Hellooo!! Welcome to my page sweethearts 💛💛💛. My name is Azalea, I use she/her, and I have so SO much to say.
I love details and creating in general, all through designing, writing, reading, drawing, and crocheting. I do free designs for people, and I have so much to say. So if you need anything at all, contact me! Especially if you'd want me to be a puppy girl for youuu
I love FNAF, DCA, DC, WOF, The Hunger Games, HP, TFC, DMC, KOG, TADC + 100 more - DM's are open!
The Thorns marketing team released plushies of some of the players, and among them was one of Modo. When you first saw the concept art of the plushie, both of you loved it so much that he even ordered one in advance.
When it finally arrived...oh boy.
Let’s just say it looked quite different from the picture.
And when Modo saw it, he hated it.
“Hissss”
“Aww, come on, Modo, it’s not that bad” you said, trying to contain your laughter.
“That thing is ugly. They made Modo look nasty!” he growled.
He absolutely despised it. Now he was clinging to the ceiling, hissing at the plushie in your hands.
“Hey, honestly, you can barely tell the difference between the two of you,” you teased, hugging the plushie. “Look, it even has your nose piercing.”
“Modo doesn’t look anything like that” he added.
”Well, since you don’t want it... Can I keep it?”
“Grrrr... No! Why would you want that cheap copy of Modo when you already have the original?” he snapped.
“Aww, come on. He’s too cute to throw away” you said, giving him puppy eyes. “Pretty please?”
“Mmmm... fine. But keep that nasty thing away from Modo.”
You nodded enthusiastically and walked into your shared room, placing it beside the other plushies you already owned.
The next day, Modo walked into the living room after training late with the team, only to find you watching a movie with the plushie comfortably sitting on your lap, wrapped in the same blanket as you.
“That thing is stealing my spot,” he said, clearly annoyed, his tail flicking behind him as if the plushie itself had personally offended him.
“Oh, sorry. You were late, and I missed you,” you said, pausing the movie and setting the plushie aside before opening your arms for your grumpy boyfriend.
He accepted immediately.
What you didn’t notice was the way he glared at the innocent plushie resting on the couch, its stitched smile almost mocking him, or at least that’s how Modo felt about it.
You could hear him growling softly, so you scratched under his chin to help him relax.
A few days later, Modo had to leave Vineland for a game. Just three days away, but this time you couldn’t go with him because of your work.
By the second day, you missed him more than you expected.
So you recreated some of the activities you usually did together, with the plushie. You took some silly pictures and uploaded them to your socials, thinking it would be a cute surprise for him.
Later that night, he messaged you, and you definitely hadn’t expected his reaction.
“Now you’re taking pictures with fake Modo?” he wrote.
You could almost feel the anger and sadness behind the words.
“I just wanted to take some silly pictures to show the plushie to my friends” you replied.
“That thing doesn’t even look like me” he answered “Why would you want pictures of that thing instead of me?”
“I thought you would like it :(” you replied
A long pause followed.
The seen notification appeared almost immediately... but no reply came.
You frowned at your phone, wondering if you had upset him more than you realized.
A few seconds later, your screen lit up with an incoming video call from Modo.
You blinked in surprise before answering.
The camera opened to show him sitting in his hotel room, still wearing his uniform. His arms were crossed, his tail slowly flicking behind him.
“Hi...” you greeted softly.
He didn’t reply at first. His eyes moved across the screen, silently observing your surroundings.
Then his expression darkened.
You were lying comfortably in bed, wrapped in blankets and hugging the plushie against your chest.
“You’ve got to be kidding me” he said clearly annoyed.
You blinked, confused. “What?”
“You are literally cuddling it” he shot back immediately. “I leave for two days and fake Modo is sleeping with you. First the movies, then the pictures and now this.”
You couldn’t stop a small laugh. It was hilarious for you to see him get mad for a plushie of him.
“It’s not funny” he huffed.
You adjusted yourself against the pillows, your phone resting beside you.
“I miss you,” you said softly. “I only do those things because everything feels weird without you here. Think of it as my temporary emotional-support Modo plushie.”
You grabbed the plushie’s hand and waved it at the camera as if it were saying hello.
Silence followed.
Then a quiet huff.
“I don’t like something else taking my place” he admitted, his voice softer now, though the sadness behind his words was impossible to miss.
Your heart squeezed.
“No one could” you said gently.
That seemed to calm him a little.
The two of you kept talking until sleep slowly claimed you both.
The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual.
If Modo was going to be jealous of a plushie, then you needed a solution, and it had to be finished before he came back.
Your living room slowly turned into a battlefield of fabric scraps, threads, patterns, and half-finished attempts. You weren’t exactly good at sewing, but you were determined.
You spent hours trying to make it look right.
Or at least... recognizable.
By the afternoon, your fingers hurt, they were decorated with tiny needle pricks.
But finally, you finished it.
“Okay” you whispered, exhausted but proud.
It wasn’t perfect.
Actually... it was even uglier than the Modo plushie.
You carefully placed it beside the original on the dining table before stretching your sore arms. You only meant to rest for a moment, just a small nap on the couch before cleaning everything.
Modo returned earlier than expected that night.
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
He frowned slightly as he stepped inside, his tail swaying behind him.
“____?” He called your name, but no answer.
His eyes immediately landed on the dining table.
The plushie.
That ugly plushie.
His expression darkened.
“So you’re still here” he growled, already reaching for it, claws extending as his mouth opened, ready to shred it apart.
But then he noticed something else.
Next to it sat another plushie.
He picked it up.
Crooked stitches.
Uneven fabric.
“Is this...?”
He froze.
His gaze slowly moved across the living room, fabric scraps, threads, patterns, and needles scattered everywhere.
And then he saw you, asleep on the couch, band-aids covering your fingers.
When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was warmth.
You weren’t on the couch anymore.
Instead, soft blankets surrounded you in your shared bed, surrounded by a familiar warmth, strong arms wrapped around you.
You blinked slowly.
It was Modo.
Relief flooded through your chest.
Then you noticed something else.
Between the two of you were the plushies.
Both of them.
The ugly Modo plushie was squeezed between his arm and your chest.
Beside it, the handmade version of you rested carefully under his chin, as if he had fallen asleep protecting them.
You stayed still for a moment, smiling.
Maybe… just maybe…
Plushie Modo had finally earned his place.
Hi uwu! Author here <3
I just wanted to clarify that I don’t hate the plushie and I dont have anything against it, the whole idea came from a TikTok I saw and it made me laugh, so I decided to write something inspired by it. Peace and love, everyone. Love you all!
Also, sorry if updates take a little time from now on. I have a lot more ideas planned, so please be a little patient with me English isn’t my first language, but I write with all the love of my heart.
CHOSO KAMO ⸝⸝ 7.3k ⸝⸝ summary: when his regular gym closes down, choso is forced to use the crowded university facility—a frustrating change of routine that vanishes the moment he lays eyes on you. for a month, he plays the part of the quiet, deeply respectful art student who spots you during late-night workouts, quietly hiding a consuming infatuation behind his oversized hoodies.
contents: heavy smut (18+ mdni) - fem!reader - college au - art major!choso and reader - choso is one year ahead - kinda slow burn - silent pining - absolute perv cho - gentle giant - soft dom - size difference - cho has tattoos and piercing - scent kink/fixation - solo play - shower sex - cho is a messy eater - body worship and praise - multiple orgasms - overstimulation - sweet aftercare (lmk if i missed any!)
a/n: i've had this idea for a long timeeee, after so many weeks it's finally done hehe (and goodness it took 99% of my brainpower). choso + dualities make me absolutely FERAL—my head got so dizzy after writing this piece i need to take a step back and calm myself down
choso hated the university gym with a passion that bordered on holy. if he wanted to be perceived by thirty different guys named brad whose entire personalities revolved around creatine, shattered glass pre-workout, and casual misogyny, he would have joined a fraternity.
instead, he willingly paid forty dollars a month out of his miserable student earnings just to lift in a damp, dimly lit basement three miles off campus. there, nobody looked at him, nobody spoke to him, and nobody cared that his black nail polish was chipped or that his hair was tied back into two messy, ridiculous space buns.
it was his sanctuary. it kept the anxious, hyper-fixated noise in his brain at a manageable volume.
but on a miserable tuesday afternoon, the universe decided to test him. a laminated sign taped to the front door of his beloved off-campus haven delivered the devastating blow: closed for the next seven days for emergency plumbing maintenance and floor remodeling.
choso had stood in the rain, staring at the paper, feeling a slow, icy panic creep up his spine. a whole week without lifting? absolutely not. his mind would eat itself alive. desperate times called for desperate, humiliating measures. he was going to have to use his student id card and step foot into the university's recreation center.
he didn't just walk in blindly, though. choso treated the dilemma like a tactical covert operation. he spent the next few days calculating the exact peak hours of the campus social scene, charting the behavior of the obnoxious herds he so desperately wished to avoid.
friday night, he realized. 11:30 pm.
by that hour on a friday, the entire campus greek life was guaranteed to be blacked out at off-campus house parties, suffocating in a haze of cheap beer, or lining up outside bars downtown. the gym closed at 1:00 am. it was a golden, ninety-minute window of safety.
when friday night finally rolled around, the campus was damp and quiet. choso walked toward the massive, glowing glass building of the university gym, his heart beating a little too fast against his ribs. he felt exposed, even wrapped in his usual armor—a thick, completely shapeless black oversized hoodie with the strings pulled tight, and a baggy cargo sweatpants that dragged slightly against the pavement.
he approached the front desk, his jaw set, and swiped his student id at the turnstile. he braced himself for the worst, fully expecting the smell of axe body spray and the echoing shouts of gym bros to hit him the moment he rounded the corner.
instead, when he stepped onto the main gym floor, he was met with a ghost town.
the harsh fluorescent lights hummed quietly in the silence. the long rows of treadmills sat dark and stationary. the heavy iron weights were all neatly stacked in their racks, undisturbed. aside from a lone student employee half-asleep behind the towel counter on the far side of the building, choso was entirely alone.
a wave of pure, intoxicating relief washed over him. he had been right. the frat guys were gone, busy poisoning their livers elsewhere.
allowing his shoulders to finally drop, choso walked over to a secluded corner in the free-weight section, far away from the main mirrors. he pulled his heavy, noise-canceling headphones over his ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the facility with the familiar, aggressive comfort of his favorite post-hardcore playlist. he yanked his hoodie hood up over his hair, completely shutting out the rest of the world.
for the first time all week, choso relaxed. he grabbed a set of dumbbells to start his warm-up—completely, blissfully unaware that this was the very last night his gym sessions would ever be peaceful.
by midnight, choso was completely in his element. the heavy, screaming vocals blasting through his headphones blocked out everything else, creating a private wall of sound that matched the slow, deliberate burn in his muscles. he had moved over to the flat bench, adjusting his posture and gripping a pair of heavy dumbbells. his gaze was locked entirely on the speckled rubber flooring between his shoes, his mind blank, focused only on the rhythm of his breathing.
he leaned back, kicking the weights up to his chest, and began his set. one, two, three. he was halfway through his fifth repetition when a sudden, unexpected shadow fell over him. choso barely had time to process the shift in lighting before a light, tentative touch tapped him right on the shoulder.
the physical contact startled him so badly that his core completely unlocked. his grip faltered, his left wrist buckling inward as the heavy iron dumbbell threatened to slip from his hand. a sharp spike of adrenaline shot through his veins, and he practically fumbled the weights, dropping them onto the floor with a loud, echoing thud that rattled through the empty room.
"oh my god, i'm so sorry! are you okay?"
choso scrambled into a sitting position, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. his pale face flushed with an instant, burning embarrassment as he hastily yanked his headphones down around his neck—the muffled, angry music now tiny and weak in the open air. he wiped a hand across his forehead, preparing his best, most intimidating scowl to ward off whoever had just ruined his peace.
but the words died in his throat the moment he looked up. standing right in front of him was you.
you were holding a small gym towel, your skin lightly flushed and glowing with a thin sheen of sweat from your own workout. you looked genuinely worried, your eyes wide as you looked at him, adjusting the strap of your tank top.
"i really didn't mean to scare you," you said, your voice soft and breathless, a contrast to the aggressive screaming that had just been filling his ears. "i just wanted to ask if you were using the forty-pound weights next to your bench?"
choso stared at you, his throat suddenly feeling as dry as sandpaper. his dark eyes took in the messy way your hair was tied up, the slight rise and fall of your chest, and the polite, apologetic curve of your lips. his brain, usually so loud and overanalytical, completely went blank. he forgot how to speak, he forgot how to breathe.
"n-no," he stammered out, his voice a low, raspy gravel that he quickly tried to clear. he cleared his throat, pulling his hood down a fraction lower to hide the flush creeping up his neck. "i'm not using them. all yours."
you offered him a small, relieved smile that made his chest feel dangerously tight. "awesome, thank you so much. sorry again for the jump scare."
you leaned down, effortlessly grabbing the weights, and walked back over to an adjustable bench just a few yards away. choso sat frozen on his bench, watching your back as you walked away. his heart was still racing, but it wasn't from the adrenaline anymore.
he pulled his headphones back over his ears, but he didn't restart his music. instead, he just sat there in the silence of his own head, his eyes locked onto the floor as a single, terrifying thought bloomed in his mind: he was never going back to his old gym.
choso was a creature of habit, but habits could be easily rewritten when the incentive was high enough.
the following tuesday, his off-campus sanctuary sent out another automated email announcing that the renovations were finished ahead of schedule and the doors were officially reopened. choso didn't even look twice at the notification. he deleted it, swiped his screen shut, and stared at his ceiling, counting down the agonizing number of hours left until friday night.
he was completely, utterly gone for you.
during the week, choso reverted to his normal ghost-like state on campus. he moved through the fine arts building like a shadow, buried in the depths of his oversized, frayed black hoodie and wide-leg cargos, his fingers permanently stained with charcoal and oil paint. his long bangs fell into his eyes, a perfect shield from the rest of the student body. he didn't want to be seen by anyone.
except you.
when friday finally arrived, choso was a ball of nervous, vibrating energy. by 11:30 pm, he was swiping his student id at the turnstile, his heart doing a ridiculous, heavy flip the moment he stepped into the free-weight section.
and thank god, there you were.
for the next three weeks, this became your unspoken, late-night ritual. the gym was always a dead silent ghost town, save for the rhythmic hum of the ventilation and the occasional clink of iron. you had your routine on your side of the floor, and choso had his on his side. you would exchange a small, polite nod of acknowledgement whenever he walked in—a tiny gesture that secretly made choso's entire week—but otherwise, you left each other alone.
at least, physically.
internally, choso's mind was a dangerous, hyper-fixated place.
he pretended to be entirely absorbed in his own workouts. he would sit on the bench with his headphones on, staring blankly ahead like a stoic, brooding statue. but behind the dark fringe of his hair, his eyes were locked onto you.
as an art student, choso was trained to study form, anatomy, and lighting—but with you, it felt like an agonizing form of torture. he analyzed the way your muscles shifted and flexed under your skin when you lifted, the tight strain of your thighs and glutes when you did squats, and the delicate, sharp line of your collarbones. his brain automatically translated the view into a series of raw, unedited figure drawings, tracking the trail of sweat as it rolled down the side of your neck, soaking into the collar of your sports bra.
a heavy, dark ache would pull tight in his lower stomach every single time you let out a low, breathy pant after a heavy set. his body tried to betray him, threatening to grow hard right there on the gym floor.
but choso forced it down.
every time his thoughts started to cross the line into something genuinely filthy, he would fiercely bite the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, forcing his gaze back down to the rubber flooring. he felt an intense, protective wave of guilt whenever his mind wandered too far. don't do that, he would tell himself, his chest tight. she's just trying to work out. don't be disgusting. don't disrespect her.
when he returned to his dark dorm room at 1:00 am, throbbing and completely overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume and sweat that seemed to linger in his nose, he didn't touch himself. he would lock the bathroom door, strip out of his clothes, and force himself into a freezing cold shower. he would lean his forehead against the damp tiles, his fists clenched as the ice-cold water sprayed over his burning skin, ruthlessly killing the desperate ache between his thighs that threatened to drive him mad.
he told himself he could control it. he told himself he could keep you on a pedestal, purely as a beautiful, distant muse.
he had no idea that his fragile self-control was about to completely shatter.
by week four, choso's luck finally pushed him over the edge.
it was a quarter past midnight. choso was finishing up a set of lat pulldowns, his hood down for once because the gym felt unusually warm. he was breathing a bit heavily, wiping his neck with a towel, when he felt that familiar, intoxicating shift in the air.
a shadow fell over him, followed by a light tap on his shoulder
choso turned around, his chest fluttering immediately. "hey," he said, his voice dropping into that low, quiet rumble he only used when speaking to you.
"hey," you smiled, looking a little out of breath yourself. you bit your lip slightly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder toward the bench press station. "sorry to bother you, but i'm trying to hit a new personal record on my final set, and i really don't want to crush my windpipe. do you mind giving me a quick spot?"
choso's brain stuttered. a spot. after three weeks of forcing himself to stay away, to keep his hands to himself, you were asking him to stand directly over you.
"yeah—yeah, of course," he managed to say, standing up quickly before his brain could talk him out of it.
he followed you over to the bench. you lay down, settling your shoulders against the black leather, while choso stepped up to the head of the bench, planting his feet firmly apart on either side of the metal frame. from this angle, looking down, his view of you was devastating. your chest was rising and falling, your eyes locked up at him, trusting him completely.
"just help me lift it off the rack on three, okay?" you murmured, reaching up to grip the barbell.
together, you guided the heavy bar off the pegs. you took the weight, pausing for a second before lowering it slowly to your chest. choso hovered his hands right beneath the bar, his fingers curled, completely focused.
but as you pushed the weight back up, your muscles straining—a low, guttural groan escaped your throat.
the sound hit choso like a physical blow, fracturing the wall of restraint he had spent three weeks building. combined with the view of your arched back, the flush of your skin, and your absolute vulnerability beneath him, his body bypassed his brain entirely. all that suppressed, backed-up desire rushed straight to his crotch in a hot, violent wave.
within seconds, choso developed a massive, raging boner that pushed hard against the fabric of his baggy grey sweatpants.
oh, fuck, choso panicked internally, his eyes widening—because he was standing right above your face. the prominent, thick ridge in his pants was dangerously close to your line of sight. three weeks of cold showers vanished in an instant. he immediately hitched his hips backward, awkwardly arching his spine away from the bench to create distance, his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer terror that you would see how pathetic he was for you.
you pushed through the final rep with a sharp exhale, and choso quickly gripped the bar, helping you slam it safely back onto the rack.
"oh my god, thank you," you panted, sitting up immediately and rubbing your arms. you laughed a little, looking up at him with a bright, grateful smile. "i definitely would have died on that last one without you."
choso kept his hands casually draped over his crotch area, shuffling half a step back into the shadows, his entire body trembling from the effort of holding his composure. "you did fine. great form."
you didn't stand up right away. instead, you tilted your head, studying his face. "you know… i've been meaning to ask. you look really familiar. do you have classes in the fine arts building? on the studio floor?"
choso's heart did a violent stutter. "uh, yeah—i do, i'm a printmaking and painting major."
"i knew it!" you said, your eyes lighting up. "i'm a year below you in the sculpture program, but i see you in the halls all the time. you're always tucked away in the back corner of the studios, wearing those huge hoodies with the strings pulled tight. it's funny seeing you here without charcoal all over your face."
choso felt a burning blush crawl up his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. you noticed him. you knew who he was outside of this empty gym. you shared the same late-night, messy, creative world.
"yeah," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his knuckles still strategically shielding his front. "i, uh… i like it quiet. both in the studio and here."
you smiled, stepping just a fraction closer as you casually offered your name, introducing yourself properly for the first time since you'd started sharing the floor. choso's entire body went completely rigid at the sound of it. your name felt heavy in the air between you—a beautiful, sharp reality replacing the nameless fantasy he'd been harboring for weeks. "choso," he managed to choke out in return, his voice thick as he gave you his own name. "nice to meet you."
"nice to meet you too, choso." you murmured, your voice dropping into something a little softer, a little more intimate as you looked up at him through your lashes. you took a slow step backwards, your eyes lingering on him for one final, devastating second before you turned to gather your things. "you know, i usually hate late-night workouts… but knowing you're always there? that's why fridays are my favorite."
choso felt the air leave his lungs. he couldn't tell if he was genuinely imagining things now—if his own pathetic, desperate fantasies were finally bleeding into reality and making him hear things that weren't there. but the soft, knowing look in your eyes felt entirely too real.
choso barely remembered how he walked back to his side of the gym after that. his self-control wasn't just broken; it was completely demolished, his mind spinning in a chaotic loop over your parting words. had you meant it? or was he finally losing his fucking mind?
the moment he stepped inside his dark room, there was no cold shower. he didn't even make it past the entryway. choso slammed the door shut, locked it with a frantic click, and shoved his grey sweatpants and boxers down to his knees right there against the wood.
his cock snapped free, completely upright, throbbing violently and weeping thick, heavy drops of pre-cum from the sheer agony of the twenty-minute walk back. he let out a low, ragged sob into the empty room, his hand wrapping around his length in a brutal, iron-tight grip. he squeezed hard, a sharp whine tearing from his throat as his hips jerked forward, instantly smearing his own slick up and down his shaft.
he closed his eyes, and the darkness behind his eyelids immediately filled with you.
because he was an artist, his memory was devastatingly vivid. he didn't just fantasize; he reconstructed you. he pictured the exact way your lower lip looked trapped between your teeth when you were straining under the barbell. he pictured the heavy, glistening sheen of sweat coating the delicate dip of your collarbones, the way your sports bra squeezed your chest, and the tight, mouth-watering curve of your thighs arched on that leather bench.
but what truly made his blood boil, what made his thick cock throb with a vicious, demanding ache against his palm, was the sudden intoxicating realization of your size difference. standing right over your face on that bench, he had felt so devastatingly big.
his artist's eye automatically compared the two of you—his broad, heavy-boned frame, his wide shoulders, and his massive, blunt hands against the softer, giving curves of your body. he imagined how effortlessly he could engulf you. he pictured your body pinned completely beneath his dense, imposing weight, swallowed whole by his shadow. the sheer contrast of it—how he could completely overwhelmed you with his height and mass, forcing you to look up at him while he held you down—made a low, feral sound rip from the back of his throat.
"fuck," he whined, his pace turning fast and punishing. his knuckles, still stained with a faint trace of charcoal from his afternoon studio class, rubbed friction against his burning skin.
he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, desperately chasing the auditory memory of your workout. he wanted your sounds. he was completely, helplessly addicted to them. that low, guttural, breathy groan you had let out right beneath him—he replayed it over and over in his head, matching the rhythm of his fist to the memory of your breath. he imagined what it would feel like to force those exact noises out of you himself. he wanted to push himself so deep inside you that you'd make those heavy, strained sounds against his ear, over and over until you were entirely spent.
his mind took a darker, filthier turn as the friction started to blur his thoughts. he looked down at his own hand, but in the fever-dream of his arousal, he imagined it was your hand. he imagined you gripping him, your small, soft palm slick with his pre-cum, looking up at him from the floor with those wide, trusting eyes while you made him stroke himself.
and then, the smell hit him.
the faint, intoxicating ghost of your scent had transferred onto his hands when he adjusted the barbell, or maybe when your shoulders had lightly brushed. it was a heady mix of clean vanilla perfume and raw, warm skin-musk. choso's breath hitched. completely unhinged, he brought his free hand up to his face, pressing his knuckles hard against his mouth and nose. he took a deep, shuddering inhale, practically drinking the scent off his skin.
god, he was an absolute freak. a disgusting pathetic pervert. if he could have stolen your damp, sweat-soaked gym clothes right out of your locker just to bury his face in them and inhale you until he suffocated, he would have done it in a heartbeat. he wanted to track the scent of your sweat with his tongue, licking it off the curve of your neck, tasting how salty and warm you were.
but more than anything, his mind was utterly enslaved to the memory of your introduction. having your actual name in his possession was a dangerous, lethal upgrade to his madness. it wasn't just a fantasy anymore; you had a name. and it tasted like absolute sin on his tongue.
he started chanting it into the quiet darkness of his room. he whispered your name against his trembling knuckles, his voice a low, ruined prayer that matched the frantic, bruising rhythm of his hand. every time your name left his lips, a fresh surge of hot pre-cum leaked from his tip, his body physically reacting to mere syllables of your identity as if you were casting a spell over him. he repeated it over and over, faster and louder, turning your name into a dirty, desperate plea.
"ah—shit… please…"
the vocalization of your name snapped the last thread of his sanity. choso's movements became completely frantic, his hips slamming blindly against the door as he stroked himself with an unforgiving, desperate speed. his toes curled into the carpet, his entire body trembling as the pressure behind his hips reached a breaking point.
he imagined you standing right there in the dark, your hands guiding his hips, whispering that fridays were your favorite, too.
with a choked, breathless gasp, choso's knees completely buckled. he threw his head back against the door with a dull thud as his body spasmed, blowing a thick, hot, messy white flood all over his charcoal-stained fingers and the floor. he whimpered, his chest heaving violently in the quiet room, his leaking cock still twitching weakly in his hand as the heavy waves of pleasure wrecked him.
he slid down until his thighs hit the floor, completely covered in his own mess, very aware that he was entirely, hopelessly enslaved to you.
the next two weeks were a slow, agonizing descent into madness for choso.
ever since the night he had broken his restraint in his dorm, his mind was entirely corrupted. his sketchbooks were no longer filled with abstract layouts or still-lifes; instead, the pages were cluttered with charcoal studies of the human form—the curve of a waist, the flex of a thigh, the precise angle of a neck arched back in a phantom groan. he was losing his grip, completely consumed by the ghost of your vanilla scent and the memory of your voice.
he still played the part of the quiet, stoic classmate during your friday sessions, but the air between you had shifted. it was thicker now. every time your eyes met across the empty gym floor, choso's stomach would coil with a dark, expectant heat.
which brought him to this particular friday.
choso had run out of clean laundry—or perhaps, deep down in the desperate, pathetic corners of his soul, he was simply tired of hiding behind his armor. he dug through the very bottom of his dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of light grey sweatpants and a tight, black, long-sleeved compression shirt.
when he walked into the university gym at 11:30 pm, he didn't have his oversized hoodie to protect him. he was completely bare.
you were already there, finishing up a warm-up stretch near the free weights, when the turnstile clicked. you turned your head casually to nod hello, but the moment your eyes landed on him, you froze completely.
without the baggy fabric of his hoodies, choso's true physical form was devastating. his shoulders were incredibly broad, tapering down into a surprisingly narrow waist, and the thin, elastic material of the black compression shirt clung to the heavy, carved planes of his chest like a second skin. the fabric stretched tight over his thick biceps and long arms, mapping out every cord of muscle.
and those grey sweatpants were doing him absolutely no favors. the soft, light cotton left nothing to the imagination, casting a prominent, heavy shadow right down the front of his thighs that made it very obvious how much weight he carried between them.
choso felt your gaze like a physical brand on his skin. he watched your eyes dilate, your jaw going slightly slack as you traced his silhouette before quickly looking down at the floor, your cheeks flushing a violent, sudden pink. the shy, swallowed-up emo boy you thought you knew was actually fucking jacked.
for the first time, choso felt a sudden, dark thrill pierce through his veins. you weren't just casually looking anymore. you were staring. you were flustered. the power dynamic had just completely shattered.
"hey," you said as he walked over, your voice sounding a little tighter, a little more breathless than usual.
"hey," he mumbled, adjusting his grip on a set of heavy dumbbells.
for the next forty minutes, the gym was a total disaster zone for your focus. you kept fumbling your sets, your eyes helplessly glued to the way his broad back flexed under that black fabric. choso noticed every single glance, his heart hammering against his ribs, his body humming with a dangerous, quiet confidence he didn't know he possessed.
finally, as the clock crept toward 12:45 am, choso moved over to the deadlift platform to finish his workout. he was loading heavy iron plates onto the barbell, his chest heaving slightly, when you slowly walked over. your gym towel was clutched tightly in your hands, your knuckles white.
"um, choso?" you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes.
he paused, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "yeah?"
"i… i was thinking," you began, your eyes momentarily darting down to his chest before snapping back to his face. "you've been helping me out for weeks. you always spot me, and you're always so nice about it… i kind of feel bad that it's only been you helping me. do you… do you need a spot on these? or do you want me to help you stretch out afterward? you look really tense."
choso's breath hitched, the heavy weight in his sweatpants twitching violently at the offer. help him stretch. the mental image of your hands pressing against his thick thighs, guiding his legs, or leaning over his back made his head spin. he looked down at you, acutely aware of how his looming height entirely shadowed you under the gym lights.
he looked around the gym. it was empty. the digital clock was ticking down to closing time, and the air between you was practically vibrating with unsaid desires.
"yeah," choso whispered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made your core throb. he leaned down slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it feel like he was branding you right then and there. "i'm almost done. i could use your help."
your chest heaved as you nodded, unable to find your voice under the heavy weight of his gaze. you turned together, falling into step right beside his massive frame. the transition from the open weight floor to the stretching mats in the far corner felt like stepping directly into an active furnace.
you had laid out a heavy foam mat in the dim, amber shadow of the room, offering to guide choso through a cool-down stretch since his shoulders looked so tightly coiled. but the moment you stepped close, the physical reality of his frame hit you like a wall of heat. when you pressed your palms against the dense, burning expanse of his back, your breath caught. under the smooth, slick fabric of his black compression shirt, his muscles felt like carved, unyielding stone. he shattered your rhythm the second your skin met his, letting out a low, ragged exhale as his broad chest heaved under your hands.
when you stepped around to his front to help guide an overhead arm stretch, your bodies brushed. the sheer, towering height of his looming frame completely eclipsed you under the dim emergency lights. you looked up, your pupils wide and completely dilated, only to find choso staring down at you. his dark eyes were pitch-black, his irises swallowed up by a gaze so raw, intense, and heavily possessive that it made your core violently throb with a sudden, weeping ache.
he didn't wait for a verbal answer. his large hand slid down to wrap firmly around your wrist, guiding you away from the clanking iron of the lifting racks.
the restraint he had spent a month building was officially gone.
with a single, unyielding tug, choso hoisted you up and herded you backward through the heavy, double doors of the communal locker room. the thick door clicked shut behind you with a definitive, echoing thud, sealing the two of you into absolute isolation. the air inside was already thick and humid, heavy with the rising, damp steam from the automatic ventilation hooked to the shower stalls in the back.
he didn't waste a single second. choso pressed his massive body forward, driving you back into the narrow aisle until your spine met the cold, hard metal of the lockers. before you could even utter a word, his restraint completely snapped.
choso buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, letting out a deep, shuddering, almost violent inhale. his nose dragged roughly against your hot skin as he practically drank your scent in, entirely feral for it. his mind flashed back to the quiet agony of his lonely dorm room, to the pathetic weeks he had spent sticky and shaking in his sheets, imagining this exact smell. but this was real. he sniffed you deeply, trailing his nose up the sensitive line of your throat, completely intoxicating himself with the heady, sweet mix of your vanilla perfume and the raw, warm musk of your workout sweat.
"god, you smell so good," he groaned against your skin, his voice breaking with a desperate, ragged edge.
his large hands came up to frame your face, his calloused palms tilting your head back as he slammed his mouth down onto yours. it was a messy, ravenous, completely drunk make-out. choso was entirely intoxicated by your lips, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth, tasting you with a desperate hunger that made your knees go weak. he kissed you over and over, his lips bruising yours, sucking on your lower lip until you were both gasping for air, the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth completely filling the quiet locker room.
he dropped heavily to his knees on the tiled floor, his hands instantly reaching up to grab the hem of his black compression shirt. with one swift, fluid motion, he pulled the tight fabric over his head and discarded it carelessly.
your breath left you entirely, your eyes widening in absolute awe. without the shirt, choso was a towering, breathtaking canvas of raw, imposing anatomy. his smooth skin was covered in dark, heavy ink—intricate, black surrealist tattoos wrapped completely around the thick meat of his forearms, climbing up his bulging biceps, and tracing the hard, carved cuts of his chest and obliques. he was built like a god, a terrifyingly large giant, yet as he looked up at you, his eyes were wide and full of a shaking, reverent vulnerability.
with steady, trembling fingers, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your gym shorts and undergarments, stripping them down to your sneakers. his brain completely shut off the moment your naked body was exposed to him. he stared, his jaw slack, his chest heaving as his eyes mapped out every single inch of you.
"you're… you're really here," he rasped, a look of pure, euphoric disbelief washing over his features. "i'm not dreaming. you're actually letting me touch you."
he effortlessly parted your thighs, his large hands gripping the back of your knees to pull your legs up, pinning them wide over his broad, tatted shoulders. choso didn't care about being neat; he was hungry and completely desperate.
before even touching his tongue to your center, he buried his face in the soft meat of your inner thighs, trailing heavy, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. he dragged his nose roughly against your folds, inhaling deeply with a sharp, ragged gasp that shook his entire frame, completely unhinged by your scent and warmth.
when he finally slid his tongue straight up your soaked folds, the heavy, silver barbell piercing split right through the middle of his tongue hit you completely unaware. you’d been so entirely consumed by the bruising, desperate heat of his mouth against yours earlier—so utterly drowned in the taste of him and the dizzying rush of his hands on your skin—that you hadn't even registered the faint, metallic slide of it against your own tongue.
you hadn't expected it at all—the sudden, piercing contrast of that cold, hard metal bar sliding right over your swollen, sensitive clit sent a violent, shattering jolt of electricity straight down your spine. your back arched completely off the lockers, a loud, broken gasp tearing from your throat.
it was a lethal sensory overload. choso drank in your reaction, using the metal to rub and vibrate against you in wild, heavy strokes that smeared your wetness all over his chin and lips. your hands flew blindly to his head, your fingers tangling desperately into the messy, damp strands of his hair to pull him even closer, pinning his face against your cunt.
you were already so worked up from a month of tension that it didn't take long at all; under the ruthless, heavy friction of his pierced tongue, your body tightened instantly. a devastating, screaming orgasm crashed over you within seconds, your thighs trembling violently against his neck. choso groaned into your pussy, sucking you softly through your release and swallowing every single drop of you, completely euphoric that his darkest, loneliest fantasies were finally coming true.
he slowly stood up, panting heavily, his chin glistening with your slick. without a word, he stripped out of his grey sweatpants. when his length snapped free, your breath gasped out. he was terrifyingly huge—thick, heavy, and weeping dark drops of pre-cum. your eyes widened, a sudden spike of nerves hitting your chest at the sheer structural size difference.
sensing your fear, choso's expression softened instantly. he lifted you effortlessly, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he herded your trembling body into the communal shower stalls. he snapped the metal handle, and a steady stream of warm water beat down on his tatted back.
choso braced your back gently against the wet tiles, lifting one of your legs and pinning it securely against the thick meat of his hip to open you up completely. before pushing in, he paused, his breath hitching as he dragged the head of his cock directly over your weeping entrance. he rolled his hips in a slow, agonizing circle, running his slick tip up and down the length of your soaking center, teasing the sensitive skin until your hips automatically buckled against him, begging for the friction.
"i'll be gentle, promise," he murmured softly against your lips, his voice a soothing, quiet contrast to his heavy size. "just tell me if it's too much—i've thought about this every night... i don't want to hurt you."
he pushed forward slowly, an inch at a time, and the tight, agonizingly perfect stretch made you sob out loud, your forehead burying into his neck. he was too big, filling you so deeply that it felt like he was bottoming out against your very soul. you could feel every ridge of him stretching your walls to their absolute limit. choso let out a low, gravelly groan, his entire body shaking as he stopped, completely motionless, letting you adjust.
"you're okay," he whispered softly into your ear, his large hands coming down to heavily grope and worship your body. he squeezed your hips, his tatted fingers digging into your skin, before sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs rubbing your nipples through the running water. "shit, look at you... you're taking me so well. so perfect for me."
he began to pull back, almost all the way out, before plunging back in with a slow, devastatingly heavy weight. he hammered into you with a desperate but careful pace, his hips pressing firmly against yours. he didn't just push; he worshipped you with every stroke, tracing his lips along your jawline, biting softly at the pulse point on your neck whenever a particularly deep plunge made you cry out his name.
"fuuuckk, that's it," he murmured, his voice cracking with pure emotion as your walls clamped desperately around his length. "say my name again, baby—let me hear you."
"mnghh—choso... choso," you sobbed, completely unraveled by the rhythm, awestruck by how someone so massive could hold you with such tender, protective care.
"i've got you," he whispered, his large hands lifting you slightly higher to change the angle, sinking even deeper into your softness.
with the new angle, choso plunged all the way in, the massive, thick head of his cock bottoming out completely and hitting directly against your cervix. the sudden, deep ache was a lethal spark; the friction inside you shifted instantly, and a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure began building up with terrifying speed. you could feel every single thick ridge of him stretching you open, driving you completely over the edge. your mind fractured as you came undone for the second time, your vision blurring as a loud, echoing cry tore from your throat.
the devastating orgasm caused your walls to spasm and clamp down ruthlessly around his dick, tightening around it like a vice. the intense, crushing suction completely shattered choso's control. he threw his head back, his tatted shoulders bunching tightly as a deep, guttural groan tore from his chest. his hips slammed forward one last time, pinning you flush against the wet tiles as he came violently inside you, pulsing thick and hot, filling you to the absolute brim with his release.
he didn't pull out. even as the water washed over his inked skin, his length stayed thick, hard, and demanding inside you, his cock still twitching and pulsing deeply against your raw, swollen walls. you could feel every single throb of his aftermath inside you, making you let out a weak whine as you buried your face into the hot crook of his neck. he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily, the steam rising around your bodies.
"don't move," he breathed softly, his lips brushing yours. "don't move yet. i want to stay inside you."
choso shifted his weight, gathering your trembling body entirely into his arms and pulling you up off the tile wall. he guided your other leg around his waist, holding you completely flush against his massive, wet chest, trapping you entirely in his shadow. since you had already come twice, your entire body was completely spent, and a jolt of pure shock ran through you when choso’s hips gave a sudden, slow, experimental roll.
"hmph—choso, wait..." you gasped, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes.
he looked down at you, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and completely glazed over with a dark, terrifyingly needy lust. he looked so soft, yet so entirely unhinged by the taste of you. "one more... just one more, please, sweetheart?" he begged, his voice a gravelly, trembling whisper against your lips. "you're so tight—i can't get out."
you were already so incredibly overstimulated that you couldn't even form words, able to make only broken, needy little sounds against his chest. your fingers curled blindly into the damp skin of his shoulders, your nails scratching desperately down the dark ink of his back—but the stinging friction only made him growl, his grip tightening ruthlessly around your ass as your resistance turned him on even more.
with your bodies pinned chest-to-chest, he dragged his tatted hands through your wet hair, tilting your head forward to bring your mouth to his for another deep, heavy, sloppy kiss. your tongues tangled, the hard metal of his piercing sliding heavily against yours, making you taste the intoxicating mix of your own sweat and release on his lips.
he didn't rush. choso backed up just enough to prop one of his heavy feet on the shower bench, tilting his hips back. his gaze dropped down, his pitch-black eyes tracking lower to look directly at the point of connection between your bodies. you watched through blurred vision as he stared, completely fascinated, watching his massive, dark shaft plunge all the way into your dripping cunt, churning up the filthy, frothy ring of your combined releases and his own thick cum. the wet, sloshing sounds of him fucking you were amplified by the echoing shower stall, white cream bubbling out and smearing over his tatted thighs with every agonizingly deep stroke.
"fuck, look at you," he whispered between heavy, wet kisses, his voice thick with a profound, quiet awe as his eyes stayed glued to the messy, ruined sight of your pussy. "look how much of me you're holding. all ruined for me—can't look away from you."
"nghh—choso, you're... you're still so big," you gasped out as he began to roll his hips again. the second expansion felt even deeper, more thorough than the first, the thick head of his cock ruthlessly punishing your cervix over and over.
"'m sorry," he murmured softly, though his actions contradicted his apology as he sank all the way in, bottoming out completely and burying his balls flush against your wetness. "you just feel too good—i can't help it. let me love you like this, just a little longer."
he rolled his hips forward again and again, sinking into you with an agonizingly slow, deep rhythm that made your vision blur. every push was accompanied by a soft, reverent kiss—on your eyelids, your cheeks, your mouth, and the sensitive skin under your ear. he turned your entire body into a canvas, worshipping you with a gentle but unyielding stamina, his heart completely overflowing with the euphoric reality that you were finally, beautifully his.
the automatic shower ventilation hummed a low, droning bassline as the steam slowly began to clear from the room, the heavy mist settling into a damp, quiet warmth.
choso stood mid-dressed in the narrow space between the shower stalls and the benches. he had managed to pull his grey sweatpants back on, the thick waistband sitting low on his hips, but his massive upper body was still completely bare. his smooth skin was flushed dark pink, the heavy black tattoos on his chest and arms glistening under the dull overhead facility lights.
you sat on the wooden bench right in front of him, a large, fluffy white towel draped loosely over your head to catch the dampness of your hair. your body was still completely spent, your inner thighs aching with a heavy, lingering numbness.
despite the water being off, choso hadn't moved away. he stepped in close between your knees, leaning down so his massive frame completely shadowed you. his hands came up to gently frame the sides of your face through the fabric of the towel, and he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. both of you just breathed together for a moment, the quiet, synchronized sound of your exhales filling the empty locker room.
choso slowly opened his eyes, looking at you from beneath his messy, damp bangs. the terrifying, pitch-black intensity from the showers had completely faded, replaced by that familiar, quiet softness that usually hid behind his oversized hoodies. his cheeks pulled a sudden, dark pink flush—not from the heat of the room, but from a sudden wave of sheer, boyish bashfulness.
he cleared his throat, the sound low and gravelly in the empty space. carefully, almost timidly, he reached into your gym bag and pulled out a fresh, dry set of clothes you had brought along.
"here," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, hesitant register.
he didn't just hand them to you. instead, his massive, heavily inked hands gathered the soft fabric of your clean t-shirt. his touch was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to how ruthlessly he had been holding you against the tiles just minutes ago. he carefully guided the shirt over your head, his blunt fingers catching on the collar to make sure it didn't snag on your damp skin, before pulling your arms through the sleeves with a quiet, domestic focus that made your heart melt.
he paused, his eyes darting down to the floor, then back up to your face through the towel still framing your head. he rubbed the back of his neck with his tatted forearm, looking suddenly, hilariously out of his depth now that the primal fog had cleared.
"um," choso began, his voice cracking slightly. he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the heavy, dominant monster from the shower stall completely transforming back into the shy art student who didn't know what to do with his hands. "i know... i know the timing is really bad. and it’s probably not very gentleman-like of me to ask this... especially right after we just—after what we just did."
he took a deep breath, his dark eyes looking down at you with a completely endearing vulnerability.
"but there’s a 24-hour diner and cafe just two blocks from campus. they have really good iced coffee, and... and sweet pastries. i was wondering if... if you wanted to go grab something to drink with me? like... a date. a real one."
you stared up at him from beneath the towel, your heart swelling so violently it cut off your breath. hearing this massive, fully tattooed, pierced giant softly ask you out on a proper, polite date while his bare chest was still flushed from your touch was the most charming thing you had ever experienced.
"i would love to, choso," you whispered.
a small, breathtakingly genuine smile broke across choso's face, lighting up his features. "okay," he rumbled softly, bending down to press one final, sweet, lingering kiss to your lips before reaching for his own hoodie. "let's finish up. i'll buy you whatever you want."
BEHOLD!!!!! womb tattoos/tramp stamps for each member of the circus! show off who you belong to permanently ♡
THESE ARE FREE TO USE!! YOU DO NOT NEED TO ASK ME TO USE THEM IF YOU EVER DO (though it would be cool to see if anyone ever chooses to get one done)!! transparent versions are in a drive link in reblogs ☆
18+ slight angst. meet footballer!gojo & his cheerleader fwb !
1. CHEERLEADERS ARE FOR CHEERING—NOT FONDLING!
“girl… isn’t that your man?”
your first mistake is letting your eyes follow shoko’s gaze to the bleachers. your second mistake is making eye contact with golden boy gojo satoru, still in his jersey & ‘hiding’ behind a skinny pole with a very annoyed geto suguru by his side.
you don’t bother correcting shoko. instead you ignore the grin satoru flashes you, taking out the water bottle between your lips with a pop! “is he supposed to be hiding?”
shoko shrugs, turns on her heel. “dunno, ask him. he’s clearly waiting.”
you roll your eyes with a sigh, but you’re already moving.
shoes clicking against the wood gym floor, skirt swishing between your thighs. gojo satoru has long come out of his hiding spot. he’s slumped against the pole now; hands in his pockets, grin lazy, blue eyes glimmering in the orange sun. beside him geto suguru is there, jaw tight in an expression that says he’d rather be anywhere but here.
you still have your bottle in hand when gojo reaches for your hips. “hi, baby…”
you barely murmur back a hi before he’s tugging you in by your skirt. his head dips to kiss your neck, then your cheek, then somewhere else your brain doesn’t register because his hands glide up to squeeze your ass cheeks underneath your skirt. a soft noise slips past your lips as he sucks on your neck.
“mm,” he murmurs, “missed you.”
geto clears his throat.
you let satoru do as he pleases, threading your hands through his hair as his hand dips between your inner thighs. he hums into your neck when you scratch his scalp. “suguru,” you breathe, “how’d you two even get here? coach toji’s gonna kill you guys.”
“kiss,” satoru interrupts. you tilt your head towards him, eyes still on suguru as gojo presses his lips to yours.
suguru’s face twists in disgust, but he doesn’t comment. “satoru bribed him. paid him a couple hundreds to see you for five minutes.”
“right—” your voice strains when gojo gropes your ass once again. “and you followed him because?”
geto is already looking away. “he bribed me too.”
you snort, but it turns into a shiver as satoru sucks on your earlobe. he hums, pleased, when your fingers tighten in his hair.
“mmh… got an away match,” he kisses your jaw. “wanted to see my girl first.”
you’re not his girl, you know you’ll never be, but you still laugh when he squeezes your waist & presses hurried kisses to your cheek. you shove him away & his grin is cocky.
“gonna score for you,” he tugs you back, dipping his head to your ear. “and then you’ll treat me, yeah?”
you hum when his arms snake around your hips once again.
“only if you score the winning goal.”
2. POST MATCH SEXCAPADES !
satoru comes back too late.
you’re not sure exactly why—maybe overtime, maybe the team stopped somewhere to celebrate their win—but you don’t let the thought plague you. you’re more concerned about the fact that it’s nearly evening & you can hear a ball kicking against the gym walls. you’re still in your cheer uniform, tiny skirt & sheer top, standing at the metal doors as you watch gojo dribble on his own.
he stops dribbling to catch his breath, wiping sweat off his chin. and then he’s off to sit at the bleachers, letting water slide down his neck as he chugs from a bottle.
you take it as your cue.
you have your hands behind your back, padding all slow, steps soft as you make your way to him. gojo keeps his bottle pressed to his lips but he sees it. how your skirt clings to your thighs. how your breasts ripple under the thin material. he lets out a low hum as you sit yourself on his lap.
you loop your hands around his neck. “hi.”
his lip tugs. “hi,”
he squeezes your waist as you press yourself into him. your tits smush against his chest, nipples hardening, and his fingers are already tracing the hem of your skirt & gliding up your thigh.
“how was the match?” you mumble.
“was good,” he mutters, but his thumb has already found your panties underneath your skirt. he rubs a slow circle over the bud. “you miss me?”
“no,” you sass, but he presses his thumb into your clit & your hips stutter. satoru laughs.
“i know what you like now,” he hums, left hand gliding up your side as the other rubs slow circles over your panties. “know it only takes a little.”
his thumb finds your nipple through your thin shirt. he rubs a circle over the pebbled peak, slow, but then he raises a brow. “no bra?”
you can’t respond. your breath hitches as your head falls into his shoulder.
“so cute,” he murmurs softly. he lets you press against him, leaving your panties to grope your heavy tits in his palm. he squeezes and fondles, pressing light kisses to your cheek as you make pretty noises in his ear. your hips buck into him.
“needy,” he scoffs, but his hands come up to guide your hips as you rut against him. he’s already hard and your panties are soaked thin and you let the material cling between your folds as your clit rubs against him. he flips up your skirt to find you drenched & slobbering. he bites his cheek.
“fuck, baby,” he rasps, sliding your panties over your aching cunt. you’re still humping him. “why’s your pussy so fucking wet?”
you only whimper as he presses his thumb to your sticky clit, rubbing hard circles over the bud. his other hand gropes your hip, guiding you faster over him. your breathing shudders as his thumb circles your clit faster and harder, until your hips are stuttering & he’s cupping your pussy so you cum in his palm.
you whimper, tears pricking at your lashes as you come down from your high. satoru kisses your cheek slow. “mmh, good job, baby.”
he’s still rubbing his palm over your pussy, massaging your warmth all slow & lazy. your eyes drop to his bulge, his cock practically twitching in his shorts. you reach a hand to glide over it, palming him so his hips twitch. he inhales sharply, “fuck—”
“not in my uniform,” he steals your hand, kissing your jaw. “gonna be a nightmare to clean.”
you glare at him through your lashes. “it’s already dirty, idiot.”
he laughs at your pretty face glaring up at him. your cheeks are still flushed, lashes wet, and your lips are in a frown but satoru swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. he folds his hand over yours and dips his head to kiss you warm & slow. you gasp as his tongue pushes in, a soft moan leaving your lips as his tongue grazes yours.
“another time,” he murmurs against your lips. “no pouting, yeah?”
you pout anyways, and satoru kisses it off.
3. NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND !
satoru is driving too fast.
his jaw is tight, knuckles white against the steering as you clutch your seatbelt beside him. your heart hammers against your ribs but the engine soon slows, his foot easing down on the breaks as the car comes to a stop at a traffic light.
today’s match went bad, really bad, so bad to the point that afterwards you’d tried to console him and he’d simply walked past. you try not to let it get to you. you know how men are when it comes to losing in sports.
but satoru’s breathing settles beside you, so you try once more.
“you played good today.”
silence.
"i know you're upset," you continue, voice soft. "but it's just one game, and you'll get them next time.”
silence again. his jaw only ticks, face illuminated by the traffic light’s red glow. the seconds seem to stretch into minutes, and you fumble with your skirt.
“you did your best,” you turn to him. “that’s all that matters—“
“can you stop?”
you freeze.
satoru doesn’t look at you. his fingers tap against the steering as he lowers his foot to the gas pedal. he’s not speeding anymore, but the silence stretches & you can feel a lump clawing at your throat.
you bite your lip. and satoru’s mad, yes, but he’s got no right to talk to you like that or take his anger out on you. so you suck in a breath, try to correct him. “i was only trying to help. you don’t have to take it out on me—“
“do you ever get tired of talking?”
“what?”
but satoru continues. “you always have something to say, don’t you? you’re not my fucking girlfriend. and i don’t need your fucking comfort.”
you blink. the words don’t register at first, but soon your throat is closing up, and you’re nodding obediently before you can think any better of it. your skirt bunches in your hands as you try to keep your breathing steady. god forbid you give him a reason to snap at you once again.
“you’re right,” you try for sass but it fails. “and i won’t act like it again.”
but satoru sees you through the rearview mirror. your eyes are on your lap, like you’re still trying to process what just happened, your thumbs fiddling with the hem of your skirt. satoru only swallows, glances away. if he ignores you long enough, you’ll be just fine, right?
your breath hitches beside him and he crumbles immediately.
he’s already pulling over, unbuckling his belt to reach over the console. “no baby, i’m sorry,” he pleads, and maybe he shouldn’t because it only makes tears fall from your eyes. “shh baby don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry.”
he smushes your face into his chest, carding his fingers through your hair. you try to push him away but he takes your hand and presses it to his chest.
“didn’t mean to snap at you,” his breathing is ragged as he cups your face. “don’t cry baby, you know i hate it when you cry.”
you sniffle as he swipes a thumb over your wet lashes. “then what are we?”
satoru doesn’t answer. instead he presses his lips to yours, slow and warm, head tilting to deepen the kiss. “you’re my girl,” kiss. “my baby,” kiss. “my everything,” kiss.
he doesn’t say my girlfriend. but he doesn’t need to, right?
footballer!gojo doesn’t do relationships. and cheerleaders like you don’t make good girlfriends anyway. so you swallow the lump growing in your throat & let him part open your thighs.
stealing your husband’s chocolate and finding out it was laced with an aphrodisiac!
[content: MDNI, crack smųt, a very unserious piece of work, piv, hair pulling, use of aphrodisiacs, sukuna’s sour but then he’s sweet]
Never in your life have you been so horny it hurt.
“Kuna, please—harder,” you cry out.
“I’m going as hard as I fucking can, you little slut,” he snaps, each thrust matching every harsh word that gets spat through his teeth. “THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T EAT RANDOM. CHOCOLATE. ON. THE. COUNTER.”
“I’m sorry! Fuck!! I didn’t know!”
“There was a note saying DON’T eat it—you just didn’t give a shit because you’re a thief and a glutton. A liar now, too,” he continues to scold you over the chocolate bar he was going to give to Jin so he’d stop groveling over his ex. It’s been 6 fucking months, he’s tired of having to listen to him go on and on about Kaori. Enough is enough—he needs to go out and sleep with someone.
And now Jin’s never going to shut up. Sukuna doesn’t even want to look at you right now—let alone reward your behavior with dick.
“And now you’re cryin’ like it’s my fuckin’ fault.” It’s him who should be crying right now. “It’s simple: Leave my fucking snacks alone. I always get multiples of each so you’d keep your grubby little hands off them. Why can’t you just be normal and go in my wallet?? Fuck—Arch that back some more.” He cracks his palm over your ass. “Yeah, hike it up nice and high.”
“I can’t!” It feels like it’s about to break with all the weight he’s putting on it! Both of his hands pinning you down, burying every last inch of his cock inside of you.
He scoffs, nudging for you to close your thighs, then planting his knees right next to yours so they stay that way. “Do you want to cum?”
“…yes,” you whimper.
“Then fucking arch it.”
You sniffle. “Okay.”
He breaks character and huffs out a laugh as he watches you continue to helplessly stretch and squelch around him, making a creamy mess all along his shaft. He straightens his back, big hands now firmly grabbing your hips as he picks up the pace.
“Yeahh—stay right there,” his chest rumbles as he lets out a low, drawn-out groan. The smack of his hips growing louder, driving himself right into that little spot that won’t stop screaming for his attention.
It has his attention now.
The new angle had you whining into the pillow, absolutely reeling from how good he was at this, despite his complaints. He knows how to be rough. Nearly lifting you off the bed once he starts pulling your hips back, heavy balls smacking against your sensitive clit as he makes you meet each and every rough thrust he delivers.
“F-fuckk!” you choke out, barely able to form a coherent sentence as you start babbling out a bunch of words.
“So fuckin’ spoiled.” He complains, but just barely. “C’mon brat—you’ve been working me like a fuckin’ dog, give it to me already.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t believe you. You sound like you’re in heaven right now. “Mmhh—I love you so much.” His scowl deepens. “So, so much—you’re so fucking big.“
“Tch.” He grabs a handful of your hair, then yanks you back until you’re up against his chest, lips grazing your ear while muttering in it. “I don’t want an apology. What I want is for you to cum on my fuckin’ cock already. Or should I just stop?”
“No, no don’t! Please! I’m trying, I swear,” you begin to plead with the man.
“Try harder.” Then he smiled, because he felt you squeeze around him. “Jesus Christ—you need to me talk you through it too? The chocolates supposed to make you horny, sweetheart. Not useless.”
“It’s not my fault,” you whimper, and squeeze around him again, pulling a condescending huff out of him.
“You poor thing,” he hums. “Probably spent the whole day waiting for me to come home so I could make you feel better, huh?”
His breath tickles your ear and you nearly moan. “Mhm—I thought about it all day.”
“Well aren’t you sweet,” he mutters, tone as condescending as ever. “You got what you wanted, too. I’ve been taking care of you for a while now. How many times have I cum in you now?”
“I… I don’t know—“
“Of course you fuckin’ don’t.” He cuts you off, unamused by your answer. “Want me to do it again? Fill you up, make you feel all nice and warm?”
“Please.”
“Give me what I want then. If these sheets aren’t soaked by the time I’m about to cum again, I’m pulling out and finishing on your face,” he lets go of your hair and begins to laugh. You don’t get much of a chance to react before you feel the pads of his fingers on your clit, pulling a gasp out of you once he starts rubbing little circles on top of already fucking you. “Heh—let’s see if playing with this cute little clit saves you.”
And he knows you don’t deserve it—any of it, honestly. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself, not with the reactions he gets out of you. He married you for many reasons—getting to spend the rest of his life with a squirter was one of them. The moment your breathing grows labored and you sound like you’re gonna start to cry, his lids grow heavy and he starts saying all the things he told himself he wouldn’t say today.
"Yeahhh, that’s it, baby—fuuuuck—takin’ it so good.” He is fucking gone. Voice thick, filled with nothing but lust and awe as he presses against your lower belly. “C’mon, you want it here, right? Yeah, you know what to do—don’t let some fuckin’ asshole finish on your sweet little face.”
Yes. Your husband just degraded himself. And you just egg him on without meaning to. You were already whining about how it was too much, the incoherent “want it inside,” just made it better worse.
“I will, I’ll give you so fuckin’ much if you just give me one—just one. Easy. Shit—I’ll fill you up as much as you want afterwards.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter when it’s what has you crying and trembling and finally gushing around his cock.“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, that’s—fuuuuck yeah. Good job, sweetheart—good fuckin’ job. Fuck.”
Funny enough, he came right after you, which was a relief because that meant his job was done and he was finally able to give his dick a fucking break after hours of feeling like he was working for free, when he had already worked a regular eight hour shift prior. The biggest relief of all was seeing you lie limp in bed, after slightly worrying if you ever actually would.
He leans over you with a smug smile, already having forgotten how much you pissed him off earlier as he moved some hair away from your face. Checking to see if you’re actually asleep or not, then feeling a deep sense of peace when seeing that you are. He presses a kiss against your cheekbone, and in the most loving way hopes you stay that way because he cannot do that again. Then finally, he gets up to use the bathroom.
The peace is only lasts four steps until it’s completely shattered again when he hears your weak voice.
𝒯oji gets tired of you whining for him to go faster, so he flips you over and makes you ride him and do all the work.
1.4k words, quick read 𝑓𝑡. rough!toji ( +18 )
The apartment was quiet except for the low, rhythmic and ragged sound of your own breathing.
Toji didn't look like a man who was currently holding your hips in a vice grip, pinning you to the mattress while he took his time. He looked completely unbothered. His hair was a bit messy, sticking to his forehead with a light sheen of sweat, but his eyes were entirely steady, fixed on your face with a lazy, satisfied smirk. He was pacing himself, deliberate and agonizingly slow, ignoring the way you were clutching at his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin.
"Babeee, please," you whined, your voice thick and dazed. The friction was driving you out of your mind, a sweet, heavy ache building deep in your core. You arched your back, trying to force a quicker pace, but he just chuckled.
"Please what, princess?" he teased. He shifted just a fraction, hitting a spot that made your toes curl and a pathetic gasp slip past your lips. "You gotta speak up. I can't understand you when you're making noises like that."
"You're doing it on purpose," you cried out, your head rolling back against the pillows. Your skin was flushed, and your eyes were hooded, completely lost in the haze of what he was doing to you. "Stop playing. Faster. Just go faster."
"Nah. I like looking at you like this," he said, completely nonchalant. He leaned down, pressing a lazy kiss to the column of your neck, his stubble scraping against your skin just enough to make you shiver. "All needy and impatient. Suits you."
Then, without a single word of warning, he pulled completely out of you.
The sudden emptiness was like a physical shock. You let out a devastated whine, your hands instantly flying to his chest to push him back, but Toji was already moving. With effortless, he grabbed your waist, flipped you over, and settled himself flat on his back.
You were left stranded, sitting on his thighs, shivering from the cold air hitting your damp skin. The loss of his warmth made you desperate. Your head was spinning, your breath coming in short, uneven puffs as you stared down at him, completely overwhelmed.
Toji just linked his hands behind his head, flexing his broad chest, a wicked amused tilt to his lips. "Your turn," he said, his tone was casual, like he was asking you what you wanted for dinner. "Go ahead. Ride it."
"Toji, no, I'm tired," you whined, your voice cracking as you leaned forward, resting your forearms against his chest. You looked down at him with wide, tear-brimmed eyes, your lower lip trembling. "In…Put it back in. Please. I can't move."
"Sure you can princess," he murmured, his thumb reaching up to lazily stroke your bottom lip, dragging it down. "You want it, don't you? Look at you, you're practically shaking. Just take it."
You let out a frustrated, desperate sound, a mix of a sob and a groan. The ache between your thighs was unbearable, a loud, throbbing demand that completely overrode your exhaustion. You couldn't wait for him to change his mind. Guided by pure, unadulterated need, you shifted your weight, lifting yourself up just enough to reach down. Your fingers were trembling as you guided him to your opening, the wet, hot friction making you gasp before you even sat down.
Slowly, you pressed yourself down onto him, taking his cock back in all at once.
A heavy, low groan finally broke through Toji’s nonchalant facade, his stomach muscles rippling under your knees as he took a sharp breath. Your eyes fluttered shut, a wave of intense relief washing over you as you finally felt full again. You sank completely onto his lap, resting your forehead against his collarbone for a second, just breathing him in.
"Fuck babe.., just like that," Toji muttered, his hands coming up to rest casually on your hips, not forcing you yet, just anchoring you. "Don't stop now. You were complaining so much, let's see it."
Driven by the sheer desperation to chase that peak, you started to move. At first, it was clumsy and slow, your muscles aching from the effort, but the sensation was too good to care. You lifted yourself and sank back down, finding a rhythm that made you cry out, your head tossing side to side.
Toji didn't move a muscle to help. He just lay there, a spectator to your undoing, watching you with an intense, burning gaze. He watched the way your hips rolled, the way your boobs bounced, and the sheer, unbridled pleasure written across your face. Every time you whined his name, his grip on your hips tightened just a fraction, but he let you keep the reins. For ten minutes straight, you set the pace, completely consumed by him, riding it as if your life depended on it. You were panting, sweat dripping down your spine, your thighs burning, but you couldn't stop. You were entirely under his spell, and the feeling of his cock inside you was just magical.
"Toji... Toji, I'm close, I'm gonna—" you gasped, your voice breaking as the tension reached a fever pitch.
Suddenly, the lazy spectator disappeared.
Toji’s hands shot up from your hips, his large palms cupping your ass roughly, forcing your face down so you had to look him dead in the eye. His expression had completely hardened, the playful smirk gone, replaced by something hungry, and entirely dominant.
"Then let’s finish it," he growled.
Before you could even process the command, his right hand snapped down, delivering a sharp, stinging slap right across your bare ass. The crack of it echoed in the quiet room, the sudden spike of pain and heat sending a violent jolt straight to your core. You screamed, your internal muscles clenching around him so tightly he let out a choked hiss.
"Faster, princess. Move," he ordered, his voice dropping an octave as he slapped you again, harder this time, driving you into a frenzy.
The combination of the pain, the dirt-dirty friction, and the absolute authority in his voice broke whatever restraint you had left. You started moving frantically, your hips slamming down against his, completely wild and unhinged. Toji met you halfway now, he gripped your hips and arched his pelvis upward, driving himself deeper into you, his hand gripping your cheek so hard your lips parted, forcing you to take his deep, rough kisses while you rode him to the absolute brink.
Then the room blurred, your vision went wet at the edges, and with one final, stinging slap to your thigh and a rough upward thrust from him. You collapsed forward onto his chest, sobbing out his name as your body violently convulsed around him, entirely spent, while Toji buried his face in your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.
And right at that exact second, he came out.
You felt the sudden, thick heat of him bursting deep inside you, a heavy, pulsing torrent that felt incredibly warm against your sensitive walls. He filled you to the absolute brim, each thick pulse of his cum sending a fresh wave of aftershocks through your body. He kept thrusting up, short and intense, milking every last drop out of himself until he was panting heavily into the crook of your neck, his large frame trembling slightly against yours.
"Fuck," Toji breathed out, his voice was rough and low. He didn't pull out ; he just lay there, soaking, his hands rubbing slow, soothing circles into your lower back where the skin was still flushed from his slaps. "You really tried to drain me dry today, huh?"
You let out a weak, pathetic whine, too exhausted to even lift your head. "Shut up... you told me to go faster."
He shifted his hips just a fraction, a lazy, shallow tilt that made you whimpering as the friction caught you off guard. "And who was the one begging me to go faster a minute ago?"
"Mhhh," you whined, hiding your face deeper into his neck, your cheeks burning.
Slowly, the fog in your brain began to clear, replaced by a soft, heavy languor. He was still buried deep inside you, thick and yielding, the warmth of his cum slowly leaking out and pooling between your thighs where your skin met. It was a messy, intimate sensation that made you let out a soft, embarrassed whine, shifting your hips slightly to try and pull away.
"Uh-uh," Toji mumbled, his large hands sliding down to cup your ass, locking you firmly in place. He didn't sound tired; he just sounded incredibly pleased with himself. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Babe... it's messy," you mumbled into his skin, your voice incredibly small, dazed, and completely spent. "Let me up."
He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated right through your chest. "Stop acting like I don't see that pussy cumming every day of the week and besides I like being inside you. You're so tight, princess. Still squeezing me." he murmured, a low rumble vibrating through his chest against yours making you stay in place. He shifted slightly, the movement causing a bit of the warm fluid to slick between your thighs, making you twitch. "You’ve been a good girl today. You took every drop of it. Wet, till the end babe."
"Don't start." You complained, your voice muffled against his neck, a sleepy heat warming your cheeks at his dirty talk.
"What? I'm praising you," he chuckled, the familiar amusement returning to his tone.
He tilted your chin up, his eyes hooded but incredibly soft as he pulled you into a deep, slow kiss. It wasn't rushed or demanding like before; it was lazy, tasting of salt and heavy breathing, his tongue sliding against yours in a calm, comforting rhythm that finally made your heart rate start to slow down.
When he broke the kiss, he didn't move away. Instead, he slid his hands up your ribcage, lazily framing your breasts. He leaned his head down, pressing his face right into your chest.
"Thanks for the meal, princess," he mumbled, his voice muffled by your skin.
Before you could even process the words, he blew a loud, vibrating kiss right against the underside of your left breast.
The sudden sensation made you gasp and immediately burst into a breathless laugh, your whole body shaking. "Toji! Stop, that tickles!"
"Nope. Gotta show proper appreciation," he muttered against your skin, completely unbothered by your squirming. He moved over to the right one, his lips wrapped around your nipple. He sucked on it lazily, a slow, rhythmic pull that sent a direct, sweet ache straight back down. You let out a shaky gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as he used his tongue to swirl around the peak, kissing the soft, dark slope of your breast, that contrasted entirely with how rough he had just been, before planting a series of loud, smacking kisses all over them. "Very good. Five stars. Highly recommend."
"You are so stupid," you giggled, your hands weakly push at his dark hair, though you were smiling so wide your cheeks ached.
Toji finally chuckled, wrapping his arms fully around your waist."You're so good for me," he murmured against your skin, his voice was low as he switched again to your left breast, giving it the same slow, attention. It gave a tiny, deliberate twitch inside you, reminding you exactly who owned your body right now. "Fucking perfect." And he finally burying his face in the crook of your neck, content to just hold you there, pinned to his chest, while the sticky warmth of the aftermath settled between you.
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