone. Already imagining you in his future in ways that feel terrifyingly permanent. When he finally accepts that you chose him, of all people, it rewires something fundamental in his chest. There is no halfway with Shouta. No contingency plans. You’re it. Endgame. The idea of anyone else simply… doesn’t compute.

He gives you a softness no one else ever sees. A side of himself that never makes it into hero reports or staff meetings. He knows he’s not easy, knows he’s tired, rough around the edges, emotionally blunt in a way that borders on unfair. And yet you stay. You choose him anyway. What else can he be in response but devastatingly devoted?

He doesn’t say I love you loudly. Or often. Sometimes not even at all. But you feel it everywhere.

In the way he texts you reminders to eat, phrased like an afterthought but sent at the exact time you usually forget. In the way he keeps up with the small details of your life. Things you don’t even remember telling him. In the way he asks if he can call you on your lunch break, voice low and a little tired, admitting that hearing you puts him at peace.

He knows— deep down— that he’s stupidly in love, and he’s made his peace with it. Especially when you smile at him like that. The excited one. The one that makes something warm and inconvenient bloom in his chest. When you buy him a plant because his apartment is “so sad and empty,” and he pretends to grumble while immediately researching how much sunlight it needs. He cares for it meticulously. Not because he suddenly likes plants, but because you gave it to him.

When you finally agree to move in, his place stops feeling like somewhere he crashes between patrols and starts feeling like a home. Your things quietly appear in drawers. Your shoes by the door. Extra blankets because he knows you get cold. He never comments on it, but he sleeps better once you’re there.

You eventually realize just how closely he pays attention.

Coffee is already brewed when you step out of the shower, breakfast waiting even when you left him asleep in the bed. He shows up at your work with food because he noticed you skipped lunch, and because his class was busy training with All Might, so obviously this was the better use of his time. He walks on the street side of the sidewalk without thinking. Keeps a spare charger in his bag just in case. Adjusts his schedule around yours as naturally as breathing.

Shouta Aizawa loves like gravity.

It’s never announced, never dramatic, never something you see coming until you realize you’re already held fast. There is no moment where it starts, only the realization that it’s always been there, pulling you back to him no matter how far your days stretch or how crazy the world becomes.

He doesn’t demand your attention. He doesn’t need to. You just find yourself gravitating toward him, toward the warmth of his presence, the calm in his silence, the way he exists beside you without asking you to be anything other than exactly who you are. His love doesn’t rush or overwhelm; it anchors. Keeps you grounded when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

And once you’re his, you are never alone again.

[rawme-price]

No thoughts just ghost who doesn't really understand the concept of a dick pic...

It's not something he's ever heard of outside of the passing comments made by his team. You're ghost's first real relationship, his first everything, really.

So when you send a cheeky "dick pic? ;)" as he's texting you on the rare day he's at home while you work, he snaps a quick photo. No flare, no effort really.

It's blurry in the way you can tell he didn't let his camera focus before snapping. Off-center and obviously quickly pulled out of his joggers is his flaccid cock. By all means, it should qualify for the shittiest pic you've seen...and yet....

There's something about how is lies against his thigh, big even soft, with a soft pink blush, that really does something for you.

Which results in ghost being bombarded with absolutely filthy texts describing in detail what you'd do that pretty thing if you were there. You get another blurry pic of his hand wrapped around his hard-on in reward.

From that, ghost learns you...like them? So whenever he gets the urge, he'll snap a quick picture and send it off. No context, no warning. It'd probably piss you off if you didn't know ghost expects nothing to come of the photos.

It just sucks that his timing is horrible. In the middle of meetings, on the train, during lunch. All times when you can't do anything about it. Fucking tease.

Ghost is confused why you always seem so eager for him when he gets home from base but he's not complaining.

[tonycries]

Kitty Kat

Synopsis. Rate how drunk he gets between those Iegs of yours on a scale of 1 - 10?

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

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, PÚSSYDRÚNK JJK men, rating, manhandIing, cIawing, spítting, p talking, true form!Sukuna, DP, Sukuna’s second mouth, ridin, first times (Ino), deniaI, brát-taming (Geto), exhíbitionísm, rúts, aphrodísíacs, GOJO’S POWERS, improper use of jujutsu powers, pIot, matíng presses, creampíes, cúmpIay, making them BABBLE, marathons, slight bréeding, REACTIONS, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Hehehehe-

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 8/10

“Toji, have you ever gotten drunk on my pu—”

He’s choking on his water so hard that it sprays across half the bed- “What the—” Seriously, can’t a man enjoy a glass after absolutely stuffin’ his girl full? “What now, girlie?”

You sigh with a roll of your eyes, “I said-”

“I know what you said.” Toji scoffs. Stopping that mouth of yours with a roughened hand smushing your cheeks together. He cranes his head down to bore into your pretty eyes- pushing back the urge to spit between your pouty lips. “But ya know m’not the type to…tch, remind me again which one of us was screaming loud enough for the neighbors ta hear just give minutes ago-”

“That’s besides the point.” Batting away his hand. “I’m just saying you seem like the type to get reeeally, really drunk on it in bed. Like- into it.”

“Cheh, wanna bet?”

“…”

“Loser gets handcuffed to the bed.”

“I’m in.”

It’s in only a few fluid motions that you’re finding yourself laid flatly across Toji’s abs- still damp from your round prior. Still tense. Still needy. Toji didn’t even need to try to have you bending pliably to his whims. 

But he makes such a big show of keeping his strong forearms beneath your knees. Hooked all tight n’ draaaaagging them upwards- the moment your pussy’s smeared all open, it’s letting out the most lecherous squelch!

“Fuuuull fuckin’ nelson, like this pussy deserves. My favorite.” Mostly for the view—Toji digs his chin into the crook of your neck. Leering at the puddle of gooey white, “Are ya sure you can handle such a bet, girlie? No shame in forfeiting n’ letting me fuck this pussy either way-”

“Oh? You want me to forfeit?” Turning your head over your shoulder- “Scared, Toji?”

He snickers, “M’not scared to tame a brat, doll.”

“Then stop talking and just fuh-fuuuuck—” As always, he’s hittin’ your pussy when you’re the weakest.

“Or to dumbify my girl-” Toji hums darkly to himself. “-in fact, I take pleasure in it.”

Making you choke on your words.

Making you drool- with your teeth grit, you’re attempting to bite out something else. But he’s only reeling his hips back n’ fucking into you even deeper.

Right as your mouth was drawn agape with another one of those snide remarks he found so cute- Toji swabs down your drivellin’ slit with his swollen tip. He was just flared so thick and reeeed—wiiiide like the way he was opening up your slutty pussy. 

Your hole can’t help but let off with the biggest slurp! as you’re gulping down his heavy inches.

Mouth opening wide agape-

Splat! A small puddle of spittle is shot straight onto the middle of your tastebuds, and Toji reaches up to close your mouth with one hand. “Shut yer mouth, you’ll catch flies. Runnin’ it is the only thing ya know, huh?”

“You’ll catch these hands-”

“What was that?” Before he’s pumping out his unfair cock inside- the best (and perhaps the worst) part about being with Toji was that he memorized eeevery single spot n’ cranny inside you. And the globular part of his shaft is heading home to none other than your pretty, puckered g-spot—where Toji was splattering out a few wads of precum. “Couldn’t hear you over the sound of this pussy. What’s what about a bet? Wha’s that about gettin’ me pussydrunk?”

“You’re just- you’re—oh.” Breath being fucked right back into your chest with his rough, ragged thrusts. Rapid.

“Y-y-y-you’re just…” Toji mocks- canines nibblin’ on your left ear lobe. “Toji, baby, you’re just a meanie—! Why won’t you get pussydrunk f’me?”

“I did not say that.” Squirming restlessly backwards. The instant you’re trying to fuck your hips back into him, he’s squeezing them with his up. Churning that fat cock up, up, up—“And I don’t even sound like that-”

As you’re squelching your pussy up n’ down his shaft- Toji feels your velvety walls closing in on him. Clinging onto him like glue. Clenching. Those dewy pussylips of yours keep him hostage, and it makes a strange part of him shiver. “Y-yeah, yeah…”

And he gives his thanks to whomever’s above that you were fucked far too stupid right now to hear the warble in his tone.

But you were gyratin’ your hips even harder. Almost as if you were instinctively craving to make the muscular man beneath you shudder n’ stumble. “Too fucking cocky, Toji.” 

“Got who’s cock in you right now?” He mutters, leaving your lips trembling at the sheer force of his thundering strikes. Something slightly dazed in his tone…“Yeah, s’what I thought.”

“That doesn’t- doesn’t even make sense—”

And it really does make sense, because Toji was fucking you senseless anyways. He always did- but having Toji pound his furious, fat cock into you when he just had been mere minutes ago?

It was just sinful how much cum was dribblin’ and droolin’ out of you. So many creamy wads being pushed inside your tight cunt - Toji himself couldn’t help but stop and stare at the coating of white that leaks down his shaft. It’s formulating such a pretty glaze that he’s bucking up and smearing it—his thoroughly hard cockhead opening you up with such fervour. “Look who’s pussydrunk now, huh?” He mutters, scorching hot against your skin. “Look who’s drunk on my- on me—-fuck, my pussy feels so good.”

“Toji, why are you t-talking like that—?” You’re asking agonizingly, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“The hell are you, mmm, talking…out…” He’s trailing off.

You try to perch yourself a little higher on his chiselled chest, and it ends up with your head rested against your boyfriend’s pecs. The perfect cushions. “Out? Toji what are you even…”

And then you gasp.

Your tight walls clench even tighter- and almost as if to confirm your suspicions, Toji’s scarred lips gloss over with drool. It was just leaking out of him. The type that was seen only when one had a deliciously sizzling meal before them and just can’t help the slick spittle—

Drunk. 

Your words were breathless, “Toji you’re-”

“Mmm—” Toji merely nuzzles the side of your neck, breathing in your natural scent. He lets his sloppy thrusts probe away inside for a few more moments, before sticking his canines into your skin. “I mean- about. I meant about.” 

“We’re past that.” You swerve down a few vicious bounces. “Toji-”

“Don’t say it-”

“-you’re pussydrunk.”

Grounding himself against your body to gain back his nerve - but it still wasn’t working. His mind was still in a tizzy every time he’d massage your cunt and you’d helplessly squeeze back.

And the only thing that Toji Fushiguro can do at this moment?

Why—fuck you with all his hardened, pussydrunken self until you cum, of course.

Thickened red tip scouring your g-spot then heading straight down to your womb- planting a good thwack! against that spongy layer. He fucks you as if he would genuinely go even deeper if your pretty pussy let him. 

Again. And again.

And again and again and again until Toji’s hearing that familiar hitch in your breath- 

And you’re suddenly wrenchin’ straight into a high that makes you squeal. Toes clenching. Tears doubling.

He’s holding you tight against his body and ramming you right through every peak. Such startling crashes of your high that are only prolonged by the massages of his cock, perfectly aligned with wherever you needed him the most. Toji presses your body against his own and fuck-fuck-fucks you roughly through even the tiniest tremors of your orgasm.

You honestly don’t think you’re even halfway through yours first one before you hear him rasp-

“S-so about the handcuffs…”

.

.

.

“Cheh- why did you convince me to do this again?”

The turn of a key. The click of a lock.

Leveling your boyfriend with a deadpan look. “Who convinced who again?” And as that smug look that you knew so well crosses Toji’s face, you raise the tiny pink key in your hand.

Wiggling it around tauntingly.

He finally relents, “I-I did…”

Mockingly cupping your ear, “Oh, what was that?”

“I did.” Toji repeats, louder this time. Just as quietly—“And just watch who gets that pretty womb pregnant as well-”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - YOU/10

With Nanami Kento, it was all about you.

All about your pleasure. All about making you feel good.

If anything—Nanami wouldn’t mind if he himself didn’t cum the entire night long, if only it meant that you would be dazed by the sheer amount of pleasure that he’d given you. It was his main joy.

Even better, if you were so drunk on the bliss that it left you stupid. And don’t get him wrong- your husband loved hearing you talk and titter and even tell him off. He liiived for that smart mouth of yours. But to have you babbling for him? To have you absolutely ruined by his thick, veiny cock?

Having you dumbified on his achin’ hot shaft? 

It was his favorite part. Nanami himself didn’t need to be utterly gone to feel heaven wrapped ‘round your pussy.

Which is why when one night you’d come up to him…everything changes.

One night you’d waddled right up to that office room that was his own. Peaking out from the edge of the doorway, the soft fabric of your light pink lingerie cascading around you in a gown—Nanami’s ears perk up. He already knew from the swooshing sound what his lovely wife was getting up to. 

“My love?” Nanami smiles without turning around to face you. Hands and eyes still concentrated on his work. “I shall be with you shortly. Is tonight a special occasion?”

“It doesn’t need to be an occasion, Kento.” You huff. Though you don’t fault him for thinking that way, because of the all-new set that hugged your body tight. “But it is a bit important…”

He places his pen on the desk, turning around. Kindly eyes honed on you- “Is something the matter, darling?”

“It’s just…” You start, twisting your finger in the strappy ribbons of your gown. “Kento, I think I’m ready.”

He pauses.

He jolts.

His breath stutters.

Words barely a whisper, “You think or-”

“I know.” This time with more of the conviction you were too embarrassed to share. “I know I’m ready.”

And that’s enough to make his cock start throbbing between his legs.

Because there can only ever be one meaning for those words: he was going to fuck you pregnant tonight. Tonight. Tonight. 

Tonight.

In no time you were pressed against the floor of Nanami’s office space—yes, not even your shared bedroom. He had your thighs trembling on top of his shoulders, and your cunt spread wiiiide open for him to enter.

Too ravenous to even move rooms. Too impatient to push you into anything more comfortable.

Too fucking needy that he’s not spending his usual hooours n’ soft moments stretching you out before fucking you- Nanami shoves his fat tip between your legs and ruts. Hard. Rapid. Like he’s been taken over by a damn animal and he was just addicted to that cute way you’d struggled to take him fully into your cunt.

Not even poundin’ away with full thrusts, mere half-strokes that leave your back arching off of the floor. “Oh my—” Your voice cracks, a loud volume bouncing off the walls. “Kento- Kento.”

“My- my love.” And you were much too gone at the moment to register how botched his tone was. But it’s enough to make some primal part of you quiver, goosebumps raising across every inch of your skin. Including that pretty pussy of yours being slammed by his prominent v-line. 

Nanami was fucking you through one orgasm, two, three.

And he might just be fucking you through several more- but you were so dizzy with all these filthy sensations that you wouldn’t even know. Didn’t have a clue. Couldn’t even compute anything but the thiiickness of his length, and the way his rotund tip would probe in and in and in—

“My love, I need to get you pregnant.”

Making your tongue sizzle with all the wads of saliva welling up at your throat. “Kento, h-how come you’re being so…”

He twitches at the sound of your voice- though you doubt that muddled mind of his fully registered what you were trying to say. “Yes, ma’am?”

Desperate? No…Eyes rolling to the very depths of your skull. Hips bucking up wildly at the pressing of his rotund tip, it scrapes every bit of your insides - and Nanami wasn’t even fully bottoming out. “So…” Feral? Yes, but not quite…And though he was fucking you like he hated you, your husband peers down at you with loving eyes. Waiting for your answer-

“Drunk—well.” It’s the best adjective that you could think of at that moment.

And by the way that Nanami’s glazed, gleaming eyes flash- you think that it might just be the perfect one. He leans in and catches your cute lower lip between his teeth. “Drunk? You think that m’drunk, darlin’?” Not even waiting for your answer—fucking your answer out of you with his striking hips. “I can assure you that I am- fuck, stone cold sober when m’fuckin’ you all full of my kid.”

He proves his point by leaning down and spittin’ straight between your lips.

Letting that goopy wad of saliva sliiiide down to your throat. Nanami tenderly wipes away the excess from the right side of your mouth, “See that?”

He asks, and you can only peer up in sultry confusion. Pupils turned into hearts.

“Fuck, what do you…”

“Taste that?” Your husband emphasizes- before veering his hips slightly behind. He plants yet another wad of saliva. This time splatterin’ between your pussylips and gluing them slightly together- “These lips too, my love- see. Stone cold sober.”

You keen, “I know that—” Voice taking on the most unsteady trill as you fuck up into him. Rather difficult considering the sloppy mating press he had you in, but he finds it so cute that you try anyway. “I’m just- just saying you seem drunk on my…” You feel silly even voicing the thought out loud, “-pussy.”

“Pussy?” He’s speaking the word like a prayer. Peripherals widened. Voice breathless.

One of his thick thumbs glides softly down your slit, ending up resting on your clit. 

“You think I’m…pussydrunk, my love?” 

And when you nod, he’s pinning down that adorable button. One to leave you whining and jolting up into his strong arms, “Yes- fuck, Kento.”

“You think I’m—pussydrunk—?” Repeating the question- more slurred this time. It’s as if the more he was roverin’ deep inside your pussy, the more he lost that familiar grip he had on himself. “Is that even possible?”

“I dunno I just- just read about it online.” 

“Describe its symptoms.”

You gape, “Baby, it’s not a disease to have- ngh, symptoms like tha-”

This time, a pinch at your pretty clit. “Describe its symptoms.”

“I suppose—oh.” And you’re unsure whether this was just some new way to tease you- or whether Nanami was seriously so shattered on your cunt that it left him genuinely asking. Begging. “Slurring your words?”

Nanami’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. “But m’not—m’not…your pussy just feels shooo good, my wife. Can’t stop thinkin’ about putting my baby in here.”

You shiver. “And then- oh, nonsensical sentences?” Speaking over the textbook example of him babbling on and on and on- about how nicely he’s going to stuff you all full. How pretty your kid is gonna be, a mix of him and your gorgeous self. How welllll he’s gonna take of you both. 

Somehow, the thought makes yet another orgasm simmer at the pit of your stomach. “And also heavy breathing? Muddled thinking? Feverish demenour?” You gasp- he slams into your poor, bruised g-spot. “Euphoria?”

How perfectly on time that you’re crashing into yours. 

Right as the white-hot pleasure flows through your body- and you’re planting the fringes of your feet on the floor. Aaaaarching perfectly into him as Nanami pumps his thickened inches through every peak. Every spark. Every wave of bliss that leaves you shaking- “Pussydrunk.”

But it’s not coming out of you - it’s coming out of him.

“Pussydrunk—heh.” Nanami chuckles darkly to himself, a tone you’ve never heard before. He swirls n’ swirls his globular tip, the perfect rounded shape to press into your nerves. “Of course m’pussydrunk- why wouldn’t I be pussydrunk-”

And you’re realizing that he was emptying out a few more dollops of cream- his syrupy cum pouring into your deepest depths. Sploshin’ around—

Nanami takes one look at the seed leaking out of you- even more so once he places a hand on top of your stomach and presses doooooown.

“And what are the symptoms for…pregnant, darlin’?”

Did someone say nonsensical sentences? Muddled thinking? Because Nanami Kento was fully pussydrunk and he was still dangerously, lecherously coherent. 

The only real evidence of it being that strange glaze over his eyes, and the carnal twitch of his lips-

You’re not making it out of this alive.

.

.

.

Just a few months later and you’re describing the same symptoms to your OB-GYN. 

Nine months later to that night and you’re seeing the beautiful results of it. 

♡ GETO SUGURU - 6/10

“One the count of three.” Geto Suguru’s smile stretched in such a feline way, enough to send quivers between your legs. Times like this, you really did understand why non-sorcerers were drawn from far and wide to your leader’s temple hideout. 

Or…oops you weren’t supposed to let anyone know that it was a hideout. 

The sole purpose of it in the first place was to be somewhere Geto could conduct whatever it is that is sinful and depraved where no one would expect. In the public eye itself, he didn’t care if they knew.

He cared if they did something about it.

And who was going to do anything about the fact that you were the favorite of the leader of the Time Vessel Association? The…special one.

Rarely were you sent out for missions that would cause you bodily harm- though it wasn’t for a lack of insisting on your part. Rather, Geto kept you around for times like this…

“Ready?” He tips the little bowl in his hand. It was shaped like a sake bowl, and yet fizzling with something much stronger. 

The sweetest odor of honey and something poisonous wafted from both your bowls, and made your spine stand straight. Your mouth was parched. You reply, “Ready.” 

“Sure?”

“Ready to see you pussydrunken is what…” Belatedly, you add. “-leader.”

He merely chuckles.

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

The ceramic bowls tip.

For who was going to stop the leader of the Time Vessel Association from drinking aphrodisiac with his number one?

.

.

.

It’s a few minutes later when you start feeling a slight burn.

It’s about ten minutes later when you’re completely feverish.

It’s about fifteen- maybe less, later when you’re looking at Geto and thinking the same thing.

In less than half an hour itself, you’re being collapsed down onto all fours. With Geto’s hefty bodyweight pressing you down into the tatami, his dark yukata falling around you like a curtain. He has one hand bowing your spine into his front, and the other smearin’ your thighs apart so that he can shovel every inch of his furious cock from behind.

Round, reddened tip.

Stretching out your first entrance until you scream—and then proddin’ into every single sweet spot inside you as he’s pounding into you like a madman.

“Who’s pussydrunk now, huh?” Geto’s breathless whisper scorches hot against the shell of your ear. And the minute you feel him breezing away- the leader grabs onto your crown and draaaags you back against his rutting pelvis. “Who’s pussydrunk now- tell me. Who’s pussydrunk now?”

Voice growing higher n’ higher with every ruthless thrust. The longer you keep from answering, the harder he tugs on your scalp. “Y-”

“Don’t even answer that, you lying slut.”

Fuck—and you don’t know whether it was because of the aphrodisiac, but Geto was just being so mean.

Putting you in his place with the hard, honed swipes of his swollen cockhead. Pinning you to the patterned floor until you were sure the indentations could be seen on your skin tomorrow. Stopping you from running any time he smacked your g-spot too hard and you wanted a speck of mercy—

“Where’d you think yer fucking going?” Even the delicate way he’d speak had been compromised, and something sounded carnal at the back of his throat. 

You tearily exclaim, “I-I wasn’t-”

“Claimed that your leader would be- hah, weak against this pussy—” But Geto Suguru wasn’t listening to a single word of your excuses. Didn’t you already know that he was a merciless leader? There was a reason that even those higher up in jujutsu society wouldn’t dare threaten sword nor word against him. 

And it’s the last thought you have before the grip upon your sweaty crown grows almost searing- your body’s being manhandled back into his with ease. It’s like you were nothing but a ragdoll. Nothing but a cute lil’ plaything that he’s smackin’ with is ruddied, ravenous cockhead. Geto lets your head fall against his collarbone and he spits between your parted lips- “Claimed that your leader would be weak and you have the audacity to run?” He was burning up.

Hands twitching on the smooth floor. “I s-swear I wasn’t-”

“Did you seriously think you could run from me?”

“Oh, please—” It’s then that Geto’s cadence was growing almost unbearably blissful - he has a pattern of swirlin’ at your entrance a few times. Before then using all his might to puuuuush into the deepest spot of your womb. “Please please please-” As if just to make you shatter, he reaches beneath you with a free hand and pinches your perky clit. “Please, Suguru-”

“Suguru?” One of his high brows arch, sweat dripping in-between. “Have you- hah, forgotten that I’m your leader already, gorgeous? Have you become this cockdrunk already, huh? Huh?”

“Please, Suguru-”

“Leader.”

“My leader.” Because you knew just how much Geto looooved it when you called him that—and it was easy enough to see that it worked with the way that his blushin’ tip twitched deep inside you. Flinching almost animalistically. You gasp, “My leader, f-forgive me-”

And you swear that his thick erection only seemed to grow even thicker. 

Harder.

Needier.

It wasn’t just the aphrodisiac anymore, he just seemed to be famished for your pussy either way.

Sultry amusement seeps into Geto’s tone, leaving you feeling as stiiicky as those spurts of precum he was fucking deep inside you. “Oh? Continue.”

Nodding fervently, “Forgive me. I-I didn’t mean to- ngh, underestimate you, my leader.” 

“Good good—” He was nodding, too- you could feel it in the way those long locks of his brushed your arched spine. The panels of his jet-black hair quivering with every bounce back into his hips - you were just as greedy as him, you know? “And what else?”

Scrambling to assign the words into sentences. “A-and I should’ve known about your- fuck…your prowess. Your stamina. Your endurance.”

“Good- and what else?” It was only making him even bigger to have you feeding his ego like this- shit, just a little more and Geto Suguru was fit to burst.

“Ah—um.” You babble away, spittle falling out of you like a waterfall. “Your—fuck, your cock…”

Geto lewdly eyes the escape, and cranes his head down to lick off the spittle leaking out of your lips. “And what about who’s pussydrunk, gorgeous? Which one of us is pussydrunk? Which one of us is absolutely fucking gone?”

“Me.”

“Say it louder, the rest of the Association in the temple can’t mmm, hear.”

“Me-” Just so loud that your voice starts shattering in your throat - or maybe it’s just that you were simply that sensitive.

And Geto reels back with a content sigh, “Yes—” He whispers out breathlessly, the last thing you’re hearing before the sudden sluuuurp! of something hot and wet emptying out between your pussylips. “Yes, yes, yes—it’s you.” Trickling in more n’ more wads of clingy cum with each syllable, you find yourself pushed up the tatami even harder than ever. “You’re ruined on my cock-”

“Yes-” You whimper, “Sugu- my leader, m’so close.”

“Your leader, huh?” Shit, that word seemed to have more of an effect on him than he first thought. And Geto isn’t holding back any more with his sloppy scrape-scrape-scrape at the back of your pussy.

His body was half-collapsing on top of yours. His fingers frenzied on your clit. His hips stutterin’ and moving in nothing but pure animal neeeeed as he wrenches his cock across even the tiniest geysering orifices inside you. “I like that-” Slender fingers now pinching your knobbly clit. “I r-really like that.”

And it takes only a few more vulgar strokes before you’re cumming down his shaft. 

It explodes through your veins like the most pleasurable flood, leaving your mind in such a tizzy. 

Your eyes wrenching shut. Your pussy closin’ in tightly around his veiny shaft—

Geto bucks at the sensation and- “Sh-shit, I love you.”

And it finally hits you.

All this time…Geto Suguru already was pussydrunk.

.

.

.

“Perhaps we can end this debate once and for all.” 

No one was to question the voice of the leader, ringing out strong and unwavering above the rest. Bold in his convictions, and even bolder still, at the fact that he had his cock rammed into you where everyone could see.

Upon the high stage where he conducted his speeches.

His chin hooked at your neck, his arms holding your legs apart.

Your robes were useless in covering even the barest parts of you- not when Geto had you up on his infamous platform, pressed into the most lecherous full nelson for all to see.

They bowed their heads low.

They had an option to leave- but who in the right mind would? Rows upon rows of all those adult men and women and everyone in-between who’d joined the Association for nothing but Geto himself- and now they were seeing the full brunt of his ruthlessness. Being shoved into you—inch by inch, with his blushin’ cockhead spearing into spots you weren’t even sure you had before him—

Geto watches as you squirm in embarrassment, his cock hittin’ your best spots a mile a minute. He hears the lewd squeeeelch! of his balls emptying out inside your womb again and asks-

“And do you believe your leader to be pussydrunk?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 100000/10

“Baby, does something smell sweet to you?”

“Hmmm?” Your boyfriend’s answering call echoes from the kitchen, accompanied by yet another gust of that strange syrupy fragrance. It cloyed to your senses, coated it in something candied, left your mind all muddled. 

The smell of vanilla and sunny summer days: nothing like your perfumes. 

You don’t know if you’ve ever smelled anything like it.

So lost in the scent, you have to blink a few times to bring yourself back into reality. Eyelids seemingly glazed in that heady smell. 

Even then, lethargy clings onto you like an old friend. Like a lover.

You walk as if wading through an ocean to the kitchen. “Cho, did you buy those crêpes from the bakery downtown again? Something smells so swe—”

Your voice catches in your throat.

Because standing in the kitchen was none other than your beloved boyfriend- and he had bought those sweet, sweet crêpes from the bakery downtown. But the smell wasn’t wafting off of them—they weren’t wafting off of the crêpes at all.

Instead it was gusting out of…

Hands on the counter.

Shoulders hunched.

Chest panting.

Choso Kamo looked as though he was in the throes of a fever—all flushed down to the roots of his sweat-drenched hair. His eyes slightly glazed and unfocused. They drift around the room searching for the source of noise before locking in on you, frozen at the entrance to the kitchen.

And Choso Kamo jolts as if something in him had just been awakened.

Your half-curse boyfriend was in rut.

.

.

.

“P-please—” It wasn’t you that was begging - it was Choso. 

His tone all botched with how many times he’d rung your name out tonight, his thighs all reddened with impact, his hips stuttering. He was shovelling his tip between your swollen pussylips at such a rapid pace- “Please.” Watching that pretty ruby-red curve disappear into your cunt n’ then back out, in and out, in and out—“Please take my cum…”

“But, Cho-” You’re somehow managing to hiccup out. You reach a hand up to him and he’s pushing his handsome face into your palm, almost like an overgrown puppy. “Choso, baby, that’s what you said the last round.”

Such a resounding smack! as he’s then hitting his pelvis between your legs. Teeth gritting at the way your cunt closes in on him, “O-oh? So did I already…” 

“You did, baby.” Kindly. Your boyfriend was so pussydrunk that he can’t even seem to recall.

That heady scent in the room seems to simmer—and you swear the temperature blazes a few degrees higher. Choso’s pheromones going into overdrive-

All you have to do is place your hand on top of his for his entire body to jolt as though struck with a thousand volts of electricity. “B-baby?”

“See?” You tilt your head down gently, watching as those gooey ribbons of white trickle out of you and formulate the most lecherous ring ‘round his base. 

Choso feels his own seed coating his shaft n’ all the way down to his heavy balls- lazily striking your outer pussy with a thwack! thwack! thwack! So much of it that he can’t even believe he’d stuffed it inside you. He can’t even believe that he’d cum before when he still wanted it so, so, so badly—“B-but did I really fill you up all the way till your pretty womb-”

“You did, Cho.”

“Oh…”

It was just too cute how forgetful he became when he was pussydrunk.

The only thing he could focus on being your pussy and how good she felt wrapped around his cock like this. The only thought he could compose.

His noise of realization hits you in a scorching gust, and you nod. “The round before this, remember?” But instead of answering, he’s swervin’ his thickened shaft between your pussylips even harder. “And the round before that…” Difficult to get out your words when Choso’s puckered tip seemed to be smoochin’ his way in-between each n’ every syllable—“And the round before that.” Again. And again. And again. “And the- hah, round before thaaaat. And the round before-”

“Ohhh, baby, I get it.” Choso’s pleadin’ down at you with a wobbly lower lip. Just too cute. 

And by now he can’t even meet your eyes—can’t do anything.

Can’t think. Can’t breathe. “I get it, but…” Can’t help but plant his palms down upon each of your inner thighs n’ spread that cum-slicked pussy fuuuurther open. With the most lecherous squelches, he’s pumping his cock in short, quick thrusts. Head lightly throwing back at the feeling of his bright-red cockhead piercing your cervix. He’s looking away with the prettiest blush across his cheeks, “But can you just…mmm, a-again…”

“You want to cum inside me ag-”

“Don’t even say that.” Choso interrupts urgently, “S’gonna make me…cum again. But yes.”

“Mhm?”

“Please.”

Because when Choso Kamo entered your pussy—he got fucking addicted.

Even more so now with his rut rendering him extra, extra sensitive - and he could feel even the tiniest bumps n’ nudges inside your wettened walls. Pinpoint every bundle of nerves. It’s as if his bawling divot was a spotlight and his mission was to search for even the most tender of spots that’d leave you bucking into his arms.

So strong and pinning you down.

As he grazed his furious cock against your g-spot again. And again. And again—watching the heaps of cum sploshin’ out of you. Again and again—

You’re watching as Choso has to nibble down on his bottom lip to keep himself at least somewhat composed. And the sight of it is just too damn sexy- “Go ahead, Ch-”

You don’t even get to finish that cute nickname you had for him.

Because in a split-second, Choso Kamo’s bowing his muscular body into yours and pressing you down into the mattress with his weight. His hips are pinning you down so that you can’t move, so that you can’t squirm, so that you can’t buck as he’s opening your legs wiiiiide open n’ making you gulp down every single sloppy ounce of his cum.

It’s trickling into you at a ravenous pace- when you think his twitching cock has finally had enough and is about to stop…his balls clench and he’s pumping out yet another wad of slick seed.

Fucking it deep into you as though Choso couldn’t handle the sight of it - not a single drop it wasted. 

“Baby-” He’s rasping between clenched teeth, limbs trembling like a flower. Choso pushes his face into the sweaty crook of your neck and you can feel his heady pheromones flood your senses. “Baby—oh, fuck.”

“Shit.” Clenching your molars. All it takes is being embraced in your arms for him to stutter his hips back and give a good thrust- one that has even more thick white cum being stuffed into your womb.

“Baby, baby, baby- you took it all…again.” Belatedly, he’s remembering that this wasn’t the first time that you’d been coated all over with his glossy seed. It covers your pussylips like the prettiest gloss- and he can’t help but reach down n’ swipe a thumb across them.

Making you shiver as Choso plugs that ready, cum-covered thumb into his mouth. “Mmm.” And it’s making his drunkenly sluggish hips start rutting up once more - greedily. He’s taking every inch inside you with his splashin’ slick, his swollen length. “Baby.” His mouth falls agape, and Choso’s gnawing and sinking his teeth into the column of your neck. Moans vibrating. “Baby, baby—fuck, baby.” Cock thrusting between each exclamation. “Baby.”

You’re wrapping your arms around his broad shoulder, “M’right here, Cho.”

And he’s flinching as though hearing your voice for the very first time- taking just one look at you before breaking out into a beaming smile. “Baby…” This time, it’s more of a breathless whisper. “You’re here.”

“I am.” He’s nuzzling you and you have to giggle.

“But, that’s not what I meant…”

One brow raises, “What do you mean then, Choso?”

“I meant—” Right hand trekking up your stomach to push down on where he was probin’ inwards. He could feel that cute lil’ bump of his knobbly shaft reaching in, and it makes him think of…other little bumps. “-baby.”

Choso stares deep into your eyes with his thoroughly drunken ones.

He pushes down on your stomach, your womb.

“Here.”

“Oh—” Your back arches suddenly off of the dampened mattress- whether because of your innocent boyfriend’s words, whether because of the feeling of his cum swirlin’ around you, whether because of the way he seems to harden all over again—you have no idea.

But it’s that last one that makes your heavy eyelids snap wide open. “Choso, you…” Your mouth gapes silently, and Choso starts humpin’ his needy hips forwards again. “Choso, are you using your blood manipulation technique?”

“What?” His feverishly hot tip twitches against your g-spot. And he looks down slightly breathlessly, “Oh…I am.”

Like he just realized.

And you have no time to wonder just how pussydrunk he must be to not realize, nor how many rounds he’d lasted like this. Because Choso’s as rock-hard as he was when you first encountered him in the kitchen, and all you can do is plant both feet on the bed and buck as though to save your sanity-

But Choso only clasps both hands upon either side of your waist and pulls you down with a rough thwack! Cock probing. Peripherals glazed. Pheromones peaking. He was thoroughly gone on your pussy with a voice octaves higher than usual-

“Don’t run, baby.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Denial/10

“Speak, woman.”

It’s been long enough since you’ve married Ryomen Sukuna to know that his harsh words and harsher tone mean null when it comes to you - only to you. And though you’ve seen, with your own two eyes, what happens to those who defy and deify him—you have no fear in swatting his swole bicep. 

Huffing at the way the man grumbles- “I just had the most intriguing conversation with Uraume today.” Because you knew that he was urging you to enunciate the words you’d been choking on all night long.

“Hm?” He raises one pinkish brow.

“They heard from a friend of a friend of a friend who had read it in some rather…scandalous literature, of a concept called ah—getting pussydrunk.” You look up at him for a reaction. “It’s when sometimes one’s lover is so drunk on the taste or feeling of one’s p-”

“I know that that is, woman.” Sukuna cuts you off in slight outrage, “Ya think I’m some blushing virgin or something? Because I remember fuckin’ that pussy of yours just last ni-”

“Anyways.” Embarrassment bubbles in your veins - conversations with the King of Curses always did end up with you being teased and toyed with to no end. Which is why this novel concept of pussydrunkness made you…“Uraume was asking—and don’t tell them I told you- but they were asking whether you’ve ever gotten pussydrunk.”

He scoffs, “And?”

“And…” You’re cocking your head up at him- were you dreaming or was that a slight dusting of crimson on his ears? “-have you?”

He does not answer.

“Have you?”

“Asking your King such questions- I should have you banished for treason…” He’s turning his eyes away with a grumble, his whole body on the bed—and you almost think you won’t be getting your answer at all tonight. “Fuckin’ ride me and find out.”

And you couldn’t deny a direct order from His Majesty, could you?

In less than a few minutes, you’ve transferred from being beside Sukuna to straining your thighs ‘round his monstrous hips. To having your legs interlocked over his waist, feeling the ridges and curves of each of his muscles. To having his dual tips swabbin’ inside, and his body fucking up into yours at such a frenzied pace-

“Fuh-fuck—!” Your tastebuds sizzle, tongue stuck to the roof of your tongue.

Every time that his rounded tips swabbed and prodded inwards, it made a sheen of saliva trickle down the front of your chin- and Sukuna wastes no time before reachin’ one thumb upwards and swiping it off.

Bringing that very same thumb down to the second mouth across his core- “Awww, what happened, mama?” He coos, something dangerous quivering in his tone. You’re watching with gaped eyes as his lavish cursed tongue flops out and slurps his own fingers. “Cock got your tongue?”

“Wh-what?” You’re snapping your gaze to him.

“Or should I say…cocks.” He’s chuckling to himself at his own filthy joke. As if to emphasize, pounding up those rotund cockheads all the way against the back of your pussy. You could almost feel the thorough bruising of what he was lashing out- “What happened ta gettin’ me pussydrunk, huh?”

You’re squealing, “Well that’s what I’m trying to do, but—” Breath hitching instantly as you’re gifted the sensation of something loooooong and slimy slipping between your legs. “-but you just make it so hard-”

His second tongue slaps between your pussylips—and both of his mouths snicker. “I am hard, huh?” Both cocks throb-throb-throbbing away inside of you. “Reeeeal fuckin’ hard.”

“Sh-shut it…”

“And yer the one that can’t seem to shut up.” He smiles meanly, both knees now bouncing up so that his hits drive even deeper. Harder. Faster. Pinpointing your sweetest spots with almost scary accuracy again and again and again—“Tried ta get me pussydrunk but- heh, who’s dumbified now, huh?”

“Shut- fuck.” Maybe if you were in any better state of mind then you’d have been embarrassed at the trilling squeaks that leave you.

The ridged lines of Sukuna’s veiny cocks glide-glide-gliiiiide against one another and against you. Sloppily squelching inwards and markin’ the patterns of their shafts along every inch of your walls. The sheer pleasure is so much that you almost can’t feel yourself breathe-

“What was thaaaat—?” Sukuna’s mean tone echoes out below you, his chuckles coming out in scorching hot puffs. “Can’t even breathe because m’making you feel too good?” Repeating what you’d subconsciously said—-fuck, you bristle with indignation. But either the sorcerer doesn’t realize or more likely- he doesn’t care. 

His grin only spreads wider, “Awww, how cute. How needy. How…” That honed tongue of his starts easin’ the tip between your pussylips—“-stupid. My cockdrunk girl.”

“Y-you’re putting…that thing in, too?” You’re gasping at the way his textured tastebuds start slippin’ around your wet crevice. Gulping up whatever ounce of slick you leaked. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

“Any complaints?”

“No-”

“Ah ah-” Rudely interrupting you, Sukuna hunches his upper half closer and listens—his crimson gaze locked right between your legs. “M’asking her—” 

Where his swollen cocks kept disappearing n’ reappearing at a rapid pace—running your outer folds raw, gulped down with heavy slurps. 

And you can only wait until he’s nodding, satisfied with what he hears, Sukuna leans back against the gilded headboard. It creaks beneath his content weight, most of his power being put into pinning you against this pelvis. “Heh…she’s too dumbified to give me a proper answer, too.”

“Oh, you’re so…” You’re so embarrassed at the way he was toying with you- that you’re unsure how to even respond.

Unsure how to even think.

You’re only arching your hips and fucking back into his rough thrusts, tight bounces that let his flared cockhead stir around your insides. Around and around. “This isn’t even fair-” Gasping, you grab onto either side of his honed deltoids. Around and around. Now his tongue was joining in as well- just managing to fit his expanded tip in n’ fuck you with it. “I wanted to make you-” Around and—and it’s only then and there - boring into his hazy crimson eyes - that you get a sudden idea. “Kuna, baby?”

“Who the fuck are ya callin’ Kuna baby—?” Sukuna scoffs, but meets your gaze either way. And—bingo! 

You swear the tips of his ears were blushed in the faintest rouge color.

And so you lean in with a dopey smile, lashing fluttering - just in the way you knew he liked. “Won’t you be pussydrunk-” Before he can cut you off with yet another sleazy remark. “-for me? Your Majesty?”

It just made you so shy saying that—fuck! But it works on the King of Curses either way.

And in a split-second, he’s anchoring both feet to the mattress and push-push-pushing. He’s scrunching his eyes up and trying not to give away a few tears. He’s snarling his pearly white canines and groaning—

“Yer fuckin’ evil, w-woman.”

And you open your mouth with something snappy to bite back- before the realization hits you.

“I made you stutter.” You’re laughing out breathlessly and no matter how hard he’s ruttin’ up into you doesn’t wipe away the smile from your face. Pressing your naked body even closer to his. “Kuna, I made you stutt-”

“I fuckin’ know.” He counters, “Came outta my own mouth, d-didn’t it?”

“And there it is again.” Swirling his twin tips deeper and harder into you, he’s mapping out your every tender spot. And the more you seem to squeeze your velvety walls around him- the more it seems to make the King’s façade break. “Don’t you know what that means?”

“No-”

“You’re pussydrunk, Kuna.”

He seethes, “You fuckin’ wish-”

“You’re pussydrunk.” Purposefully making him jolt with the bouncing of your hips - shivering, shaking, shuddering. “I succeeded.” Everything but what he’d admit. “Didn’t I, Your Majesty?” 

Ryomen Sukuna does not respond.

And you do not expect him to - you’re only letting him fall back against the comfy mattress. Its entire frame taken up by his burly figure—so strong, and yet so ruined on the way you were riding him maddeningly.

“S’alright.” You hum, “I am the Queen, after all.”

And he can’t deny how his cock twitches at the words.

.

.

.

Uraume doesn’t get paid enough, they believe.

In fact—they don’t get paid at all.

And especially not to patrol these royal hallways after the sun has set. The King of Curses was always a stickler for security, not out of fear, but rather out of the inconvenience of wasting merely a fraction of his powers against lowly threats.

Which is why it was always Uraume’s job to scour the sprawling corridors of the estate last.

Meandering through hidden coves and hallways, into open gardens, sticking their heads into rooms both empty and filled with so many riches that they looked gilded. And it was around the last turn that they would walk past the bedroom of the King himself.

They’re stepping idly past the door, knowing at this time that it would be more than impolite to knock. After all, you were residing in there as well, and any commotion might—

And that’s when Uraume hears it.

The whimper.

Too low to be from you, too husky to be from anyone but Sukuna himself. It emanated from the minute cracks between the sliding doors and makes Urauma flinch as though they’d just been struck-

“Oh…” Their lips part. Suddenly being taken back to a conversation they’d had with you just the morning earlier. About being….

They shiver.

They really don’t get paid enough.

♡ INO TAKUMA - 11/10

“Wait it’s—”

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

Both sets of your footsteps are loud and quavering like thunder, ringing out across the empty street. Not a single soul in attendance to the orchestra of noise. The gasps, the groans of disappointment. It surrounds the two of you even as you pause to catch your breath—and echoes like a clap of laughter.

Mocking.

Though, you suppose that you would have been much the same. Had you seen this scene in a TV show or a movie, then you’d have rolled your eyes at the sheer ridiculousness. After all, who the hell plans every bit and piece of your boyfriend’s first time and forgets the most important part of all?

Because everything had been laid out for tonight - the bedsheets, the towels, the timing. All meticulously noted and struck through in preparation. But it’s only once you’d ushered Ino into your apartment and started tuggin’ his pants down that you realized—“Fuck, the condoms.”

Cue a wild dash down to the nearby convenience store before it closed.

You’re sure you’ve formed a blister upon your feet in your haste to get here- and your heart sinks as you find it was all for naught because…

“Closed.” Ino squints at the too-happy sign turned on the door. It had a cutesy smile plastered across it, though you couldn’t find anything to smile about at this very moment. 

Sensing your despair, Ino turns to you with a gentle smile. “It’s alright, sweetness- I’ve waited this long and I can wait just a day longer-”

“No.” You find yourself saying. It hits you then—“Actually…”

“Mhm?”

“Let’s go back to my place.”

.

.

.

“S’it really, really okay to go…” Ino gulps, his cute Adam’s apple bobbing at the action. He looked practically feverish with trepidation, a line of sweat trickling between his furrowed brows. “—raw for the first time, pretty?”

You’re staring up at your boyfriend with heady eyes. Ino looked gone already - fluttering lashes, blushing cheeks, his glazed tip slippin’ out a few more beads of precum. “Mhm.”

“But-” He squeaks, “B-but is it really oka-”

“Would you rather stop?” You cock your head innocently.

“No no no no no—” Ino’s voice cracks near the end of his sentence, and he finds himself urging his naked hips towards yours. There was a strange desperation in it - almost animalistic - and he’s babbling away stupidly. “No, I’d rather- fuck, I’d rather die than stop—but that’s only if you want to continue as well, sweetness, and I would be more than happy to-”

“Taku, baby?”

Ino shuts his mouth with a click! He’s unsure whether he’s cutting himself off because of that sweet, sweet interjection of your voice - or because of the way you’re looping your arms around his neck. Pulling him in until your lips were only a breath’s distance apart. “Y-yes, ma’am?”

Something in the way he trembles out that formal nickname makes your cunt twitch. Oh…“Just shut up and fuck me?”

And in this position—in this delicate, delicate mating press that Ino has you pressed in - he’s swabbing his fat cockhead between those puffy lips of yours. Just teasing that fatness of his girth along that line a few times, before steadying his hips and rutting just in-

“Sh-shiiiit…” A slight line of saliva treks down the edge of his mouth, and his eyes widen at the sensation. He snaps his head down to where your cunt was gulping him up in sultry clenches, “Shit, it’s going in—”

“Mhm…hck.” You swallow.

“Shit, sweetness, it’s going in- it’s going in.” He was almost slurring by this point. The curve of his tip had been smearin’ aside the muscles of your entrance, and Ino was just the perfect size to stretch you out but still manage to siiiink inside. “It’s going in.” Gasping and sputtering. “I-I can’t believe it—oh.”

He was shaking.

Shivering. 

You notice that the instant he’s feeling that soft, slippery entrance to your pussy- Ino’s dark pupils cross. His tongue struggles not to loll out of his mouth.

And just then you’re hit with a sudden smooch of his rounded tip. Globular at the end so he can press apart your tight walls and reach towards the very back, thick. Throbbing. You almost want to squeal as he’s indenting that spongy end of your cervix and- 

“Pretty, so this is what a p-pussy feels like…”

There’s an almost airy quality to Ino’s words - botched. Broken. “Mhmm?”

“Pretty, this is what you feel like—” He’s repeating. And it’s as though the mere thought itself is enough to make him throw his head back with a whimper. Hips stuttering in a slow, steady fucking.

At least…that’s what he was trying to do.

But instead each stroke inside was more vulgar than the last- harder. Messier. Ino’s precum splattering out of him at a dizzying rate. Was it normal to be this…loud n’ lecherous? You didn’t know the answer and you don’t have the time to think - because you’re swerving your hips up n’ about. In a few rhythmic circles that allow his flared mushroom tip to probe into even your tiniest orifices. “And d’you like it, Taku?”

“L-like it?” Stammering. Ino’s molten eyes were wide open, staring at you but he didn’t even seem to see. You almost had half the mind to be concerned - “You’re asking me if I like it, sweetness?”

“Well—oh.”

And Ino Takuma was the type of boyfriend to allow you to talk to your heart’s content. Ino Takuma was the type of boyfriend to drink in every word you told him and actually remember. Ino Takuma was the type of boyfriend to never even breathe too loud for fear of interrupting you. 

But here he was: reeling his slender hips back and giving your womb an eager bash of his rugged cockhead. Shutting you up instantly. 

It was entering into the deepest spots possible - one you didn’t even know were there.

He didn’t just ‘like it’- oh, he was fucking addicted to the squeeze of your pussy n’ was pinning you down to feel it again. And again. And again and again—

“Oh.” Ino gruffs out, pretty eyes clenching shut. Honestly, you swear you could see a few tears decorate his long lashes- “Like it? I fucking love you.”

You gasp, “Did you just…?”

Dazed eyes shuttering open. “What?”

“Taku, you just…” You almost couldn’t believe that the words were falling from your own mouth - let alone that of Ino’s. “You just dropped the L bomb, baby. For the first time ever. Right now.”

“Oh.” His lips part, breath intaken. “Oh.‘

“Wait- you seriously didn’t realize?”

“No—”

Tone absolutely shattered—just like he was. And he sounded dead-serious, almost distraught. His tongue tied and his voice curdling thickly at the back of his throat, Ino’s breath hitches with every single swipe he was poundin’ into the back of your pussy. “Pretty…” Your boyfriend whispers out in near-agony as he drags his tongue down the column of your neck. “Pretty, what’s h-happening to me?”

“Taku, I think you’re…” You breathe, the realization hitting right along with how sexy his stumbling words sounded. Each melting into one. “-I think you’re pussydrunk.”

He jolts, “P-pussydrunk?”

And you nod, making sense of that absolutely ruined demeanour. “Pussydrunk.”

“Oh.” Your boyfriend’s sweaty head falls into the crook of your neck, and you swear you feel him slip out a few salty tears- “So that’s what it is.” Before something thick and cloying webs up your insides.

You don’t have to see the puddle of white starting to froth onto the sheets below to know that Ino’s poor, ravaged cock had burst into his high - not knowing, not even in control. He feels the seeping wetness grow twofold between your legs, and gasps at the murky white that leaks out of your pretty hole. Glossed all over until it looked like such a syrupy glaze.

Sweet.

“Sweetness, shit-” Ino’s slender fingers twitch downwards as though to scoop it out. Not that it would be of much use when his bawling divot was still cumming- pouring out so many miry ribbons of slick that enter your womb- “Shit shit shit shit shit-”

He starts to reel his hips back, but you lock your ankles around his waist. “Nuh-uh.”

Head snapping up to meet your gaze, “Sweetness, don’t you know that I’ve-”

“I do know.” You’re answering, a coy smile on your lips. His warm cum was splashin’ around your insides and taking over every small nook n’ cranny—filling you up so much that you could feel it threatening to leak out past Ino’s thick hilt. “And I want more, baby.”

He’s being tugged even closer against you, pelvic bones scrapin’ the inner parts of your thighs. And his ruby-red tip twitches- “Pretty, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Love you, too.”

.

.

.

The next day, you’re stepping through the doors of the convenience store the very moment its sign flips to open.

“Why, my first customers of the day.” The elderly lady that often manned the cashier coos at the two of you. She was a woman rather proud of her store - it had everything one needed. The snacks. The hardware. The hygiene products. And what a good omen it was to see the faces of such a lovely young couple first thing in the morning!

She leans over the counter and beams as you two reciprocate a greeting. “You’re certainly eager to meet me here at the register, aren’t you?’

You somewhat slow down your movements, “Ah…you could say that.”

“We’ve been searching for this since yesterday.” Ino (attempts) to helpfully add.

But when the look on her face turns thoughtful, you already knew where this was about to head. “Oh, is that so? What is it that you need, my dears? Perhaps I can help you…”

“I-it’s really alright-”

“No, I insist.”

“No no, it’s really-”

“I insist—” And with that she’s rounding the counter and seeing just what aisle the two of you had been standing in. Namely the fact that it hosted an array of multi-colored boxes advertising all sorts of flavors and…feelings.

The condom aisle blushed as bright as Ino Takuma’s face.

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

She might open a little later tomorrow morning.

♡ GOJO SATORU - ∞/10

“Sweetheart, did you know that m’the strongest?”

Putting down the nth meeting report you’d been handed since this morning, you look up at your boyfriend with slightly furrowed brows. “Yes, Satoru? Are you done with that report Yaga told you to do?”

Unlike you who was just swamped in jujutsu documents, Gojo Satoru was—also swamped in documents. But the difference between the two of you was that he wasn’t doing anything about them. Instead, you squint your eyes at what seems to be horrific attempts at creating origami dicks out of a few meeting papers that Yaga had told you were…particularly important.

Gojo throws one of his futile attempts in the air and catches it with his powers. “But you know how m’like- The Strongest?”

“…Yes?” Narrowing your gaze at the white-haired man, you try to discern any visible symptoms of an oncoming fever. Certainly not brought on from working too hard- perhaps from slacking off too hard. “Satoru, are you okay? Do we need to visit Shoko?”

But he shakes his head, “Okay and- you know how no one and nothing is stronger than me as The Strongest?”

“Actually, I could just call Shoko over to us if-”

“What if your pussy was stronger than me?”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Your mouth parts, “Do you mean to say…”

“Raw.”

For the first time.

Translation: what if Gojo Satoru managed to break on your pussy? Who was really The Strongest then?

And you had teleported with Gojo on occasions prior, often only when you really had to - you weren’t the biggest fan of the bend and snap! of time and place distorting around you. 

But you suppose that now called for an exception.

In just a single embrace and one click of his fingers, you’re finding yourself in the sprawling space of his penthouse. Your back is being pressed against his dark black sheets—“Fuck, Satoru.” His mouth was on yours like a man dying of thirst, an ocean of sweetness between your lips. “Satoru—oh.”

You’re splayed flatly out in the middle of his king-sized mattress before you know it.

And—

And then you’re on all fours with your face stuffed into his cologne-smelling pillows?

Startled, you’re whipping your head over your shoulder and finding Gojo with his powerful fingers raised in the air again. “Hm…interesting.” He smiles unabashedly. Ivory brows quirking.

The last thing you’re hearing before there’s another click-

And then you’re finding your back on the mattress again, legs in the air.

And then you’re finding yourself over his knee and getting a good slap with his hand.

And then you’re naked and on all fours once more.

And then you’re straddling a pillow that smells just like him.

And then you’re being pushed into the meanest, maddest mating press. Gojo with his strong arms pressing on either side of your waist and holding you to him—holding you in one place as he’s shovellin’ his cock into you like a madman.

No hesitation. No waiting for you to get used to his size.

Not even the slightest bit of teasing before he’s tunneling his plump tip between those pussylips of yours- tight. “So-so fucking tight.” Gojo spits out with his canines thoroughly clenched, the only thing escaping them being his husky moans and a slight trickle of drool.

And that’s all before you’re tightening your legs and clenching—

And that’s just about enough to make The Strongest collapse his trained body into yours.

One thrust.

Just one thrust.

He’s flinching as though shocked by a thousand voltages, ivory bangs quivering as he does. Gojo dips his head straight into the crook of your neck and gasps- “So tight so tight so tight.” Something breaking at the back of his tone. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’ve been holding all this back from me?”

“Wh-what do you even mean—fuck.” At that very moment, Gojo can’t help himself - he’s pumping out a goooood thrust between your naked legs.

His raw cock glides down your pussy walls. Red-hot. Ravenous. Without that familiar rubber as a barrier between the two of you, Gojo’s able to feel even the tiniest nooks and crannies that you were hiding.

Each one such a cute lil’ spot that geysers out. They’re flooding you from the inside out as if you were a damn waterpark, and he’s feelin’ that wet treacle of slick coat his shaft- making the looooong trek down to his balls. “Satoru.” Somehow, your gasp seems to break through his reverie. It’s been some time since that first thrust, and Gojo had barely even moved. Hell, you’re starting to think that he’s barely even breathing—“Forget the experiment, maybe I should c-call Shoko-”

And then he’s honing out another thrust-

Six Eyes activating and glowing tiny crackles of lightning ‘round the rim of his pretty eyes. He hits that throbbing g-spot of yours almost unfairly fast—“How have I…” Cut off immediately by the cleeench of your soft walls. “How have I l-lived this long without feeling you like this, my girl?”

“Oh-” And the words themselves are enough to make your cunt quiver - let alone the way that the sorcerer was managing out such a sloppy set of thrusts. “Oh, Satoru, you’ll live-”

“But I haven’t.” He exclaims. Though his voice was breathy, there was a note of finality in his words. 

And as if to emphasize his point, he’s poundin’ and pounding his puckered tip between your pussylips- just stretchin’ out the entrance to your cunt. It doesn’t matter how many more of his inches he has left to fit inside you, Gojo was spotting so many of your tender crevices. He lavishes them in all his attention- until he doesn’t even need his Six Eyes anymore, it almost becomes second nature to caress your cute bundles of nerves.

They made you clench soooo—and they made him grow even harder inside of you. It seems that the thin power of a condom had kept Gojo encapsulated all this time, because with every throb he only seemed to be growing bigger and bigger and bigger-

He reaches his left thumb down and presses on your clit. Zapping it inadvertently with the electricity of his cursed energy- “I haven’t lived.” Continuing his conversation, it takes you a few moments to register just what he was talking about. Looking at you with wide, serious eyes—“I haven’t had my eyes see like this-” Lightning flares strengthening, the light bulb in the bedroom flickers. “I haven’t had my body move like this. I haven’t had my t-tactile senses stimulated like this. I haven’t had my heart beat-”

Gojo pauses. He waits, as if listening for something.

“-120 beats per minute like this.” He ultimately concludes. Running a hand down the front of your stomach, your skin skitters with strange vibrations wherever he touches. 

“Fuck—” And you’re unsure whether you’re exclaiming at the sensation of his cursed energy, or the way he was honing his cock even deeper.

Just so hard by now that your walls felt as though you were shaping to him- to every single curve of his swole shaft, to every single vein decorating his thickened length, to every single bead of slick being dribbled into your womb.

Gojo lurches his hips slightly backwards and thumps a hit against your womb.

All deliciously soft and covered in his sap—he presses his hand down where his erection ended. Pulsing. Probing. Such a dopey smile covering his lips, “I haven’t been able to fuck you all- hah, pregnant like this, huh, sweetheart?”

“You…” Your eyes snap open, slightly blurred with tears. “You haven’t fucked me pregnant yet, Satoru.”

“Huh?”

“Not yet.” You answer. Could he be…

“Oh.” His kiss-bitten lips fall into a slight circular shape of understanding—oh. And something rational seems to shift behind Gojo’s blue eyes- before they’re immediately getting overshadowed by that feral part of him.

The Strongest wastes no time before ravaging out your pretty womb a few more times, every second being a fresh spray of his milky precum. “Then we better fix that, huh?”

He sounded as if he wanted nothing more to do in the world.

And ah—“It s-seems that I really- ngh-” Manhandled to Gojo’s whims and wants, he’s fucking you hard enough that the bed starts to splinters. “-am The Strongest, hm?”

“That pussy is The Strongest-” Gojo leans back and spits straight between your puffy pussylips. “My pretty pussy.”

Before craning his head down and nudgin’ your thumb open to spit between that pair of lips, too.

“And you’re- hah.” He titters straight into your open maw, “My everything. My wife. The m-mother of my kids, of course…”

And you can’t quite help yourself, “And you?”

“Me?” Gojo cocks his head as if really considering. It’s just then and there that - after only a few vicious thrusts, shit—he really couldn’t handle it - that you could feel his balls start to clench in the way it did when he was about to cum. When he was about to pour out so many sticky wads like adhesive, that sweetened sap filling you right up to your throat. 

Gojo was utterly gone.

He finally answers, “I’m pussydrunk on you, my girl.”

.

.

.

It’s a few days later that Masamichi Yaga receives a report on his desk - one that forces him to take off his sunglasses just to make sure it was real.

It’s not that it was a particularly enrapturing report (in fact, the writing was rather rushed and subpar). It’s not that it was a report on a mission that had been deemed particularly urgent or life-threatening (this had actually been an assignment long overdue). It’s not even that it was a report cursed (he had to reconsider that) or with any other importance to jujutsu other than being, really, a report.

It’s the fact that the report was from Gojo Satoru: the first full report he’s gotten from the man since he entered Tokyo Jujutsu High twelve years ago.

What a momentous occasion.

Yaga can’t lie about the fact that he pulled down the blinds and made himself comfortable prior to reading it- he even made himself a cup of coffee to really celebrate! 

Running an awe-struck thumb to check the thickness, he really was impressed as it seemed to be quite in-depth. Hefty. At first glance, it wasn’t in overlarge writing to make up for space, either.

Perhaps Gojo really was turning a new leaf. After all, he’d finally managed to snag you out on a date which had turned into two dates, two dates into three, three into a solid relationship of which he’d heard that the two of you go on dates at least once a week now. And he always did think that you’d be a good influence on the trouble-maker.

If he could get Gojo Satoru to become true to his discipline. Then who knows? Pigs might just fly tomorrow and all curses might just exorcise themselves—for the first time in all the decades that Yaga had been doing this kind of work, he finally allows himself to dream-

That is until he properly opens up the report and reads the first line.

Your name was written in big, bold capitals. Followed by-

“—has been deemed to be The Strongest as of recent exercise in regards to her p—”

Yaga stops reading.

He’s going to kill that Gojo Satoru.

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 7.5/10

Your husband wasn’t the type to get pussydrunk.

Or at least…that’s what you’d thought. Because the first time the two of you had sex, he was the one more in control. He was the one that drove you wild with pleasure. He was the one that left you bawling and begging for more, speechless at how he’s swatching each and every soft spot.

And the times thereafter had been much the same - Higuruma was more than happy to switch and let you take control on some nights. But you wouldn’t consider him necessarily pussydrunk then.

Or so you’d thought.

So you’d thought.

So you’d thought.

Until one night you’d been visiting his famous law firm - Higuruma had been working overtime these days. It was some complicated fraud case of which you knew was driving Higuruma and his team half-mad, prosecution was said to be a difficult task even for Tokyo’s best (and most handsome) lawyer.

And your husband had always been the first in the office, the last out.

The night before closing statements, it was past midnight and he still wasn’t home. So…packing up his share of heated-up dinner, and a few of his favorite energy drinks, you’d made your way straight to Higuruma’s law firm.

Ending up finding the building empty—save for the security guards outside that helpfully told you Higuruma was in his office. The very largest space on the very last floor.

Knocking gently on the towering sealed door as you entered- you stopped in your tracks as you encountered your husband. Hunched over his desk. Surrounded by important documents.

Eyes weary. Throat parched. There was a certain type of…hunger in him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

He twitches at the sound of your entrance.

He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

He looked at you as though you were a dream.

“My angel…” Voice so botched and husky. He had a primal rasp to him that made something deep within you twitch—

So it was no surprise that in less than a few minutes, Higuruma’s finding himself cornering you against the edge of his desk. Body collapsing and pinning you with his weight. “My angel-” His breath hitches, a growl trundling beneath it. Cock pistoning in and out of you at a rapid pace—“My angel, my angel, my angel, my- fuck.”

“Hiromi—!” Your voice rings across the glassy office. With your palms placed on the desk, you’re attempting to fuck back into his vicious thrusts but Higuruma was just so fast- “Hiromi, wh-what’s gotten into you?”

“My angel-” The only thing that he could repeat at this point. He’s swabbin’ the back of your pussy with a rugged swipe, and the startled clench you give him makes him groan.

“Seriously—ngh.” It’s enough to leave your knees weak, and your body drooping on top of the desk- 

But your needy husband’s not letting you get too far before he’s hooking a hand ‘round your neck. Jacket taken off, white button-up pushed to his elbows n’ exposing you to his stroooong forearms putting you in a headlock. “My angel.” His snarled face pushes into the crook of your neck.

You gulp at the bulge of Higuruma’s biceps. “Hiromi, I have no idea why you’re acting so…” And you struggled to find a word - partially because you’re unsure, partially because of your weakening vocabulary due to his scouring, sloppy cocktip. “-desperate, but m’not opposed.”

“Desperate?” It seems to be the only word that had stuck out to him. “Th-this is me being desperate, sugar?”

Lips wobbling, your muddled brain was not quite sure what to answer. “Y-yes?”

You’re peaking hopefully ‘round your shoulder—and what you find makes your stomach drop. It was none other than Higuruma Hiromi: eyes blazing, hair messy, cock probing at your sweetest geysers at a pace that makes his length look nearly like a blur. A blur. 

His hot pinkish tip smoochin’ every spot he could find inside you- all slick and throbbing every time you were squelching around him. He grunts in your ear in rapid, botched breaths - nothing at all like the stern, put-together man you knew so well. 

This Higuruma was fucking into you like such an animal—“You don’t know the least of it, angel.” 

His mere tone is enough to send shivers up your spine, “Pardon, baby?”

“Oh, you never need to be pardoned by me, sugar.” Clawing one of his hands - slightly roughened by years of flipping through law documents - down your spine. Higuruma presses on that spot at the very end of your back to make you aaaaarch lewdly into him. “Not when you don’t know how- hah, how fuckin’ haaaard you made me all day long.”

“I did?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head - not only because of his confession, but because of the fact that Higuruma had confessed this in the first place. 

Being a lawyer made one surprisingly more tight-lipped. And though your husband was the type to soothe and whisper during your time in bed, having him mutter such filthy, filthy things was…

He’s nodding. “Had no idea how much I thought of you-” Dark eyes narrowing at the fluttering papers beneath you- you were clawing the top of the desk with each thrust. It’s just so cuuute how you’re holding on for dear life as he jerks your body upwards in that headlock. “Had no idea how many of these- these damn papers I flipped through wishing I had my fingers stuffed in your pussy, instead.” Sharp canines gnawing down on the shell of your ear, “Had no idea how many times I ran to that damn bathroom and fucked my fist—”

“Oh, please…” You’re letting your lips wobble. 

But Higuruma wasn’t done rasping against your skin– “Had no idea how baaaaad I’ve wanted to fuck you all day, angel.” Gurgling moans at the back of his throat.

Your feet were being lifted a clean few inches off of the floor- the sheer pressure of his ramming hips. “I still have no idea what’s—fuck.”

“Wanted to fuck you all day.” Just a single clench of your velvety walls ‘round his cock and he’s flinching. Tearing up. He repeats, “Wanted to fuck you all day.”

“You’re just so…” Tears were welling up behind your lids, steaming down your cheeks. It was just the sheer pleasure of him scrapin’ his flared tip all over your tender insides. Lining himself with that one spot that made you see stars- “-pussydrunk.”

The word comes to you because of the way Higuruma was slurring. Shuddering. Stuttering.

His hips were hitting yours a mile a minute, and he bangs his rounded cockhead against your g-spot. “Pussydrunk?” Higuruma spits between stern lips. Hissing, he draaaags his veiny shaft all around your tight channel. “You think I’m- I’m pussydrunk?”

“Yes…” 

And the strange thing was that Higuruma Hiromi - the most renowned lawyer in all of Tokyo - doesn’t argue back.

He’s merely clawing at your lewd body as you’re meeting his sloppy thrusts, he’s merely letting your cunt suction him dry, he’s merely letting your pussy use him as he nudges at your nerves. Pricking your g-spot a vulgar few times before finally throwing you over the edge-

“Oh.” Molars clenching tightly as pleasure suddenly explodes through your veins, your wave of bliss takes you by surprise. “Oh my-”

“Angel.” Higuruma’s ruined tone echoes out. Holding you close to him he’s swabbin’ and smushing every cute sweet spot—it’s only prolonging your orgasm. The sheer euphoria of it making your heartbeat thunder in your ears, and your thighs start to shake.

Syrupy slick travelling down the inner parts of your legs. Your husband smears your thin sheen with his push-push-puuuushig hips- “My angel.”

“Y-yes, Hiromi?” You ask through tears.

And just because you were sensitive with your orgasm doesn’t mean that he’s going to go easy on you—

“I really am pussydrunk.”

.

.

.

“You seem to be in such a good mood today, sir.” One of the fresh-faced interns pipe up from their desk. It was always a bit of a spectacle when the boss of their law firm, Higuruma Hiromi, walked out of his office.

Partly because of the sheer admiration over his accolades, partly because of the way that man was so handsome. How could one look so good after pulling multiple all-nighters in preparation for this case?

And he was just so humble—you really were lucky (though Higuruma himself would proclaim it was the other way around). Nodding at the eager youngsters, “Thank you.”

“Are you confident about today, sir?” Another intern speaks up. His voice was wobbly with those new nerves of entering the court for the first time.

And Higuruma smiles wonderfully, “You could say that.” At their covertly eager eyes—“My wife arrived last night at the office to give me a little ah- motivation, you see.”

They all nod in understanding.

“So you are confident, sir?”

“Much.”

A/N. P-U-T-H-Y! That puthy!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[reignpage]

Doctor, Doctor, Have Mercy On Me

Synopsis: in sexually liberal Republic of Orgasms, to become a state approved Breeder (aka be allowed to fuck anyone, anytime, anywhere) you must first be assessed by a doctor so you can gain your certificate. and you so badly want to be fucked. lucky for you, you've finally come of age.

and today, you'll be seen by Doctor Nanami, who's more than happy to do his duty and assist an eager citizen ;)

Warnings: smut, porn with a lil plot, p in v, unprotected sex, dubcon/systematic dubcon, non curse au, weird highly sexual world don't question it, pússy slapping, breast play, deepthroating, cunnilingus, virgin!reader, spitting, latex gloves, doctor!nanami making reader use state mandated terms, improper use of medical equipment, talking reader through it, dom daddy!nanami, horny!reader, throat bulging, belly bulging, brief rimming, some anal, creampie, spitting, cúm eating, hair pulling, backshots, pússy inspection, mentions of exhibitionism and voyeurism, squirting and drinking it, pússyjob/outercourse, spanking, orgasm denial, asking for permission, not proofread Word Count: 5.9k

It’s time for your very first physical examination. 

Everyone, once they reach the age of 21, must be checked for their sexual reproductivity value. In a world where reproduction is king, and sex is so highly revered, there is nothing more important than having a body that could spread pleasure and bear children. 

You’re excited, to say the least.

Finally, the State will acknowledge your womanhood, will allow you to do your part as a citizen, and determine your place in society.

A little nervous, you walk into the examination room. It’s a sterile place, as any hospital rooms tend to be, but this one is even more so because it’s a room in the country’s most celebrated reproduction facility. How lucky your body gets to be assessed in such a respectable place.

There’s a gynecology chair in the middle and that’s where your eyes gravitate to immediately. 

“Good morning.”

You jolt.

“Oh!”

A man in a white lab coat and slacks sits at a desk. He has luscious blond hair, glasses, and a face as stoic as a speculum. You’re taken aback by his handsomeness. Broad shoulders, defined features, chiselled face, and great height. How is it possible that he’s a doctor and not a Breeder?

The demand for his superior genetics would be through the roof. 

“H-hi, doctor. Forgive me, I didn’t see you.”

You’re grateful to be paired with someone young and attractive. One of your neighbours had an old man who she claimed should have retired decades ago. It’s a blessing to have nice eye candy.

As though he knows exactly what you’re thinking, he purses his lips. “It’s quite alright.” Then he jerks his chin, encouraging you to step in and close the door behind you. “I’m Doctor Kento Nanami, you may call me Doctor or Nanami or the two combined.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

His eyes meet yours. One glance up and down your body is all he needs, and he’s returning to his papers. 

Scribbling notes down on a pad, your eyes focus on the slenderness of his fingers and their length. Is he gentle or clinical in his approach?

Your older friend had a very gentle one and she said the process felt quite relaxing, almost therapeutic. Meanwhile, your other friend remarked how cold and unfeeling her doctor was, and that she was on edge the entire time. And another one of your friends said hers was actually rather rough, like a father scolding a child!

Which would you prefer, you wonder.

Doctor Nanami asks, “You have been informed about the due process, yes?”

The State mandated broadcasts are your bread and butter as a young woman; there’s no way you could forget the procedure. For the longest time, you’d been dreaming of this moment and finally it’s here. You won’t mess it up. 

“Yes, of course — I must strip all of my clothes, lie on the chair, and place my feet on the stirrups,” you recite, cheerfully. 

He raises a brow at you. 

Somehow you’re getting the impression that he’s not very impressed with your enthusiasm. Maybe it’s because he’s been doing this for so long. Maybe he’s seen it all, and more, and he’s just looking forward to getting it over and done with. Or maybe he just really doesn’t like you. 

Regardless, you’re undeterred. 

Humming under your breath, you shrug off your clothes and fold them on the table to the side, like you’ve seen in  the videos. It’s cold here, and you fight the shivers threatening to wrack your body. 

As an aspiring Female Breeder, nudity is something you’ve had to grow familiar and comfortable with but now that you’re faced with your first time being nude in front of the opposite gender, it feels a little too daunting. 

Heat flushes on your skin, embarrassment coursing through your veins, although one shy glance at him reveals he isn’t looking at you at all. 

Are you disappointed or relieved?

The nurses had thoroughly cleansed and prepped your body — you’re washed, exfoliated, and waxed from head to toe. You’ve never felt cleaner and softer, like a newborn baby. 

You climb onto the chair, the protective paper crinkling beneath you, and spread your legs. It faces him entirely, and you have to rationalise with yourself that he’s probably seen a thousand vaginas in his life and he won’t think yours look weird at all.

Bright, white light shines down upon you, and you squint at its blinding capacity. Then, you hear him put his pen down, and push his chair back.

“Alright, I will begin the examination now.” 

Craning to see him, you watch him roll his sleeves up revealing the thickness of his forearms, the light hairs, and the prominent veins that run up the length and bulge with his movement. Doctor Nanami snaps latex gloves on with expert precision, a rehearsed move that’s become a habit. 

He carries a clipboard and a pen, and he comes to stand over you, eyes roving over your body. 

“I’ll be making notes for your record, please don’t mind me,” he mutters, adjusting his glasses. 

You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze; it’s like you can feel the weight of his all-seeing eyes and where they land, where they skim, where they narrow in on, and where they return to. Does he find you attractive? If he saw you in the streets, would he be overcome with the need to breed you, hard and rough on the dirty ground?

“Forgive my touch,” Doctor Nanami says, reaching a hand down to press three fingers on the fat of your breast. He watches it bounce, and notes down his thoughts. “Your areolas seem to be quite average in size, neither too small nor too large per regulations. Its shade is also of interest.”

No one’s ever voiced out their assessment of your body like so. He’s so blunt, so matter-of-fact. Yet, you find that you don’t really mind it. It’s much better than the crude lies boys tell you. Many have tried to get under your skirt but you never let them. You vowed that your first time being touched would be by a respectable man who would accurately know your worth. And who would be better than someone whose whole occupation is dedicated to determining the worth of Breeders?

Doctor Nanami asks, “Do you touch your breasts?”

“Um, touch as in…”

He looks at you over the clipboard. “Do you play with your breasts? Do you squeeze them, grope them, tease your nipples, have you determined their sensitivity?”

“No…sorry.”

The State encourages you all to explore their bodies, to know your likes and dislikes as appropriate, but you never did. It seemed too scary for you. Virgins are not seen as especially good nor particularly bad in today’s climate. In fact, experience and skill is more valuable. That’s why you were hoping you could just leave it to the experts, when it came down to ‘getting down.’ At least then, they wouldn’t accidentally break something, like you fear you would.

Shaking his head, he says, “It’s nothing to apologise for. It simply means I will have to determine for myself.” He flicks to a different page on his clipboard and signs something. “Do you consent?”

“I consent.”

Board placed down on a metal table, he leaves both hands free. 

You gulp as they approach your breasts.

A finger brushes lightly against the underside. You stiffen. It ventures up, circling your nipple but not touching just yet. Voice deep, he asks, “You know the breeding term for your breasts, yes?”

Suddenly feeling like you’re back in school, you answer, “Tits, sir— sorry, I mean, Doctor.”

His lip twitches. “That’s quite alright.”

His finger flicks your nipple, the bud already hard due to the chill of the examination room. You gasp. 

Doctor Nanami nods, and does the same to the other. Now, both of your breasts are being groped. You writhe beneath him. “You have above average sensitivity,” he notes. “Are you partial to the sting of pain?”

“I-I don’t know,” you confess, distracted by the sensation of your nipples being flicked and rolled by latex-covered fingers. 

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” That’s all the warning he gives you before he pinches both nipples hard. You wince, body ever so slightly jerking away from his merciless touch. The doctor hums. “It does not appear to be your thing. I’ll have to conduct more tests to determine for sure you do not have masochistic traits.”

Quietly and with a drop of fright, you ask, “Tests? What kind of tests?”

He presses a button on the chair, and the top half of your body is lowered down until your eyes are at his crotch level. You avert your eyes. 

“Full-body tests. As per your records, you are a virgin and with little to no sexual exploration of yourself, correct?” He waits for your nod. He continues. “It means there is much information about you the State will be missing. It is my duty to fill in those blanks. You may revoke your consent now, but do be aware that you will have to rebook, and there is a backlog, so you may have to wait months before gaining your certification.”

You shake your head. “No, no, I don’t want to wait. You’re free to do whatever you’d like with me, Doctor.”

“Careful,” he rasps. “Those are Breeding words, Miss, and you are aware that, as per regulations, upon your consent to please, I have every right to take you up on that offer.”

Licking your lips, you allow yourself to eye the bulge that’s steadily growing in his slacks. Heat rushes to your pussy. You hadn’t meant to say those words, especially because you’re not yet qualified to do so, but you’re only one step away and, S.M.S.E. (State Mandated Sexual Examiners) have the privilege of being able to examine anyone they’d like — women who are not yet 21 but are at least 18, already married women, mothers, strangers on the street who wear the yellow pin to show they’re certified to fornicate in public. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to learn all about yourself before you step out into the wider world a real woman. 

Plus, it’d be nice if your first time could be taken by someone as hot as him.

“I’d like a full body examination please, Doctor. I understand the implications of my word and consent to leaving my body to your full scrutiny,” you recite the prepared speech. “Please take care of me.”

Doctor Nanami sighs and picks up the clipboard. He signs another random page and hands it over to you. The page is titled ‘Virginity Removal Consent Form.’

At the bottom line, you sign too. 

The dull thud of it placed back on the table signifies the finality of the contract. 

Your heart beats faster, palms sweating, and core tingling to life.

“Alright, let’s start with your vagina.” 

He drags his chair over to where your legs are spread on the stirrups, and sits there. You know he can see everything, and you know he’s properly looking now. You hope he’s not weirded out by how wet you are. His gloved hands rests on your knees, sliding down your inner thighs, rubbing warmth there, before they push them wider. 

“Do you know the correct term for your vagina?”

“P-pussy,” you answer.

He nods, patting your thigh. “Good. Will you describe for me what I’m doing right now?”

“You’re looking at my pussy, Doctor.”

His fingers stroke your puffy lips, assessing the shape, size and colour, you’re sure. He spreads them open then, revealing you fully to his watchful eyes. “And now?”

“You’re spreading my pussy lips open, Doctor.”

“And if I have an erection in my pants, it means?”

You’re breathless at the question, and you’re aware that, at the twitch of his lips, he saw the twitch of your clit. You want to hide from him, but you can’t. And he wouldn’t let you. Despite your nervousness, you reply, “It means you like what you see?”

“And if my mouth is watering?”

A gasp tears out of you. 

Countless videos have prepared you for your lines, but they’ve never prepared you for the real thing, never prepped you to be so openly desired by someone older and more experienced. How can he so easily say something like that? Doesn’t he know the effect he has on women?

His voice is so deep, so raspy, and his touch is warm despite the layer that keeps him from really touching you. Having such a hot doctor wasn’t a blessing, you realise; it’s a curse.

SMACK!

You yelp, thighs shutting around his hand. He’d slapped your pussy. 

Growling, he shoves them back open and says, “I will repeat myself once, and only once — what does it mean if my mouth waters at the sight of your pretty pussy?”

“You want to taste it.”

Doctor Nanami’s breath fans across your sopping cunt. His hands tuuuuug you down so you’re even closer to his face. He doesn’t touch you there yet. No, he’s taking his time. First, he tests you again. “What’s this action called, hmm?”

“C-cunnilingus?”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

His curt tone leaves no room for argument; he’s not the kind of man who’s playful during sex, or even before nor after, it seems. 

Eager to feel his mouth on you, to know what it feels like to be eaten out, to know for yourself if it feels as good as the couple you always see on the park bench on your way to school makes it seem, you whine, “Telling you, sir. Please taste me, please, Doctor.”

The scruff on his jaw rubs your inner thigh as he mutters, “You must be top in your class in Begging 101.”

Then, he’s tasting you.

A lap of his long, flat tongue covers your entire slit from hole to clit. He collects your wetness and gulps it down. Doctor Nanami mulls the taste over and says aloud, “Sweet. A 9.2 out of 10. I can tell you keep a healthy diet. Very good.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You feel his smile on your clit, lips mouthing against the pulsing thing. “Such a polite girl you are. You’ll make for a very good Breeder.”

That’s all you’ve ever wanted — to be taken so readily in the streets, to be watched as you’re fucked so good by a big, strong man who only wants to pump his cum inside your pussy, and be stretched out enough for another to slip in easily. You want to make your country proud.

Doctor Nanami laps up your juices precisely. 

He doesn’t hesitate to circle the rim of your other hole too, if an errant drop were to escape him. In fact, he lingers there for a moment, waiting until you’re absolutely squirming and whimpering for it. 

His tongue flicks your clit over and over again, sucking on the bud so you’ll hear the squelches! and feel the incredible pleasure of being eaten out by a pro.

Your hips rock towards his face, seeking the friction. The doctor’s gorging himself on your creamy juices, tasting you as if you’re just so delicious, so intoxicating. Tongue lashing through your cunt, he slithers it through, all while massaging your ass, kneading the flesh to comfort you.

He’s paying so much attention on your clit, it has you panting like a dog, and fighting to scramble away from him. “Ngh! Not there, please doctor.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” he scolds, yanking you back, and slapping your clit in punishment. You squeal. “The clitoris is where you’ll feel the most pleasure. Do not run from it.”

Squirming and blubbering, you confess, “It feels too scary.”

“Then I highly recommend you rub your little clit when you get home until you’re cumming all over your sheets. Grow very familiar with your pussy. I don’t want any arguments about it. You think a Breeder would go easy on your cunt?”

Of course the answer is no. You’ve seen from demonstrations in your college how relentless and cruel dominant Breeders can be — they’ll have you crying and begging and saying things you’d never say in any other situation. And by god, were you always so jealous. Like the other girls, you’d squeeze your thighs, soaking through your panties when piercing eyes would land on you, and scarred lips would curl into a smirk, as though vowing it’d be you next.

Delirious with the roughness of his slurrrping!, you can only nod and promise, “I will. I’ll rub my clit so hard later, Doctor.”

“Good girl.”

A dollop of spit lands with a thwack! right on your clit, sliding down your slit and mingling with your sloppy juices. Two fingers rub it in. He holds up his soaked hand, spreading the long digits to show you the translucent web it creates. Almost monotone, he quizzes you again, “What is the purpose of your pussy juices?”

“Lubrication.”

“Lubrication of what.”

“Of anything you want to put inside me, Doctor,” you mewl.

Doctor Nanami nods, pleased. “Clever girl. Most women answer with ‘cock’ or ‘fingers’ but the accurate answer is, the lubrication is to ease the entry of anything. Of course, there are a number of things you should not penetrate a pussy with, but in theory, anything goes. Now, relax for me.”

He pushes those two fingers in, pinning your hips with a heavy arm thrown over your belly so you can’t run away from the pressure.

They stretch you out, immediately curling upwards and finding that spot inside your gummy walls the broadcasts taught you was called a ‘g-spot’. It has you creaming even more on his fingers. 

The feeling of latex against soft skin is odd, though it doesn’t bother you. It’s not a very thick material at all. You can still feel the callouses on his fingers, albeit weakly. Still, you wish you could feel him bare.

A thumb rubs your clit in tight circles, all while his fingers press in from inside, thoroughly stimulating all around and you feel it building and building. The doctor clamps his mouth over your clit, resistant to shoving hands.

“S-shit, I think I’m going to pee!”

“No,” he says, dragging the word out like you’re a child. “It’s not pee. You know what it is. Say it.”

Your cunt clenches around him. “Cum! Doctor, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, yes you are. But you must hold it.”

Eyes widening, you stare down at him, bewildered. “No, I can’t. I can’t hold it in!”

His cold eyes pin you to the chair, and with challenge in those eyes, he doubles the speed and intensity in which he’s sucking your clit and curling against your g-spot. “You can, and you will. Do not come until I count to one, do you hear me?”

A strong wrist pistons his fingers in, never missing that sensitive spot inside you, never breaking eye contact and never letting your clit get a second to rest.

“Three,” he says.

The obscene squelches he’s wringing from you reach your ears, filling the room, and you have to wonder if anyone could hear what’s happening here from outside. They’d probably be so jealous, waiting for their turn. 

“Two.”

They’re imagining your lewd body played mercilessly by Doctor Nanami, and be incapable of deciding who they wanted to be more. 

You being fingered to your first proper orgasm or him, having the honour.

“One.”

You cum with a scream. Hot juices spring out of you, splashing and coating his arm and labcoat with the liquid. As the State recommends, he guzzles down as much of your cum as he can, even as it dribbles down his chin. Your whole body spasms. 

You’ve had orgasms before — accidentally realising you can feel good from humping your teddy bear in your bed, sitting on the washing machine as it was running, riding the crease of your jeans — but they’ve been weak in comparison to this.

The convulsions eventually slow. He gives your pulsing cunt a few final licks. 

Limp, you lie there, panting from the remnants of a mindmelting cum.

Doctor Nanami pats your pussy, and leisurely strolls over to the other end. “Well done. You did well. It’s a good sign that you can squirt so easily. 60% of Breeders value that in their partners; you’ll be quite a popular thing.”

His wet, gloved fingers drag over your naked body, circling your clit for the last time, climbing up your belly, the valley between your breasts, flicking a nipple and making it glisten with your spend, before finally arriving at your mouth.

He smears your own juices across your lips, humming with approval when you lick his fingers clean.

Soon, he rips his gloves off and a second later, cold, calloused hands are rubbing your cheek. Looming over you, he pulls your bottom lip down to watch it bounce back in place, and says, “Open wide for me, dear.”

Shining a flashlight pen inside your mouth, he inspects that part of you too. Satisfied, he stands up, and begins to unbuckle his belt. The sound of leather scraping and metal clinking has your thighs clenching tight together, feet no longer on the stirrups. 

His cock is freed and your mouth drools at the size. 

It’s bigger than the average penises they show on the broadcasts, in the school textbooks and live performances. Long, clean, thick, with two veins leading up to a pretty, pink tip. A Grade 1 cock for sure! 

Doctor Nanami taps the cockhead at your lips, and like the videos you’ve watched, you stretch your lips out into as big of an O as you can and readily swallow him in. You’ve practiced on dildos before, and even cucumbers, but none of your past experiences can compare to the feel of an actual cock.

The heat, the ridges, the salty taste of skin and pre…

It’s quite wonderful.

“No teeth,” he warns. “It will not reflect well on your record if you cannot blow a man properly.”

“I understand, Doctor.”

You shut your eyes tight, focusing on not gagging and throwing up all over him, like the textbooks warned against. To his credit, he’s going slowly, not shoving it all in one go. It’s an odd gentleness that contrasts with his usual harshness.

And when he’s about halfway in, he pulls out just enough to keep his tip inside your mouth, and inches back inside. Your hands clench into fists.

“Breathe through your nose,” he advises. “As soon as you are -hah- certified, there will be men wanting to take –mm, what a tight little mouth– t-take advantage of you. Be sure you warn them ahead of time you’re new and should not be deepthroated so casually, yes?”

You try to answer, but it comes out muffled, and when he groans, you realise maybe that was his intention all along. 

Doctor Nanami cradles your neck. His thumb runs up and down the column of your throat, and you know he must be admiring the bulge of his cock. “I have no doubt you’ll be a Special Grade whore very soon.”

A couple seconds later, he pulls out again. 

He doesn’t thrust back in. 

Instead, he keeps his tip inside and says, “Lick it, sweetheart. Around, and on the slit. Slow but firm, that’s how I like it.”

You do as he says — you tongue his slit, digging the tip of your tongue inside and swallowing the salty taste he leaks out. The doctor grunts, clamping down on his base, and then he’s pulling away completely.

It wasn’t the most comfortable experience, but you have to admit, there’s something rather addictive about having your mouth preoccupied. 

Back between your legs, he stands, tugging on his still-hard cock. It’s leaking precum and you almost want to lick it up again. 

Doctor Nanami drops his heavy cock right onto your pussy, and your sticky juices grab on immediately. Back and forth, he begins sawing your cunt, drawing back so that his tip will nudge against your clit on his way up. Each thrust of his hip has you gasping and moaning. 

“What do you call this act?”

He’s testing you again, and you don’t want to disappoint, so you answer, “Outercourse, sir. Or, pussyjob.”

“Good.”

Holding his cock down with a thumb, he makes sure the pressure and friction is just right. The squelches are coming back, so loud and so wet. He doesn’t make fun of you, doesn’t point out that you’re acting like a bitch in heat, he simply rubs his cock between your lips over and over again, until he’s smearing his pre on your lower belly.

Oh god, it’s so hot. His cock’s scalding against your pussy. You can’t believe you had to wait so long to be fucked.

The back of your knees are held. He pushes them back so that they’re grazing your chest. The position is uncomfortable, muscles creaking in complaint, and what’s more uncomfortable is the fact that he can see everything more clearly like this, even the puckering of your asshole.

“You will be bent in all sorts of positions,” he muses. “This is a personal favourite of mine, and soon you’ll have your own.”

That makes you smile. 

You wonder what position men will put you in most, and which you’ll find the most pleasurable. Maybe doggy, since men love it so much. Maybe missionary because you can stare into your partner’s eyes and know that they’re rolling to the back of their heads. Maybe you’ll love all of them equally.

“Show me why it’s your favourite, Doctor. I want to feel you.”

Doctor Nanami leans forward, stretching your legs out even more, until his nose skims yours. “Open,” he huskily mutters. And when you do, his spit lands on your tongue. You swallow it down with a moan. “What a good girl you are. It’d be my honour to be your first. I promise to make you feel very good. Hold on to my arms, if you need. It might sting a little.”

His fat cock prods your opening. He inspects your face for hesitation, and when he finds none, only the eager drool of a whore ready for cock, he pushes in.

A whine leaves your lips.

“Mm fuck! It’s too big!”

Tutting, he doesn’t stop. “Breeders don’t complain. Breeders are grateful to be fucked by big cocks, yes?”

Tears in your eyes, you peer up at him, panting and feeling like you might pass out. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I -ngh- really don’t think I can take it.”

He shakes his head. “You can. You can absolutely take it. Be a good girl, won’t you? Breathe and relax this pussy for me. Just bear with it for another second, and soon you’ll be begging for more.”

The doctor’s stretching you out so wide, spearing you whole with his cock, that you think he might break you. But you have to trust him. He wants the best for you. With no other choice, you have to cling onto his strong arms, digging your nails for purchase.

Soon, he bottoms out. His pelvis presses against your clit. Absentmindedly, your hips grind in circles, aching for friction there. 

“I’m going to start moving now. If you need to cum, you will tell me and ask for permission. Repeat it.”

“If I need to -hah- cum, I’ll ask for permission."

Doctor Nanami starts slowly, rutting his cock an inch at first, then two, then three, and soon he’s building up a clinical pace. His rhythm is consistent, unwavering, and it’s just what you need. 

The pain disappears, and you have to think hard to remember if it even existed at all.

Just like he said, you begin feeling good. Too good. 

Wantonly, you start moaning. Like something’s been awakened in you, you fuck back into him, eager to feel as much of him as you can. 

“Your body was made to be fucked,” he rasps, hips slamming into yours now. Skin slaps against each other, making a fwop! fwop! fwop! sound you can’t escape from. “Your body was made to take cock. A good little cockwhore. Say it.”

“I’m a good -hngh!- cockwhore,” you moan out. Your tits are bouncing with the force of his thrusting. It can’t even be called that anymore — he’s effectively ramming his cock in, ploughing you. 

His cockhead massages your inner walls, fighting against the pleats that try to hold onto him. He slides past your g-spot, constantly teasing the poor thing as he impales you on his fat, throbbing cock over and over again.

Doctor Nanami orders, “Look down. Tell me what you see.”

Your eyes fall to where you’re connected, and you clench hard on him. He grunts, hips speeding up.

“I see how deep you are, Doctor. I see my pussy taking you so easily now. Oh, fuck! Y-your cock, Doctor. I can see it pushing through my belly. You’re so big!”

“More,” he says.

You have to fight to keep your head steady, to make your glassy eyes clear enough to really see. “My juices and yours, they’re mixing a-and there’s a ring of cream at your base.”

Like he’d been waiting, he thumbs that cream and shoves it inside your mouth. It’s sweet, salty and tangy. You don’t hate it. You suck on it, bobbing your head up and down like it’s his cock. The doctor looks almost furious and he suddenly grabs your throat, squeezing hard enough to make you feel lightheaded. “God, you’re a filthy thing, aren’t you?”

Sweat layered over your skin, you know you’ve soaked through the paper beneath you. You slip and slide on the chair, kept in place by his firm hands. He’s ravaging you, rendering you a complete mess. No longer a woman, and just a slut for his cock. 

It’s the best feeling in the world.

Just as he had done before, you play with your tits, squeezing and pinching your nipples.

So caught in the pleasure, you don’t notice he’d moved until something cold touches your clit. You shriek, hips grinding up towards it. You look down and see he’s picked up a stethoscope from somewhere. He rubs it in circles on the bundle of nerves, watching drool leak out of your lips at the slight sting of the coldness..

He lifts his glasses out of the way, and licks your drool up. The doctor shoves his tongue inside your mouth.

For the first time in the appointment, he kisses you. Your tongues tangle together, and you think you’ve never tasted anything more amazing.

His rough hands gather you up, bringing you to a sitting position. “Wrap your arms around me,” he commands. 

Carried in his arms, he bounces you up and down on his cock, using gravity to do most of the work for him.

“Ngh! Y-you’re in so deep, Doctor!”

He huffs, glasses foggy with the humidity you two have created. You hold onto it, so it doesn’t rattle off. “You’re clamping down on me so hard,” he hisses. “You like this position, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes! It’s so fucking good!”

Like this, he can push in even deeper. You swear you can feel him in your lungs. All the while, you’re still kissing him, sucking on his tongue and drinking up as much of his saliva as you can. 

One of his hands is carrying you up by the ass, and he repositions it enough so that his finger can circle your asshole. You moan into his mouth. “Doctor, n-no!”

“You signed the form,” he growls out. “Behave and take it.”

That finger pushes in, knuckle deep, and it’s enough to make you feel so impossibly full. 

“I’m going to cum,” you warn.

He shakes his head. “Wait.”

But you can’t. You cum again.

As you’re spasming in his arms, he doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you, splitting you with his throbbing cock. Only when you stop does he drop you back down on the chair, spinning you around so you’re face down on the soaked paper.

He thrusts back in, holding your hips and dragging it back and forth. “I told you to wait, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry, Doctor! I couldn’t help it.”

“Oh, but you could. You just didn’t want to, did you, you little cockslut?”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Heat blossoms on your ass cheek, where he’d slapped the rippling flesh. He grunts with every clench of your cunt because of the pain. You don’t hate the pain. You almost beg him to spank you harder, but you don’t. Too much is already happening. You don’t think you can take any more.

You can only moan and moan and moan some more as he uses you like a fleshlight. The doctor spits on your puckering hole and hooks his thumb inside.

“Hngh! N-not -hic!- there.” 

“Not here?” he repeats, mocking now. “But your pussy’s pulsing like crazy. It’d be wise if you learned to be more honest.” The doctor bends down, lips grazing the shell of your ear, and he whispers, “Like you should be honest with me and say you’re about to cum again.”

Drowning in your own wetness, his hand shoving your face down right where your pussy juices had pooled, you scream loud enough for the whole hospital to hear, “I want to cum again!”

“Go ahead, darling.”

You howl, hands ripping up what’s left with the paper and threatening to break through the foam padding of the chair. You’re beyond sensitive now after the numerous orgasms he’s given you, and the slapping of his balls on your clit is enough stimulation to have mini orgasms suffocating you from inside.

Doctor Nanami bundles up a handful of your hair, and he yanks. Your back arches, and your ass slams back onto his hips. Your gargled gasp echoes in the room. He’s in so fucking deep and you think he might never leave you again. Oh god, you hope he never does.

“You want to be creampied? Hmm? You want this dirty pussy filled with my cum?”

“Yes!” you cry. “I want you to cum inside me!”

“How kind,” he growls out.

Doctor Nanami spurts inside with a low grunt, hips still rutting. The force of his orgasm sends you over the edge again. You cum another time, yelling his name, and thinking you might actually die. 

When he pulls out, jerking his cock to wring out the last spurts on your back. He groans out, “Such a good girl, you took my cock so well.”

Eventually, silence returns to the examination room. You wonder how long it’s been, if someone’s waiting to take your place, and then decide you don’t really care.

Your knees give up and you fall to the floor. 

With a sigh, he picks you up and lays you back down on the chair.

Running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, he releases a breath and readjusts his glasses. As he fixes up his slacks, tucking his softening cock inside, he smiles warmly for the first time.

Doctor Nanami pecks your lips, fingers fucking the cum oozing out of you back inside your cunt, and keeping you plugged up.

“Congratulations. You’re officially a Breeder.”

[matchamiko]

Touya getting close to tears when you ride him for the first time, because he’s not used to the gentle touches and affectionate kisses you give to his hands as he’s clutching yours. Laying back against the puffy pillows of your bed, head tipped almost all the way back so you can only see him if you really strain. One scarred hand gripping your waist with yours over the top, and the other arm looped over his eyes, hiding the shame or hiding how emotional you make him. He’s not especially aggressive, he can’t bring himself to when you’re milking his cock for all his worth and holding his free hand as if keeping him rooted to the moment. It’s sweet, it’s kind, it’s gracious of you to keep up such a writhing pace, doing all the work, taking his cock deep in your belly over and over without a complaint.

You know he needs it, needs you creaming all over his lap and shoving his palm over your tits, leaving him be when he chokes out a sob when you ask to cum with a shaky whimper. Touya’s lip is bloody, bitten to shreds and he only looks at you when you caress his stomach and settle into a pulsing grind. Only then do his eyes flash with tears from beneath his forearm and his hand grips the giving fat of your breast, rough palm catching your nipple so deliciously that you call him name.

And that’s what he needs most. Touya, Touya please! Cum with me, I want it so bad Touya ! The slap of your bodies almost drowning out the wretched grunts torn from his chest, his other arm finally coming to wrap round your waist, heaving you up into his chest and swallowing your cries, replacing them with his own. Cumming just like that, wrapped up in you and the touches you lathe over his shoulders, his bulked arms and back, kisses pressed to his open mouth and his tongue. You don’t say anything about the glossiness of his eyes. You pretend to not hear him sniffle when you kiss him properly, lazily after you come. You just kiss him again, and again and ask him for one more, that you think he needs it one more time, that he deserves it one more time.

[bumpen-underbeds]

Your thighs hurt, you've been holding this position for the last twenty minutes and yet no matter how you look over at your benefactor, they won't relent. It's one thing to be the mortal muse for an immortal vampire lord, but it is another to have them forget that mortal bodies feel the strain of their muscles and the vague tingling as numbness sets in.

You can only hope this painting of theirs will be worth the ache your legs will carry for the next few days, yet knowing the vampire currently peaking from behind his canvas at you, this particular painting will be obscene. Your shoulders soon begin to protest, the pull and strain of holding this posture beginning to truly set in, no matter, you grit your teeth and steady yourself, sighing as the vampire behind the canvas chides you for moving even just a little from your original pose.

As he rounds the canvas, you know you're going to be adjusted and shifted back to how he had you in the beginning.

So when he places cold hands against your thighs, you shiver, sniffling a little as you ask him to just let you be done for the day, to rest and try again when your body doesn't hurt from staying in place for so long. He simply shakes his head and tells you five more minutes, and he will be done, muttering to himself as he pushes your thighs back to their former position.

Those five minutes feel like an hour; by the time he tells you to relax, you can't help but collapse. Falling backwards into the pillows that were stacked behind you, decorations for the painting that you could cry about, finally getting to use as you let your body go limp against them. Your legs feel funny as you groan and rotate your ankles, peaking open an eye as the vampire that houses you walks over, smiling as he carries the canvas.

When he shows you the painting, your face flushes with heat.

It's debauched, the painting of your figure draped in barely there wisps of fabric, thighs splayed open as a painted rendition of the vampire lord rests between them, his face painted in bliss as it looks like he is a breath away from putting his mouth against the apex of your thighs. As you look between the painting and the vampire in question he smiles, walking away to put the canvas up to dry fully, sighing as he looks back over at you, dull red eyes glinting in the dark as he tells you the painting is called 'the long wish'.

[madamechrissy]

"Shh, darling," Professor Nanami Kento murmurs in your ear, his thick cock stretching you out so much you're whining out. "Do you want everyone to hear your messy cunt strangling your professor's cock?"

"Ah - n-no," you're struggling now, he's got you sitting right on his lap, a hand keeping you firm on him, juices soaking his expensive slacks as he grades his papers.

"Be a good T.A. and hand me that pen," he smirks at you, eyes lidded underneath his glasses, cock twitching in your soaked walls and making you suck in a breath. "Go on, be a good girl."

Fuck.

"Didn't you beg for this today, knowing I'm busy?"

He takes your wrist in his huge grip, using your pathetic hand to grab a pen, while your juices gush and your cunt flutters. You're so full of him, he usually preps you but today you irritated him - all he gave you was a rub of his mean red tip on your hole before shoving it inside.

"M'sorry Mr. Nanami," you bite back a moan, that class is locked but people would hear you with out loud you get, he always has to stuff his tie in your mouth or shove a firm hand on it. "Here."

"That's my good girl," he praises softly, fuck your cunt feels so good wrapping him, she's still so tight even after a good ten minutes of cockwarming him. He runs his fingertip on your neglected clit ever so slowly, feeling you clamp down and moaning softly. "You deserve a little reward."

"Thank you... ah!" You clamp a hand on your own mouth, spread wide with your skirt rumpled up, Nanami running little circles as you try not to move. "Wanna ride you, please?"

"Not right now," he feels you close, chuckling softly, using the pen you half assed handed him to grade a paper, effortlessly doing so while running patterns on your clit. "I'll let you ride my face tonight if you stay still."

You don't move at all.

Nanami chuckles, pulling his fingertip off your clit, coating his lips with your juices and lapping them with his tongue, humming softly at your taste. "That got you to listen, are you so desperate for my mouth, for my cock, darling? Slutty, desperate girl."

You're hiccupping, drooling and trying desperately not to move, lips trembling as you lean back on him, freezing when you hear a knock. "Mr. Nanami, do you have a minute?"

"Not right now," he uses the red pen to make a check mark, pressing your tiny cunt down on his massive length, moaning in your ear when he feels your walls flutter. "I'm occupied at the moment. Can we talk later?"

"Yes of course," your teeth let go of your captured lip, when Nanami grabs another stack of papers, jerking his hips up mean.

"Sorry darling, didn't mean to move," you're in tears when you look back at him, smirking just a bit, his pre spurting against your puffy cervix.

"Another stack?" Your brows draw together, he hands you a pen now, and you take it with a shaky hand, his free hand pressing on your lower tummy, making the pressure so intense you're having trouble not cumming then and there.

"Mhm, remember, don't cum yet," you take a breath, nodding. "Get to grading those papers and I'll make you feel so good when you're done."

"Yes, Mr. Nanami."

****

gearing up for the prof nanami / nerdjo hehe