୨୧ choso’s just about as pathetic as a man can get. ୨୧
this realization comes to you after gojo begs you to give his friend a chance.
“please,” gojo says, and you scowl at him. “he’s nice. and i’m pretty sure he has a massive thing for you.”
“me?” you ask, incredulous. “i’ve never talked to him in my life.”
gojo sighs, flopping back onto your couch. “if i ever, like, loosely mention you in conversation, i swear he blushes.”
that’s how you end up in the living room of the frat friday night. loud, warm, the air slightly hazy.
choso right beside you on the couch, barely looking at you at first, all hunched shoulders and quiet glances, dark hair brushing his neck, dermal piercing catching the light every time he nervously shifts.
yeah, you think, he’s cute.
you end up sharing a joint, and that’s when you notice how he freezes every time your fingers brush his, how his breath hitches. it’s not subtle. not even a little. and when you lean a bit closer, knee nudging his, he almost drops it. across the room, gojo and the others are already smirking like they know exactly how this is going to go.
they don’t even try to hide it when they leave. gojo claps choso on the shoulder, says something low that makes his ears turn red, and suddenly it’s just the two of you on that worn-out couch, the music muffled now, the air heavier.
choso apologizes. for his friends, for himself.
you remember thinking how easy it is to get a reaction out of him. how all it takes is a hand on his chest, a soft question, and he’s unraveling right in front of you.
he nods at everything, says yes too quickly like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he hesitates. when he slips and said “please,” you know you have him.
“d’you like me, cho?” you murmur with glassy eyes, hand sliding up his collar and pressing against his nape, fingers deftly threading through inky hair.
“g—yes. yes, so much,” he exhales, voice shaking slightly as you pull him closer to you.
“wanna fuck?” you whisper, straddling yourself on his lap and relishing in the small, broken sound he makes when your glossed lips suckle at the junction of his neck.
“here? now?” his eyes bugger wide, hands squeezing your waist as your lips trail up, and up, and up, until you’re sliding your tongue in his mouth, bracketing your lips against his, swallowing his needy little moans.
he pants into your mouth as your hands pull at his hoodie and he shrugs it off wordlessly, cheeks flushed as your eyes trail down the milky expanse of his chest.
“pretty,” you murmur, and he whines, hands frozen at his sides when you slip your shorts off and toss them to the side.
“as much as i wanna feel your mouth on me,” you breathe, pupils blown, “i need to feel you in me. now. yeah?”
“y—yeah,” he shudders, hands fisting the couch beside him nervously as you tug his jeans and boxers down mid-thigh, his cock beading precum as it aches towards his stomach.
“i—ohmygod,” he slurs, whimper being pulled from his throat as you sink down on him in one shot. “please—”
“haven’t even done anything,” you say, hands locking onto his shoulders as you lift your hips slowly before dropping them back down, the motion making choso buck up desperately and moan into your neck.
“m not gonna last,” he whines pathetically, and you sneer, telling him to be good for you or you’ll stop.
you think it’s 30 seconds before he’s cumming, head falling back against the couch with a strangled sound.
he whimpers when you ask him which direction his bedroom’s in.
choso’s eyes widen and he makes a small, choked sound. his cheeks turn bright red, his entire body stiffening.
“i—i…you..we can..?” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. his hands are gripping your bedsheets so hard his knuckles are turning white.
“yeah, you can kiss your girlfriend, cho,” you murmur, tongue swiping over your bottom lip. his wide eyes follow the movement, and he swallows thickly.
choso’s face flushes further and he slowly, hesitantly leans towards you. his eyes flutter closed just as his lips softy touch yours in a gentle kiss. his hands stay frozen on his thighs, not knowing what to do with them.
you slot your lips gently against his, hand curling at the base of his neck before you pull back slightly, smile etched on your lips. “you can touch me, you know.”
choso looks at you like you’ve just presented him with an impossible math problem.
“wh—where?” his breath hitches and he tentatively places a warm hand on your thigh, the other hovering awkwardly near your waist. “here?”
“sure,” you giggle, pulling him back to your lips from his nape.
he makes a soft whimpering sound against your lips, his hand on your thigh tightening slightly. the hand hovering near your waist finally settles at your lower back, pulling you closer.
your hands trail from his neck into his hair, gently tugging at his inky strands, and choso makes another desperate sound that goes straight to your core, his hand slipping just under the hem of your shorts.
choso gasps softly against your mouth, breaking the kiss for a moment. his eyes are hazy with want, lips slightly swollen.
i definitely just touched her underwear, he thinks to himself, mind racing. lace. it was lace. oh my god, she hates me. she’s gonna hate me. am i supposed to tell her it was an accident? do i pretend it never happened?
choso feels his pants growing tighter. he nearly faints on the spot out of embarrassment. no, no, no, not now, nonono—
unaware of his inner turmoil, you pout, tilting his head towards you again. “cho, baby. what’s wrong?”
“nothing!” he chokes out immediately. “this is just—it’s so good, i—“
“we’ve only kissed a little,” you tease, pushing his hair back delicately. his eyes flutter shut when your nails scrape gently against his scalp, and his cock throbs very insistently in his pants. both of his hands tense on your waist immediately. god, she’s gonna think i’m so weird. think of something else. think of broccoli. i hate broccoli. or—or boring, three hours movies. or..or…
choso loses his train of thought when you straddle his lap, eyes glinting at him before you kiss his jaw softly, sucking at a spot just below his ear. he whines, head tilting back, hands automatically gripping your hips. your lips on his neck send electric shocks straight to his groin, making him throb painfully against your core. “mmnh—“
when you start kissing him again — with tongue, he tells himself — he nearly whimpers. his hands pull your waist down onto him, straining for friction.
you pull your shirt over your head, breathless, eyes blown wide as you look at your cute, adorable boyfriend. he gulps, brain short-circuiting with your tits eye-level to his face.
you pull his hair, tilting his head up to yours, and he moans as he gazes at your parted lips, your lust-blown eyes.
he promptly cums in his pants at the sight with a full-body shudder, panting, a whine getting caught in his throat. “oh—oh my god, i’m so sor—“
“shhh, cho, s’okay,” you mumble, kissing the corner of his mouth before laughing softly and dropping to your knees between his legs, lidded eyes looking up at him through your lashes.
✭STRATEGY ~ I got you on my radar, soon you're gonna be with me!✭
✭Pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader
✭Synopsis: Ever since moving into your new apartment, a certain someone has been invading all of your thoughts. Your effortlessly alluring neighbor, Choso Kamo, that is. You’d run into him at the community pool, or the gym, or the laundromat—purely coincidental, you swear. Your little crush, however, morphs into more of an obsession. Luckily for you though, this infatuation seems to flow both ways. And he has a strategy of his own.
✭A/N: this took me a long time to write for some reason, not my best work but that's okay (i hope). also peep me writing somewhat dominant choso content for once!
•┈••✦ ✦••┈••┈••✦ ✦••┈••┈••✦ ✦••
Choso Kamo, where do you even start?
You remember the first time you saw him—pale skin glistening with water in the afternoon sun, climbing out of the pool like he was some kind of rom-com cliche. He shook the water from his dark hair like a puppy that took shelter from the rain, tired round eyes to match. His emo boy sex appeal was upheld by the black tattoo that spanned across his wide nose.
He was created to ruin your life, surely.
Ever since that day, you started etching his routine into memory. Noon meant he’d leave for his daily workout. At six, he’d head out again, guitar in tow, to play at local pubs—gigs you’d assume. And sometime between midnight and two, he’d return—stopping by the apartment pool to smoke a cigarette or go for a short swim.
Some may say that you’re a bit of a stalker, but who were they to judge? They’d do the same if they saw the enigma that was Choso Kamo for themselves—right?
Up until now, you’d never exchanged a single word. You were only aware of each other in those overlapping moments—crossing paths by chance, or so you told yourself. You’d watch him from the poolside or the gym, careful to not let your gaze linger too long, but sometimes he’d catch you. When he noticed, it was either a curt nod or a look that lasted just a beat too long.
Currently, you’re in your sluttiest bikini, lounging by the pool—sunglasses low on the bridge of your nose to conceal your eyes. You just want to ogle the mouth watering sight before you discreetly, you’d think that you deserve a reward after your hard day at work. However, what you didn’t expect was for your eye candy to shamelessly eye you in return.
It was late evening, the sun setting and the sky a comforting shade of orange. Choso Kamo sat at the edge of the pool, his wet hair clinging to his broad shoulders in a way that made your thighs clench. He’s looking at you, not very subtle with his gaze—his eyes trail from your smooth legs, to your waist, and up to your tits. The both of you are just waiting for the other to acknowledge the tension.
It was just the two of you, far too late for any sane person to want to go to the pool. So you suppose that it’s befitting that a freak like you would be here, with a purpose of course. But, why was Choso here? Maybe you just happened to catch him on a day when he didn’t have a gig?
Surely he didn’t have the same motives as you, right?
“No gig tonight?” you speak first, quickly regretting it the moment you realized that you had said something you should have no way of knowing.
“Figured I’d take a day off-“ his deep voice sends shivers up your spine—you had imagined his voice before, but truly hearing it in the flesh was better than anything your sinful brain could have dreamed of. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be binging your favorite show right about now?” he huffs a laugh, eyes still drilling holes into your laid out form.
How did he know that?
“You some kind of stalker?” you let out a shy giggle, trying to gauge how much he truly knows about you only for him to dodge the question entirely.
“I should be asking you the same thing.” Choso stands up, moving over to your lounge chair on the pool deck. “Isn’t it just so funny that we keep running into each other, sweetheart?” His mouth-watering body is looming over you now, blocking the setting sun. You can’t ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach from the pet name.
“Isn’t it just?” you try to play dumb—flirtatious, but innocent.
“Mhmm—well, I’m Choso-“ he extends his hand for a handshake. You have to hold yourself back from saying “I know” before reaching in kind. “You should come to one of my gigs sometime, since you seem to know that I play.” he teases, his hand finally touching yours.
Sparks.
“I-I’ll consider it.” You stutter, before giving him your name in return. You have to swallow the building excess of saliva in your mouth as he walks away, towel slung under his massive bicep.
What you didn’t know was that Choso had been watching you too—ever since he saw you from his balcony, struggling to carry boxes into your new place.
Something about the way you carried yourself had him in a chokehold—your effortless beauty, your awkwardness, your blatant interest in him.
Choso would go out of his way to curate a routine that you could follow like the obsessive little thing he knew you were. He wanted you. But what he wanted more was for you to come to him first—he just needed to lay the framework.
Your little pool meet-cute only occurred because he deliberately orchestrated it. He cancelled his gig that day in favor of giving you a show to enjoy from the pool deck. He liked- no, loved that you dressed up for the occasion—his dick thoroughly enjoyed it, that’s for sure. Choso had assumed that you would see him at the pool from your window—quickly rushing down to get your treat for the day.
You were just so predictable.
That’s perfectly fine, of course. Choso admittedly loves a woman that knows what she wants (especially in the bedroom).
You squealed when you closed the door behind you, you had never expected for him to be so…flirty. That pet name he had substituted for your name was still bouncing around in your skull, body buzzing with child-like excitement.
Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart…
Between the gig invitation, the hand shake, and lingering eyes, your infatuation with the nonchalant, emo boy next door was certainly growing beyond anything reasonable.
You quickly discard your risky bikini and sunglasses once you reach your bedroom, ready to make use of this new masturbation material—his defined abs, those biceps the size of your head, his water-smudged eyeliner…
You go to grab your trusty vibrator from the top of your dresser, preparing for sweet relief only to find it on the floor, as if it had been knocked over.
What the hell?
Choso groaned as he entered his apartment, swim trunks entirely too tight—his sweet little neighbor being the culprit. The way you subconsciously chewed on your lips while he was eyeing you from the edge of the pool, almost predatory in nature, did something for him.
Choso trudged to his bedroom, ready to take a shower and indulge in his fantasies—you on your knees, long nails dragging down, down, down to his studded belt, looking up at him with that fixed gaze he knows oh so well…
God damn.
Choso just wanted you to jump him and take what you wanted from him right on the pool deck. He would give you anything and everything in a heartbeat.
The following day, you had genuinely ran into Choso on the elevator of all things. You had just gotten back from your nine to five, he was on his way to a gig—guitar in hand, ripped tee, baggy black jeans. Oh, he looked straight out of the band posters your teenage self would’ve had pinned on her wall.
“Hey, sweetheart-“ he spoke first this time, low baritone making you acutely aware of your increasingly wet panties. “Have you thought about coming to one of my gigs yet?” he’s looking at you, brown eyes tight lined with smudged black eyeliner.
“Yeah! You on your way to one right now?” you curse yourself for your stupid question.
“Mhmm-“ he pauses, thinking of what to say next. “I play in an hour, if you’re- interested.” he asks, face resting in a shit-eating grin.
“I’ll check it out.” you return his smile, heart beating so fast you think it might jump out of your damn chest.
“Great, see you there.” He tells you the pub’s address before giving you a shy nod and leaving you stunned in the elevator.
You were so enamored by the man that you had failed to realize that not only did you not get off on your floor, but had gone all the way down to the lobby. You groan before pressing the button that will take you up to your apartment.
Sure enough, an hour later you find yourself dolled up at the pub—drink in hand as you wait for Choso to start his set. You’re still in disbelief that within twenty-four hours your hot neighbor went from a deluded fantasy to an unsettling reality—he’s within reach, and you just might get what you want.
You gasp when you see him come into view under the stage lights—guitar strapped around him, dark messy hair, veiny hands covered in silver rings. It was like seeing him for the first time all over again.
There are other men on stage with him, his band members you assume. They’re all very attractive but none compare to your Choso.
They start their set, playing various rock songs that you’re not familiar with—but none of that matters when your eyes are locked onto Choso’s dexterous fingers plucking strings.
You can only imagine what they would feel like inside you.
The rock music fades into a simple ambience to fuel your dirty musings, but you’re interrupted when a boy with pink hair who barely looks old enough to be in a pub approaches you.
“Hey! I’m Yuji, Choso’s brother-“ he introduces himself, apparently unaware that Choso had never told you about his family. “I recognized you from the pictures he showed me and thought I’d come say hi!” he beams, reaching his hand out to shake yours.
Pictures?
“Oh! Uhm- nice to meet you, Yuji-“ you’re thoroughly confused but return his handshake nonetheless. “Your brother…has pictures of me?”
“Yeah! Aren’t you guys talking or something?” He falters for a moment before glancing at his brother and back to you.
“Uhm- yeah, something like that-“ you mumble before returning your gaze to the guitarist for a moment. “Would you mind showing me the picture he sent you?” you ask, still looking at Choso—your heart drops to your ass when you make brief eye contact.
“I can, yeah-“ Yuji fishes his phone from his pocket before scrolling briefly and bringing the phone up to your face.
It’s a picture of you on your couch, in your pajamas, watching tv—it looked like it was taken from your bedroom doorway. A purely innocent photo to those who didn’t know that Choso has never been in your apartment (to your knowledge).
Is that how he knew about your late night tv habits?
You know that this new discovery should scare the shit out of you, but for some reason you find yourself trembling with excitement. Was Choso just as obsessed as you were?
“Yuji! Get out of here!”
You're jolted from your thoughts when you realize that the music had stopped and Choso was making his way over to you and Yuji’s table—eyebrows furrowed and steps heavy.
“I was just saying hi!” Yuji yells back before returning to the black haired boy he was with across the pub.
“Sorry about him-“
“Wanna tell me why you have a picture of me in my apartment?” you ask, trying to be serious but there’s a slight upturn to your mouth. Choso freezes, standing like a deer in headlights in front of your table.
“So I was right? You are some kind of stalker?” you can’t help the tipsy giggle that escapes your lips—you’re reaching out to him, motioning Choso to sit next to you.
He slowly moves to take his seat, hesitating like you have a gun pointed to his head. When he finally sits down, you rest your head on his shoulder making him relax a small amount.
“I didn’t mean for you to ever see that, I didn’t know my brother was coming either.” he tries to explain himself, not that any of what he said could negate his actions. The lack of denying really made you laugh.
“So what? You're not even gonna deny and defend your honour?” you tease, looking up at him from your spot on his shoulder.
“No point. You don’t seem all that bothered by it either-“ he lets out a shaky breath before continuing. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same if you knew how to pick locks.” he lets out a low chuckle before moving one of his hands to rest on your bare thigh.
“Can’t argue with that-“ you put your hand on top of his before guiding it up, up, up. “But if you wanted me to pose for a picture I would’ve done it in a heartbeat, Cho, had you asked.” you bite your lip when his breath hitches.
You can barely say a word before Choso is shoving you up against his front door, mouth on yours, hands everywhere—his thick thigh pressed between both of yours. His kisses are frantic, tongue so deep down your throat you’d think he was looking for a love confession. You can feel the outline of his hard cock against your tummy as he tries to melt into your body.
“Do you h-have any other pictures of me that I should know about, Cho?” you joke when he finally releases your mouth to leave wet kisses down the column of your throat.
“Mhmm- I have some of you by the pool-“ his hands grab the hem of your dress and pull it over your hips, exposing your ruined underwear. “Some of you in the gym-“ he cups your soaked cunt through your panties and you grind down into his touch. “And some of you in the shower.” he groans at his own confession, finally pulling your panties to the side and circling your clit with two fingers.
“Oh- you’re s-so dirty, Cho-“ you let out breathy moans as his pace on your clit speeds up. “I should really c-call the- ngh- cops on you, you filthy s-stalker-“
“But that would be kind of hypocritical, no?” he counters, biting down on your collar bone making your legs buckle.
“Fuck- I guess so-“ you’re cut off by your own whine when Choso sinks a thick finger inside of you and curling it just right—just as you’d expected from the guitarist. “Oh my god- you p-probably jerked off to those pictures, huh?”
“Everyday.” he answers simply before picking you up and taking you to his bedroom.
Choso lays you out on his bed like you’re made of glass before moving to strip you bare. Your dress is discarded on the floor, your panties still pulled to the side—they’re far too pretty for him to want to take them off of you anyways.
“You’re so damn beautiful, sweetheart-“ he climbs on top of you, still fully clothed. “the pictures will never compare to this.” he groans, kissing his way down to your pussy.
“What about my bikini at the pool?” you giggle, still proud of your outfit choice for your totally natural occurring meet-cute.
“You don’t even want to know.” he laughs too, leaving searing kisses on your inner thighs before diving into your cunt.
Choso licks a wide stripe over your entire pussy before sucking your clit into his waiting mouth. Filthy sounds of suckling and lip smacking fill the room as he feasts on your slick.
“Shit- feels s-so good, Cho-“ you dig your nails into his scalp, bucking your hips against his face—his brown puppy eyes staring into your damn soul as you use him.
“Did- did you ever- mmph- run into me on p-purpose too?” you ask, trying to form coherent words but it’s getting difficult when Choso is devouring you like he hasn’t eaten in days.
“All the time, sweetheart-“ he breaks contact with your cunt to speak, quickly replacing his mouth with tight circles of his fingers. “loved seeing the look on your face when you’d see me-“ his fingers slid into your pussy again, repeatedly hitting that special spot inside of you. “Like I’d hung the moon and stars.”
“Gonna cum, Cho!” the coil in your belly is uncomfortably tight, ready to snap at any second. Choso just grins before lowering himself back to your cunt and hollows his cheeks around your clit, fingers never letting up.
“Oh- fuck!” your body tenses, then releases with violent jerks of your hips—your hands repeatedly smacking the bed like it had personally offended you. Loud whines turn into breathy moans as you come down from your high, Choso greedily drinking down your juices the whole way through.
“Tastes sooo good, baby.” he’s still lapping at your cunt even when you’re trying to push his head away, the stimulation quickly becoming too much.
“Can’t t-take anymore, Cho-“
“But I’ve been d-dreaming about this for so long-“ his words are muffled by your cunt. “Give me one more- please.” his chocolate irises melting away your protests.
You just nod, unable to argue anymore—your second orgasm not far away. Choso’s fingers nearly double in pace, rough pounds to your cunt becoming borderline unbearable. All the while his tongue flicks at your clit like he’s trying to kill you. He’s completely and utterly pussy drunk.
“Cumming!” you gush around his fingers with a loud cry, hips raising off the bed, fingers clawing at his hair. You drown him in your fluids, your orgasm ripping through you more violently than the last.
“No m-more!” you have to pry Choso’s head off of you, begging him to let you breathe.
“So good for me, sweetheart.” he finally pulls away, licking his lips, careful not to let any of your essence go to waste. He kisses up your body before taking his phone out of his back pocket and snapping a photo of your swollen cunt—you’re still too gone to even realize what he’s doing.
“Hey, Cho?” you try to catch his attention, a certain question popping into your head.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” he asks, setting his phone down and taking his shirt off.
“Were you in my apartment yesterday?” you had remembered that your vibrator had been knocked over when you got back from the pool.
“Don’t worry about it, baby.” he dismisses you before unbuckling his studded belt and freeing his cock.
But you weren’t going to accept that answer—you swiftly sat up before pushing Choso down on his back and straddling him. Your soaked cunt grinding down on his admittedly, huge dick.
“Christ, sweetheart.” he lets out a breathy whine at your sudden display of control.
“What were you doing, Cho?” you coax him into answering with a slow roll of your hips, he groans.
“Fuck- I was going through y-your drawers-“
“Did you take anything?”
“No-“
“Are you telling the truth?”
“Yes- I just- fuck- I just jerked off to your stuff-“ it sounded like it physically pained him to admit it, but his worries immediately evaporated when you sink an inch down on his cock without warning.
“You’re disgusting, Choso-“ you giggle from above him, hissing a little at the delicious stretch.
All he can do is whine as you sink further and further down his weeping cock, laughing at his glossed over eyes and needy expression.
“And here I- ngh- was thinking I was the creepy one-“ you moan when you finally fully spear yourself on Choso’s dick—hips rolling in an effort to adjust to his obnoxious girth.
“M’sorry, sweetheart-“ his heart stops when you have his own phone in your hand, hovering over his pathetic face. You snap a quick photo before sending it to your number.
“Awww, don’t worry, Cho-“ you lean down to plant an innocent smooch on his pouty lips. “All is forgiven as long as you agree to be mine-“ you giggle again, clearly enthralled by his pitiful demeanor. “I didn’t do all the work of seducing you for nothing.”
“What the f-fuck kind of question is that? Of course I’m yours.”
If any of these themes are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please scroll past. 18+ only / MDNI
The knock on your dorm room door made you jump, nearly spilling your coffee across the organic chemistry textbook you'd been highlighting. You weren't expecting anyone—your roommate was gone for the weekend, and you'd specifically planned a quiet Friday night of studying.
"Coming," you called out, adjusting your glasses and smoothing down your natural hair, pulled up in a messy puff on top of your head.
When you opened the door, your brain short-circuited.
Shoko Ieiri stood in your doorway, looking like she'd stepped off the cover of a magazine. Her silky brown hair fell perfectly around her shoulders, her makeup was immaculate despite it being nearly eight PM.
The most popular girl in your organic chemistry class. President of the most exclusive sorority on campus. And absolutely, devastatingly gorgeous.
"Hey, cutie." She smiled, and you forgot how to breathe. "Can I come in?"
"I—what—yes?" You stepped aside automatically, your cheeks burning. "I mean, yes. Of course. Um. Why?"
Smooth. Very smooth.
Shoko walked past you, her perfume leaving a trail of something expensive and intoxicating. She surveyed your small dorm room with interest—the fairy lights strung above your bed, the overflowing bookshelf, the desk covered in color-coded notes and highlighters.
"Cute room." She turned back to you, and there was something in her dark eyes that made your stomach flip. "Very you."
"Thanks?" You closed the door, hovering awkwardly by your desk. "Not to be rude, but... why are you here? We've never really talked before."
"We sit next to each other in orgo."
"You sit next to me because it's assigned seating."
She laughed, low and warm. "Fair point. But I've been meaning to talk to you for a while now. You're kind of hard to approach, you know."
You blinked. "I'm hard to approach? You're literally the most popular girl on campus."
She sat down on your bed—your bed—like she belonged there. "I need your help."
"My help?"
"I'm failing orgo." She said it so casually. "Like, actually failing. If I don't pass the next exam, I'm going to lose my position in the house."
That didn't make sense. You'd seen Shoko in class—she was always attentive, always taking notes. Sure, she spent a lot of time looking at her phone, but she didn't seem stupid.
"You want me to tutor you?"
"If you don't mind." She patted the bed beside her. "I can pay. And I'm a very good student when properly motivated."
This was insane. Shoko was in your room, on your bed, asking you to tutor her. Things like this didn't happen to girls like you—quiet, nerdy girls who spent Friday nights studying instead of partying.
"I... sure. Okay." You grabbed your textbook and notes, settling onto the bed beside her with what you hoped was a casual distance between you. "What chapter are you struggling with?"
"All of them?"
You stared at her. "All of them."
"I told you, I'm failing." She pulled out a bag of gummy bears, offering them to you. "Start from the beginning. I'm a blank slate."
Three hours later, your voice was hoarse from explaining reaction mechanisms, and Shoko had somehow migrated closer and closer until her thigh was pressed against yours. You tried to ignore it—tried to focus on the molecular structures you were drawing—but her proximity was making it very hard to think.
"So the nucleophile attacks the electrophilic carbon," you explained, pointing at your diagram, "which causes the leaving group to—"
"You're really pretty when you're concentrating."
Your pen skidded across the page. "What?"
Shoko was looking at you with an expression you couldn't read. "You get this little furrow between your eyebrows. And you bite your lip when you're thinking. It's cute."
"I—that's—we should focus on the material."
"Should we?" She reached out, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. Her fingers lingered on your cheek. "I have something to tell you."
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could hear it. "W-What?"
"I'm not actually failing orgo."
The words didn't compute. "But you said—"
"I have a 94 in that class." Her smile turned slightly sheepish. "I've been purposefully bombing assignments for the last month so I'd have an excuse to come talk to you."
"You... what?"
"I've had a crush on you since the first day of class." She said it so simply, like it was obvious. "But you never noticed me. You were always buried in your books, or rushing off to the library, or studying in that little corner of the coffee shop where you think no one can see you."
"That's... a lot of observation."
"I'm very observant when it comes to things I want."
"And you... want me?"
"Desperately." The word sent a shiver down your spine. "I've been trying to figure out how to approach you for months. The tutoring thing was the best I could come up with."
"You tanked your grade for me?"
"I can bring it back up." She waved a hand dismissively. "The real question is—do you want me too? Because if not, I'll leave right now and we can pretend this never happened."
You physically couldn’t bring yourself to say no.
Shoko Ieiri was out of your league in every possible way.
"I don't want you to leave," you admitted quietly. Her smile was radiant. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I've never... I mean, with a girl, I haven't..."
"That's okay." She cupped your face in her hands, her touch impossibly gentle. "We'll go slow. And if you want to stop at any point, we stop."
"Okay," you breathed. "Okay."
She kissed you.
It was soft at first—exploratory, questioning. Her lips were impossibly smooth, tasting faintly of the cherry chapstick you'd watched her apply earlier. When you gasped against her mouth, she took it as an invitation, deepening the kiss until your head was spinning.
"God, I've wanted to do that for so long," she murmured against your lips. "You have no idea."
"Ieiri..."
"Cmon baby, call me Shoko." She kissed down your jaw, your neck. "I want to hear you say it."
"mmnh—Shoko," you repeated, and it came out embarrassingly breathy.
"Perfect." She nipped at your pulse point, making you gasp. "You're perfect."
Her hands found the hem of your oversized t-shirt—definitely not what you would have worn if you'd known this was going to happen.
"Can I?" she asked, fingers playing with the fabric.
You nodded, “Fuck," she breathed, staring at you in your simple cotton bra. She pushed you gently onto your back, hovering over you.
She kissed you again, her body pressing against yours. "Do you know how many times I've thought about this? About getting you alone, getting you out of those clothes?"
"Tell me," you whispered, surprising yourself with your boldness.
"I think about you everyday in class." She unhooked your bra with ease, tossing it aside. "When you're focused on the lecture and I'm supposed to be taking notes. I think about what sounds you'd make if I touched you."
"What sounds do you think I'd make?"
"Let's find out." Her mouth found your breast, and you whined —loud and unrestrained.
"There it is." She swirled her tongue around your nipple, making you arch into her. "Even prettier than I imagined."
"Oh god—" Your hands flew to her hair, tangling in the silky strands. "That feels so—"
"So what?" She switched to your other breast, giving it the same attention. "Use your words, pretty girl. I want to hear everything."
"So good," you gasped. "So good, please don't stop—"
"Wasn't planning on it." She kissed down your stomach, her fingers hooking in the waistband of your sweatpants. "Can I keep going?"
"Yes—please—"
She pulled your sweatpants and underwear off in one motion, leaving you completely bare beneath her. You moved to cover yourself instinctively, but she caught your wrists.
"No hiding." Her dark eyes roamed over your body with obvious hunger.
"You look like everything I've ever wanted." She pressed a kiss to your hip, then your inner thigh. "These curves? These thighs? This soft stomach?" Another kiss to your belly. "Gorgeous. Every inch of you.
"You're wearing too many clothes," you managed, tugging at her sweater.
She grinned, sitting back to pull it over her head. Her bra followed, revealing her perfect breasts, pink nipples already hard. Then her jeans, her underwear, until she was as naked as you.
"Better?"
"Much better." You reached for her, pulling her back down. The feeling of her skin against yours made you both moan.
"I want to taste you," she murmured against your neck. "Been thinking about it for months. Can I?"
"Yes—god, yes—"
She kissed her way down your body, settling between your thighs. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but when she looked up at you with those dark eyes, all you felt was wanted.
"So pretty," she whispered, her breath hot against your core. "So wet already. Is this all for me?"
"All for you," you confirmed, your voice shaking. "Please, Shoko—"
The first touch of her tongue made you cry out. She licked through your folds slowly, exploring, learning what made you gasp and what made you moan.
"You taste incredible." She circled your clit with her tongue, and your hips bucked. "Could do this for hours."
"Please—" You weren't even sure what you were begging for. "Fuckahh, more—"
She gave you more. Her tongue worked your clit with increasing pressure while one finger teased your entrance, gathering your wetness before pushing inside.
"Oh fuck—" Your back arched off the bed. "Yes, yes, right there—"
"Right here?" She curled her finger, finding a spot that made you see stars. "You like that, pretty girl?"
"Yes—more—please—"
She added a second finger, stretching you deliciously. Her tongue never stopped its assault on your clit, and you could feel your orgasm building embarrassingly fast.
"Shoko—I'm gonna—already—"
"Already?" She sounded delighted, not mocking. "Let me see. Cum for me, pretty girl. Show me how good I make you feel."
"C-Can't—s’embarrassing!—"
She sucked your clit into her mouth while her fingers pumped faster. "You're perfect. Now Cum."
You shattered. Your orgasm crashed through you with an intensity you'd never experienced alone, your pussy clenching around her fingers, your thighs squeezing her head. You cried out her name over and over, tears streaming down your temples.
She worked you through it, gentling her touch as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs.
"Beautiful," she murmured. "So fucking beautiful when you cum ."
"I want—" You were still catching your breath, still trembling. "I want to touch you too."
"Yeah?" She crawled up your body, her wet lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted like you. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." You flipped her over, surprising you both with your boldness. "Tell me what you like."
She looked up at you with something like wonder. "Whatever you want to give me. I'll take anything."
You kissed her deeply, then trailed your mouth down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. When you took her nipple into your mouth, she gasped, her hands flying to your hair.
"Yes—fuck—just like that—"
Encouraged, you sucked harder, your hand coming up to palm her other breast. She arched into your touch, soft moans falling from her lips.
"You're so good at this," she breathed. "For someone who's never—oh god—"
You switched to her other nipple, biting gently, and she whined high in her throat. The sound went straight to your core, making you clench around nothing.
"Can I taste you?" you asked, suddenly desperate to make her feel as good as she'd made you feel. "I've never done it before, but I want—"
"Yes." She spread her thighs for you, and the sight of her glistening pussy made your mouth water. "Fuck baby, Ahh—hh."
You settled between her legs, taking a moment just to look. She was beautiful everywhere—even here, pink and wet and swollen with arousal.
"Tell me if I do something wrong," you whispered.
"You won't. Just—oh fuck—"
Your first tentative lick made her whole body shudder. You licked again, more confidently, exploring her folds the way she'd explored yours. When you found her clit, she cried out, her hips bucking against your face.
"holy shit!—right there—"
You focused on that spot, licking and sucking experimentally. Her moans guiding you—higher when you did something right, desperate when you did something really right.
"Fingers—" she gasped. "Add y-your fingers, baby"
You pushed one finger inside her, amazed at how wet and tight she was. When you curled it the way she'd done to you, she practically screamed.
"Yes! Fucknghh, just like that—"
You added a second finger, pumping them in time with your tongue on her clit. She was falling apart above you, her thighs shaking, her hands fisted in your sheets.
"Gonna cum—" Her voice was high, desperate. You worked harder, faster, and felt her clench around your fingers as her orgasm hit.
She came with a cry of your name—your name—her whole body convulsing with pleasure.
When she finally stilled, you crawled up beside her, suddenly shy again. "Was that... okay?"
She laughed breathlessly, pulling you into a kiss. "Okay? That was incredible. Are you sure you've never done that before?"
"Never." You ducked your head, smiling.
"Mmm." She rolled on top of you, her thigh pressing between yours. "I'm not done with you yet, pretty girl." She started grinding against you, her wet pussy sliding against your thigh while hers pressed against your core.
"I want to feel you cum against me."
"Shoko—" You gasped as she found a rhythm, pleasure sparking through you with every movement. "Oh god—"
"That's it." She kissed you messily, all tongue and teeth. "Move with me. Let me feel you."
You found her rhythm, your hips moving in tandem, your clits grinding against each other's thighs. The friction was incredible—wet and hot and building toward something explosive.
"Feels so good," you whimpered. "You feel so good—Hah—shit!"
"You feel better." She was panting now, her movements becoming erratic. "Gonna cum again— gon cum with me babe ?—"
"Yesyesyes! Shoko—" You both came together, clinging to each other as waves of pleasure crashed through you both. You felt her wetness gush against your thigh, felt your own release soaking hers, and it was the hottest thing you'd ever experienced.
She collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, sticky with sweat and other fluids.
you two knew that. which is why while gojo and geto were probably going vertical in the shared flat showers , you and shoko had pussyfooted your way into his dorm room.
his cannabis is tucked neatly into a blunt he rolled two nights ago in the darkest depths of his desk drawer. thankfully gojo is not quite good at hiding things. it only took about two underwear drawers and one look under his pillow to find it.
there’s a sticky note indolently hugged round the wrapper: “don’t touch” with a little scribble of his own face with a sharky grin. ofcourse this wasn’t the first time you two touched his shit and so you lit it careful enough to have a draw or two before slipping it back into the drawer as planned.
but you two are no good. you’re suckers for a good high. you get atleast half of it down before you forgetfully toss it onto geto’s clean folded laundry (badddd idea).
you’d say you two have been stoned for thirty seconds but it's been an hour and you're now cuddled into shoko's side , her cradling you in one arm as you made out sloppily over gojo's sheets — kudos to him for buying such an expensive comforter.
"baby you're going to kiss my face off." she breathes , lips sucking slow on your bottom lip as you pressed your tongue against hers lazily.
"i would ," you sigh , "if gojo’s weed didn’t give me cotton mouth every time i tried it."
you weren’t lying. weed made you desperate. you had your hand tucked inbetween your thighs for a couple of minutes now trying to fade out the sound of your heartbeat pumping beneath your skirt. but the rushing of blood only roared as shoko clawed her fingers into your ass , tits warm and pressed against your chest as her tongue curled into all the right places in your mouth.
"speaking of gojo , " shoko says , swiping a string of spit from her lip. “i wonder when they’ll get back.”
"don't know ," you hum as you smoothed your hips against hers , your thighs slowly threading into one another , "don't care."
your skirt bunches around your stomach as you press your panties onto the crotch of her jeans. you rock your hips back and forth gently and sho’s fingers frantically hook into the sides of your waist while she whisks her hips into you slow.
"baby , what if they—“
"they won't." you say , legs trembling.
shoko is quick to give in.
she jerks her hips upwards as you whet yourself on her jeans. you’re giggly. you squirm. you kiss her till you practically can’t breathe.
“you feel so good.” you grin , lapping saliva into the corners of her mouth.
“i know.” she says. her breath makes your mouth tingly and your tongue wet and your thighs pinch around her waist.
“yeah , right there.” sho breathes.
honestly you’re too high to know what she wants , you just keep rolling your hips into her and it’s working. she’s out of breath , she’s clawed her fingers into the pillow behind her head , sweat sticking to the sides of her face as she says your name all sweet and breathy.
“like that?” you ask , eyes heavy lidded.
she nods.
“yeah , princess ,” she chokes.
you hold your breath , knees cracking into one another as your panties soaked a spot on her jeans. you’re dizzy. starry eyed from all the weed you’ve had you’re practically seeing colours.
“fuck — sho.” you groan as you splintered your teeth into your bottom lip.
you’re not sure when you’ll come. after all cannabis is a bitch. maybe soon. but not soon before the door suddenly clicks opened.
(un)luckily for you you’re too stoned to hear it , and the sound of the door cracking ajar or lights flickering on only comes to you when the two are stood beside you and shoko on the bed , gojo with a hand to his hip shaking his head while geto’s jaw hung opened slightly , brows knitted into one another in both confusion and deep concern.
“what the hell…” gojo groaned , teeth clacked into one another as he blew a fuse.
you squeak and teeter messily into his sheets , smoothing your skirt down to its appropriate length as shoko adjusts herself on the bed.
Synopsis: in which your roommate can only be woken up with your tongue inside her
Warning: cnc, somnophilia, consensual deal, perv!reader?, fem!reader, lesbianssss, cunnilingus, reference to thigh grinding, non curse au, college au, breast play, belly press technique, Shoko art by @_3aem on X, not proofread
Word Count: 2.7k
Roommate!Shoko who is a deep sleeper and has been known to miss classes because she just won’t get the fuck up. Her body does as it pleases; she wakes up on her own time, usually hours later, scratching her head and yawning.
“Morning, sexy.” She plops her entire body weight upon your back, then nuzzles the crook of your neck, and mumbles, “I missed my brunch plans with Dumb and Dumber again. They’re gonna be so mad. You’ll protect me, won’t you?”
“Why can’t you just wake up?” you ask in concern, pretending you can’t feel her tits on your back.
“Because you’re not in my arms,” she replies.
“Ha. Ha.”
Roommate!Shoko pats your ass before she goes over to the counter to make coffee. “I’ve always been like this, but I used to have my parents physically dragging me out of bed. Guess I need a special touch.”
It’s gotten so bad that her friend, Gojo, has offered you a lot of money to get her out of the apartment on time.
And you’re not one to turn down money.
So you devised a plan to capitalise on this. You tried banging pots and pans, leaving ten alarms so that they blare all at once, shaking her, yelling right in her ear — nothing. She will not budge. She will not flinch.
She will not wake the hell up.
So it’s clear that by ‘special’ she doesn’t mean violence, because you’ve rained attacks on her with her pillow many times and it never did anything but tire you out.
Until, one day, you discovered, by complete accident, that there’s a foolproof way to get her up and alert: orgasms.
It really was an accident.
You were trying to wrangle her out of bed, and changed so that when she did wake up, she could rush out of the apartment instead of wasting time trying to pick an outfit. It was thoughtful. Smart. Genius!
But she never makes anything easy for you.
Her body fought against your attempts, wanting to cling to the comfortable mattress and stay in the warm comforts of her blanket. In all the wriggling and fighting, your thigh ended up between hers, lodged firmly to the apex.
You realised too late what was happening; you still fought and fought, and was accidentally grinding your thigh to her pussy. It only became apparent to you what a horrible mistake you had made and what an unfortunate position you were in when her arms locked around your torso to keep you in place as she subconsciously humped your leg.
Then her body was spasming. She was moaning in your ear, leaving a warm wetness on your skin.
Within seconds, she was awake and confused as to what you were doing above her, all flustered and aghast.
You didn’t want to tell her what happened, out of embarrassment. In fact, you vowed to take it to your grave. But the money dropped in your account, with a note that said, thx for working miracles, from The Strongest. And for the first time in months, maybe even years, you were able to splurge.
So, guilt-ridden and fully prepared to go to jail, you explained.
Roommate!Shoko hummed, arms and legs crossed. She eyed you through her long lashes before a devious smile pulled at her lips. “So, you molested me in my sleep and woke me up.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that,” you argued, cringing. “But, yeah, I guess. I promise it was an accident though!”
She cradled your cheek and tenderly pressed a kiss to the other. “It’s alright. I’m actually quite grateful we found a solution to my sleeping problem.”
A beat of silence passed.
“What?”
Casually, she strutted off and jumped on the sofa. She patted the seat next to her as she said, “You want money, I want to wake up on time. Sounds pretty simple to me. Do what you gotta do, and we don’t have to talk about it after. It’ll be our little secret.”
Things spiralled soon after.
A routine formed.
Every morning, varying the time based on what she had going on that day, you would sneak into her room, checking she’s asleep.
Today is no different.
The door opens to your touch. You step in.
Roommate!Shoko lies over her covers, on her stomach, dressed in only her panties and a big T-shirt that belongs to Geto. You sigh. There’s 20 minutes before she has to get to her feet and wash up if she wants to make it on time for a lecture. A med student really cannot afford to be missing any classes and lectures, so you never understood why she doesn’t take care of herself better.
Being the one to make sure she can make good on her promises and graduate with a degree has become your responsibility. The burden is heavy. It’s not like you have nothing going on in your life.
At this point, however, when you’ve earned thousands and are swimming in money because she’s friends with a rich kid, you can’t complain.
With a little groan, you flip her on her back.
Still nothing.
“Jeez, Sho,” you mutter, “I could throw you down a flight of stairs and you’d still be snoring.”
You trail your fingers over her bare thigh, until they skim the hem of her grey Calvin Klein panties. It’s one of your favourites. Maybe she knows that, maybe she doesn’t. Who’s to say if she gets herself into positions that pushes her gorgeous ass out on purpose, if she wears clothes she knows you can’t get enough of?
Parting her legs for her, you hum as you press an indent on her clothed slit. It surprises you every time how squishy her pussy lips are. Her hips jolt. You easily find her clit, rubbing in gentle circles, just the way she likes at first.
Roommate!Shoko stirs.
You lie on your stomach on the bed, keeping her legs spread. The mattress drips. The bed frame creaks. Does she wake up?
Of course not.
Her thighs are smooth and soft; they’re nice to lay on when you’re watching movies together. They’re even nicer to rest your cheek on when you’re up close and personal with her panties. Your nose nudges the cute little bump where her clit is, inhaling her sweet scent.
A wet spot has formed at the gusset — grey panties show it so easily. Giggling a little, you press a kiss to the darker spot. You lick the faint taste of her off your lips. Not even a second later, you’re suckling on the fabric. “Mm, Sho. I can already taste you,” you tell her, even though she can’t hear.
Roommate!Shoko releases a low moan. When you peek up, she’s still asleep. Her lips are parted, her breathing’s steady, eyes closed. Although, you do spot a light dusting of pink on her cheeks and the way her two middle fingers, which rests upon her pillow, twitches.
All good signs.
With 15 minutes left to go, you decide to up the ante; pulling her panties to the side, you’re met with her puffy lips, which have grown shiny with her juices. The heat radiating has you growing dizzy.
It’s silly really, how you’re more affected than her.
There’s always a mix of feelings inside you every time you do this: guilt because she has no idea exactly what you do to her, excitement because she has no idea that you take the initiative to suck on her clit, and disappointment because she has no idea and cannot return the favour.
After each time, you send her off or you leave first, you’re always left with an itch you have to scratch, on your own. You’ve wondered many times how nice it would be to have her between your legs, to feel her slender fingers in you and sinful mouth on you.
Of course, you know this is wrong, that this arrangement isn’t healthy or ethical, but it’s for her own good. It’s simply a bonus that this isn’t much of a sacrifice to make because you’ve always had a fat crush on your smart, witty, sexy as sin roommate, with her slender legs, wide hips, slutty waist, and huge tits.
Speaking of…
A hand creeps up. You grope one of her breasts over her shirt. Fat pudge between your fingers. Her nipple is hard, poking your palm. You run a blunt nail down the little bud. Her back arches. Like clockwork.
Roommate!Shoko loves to have her tits played, especially over the top, where the friction and the texture of her shirt adds a special kind of thrill.
Right on cue, a fresh wave of pussy juices oozes out of her, dripping down the plumpness of her ass. You collect it on the tip of your tongue, then bury it back inside her. Warm, gummy walls clench around the wet appendage. Above you, another moan resounds. It shoots straight through your body. Your own pussy reacts.
Even in her sleep she’s so hot.
“Don’t worry, Sho,” you chirp. “I’ll have you awake soon.”
You lick a fat stripe up her slit.
Her juices are sweet and tangy, with a distinct taste of her. It’s intoxicating. Her internal heat and your breath creates a humid mix that has your and her clit throbbing seemingly in tandem. You greedily lick as much of her as you can, making sure to flick her cute button on your way up.
“Mmm.”
Roommate!Shoko’s shuffling now, writhing slowly. Her breathing’s grown irregular, deeper, face more flushed. One leg wrestles itself from your grip. It throws itself over your shoulder, bending to push your head even closer. Soothing, you brush her heated flesh.
In her sleep, her pelvis rocks up. It’s subconsciously grinding her whole pussy on your face, seeking the tip of your nose to satisfy her needy clit. That’s fine with you — you can shove your tongue inside her pussy and curl it against the rough texture near the entrance in the meantime.
Both of your hands are squeezing and massaging her tits, wanting to hear more sleepy moans and groans from her pretty lips. You could play with them for hours. They’re a work of wonder. She’s always pressing them against your back, your arms, in your face. Sometimes you think she does it on purpose. Perhaps you hope she does.
Lewd sounds are being wrung out by your mouth, which has become an expert in her body by now: squelches, slurrrrps, and the sticking of skin with the messiness of her wetness spreading itself all over your cheeks, chin, her inner thighs.
You look at the alarm clock on her bedside table.
4 minutes.
How time flies when you’re having fun.
“Alright, Sho. You’re gonna need to cum for me,” you tell her, slapping the side of her tit to watch it bounce. She gasps.
Since she hasn’t woken up yet, her bladder’s probably full. And everyone knows the best time to touch yourself is when you need to pee. She’s not an exception.
You press a hand down on her lower belly as you wrap your swollen lips around her clit. At the same time that you apply pressure, you suuuuckkk! it hard.
Roommate!Shoko’s hips jerk. They threaten to pull away from you. You hold her body down, mercilessly devouring her cunt with increasing hunger. The pulsing of her clit and the clenching of her insides have intensified. She’s close. Really close.
“N-no,” she breathes out. “Nghhh, gonna -hah- gonna…”
She’s throwing her head side to side, eyes shut tight, and low moans turning into louder groans and whines.
Finally, her body tenses.
A ferocious climax tears right through her.
You hold her firmly as she cums, lapping incessantly at the juices overflowing, threatening to stain her bedsheets. Your hips hump the bed, overwhelmed by the tightness of her thighs which clamp around your bed, trying to suffocate you, undecided between wanting to push you away or pull you in.
There’s barely any stimulation. It’s frustrating. Infuriating. Maddening. Maybe you should try scissoring with her. Would she mind?
The clock reads that there’s only a minute to spare. Sloppy work.
Knowing that any second now, she’ll be waking up, you give her quick licks around to clean her up. Then you move her panties back into place. Right as the alarm goes off, you’re standing to your feet.
Roommate!Shoko’s eyes flutter open.
She grips a breast in one hand and her pussy with the other, wanting to calm the aches you’re sure as she’s still feeling the tremors of pleasure in her system.
“Morning, Sho.”
Her eyes dart to you. She lets her body go. If she’s embarrassed she’s been caught grinding into the heel of her palm, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she gives you a lazy smile. “Mmm, hi, gorgeous. You know how I love when you’re the first thing I see in the mornings.”
Even freshly woken up, she’s a flirt.
Taking her hand, you pull her to a sitting position. She runs a hand through her hair and exhales. “Man, whatever you did, you did really well. I feel so light. Mm, my pussy’s tingling.”
“We don’t talk about it, remember?”
Roommate!Shoko bites her lip, and, with a smirk, raises her arms in surrender. “Of course. My bad.”
Her hands grip your hips. You find your body being used as leverage so that she can get to her feet. You’re chest to chest now. Her hard nipples scrape yours. You fight the urge to moan right in her face. Pelvis to pelvis too; you feel the heat of her pussy through your shorts. You wonder if she feels yours.
Tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, she purrs, “You always take such good care of me, don’t you, roomie?”
“Anything to afford rent,” you say.
With a yawn, she side steps you to head to her en-suite bathroom. “Don’t I know it? Well, I appreciate you coming into my room everyday to make sure I wake up to my alarm. You go above and beyond. You’re the best. I love you, babe.”
“Don’t mention it.”
You fall to her bed. Partly because your knees are weak, because your pussy’s still throbbing and you need some friction, and partly to hide the wet spot that’s formed on her sheet.
At the doorway, she pauses.
Turning her head to look at you, she gives a wry smile. That’s all the warning you get before she’s shrugging her shirt and panties off. You get an eyeful of pale skin and curves you want to take a bite of.
“Shoko!”
Roommate!Shoko looks at you with innocent, bambi eyes. “What’s wrong? We’re both girls.”
“It doesn’t matter,” you splutter, looking away even though you really want to look. And occasionally looking back, as though you can’t help it. “Where are your manners?”
The girl’s shameless.
Truly, utterly shameless.
A normal person would be ashamed that they have to be eaten out by their roommate to wake up. A normal person wouldn’t be undressing right in front of their roommate. But then again, a normal person wouldn’t be eating their roommate out for money either.
She rolls her eyes. “My manners?” she repeats. “Where are yours?”
“What’re you talking about?”
Roommate!Shoko runs a finger across her lips and says, “Got a little something there.”
Face flushing, you hurriedly wipe away her juices from your lips and chin. Oh god, that is humiliating. How long had that been there? Why didn’t she say anything sooner?
She laughs. “You know, you’re allowed to try different methods to wake me up, right?”
“Oh.” A twinge of disappointment hits you. Frowning a little, you ask, “You want me to go back to wafting smelling salts under your nose? That did seem to work for a little bit.”
Roommate!Shoko shakes her head. “No, babes, I’m saying you should let me have something sweet once in a while. Switch it up here and there, y’know? Have some fun for yourself.” With a grin that’s all sorts of bad for your heart rate, she adds, “I don’t bite.”
Synopsis: in which popular girl!reader is done with shitty players and wants to try the newest delicacy: virgin nerds. It’s game on to seduce the physics student, who seems more than ready to abandon his life of celibacy.
But their arrangement only works if they’re both on the same page. What happens when one expects a little more than sex?
Is it game over?
Chapter TWO: now that you've, somehow, reeled him in, the game begins as any relationship does: with a date. and sex. and another date. and more sex. but also something a little more?
Content: smut (bj, first times/p in v, masochism, femdom, hair pulling, public sex, hidden sex, the works), mean girl!reader, sexually promiscuous!reader, not proofread - pls let me know if you spot typos!
Word Count : 13.2k
Chapter ONE - Masterlist - Chapter THREE
“When you said we should go on an official date,” you start, deadpan and a second away from sighing, “I didn’t think you’d take me to one of your nerd gatherings.”
Satoru slings an arm around your shoulder, not to display possession over you but to keep you from turning and leaving. Smart, you think.
He says, “I want you to meet my friends. Consider it a trial run before we meet yours.”
This is your first outing with him. Indeed the first time you’re seeing him since he agreed to play along a couple nights before. You’d exchanged numbers (he doesn’t have any social media, naturally), and you waited for him to text; you would rather die than text a man first. Fortunately, he didn’t keep you waiting too long because he reached out this morning asking to see you.
Unfortunately, he kept the nature of the ‘date’ from you until it was too late.
Now, you’re stuck in a games cafe with a circular table of his so-called friends — campus’ outcasts and society’s future pioneers, you’re sure — staring at you.
Actually, the whole cafe’s staring at you, which isn’t a surprise at all; you’re dressed in a tight dress that barely covers your ass under a tiny fur coat that does nothing against the chill of the night, and stilettos. There’s probably more glitter on your nails alone than they expected to ever see in their lives, much less on a Thursday night in this part of town.
“Is there a problem, freaks?”
At your sharp tone and scowl, people quickly turn back to their board games and pick up conversation.
Your ‘boyfriend’ laughs at that. He rubs your shoulder. “People really do stare too much, don’t they?”
Excitedly, Satoru steers you to his friends’ table, introducing your name before saying, “And these are my best buddies: Haibara, Ijichi, Yuji, and Inumaki!”
They all wave at you, all but Inumaki smiling, his face half-covered by his loose turtleneck sweater.
This is probably the first time they’ve ever spoken to a woman, much less a woman as hot as you. You should put on the Nice Girl act again, even if it kills a part of you, you decide. So, with a smile — the kind that makes your nose scrunch in a cute way that no guy could defend against — you purr, “Pleasure to meet you boys. Please take care of me.”
“Nice to meet you!” The guy you just learnt is called Yuji chirps. “We were wondering who Satoru was bringing, we didn’t know it’d be the girl from the library.”
Hands collide when you reach for your chair at the same time Satoru pulls it out for you. You give him a look before sliding into your seat. You turn your attention back to Yuji. “You remember me?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Of course! You’re hard to miss.”
“That’s right,” Haibara pipes up, as enthusiastic as his pink-haired friend. “I can’t believe Gojo actually took an interest in girls.”
Satoru chuckles. “You’re feeding the ‘I’m gay’ rumours again, Hai.”
Bashfully, he shuffles in his seat. “Sorry. That wasn’t what I meant.”
The guy with glasses and a loose fitting sweater nervously laughs, spine ramrod and eyes flitting all over the table. What a nervous little guy. “What my good friends here means is, Gojo has never dated anyone before, even though lots of the girls in his department have asked him out. The prettiest, smartest girls, and each one he turned down. It’s something of a miracle that he’s finally let someone in.”
“Are you saying I’m punching? That he’s too good for me? That I’m not nearly as pretty or as smart as all the other girls?”
They jolt at your cutting voice. Frantically, they all shake their heads, stuttering a response to deny your accusations.
What was the point of telling you so many girls want your man? Who the hell are they?
The relationship might not be the realest one out there, but it’s still a relationship, and damn it all if you’ll let someone suggest that you’re not good enough for your boyfriend; you’ve had enough of that kind of judgement from your previous relationships.
A placating hand rubs your back.
Your hard eyes dart to gorgeous blue ones. He gives you a look — not a scolding nor angry look, but rather comforting and soothing. Satoru says, “That’s not what they meant. They’re just talking about how I never really thought about dating, until now that is.” He turns to his friends. “I know it’s quite sudden and out of nowhere, but I don’t know. I just kept running into her, and I couldn’t get her out of my mind. So we’re taking it slow and seeing how it goes. Your support would mean a lot to me.”
Their shoulders relax, as does yours.
It’s impressive how quickly he rattled the lie off; you almost believed him. Does lying come naturally to men, or is Satoru just comfortable stretching the truth? You never thought an upstanding nerd like him would betray codes of honour so easily for someone he just met. It’s kinda hot.
Smiles slowly return to their faces.
“Sorry we weren’t very considerate with our words,” one says.
“Yeah, that wasn’t cool of us.”
“I do apologise. Please don’t think badly of us.”
“Salmon.”
Your head snaps to Satoru, a confused look on your face. He blinks, then laughs. “Oh, sorry. I forgot — Inumaki here is a singer; he protects his vocal chords by limiting his speech. We’ve known each other a while so we’ve gotten used to it. I’ll translate for you: ‘my bad, big bro.’”
That’s new, you think. Not that weird though, you suppose. You once knew a guy who didn’t speak at all, just for the fun of it. He could order a pizza with ease, but when it came to being vocal in bed, he was quieter than a monk.
Forcing the defensive stance you’ve taken to soften, you smack your lips together, feigning nonchalance. “Well, you’re forgiven, I guess. I’ll make sure not to jump to conclusions next time…or whatever.”
“Great!” Satoru claps his hands together. He looks delighted that everything's worked out. “Now that introductions are out of the way, let’s play!”
Yuji is already smirking, sleeves pushed up like he’s been waiting for weeks for this. Ijichi is carefully aligning pieces with so much care you wonder if these things are expensive. Haibara is cheerfully explaining the rules, though it seems unnecessary for them so perhaps it’s for your own benefit. And Inumaki, meanwhile, is eyeing everyone down with sudden determination.
Wow, they take this seriously.
The only time you’ve ever been half as serious as them is when there’s a sale at your favourite stores.
Around you, towering shelves are stacked floor to ceiling with board games with names that sound fake and whose boxes are covered in dragons, spaceships, or aggressively serious-looking cartoon men. It feels less like a café and more like some kind of shrine. Who knew these kinds of places get so much business?
You lean forward, chin in your hand, not really listening as Satoru launches into an explanation that makes absolutely no sense to you. Something about resource management. Turns. Victory points. You nod along, occasionally making encouraging noises, whilst wondering how they could tell the difference between any one of these little cardboard tokens; they all look the same.
The only thing you truly register is Satoru himself, animated and bright, eyes lit up in a way you’ve only seen once before: back in the library when he was deep in his element and completely unreachable.
It’s annoying.
And kind of entertaining.
He looks completely in his element like this, fingers deft as he sets the board. He laughs when Yuji interrupts him, rolling his eyes fondly, and you feel a flicker of something sharp and possessive twist in your chest.
Fake or not, you don’t love how easy this is for him, how natural. Your presence right beside him doesn’t make him nervous and anxious, like you’d expected it to. Instead, it’s like you’ve always been here beside him.
How is it possible that he’s never had a girlfriend, even with his condition, when being a boyfriend comes so easily to him?
Despite that, it doesn’t take very long at all for you to grow bored out of your mind. You’re acutely aware that the bathroom is right there, down the hall, private and quiet and infinitely more interesting than pretending to care about whose turn it is.
You try.
You really do — you pick up a piece, move it when you’re told, ask one clarifying question you immediately regret because it leads to a five-minute explanation and a small debate between Haibara and Ijichi. And you, more or less, even keep your hands to yourself.
Satoru ends up playing for you most rounds, which is fine with you. It’s not like you want to win, though it does seem like he’s setting you up for victory over his own piece. Or maybe you’re not understanding the game a little more than you originally thought.
The nerds, you decide, are…nice. Earnest. Harmless.
They smile at you like you’re more than welcome here, like you’re already their best friend, and that almost throws you off more than if they’d been rude.
Still, your attention keeps drifting back to Satoru’s mouth when he talks, the way his hands move, the way he leans closer to point something out on the board and doesn’t move away right away, and how he adjusts those stupid glasses here and there.
A knee nudges his under the table.
He glances at you, eyebrows lifting in quiet question, and you flash him a smile that very clearly does not have anything to do with dice or cards or whatever the hell this game is. You tilt your head toward the hallway, subtle but not subtle enough, and watch understanding dawn slowly, followed by a soft huff of laughter.
“Give me a minute,” he murmurs, low enough that only you hear it, eyes flicking back to the board even as his knee bumps yours in warning.
You roll your eyes but settle back, pretending to pay attention again whilst mentally counting the seconds. When Satoru finally takes his turn, he’s fully in it now, excitement sharpening his focus, voice animated as he strategizes, and something in your chest tightens at the sight.
Fine. You can wait. Watching him like this is almost worth the boredom.
Almost.
About an hour later, or maybe only five minutes have passed — time doesn’t seem to exist inside the cafe — you lean close, lips near his ear this time. “I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to the bathroom, and you’re following. Don’t take too long,” you whisper. “If you keep me waiting, I think I’ll have to punish you.”
His hand falters just a little, a flush appearing at the tips of his ears, before he straightens, clears his throat, and finishes his move like a man desperately pretending he isn’t already thinking about following you wherever you want to go.
“Time for a break,” he announces, getting up and flagging a waitress down for the table. “Order something for the table, I just need a breather. I’ll be back in a bit, and the board better be exactly how I left it. I’ve taken a mental picture so don’t even try. I’m looking at you, Yuji.”
The man in question raises his hand in surrender. “No promises.”
People have quickly gotten comfortable with your presence because no one even glances at the two of you when you both slip away into the toilets. Or maybe it never occurs in their loser, virgin minds that a couple could do anything remotely illegal or immoral in a place so sacred.
There’s the men’s and the women’s.
You drag him into the cleaner one, the one that smells less like piss and disease. Thankfully, there’s no one inside — you expected as much; there’s only two other women out there and one of them is a server.
“Are you sure now is a good time?” he whispers conspiratorially though no one’s around.
Shoving him into a stall, you lock the door behind you and say, “Any time is a good time to have a good time.”
Satoru whistles low, impressed. “Very well put.”
That’s not a phrase you came up — one of your exes, a real sleazy horndog who only wanted sex on his own terms, did — but you don’t tell him that. He doesn’t need to know that you used to hate that phrase.
Instead, you inquire, “Are you hard?”
He glances down at his own pants. His brows furrow, and replies, “Not sure. Kinda?” You grab his crotch to test it for yourself. Satoru grunts. “Hey, careful with the goods.”
“You have a semi,” you conclude. He looks somewhat confused by the term, so you explain, “It’s when you’re a little turned on, but need more simulation to get fully hard.”
“Stimulation. And that’s a good sign, right? It means that time in the janitor’s closet wasn’t a one-off.” He looks so pleased with himself, with you, and with his dick that you almost smile at his excitement. Then, he glances around the cramped space and notes, “The girls’ toilets are so nice. I’m so jealous. ”
Far too conversational for your liking, you decide to turn up the vibe a notch. You press close to him, spinning the two of you around so he’s leaning against the door. Your adept hands begin unbuckling his belt.
Satoru grabs your shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this here? It’s cleaner than the men’s but it’s still a toilet stall.”
You shrug him off and focus on unzipping his jeans to reveal his boxers. “I’ve done it in worse places, don’t worry.”
He frowns and halts your hands from pulling the band of his Calvin Klein underwear down. “That’s not cool at all.” Brushing an errant strand of hair from your forehead, he whispers, “I can wait, really. I wasn’t planning on testing anything out tonight; I was always going to meet them here, but I wanted to see you too, just to hang out. Maybe we can do this another day, or we can go to my place after?”
A weird sensation throbs in your heart. You reel a little. “N-no, we’re doing this now. I want to. I want to see what I’m working with at least.”
And when you drop to your knees and free his dick, he doesn’t oppose. Your jaw drops.
“No way,” you breathe out. “Are you kidding me?”
Sensing your panic, he stares at his dick. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You’re fucking huge, Satoru!”
He groans, head smacking back against the door. “Don’t do that. Jeez, I thought my dick was broken for good, or, like, super ugly.”
Not a single part of you was lying, not this time — he really is big. It’s also not ugly. Alright, no dick is gorgeous, but as far as dicks go, his is quite nice. And he’s not even fully hard yet. Are nerds supposed to be packing?
It’s actually kind of a crime that he’d gone so long without ever dicking another woman down. This kind of dick deserves to be felt, to be worshipped, to be wrung dry on a daily.
Well, don’t mind if you do.
Too self-conscious now, he asks, “Is it too big? I know some girls have a prob—WOAH!”
Unable to resist any longer, your hands have wrapped around the length, warming it up. He keeps it nice and clean down here, which is more than you can say for most guys. Slowly, he grows harder and bigger, until it’s at full mast. The entire length stretches the length of your face and a little beyond. It’s a beast of a cock, truly.
Your pussy drools.
You waste no more time; you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his cockhead and making sure he sees everything — from the way you have to open really wide to how your lipgloss is rubbing on his skin, and to the hand fondling his heavy balls.
Satoru groans above you. “I didn’t know blowjobs feel this -hah- good. Is it supposed to feel this good?”
Gripping the base and suckling on the tip, you send him a wink. “Blowjobs from me do.”
You know what men like. You know that when you flick your tongue over the slit, they hiss, just as Satoru does. You know that when you start taking him deeper and deeper down your throat, his hand will fly to the back of your head.
And right on cue, it does.
Partly undecided between pushing you away and yanking you down on his length, he holds you with shaking hands. The strain must be hard on him. Poor thing.
Inch by inch, you take him. Soon your lips graze his base, his cockhead bumping into the back of your throat. It’s not easy at all. It’s actually in the top three hardest dicks you’ve ever deepthroated. You thank the dating gods that you won’t have to swallow the shame of being with a small-dicked loser at least.
“O-oh, fuck, that feels so good. Your mouth’s so warm -ngh- a-and your throat’s so tight. I don’t know what to do.”
Acrylic nails digging into his clothed thigh, you draw a hiss from his lips. Pulling off to suck his balls, you’re free to retort, “Cum, duh.”
“Where?”
“Down my throat, obviously, idiot.”
“You -hngh! slow down, I can’t think!- y-you sure?”
To show him how sure you are, you take him back in your mouth, expertly swallowing as much of him as you can. You bite back your gag reflex and bob your head rapidly. He proves weak to that attack. With a cry of your name, he spurts down your throat.
“Fuck,” he gasps out. His hips stutter, bruising your walls without meaning to.
Mmm, salty. A little sweet too — he keeps a healthy diet at least. No Mountain Dew, battery-acid spunk. Great!
Lips making a pop! sound when you slide him out, you smirk proudly at his dazed look. Yeah, you’ve still got it.
His knees quiver, threatening to bring him to a slump on the floor. You hold him up with a roll of your eyes. Gently patting his cheek, you say, “Venus to Satoru. Hello? We’ve still got a game to finish, don’t pass out on me now.”
Index finger weakly lifted up, his head falls onto your shoulder. Your own legs threaten to buckle from his sudden weight. He mutters into your fur coat, “Earth to Satoru, and be noted, Houston, Satoru is completely shattered.”
“I don’t know who Houston is, but you need to get your shit together.”
Satoru chuckles.
“Yes, Command.”
.
.
.
Your second date has been arranged by you.
Well, it’s not exactly a date. Not in the traditional sense. It’s more of an excuse to be fucked.
You’ve never waited so long to be ‘bedded’ before — it’s been over a week since you’ve started ‘dating’ Satoru.
Being college students mean that schedules don’t often align. Satoru, for example, has an internship at the Limitless Foundation that he attends twice a week on top of his usual workload. He’s, no doubt, doing sciencey stuff at his internship that means working long hours, not that you cared to ask more about it.
And even though you’re studying an already rather easy subject, Business — a degree everyone knows is a waste of time — you don’t actually attend most of your classes. They aren’t very mandatory. As long as your assignments are completed in time, you’ll pass just fine. So, you’ve been busy with other things. Namely shopping, getting waxed, massaged and whatnot.
It’s a full time job to maintain your appearance.
It’s as hard as whatever he’s doing, honest!
Anyway, when he texted you, talking about how he finally has time to see you during the weekend, you jumped to take the lead. No more nerd cafes, no more board games, and toilet blowjobs.
You’re going to be fucked on a bed or on a sofa, like a real lady, even if it killed you both.
You’ve invited yourself over to his place. He didn’t seem opposed at all, whereas most guys tend to be quite skittish about that sort of thing. In fact, he replied, Okiedokie I’ll send you my address. See you soon, ‘babe’ ;)
Who the hell says ‘okiedokie’?
The area’s not too far from campus, so the walk from your dorm was rather short. It’s a nice neighbourhood. Very nice, actually. You’re rather thankful you don’t have to hold your keys between your knuckles as you wait for him to buzz you into the apartment building.
“That my fake-real girlfriend?” His voice is static-y when it reaches you through the box.
You inspect your nails and drawl, “Not for long if you keep me waiting.”
Satoru laughs. “I wouldn’t dare.”
He buzzes you in but not before giving you a set of instructions: enter the elevator to your left, not the one to your right, press the button that says P, and the doors will be open when you reach the top.
The doors are, in fact, open when the elevator stops. You have no idea what P means, or why the door would lead straight to his place, and thinking about it anymore hurts your head.
You step inside, the wheels of your suitcase rattling on the porcelain floor. His place is massive. It’s two flipping floors. The first is an open-spaced studio with the living room marked by large sofas, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the neighbourhood, a grand piano in the corner, and a spacious kitchen to your left.
Passing by the balcony of the second floor, where you assume the bathroom and bedrooms are, he spies your shocked figure and rushes down the stairs.
“Hey! Come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”
Somewhat bewildered by the idea that any college student could be living somewhere so fancy, you numbly mutter, “Mi casa es Sue’s casa, huh.”
He takes your coat, pats your head, and corrects you all in one go, “Su casa, Diapers. And yes, it is. I mean it. Honestly throw your things wherever you want. Don’t ask me for permission for anything. Just relax.”
That’s all you need.
Breaking into a run, your heels click and clack on the floor. You stop at the windows, leaving marks on the pristine glass as your fingers press on the transparent surface. “Everyone looks tiny! You can see everything.”
Satoru laughs. “I hear that often. My friends like to say that it’s like I’ve got eyes everywhere. Six Eyes, they call me ‘cause, y’know—”
“You’re four eyes with glasses, add two more for this view, I got it,” you finish for him, unable to resist beaming ear to ear.
Suitcase inspected, he wonders, “What’ve you got in here? You’re only staying the weekend, not a whole month.”
You turn to look at him, lashes fluttering as you look at him blankly. “I know. I just brought my weekend necessities. Believe it or not, I actually cut down a little since the dorms are just a hop and a skip away.”
He whistles. “Must be hard being a girl; my friends only need their toothbrush and underwear, and sometimes not even that.”
“Ew.”
Satoru’s lips twitch. “Yeah, it is kinda ew.”
Through the reflection, you watch him carry the suitcase up the stairs with ease, despite his earlier remark. Through his plain white shirt, you see his back muscles flex and his biceps bulge. What a pity that he hides his impressive stature in frumpy sweaters. He’d get all the hoes, and not just the nerdy ones on the anti-bullying brochures, if he showed off a little.
Moments later, he finds you in the living room, reclining on his stupidly comfortable sofa and scrolling on your phone.
Teasing, he leans over and asks, “Not gonna snoop around my place?”
“Nope,” you reply. “I’ve learnt my lesson after being told off many a-times — guys are kinda sensitive to the idea that someone might find their porn stash or crusty sock, I guess.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “You won’t find any of that here. Broken dick, remember?” Not so broken now, you want to tell him but you keep it to yourself. Jerking his chin, he continues, “I’ll show you around; food’s thirty minutes away. Sorry I didn’t make something from scratch. I’m not very good at cooking unfortunately.”
On your feet, you follow him up the stairs. “That’s fine with me.” At least he’s feeding you something, and not just his dick. You can’t recall a time you’ve stayed over for dinner at a guy’s place. Most of the time, you get kicked out right after they cum if they’re dickheads, or you leave ASAP if they’re clingy.
“There’s five rooms up here,” he says, putting on a professional tone like he’s a tour guide. “On your left, there’s my study room. Very boring, very often visited, unfortunately.”
You take a peek. There’s a wooden desk with a blue iMac, and an array of papers sprawled over it. Pushed against a wall, stands a whiteboard with numbers and letters making up things that make you nauseous just to look at. Apart from those, it’s more or less bare in there.
“On the right is the bathroom. Pretty straightforward. And down here,” he begins, leading you down the hall where three doors await, “are the two bedrooms. Mine, and the guest room, which is yours for tonight.”
A frown graces your glossy lips. “I’m not staying with you?”
Satoru adjusts his glasses, a nervous habit it would seem. “I thought you’d like your own space.”
Shoving him aside, you grouch, “Fuck that,” and barge into his room. What you see brings out a, “Seriously?” from your mouth.
His room is as nerdy as it gets — glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars on his ceiling, posters of famous scientists littering his walls, shelves full of little figurines from shows and movies you’ve never watched, and a bed with Star Wars themed bedsheets. He has a telescope stationed by his window, and a solar system chandelier hanging above his bed like a dreamcatcher.
On a desk are a couple of display cases with painted miniatures posed mid-battle, clearly the result of hours of patience you don’t have. You lean closer to one, squinting. “You paint these?”
“Sometimes,” he says lightly from behind you, like it’s no big deal. “Helps me unwind. I don’t have much time these days though.”
You scoff as you straighten. Of course this man relaxes by painting tiny warriors with microscopic precision. You suppose it’s his version of painting your nails when you’re stressed or didn’t get to cum after a disappointing hook-up.
It’s ridiculous. You don’t care about any of this. He’s just revealed the extent of his childish and dorky interest.
And yet, standing in the middle of his space, surrounded by proof of his obsessions and his focus and his stupid, attractive competence, you feel that familiar spark flare hotter in your freaking womb.
God, are you actually finding his nerd museum hot?
He seems a little embarrassed for the first time ever, shuffling on the floor and avoiding your eye. Forcing nonchalance, he says, “You won’t want to stay in here. The guest room is a lot less…me, I guess.”
“Satoru.” His head perks up, looking at you like he’s waiting for an order. “Come here.”
The man doesn’t hesitate. He comes to stand before you, head tilting a little. You don’t break eye contact as you sit on his bed, then lie on your back completely.
Your dress rides up. He notices.
What an idiot, you think. As if you’d spend a night at his place by yourself. He’s really clueless. All girls want to snuggle somewhere warm. Preferably in the arms of their boyfriend. You’ll teach him well tonight.
He scrunches his face up, thinking hard. “Sorry, what do I do?”
Ravish me.
Fuck me into next week.
Lose your virginity to me on your geeky sheets.
Slam your huge fucking cock into my tight pussy until I’m squirting all over your bed.
You don’t say any of that though. No, instead, you say a line that drives all men wild:
“Anything you want.”
He runs a hand through his hair, releasing a tense breath. Of course he’s not immune to it either. All men are the same at the very core.
Satoru takes a brave step forward, admiring your body all sprawled out where he sleeps. Something’s been switched on inside him — his pupils are growing bigger, a pink hue creeping in on his cheeks, and his hands flex by his sides.
“Anything?” he asks, voice dropping an octave.
“Mhm.” Your smiles curl up into sharp points, beyond satisfied that he’s walking willingly into your trap. Heeled foot resting on his thigh, you part your legs so he can see your pretty, pink thong. His eyes immediately zero in on them. Classic. “Just wear a condom, alright? I’m on the pill but your first time shouldn’t be so extreme.”
Raw’s reserved for long term boyfriends, for men you’re sure don’t have STDs and won’t run off if they find out that they’re a father. Maybe you can give him the privilege on your last tryst, a goodbye present of sorts.
He shakes his head, muttering, “Don’t need one.”
Your smile drops. Leaning on your arms, you glare at him. “Listen here, mister. I say if we need one or not. You’re not going to talk me into forwarding protection; I’m not an idiot.”
His lips twitch at the corners. “Foregoing protection.”
“Whatever — bottom line is, wear one or I step on your dick.”
He falls to his knees, slotting perfectly between yours. Smooth hands tentatively grasp your thighs, squeezing experimentally once, then twice and a third time when he realises how good it is to feel a female body. “We won’t need one because what I want is a step or two before that. If that’s okay with you, I mean.”
Satoru hooks his hands under your knees, thumbs rubbing your smooth skin. He wet his lips.
You begin to panic. “What are you talking about? Go get a condom and fuck me already, dumbass.”
“You’d need to be properly lubricated for that, no? I may be a virgin but I’m not clueless,” he says, yanking you down slightly so he can get even closer.
The tip of his nose grazes the material. You jolt. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go — you’re supposed to be bent over and ploughed, supposed to be consoling him for cumming too early. You were going to tell him it happens and that it doesn’t make him any less of a man all whilst thinking the exact opposite!
But he doesn’t seem to care about your plans.
With a glance that asks for permission, he pulls your thong aside. Then he whistles.
“Don’t do that,” you snap. “It’s rude.”
A thumb brushes your thigh in apology, though he does utter one too.
“I don’t know what I was expecting,” he mutters. “I mean, I’ve seen vaginas before. In class, anyway. And in porn, not that I watch any. It’s just hard to avoid any kind of pornographic content when you’re a guy, I suppose and—”
“Satoru, you’re rambling,” you groan, eyes rolling in annoyance and not pleasure. You throw a leg over his shoulder, heel digging into his back. Though, there is a part of you that’s relieved by his chattering; it burst the sudden fright you felt at him going off-script. He’s still Satoru, still a nerd, and a virgin. You’ve got the upperhand. “If you’re gonna eat it, eat it with haste. And don’t call it a vagina; it’s unsexy. Call it a pussy.”
He nods, adjusting his glasses and licking his lips. “Right, sorry. I’ll be eating this p…,” he clears his throat, “this p-pussy. Thank you for the food.”
“Ugh, you’re so cheesy, god, just—NGH!”
Ignoring your insults, he dove straight in.
Your eyes spring wide open, hands clutching his hair for purchase out of reflex. There’s no more teasing, no hesitant exploration, or reluctance the way most men feel giving head to a woman is routine or obligatory.
His tongue’s clumsy. It pokes and prods nowhere in particular. The man seems to know where your clit and hole are, which is a great start already, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with them. You stifle a laugh, finding his eagerness adorable.
Eyes with the vastness of the sky flicker up to meet yours. You feel his lips twitch. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No,” you say.
Satoru shakes his head with a disbelieving chuckle. “No, you totally are. Don’t think you have to be polite to me; I already know how brutally honest you can be. Guide me. Tell me how you like it. Train me to know how to make you feel good. I’m a quick learner, promise.”
“Fine. Circle my clit. Rub it with your tongue. Not too fast, not too hard. Not yet. You have to build up, ‘kay?”
Invigorated by the instructions, your little nerd does as you say. The change in his actions makes all the difference — you’re growing breathless at the attentive ministrations. Every rub, every flick, is intentional and careful.
“Like this?” he asks, voice muffled.
“Hmm, keep going.”
You can feel his eyes on you, watching your movements and the way your chest caves in and out. The skin where his heated gaze skims tingles. You fight the urge to hide for the first time ever; he sees too much.
Slowly, his glasses become fogged up, and he pushes them up over his head once he realises they’re not making a difference. With no barrier between his hot mouth and your hotter pussy, he draws even closer.
Satoru begins using his own common sense and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard and harder when you gasp, thighs tightening around his head.
“I didn’t realise p-pussies can get this wet,” he remarks absentmindedly, practically talking to himself. “I meant to say your pussy’s really –mmm- pretty earlier, by the way. I just panicked.” The pads of his fingers follow the outline of your lips, feeling the swollen folds, dipping in your wetness to make squelching noises. “Guys always talk about how ugly pussies are, but I think yours is too pretty, if anything. Doesn’t taste bad either. People always say it tastes like pennies; yours doesn—”
Groaning, you grab a handful of his hair and pull his mouth back to your clit. “Yeah, yeah, my kitty’s gorgeous, I know. Instead of waltzing poetic about it, why don’t you make me cum?”
He hisses and then moans at the sting at his scalp. Not a word of complaint is voiced though. On the contrary, he seems rather dazed at the pain. Halfheartedly, he corrects you, “Waxing. It’s waxing poetic.”
“Potato, tomato.”
“Potato, po-ta-to.”
“Shut up.”
“Aye, aye.”
“Oh my fucking go—YES! Right there!”
Loud, wet noises reverberate around the room.
Satoru is a messy eater. He really puts his all into it, rubbing his nose and cheeks carelessly, and lapping the entirety of your cunt with no reservations. Whilst he has a long way to come, it’s somehow working well enough for you that minutes later your back arches and you cum with a long moan.
“Hngh! Fuuuuuckk, that’s good,” you groan out when the final waves of your orgasm are washed away.
Satoru marvels at the translucent webs he makes between his fingers. He licks his lips. Glasses sliding back over his nose bridge, he beams at you. “How did I do?”
You sit up, ripping a pillowcase off his pillow and cleaning yourself up, and then throw the dirty thing at him to do whatever with. Fixing your hair, you say with a shrug, “Not bad for a virgin. Don’t worry; by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be known as the university’s pride and joy munch.”
Wiping his face and fingers clean with the case, he chuckles. “That’ll be a dream come true.”
“You didn’t show me the last room,” you note after a minute, wanting a distraction from the pulsing of your clit and the desire to bounce on his dick right here and right now.
Satoru gathers his thoughts for a second, still in that haze of pleasure but he quickly shakes it off and pushes himself up. He has a raging boner. You raise your brow at it. He angles his hips away from you, as though he thinks you’re going to bite it.
Extending a hand to you, he brings you to your feet, rearranging your clothes for you even though your hands keep smacking his away.
“It’s my favourite room,” he remarks contemplatively. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
“Good pussy does that to you,” you say, flicking your hair with a grin.
He grins too, brushing the hairs sticking to the sweat on your forehead away. “You’re right. I better be careful.”
The last room is right across from the guestroom, where you were supposed to be stationed. He pushes the door open, revealing a room all men would kill for, you’re sure.
It’s a game room.
There are retro arcade games lining the walls. A desk with three screens standing next to each other to create one long one. There’s a seat on the floor with pedals at the foot and a massive TV towering over it, which flashes the words Formula 1. DVDs fill up a whole bookshelf. You can’t tell if they’re movie ones or video games. On your left, there’s even a popcorn machine and a slushie maker.
And at the very centre is a large table. It’s a familiar sight. You saw tables like this in the nerd cafe.
Seeing where your gaze has landed, Satoru leans against the doorframe, proud. “That’s our D&D setup. Ongoing campaign,” he says. “We’ve been running it for a few months now. Paused it mid-arc, though. Party’s getting back together next week to pick it up again.”
“Games can last that long?” you ask, actually a little amazed. You walk around the table, having enough tact and sense not to touch anything. It’s been drilled inside your pussy and your head that men will throw a fit if you touch their precious things.
Satoru nods, strolling leisurely to your side, chest brushing your shoulder. “Heck yeah. Longest one I did was half a year. This one seems like it’ll enter into the next academic year.”
A little childishly, you wonder, “Are you winning?”
“No,” he answers with a reflective smile, seemingly not upset at all, “but it’s not really about winning. As we like to say, it’s not the destination, it’s the journey. Good storytelling trumps all!”
You frown. “But winning’s good. It’s fun. It’s the whole point of anything.”
He brushes your hair from your shoulder, and lays a kiss there. You shiver. “We can play one day, and I’ll show you that there’s more to life, to games, than winning. That even if you lose, you’ll never regret playing.”
The doorbell rings.
“Ah, that’ll be the food.” Satoru makes a move for the door. “Look around as much as you’d like, just be careful in case you trip over something. I’ll set up the table. Hope you’re hungry!”
Why the hell did he kiss your shoulder?
No one’s ever done that before. The closest you’ve gotten is being bit there by some freak masquerading as a respectable lawyer.
Weirdo.
But why did you kinda like it?
Suddenly feeling colder, you run a finger down the length of the table. You can’t make out a single thing that’s happening on the board. There’s cards and figurines of monsters and people, and all sorts of different shapes.
You head down, joining him for dinner, feeling somewhat troubled by his words, and wholly unconvinced by his belief.
Journey. Storytelling. Never regret playing?
Bullshit — winning’s the only thing worth fighting for in life.
.
.
.
In a lacy negligee, you wander into his bedroom, fresh out of the bathroom. Satoru reclines on the bed, reading a comic book about Batman or another superhero, you don’t know. He smiles when you slide into bed.
“I knew it was going to be weird having a girl sleeping in my bed, but I didn’t realise just how weird it’d be,” he notes, putting his comic book down on his bedside drawer. He’s wearing some old anime-themed matching set pyjamas, a sleeping mask to pair it with prepared beside him, and you have to resist the grimace setting on your face; he looks like an idiot incel.
“Uhuh,” you reply, applying lip balm because you’d rather die than have chapped lips.
Satoru continues. “It feels like I’m having a sleepover, but we’re allowed to snuggle and grope. I’m worried I’ll be drooling and talking in my sleep. Maybe I’ll accidentally push you off the bed too. Are you sure you’re okay here?”
“Yes, for the last time. And if you push me off the bed in the middle of the night, I’ll rip your dick off, then you’ll really have a broken dick.”
He laughs.
Dinner had gone by as normally as any other dinner — he talked your ear off about the development of Chinatown in the city, starting from the very first restaurant and the boom of boba tea, which apparently isn’t even a Chinese invention. You weren’t really listening, too peeved off with how he didn’t seem the least bit affected by your attempt to play footsie with him under the table.
Now, it’s time to sleep, but you have no interest in sleeping.
It’s been over two weeks since you’d last been fucked good and hard, and you’re beginning to twitch and scratch at your skin like someone going through withdrawal.
You need dick inside of you or you might die.
Satoru’s surprised when you climb onto his lap. His hands instinctively hold your hips. “Woah, uh, I thought we were gonna sleep,” he says.
He can’t seem to decide where to set his eyes: off your body to be respectful or on your body because you clearly want him to look. You grab his face and make sure he can’t look anywhere but the tits in front of him.
Lips curling into something sinful, you inform him, “No, Satoru baby. You’re gonna suck my tits, I’m gonna rub my pussy on your dick until you’re hard again, and then you’re going to lose your virginity. That okay with you?”
There’s no way he’s going to reject your offer; his pupils are blown out. He’s also obviously fixated on the faint promise of your nipples he spies through the thin material of your lingerie. All men are weak to lace and satin, like cats and catnip. Gulping, he nods. “Y-yeah, if you’re sure.”
Beneath you, something grows bigger.
“Perfect,” you purr. “Now suck.”
You shove your tits forward so he’s buried between them. He inhales deeply, groaning. And, almost as if puppetted by lust, his hands come up to grope you. Satoru doesn’t squeeze hard. He doesn’t squeeze at all. In fact, he’s merely feeling the weight and shape.
“So soft,” he whispers.
Nails scraping his scalp, you mutter encouragingly, “I said ‘suck’, Satoru. Are we going to have problems?”
“No, ma’am.” Carefully, wise enough to know not to ruin your expensive lingerie, he pulls down the cups. At the sight of your breasts bared to him, he makes a noise of amazement. “Wow. They’re so spherical.”
Fed up with his gentlemanly act, you flick your nipple and show him how they harden. “Suck, squeeze, be a little rougher, and get me nice and wet again. I don’t want to have to tell you another time.”
Satoru nods, putting more force in how he holds your tits. After a harder grope which elicits a pleased hum from you, he’s emboldened. Over and over again, he squeezes and jiggles the fats. He mouths at one, kissing skin before venturing to your nipple.
His warmth covers you. You sigh. “That’s it. More. Be rougher with me, Satoru.”
Like he had done with your clit, he flicks the hardened bud, then rolls it on his tongue. One hand keeps you steady by holding your waist whilst the other plays with your other tit. The little nerd looks parched as he sucks on your tit. One would think he’d been doing this forever. Guess it’s something that’s just innate to men.
Your hips begin rolling too. His cock has hardened under your ass. With a little shuffling, the length of it lines up with your pussy through his pants. The cockhead kisses your clit, though separated by layers. You bite your lips.
Being fucked is incredible, but dryhumping can be just as.
The friction, the warmth, the constant bumping of sensitive points — there’s nothing like it. You won’t deny to anyone that you’re soaking through your thong right now.
He gasps, leaving a string of spit from your nipple to his lips. “I can feel you. It’s like a hotdog bun. Go faster.”
Smacking the back of his head, you scold him, “Don’t describe it like that. It’s so unattractive. Do you not know how to dirty talk? Do I have to teach you that too? Or are you purposely trying to make me dry?”
A pulse makes your hips jolt.
Satoru shakes his head. He dives for your other tit, giving it equal attention, in apology. “S-sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Just…please go faster.”
You roll your eyes. “I was going to. God, you’re so impatient.” The pleasure was building before he’d spoken. Now, you have to build it back up again.
Faster and faster, you rub your pussy all over his cock, rotating your hips right where his tip is so your clit can get what she needs.
Groans and moans and hisses fill the humid space between you. His glasses are being knocked into a wonky angle. He doesn’t seem to mind; his eyes are closed anyway, too consumed by the sensations he’s feeling to care about anything else.
Soon, your hips stutter, juices soaking through. “Mmm, that’s good.”
Dryhumping never fails to make you cum.
You suddenly push off him so he can’t rut up into you and ruin everything. You lick your lips at the wet spot you leave on his pants.
Satoru reaches for you. “Hey…” he complains, pouting. “I wasn’t done, and I haven’t cum yet.”
“Shush. Do you have condoms?”
“Top drawer,” Satoru replies, sulking a little. You open it and frown at the massive mess of condoms you see. He scratches the back of his neck. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t know which one to get, so I got all of them.”
Warming. Ribbed. Extra Small. Extra Extra Large. Glow-in-the-dark. Flavoured.
You should have known he couldn’t do something as simple as buying condoms. Snatching the plain XL, you swat the hands attempting to reconnect with your tits away and situate yourself on his lap again. Pants and boxers pulled down, his cock springs out. You poke it to watch it bounce.
“Y’know, I’ve been trying to get myself hard since that time in the bathroom, but nothing works,” Satoru confesses, thoroughly bothered by his dick’s refusal to listen to him. “It’s not fair that I can only get hard with you; I really want to play with it too.”
“I bet,” you reply, rolling it down on his length. Damn, he’s even bigger than you remembered.
He watches you lift yourself up on your knees, aiming his tip just right. You slide down his length impatiently. At the tightness that meets him, he hisses, hands flying to grip your hips once more. This time, they’re not gentle — they dig into the meat, fighting the urge to tug you down.
Shaking his head, he whimpers. “No, no, I can’t do this. You’re too tight!”
“Shh, Satoru,” you whisper, stroking his cheek to comfort him. “You can take it, promise. It’s going to feel so good once you’re fully inside, trust me, ‘kay?”
Satoru takes multiple deep breaths, throwing his head back and gritting his teeth. “Okay, okay. Fuck.”
It isn’t easy on you either; he’s far too big to take with as little prep as you’d done, but your pussy’s a pro. She’s magical. Capable of anything. So, you push through, sucking him inches at a time until you’re more or less at the base. Breathless yourself, you say, “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Somehow, he musters a half-nod, but the flush on his face suggests otherwise.
“I’m going to start moving, alright? Hold on to me and let me know if it’s too much. I won’t get mad.” That’s more than most men have said to you, but the words leave your lips so easily you wonder why so few have ever given you that mercy.
He nods, panting. “Yes, yes, move. Please.”
Up and down your hips move, slowly and gently. Each rise and fall sends his eyelashes fluttering and his head rolling. It’s as if every sense is heightened and he’s already overwhelmed to the max. Despite that, he doesn’t quit. He wants this just as bad.
Anything to prove he’s not weak, that he’s not a failure.
“Such a good boy, Satoru,” you drawl.
His cock throbs. “T-thank you.”
The stretch is insane — it stung at first. But now, you’re so eager to feel his cockhead pressing against your g-spot, kissing your cervix, and wringing out a deep orgasm, that you fight the complaints of your inner walls. Honestly, you can’t remember the last time you’ve ever been so full.
What a waste that his wonderful cock had gone so long without being ridden.
All the bouncing makes the bed creak pitifully. It’s a subtle sound under his loud moaning. The rasp of his whines and groans sends vibrations rattling your bones, tickling you from the inside.
Oh, how you love a vocal man.
“So tight,” he gasps out. “You’re so fucking tight. I can’t think straight. I never knew -hah- sex felt this h-heavenly.”
“This is just the tip of the iceberg, Satoru. Imma show you a whole new world.”
Through the overstimulation and the dizzying pleasure, he finds it in himself to smile. “Shining, shimmering, splendid, huh?” At your eye roll, he moans, distracted once again. “Use me to make yourself cum; I’m not sure I h-have it in me to do anything but not -hah fuuuck- cum early.”
You snort. “That was always the plan, dummy.”
Unrestrained, you bounce on his cock like it’s a trampoline. Just as he said, you use him for your own pleasure. Your nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt. He throbs inside of you. When you grind your hips, your eyes roll back, and when his cockhead prods that gummy spot inside you, wetness floods out.
It’s so fucking good. You can’t tell if it’s because it’s been so long, because he’s so big, or if your body chemistry is really that fucking good — whatever the case may be though, it’s certain that you’re in for a great time with this nerd.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine out, back arching, tits shoved right into his face.
Spasms wrack your body at the massive orgasm that consumes you. You screech with the strength of it, hips stuttering once again.
Three orgasms in one day is fan-fucking-tastic.
Satisfied, you droop over his chest. “Thank god you have a big dick.”
Satoru makes a tortured noise. Hands clutching you with an iron-clad intensity, you find yourself shoved backward. Your back hits the mattress. Above you, he stares at your body. He’s flushed. Manic. Practically deranged-looking.
You frown. “Hey, are you okay? Did I go too fast?”
Hastily, he shakes his head, throwing his glasses carelessly behind him when it begins creeping down his nose bridge. “No. Fuck no. You were perfect. You felt so perfect. I want more. I want to feel good too. Can I? Please?”
“Yeah, of cour—”
That’s all he needs.
He finds your pussy with a little fumbling and help from you, pushing his still-hard cock in. Satoru gasps, outstretched arms he uses to hold himself up shaking. The slide back in is easier this time, and he doesn’t wait till he bottoms out before pulling out just to shove himself back in a second later.
There’s no rhythm to his thrusting; he’s simply doing what feels good. He swings his hips like his biological instincts have taken over. It’s fast, jostling you around. You’re being inched backwards.
Your head hangs over the bed. Satoru buries his face in your tits, slobbering all over them. “So good,” he repeats like a mantra. “So good, so -hngh- fucking good. I don’t ever want to stop. Fuckfuckfuck, I think I’m gonna pee.”
“No, Satoru,” you say, being jostled further and further down the bed with the force of his thrusting. “You’re gonna -hah- cum. Just like in the toilet stall, remember? Let it happen.”
“Yes,” he says, licking a stripe between the valley of your breast, tasting the salt on your skin. “I’m gonna cum. Mm, your nails — dig them into my back. I like it. I think. Fuck, I don’t -hic!- know anymore!”
Through his shirt, you scratch his back up, digging enough to make his hips speed up, ramming his cock inside you now. You moan with him. His energy and enthusiasm is making up for his lack of experience. The rubbing of his pelvis against your clit quickly brings you to the edge again.
You cum with a scream.
He cums with your name on his lips.
Then he completely slumps onto you, dead to the world and threatening to suffocate you with his weight.
Delirious with your surprise fourth orgasm, you weakly mutter, “Virgins.”
After that night, something awakens in him.
As you brush your teeth, he comes up behind you, eyes bleary with sleep and mumbling a good morning. Satoru rubs his morning wood against your ass, holding you tight and nuzzling the crook of your neck.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I woke up like this, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Condom?”
Satoru holds one between his fingers, ready and smiling into your skin, proud he’d anticipated that.
Rolling your eyes, you bend over the sink a little, pushing your panties to the side — good thing you woke up wet yourself. He sinks his cock inside, stealing your breath once more.
“Oh fuuuuuck.”
You each get another orgasm that way.
And when you wash up after in his spacious shower, he joins, nimble fingers parting your folds and rubbing that spot inside you he finds quite easily. The nerd’s good with his fingers, which is great because it’s such a waste to have long digits like his otherwise. Under the stream of water, you’re pressed up to the tiles, panting in his mouth. Dizziness makes you feel lightheaded; the steam isn’t helping at all.
When you cum, he fucks his already-hard and protected cock inside you. You cling to him as he holds you up, and you warn, “If you slip and drop me, you’re dead meat, do you hear me?”
He nods, groaning and rutting with wet slaps against your hips. “I won’t. Won’t -hah- drop you.”
True to his words, he doesn’t drop you, but he does get a nosebleed from the intensity of his second orgasm of the day and the humidity. You scold him thoroughly for getting blood on you. He apologises with his face between your legs.
Whilst you get ready for the day, he cooks breakfast.
Sitting on the island opposite him, you two eat the food together. Satoru talks on and on about how he got some Pokemon cards graded recently, and that they’ll go up in resale value by some percentage every year. You’re hardly listening, just nodding here and there. He doesn’t seem to mind.
Satoru finishes his breakfast first, and when you look up, he’s gone from his seat. Hands push your thighs apart. You peek under the table, and there he is, smiling up at you all innocently. Sighing, you hook your legs over his shoulder and give him free rein once more.
“Don’t jostle me too much,” you order. “If I drop sauce on my new top, you’re going to pay for it.”
He mouths against your panties, “I’ll be good.”
You cum ten minutes later.
And again when he fucks you as you’re bent over the counter. It seems like the man’s catching up on all the orgasms he’s missed out on throughout the years.
Satoru whines behind you, hips stuttering when your pussy clamps down on his throbbing cock. “So good…so fucking good. I’m gonna cum again, oh fuck.”
Fingers digging into the fat of your ass, he yanks you back to him, making fwop fwop sounds with the force of his desperate thrusting. Then he spurts inside you, body shuddering in waves.
Drooling on the marble surface, you groan at the slumping of his body over yours. “Ugh, Satoru, you’re heavy and sweaty, get the fuck off me.”
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, mumbling, “Don’t be mean to me — it’s getting me hard again.”
You don’t let being on campus stop you from fucking like rabbits either.
At least twice a day, you’ll text him which room you’re in — janitor’s closet in the Psychology building, Studio 3 in the atrium, Masamichi lecture hall between the 9am and 11am slot — and he comes as soon as he can.
Satoru eats you out from under your skirt whenever he has to be quick, to get back to his responsibilities, whatever they are. He fucks you from the back, rolls of toilet paper rattling off the shelves, and from the front on desks, when you have longer time to mess around.
He fucks you with his fingers whilst you jerk him off if you run out of condoms.
The two of you do it whenever and wherever you please.
Like now, as you’re in the Music storage room. Dusty violins, keyboards and instruments you don’t even know the name of surround you. A quick text had him sprinting from one end of campus to the other. As soon as you heard his footsteps outside, you dragged him in.
Shrugging off his backpack, he groped your tits through your top, flicking and pinching your nipples. “I was just thinking about this,” he confessed, breathless.
You were unzipping his jeans, pulling it down enough to stroke his half-hard cock. “Yeah? Were you thinking about fucking me as I pull your hair?”
He moaned, fingers finding your cunt soaked. “Y-yeah, want you to pull it hard.”
So you do — every time you yank on his scalp, he throbs inside you, whimpering so loudly you worry that someone will hear him outside.
“Harder,” he begs. “I can take it.”
His pelvis rubs your clit so perfectly that you feel your own juices oozing out of you, leaving a mess all over your inner thighs you’ll have to clean up. The friction, inside and out, the slamming of bodies, the tightness in which you’re holding each other, it’s all fucking good.
To his credit, he’s quickly learnt all your weak spots, the way you like to build your orgasm up, how you don’t want to be treated too roughly nor too softly. Maybe it’s because he’s a smart guy, maybe it’s because he wants to impress — whatever the case may be, it’s working pretty damn well for you.
Your orgasm explodes, and you lose control over your own hand; you pull so forcefully and suddenly with the force of your orgasm that his head yanks back sharply. Satoru’s eyes roll back, and he cums so hard his knees buckle.
He takes you down with him, falling to the floor in a loud clatter.
“Satoru! Someone could have heard us,” you hiss against his chest.
But he doesn’t hear you, not over the sound of his own moaning at the residuals of his orgasm. Glasses foggy, you can’t tell if he’s passed out beneath you or not. You smack him awake regardless.
Stammering, he says, “Huh? Oh, right. Yes, yes, we should fix ourselves up and get out of here as soon as possible…after another round.”
This happens often.
This, as in a general disregard for the law and campus policy.
You fuck behind the bike shed, on teachers’ desks, in the gym shed, cafeteria kitchen after hours, on all fours, from behind, against the wall, on your back, on his back. Anywhere there aren’t any cameras, you’ve fucked. If someone were to take a blacklight to the whole university, they’d think a series of murders had been committed.
All in the span of a week.
And you guys aren’t showing a sign of stopping.
.
.
.
When Satoru texts you, asking to meet him at a store, you’re confused but go anyway. He’s waiting outside, hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.
“You want to fuck here?”
He beams when he sees you. “Heyyyy, thanks for coming. And no, Diapers,” Satoru says, eyes sparkling with humour, “we’re not defiling a toy store. We’re here ‘cause I have some things I want to get.”
“And I have to be here?” You don’t even bother hiding the unimpressed tone of your voice. God, if you had known he’s just running errands, you wouldn’t have come all this way wearing a cute, blue thong and matching lacey bra. What a waste.
Satoru fixes you a look. “Now, now, fake-real girlfriend, if you want to violate my poor, fragile body later, you’re going to keep me company as I pick out new Lego sets, m’kay?”
Holding onto your shoulders and ushering you in before you can sashay away, he leaves you no choice but to walk in with him. The automatic doors slide open with a cheerful chime, and you’re immediately assaulted by colour.
Bright plastic aisles stretch on forever. Shelves packed with dolls, puzzles, plushies staring vacantly into the void. The air smells faintly of cardboard and sugar, like childhood and disappointment. Somewhere nearby, a kid shrieks with joy, and you physically cringe.
He pushes a cart — how much is he planning to buy?
You slow your steps, heels clicking against the floor. “I cannot believe,” you say flatly, “that I waxed my entire body for this.”
Satoru laughs, unbothered, already scanning the store like a man on a mission. “You say that now,” he replies, “but give it ten minutes and you’ll be like a child in a candy store.”
“I will not,” you say, crossing your arms. “I don’t even like children’s toys.”
“That’s because you’re thinking of them wrong.”
You shoot him a look.
He grins and drifts toward the Lego aisle, long strides unhurried, like he’s completely at home here. You trail after him, already bored, eyes glazing over at the endless boxes stacked floor to ceiling.
“Okay,” he says, stopping in front of a massive display. “See this?” He gestures broadly. “This is basically world-building — like I showed you in my apartment, remember?”
“It’s plastic.”
Of course you remembered. That moment was tolerable. Spending an hour strolling through aisle after aisle under fluorescent lights that do nothing for your complexion?
Totally not.
“It’s control,” Satoru corrects lightly. “You get to decide how things look. Who goes where. What story they’re telling.” He picks up a box, studying the front. “You ever notice how much thought goes into presentation? Colour palettes, silhouettes, themes?”
“…Obviously,” you say. “If the outfit’s ugly, no one cares if it’s designer.”
“Exactly,” he says, delighted, like you’ve just passed a pop quiz. “Same principle. You don’t just slap pieces together. You curate. Pick things that reflect you, that tell your story.”
You glance at the box again. It’s a pastel-heavy set — café-themed. Tiny tables. Little cups. Fairy lights printed on the cardboard. “That one’s cute,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.
His head snaps toward you. “See?”
“I said cute, not interesting,” you argue weakly.
He plucks the box from the shelf and turns it around, pointing at the figures on the back. “Look at her outfit. Layered textures. Colour coordination. She’s a diva — you can tell from just one glance. It tells a whole story about her character.”
Leaning in despite yourself, your eyes tracing the tiny details. “She needs better shoes.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s less bite now. As you move down the aisle, he keeps talking — not at you, but with you, connecting everything back to things you actually care about. This set has drama, he says. That one’s about legacy. This one’s all optics — looks impressive, but structurally weak if you don’t reinforce it properly.
You find yourself stopping in front of a display without realising it, fingers brushing over a box with sleek black-and-gold accents. “This looks expensive.”
Satoru hums approvingly. “Ahh, you’ve got great tastes, babe.”
“Obviously.”
A beat passes. You realise you’re standing closer now, shoulder nearly touching his arm. You’re not thinking about how stupid this is anymore, or how you’d normally never be caught dead here. Instead, you’re imagining it — building something with him. Sitting on the floor. Choosing pieces. Arguing over aesthetics.
The thought unsettles you.
“Don’t get smug,” you warn, narrowing your eyes. “This is still kind of lame.”
He smiles like he’s already won. “Yeah. But you’re having fun.”
You open your mouth to deny it, and fail. “…Shut up,” you mutter, reaching for another box.
A bunch piles up in the shopping cart; he doesn’t blink at the rising costs. You don’t think he even looks at the price tag. Wow, he’s irresponsible. More so than you probably. That makes you feel a little better about how often you max out your credit cards.
In a far corner, he browses through the nerf guns. “Inumaki out-nerfed me with his recent purchase; I need to one-up him,” Satoru explains.
No one’s around.
Slinking up behind him, you rub his crotch as he shops. He stiffens. “No. Bad girl. I do not want to get banned from this place.”
“And we won’t,” you reply, humming. He’s steadily growing under your touch despite his words, and you don’t hesitate to grope him to full-hardness. “Just keep it lowkey. Can you do that?”
His gaze flits left and right, trying to make sure no one can see what you’re doing. The camera’s behind you, and you know from experience that it’ll only look like you’re hugging him. He groans, box in his hands shaking.
“Shush, Satoru — or maybe,” you mewl, “you want to be caught. Are you a dirty little exhibitionist, Toru? Do you want to show everyone how well your dick works, is that it?”
Satoru’s hips rut forward, chasing your grip even though he definitely wants to fight against your bad influence. His hand comes down, clutching your wrist. “No,” he insists, “I’m not that depraved. Not like you, Diapers.”
Gracefully, he spins the two of you around. You face the shelves and he embraces you from behind. Long fingers slide under your skirt, pressing upwards on your clothed slit. You gasp.
“You’re wet already,” he notes, amused. “I think you’re the one who wants to be caught. You want everyone to know you’ve got me all wrapped around your pretty finger? Or maybe you just want to show everyone your cute, little panties.”
When he creeps inside, rubbing your clit, you confess, “I just thought your nerd lecture about plastic toys was adorable, is that so bad?”
He kisses your cheek, and coos, “You’re so stinkin’ sweet. Makes me want to taste this greedy pussy right here.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“The law,” he retorts quickly. “That and the thought of having to pay years of therapy for some kid.”
Voices sound out at the end of the aisle. The two of you quickly part.
A family walks by, not really paying much attention to either of you. Though the husband does look you up and down, snatching his leer away when Satoru steps in. As they admire a toy a metre or two away from you, you watch him suck his fingers and wink.
At the till, you end up with two Lego sets for yourself, and him with five, and the biggest Nerf gun they had in stock. His Lego sets are movie-based, and yours are a cutesy cafe and an orchid. Oddly, you find yourself itching to get started.
“Good afternoon, Gojo, how are you, dear?” the old lady cashier asks, looking fondly at him.
Satoru grins. “Good. How are you?”
“Very well, thank you. Back for your monthly shop I see. Great choices.” She spots you behind him. “And who might this be?”
“Oh, just a friend from school,” he says, pulling out his wallet. “I’m paying for hers too.”
You hand him the two you picked out. She smiles at you like you’re a little girl holding hands with her son, and you hate it. It’s so clearly fake. Who the fuck is she to look down at you? Does she think you’re dressed like a whore?
He waves goodbye to her as he walks out with you, bags bumping lightly against his legs. The bell above the door chimes, too cheerful for the mood settling in your chest. A frown hardens your face before you can stop it.
You don’t say anything at first. Pride won’t let you. You walk beside him in silence, the late afternoon air cool against your bare legs, the parking lot humming with distant traffic. He unlocks his car and pops the trunk, carefully arranging the bags like they’re fragile.
Sliding into the passenger seat, you cross your arms as soon as the door shuts. The interior smells faintly like clean laundry and coffee. There’s no trashy fluffy pink dice, trash littering the seats, or other girls’ earrings and scrunchies. It’s nice, and electric, because he cares about the environment probably. Nerd car.
Predictable.
He starts the engine, pulling out smoothly, humming under his breath like nothing’s wrong.
You last three minutes.
“So,” you say, voice light in that dangerous way, staring out the window. “I’m a friend now?”
Satoru glances over, immediately picking up on the edge. “Hey,” he says gently, easing off the accelerator at a red light. “That wasn’t—”
“Because I could’ve sworn,” you cut in, nails tapping against your knee, “that we were doing this whole fake-dating thing. You said, it’s as real as anything else, remember? Or did I hallucinate that part?”
The light turns green. He drives on, unhurried, jaw working like he’s choosing his next words carefully. A heavy air settles inside.
“I didn’t tell her you’re my girlfriend because I didn’t want to lie to her,” he says finally. Satoru keeps his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. “Calling you that to her, to someone who’s known me since I was a fresher felt wrong. Sorry.”
You scoff. “So you have no problem lying to your friends, but you won’t cross the line with a cashier?”
“Yeah, I know it sounds stupid. It’s just, she’s nice, y’know? She reminds me of my granny. It feels weird to lie to someone who’s so sweet,” he explains. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, promise. I tell everyone else, people who matter on campus, that you’re my girlfriend. No one’s gonna find us out, don’t worry.”
That shuts you up.
You look back out the window, watching buildings blur past, irritation knotting with something more confusing. You know this isn’t real. You know it’s convenient, mutually beneficial, temporary. You’re not stupid. So why does it sting?
Why does the idea of him introducing you as just a friend make your stomach twist like you’ve swallowed something sour?
“You could’ve warned me,” you mutter eventually.
He nods. “Yeah. I should’ve. I’m sorry.”
Silence settles again, thicker this time. You pick at the hem of your skirt, annoyed at yourself more than him. This shouldn’t matter. You’ve never cared before. You’ve always been someone’s arm candy, someone’s secret, someone’s placeholder — and you never blinked. But Satoru doesn’t treat you like any of those things. Maybe it upsets you so much because in that moment he felt like everyone else you had dated.
Satoru parks outside his building and turns the engine off. The quiet rings in your ears. For a moment, neither of you moves.
“I really didn’t mean to upset you,” he says softly. “If it bothered you, I’m sorry.”
You swallow, hating how sincere he sounds. How easy it would be to forgive him. How stupidly warm that feels. “…It’s fine,” you say, even though it isn’t. You don’t know what it is, just that it’s there. “But don’t make a habit of it. It’ll be bad if you slip up to people that matter. As real as all other relationships, remember? At least until the end of the year.”
He smiles, relieved. “You’re right.” He squeezes your thigh.
You grab your bags and step out of the car, telling yourself it’s nothing.
In his apartment, you lounge on his sofa, rewatching Princess Diaries on his massive TV whilst he builds one of his Lego sets on the coffee table. You’re in no mood to build anything anymore. He, on the other hand, is as he always is — happy and excited.
Neither of you try to remove the other’s clothes. The mood seems to have passed. You don’t mind. The movie’s pretty good.
He turns around and shows you his progress once in a while, and won’t turn back around until you pat him on the head.
Now, you’re not an expert on Lego at all, but there doesn’t seem to be a reason why anything needed such a thick booklet of instructions and over a thousand pieces. He seems to enjoy it though. There’s so many Lego things on display around his apartment that you’re scared to walk around and touch anything in case you destroyed something that took him hours to complete.
“Look, look,” he says, showing you a Lego girl and boy inside a brick building. “When I put the roof over it, we’ll never see them again. Say bye to mini us.”
“Those things represent us?” Leaning closer, you inspected the yellow things. “She doesn’t look anything like me. I’d never wear something so plain and without glitter. What happened to the cute one with ugly shoes?”
Satoru chuckles. “She’s waiting for a rainy day — gosh, I really have to ask them to make a new line based on you for next time, don’t I?”
Carefully, he angles the roof he built on the side just right, making sure everything lines up. You come down beside him, inspecting all the different pieces he had organised in separate plastic containers by colour.
“What’s their story?”
“Hmm?”
“Their story,” you repeat, trying to figure out what exactly you’re looking at. “You said you’re all about storytelling; I’m assuming this has a plot line too.”
He looks at you for a second, hands halting, then he breaks out into a wide smile. “They run a movie theatre! Toru over here mortgaged his house to fulfill his longtime dream of owning the theater his dad used to take him to all the time as a child, before he died from an airplane crash. His pretty wifey here was against it at first, because she didn’t think it was a good financial investment, since his last business endeavour landed them in a lot of debt.”
A giggle escapes you. “Sounds like she’s the only one who has any brain in the relationship. She must drive him mad, being the constant partypooper.”
“You’d think that, but she’s actually very supportive — she just doesn’t like seeing him disappointed,” Satoru says, making space for you when you make yourself comfortable on the rug beside him.
You nod. “So they’re in a very happy relationship?”
Satoru hums. “They’re madly in love. At night, when the theatre’s closed and everyone’s gone home, they play their wedding video on their best screen and dance together just like they did for their first dance.”
Burying your face between your knees, you ask, “How did they meet?”
“He kept bumping into her,” he says, scouring through one of the boxes for the pieces he needs. “And one day, she cornered him and asked why he hasn’t asked her out on a date yet. She basically threatened him into a relationship, and he was too scared of her to say no. Still is to this day.”
A full laugh fills up the room when you elbow him, totally catching on.
“He doesn’t regret it, does he? Never saying no, I mean?” you wonder, a little quietly.
With a small smile, he makes the two Lego people kiss, and he says, “No, I don’t think so. He only regrets the times when he disappoints her; he doesn’t like seeing her frown.”
“Then he should just keep making her happy.” Your head falls on his shoulder, too tired to keep it up yourself.
His own bumps yours. He says, “He’ll make a note of that.”
You’re so caught up in the moment that you forget why this whole thing started in the first place. That is until you get a text message from the girls’ group chat asking why you’ve been MIA.
Smile vanishing, your nails begin tapping on the screen. You say, you’ve been busy with things, and they immediately take that as you having a new man. You don’t deny it, only sending a middle finger emoji.
The chat explodes.
And you’re bombarded with messages asking who he is and how big his dick is. They irritate you so much you pause the movie to focus on letting the annoyance build. It’s not any of those fake bitches’ business who you date.
Oh, but it is though.
This is what you wanted, right? The opportunity to prove you can get a good man and you’re not obsessed with drama?
Brittany texts you separately: so you actually bagged him? why didn’t you tell me sooner?
It’s early days, you reply.
She says, you know Bitch and Bitchier aren’t going to make this easy for you or him, right? If this is about what I said before, you don’t need to go this far and subject him to their judgment. I’m happy to admit that you won.
You haven’t though — if you don’t make your relationship public, does it even exist?
Your final message to her is, I can handle them.
You let them know to meet you at a cafe on Tuesday morning, when Satoru has an open slot. Then you turn to him.
He sees the determined look in your eyes and slowly puts his bricks down.
overview: frat!gojo has been a thorn in your side since freshman year. hooking up was supposed to make him finally lose interest and set his sights elsewhere. but unfortunately for you, that plan backfired. disastrously.
cw: mdni, fratjo x sorority president reader, womanizer/maneater, smut (act shocked everyone), both are switches, he’s mouthy asf, exhibitionism, sex in library, edging/denial, thigh job, unprotected sex, very light sacrilege, fluff if you squint hard enough, 3.7K words
first satoru fic, please go easy on me! art by @/thatsallitchief
frat bros always lose interest after sex.
the saying is hammered into women’s heads like an incessant mantra before they even consider entering the dating scene during their college years.
it was to be rehearsed like the composition of a play. the mastery of each page and stage cue vital…lest they wanted to get their hearts broken by expecting a lifetime from a guy who could only last 30 seconds at best.
and with each recital of this grand play, women were directed that these rowdy, immature college men would act out their parts the exact same way every time.
chase, catch, fuck, then cut you loose so they could move on to the next.
so why the hell is satoru gojo not following the script?
you’ve been shutting down his advances since that first day of orientation, not because you weren’t attracted to him—it was hard not to be—but men who knew they were handsome were usually revoltingly arrogant. this definitely applied to him too.
the first time he approached you, he flashed that dazzling smile and those gorgeous baby blues as he asked you for directions to a lecture hall. one you now know doesn’t even exist.
it was your first day too, but always one to lend a helping hand, your eyes scanned the length of the map you'd printed, searching for the room, and becoming increasingly worried when you couldn’t find it. with your head still bent, you froze when you felt a feather-light touch pass over your skin. your eyes lifted as he fixed a stray strand of hair back in place, murmuring that it would be better if the two of you went to “look” for it instead.
you stared at each other for a long time before it dawned on you. and ever since you slapped his hand away, hair smacking his face as you made an about turn and stormed off, the man has been hot on your heels like a desperate puppy.
you had a good run of making him beg at your feet and offering nothing in return, but by the time it got to senior year, you decided to put him out of his misery. he gave you that megawatt grin when you walked over to him at a random house party and whatever flirtatious quip that was about to pass through his lips was silenced when you pressed yours against them. satoru froze under you, then shuddered as a moan— which you later pulled out in higher pitch—slipped out.
that night was…enjoyable. you were pleasantly surprised that he actually picked up a few things from all his hookups seeing that the man had more notches in his bedpost than you ever cared to count. then again, you couldn't exactly judge because whatever the staggering figure amounted to, you knew you weren’t all that far behind either.
you used sex as a vice to combat the truckload of pressure your demanding degree and being the president of your sorority put you under. it wasn’t healthy by any means, but it worked when you needed it to.
satoru’s reasons for sleeping his way through half of greek row were unknown to you, but you reasoned that with how much he got around, he would at least know how to conduct himself after the deed.
he should have known that trying to cuddle you afterwards, having breakfast delivered to your sorority the morning of, even after you kicked him out, and sending batches of flowers every other week was a no-go.
at first, you kind of found it funny that he was so intent on pretending he liked you, but after he scared away the fourth man you were trying to destress with, every drop of amusement you thought you were feeling dried up like the sahara.
dry. yes, that’s one way to put what you’ve been going through for the last six months.
men who used to flock to you now stared like deer caught in headlights, then they would glance over your shoulder, eyes comically widening before making some lame excuse and fleeing. and every single time you turned, you’d be met with that evil blue-eyed cockblock, whose heavy-set scowl quickly morphed into a smile at having your attention once more.
annoyance and sexual frustration are a mismatched cocktail that clouded your temperament and made you moodier by the day. your replies to some pledges were a little more curt than they should have been, just shy of snapping. and when it got so bad your friends had to sit you down for a talk, you were horrified to find a brand-new vibrator lying on your bed the day after you came clean. the horror hardly stopped you from using it right away, but it did escalate when you realised the toy didn’t do much to help.
you needed the warm press of a body against you, hands to roam over your form and lips so sinful they’d make you dizzyingly desperate as they showered you with kisses. you needed—
your head shakes to dispel the thought that threatened to creep up. a suspiciously satoru gojo shaped outline started to form in your mind’s eye. what you need is to focus. you only have a paragraph left of the assignment that has been making you run around in circles, so you would throw yourself into it to keep distracted.
sitting in your usual secluded spot in the library, you find comfort in the fact that no one ever came this far.
“oh, there you are.”
and you spoke too soon.
“go away gojo. i’m trying to study.”
said man only falls into the chair next to you with an exasperated huff, long legs stretching out far in front of him as he reclined, “baby, you sound like one of my frat brothers when you use my surname. i told you to call me satoru.”
“and i told you not to call me baby, so i guess we both can’t get what we want.”
a deep chuckle graces your ears as your fingers fly over the keyboard and your traitorous eyes steal a glance at him.
seeing him dressed in a white fitted tee stretched tight over lean muscles and dark sweatpants only solidifies how much you hate when men know they're hot. satrou definitely knew, and the black baseball cap he has on backwards, with tufts of platinum blonde hair messily peeking out, only serves to make you angrier.
“i don’t have time for your shit today. i’m trying to finish my assignment,” you grumble once you’ve managed to force your eyes away from him and back to your laptop’s harsh screen.
“i don’t remember you owning the library. i’m here to study too.”
the laugh that erupts from you is purely accidental, and before you can say you don’t believe him, he pulls out a small notebook and pencil from god knows where. you’re glaring at the side of his head as he begins writing, doodling really, and accepting you won’t be able to get rid of him that easily, you go back to your work.
surprisingly, you’re able to finish the rest of your assignment with little to no interruptions from the usually chatty man beside you.
it shocked you enough to make you glance over at him again and when you do, you realise his book isn’t a notebook at all. it’s more like a sketch pad, weathered with age and frequent use, and the longer you take in the drawing he shaded over one of the wilted pages, the more it begins to look like you.
the sight of the portrait, the casual reverence and admiration behind it, somehow perfectly drawn from memory as he didn’t look over at you once while making it, are enough to make you break the silence.
“what are you doing?”
finally, oceanic eyes meet yours, then they drift down to his book when he sees your attention there. satoru smirks, turning the page towards you.
“drawing you. ‘s not as pretty as you, but i’m still learning.”
your lip purses, “no, i mean, what are you really doing? you’ve been at this for four years already, surely you’re getting bored with this game?”
powdery white brows furrow, “game?”
“following me around, sending flowers every week, chasing away every guy who shows interest in me, pretending to like me, all of it.”
“i’m not pretending to do anything. i do like you.”
you don’t like the pressure that bubbles in your chest at how earnest he sounds, so you scoff, hoping it would will it to dissipate.
“no you don’t.”
an emotion you can’t make sense of settles over satoru’s face, and it makes him look the most serious you’ve ever seen him.
“look, you don’t have to accept my feelings, but you sure as hell don’t get to invalidate them and tell me they aren’t there either.”
you blink at him, and he turns from you, for the first time seeming angry at you. the man took your public rejections on the chin. sometimes, he would flush a deep shade of red, but he would be back at it again days later. this time, however, feels different. feels like you might have actually hurt him.
not knowing what to say, you just go back to your work. you’re halfway through editing when your phone rings and since, present company excluded, no one else was around, you answer it.
“don’t kill me,” is the first thing yuki says, and you know you aren’t going to like what comes next.
“what’s wrong?” you ask, sitting up straighter in your seat, and satoru shoots you a passing look.
“the legacy, the one we dropped from rush? yeah, she reported us to the dean.”
“what? why?”
“she said we were singling her out and hazing her.”
“oh bullshit!” the man beside you snickers at your curse, so you reel it in a little. “she was bad mouthing all the other pledges because she thought she had a spot guaranteed.”
“i know.”
“we cant have girls like that around.” the words are half-whispered, half gritted out.
“i know.”
“today just keeps going from bad to worse.”
“even with me here to cheer you up, babe?” satoru says that a little too loudly, and you make the mistake of pinching his thigh, which only makes him yelp louder.
there’s a beat. then…
“you’re with gojo, aren’t you?” the smile in yuki’s voice is unmistakable, and it makes your eyes narrow.
“no,” you deflected, “we’ll deal with this later. I’m still busy.”
“yeah, i bet you are.” you end the call with yuki’s witch-like cackle sounding over the phone. you set it down with a little more force than necessary, fingers going into your hair to tug at it.
satoru’s cool hand covers yours, and he pulls it out from between the mussed tresses.
“what’s up with you? you’ve been pulling at your hair a lot recently. keep it up and you’ll be balding before you know it.”
you mean to tell him that he, among other things, is the one causing you all this distress, but the words falter when his thumb strokes over your inner wrist. you barely stifle a shiver, but of course, satoru notices the poor attempt.
saying you were touch-starved would be the understatement of the century.
and never one to let things be, his lips curled into a knowing smirk. “oh,” his eyes remain fixated on your face, all while you avoid eye contact like your life depends on it. “I see.”
“you see nothing,” you spat a little too quickly for it to be convincing, and his chuckle tells you as much.
“you’re a little pent up, huh, baby?”
you hated him, and you hated yourself more for not pulling away when his slender fingers laced between yours.
“it’s your fault.”
the sneer billowed out as naturally as all your other snarks did these days. with no outlet, everything was being bottled up inside of you, trapped in the gas chamber that was your repressed body, and the heavy metallic door rattled as more toxins angrily rolled about with no place to go. inflating like it would explode sooner or later.
satoru nods with faux empathy as he moves your joined hands to rest on your lap, then he murmurs, “want me to make it better?”
no.
absolutely not. hooking up with him is what caused this in the first place. if you took it there again, who knows what else his infatuation may make him do? or god forbid if your steadily crumbling defences fully delude you into thinking he was being sincere.
a finger grazes over the denim of your jeans, so suasive it may as well been on your bare skin, and your brain short-circuits. the touch isn’t sexual in the slightest; it’s only done to bring you back to the present, bring you back to him, but the effect it has on you is still tragic.
“or do you want me to stop?” he finishes in his huskily melodic voice, blue eyes boring into you so intensely, it’s like they were promising to pull you under their brimming waves and lure you into their endless depths.
you take too long to answer, so satoru’s hand loosens in your grip, about to draw back until you clamp your thighs around it and squeeze. your sharp nails cut into him, trying to tell him through the bite of pain what your lips couldn’t seem to form.
he tilts his head at you, and the small pieces of his hair sticking out follow the moment. satoru waits until he sees the imperceptible shake of your head, and only then does he allow his hand to leave your clutches. it slithers to the crotch of your jeans, easily spanning over it as he cups your cunt with a low groan.
“missed her so fucking much.” the words are snarled out behind clenched teeth, then his mouth covers yours.
your hips buck into his hand, worried about someone walking up to this level of the library, but not enough to make him stop. your teeth skim over the glossy softness of his lips before biting down, and he lets out a wrecked sound that you swallow whole.
nimble fingers don’t even bother to unbutton your jeans as they slide right past the waistband and into underwear. they tease over your fluttering clit, and once again, your thighs close around his hand like a vice.
the sound you make is a little loud, even to your ears, and satoru leaves pecks around your jaw until he gets to the shell of your ear.
“shhh, you need to keep it down, baby.”
he sounds so satisfied with himself that it has you desperate to make him eat the words. so, your hand skates over his muscled thighs, nails brushing a barely there touch over his erection.
“fuck, yes.” the croaked curse makes you deliver a soft slap to the length, more of a pat, but it makes his body jerk nonetheless and his chair scrapes across the floor with the movement.
“you keep it down,” you retort as you pull his waistband back enough to let his cock bop out and smack against his abdomen.
“always need to make it a competition, don’t you?” satoru goes to kiss you, but you turn at the last second, letting his lips land on your cheek, and unfazed, his tongue peeks out to lick a wet line up its smoothness. sometimes he really did act like a mutt.
“hardly a competition if i win every time.”
an amused huff is breathed against your skin, “we’ll see.”
that’s the only warning you get before long fingers plunge into your cunt. and a gasp escapes as slick wetness makes their entry effortless, but your walls spasm around them regardless. you recline in your chair, pleased hum escaping as your hand wraps around his thick girth to repay him.
“tighter,” satoru pleas as his free hand covers your smaller one and pumps over his cock harder. your grip loosens, thumb passing over the flushed tip, and he pulses hard. it felt like you were punishing him, and maybe you were because he knew what was missing.
thankfully, he has never been above begging, especially when it came to you, so the words tumbled out easily, “please, baby,” his hips lift as he thrusts himself into your hand and pushes his fingers deeper in your cunt. “need you. please?”
could anyone refuse him when he sounded so beautifully broken? you certainly couldn’t. hand tightening around him, your own hips unabashedly buck up as you grind your clit onto his palm.
teeth catch your lower lip when pleasure shoots up your spine, and you’re too busy glancing down the hallway to make sure you don’t miss someone coming by, you don’t notice his other hand sneaking under your shirt until it’s too late.
hands that were usually languid grow hurried as he paws at your tit over the thick material of your bra, and you feel each squeeze as a resounding pull deep in your pussy. you’re forced to cover your mouth to stifle the sound you make as you cum all over his dexterous fingers.
“there’s my pretty girl. go on, make a mess.”
more creamy beads of precum spill over your fingers as satoru chases his own release, and by how growly he sounded, you reckon he isn’t too far away. but, no, you couldn’t have him cumming early and nosily whining with overstimulation as you stroked him to get hard again. you needed to be quiet, so you had no choice but to let go of the weeping length.
“shit—don’t stop.” he begs but it’s too late as you pull his hand out of your jeans and stand up. and even though your body instantly misses the warmth of his, you back away from him and walk closer to the stacks.
satoru’s eyes turn glacial as he watches you, irises cooling to freezing temp as he rises from his chair with fluid swiftness that would have been alarming if you didn’t get wetter with each step he took closer.
he corners you between the darker shelves and hands come up to rest at the sides of your head as he braces himself.
“you enjoy getting a rise out of me, don’t you?”
you take stock of him, and linger a little too long on how his dick strains in sweatpants that do nothing to hide it.
“only fair with the emotional warfare you’ve been putting me through all these years.”
he backs you into the hard wooden surface of the bookcase behind you, name coming out in a probing croon as his nose brushes over yours.
“you and i both know that if you really wanted me gone, it wouldn’t take much.” his hair tickles the tops of your cheeks as he gets impossibly closer. “you’d only have to say the words, and you never have.”
you bristle, something akin to embarrassment heating your cheeks as his arm curls around you. satrou draws you to him, minty breaths hot and coaxing as they puff over your lips, and the only reason you don’t kiss him is because you refuse to prove him right.
“so why don’t you say it, huh?”
there’s a bite of anger in his tone as his arm grows taut around you, and his body is so tense it feels more like you’re pressed against a brick wall.
“say you want me gone, and i’ll leave.”
your thighs clench. breasts pushing out against his chest as the threat forgoes your ears and shoots straight down instead. you refused to dwell on why his words were turning you on so much, because it would mean you would have to accept being just as much of a deviant as he was.
“do you want to leave?” you probe instead of answering the question, and his lip curls into a deep frown.
hands grope your hips, turning you around to press you against the tall bookcase, and your breath comes out in a surprised huff when his cock nudges your ass.
he grinds into you, “no, and until you can give me a definitive answer, you’re stuck with me.”
oh the horror.
your hands rest against the shelves to steady yourself as his fingers make quick work of unzipping your jeans and he pushes them down, just past the curve of your ass. your panties are still on and they stick to your soaked pussy as he moves behind you.
the slimy trail his leaking tip leaves over your skin makes your breath hitch and you still don't catch it as he slots himself between your thighs, thick length dragging teasingly along your clothed clit.
“oh my god,” you moan as his mushroom tip snags over the twitchy bud, hips trying to back into him but failing as he grips them tighter to keep you still.
“uh—uh, don’t bring him up when he's not the one making you feel this good. say my name.”
your mouth hangs open, and his name comes out in a soft pant as so much wetness pools out of you and coats your thighs, he might as well be in a slip and slide. satoru moans against your dewy skin, hips becoming shaky, and arms banded around you like steel.
it takes a lot, but he forces himself to draw back and roll the ruined lace fabric of your panties down over your ass. a breath turns into a squeal as he drives into you. your back bows in a deep arch that he meets with the smothering hardness of his body, blabbering at how tight your pussy clenches around him.
satoru pulses hard inside your heat, one hand kneading your covered breast and the other groping the fleshy globes of your ass a little too roughly. his choppy breaths fall over your skin, forcing goosebumps to prick to the surface and fuck if all of it doesn’t spur you closer to the edge again.
“close,” you warn with something resembling a hiccup fused in the word.
“me too,” he rasps with his face buried in the plush curve of your neck and you feel him kiss along your skin before he comes up for air. “can i cum?”
he’s asking for permission? oh fuck, you were done for. you nod a little frantically as your own body seizes up.
“mhm, i-inside.”
satoru whimpers before his sharp teeth bite down on your neck in an effort to keep quite and moments later, warmth spreads low in your belly. he spills every drop of his cum, and makes sure to push it deeper with a shuttering snap of his hips when it tries to drip out.
you’re still breathless when he pulls out of you, and he quickly hikes your panties up to keep as much of his seed inside. jeans are hauled to their rightful place, and you hear him shuffling behind you as he fixes himself too.
turning to face him, you feel a glimmer of pride at the light sheen of sweat beading over his skin, and he readjusts his cap as his eyes look you up and down. then hesitantly, almost shyly, he leans in to give you a chaste kiss.
it lingers for a while, and just this once, you allow it.
satoru pulls away to meet your eyes again, and just when you thought he couldn’t shock you anymore, he says the last thing you were expecting.
“let me take you on a date.”
you think you misheard him, but when he repeats himself, you’re at a loss. your lips part to make up an excuse, but he shakes his head to stop you.
“one date. and if you don’t like it, i won’t ask again.”
relationships and dating weren’t your thing. you never had the time or the capacity to deal with all its complexities. and surely people grew bored of each other after the first couple months doing the same thing over and over again?
sex has always been the only exciting part of it.
and yet, satoru’s cool blue eyes peering down and brimming with playfulness and warmth, promised that you’d never get bored with him. and perhaps on days that the spark dimmed due to familiarity or routine, the strength of his resolve in his pursuit of making you his would curb you over whatever doubts you had.
“fine.”
and the man smiled like he had just won the lottery. he could work with that.
♡ ₊˚‧ 𝓥.𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐉𝐎. doesn't realise that his mean girl fuck buddy is obsessed with him. . . & is dropping off bodies in his dorm for him to feed.
˖ ࣪૮₍ yandere!reader :: toxic obsession :: dark aspects :: possessiveness :: murder :: violence :: reader is fucking insane :: blood drinking :: smut :: obsessions with being killed by a vampire. . . :: p in v :: fuck buddies :: blood play :: handjob :: biting :: public sex :: satoru drinks from dead animals :: guys something is wrong with reader ࣪ა ࣪˖
˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ struggled with his bloodlust day in and day out. one thing that vampires often glossed over was the sheer, carnal, instability of being a young vampire. think hormones— but instead of sex, risks and emotional meltdowns, you're two seconds from draining your peers down in the middle of the hallway.
satoru often distracted himself with his studies. nose buried in a book and hands writing equations and essays until they cramped. anything that kept him from the dryness in his throat, the swelling in his fangs, and the disgusting, devastating need to tear into something fresh and tear it open until it stopped squirming.
another thing he could distract those violent thoughts with? sex.
˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ wished he could say that his sex life was something he could ground himself in. but alas, that's where you came in.
pretty, preppy, popular and so. fucking. pretentious.
the perfect princess in his bio lab and unfortunately his lab partner. with more insults on your sharp tongue than charms on your nails. as bratty as you were beautiful. something infuriatingly and infatuating— wrapped in a pink ribbon and audaciously high stilettos.
he fucked you once. back of the library. you just pushes him too far that night and before he knew it; your shoulders were cramped into the bookshelf and your knees were over his shoulders. heels digging into his shoulder blades and pretty, sharp nails gripping onto the shelf. as he pulled your skimpy little panties aside and fucked you with the kind of dick that stupid nerds like him shouldn't have.
satoru remembers the way you went dumb on his cock. how you squeezed, and squirted, and sobbed for him until every bratty trace had slid off in drool on your limp tongue.
fuck, he remembers how he felt every thrum of your heart, your pulse. how he wanted to sink his fangs so far into your throat that you'd never bitch at him again.
he didn't, of course.
he wished he stopped there. wished he didn't come back as much as he did. wished he could just say no to the campus' bratty princess and her attitude problem.
but alas, he loved your pussy. and loved fucking the brattiness right out of it. even if you gave him hell for it.
˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't know that your bitchiness concealed something deeper. darker:
obsession.
it frustrated you at first. the fact that the loser nerd was clouding up your mind more than the latest gossip and your dreadful assignments.
it was whenever he glared at you over those rimless glasses. you got all hot and bothered. had to stop yourself from pressing your thighs together under your plaited skirt.
it was when he answered questions in class. so confident and calm. how his voice thrummed a chord in you that had you abandoning a party just to hump your pillow to the thought of him.
it was the way he never backed down from your attitude. how he dished it back. bit back. no one had ever done that before. most guys either gave you what you wanted or flat out ignored you.
satoru though. . . he was different.
so really, should you be blamed for all the pictures you took of him? for that pen you stole from him to touch yourself with in the girls' bathroom? for all the little souvenirs you started collecting?
you knew his routine. knew his classes. knew his favourite cafe and the exact order of his drink: something sweet.
you could be sweet for him. so sweet. if he'd just let you.
˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ was supposedly the hunter— and yet he didn't know he was being stalked. didn't know that hungry eyes lingered from beneath mascara and perfect eyeliner.
you followed him whenever you had the chance. just to learn more about him. his likes, dislikes, anything that you could use to make yourself perfect for him. the object of his every desire. to drive his obsession with you the same way he had so crudely ruined your mind.
the nerd wanted you obsessed with him? you'd show him obsession.
so imagine your disgust when one day, in the dead of night when all had gone quiet and even the insects vowed silence— you heard it. soft, and strained.
"s-sat. . . satoru. . ."
coming from around the dorm building. somewhere concealed by the hedges. the gardens.
was he. . . fucking someone else?
jealousy spurred in your sinner heart as you drove forward before you could stop yourself. somehow not breaking an ankle in your high heels as you slipped through the hedges until you could catch sight of him.
sure enough— a shock of white hair caught your attention. pale hands pinning another's to the brick wall. his tall body hunched over him.
hell burned in your eyes. in your balled hands and your nails that dug into your palms. how could he.
how could he—
the person's eyes were wide. not with pleasure.
terror.
they spot you lingering. locked eyes with your cold glare. reached shaky fingers out in a gesture that you could only decipher as a cry for help.
and only then did you see the deep, dark liquid dripping down their throat. exactly where satoru buried his face into.
the street lamps glinted at just the right angle. showed just enough.
your eyes widened when you realised exactly what it was.
when you saw his fangs. heard him gulping.
without a doubt, that was blood.
satoru's jaw was latched onto their throat. his nails digging into their wrists. his adam's apple bobbing as he. . .
drank.
your mind scrambled. nerves tense. muscles frozen.
you should have ran.
you should have ran, should have screamed, should have jumped out of your very skin because what you were staring at was something that wasn't human.
instead?
you. . . pressed your thighs together.
and vanished from the scene as quick as you could. not from fear, but because of the throbbing dampness in your panties.
you weren't stupid. you knew exactly what that was. what he was.
and it. . . aroused you.
˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't bat an eye when your attitude problem seemed to grow by the day. he knew you by now. knew what you wanted. you pissed him off to get a reaction out of him. so that he could push you down into a desk in some abandoned classroom and fuck you until your knees jittered and your pretty panties were stained in his cum.
what he didn't realise was that you had another incentive now.
a new obsession.
after that night outside the dorm buildings, you dived head first into research. the biology of it all— vampirism.
folklore, documentaries, myths, whatever you could get your hands on. call it a hypothesis.
and what's the first thing about any hypothesis? field research. so of course you dedicated more hours to your watchful activities over your nerdy classmate.
you saw it again. saw him drain someone dry. saw him clean his fangs in the morning. saw him drink from birds in the night. your theory was correct.
and it fucking turned you on.
made you wanna be in their shoes. the bird in his clawed grasp. the bloodbag clutched in his palms. the victim under his fangs as he drained you dry of everything you had to offer.
for someone who just found out that their hatefuck buddy wasn't human, you sure had your priorities straight.
˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't quite sure what was going on. lately, he hasn't had to go rob a hospital, catch a bird, or pick out a new classmate to sink his fangs into.
they were delivered right to his door.
dead birds outside his dorm complex. in the gardens. convenient. with finals approaching, he never really questioned it. too buzzed on caffeine and too tired from hours hunched over a textbook to really care.
what did have him questioning, though?
the bodies.
dumped outside where the birds were. on the verge of death. puncture wounds in their throat and bleeding out.
he never could control himself.
feed first, ask questions later.
he'd drag them into his dorm. lay them out on his bed and feast to his heart's content. until his legs were shaking and he was gasping.
only then would he look at the puncture wounds. another vampire in town?
maybe trying to make an ally? he'd have to find them and personally thank them for giving him a little boost for dreadful finals.
little did he know that the "puncture wounds" were inflicted by your favourite pencil.
˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't question the rise in your sexual encounters. how your attitude seemed solely directed on him. how you bitched more, sneered harder, seemingly did everything in your power to drive him up the wall until he snapped and dragged you off to either finger you in an empty hallway or fuck you in the bathroom stall.
didn't question the way you'd grip his hair and bury his face into your neck. how you'd slip into his lap and smother him in yourself. how you wanted to be as close to him as possible.
he thought you needy.
what you really were was desperate.
desperate for him to lose that pesky restraint you noticed he had around you. desperate to snap his control so that he buried his fangs into whatever part of you he desired and drained you dry.
you wanted it. your blood on his fangs. your hands in his hair while he did it. your cunt clenching around his cock too.
let him shatter you, take you, ruin you— death by his hands started to sound like the sweetest fantasy.
it's what got you squirting around him every time he buried himself balls-deep. what had you sensitive to the smallest touches. with his face buried between your thighs and his glasses fogged.
you'd squeeze around his head. hope you'd allure him enough to lose his mind and bite on your thigh. gorge on your blood like he did your pussy.
if only.
if only.
˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ swore he tasted blood on your lipstick.
you were starting to get desperate. starting to grow tired of squeezing, and squirting, and sobbing for him— hoping he'd finally lose it. hoping he'd take you in another way that wasn't just fucking you stupid into his mattress.
so that's when you did it. you were already killing off students and dragging their bodies to that same damned garden— would this really make you any more of a sinner?
it was just a few droplets. three to be exact. not enough for you to notice. but enough that he would.
you kissed him at every opportunity you had. pushing him into the lockers in the middle of the hallway. crashing your lips into his and loving the way his whole body ticked up. how he froze.
god, a sick part of you wanted him to drain you in front of everyone.
you kissed him in the library, in the study room, the cafeteria, wherever you could get your hands on him just so you could feel his shake on your waist.
bingo.
you might just be getting this nerd obsessed with you after all.
˖ ࣪꒰ VAMPIRE NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't like that thought. the idea of needing you more than for just some desperate fuck to keep his mind off of his bloodlust.
now? he was really starting to imagine you in his bed whenever he pushes another body into his sheets and stained them red with scarlet.
maybe that's why he didn't stop your bolder touches. how you seemed to stop caring about being seen with him in public. how you wanted him at every hour of the day.
maybe, just maybe.
whatever he was feeling was threading a line on something dangerous.
it's why he didn't stop you when you got touching with him. one late friday night in the lab. jerking him off under the table when you both should be dedicating the time to your looming research deadline.
instead: his head was tossed back. blunt nails digging into the smooth lab table as his glasses fogged and condescended with his heavy pants.
"fuck— fuck. 'm gonna cum if you don't stop—" he huffed, free hand gripping around your wrist as you squeezed him at the base.
your eyes were dilated. dare he say feral. he's been seeing that look from you more and more lately.
it throbbed that prominent underside vein of his.
"yeah, toru?" you cooed, sweet. sweeter than you had been to him all semester.
he wasn't sure why you were taking such a deep interest in him. maybe it was the way he filled you up. the way he fucked you. how desperate he sounded as he fucked his hips up into your hand in a lab where the professor could very well trot back into.
your wrist rotated. something sharp glinted in his peripheral. with his eyes fluttering and his breath heavy, he hadn't had the time to catch sight of what was happening between his legs before—
he smelt it.
cutting, metallic, oh so fucking sweet.
his stare shot open. wide. pupils and irises shrinking as his eyes snapped down to your hand.
you were bleeding.
worse, you were smiling.
before he could shove you off and scamper away— you squeezed around his tip. harsh. with your fucking.
bleeding hand.
"wait—" he rasped.
your pace turned filthy. squeezing his cock and fucking him with your first with your blood as the lube.
your sweet, sinful, sanity-shattering blood.
the gums around his fangs swelled. his nostrils flared. eyes wide and flickering at the ceiling— and yet all he could do was needily buck into your pumping hand and whine from the back of his throat.
your thumb shoved to his tip. smearing blood with cum as you rubbed at the slit of his cock. squeezed with your other hand at his throbbing balls until his eyes rolled up.
until his fangs were on full display and he almost.
almost.
lost himself and shoved you to the table. buried his fangs into whatever part of you he found first and drained you dry while your hand went limp around his dick.
"oh my god," he croaked, whispy bangs sticking to his forehead and glasses strewn over the bridge of his nose as pleasure and bloodlust crashed on him in a dizzying, devastating splurge of sin.
and you?
still so sweet. still so fucking insane.
jerking him off with your own blood. even as his hips bucked and he snatched you by the wrist. held you tight. as his cock tensed, and trembled— and finally tipped over the edge.
thick, creamy ropes mixed with the smears of red. pouring down his dick and staining your hand that squeezed him still.
until all that came from his mouth was desperate little whimper.
till all he could think about was—
scarlet consumed blue. swallowing his irises into something carnal. violent.
his hand shot to your wrist. cramped it. with his sheer strength he shot to his feet and shoved you into the desk. dug his thumb into your wound and sneered above you as the scent of your blood finally pushed him over the edge—
satoru's not sure what made him snap out of it.
he was certain that he'd bury his face into whatever vein or artery he could and drank until you were nothing more but a memory on his tongue.
he didn't know when he pulled away.
when he scampered all.
all he knew was that his back was slamming into the locked door of his dark dorm once he was inside. that his pants were still unbuttoned and that he'd haphazardly shoved his cock back into it when he pried himself away from you.
his breathing heavy. ragged.
hand on his heath.
eyes fixed to the ceiling.
cock still stained in your sweet. . . sinful. blood.
a trembling hand raked down his face as he caught his breath.
did you see his eyes? see his fangs? did you understand that he was about to bring you to death rather than an orgasm?
his exhaustion and shock told him you didn't know. that you didn't know a damn thing. that you were just a crazy bitch who was in to some freaky blood play.
and that he just overreacted.
yeah. overreacted. he needed a shower. needed to think of anything else but you.
you.
obsessed, crazy, fanatic little you.
still in that lab with his cum mixed with your blood in your hand.
staring at your palm as you breathed, heavy. heated. your free hand slipped under your skirt. between your thighs.
with your mind on him. him. that loser of a nerd. that demon of the night.
synopsis . You're best friend's with both your favorite emo fratboy and the campus plug. So when you make an offhand comment while under the influence one night that no guy has ever made you cum, he takes it upon himself to challenge that.
content . afab!reader, oral sex, dirty talk, spitting, squirting, he has a tongue piercing, pussy slapping, slightly-bimbo!reader, high sex, 69 position, cumming without realizing it, munch activities (yk how choso is), he’s a lil cocky, first time squirting, finger fucking, shotgun kiss, he talks you to filth, slight manhandling, throat fucking, head pushing, heavy praise, etc.
word count . 8.9k || author's note: this is a repost from kamitv so if it looks familiar, that's why. (the original was labeled mature, unfortunately) banner art from, "Hachisuka's Family Kotoribako"
“This guy is following me, pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“Wha—“
A pair of arms are wrapping around his neck before he has time to react properly and the rush of something sweet wafts up into his nose. A careful hand, decorated with ring after ring and adorned with black polish across the nails, comes to the right side of your waist to pull you in close.
Choso’s rich and definitely intoxicated brown eyes mull over the faces of the people around him, spotting Gojo and Geto—his friends—not too far away from him, and a bunch of other partygoers.
He doesn’t ask you any more questions—despite how you’re some random chick who came clinging onto him—as his eyes soon land on the guy who’d clearly been following you.
“Ew, Naoya…” He spits out, his face twisting up into a nasty scowl of pure disgust as the residential misogynist comes walking toward the two of you. “Don’t tell me he’s the asshole bothering you?” Choso whispers questioningly.
Your face is all buried into his neck and he could feel your arms tightening around him as you mumbled a gentle, “Mhm, he is.”
Great…
Because who in their right mind would want to deal with Naoya on a Saturday night? The guy gets kicked out of every frat house party that’s ever been held ‘cause of shit like this. All he does is harass and insult women, only to be eventually approached by one of the many frat brothers and get kicked out moments later.
Seems like this week it’s Choso’s turn to handle him. Which is just wonderful, really.
“Yo,” Choso calls out to the fully approached Naoya, whose mere presence makes him feel nauseated. “The fuck do you want with my girl?”
Now, you’ve never spoken to Choso before this but, the sound of him calling you his girl has your heart feeling all warm inside—even though he’s only said that because you’d asked him to play along.
The scent of his cologne mixing with the thick musk of weed fills your nose as your face smushes up into his chest. You only know the man through the rumors you’ve heard and the few times you’ve seen him around these parties you keep attending. As you readjust your chin to look up at his expression, you think your arms unconsciously hold onto him a little tighter the moment you spot the vein peeking out against his jawline.
Everyone hates Naoya, that’s an irrefutable fact. But, something about how annoyed Choso was looking at him right now had you pulling your lower lip into your mouth.
Naoya lets off a scoff, his voice all loud and annoying, “This dumb bitch is your girl?” He asks.
Every syllable that left his mouth is grating to all listening ears. Ugh, he was such a nuisance…
You merely glance back at the guy for a second and notice the look in his eyes that clearly says he’s not buying this shit. Choso—catching the same thing that you do—slips one of his hands downwards to the small of your back, not daring to go any lower just yet, and then eases you even closer.
“First off, watch your fuckin’ mouth,” He scoffs out, jaded eyes dragging up and down Naoya’s frame as he wonders how long it would take to knock him onto his ass. “Secondly, yeah, we’re together. What do you want?”
“That slut owes me money,” Naoya curses with tightly crossed arms, his gaze fixated entirely on you as if Choso weren’t even there. Though, he’s not really looking to get kicked out of this party just yet and he’s trying his best to avoid physical confrontation.
Cocking a brow, the brunet smoothes out a low huff that smells of the recently consumed marijuana he's inebriated under before redirecting his slightly glossed eyes down to you, “This isn’t what I think it is, is it, baby?”
You’re quickly distracted by the pet name that so easily rolled off of his tongue but without getting too wrapped up in it, you blink. “Huh?”
Choso slowly tilts his head to the side and cracks a knowing grin, “You’ve been seein’ other dealers? Don’t you know I’m the best on campus?”
Gulping, “Well, I–”
“S’okay,” He cuts off to ease the concern and worry trying to paint itself into your features. “We’ll get back to that in a sec’,” Then he gestures his head over to Naoya, gives your waist a little squeeze, and says, “Lemme handle this guy for you first.”
Choso carefully moves you to the side and steps toward Naoya, who’s arguably a bit taller than him. He sizes him up again and bites back his scoff, replacing it with a tiresome sigh that he doesn’t even try to play off as anything else outside of what it is—an honest gesture of displeasure.
Voice lazy, “How much does she owe you, man?” Choso asks with one hand already fishing through the pocket of his pants for his wallet.
It really didn’t matter what number was thrown out to him, he was gonna fling whatever bit of cash he had on him toward Naoya to get him to fuck off. The only thing good about his presence right now was the fact that it brought you along, which is something Choso would like to return to as swiftly as possible.
“Tch,” Naoya chuffs, trying to glance behind him to get another scowling look at you before he says, “As if you have enough to—”
“Jus’ give me the number before I get you kicked out again,” Choso cuts off cleanly with a gaze that bores into the man’s skull.
One beat of silence passes by as Naoya contemplates a few things in his mind, wondering whether or not he really wants to test his luck with this.
Ultimately, he ends up caving with a roll of his eyes, “Fine…” Then he gives him the number of which you owe and he’s literally smacked in the face with a random wad of cash as if he were some kinda’ cheap whore to be dealt with.
“There,” Choso spat, “Now don’t let me catch you trying to sell my girl your overpriced bullshit again, yeah?” Technically, he had no right to tell someone else not to sell drugs to you when he didn’t even know you.
But, one look at your face and he was certain he’d want you coming to him for weed and not anyone else after this. Especially when going to someone else landed you in this situation where you’re being followed around parties for payment—Choso would never do such a thing. He’d offer alternatives before even thinking to harass you like that.
Naoya was immediately enraged by how he’s being dismissed but it’s not like he could express that since there were one too many fraternity members in the area for him to do so without instantly getting escorted out. Thus, he settles for shuffling up the cash that’d fallen onto the floor—snatching each bill from beneath the feet of partygoers—and keeps his curses in a lowered whisper that’d never be heard under the blaring music.
Then, as if nothing ever happened, the surrounding people return to their dancing and Naoya seems to disappear somewhere into the crowd shortly after.
Which leaves you standing in place with slightly widened eyes whilst Choso turns around to look at you, brushing his hands off like he’d just dealt with some type of dirt or something.
“You alright?” He asks, taking a step closer toward you. The music is loud so it’s hard for you to really hear him, hence why he leans his ear down to your lips so he can gather your response properly.
You nod at first and then the words follow, “Uhm, yeah. I wasn’t expecting you to pay that off for me but, thank you, Choso.”
Shifting over to talk into your ear now, “Don’t sweat it, princess. But uh,” He clicks his tongue before darting it out to swipe over his lower, pierced lip. “I meant what I said before. You should’ve been dealin’ with me, not that idiot.”
“Oh,” You chirp.
Then he pulls away and the two of you are able to take one another in properly for the first time.
Under the changing LED lights—which are currently a mix of purple and red—both of your faces are dimly illuminated. Choso’s eyes openly scan over every detail of your expression, watching the cute curl in your lips as you slowly smile at him.
Oh, you’re gorgeous.
What are the odds that a pretty girl like you literally comes running into his arms at a party like this? And then this dress you have on… Choso doesn’t exactly mean to glance down but when he does, he notices the way the fabric simply hugs your body, shaping you in all the right places and more.
He gulps, a sound that would’ve been rather loud if not for the vibrating base of music against the surrounding frat house walls. His eyes flick back up to your face and you’re shamelessly staring at his lips, then your gaze lifts to his nose, then to the right side of his face; right at his cheekbone for some reason? After, you’re looking at the tattoo running across the bridge of his nose and—
Ohhh, Choso was so distracted with checking you out that he almost forgot how many body modifications he has. He gets these kinda stares all the time but for a second he’d lost his entire train of thought. There’s the ring on the left side of his lower lip, his anti-brow piercing on the right half of his face, the small one on the left side of his nose with a very obvious tattoo running across the bridge, and then the multitude of piercings all over his ears.
Makes’ sense why you were staring now. You’ve got this clueless little look in your eyes and it’s kinda cute—
“How much do you charge?” You’re asking, ending his thoughts entirely.
The word, “Free,” blurts out of him before he even realizes it and it’s not until he sees the way you start giggling that he realizes what he’d just said. Shaking his head, and backtracking, “Wait-, no. I don’t do anything for free, sorry. If anything,” Choso leans back and slides his hands down into his pockets, “You actually owe me now.”
Your eyes shoot wide open, “Owe you for what?!” you’re huffing as you wonder how the hell you keep finding yourself in someone’s debt like this.
“Hm, I dunno. Paying Naoya off for you?” He says with this sly grin stretching across his face. “But don’t worry, you jus’ owe me a promise.”
You lift a skeptical brow at him and watch his pinky finger lift out for you to attach your own to in the most cliché way possible. Looking down at his finger, then back up into his eyes, “What kinda promise?”
“Gotta’ promise you’ll come to me for your weed instead of that moron, I’ve got better prices and better strains. None of that baby shit he was scammin’ you with, trust me.” Choso offers with his pinky still outstretched. You’re slow to intertwine your finger with his and he uses the connection to pull you closer, “I need to hear you say it too.”
You almost start stuttering with the way he’d jerked your body closer just to say that all lowly to you. “I promise I’ll come to you instead of Naoya from now on,” You respond with a dramatic emphasis on your words, fighting the blooming feeling in the pit of your stomach that spurs when he smiles at you as if he were proud or something.
And that’s roughly how the two of you met and became acquainted with one another. A couple minutes of fake-dating, one pinky promise, and a “complimentary” joint to start you off later and the two of you were practically best buds!
——
Well, not exactly best buds but you and him do get really close after that little party and encounter.
You stay true to the promise you’d made with him and only ever deal with him from then on. Choso was entirely honest with you that night so, everything he’d said turned out to be more than true. The shit you used to get from Naoya was nothing compared to what you were constantly high off of now, and it was cheaper.
Though, sometimes you did seduce your way into convincing Choso to give you an even lower discount….
One slightly revealing top was usually all it took for him to snag off a couple dollars for you—amongst other things. Like the cute ass smile you flash his way whenever you’re geeked out of your mind, yapping on and on about fuck knows what until the words leaving you no longer make sense. Yeah, Choso loves that.
Oh, and the tasty gloss you typically coat your lips with.
He’s not some kinda weirdo so he definitely hasn’t had any… lustful thoughts about said gloss but, he can’t exactly avoid getting a taste of it whenever the two of you are cycling a blunt back and forth and bits of it are left clinging to the wrap.
Outside of just smoking his weed and becoming his favorite customer, you also become someone he likes to keep by his side and talk to from time to time. The best discounts from him come after a good smoke sesh that he usually has to beg you to stick around for.
During those, the two of you end up talking each other’s ears off until it really comes time for you to go.
Slowly but surely, the two of you are spotted together more often than either of you cared to be, and dating rumors shuffle about. They’re quickly shut down after a couple of parties where you’re spotted letting some other random guy kiss on you but, a certain two individuals try their best to keep it alive.
The individuals in question are none other than Choso’s closest frat brothers: Gojo and Geto. Those idiots were fully convinced that poor Choso never got any play until he met you, and now they’re both convinced he’s your loser boyfriend.
You’re pretty sure they only act like that because they’re jealous you’re probably getting free weed from the guy while they’re not.
Little do they know, their perception of your relationship with Choso couldn’t have been further from the truth. He was definitely getting play, he was just quiet about it since he’s the kinda guy you wouldn’t even realize slept around unless he wanted you to realize it. And as for you, you’re the one who ends up feeling like a loser after a while seeing as every guy you hook up fails to make you cum.
So much so that you were starting to believe there was actually something wrong with you.
This all leads to now, as you enter Choso’s dorm room for the nth time this week to, hopefully, get high enough to distract you from that little orgasmic issue of yours.
As soon as you enter the dorm, your mood is killed immediately.
Sitting in the living room laughing loud as hell, is Gojo and Geto. Both of their heads turn in sync as you walk in, trying to quickly pocket the spare key Choso had made for you some time ago—having mentioned something about being too lazy to open the door for you all the time—and hoping that the two men will leave you-
“Look who’s here to see her man, awww,” Gojo coos before you can even try to ignore him.
Then Geto follows that up with a cunning, “Should’ warn you though, your boyfriend’s high as a kite in there.”
Trying not to let their annoying-ass taunting get to you, you settle for a sigh of, “When is he not?” before turning the corner and b-lining towards Choso’s room.
There are some more childish snickers and comments made about you from the two men but you pay no mind to it this time.
Pushing the desired door open, you’re immediately met with a thick heat of smoky air and a completely fogged room. The sound of a towel brushing against the floor as you push the door open makes you look down and you quickly realize he’d been hotboxing all by himself.
“Without me, seriously?” You hum with no malice behind your words as you slip past the door and shut it behind you, using your foot to nudge the towel back into place and then letting your eyes scan Choso’s slightly cluttered room.
The man is lying across his bed, dark hair hanging off its edge with the way he splayed out upside down and pinched a rather fat blunt in between the thick of his thumb and index. “You were takin’ too long,” Choso drawls.
And god, you could tell by the tone of his voice that he was barely even with you right now. He always had a pretty mellow way of speaking but when he was really high, his voice would drop an octave or two—words crawling off of his tongue all sleazily and heavy with each syllable.
“Y’know I’ll make it up to you though, here,” He adds on seconds later before you get the chance to settle into his room.
That strong earthy scent coated the entirety of his room as you walked over to the edge of his bed and looked down at him, noticing the jaded reds and pinks coating the typically white portion of his eyes as he batted them up at you. He’s got some low melodies playing from some corner and it only adds to the ambience of the space. Then, his arm extends and he’s offering you the cause of his fumed room.
Humming, “Thank you,” whilst plucking the joint out of his hands, your nails just barely graze his skin. Choso eyes the way you bring it up to your mouth and clasp it lightly in between your lips, leaning down to him and nodding your chin towards the lighter in his other hand.
He catches your gesture and hoists it up to spark the blunt for you, hand cupping the air around as he filters through a couple stubborn flicks before a flame adorns the preroll’s end. Choso’s eyelids are weighted even as he watches you draw in a steady breath to capture the item’s contents into your system—quickly moving your hand to the joint afterwards to pry it from your lips and exhale slowly.
Another hum, this time one of approval, ghosts past your lips along with the fumes you’d just let escape you. “You look tired,” You comment while pulling away.
As you move around his room to plop your back down somewhere and get comfortable, your plug merely mumbles an easy, “M’not.” in response to you.
You shoot him over a look he doesn’t quite see, “If you fall asleep on me like you did last time, I’m leaving.”
“You better keep me awake then, no?” Choso chimes with one lazy smirk making the corner of his lips twitch.
Cocking a brow now, “And how am I supposed to do that?” you ask.
You then relax down into the chair in front of his desk of scattered papers and unfinished assignments, dragging it over to the side of his bed so that you’re close enough to pass the blunt back and forth.
He lifts his head adequately to glance over at where you’re sitting and then offers you a shrug as his hand goes out, “I dunno, you tell me, baby.”
In the midst of taking another long hit and after passing it off to him, you meet his expectant gaze with a certain look, “Cho.”
“What?” He scoffs immediately. Then he’s sitting up and reaching over to pluck the blunt out of your hand and bring it to his lips, mumbling, “I call everyone that…”
He knew you didn’t care much for the pet name, even though he’s been calling you that ever since the two of you met. You told him about how much you hated the way it fueled the dating rumors and made it harder to get Gojo and Geto shut up. But, when your eyes roll in reaction to what he just said, he lets off a soft whir.
“Mh, you didn’t like that, huh?” Choso asks you in between several back-to-back hits that you’d normally scold him about. The brown of his eyes glide over your frame and then zero in steadily on the way your lips are moving as you speak.
“What?” You huff, “No, I don’t care if you call everyone baby.” A lie, it did bother something deep down inside of you. “I-If anything that’s a good thing.” You suggest.
To which he extends his hand out to you again, letting a single brow arch up, “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” You’re humming. Though, the sound definitely seems like you’re trying to convince yourself here…
The conversation dies out there for a moment longer than either of you care for and it doesn’t go unnoticed, even as the two of you cycle the blunt back and forth until it’s about halfway smoked through.
While you try to relax in the uncomfortable silence that’s stretching itself out in between the two of you, your mind is unfortunately drifting back to your sexual issue. The weed is supposed to keep your mind at bay and help you relax and yet, today it decided to do everything but that. Instead, your head is very much wracked with annoying flashbacks of the recent times in which you’ve been faking your orgasms for the second-rate men you’ve been sleeping with.
It’s not that these thoughts are completely unwelcome but, you’d rather not have them now while you’re busy smoking with Choso. And it really doesn’t help that he’s not being his usual talkative self right no–
“You’re quiet today,” Choso breaks the silence all of a sudden and the sound of his deepened voice is almost enough to make you flinch. It was like he’d read your mind or something just now…
Spooky.
You’re slumped back against the chair and staring up at the thickly clouded ceiling, “Think so?”
Choso nods before he speaks. “Yeah, what’s up?” He asks, eyes still watching you as if he were studying your every little move amid the haze, “Talk to me, princess.”
While your stoned brain decides to focus on your lack of orgasms, his mind is unable to drift away from you and the way you look sitting in his bedroom right now. This isn’t too unusual for him since weed does tend to help his focus but, normally it’s not on you as much as it is today.
Perhaps that was because of your weird silence. You hadn't even complained about anything yet, which was enough to tell him that something was wrong.
Before you speak, the question rings around your head for a few seconds. Choso has a handful of pet names he uses on people and you know that but, you’re not quite sure if he says that last one to just anybody.
Hence why a delicate, “...Do you call everyone that too?” streams past the gloss of your lips.
“Nah,” Choso answers immediately as if he’d been watching the words walk right out of you. Then he tilts his head, “Just you.”
At that, you visibly tense up a little. You hated sessions like this with him. When the quiet got too loud that the mostly dormant emotions began to bloom around you. The warmth you feel flash over your face and cling at your heartstrings is definitely not from the weed but, you try to ignore it.
He’s been like this a couple times in the past. While he does get sleepy after a long smoke sesh, he also tends to get uncharacteristically direct and soft with you. You remember how one time he went on this looong rant about how pretty you were. But, before you could reply to any of it, he dozed off while mumbling about how he hoped to see you in his dreams that night.
Anytime you bring this up now, he tells you none of that ever happens and that he’d definitely remember doing so but, he doesn’t.
“You gettin’ shy on me now?” Choso asks abruptly, to which you lift your head and look at him. He’s sitting all the way up now, rolling a few more joints—as if he needs to—and then glancing to you again, “I said talk to me, what’s on your mind?”
Your gaze fixates on how careful his thumbs are with the joint’s edges, smoothing over them with the rolling, and only ever taking his eyes off of you to focus on what he’s doing before slipping his tongue out to lick it.
A short, “Everything…” comes out of you in a manner so cliche that it makes him snort.
The unpierced side of his lips quirk up now that he’s half-smiling, “Pfft, okay… Well, what’s been going on with you lately? You’re bein’ dry as hell with me right now.” He points out.
You pout a bit and take your eyes away from him, “I dunno. I… It’s stupid.”
Choso rolls his eyes at you, “Don’t you start that shit,” He warns. You know he doesn’t like when you beat around the bush but how the hell are you supposed to tell him that you’re quiet today because you’re sexually frustrated? He’s your dealer, not-, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” He asks, interjecting your thoughts directly before shrugging, “Just talk, girl.”
You scoff a simple, “You’re so annoying…” that trails off into another long beat of silence, the only sound coming from his softly moving fingers and the way you take a few more hits of the preroll still in your hands, hoping to gain enough confidence to blurt it out. Then, after a few more carefully thought-out seconds, “...I think something’s wrong with me.” You manage.
“Seem’ perfect to me,” Choso blurts out, clearly not thinking twice about the words that just fell off his tongue.
“I-,” You pause to digest the sudden compliment, brushing it off with a chuckle, “I meant my body, Cho,” To which he mutters the same thing and you pretend not to hear it this time as you say, “I dunno if maybe it’s the stuff I’ve been smoking lately but….”
Some more stillness flies by and this time he seems to be fed up with it.
“But what? Don’t edge me here.” He demands.
The light buzz in your mind serves as a coaxing feeling that helps you finally breathe out, “I can’t cum.”
You don’t get much of a reaction from him at first. If anything, he looks confused as he cocks an almost innocently puzzled brow, “Huh? Can’t come to what?”
“No, not-,” His literal interpretation of your words ends up making you giggle. Then you sigh, “I meant that I can’t orgasm, Choso.”
“What?” He questions dumbfoundedly.
“Please don’t make me repeat that…” You mumble.
“No, seriously, what?” Choso repeats, looking now as if you have three as he puts everything down and turns his head your direction, “You’re not gettin’ fucked right?”
Caught off completely guard, “Jesus. That's not even what I said—”
“But that’s what that means, right?” He interrupts, waiting for you to meet eyes with him again, “Unless you’re trying to tell me you seriously can’t make yourself cum.”
It’s slow but, you finally manage to look at him, “I can…”
Nodding, “Exactly so, that means you’re out there receiving mediocre shit instead of coming to me… again.”
If you weren’t caught off guard before, you damn sure are now. So much so that you cough in between your next hit, the smoke choking up in your lungs with a slight burn as your zen is thrown off. “H-Huh?” You unintentionally stammer.
Even with your eyes on one another now, he can tell you’re nervous just from talking about this. Smoking was not the cause of that flush in your cheeks and he knows it. Something else definitely had you hot right now.
Choso’s eyes flick up and down your seated frame long enough to see the way your thighs shift against the seat. Instantly, his tone gets sly, “What, you think I’m only good for weed?”
Your lashes bat, “Well, n-no, but…”
“C’mere,” He cuts off, having lifted a hand to beckon you over with two generously ringed fingers.
Your scoff is instant, “Choso, respectfully, I don’t think-”
“M’not askin’ you to think,” He smiles, fingers still waving, “I’m askin’ you to come over here.”
It takes you a bit to digest his words before your body gets to moving and when you haul yourself off the chair, you move to plop down on his bed. Sitting right next to him now, Choso leans over a little and his arm slides somewhere behind you. His hand ends up just a few inches away from your ass, his fingers splaying out against his comforter whilst his head weighs to the side.
His body is hot next to yours. So hot you could practically feel the heat oozing off his frame. And the peering look in his eyes wasn’t making it any better either…
“How many times have I told you I’m here for whatever you need, huh?” Choso whispers, the lowness of his voice causing your hips to twitch a little.
He’s all focused on you again, even more so now than he had been earlier, and it was almost as though you could feel him everywhere without him even touching you yet. Perhaps it was the cannabis in the air and the way it swirled throughout your system but, all your sensations felt heightened now.
Pulling your head away from him to gain some distance back, “Plenty of times, but..” Your shoulders slump a little, “This is different, Choso.”
His gaze falls down your body and something husky and wanting sneaks its way into his words now, “How? You think I can’t make you cum?”
God, every time he opened his mouth you felt as though you were losing your mind. And the audacity he had to be so bold with his words on top of that was making it perpetually worse by the minute.
“N-No,” You huff as your head turns back to him and you’re heard gulping thickly at his focus on your mouth. “I’m not saying that but…” You pull your lower lip in between your teeth for a moment to chew while you think. Then, you sigh again, “Well, maybe I am saying that… I just think–”
“I told you to stop doin’ that,” Choso murmurs, arm snaking around your body so that his hand could land on your hip. He gives you a little pull and almost sounds needy as he utters a husky, “C’mere.”
“I’m right–”
“Closer, baby.” Choso cuts off, finally tugging you closer so that the side of your thigh brushes up against his. He then takes his other hand and brings it up to your jaw, drawing your face way too close to his. You could smell the viscous scent of weed on his tongue as he spoke given the lack of distance between you both, his eyes never straying away from the soft, soft curve of your lips, “Now, jus’ tell me if you want me to make you cum or not and I got you.”
Your top set of lashes meets your lower ones in slow-motioned blinks as breathing properly grows increasingly difficult, “It’s not that simple…”
The man’s grasp on your chin grows a little tighter, “It really is.”
You roll your eyes again “Literally no guy has made me-”
“Do I seem like every other guy you’ve been with?” Choso scoffs, as if he were actually ticked off now. Then he forces your head some more up so that your gaze is meeting his and, fuck. The look in his eyes did something. Looking at you all commanding and desiring like you were the only thing that ever mattered in his life, “Do you want my help or not?” he whispers one last time.
Of course you wanted his help, even though you had your doubts about receiving it. You weren’t sure what would be so different with him.
Even so, you’re slow to give him a nod of your head and grumble a cute, “Yeah,” that has him swallowing down a groan.
Then he’s weighing forward and you barely get to fully shut your eyes before his lips smooth over yours. Catching your hesitance, you feel his thumb slip upwards as he talks into your mouth, “Don’t be shy, open up f’me, baby.”
At the sound of that, your lips get to parting over his and his tongue immediately slides right in. Both of your heads tilt off in opposite directions and he’s the first to let out a string of sounds. It starts out with a grunt when you pull back half a centimeter just to slip down and clasp his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling softly.
When you give it an adorable tug and then press forward into the kiss, that’s when he starts groaning.
Choso’s got no idea how any guy could’ve gotten their hands on all this and then decided not to make sure you’re squirting by the end of the night. He supposes he can thank all those guys now though, seeing as you’re swiftly moving forward with this kiss.
Yeah, it starts out slow and a little sloppy but while your tongues are mingling with one another’s and sharing the prominent taste of marijuana, you’re getting eager for more and throwing a leg over him.
You’re properly sitting in his lap before he realizes it. And the only reason Choso acknowledges it at all is because he feels a rush of heat spark from in between his legs as something rubs over the previously dormant tent in his sweats. He can’t even pull away from your mouth to say anything because he’s far too distracted by the gorgeous moan you sink past his lips.
Oh, he’s lost it.
Choso’s hands grab at your waist suddenly and then squeeze hard enough for you to acknowledge his touch before he smoothes downwards to your hips and pushes your body lower so that you’re flush with him. “Mmph,” bursts past his parted lips in the middle of his suckling your tongue deeper into his mouth.
The man is all but swallowing up the sweetness against your mouth, quickly growing addicted to it. Weed could never compare to the taste—a fact of which he’s sure about now. As his tongue soon goes diving down the center of yours, you feel the surprising bud of a snake eye piercing decorating its tip.
That’s when one of your hands moves in between your bodies and sneaks under his shirt as you gasp out his name and then pull away.
His lips chase yours as you draw distance and then he hauls your entire body impossibly closer to his, your chest smushed up against him now. In doing so, you roll your hips forward against his naturally and hear the way his breath hitches. Then you feel something.
Poking-, no, jumping up against your clothed cunt in between the many, many layers between the two of you is the thickness of his bulge. And with it comes another wave of sloppy kisses.
Choso’s hands are everywhere against you now, literally.
Something in you seems to snap at the feeling of his cock growing under you and right after you let yourself gasp at the sheer size of it one more time, the hands you had on his chest manage to recline him back against his bed.
Choso hits the mattress with a soft huff of previously lost air and his brows twist up to flash something needy at you. “Fuck,” Scratches out of his throat whilst he stares at the way you look on top of him.
So pretty…
There’s a single string of shared saliva dribbling out of the corner of your mouth and he almost moans as you start leaning down to him again, his arms moving so that he could wrap them around you. Then your lips meet again and this time it isn’t even sloppy, just hungry.
The sound is loud, louder than any kiss you’ve had lately, and noisy enough to earn a couple of smiles from him in between all the kissing. Breathing into your mouth, “You shouldn’t have told me that shit,” Choso sears as one of his hands comes up to the back of your head, the other at your neck now. “Can’t even calm myself down…”
Followed by his not-so-gentle admission is another heavy pulse from his fully erect cock.
You manage to pluck yourself away from his mouth long enough to say, “I don’t see why,” Then you snort cockily, “S’not like you’ve changed my track record.”
“Yet,” Choso quickly corrects. And before you can add another snarky comment in response, “But that’s alright, I’m about to.” He claims, tipping his head back to relax as his hands fall away from your body completely, “Come get up here.”
You blink, “Huh? Up…” Searching his frame as if you weren’t already on top of him, your brows tweeze together, “...where?”
Even with the poking of his dick, he takes this moment to gather himself and reach over to swipe up the blunt you were last smoking. Then he shuffles for a lighter and sparks it up again, taking a hit and returning his attention to you as if the little intermission didn’t have you on edge.
You had no idea what he meant by ‘get up here’ when you were literally sitting in his lap already. Surely he didn’t mean–
“On my face,” Choso clarifies, a sexy cloud of fumes ghosting out of his mouth along with his words.
At first, you just stared at him and watched him smoke. Your body was thrumming with need in multiple areas but you just couldn’t fathom sitting on his face. Surely, that’d be pretty unsafe to do while both of you are heavily intoxicated. Hell, you can barely see around his bedroom, how can he possibly expect you to sit on his face…
Well, a few minutes later and you’re halfway there.
Not quite sitting—after a million and one concerns of being scared to suffocate him—you’re now hovering over Choso’s face. You refused to meet eyes with him so you’re turned the opposite direction and your hands are helping your body remain hoisted up as they rest on the bed, caging the lower half of his body—just as your legs were doing to his head right now.
Your pants have been snatched off and you’re completely exposed to the greed of his eyes. He’s hardly touched you ever since you caved and brought your bare pussy up over his face. You’ve been left to stare at the throbbing bulge that rests a few inches away from your face and you feel awkward.
Y’know, until there’s a warm blow of intoxicated air that swirls up against your dripping cunt. Followed by which is the sound of Choso lapping over his lips at the sight, scoffing after. One thumb finally draws up to meet the left lip of your pussy as he slips it over and reveals more of your slicked glory. Your cunt clenches embarrassingly at his first touch and you silently hope he doesn’t notice how you drip when he starts talking.
“Shiit,” Choso begins, voice heavy in baritone now—no longer from the weed but purely from his own arousal, “You’re tellin’ me nobody’s made this pretty girl cum?” He asks, “Who the fuck have you been goin’ to, huh?”
You glance back at him over your shoulder, hardly able to see his face with the way you’re hovering, “Cho, I—“
“Shhh, I’ll take care of ya’. Don’t sweat it.” He claims, to which you roll your eyes. He always fuckin’ says that… “Now sit.”
Another gulp is heard from you, “Choso, I already told you. I don’t wanna crush—“
Rolling those blown-out brown eyes of his, Choso’s other hand meets your hip with a mean grip before he tugs your body down and your cunt promptly meets his greedy face. “So stubborn.”
The gasp you let out at the initial contact of his lips against your wetness makes something inside you crave the ability to disappear. You were hot before but now you’re soaking and heated all over.
Your nerves felt like they were on fire and your hips practically melted downwards when you felt Choso’s tongue slither out to get the first taste of you. “Hnngh-, fuck…” You breathe, fingers curling into the sheets to hold onto.
You’ve gotten head from guys plenty of times but this was so much different. And he only just started!
You definitely had your high to blame for the way his tongue feels glissading upwards in between your lathering folds—the sensation so strong and pleasurable you swore for a second he had two tongues or something. Of course, that’s just the weed talking but shit…
“S’sweet…” Choso mumbles into your cunt, pulling away just to spit and then using the fat of his thumb to rub the slick of it into you, “Poor baby, nobody could make you cum, huh?” He says.
You start to open your mouth—thinking he was talking to you—but when his thumb presses past that rather welcoming ring of resistance and earns one gorgeous squelch, you quickly realize he’s not talking to you at all.
“Yeahh?” He purrs, one eager smile plastering itself out across his face, “You needed someone to come talk to you directly?”
Choso toys with your insides using only his thumb for a while, grinning wickedly the whole way through as he watches the way your pussy splurts out such saccharine sounds of slick ‘n filth. It’s not until your soakage is dripping down his hand that he finds himself grunting and then dragging his thumb out of you tenderly.
Sticking it into his mouth just to suck your taste off for a second, you hear the way he moans around his own digit. Then, before you have time to realize just how wet you really are, there are two dumbly thick fingers slipping past the plush of your folds, wiggling in deep and coaxing a pitched sound out of your throat.
“Y’like that, huh?” Choso mutters from beneath you, jaw already coated with the sweet traces of your taste, “You’re bein’ so loud, this must feel really good…” He comments softly. Then his fingers abruptly slip out of you and swat over to your clit to land a couple of wet smacks against, earning nothing more than a whine from you. To which he chuckles and tilts his head at the little quiver your cunt does in reaction, “Hah, s’okay, you don’t have to answer… she’s doin’ plenty of talkin’ for you.”
Those little smacks of his quickly grow repetitive and as he does so, he lets his jaw fall open and hangs his tongue out to capture the syrupy drip that oozes off of your walls.
When he starts working you over his fingers again, you don’t even realize the upper half of your body has slumped over until you feel something pressing up against your cheek. Your eyes had fluttered shut and everything, having grown so lost in the pleasure of his fingers that you didn’t even realize what you’d laid yourself on.
Lifting your head, you look over and stare at the outline of his cock again. There’s a slight patch of wetness where his plump tip is resting and you’re moving before you’re thinking.
“Aw-, woahh..” Choso gasps from behind you, to which your senses come back to you a bit whilst you push his sweatpants down. “What uh-,” His voice almost cracks for a second there but he swallows the hindrance in his voice down. Then he’s hissing when your hand slips under his boxers and wraps around his curving shaft, “Fuck.. what’re you doin’?”
The curve in your back deepens and the fingers he’s got inside you now get swallowed up even tighter the second his cock springs out. With wide eyes and a drooling mouth, you don’t even hesitate to take his length into your hand and then let your breath hit it as you whisper, “Returning the favor, Cho…”
He scoffs, “You don’t have to-, holy shit…” The mere press of your warm lips against his leaky cockhead is enough to make him whine. And as if encouraged, you quickly spread your mouth over him and ease it down around his dick, letting your tongue lap at the sides upon your descent. “Oh god, your throat feels s-so fuckin’ good…. A-All this and people had the nerve to leave you unsatisfied? Tch.”
Meeting you halfway, Choso dives back into your cunt with the entirety of his mouth. You feel the ball of his tongue piercing tickle your walls as he stretches you out against the glutinous pink muscle—your moaning around his cock sending filthy vibrations all throughout his body.
His hips thrust up instinctively and his lips pop off of you with a sharp breath, “Fuck, princess… Do that again, yeah?”
Your cheeks hollow out as your jaw widens and you force yourself down further until his fat tip is bumping up against the back of your throat, earning a nasty gag from you. You try to lift yourself to breathe but you’re met with a sudden pressure at the back of your head as he swiftly pushes you back down.
“Hold it f’me,” Choso groans, “Need you t’feel me back there,” He adds shortly after. Then, keeping your head still, “There ya’ go, gooood girl…” He praises as his hips start bucking up again until your eyes are coated with tears.
Truth be told, Choso isn’t normally this rough with anyone he fucks. But the high buzzing throughout his brain has him acting different. He can't get over the way your lips feel wrapped around his cock like a warm hug. And the way he slides all the way down your throat perfectly? Oh, you’re lucky he hasn’t cum inside your mouth already.
The dark hairs he has decorating the area around the base of his heavy length tickle your chin with how wide your lips are parted around him. You could feel him leaving soggy kisses against your uvula and all it did was make you soak above his face.
When you finally give him another moan as your face presses snuggly against his skin—the veins trailing his dick pulsing with little heartbeats against your tongue—he lets your head go. You fly up a bit and start coughing softly, glancing back at him with a pout as you wipe your mouth off, just to see that he’s already moving on to do something else as if he didn’t just choke you out on his dick less than two seconds ago.
Choso’s got a joint perched between his lips as he takes a loooong drag from it and when he plucks it away from his mouth, he takes his free hand and moves it to your hip. You don’t even realize what’s happened until something heated is slapping up against your slobbering cunt. The sensation makes you jump and then Choso—ever the freak—is leaning up to shotgun a kiss directly into the puffy folds of your cunt.
“Ch-Choso,” You choke, “What the f-fuuck…”
Then your hips are lifting as if to escape him and something throaty and annoyed reverberates its way out of his throat before you feel his painted fingernails dig into your skin and force you back down, his head shaking up into your pussy whilst his tongue lathers into the deepest depths of your slutty cavern.
Then you hear the wet, gushing smacks that his mouth against your cunt begins to make, feeling a certain sensation bloom in the pit of your stomach. Your legs are twitching around his head and you’re whining. “Choso, w-wait… please, I-I feel weird…”
Instead of acknowledging your words, he just groans something filthy and hot against you, “Such a sloppy pussy, droolin’ allll over me like this…” He points out. You’re not sure if it’s possible but he’s clearly high off of you and not just the weed.
You try rolling your hips back to see if that would capture his attention but all that does is make his cock drip with creamy slathers of white from the slit. As you notice that, you try to lean down and suck on his neglected tip, hoping that would get his mouth to go easy on you for just a second.
Unfortunately for you, that did the exact opposite.
Instead, Choso’s pulling back to spit a gloopy wad of spit onto your cunt and then scoffing, “You should tell me-, hah.. who the assholes are,” He mutters, beyond pussy drunk, “The ones that couldn’t make you cum,” His tongue flicks around as if he were spreading his own saliva via spelling something out, “Then let me send ‘em the sexy lil’ mess m’about to make of you….”
Prying away from his cock for a second, “That’d be so-, mmgh! Right there, Choso…”
“Yeah? Right here? This is the spot they couldn’t find? How pathetic,” He’s searing with his tongue, drawing his name into your gluey walls all cursive-like, making your eyes roll back. “You’re so easy to please,” He teases, smiling after, “Unless, of course… fuck, that’s only ‘cause of me?” Choso asks, spitting again just to have the entire space in between your legs a slopped, wet mess, “S’that what it is? You like the way I treat this pussy?”
“Yesss, Cho,” You whine ever so thankfully.
And of course, he leans back up to french-kiss your pussy lips in response. You’re so high ‘n horny that you don’t even realize the number of times you’d let your shimmery gloss of release coat the insides of his mouth by now.
Not until he’s felt smiling into you, “Mgh.. again? How many times is that now? Eight?” The number makes you inhale swiftly in surprise, your hand squeezing the base of his cock a bit tighter as you move your head to the side to moan deliciously. “Gimme one more ‘n I’ll give you a break…” He coos, pierced tongue massaging your sensitive folds now.
At that, something prominent builds up within you. “Choso, mmnh! I-I think I’m… ohgod… m’gonna cum,” You pant, lazily jerking him off with what little strength you have in your hand.
He snickers, “Silly girl, you already did that. I think what’s about to happen now is uh…” His voice trails for a moment so that he could plug your hole in with his fingers and curl them against your g-spot, “You’re about to squirt f’me…” Choso tells you.
And squirt for him you do.
You never thought you could feel pleasure so good that you couldn’t even tell you’d finished until you were at the point of squirting. It’s a weird sensation that makes you moan his name loud enough for his fraternity brothers to hear outside of his room.
Your entire body convulses and your mind just blanks out. You think his fingers are somewhere around your clit and his tongue is back in between your slippery walls but you couldn’t tell at this point—all you knew was that you were making a mess all over his face.
And through it, he was down there praising you. “That’s it, thaaaat’s it, princess..” Letting his tongue dangle out again to slur, “Right on my fuckin’ face, I want everyyy drop.”
It’s embarrassing for you—y’know, squirting all over your plug’s face just from his stupidly skillful tongue and fingers. You wanted to hate every second of it, hate how nasty you felt by the time your orgasmic high began to diminish but, fuck there wasn't a single thought left in your brain.
You told the man no guy was making you cum and he did so consecutively without even putting his cock inside you. Not only that, he was faded the entire time!
Arguably, you were too so that’s likely why you were so sensitive to his mouth to begin with but… still.
You feel like you black out after your orgasm but, it’s only for a few seconds. Eventually, your ears catch the loud roar of his groans and bat your tear-coated eyelashes open to see his cock has spilt globs of cum out around your hand. Your grasp on him instantly releases and you scoff softly at the sticky mess.
Both of your orgasms leave your bodies motionless for a long while—your frame slumped over against his—and nothing but the sound of filthy pants echo throughout his fogged room.
Choso’s the first to eventually break the silence with a breathy, “And uh, next time come to me when you wanna get off…” He murmurs, feeling your limp body weight shift against him a little, “…not just for weed, okay?”
“Uhuh..” You babble tiredly.
“Good,” He sighs. “'Cause I charge pretty cheap for these sex sessions.”
Freezing, “What?”
Choso chuckles, a weary smile painted across his slicked face, “I told you I don’t do anything for free, didn’t I?”
Summary: How do you feel when you finally find a place where you belong?
Authors note: Thank you everyone who has read my last few posts! The fact I got even one reader who liked my stuff is super shocking to me. Hopefully you guys enjoy this one as well and advice is always welcomed!
Warnings: None other than the fact reader is also a smoker
Word count: 1778
Life was surprisingly easier with the Straw Hats then without them. Growing up begging for change and food, having to learn how to fight, it was easy to not trust anyone. It was just the rule of this world you lived in, don't trust anyone and you never got hurt. Finding people who don't want to hurt you and want to help you is strange so you don’t trust them…easier said than done. The Straw Hats were insistent. Especially the cook.
It all started when they docked on the island you were residing on at that moment. You moved from place to place, never staying somewhere for too long. Lingering was bad, it made you easier to find. You had resorted to pick pocketing unsuspecting men at the moment in order to get money for food. You were pretty and you knew that so why not use it to your advantage? You chose the wrong person one day however. He knew what you were planning, catching you in the act. He threatened to cut your hand off. Normally you could fight back and you could win but this pirate was a huge man, a fight you knew you couldn’t win. So you had no choice but to run and so you did.
Being chased was no fun especially by a captain and his crew. You swerved through people on the street trying not to knock anyone or anything down. They were close behind yelling and catching up to you. You ran faster trying to put some distance between you and them. You turned a corner into an alley before slamming into someone knocking you down. Before you could hit the ground an arm wrapped around you catching you. You were confused before realizing it was the man you ran into who catched you. You looked up at him and your world went silent.
He was blonde and tall with unusual eyebrows but he was handsome, way more handsome than the usual man you’d see on this island meaning he wasn’t from here. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips and you wanted nothing more than to take it from him. After a moment of silence you remember you’re being chased. Panic goes through you realizing that the crew was nearby. You quickly hide behind the man. Luckily for you they didn’t realize you took the turn to the alley and ran straight past you and the man. You let out a sigh of relief before looking back at the man who seemed more confused than anything.
“Thanks I almost got into a bit of trouble there” you say dusting off your clothes and running your hands through your hair. The man remained speechless for a moment before snapping back to his senses. You swear if it was possible his eyes would have formed hearts the way he was looking at you.
“N-No problem but what was that all about? It looked like they were after you”
“Oh yeah they were. Messed with the wrong crowd you know how it is.”
He chuckles to himself. “I feel like I know that better than anyone.” He lights another cigarette for himself offering you one. Being a smoker you take it from him letting him light it for you.
“Oh yeah, is that the case? I can tell you’re not from here.”
“I’m not. I’m a member of the Straw Hat pirates.” Your heart skips. Could he be? Your eyes zoom in on the collages of wanted posters on the wall behind him. You look around before you spot it. His picture and in big lettering, Sanji, with a bounty over 100 million berries. You rip it off the wall examining it closer.
“You’re a wanted man aren’t you Sanji? Be a shame if someone was to cash this bounty” you tease showing him the poster.
“It would be wouldn’t it?” he chuckles, taking another drag of his cigarette. “You gonna try and turn me in?.”
“I’m not a snitch, that's not how I chose to get my money. I just need a ride out of here before that other crew finds me. Fair deal?” you ask, taking a drag. He contemplates it for a moment before nodding and ushering you to follow him. That’s all this was supposed to be, a ride to their next location.
That was over three months ago and now it seems you’ve become a member of the crew. Trusting them came easier than you thought it would. Nami quickly became your closest friend, originally a thief like you, you guys were able to bond easily over shared experiences.
Sanji lingered around you like a moth to a flame. Slowly after meeting him you quickly saw how he reacted around women. While he was a gentleman and extremely flirty you couldn’t help but feel that there was something else you just couldn’t figure out about him. Like he had some secret you couldn’t find out.
The main issue quickly arose when it came to simply existing around him. Growing up on your own you were used to doing everything yourself. Sanji being Sanji he’d never let you lift a finger around him. Anytime you tried to help around the ship he’d interfere taking it over for you without you even having to ask for it. He fawned over you consistently. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, it flustered you heavily. How did you know if he was genuine? You weren’t used to situations like this. Being cared for sounded impossible to you.
It all came to a head one night. You found that the best way to get some peace and quiet on the ship was to head up to the crows nest. The wind in your hair helped you truly think. Being around Sanji only made your smoking habit pick back up so you often brought a pack with you.
Leaning over the edge you watched the water move the ship across the water pushing you closer to your next location. You’d never expect that you would enjoy being on the sea so much. At first your sea sickness left you nauseous for a few days but it slowly subsided and didn’t affect you anymore. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was a metaphor for you finding your place amongst the Straw Hats. Your thoughts are interrupted by Sanji climbing up the ladder. “Hey, do you mind if I join you?”
“Not at all” you respond making room for him handing him your pack of cigarettes. He takes one and lights it before speaking.
“What are you thinking about? You only come up here when you need to think about something.”
You chuckle. “And how do you know that?”
“I pay attention is all” he says leaning over the edge the same as you are. You admire the way his cuffs are rolled up and the way they make his forearms look. His cuffs being rolled must've meant he came straight from the kitchen here. You could barely smell the spices he used in whatever he was making. He was beautiful but you weren’t sure if you could admit that to yourself. As if he could sense what you were thinking he spoke snapping you out of your thoughts. “Are you looking at something?” he asks, smirking at you. You turn away taking a drag.
“No” you lie through your teeth. “Don’t be too cocky now.” He laughs, flicking the ash away from himself. He turns to look at you admiring the way you look in this light. He has to will himself to calm down. His demeanor turns a bit more serious.
“I’m glad you blackmailed me that day on the island you know?” He says smiling before turning his body towards you. You laugh covering your face.
“It was not blackmail, more like a suggestion that came with consequences.”
He laughs again. “Whether or not it was blackmail, I’m glad you came with us. You really belong here. With all of us. It's like you were meant to be here.” You visibly stiffen at his comment. Belong here? You’ve never belonged anywhere. Your eyes fill with tears before you can realize it. “Are you okay? I hope I didn’t offend you or anything.” You wipe your tears before they can escape.
“Its not that I’ve just never…” you hesitate before continuing “I never belonged anywhere. I’ve bounced from island to island never finding a place to stay. But now I have one and I'm not used to it. I can barely accept that people actually care about me or want me somewhere. I’m not used to this Sanji. Everything in me is telling me to run away.”
He thinks for a moment before responding “Nami and Zoro claimed that this was a temporary situation before what happened at Arlong Park. We all thought that Vivi was going to be part of the crew until she decided to stay in Alabasta. I feel as though the people who join the crew join when they need it in their own lives. If I hadn’t joined I would have never got the chance to chase my own dreams. Everyone joins if they need to.” You both sit there for a minute in a comfortable silence, both smoking in silence. You think about what he said. “I think you ran into me that one day for a reason.”
“I’ve never thought about it like that” you admit. He shrugs looking at you, he's so beautiful like this.
“Stay with us and I’ll cook you anything you want. Sounds like a fair trade to me right?” You laugh again. After a moment you let your hand rest on top of his. He hesitates for a moment before intertwining his hand with yours.
Before he can think twice he presses his lips to yours. You kiss him back immediately, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. His hands move to your waist as his lips move gracefully against yours. Your breath quickens as he grows more desperate. Lips moving quicker against you.
He slowly backs you against the railing, your hands move to cup his face feeling his stubble under your palms. His skin was soft against yours. You couldn’t believe that this was happening but it felt right. All thoughts go out the window once the tip of Sanji’s tongue traces yours. After a moment Sanji pulls away resting his forehead against yours. You chuckle as you notice the stream of red dripping from his skin. You quickly grab a handkerchief from your pocket using it to wipe his face.
