"only 90s kids remember-" wrong, if you're poor and/or rural enough, old tech and fashion doesn't just disappear when it stops being trendy. We had dial-up until 2012
The paper of your meticulously highlighted notebook crinkles under your hand as you turn the page, pen caught between your teeth in thought. You keep getting distracted- you’re desperately trying to start on your essay, laptop balanced at your side on the bed, but your boyfriend keeps dragging you out of thought.
Not intentionally! Satoru does love clinging to you at times, drawing the outlines of symbols on your palms while he mumbles under his breath and ignores the blush creeping up his cheeks at the proximity, but if you’re seriously studying? He plants himself farrrrr away and lets you work.
Which he’s doing now, long limbs tangled up at the foot end of the bed- he let you have the pillows- and tapping away on his keyboard. You’re only supposed to be taking a quick glance, but you just can’t resist staring.
He’s so pretty, you’re almost jealous; soft white hair cramped under his headphones, bright eyes narrowed behind his slightly wonky glasses. But there’s something off about his expression of concentrated serenity.
His lips are jutted out and just a little downturned, soft pink and the slight hint of shimmer from your lipgloss (from your pre-study kiss- he likes to keep up with tradition) more obvious than usual.
“Toru-“ you say, giggling, “are you... pouting?”
He whips his head up at the sound of your voice, slowly folding his headphones to sit on the bed next to him. “No?”
“You are.” You insist, smiling as you crawl over to him, “you so are!”
“I’m not?” He protests confusedly, “I completely understand this module, I can explain it to you easily- oh.” He says sheepishly, cheeks blushing, “umm... it’s my braces.”
You blink. “Your... braces? Do they hurt?”
“Yeah.” He says a little miserably, “got them tightened this morning. It hurts if I put too much pressure on them, so I have to hold my lips out.” Actually, now you’re up close, you can see- the metal shines through when he speaks, the plastic bands on the brackets a little brighter and a lot less faded.
New.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were getting them tightened?” You ask, holding his face in your hands absentmindedly as he replies. “I knew if I told you, you’d keep getting distracted from your work…” Satoru admits, “sorry, sweetheart. I just wanted you to focus.”
Your heart melts. God, he’s so cute- sitting there and suffering silently, wincing as the metal catches on his lips. You squish his cheeks a little, and the pout returns tenfold, big eyes gazing up at you, and you suddenly feel rather... agitated?
You almost start giggling hysterically, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then his nose, then his eyelids, then his squished-up cheeks. Satoru looks perplexed.
“What… what are you doing?”
“You’re so cute!” You complain, slightly accusatorially, “it’s unfair.” He blushes at that, but doesn’t protest when you keep applying messy kisses across his face- well, everywhere except his mouth.
You’re almost violent in your affection, fighting down the squeals threatening to spill from your excited mouth as he sits there and lets you have your fun. You’d only just reapplied your lipgloss when you noticed the pout, so now Satoru’s face is quickly becoming a canvas.
Varying amounts of gloss spill over his skin, depending on how hard you pressed your lips down- the light shades of pink, simple and glittery, decorating his face in kiss marks, is enough to make you beam.
Held between your hands, your boyfriend’s rosy cheeks look rather similar to the strawberry mochi he devours in between lectures. Minus the powdered sugar, obviously.
“I could just eat you up.” You joke, thinking about the mochi and grinning at the dimple that appears when he shyly smiles back. “You’re soooo adorable-“
You’re so focused on cooing over his face that you don’t register the two hands sliding to cup your own face, a mirror of yours on his, and to softly pull you down into a gentle kiss. You lean into it happily, until he winces and pulls away.
“Sorry-“ he apologises profusely, “I want to kiss you, I really do, but… braces.”
You laugh and swing your feet to plant on the carpet below, standing. “Where are you going?” He asks, suddenly rather worried he’s accidentally annoyed you by pulling away and you’re about to find something to throw at him.
“The kitchen.” You say casually, “ice for your mouth. Then you can try and kiss me.”
Well, Satoru Gojo has never backed down from a challenge.
he might not look like he gets bitches, but honey that dick was 11 inches
it was hard not to notice Choso, with his tall frame draped in all black clothes and the heavy silver jewelry adorning his body. and while you noticed him, you wouldn't have considered him your type. but that didn't stop Choso from noticing you.
content: 18+ mdni, dry humping, oral (f receiving), Choso has a tongue piercing, fingering, Choso is down bad, Choso has a big dick (duh)
wc: 6k
a/n: hi everybody! i am alive and back with fic number 2! i am hoping to get these out on a more consistent schedule but no promises lmao. divider credit @cursed-carmine; picture credits: @thatsallitchief and @aransmind
You had never really thought too much about whether or not you had a type. Frankly, there wasn’t much of a point, given that when you weren’t working your ass off academically, you were working your ass off at your job or the gym. You didn’t have much time for extracurriculars, so to speak.
But, if someone asked you to describe your type, you’d probably say tall, muscular, athletic. A good jawline and tattoos were a plus. Perhaps outgoing, good with people and easy to talk to.
Now this wasn’t an end all be all list of traits—you wouldn’t mind a short king or a lanky golden retriever type. At the end of the day, personality was really all that mattered to you. And that was where the average man was lacking most of the time.
So you didn’t really lose any sleep over lack of romantic partners, too focused on school and work for the absence to really be noticed. Sure, there would be a cute classmate or two that would catch your eye, and you’d appreciate them from a distance. They all fit your usual preference of traditionally masculine, athletic guys who were easygoing extroverts. You liked competence, and a potential partner of yours needed to be confident, commanding.
So yeah, maybe you did have a type. Everyone had preferences and you were no different. You didn’t really picture yourself straying from those preferences either, couldn’t picture yourself with someone shy or super introverted. Until now.
He was a transfer student, partway into his sophomore year in the psychology program, same as you, though this was your first year. You shared the same 10 am human development lecture, meaning you saw him every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning.
You never would’ve considered Choso your type. You’d never really been into the whole emo look. Sure, you’d enjoyed your fair share of Panic at the Disco and Paramore in middle school, but scene hadn’t really been your, well, scene.
You wouldn’t have ever listed all black clothes, smudged eyeliner, painted nails, or heavy silver jewelry in your list of characteristics you typically found attractive. Yes, Choso was tall and muscular. He had tattoos, including an odd line across the bridge of his nose onto his cheeks. These were all things you knew you found attractive.
But for as bold as his style was, he was quite shy. He never volunteered answers in class, only responding when called on in a quiet, almost self-conscious voice. He should speak with more confidence, you would think whenever he gave his answers, given that they were always intelligent and well-said. You never thought you liked shy types, preferring guys that could speak up and could offer up confidence in situations where your anxiety might get the best of you.
However, you couldn’t deny the way your eye was always drawn to him. He sat in the first row on the far right hand corner. You sat a couple rows behind him, more towards the center, meaning you got a fairly clear view of him. When he wasn’t taking notes, he was drawing little doodles in the margins of his notebook. You often found yourself wondering what they were.
He was cute, in his own way. He seemed quite sweet and polite, offering notes to a classmate who'd been out sick or a helping hand when the girl next to him was confined to walking on crutches. You knew some of the other girls in your lecture didn’t view him the same way. You attended a private school, a very elite one. Between your stellar grades and test scores, as well as a fairly high financial need, you had earned yourself a full ride to the university. And while the education and accommodations and features on campus were stellar, you had found that private school meant students with private school money—and the attitude that came with it. Entitled, privileged, and, in the case of the aforementioned girls in your lecture, catty fucking bitches.
You’d heard them whisper and giggle amongst themselves over Choso. Judging his clothes, his hair—you found his short space buns rather adorable—and how he’d sometimes stutter when answering questions. You often found yourself grinding your teeth, wanting to turn and cuss them out over their bitchy remarks. Choso was genuine and unpretentious in the way that pretty much everyone else at the university wasn’t, and you found yourself wanting to defend him. To protect what you were positive was a sensitive, artistic soul.
You often found yourself wondering what he did outside of class. Did he like to draw? You’d seen his little sketches in his notebook, maybe he liked drawing legitimately, in sketchbooks instead of college ruled paper. Maybe he liked to game? He seemed like he would enjoy PC gaming. Despite being outwardly withdrawn, Choso seemed like the type to be intensely dedicated to his interests, and you found yourself wanting to know what they were.
You were delighted to find out that your interest was shared.
It started with a partner project your professor had shared with the class on Monday. Partners were randomly chosen and the rest of class was spent exchanging contact information and planning out a rough timeline and ideas for the project. You had cheered internally when your name popped up next to Choso’s. Sliding into the now-vacant seat next to his, you’d smiled and introduced yourself. Choso had blushed furiously, ducking his head and quietly giving you his name in response.
You formed a theory that day, one that was proven correct by the next class.
Choso had a crush on you.
He was horrible at hiding it, always blushing or stuttering when talking to you, never able to look you in the eye. And despite how protective you’d felt towards him against those judgemental bitches that sat near you in lecture, you couldn’t help but tease him a little bit.
Leaning in and smiling softly when he spoke, not breaking eye contact when you’d prop your chin on your hand to listen intently to what he was saying. His eyes would widen and a furious blush would spread across his cheeks, and he would lose track of whatever he’d been saying. His reaction would prompt an even more mischievous glint in your eye and sharpness in your smile, in turn making him even more nervous. When you suggested meeting up in the library or his apartment, he’d choked on his sip of water. You’d just grinned.
You’d decided the library was probably a better way to ease Choso into spending time with you without him having a heart attack. Baby steps.
The afternoon you two decided to get together for your project was a rainy one. A very rainy one. The brief mad dash from the bus to the entrance of the library had left you soaked, and now you stood in the air conditioned library shivering so hard your teeth clacked.
Your slow, shivering footsteps to the third floor where you and Choso had agreed to meet left wet footprints along the floor. You swore that this floor was even colder, and you tried to wrap your damp cardigan around yourself in attempt to chase away the goosebumps that had covered your skin. Your footsteps faltered, however, when you spotted Choso sitting at a table in front of a window. He was backlit by stormy gray skies and occasional bursts of lightning. He hunched slightly over what he was working on, brows furrowed in concentration. He was drawing, you realized, and you stood there for what was probably a creepy amount of time, but the warmth that blossomed in your chest as you watched him was addicting.
Until the cold that had seeped into your very bones wrenched a violent sneeze from you. Choso startled and looked up, eyes widening as he took in the sight of you, which most likely resembled a drowned cat.
“Oh,” he breathed, standing up so fast his chair tumbled back. He scrambled to the chair next to him, wrestling something off the back of it. As he rushed towards you holding a mass of black fabric you realized it was his jacket.
Heavy leather settled over your shoulders and you were suddenly wrapped in the warm, spicy scent of his cologne. His dark eyes were scanning all over your body as if searching for injuries, his brows pulling together in worry.
After a long moment of you two staring at each other, you finally remembered to give him a softly whispered, “Thank you”.
He blushed, ducking his head and abruptly stepping back as if he’d just realized how close you two were standing. His big hand, adorned with heavy silver rings that glinted in the low light, came up to rub the back of his neck.
“I doubt you’d be comfortable studying here in wet clothes,” he said suddenly. “I-if you want we can stop over in my dorm and you can borrow some clothes.” You were quiet for a second, surprised that he’d invited you into his space given how shocked he'd been when you’d first brought it up. Mistaking your surprise for reluctance, he rushed out, “O-only if you want to of course. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He looked adorably horrified at the idea.
Not wanting him to panic any longer, you grinned at him. “I’d love to.”
This time around, you fared a bit better on your journey to the bus stop since you had Choso’s large jacket to shield you from the worst of the rain. You relished in the warmth and the scent of his cologne, and the fact that you were dwarfed by his jacket. You chanced a glance up at Choso and admired the way he towered over you despite the way he hunched his shoulders as if to appear smaller. He had not fared so well in the rain; his hair had fallen out of its knot and the strands stuck to his face, highlighting its sharp lines and angles. His eyeliner had smudged slightly, contrasting with the paleness on his skin. Instead of looking like the dripping mess you had, he looked like he had stepped out of rainy ad for designer clothes or cologne or something. It was rather unfair.
The whole bus ride to his apartment, you could see him stealing glances at you from the corner of your eye and it took everything in you not to grin. You wanted Choso, and you delighted in the fact that he wanted you just as bad, if not more so.
His apartment was small, but tidy and clean. It was well decorated too, but you weren’t too surprised by that. There were pretty paintings and drawings lining the walls, with art supplies and trinkets scattered across nearly every flat surface. You spotted an electric guitar leaning against an amp in the corner.
The smell of his cologne was practically woven into the air in here, and it was all you could do to not gulp down deep breaths of it with every inhale.
As you as you two had stepped inside, Choso had immediately started rambling nervously, apologizing for the mess and letting you know you could borrow any clothes you wanted, and did you need anything? Like a water or a—
“Choso,” you interrupted gently, “do you mind terribly if I hop in your shower?”
“Oh! Of course! Um, let me grab a spare towel and some clothes and—” his voice faded as he started rushing towards his room, and you trailed after him with a soft smile on your face.
You had been about to invite him to join you in the shower before he excused himself to his room and told you to shout if you needed anything. Slightly disappointed, but not discouraged, you’d nodded and headed towards the bathroom.
Little did you know that as soon as the bathroom door closed, Choso was stripping down to his boxers and lying back on his bed, palming his cock through the fabric as he desperately tried, and failed, not to imagine you naked in his shower. Covered in soap and shrouded by steam, looking oh so perfect like you always did.
He tried to stifle the tortured groan that tore out of his chest. His hand was rough over his cock, handling it without finesse as he tried to get himself to stop. He felt so, so guilty, but the mental image of you glistening under the water mere feet away from him made him feel so, so good. Heat tightened in his gut as he fished his dick out of his boxers and started to viciously pump his hand up and down the shaft, biting his forearm to stem desperate cries of your name.
Pressure built in his gut, stomach tensing as he hurtled towards the edge. White covered his vision as he came suddenly and violently, his orgasm ripping through him like a storm. It was only as he laid there trying to catch his breath that his ears stopped ringing that he realized the shower had stopped.
Panic shot through him as he leapt up, blindly searching for clothes and something to wipe the cum off his stomach.
You stepped into the room to find Choso in sweatpants, his chest heaving and looking slightly guilty as his hands wrung together nervously. He opened his mouth to say something, before he registered what you wearing.
His t shirt was huge on you, nearly hanging down to your knees. Your collarbones peaked out from the collar of the shirt, your damp hair hanging down in gentle waves over your shoulders.
This domestic, intimate version of you, standing in his apartment wearing his clothes left Choso speechless and his mind short circuiting. You smiled softly at him and his heart stuttered.
“I, um",” he couldn’t get any words out, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.
“Choso,” you said gently, and his eyes snapped to yours, a guilty flush spreading over his cheeks.
“I’m sorr-” he started, but cut off as you shushed him and stepped closer. His heart damn near stopped as you raised you hand to touch his chest. Your delicate fingers drew graceful lines over the designs of his tattoos, tracing the whorls of ink that covered his chest.
“Did they hurt?” you whisper, transfixed by the sight of how small your fingers looked against the wide expanse of his shoulders and chest.
“Yeah,” he whispered back, hardly daring to breathe in fear of breaking whatever was happening in this moment. He nearly tipped his hand back and groaned when you pressed your entire hand against his chest. He had no doubt that you could feel the way his heart raced under your palm.
Your breathing synced with his, and he tipped his chin down to take in the sight of you standing so close to him with your hands on his skin. This time, as your other hand came up to press against his stomach, he couldn’t stop his groan.
His eyes shut in embarrassment and he opened him mouth to apologize, but you cut him off.
“Choso,” you whispered. He eyes opened and landed on you. The way he looked at you, as if you were the only thing in the room worth looking at, filled you with warmth and confidence.
“Yes?” he whispered back and you grinned.
“You should kiss me,” you told him, and his dark eyes widened.
“What"?” he sputtered in surprise.
“Kiss me,” you repeated and smiled at him.
With another groan, he hand came up to cradle your jaw and he pressed his lips to yours. You were immediately addicted to the taste of him. He worked his mouth over yours feverishly, his other arm coming up to wrap around your waist tightly, pulling you flush against him and trapping your arms between the two of you.
You were expecting something soft. Something shy and sweet from the boy who’d steal glances at you during psych lectures. You were not expecting this.
Choso’s tongue surged into your mouth, making you moan and run your hands up to his shoulders to grasp at him. He was practically curled around you to reach your mouth, he was that much taller than you. You startled when you felt the clack of metal against your teeth, before your pussy clenched at the realization that Choso had a tongue piercing.
He ate at you like he was starving, and the hand at your jaw moved as he crouched down slightly. You pulled away a little, confused and wanting to see what he was doing. Choso gave a displeased grunt at the distance before wrapping that arm under your ass and yanking you back to his mouth.
He now held you in the air like you weighed nothing as you two made out, heavy breaths and wet sounds from your mouths the only thing that could be heard in the room. You curled your hands in his black strands and pulled on them roughly, earning a grunt from Choso.
He spun with you in his arms, blindly walking towards the direction of his bed. Your mouth ripped from his in a soft cry as you two fell back on to the bed, your stomach swooping from the quick drop.
For a moment, Choso hovered over you, staring down at you like he couldn’t believe you were really here. You took in your fill of him as well. His handsome face and silky hair. The muscles that bunched at his shoulders and biceps and pecs. The veins that corded his forearms and hands. You couldn’t believe the girls in your class didn’t find him ridiculously hot.
Choso must’ve snapped out of whatever awed trance he’d been in, because he swooped back down to devour your mouth, a muscular arm wrapping around you once more to yank your body to his. Your back arched and you moaned at the feel of hard muscle and hot skin along your bare thighs as you wrapped your legs around him.
He thrust helplessly against you at the sound, as if your moans and cries controlled his body. When you moaned and gasped “Again!” he began grinding against you, grunts and groans of his own leaving his mouth as his tongue traced every inch of your mouth, the cool metal ball of his piercing tracing each path.
Heat had spread through you, and need burned like fire low in your tummy. You were soaked and desperate to show Choso that you weren’t wearing anything under his t shirt.
“Off,” you groaned, yanking at his sweatpants. “all of it.”
At first he didn’t move, as if he couldn’t bear to be away from you even for a moment, but when you tugged on his waistband again he almost tripped over himself as he rushed to rip off his clothes.
Silence descended over the room, with only the sound patter of rain outside softly filtering in.
You knew Choso was a big guy. He towered over you and his shoulders were practically doubled the width of yours. You knew he was muscular, even more so than you’d initially thought as you stared at his naked body. Each muscle was rock hard and defined, as if a sculptor had taken extra care to run a chisel along every line of him.
And you could’ve spent hours looking at and running your hands over his arms, his chest, his back, his thighs; you could’ve spent hours idly tracing your fingertips over every line of his tattoos that lovingly hugged his body. Hopefully some day you would. But now, one thing on his body was stealing all of your attention.
Choso was huge.
Hard and thick and throbbing. So heavy that it hung between his thighs instead of springing up. Veins wound around the shaft towards his head that was already leaking pre. The pretty pink of his dick belied the fact that Choso was packing a fucking monster.
“Holy shit,” you breathed as you stared at his cock. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it, partially in arousal and partially in shock.
“Is… is it... okay?” Choso, the poor thing, asked uncertainly. You finally tore your eyes from his throbbing cock to look into his soulful puppy dog eyes.
“You’re huge, Choso,” you said, stating the obvious.
Or not so obvious. To Choso at least, given the fact that he glance down at his own cock and looked back at you and asked, “Is it?”. You almost laughed, before you realized he was genuinely asking. (He was too embarrassed to say that he’d found himself to be about the same size as the dicks he’d seen in porn, apparently not aware that porn stars did not reflect the size of the average population.)
“Yeah baby,” you responded, “you’re really, very big.” At that, Choso whined and grasped at his cock, rutting into his hand as your words made him twitch and leak even more.
“Can I… what do you want me to do?” Choso asked, desperation bleeding into his tone as his hand pumped his cock like he couldn’t help it.
“Come here, Cho,” you whispered, and he lurched towards you as if yanked by a leash. He practically fell over you, one arm catching himself as he planted a knee on the bed, eyes never leaving you.
Slowly, you leaned forward, close enough that you were breathing each other’s air, before you leaned back in order to lift his t shift off your body. Choso made a sound halfway between a groan and a sob as he realized you were completely naked underneath.
“Please,” he whimpered, the hand on his dick squeezing the base violently now to stop him from cumming just from the sight of you.
“Touch me, Choso,” you told him softly, curious to see what he’d do first.
Which, apparently, was to dive face first into your pussy.
You cried out, hands flying down to grip his hair as he swiped his tongue in a fat stripe over the entire length of you. If you hadn’t been so shocked, you would’ve been embarrassed by how loud the wet slurp a single swipe of his tongue had elicited from your pussy due to how fucking soaked you were for him.
He dove the fuck in, practically nuzzling your cunt as he thrust his tongue into you. You groaned, eyes fluttering and back arching. Every time you made a sound or called his name he sucked at you even harder, licked at you even rougher. Every movement of his mouth caused wet slurps and squelches to sound from between your legs, your pussy dripping for him. You could feel his piercing caress you with every swipe of his tongue.
He alternated between long licks and deep thrusts of his tongue inside you, neglecting your poor clit that throbbed for attention. The longer he went, the more desperately it pulsed as wetness poured from you.
“Please Cho,” you begged, using your grip on his hair to pull his face even tighter against you. He was practically smothered in your pussy, not that he seemed to mind. His groan vibrated through you, causing you to groan as well. “Please.”
At your second plea he relented, wrapping those pouty lips around your clit and sucking, hard, the metal of his piercing pressing perfectly into the underside of your clit. You nearly screamed as you came without warning, throwing your head back against the pillows as the dam broke. Heat pulsed through you as your hips rolled against Choso’s mouth. Your orgasm left you so wet you could hear Choso drinking you down as you slowly came down from your high.
You melted into Choso’s bed as he raised his head to look at you. The sight of him, dark shiny eyes looking at your from between your thighs, big veiny hands gripping the fat of your hips so hard you’re pretty sure you’ll find bruises in the morning, made you clench around nothing.
“Your fingers, Cho,” you panted, reaching down to cradle his cheek, “need you to get me ready to take your cock baby.” He gave a tortured groan, burying his face against one of your thighs as he ground his hips into the bed. With a parting kiss to your leg, he leaned back on his haunches and brought a hand to your sensitive, pulsing pussy.
You gasped, stomach heaving as his thick fingers swiped up the seam of you before pressing inside. A single one of his fingers was like two of yours, and you rolled your hips to pull him deeper. He groaned, starting to pump his finger into you roughly, soon adding a second finger.
You could feel the cool metal of his rings against your flushed, burning hot cunt. Each press of his fingers inside made a wet squelch, and when he curled his fingers against your front wall you began crying out. When he slowly eased a third finger inside of you and pressed all three fingers up against that spot, you screamed as another orgasm wracked through you. Your legs shook, mouth hanging open and eyes rolling back as you came so hard it almost hurt.
Choso had wrapped an arm around one of your bent legs, pressing a kiss to your knee as he continued to thrust into you gently, slowly spreading his fingers inside of you. Prepping you.
“C’mere,” you slurred, pulling him to your mouth even as his fingers stayed pressed inside you. You kissed him, hot and wet and filthy as you panted into his mouth. Choso slipped his free arm under your shoulders to pull you closer, your bare chests pressing together. He whimpered when you pulled at his hair roughly. You pulled away, a string of saliva hanging between your mouths.
“Please fuck me, Cho,” you whispered.
He couldn’t move fast enough, leaning back and pulling his fingers out of you so fast you cried out. He fumbled at his nightstand, pulling up a drawer to search for a condom. Briefly, you had the ridiculous thought of the poor cashier that had to ring up whatever crazy huge size of condoms Choso needed. The thought quickly vanished and your mouth went dry as you watched him roll the condom on. Despite how relaxed and wet you were for him, you were seriously doubting your ability to take this thing.
As if sensing your nerves, Choso raised his head to look into your eyes. His were big and pleaded, but searching for any sign of reluctance or discomfort.
“Come here,” you said, and he followed obediently, draping his big body over you and letting you pull his lips to yours. Your tongues swiped lazily at each other as you both panted into the other’s mouth. You made a game of searching for Choso’s piercing with the tip of your tongue, which seemed to drive him crazy.
Slowly, you reached down to grab his cock, trepidation seeping in as you grasped at the girth of him. Holy shit.
He whimpered against your mouth as you guided him towards your entrance, and bit at your lip as your pressed the tip of him inside. You had to work him against you for a second, spreading your lips around him until he slipped in with a slight pop. You groaned against his mouth and he froze, terrified that he’d hurt you.
“Holy fuck,” you whispered as you pulled him toward you to take a few more inches. You knew there was so much more left to go but already you were feeling the deep, aching stretch. “You’re so fucking big, Cho.” Your praise made him moan, and he leaned down to hide his face in your neck as his hips jerked forward at your words.
You let him take over, trusting him to watch and listen for any cues from you that you needed to stop, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Choso began to pull back the few inches you had already taken before slowly pressing back into you, feeding you a little bit more of him. He did it again, and again, starting a slow pace of gently thrusting more and more of him inside of you.
You clawed at his back, no doubt leaving stinging red lines behind, as you gasped in his ear. Each slow thrust felt like it was rearranged your insides, the stretch a deep ache that pulsed through your hips. After what felt like an eternity, you felt his pelvis press flush against yours, the hair of his happy trail tickling your tummy.
“Choso,” you gasped out as his shoulders heaved above you. He shook with the restraint it took to stay still, the blissful wet heat of you around him like heaven. He moaned your name in your ear and your body arched to press impossibly closer to his.
Your eyes rolled back as a mini orgasm shivered through you at just the feeling of taking all of him. He gave a helpless little cry and thrust his hips against you as he felt you pulsing around him.
“You can—hah—you can move now, baby,” you panted into his ear, and with a whine he immediately pulled back a few inches and thrust back into you hard. You cried out, fingernails dragging down his back as he did it again. And again. And again and again, until he was slamming into you with his arms wrapped tightly around your back, forcing you to arch into him as he desperately drove his hips forward with his face buried in your neck.
Distantly, you could hear the headboard slamming against the wall, and had the inane thought that his neighbors were most likely not happy campers at the moment.
Those thoughts were quickly knocked from your head at a particularly delicious thrust that had you arching your back and moaning Choso’s name, a breathy exhale into his ear that made him grind forward with a whine.
Veins popped out along Choso’s hands and arms, which were planted on either side of your head. Wrapping your hands around them, you ran them up his arms to feel the dips and curves of the muscles that strained from holding his weight up. He shuddered as your hands traveled up his arms, across his shoulders, and into his hair, tugging lightly.
“Fuck,” he grit out, dropping to one elbow and wrapping his other arm around your back to yank you against him. You could feel the hard lines of his abs against the soft skin of your stomach. And you swear you could feel the slight bulge of him in your tummy press out from inside of you against his abdomen. Your sweaty stomachs slid against each other as he thrust into you. Desperately, he slammed his mouth to yours, thrusting his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into the messy kiss, tracing his tongue with yours and feeling the metal ball of his piercing caress it. When you sucked his tongue, his hips slammed forward viciously and you broke the kiss with a cry.
“Choso,” you gasped against his ear, “please.”
He groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder and thrust in to the hilt, punching a pathetic little cry from you. The entire length of his inside of you stretched you ridiculously, and you felt him deep in your tummy, your entire body seeming to throb around him. One of your hands fisted his hair while the other dug nails into his shoulder when he started to grind his hips into you, hot and heavy and so, so good.
When your hips jerked up, Choso pulled his back a little, only to snap them forward back into you, as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from your wet heat. Each of his short, powerful thrusts ended with a filthy grind against, making the veins that twisted along his shaft hit every sensitive spot inside you, lighting you up like a live wire.
The arm he had wrapped around your back slid lower, hoisting your hips up in the air. The change in angle meant that his length slid along your g spot with every slick slid in and out. Light flashed behind your eyes and white hot pleasure burst over every inch of you. Your skin felt like it was on fire as your tummy coiled tightly.
With a shout of his name, the pleasure exploded, and you practically sobbed as wave after wave swept over you. Wetness poured from you, coating Choso’s shaft and stomach. You could hear him groan at the sensation and the way his hips stuttered against you at the feeling of you pulsing around him.
With one final, desperate thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and bit down on your shoulder hard as he came. You shivered at the feeling of him throbbing inside you and the heat that spread along his covered cock. Deliriously, you half-wished you could experience the sensation of him cumming inside you without a condom, to have his cum spill out of you when he pulled out.
Your arms were wrapped around each other as you both fought to catch your breath. You could feel his large chest heaving against yours. Slowly, he lifted his head to meet your eyes, the soulful brown bottomless as he gazed wonderingly at you. You lifted a shaky hand to cradle his cheek, warmth spreading in your chest when his eyes closed in bliss and he nuzzled into your palm, turning his head to press a kiss to it.
He mumbled something that was completely muffled by the palm of your hand. You giggled, pulling your hand away in order to hear what he was saying, only for him to nip at your fingers. He grinned dopily at your shriek.
“What did you say?” you asked breathlessly, unable to resist meeting his goofy grin with a smile of your own.
Crimson bloomed across Choso’s cheeks, but he stared you down unwaveringly nonetheless.
“Will you go out with me?” he asked, and despite everything you two had just done together, you could tell he was nervous. And despite everything you two had just done together, his question launched a horde of butterflies in your stomach.
“I’d like that,” you respond, delighting in the wide grin that spread across Choso’s face. You reached up to brush away some of the dark strands of his sweaty hair that had fallen across his forehead.
“But before that, why don’t we hop in the shower?”
The next time your Human Development lecture met, you found yourself in the seat next to Choso’s, sitting close enough for your thigh to brush against his. His right hand was busy handwriting notes (you’d teased him about his refusal to upgrade to typing up his notes, but he’d insisted writing them down by hand was better for memorization), while his left rested on your leg, thumb sweeping idly back and forth across your thigh. You bit your lip to try and contain your grin, focusing intently on typing away at your laptop.
During a brief lull when your professor stepped away to the computer to pull up the next presentation, soft whispers reached you from a few rows back.
“so lame, why does he even—”
“no why he actually bagged—”
“please… doesn’t even look like he could—”
“probably… small dick… pathetic virgin—”
Anger simmered violently through you, and you found yourself clenching your jaw, imagining all the ways you could turn around and tell those fucking bitches to back off—you were pulled abruptly from your thoughts as Choso’s thumb swept of your leg again. You glanced at him and saw him give you a shy, sweet smile before turning back to his notebook.
You pressed your lips together, fighting off a smile once again. You settled back into your seat, facing forward as your professor started up his lecture.
Whatever. you thought to yourself smugly. They could think and say whatever they wanted, because at the end of the day, you were the one walking side to side after a night with your emo boyfriend.
You and a few of your friends take turns stuffing random household objects in my holes, like then end of a hairbrush or a marker or something, anything that fits inside my pussy or ass
I have to guess each object. If I get it right, you praise me and move on to the next one
If I get it wrong, you spank my ass with the object still inside me, watching me jolt and my fuckholes tighten and clench around the object with each spank
Fuck this would be so humiliating I would be drippinggggg to the floor
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