Gojo Satoru didn’t believe in just one round during your birthday, no, he was a firm believer of making you have orgasms all day, sometimes not in the most appropriate places.
The day starts with his head in between your thighs, morning sun filtering through the curtains and casting a yellow glow over your boyfriend’s white hair. His long, slender fingers grip the skin of your thighs roughly as he dives into your sweet pussy, head rolling back as you moan and whimper above him.
The second time, it’s in the backseat of his car. You want to visit a garden centre on your birthday? Sure, as long as he can bounce you on his cock in a quiet area of the car park afterwards. You’re far too cock drunk to notice or even care if the car is rocking violently each time he slams you down onto his deliciously thick length.
The third time, two of his fingers are splitting you open in your friend’s bathroom. You should’ve known that Gojo would try this when you said your friends had invited you round for the afternoon with an open invitation for your boyfriend too.
“Satoru,” you begin breathlessly, legs involuntarily spreading wider. “Someone could hear.”
He presses open mouthed kisses along your neck, nipping at your skin playfully. “Then let them. Let them see how well you’re being treated on your special day.”
You can’t contain your moan as his fingers plunge deeper, reaching that sweet spot that made your legs shake. “You’ve already-mm-treated me twice.”
“Not enough for me, baby. I won’t let you sleep until I’ve given you at least six orgasms today.”
You barely register his words as your eyes roll back, familiar feeling building in your lower stomach as you thrust helplessly against his palm.
The fourth time happens on the couch, right after getting home and unable to even get a word out before Gojo is pushing you down, fingers already straying to your underwear. Somehow, you end up face down ass up, drooling over one of your favourite cushions as Satoru pounds into you again and again, causing the nastiest of moans to spill from your mouth.
The fifth and sixth orgasm happens during the same event, in a fancy restaurant. Apparently, Gojo had no awareness of his surroundings even in one of the most prestigious places possible. He apparently also thinks it’s funny to rub the sole of his shoe over your clothed pussy during dinner until you finish, hands gripping your cutlery in a desperate attempt to look composed. And then to top it all off, he fucks you again in his car, the passenger seat now, one hand firmly wrapped around your neck so you don’t accidentally turn your head and notice how everyone can see the two of you this time.
18+ slight angst. meet footballer!gojo & his cheerleader fwb !
1. CHEERLEADERS ARE FOR CHEERING—NOT FONDLING!
“girl… isn’t that your man?”
your first mistake is letting your eyes follow shoko’s gaze to the bleachers. your second mistake is making eye contact with golden boy gojo satoru, still in his jersey & ‘hiding’ behind a skinny pole with a very annoyed geto suguru by his side.
you don’t bother correcting shoko. instead you ignore the grin satoru flashes you, taking out the water bottle between your lips with a pop! “is he supposed to be hiding?”
shoko shrugs, turns on her heel. “dunno, ask him. he’s clearly waiting.”
you roll your eyes with a sigh, but you’re already moving.
shoes clicking against the wood gym floor, skirt swishing between your thighs. gojo satoru has long come out of his hiding spot. he’s slumped against the pole now; hands in his pockets, grin lazy, blue eyes glimmering in the orange sun. beside him geto suguru is there, jaw tight in an expression that says he’d rather be anywhere but here.
you still have your bottle in hand when gojo reaches for your hips. “hi, baby…”
you barely murmur back a hi before he’s tugging you in by your skirt. his head dips to kiss your neck, then your cheek, then somewhere else your brain doesn’t register because his hands glide up to squeeze your ass cheeks underneath your skirt. a soft noise slips past your lips as he sucks on your neck.
“mm,” he murmurs, “missed you.”
geto clears his throat.
you let satoru do as he pleases, threading your hands through his hair as his hand dips between your inner thighs. he hums into your neck when you scratch his scalp. “suguru,” you breathe, “how’d you two even get here? coach toji’s gonna kill you guys.”
“kiss,” satoru interrupts. you tilt your head towards him, eyes still on suguru as gojo presses his lips to yours.
suguru’s face twists in disgust, but he doesn’t comment. “satoru bribed him. paid him a couple hundreds to see you for five minutes.”
“right—” your voice strains when gojo gropes your ass once again. “and you followed him because?”
geto is already looking away. “he bribed me too.”
you snort, but it turns into a shiver as satoru sucks on your earlobe. he hums, pleased, when your fingers tighten in his hair.
“mmh… got an away match,” he kisses your jaw. “wanted to see my girl first.”
you’re not his girl, you know you’ll never be, but you still laugh when he squeezes your waist & presses hurried kisses to your cheek. you shove him away & his grin is cocky.
“gonna score for you,” he tugs you back, dipping his head to your ear. “and then you’ll treat me, yeah?”
you hum when his arms snake around your hips once again.
“only if you score the winning goal.”
2. POST MATCH SEXCAPADES !
satoru comes back too late.
you’re not sure exactly why—maybe overtime, maybe the team stopped somewhere to celebrate their win—but you don’t let the thought plague you. you’re more concerned about the fact that it’s nearly evening & you can hear a ball kicking against the gym walls. you’re still in your cheer uniform, tiny skirt & sheer top, standing at the metal doors as you watch gojo dribble on his own.
he stops dribbling to catch his breath, wiping sweat off his chin. and then he’s off to sit at the bleachers, letting water slide down his neck as he chugs from a bottle.
you take it as your cue.
you have your hands behind your back, padding all slow, steps soft as you make your way to him. gojo keeps his bottle pressed to his lips but he sees it. how your skirt clings to your thighs. how your breasts ripple under the thin material. he lets out a low hum as you sit yourself on his lap.
you loop your hands around his neck. “hi.”
his lip tugs. “hi,”
he squeezes your waist as you press yourself into him. your tits smush against his chest, nipples hardening, and his fingers are already tracing the hem of your skirt & gliding up your thigh.
“how was the match?” you mumble.
“was good,” he mutters, but his thumb has already found your panties underneath your skirt. he rubs a slow circle over the bud. “you miss me?”
“no,” you sass, but he presses his thumb into your clit & your hips stutter. satoru laughs.
“i know what you like now,” he hums, left hand gliding up your side as the other rubs slow circles over your panties. “know it only takes a little.”
his thumb finds your nipple through your thin shirt. he rubs a circle over the pebbled peak, slow, but then he raises a brow. “no bra?”
you can’t respond. your breath hitches as your head falls into his shoulder.
“so cute,” he murmurs softly. he lets you press against him, leaving your panties to grope your heavy tits in his palm. he squeezes and fondles, pressing light kisses to your cheek as you make pretty noises in his ear. your hips buck into him.
“needy,” he scoffs, but his hands come up to guide your hips as you rut against him. he’s already hard and your panties are soaked thin and you let the material cling between your folds as your clit rubs against him. he flips up your skirt to find you drenched & slobbering. he bites his cheek.
“fuck, baby,” he rasps, sliding your panties over your aching cunt. you’re still humping him. “why’s your pussy so fucking wet?”
you only whimper as he presses his thumb to your sticky clit, rubbing hard circles over the bud. his other hand gropes your hip, guiding you faster over him. your breathing shudders as his thumb circles your clit faster and harder, until your hips are stuttering & he’s cupping your pussy so you cum in his palm.
you whimper, tears pricking at your lashes as you come down from your high. satoru kisses your cheek slow. “mmh, good job, baby.”
he’s still rubbing his palm over your pussy, massaging your warmth all slow & lazy. your eyes drop to his bulge, his cock practically twitching in his shorts. you reach a hand to glide over it, palming him so his hips twitch. he inhales sharply, “fuck—”
“not in my uniform,” he steals your hand, kissing your jaw. “gonna be a nightmare to clean.”
you glare at him through your lashes. “it’s already dirty, idiot.”
he laughs at your pretty face glaring up at him. your cheeks are still flushed, lashes wet, and your lips are in a frown but satoru swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. he folds his hand over yours and dips his head to kiss you warm & slow. you gasp as his tongue pushes in, a soft moan leaving your lips as his tongue grazes yours.
“another time,” he murmurs against your lips. “no pouting, yeah?”
you pout anyways, and satoru kisses it off.
3. NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND !
satoru is driving too fast.
his jaw is tight, knuckles white against the steering as you clutch your seatbelt beside him. your heart hammers against your ribs but the engine soon slows, his foot easing down on the breaks as the car comes to a stop at a traffic light.
today’s match went bad, really bad, so bad to the point that afterwards you’d tried to console him and he’d simply walked past. you try not to let it get to you. you know how men are when it comes to losing in sports.
but satoru’s breathing settles beside you, so you try once more.
“you played good today.”
silence.
"i know you're upset," you continue, voice soft. "but it's just one game, and you'll get them next time.”
silence again. his jaw only ticks, face illuminated by the traffic light’s red glow. the seconds seem to stretch into minutes, and you fumble with your skirt.
“you did your best,” you turn to him. “that’s all that matters—“
“can you stop?”
you freeze.
satoru doesn’t look at you. his fingers tap against the steering as he lowers his foot to the gas pedal. he’s not speeding anymore, but the silence stretches & you can feel a lump clawing at your throat.
you bite your lip. and satoru’s mad, yes, but he’s got no right to talk to you like that or take his anger out on you. so you suck in a breath, try to correct him. “i was only trying to help. you don’t have to take it out on me—“
“do you ever get tired of talking?”
“what?”
but satoru continues. “you always have something to say, don’t you? you’re not my fucking girlfriend. and i don’t need your fucking comfort.”
you blink. the words don’t register at first, but soon your throat is closing up, and you’re nodding obediently before you can think any better of it. your skirt bunches in your hands as you try to keep your breathing steady. god forbid you give him a reason to snap at you once again.
“you’re right,” you try for sass but it fails. “and i won’t act like it again.”
but satoru sees you through the rearview mirror. your eyes are on your lap, like you’re still trying to process what just happened, your thumbs fiddling with the hem of your skirt. satoru only swallows, glances away. if he ignores you long enough, you’ll be just fine, right?
your breath hitches beside him and he crumbles immediately.
he’s already pulling over, unbuckling his belt to reach over the console. “no baby, i’m sorry,” he pleads, and maybe he shouldn’t because it only makes tears fall from your eyes. “shh baby don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry.”
he smushes your face into his chest, carding his fingers through your hair. you try to push him away but he takes your hand and presses it to his chest.
“didn’t mean to snap at you,” his breathing is ragged as he cups your face. “don’t cry baby, you know i hate it when you cry.”
you sniffle as he swipes a thumb over your wet lashes. “then what are we?”
satoru doesn’t answer. instead he presses his lips to yours, slow and warm, head tilting to deepen the kiss. “you’re my girl,” kiss. “my baby,” kiss. “my everything,” kiss.
he doesn’t say my girlfriend. but he doesn’t need to, right?
footballer!gojo doesn’t do relationships. and cheerleaders like you don’t make good girlfriends anyway. so you swallow the lump growing in your throat & let him part open your thighs.
Satoru Gojo is fucking gorgeous, which is so deeply unfair that you’re still kind of processing it as he pays for your movie ticket with trembling fingers. His white hair is slightly tousled, soft against his ears, and his glasses are tilted just a bit on the bridge of his nose. He keeps pushing them up like he’s stalling, trying not to meet your eyes too long because every time he does, he gets flustered. His face goes pink and he laughs too loud. You bite your lip every time he does that.
You’re no better. Your hands are clammy inside the sleeves of your hoodie, because you thought this was going to be a safe little date. Nerdy. Harmless. You met at a fucking Doraemon expo for god’s sake, where he gave you a Doraemon-shaped candy and then looked like he wanted to die from shyness.
And now you’re sitting in a too-dark movie theatre with his knee brushing yours.
You think you’re gonna die too. Because there’s heat pooling between your legs, and you're pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties, and this was supposed to be your first normal date. Not a panty-ruining, thigh-clenching disaster where you keep imagining his stupid hot fingers pulling your hoodie up and touching you like you're not both trembling virgins about to combust from one misplaced touch.
Satoru’s voice cracks in the dark.
“You, uh— are you okay?”
You look at him, wide-eyed. “What? Yeah. I’m fine.”
He fidgets. “You’re breathing kinda fast.”
You are. Shit.
“I’m just…” you squirm, thighs pressed tight together. “The seats are uncomfortable.”
He makes a strangled little laugh, eyes darting to the screen and then back to your mouth. You don’t know who moves first, but a second later, your hands are brushing in the popcorn bag and boom— your bodies are pressed together like magnets.
The movie is completely forgotten. You’re both leaning toward each other, breathing the same hot air, and it’s dizzying how close he is. His scent is soft and clean, like soap and sugar and some light cologne that makes your thighs ache. Your lips almost brush before he pulls back, cheeks pink.
“I-I gotta pee,” he blurts. Then winces. “Fuck. Not like— fuck, I didn’t mean it like—”
You stare at him, lips parted.
“…Me too,” you whisper. “Bathroom. I mean.”
So of course, of course, ten minutes later, you’re both in the tiny single-stall bathroom behind the snack bar, the door locked, and you’re pressed against the wall with Satoru’s hands hovering an inch from your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you.
You’re panting.
So is he.
And there’s the faintest bulge pressing against his pants.
“You’re hard,” you whisper, stunned.
Satoru turns bright red. “I didn’t mean to be! I swear I wasn’t thinking anything— well I was thinking but not like— well yes like that but I didn’t expect you to—”
“I’m wet.”
That shuts him up.
He blinks. “Wha— You, wait really?”
You nod furiously. “Soaked. I thought I was dying. You’re, l-like— you’re so hot and tall and your hands are big and I thought—”
He sways toward you like he’s being pulled by gravity.
“You think I’m hot?” he breathes, shocked.
Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re like—the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”
“…But I’m a virgin.”
You blink. “You’re a virgin?”
He freezes. “You didn’t know?”
You shake your head. “You’re too confident. And tall. And your voice, like— you talk like you’ve seen shit.”
“I haven’t! I’ve literally never seen anything. I still sleep with a body pillow.”
“Oh my god.”
You both start laughing, but it’s too breathy, too nervous. You’re looking at his lips again.
“I thought you weren’t a virgin,” he admits, voice low now, almost in awe. “You look like— like—”
He waves helplessly at your body. “You’re so pretty. So hot. You look like you’d ruin me.”
“I’ve never even kissed anyone,” you whisper.
“Me either,” he says.
There’s a beat of silent realization.
Then— tentatively— his hands touch your waist. He’s shaking.
“Can I…”
You nod. “Yeah. Please.”
The kiss is terrible. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, your mouths slipping messily before you both pull away with startled laughter. But his face is flushed, and his eyes are glassy, and your thighs are pressed tight together because the way he’s looking at you is not innocent anymore.
“We’re so bad at this,” you whisper.
“I’m gonna die,” he mumbles, forehead pressed to yours.
“I’m so wet I think my panties are ruined,” you say, like a confession.
He groans. “That’s so hot, please don’t say things like that unless you want me to cum in my pants.”
You both snort, but neither of you moves away.
“Can I… touch you?” he whispers, barely audible.
Your eyes widen, breath catching.
“…Yes. But I don’t— I don’t really know how.”
“Me either,” he whispers. “Let’s be awkward together.”
You reach for his belt, and he lifts your hoodie just enough to see the swell of your tits in your bra. And then you both freeze, panting, staring— because holy fuck this is actually happening.
Two very horny, very confused virgins. In a bathroom. At the movies.
Grinding desperately like you’re learning each other’s bodies in braille.
His hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your fingers tremble at his zipper. And you swear— you swear— when your pussy brushes against his bulge through your panties and tights, he nearly whimpers.
You're both gonna combust.
You’re still half-laughing, half-gasping into his neck, your panties damp and sticking to you like sin, and Satoru’s hard dick is pressed against your inner thigh through his jeans like it hurts. He keeps doing these little shaky inhales, fingers digging into your hoodie at the waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll float off the planet.
His glasses are fogged. His cheeks are pink. And when you drag your nose along his jaw just to feel him shiver, he makes the softest noise you’ve ever heard. A tiny, broken sigh— like the kind of sound you might make when someone pets your hair just right.
You feel like you’re on fire.
“You’re really… hard,” you whisper, a little dreamy, dragging your hand down the front of his jeans like you’re curious more than anything else. Because you are. You can feel the length of him, thick and hot under the denim, twitching at just the barest touch of your fingers. “Like… all the way.”
“I know,” he whines, quietly. “It’s been like that since the popcorn scene.”
You giggle. “We didn’t have a popcorn scene.”
“You were licking butter off your fingers.”
“…Oh. Yeah okay, fair.”
You’re still staring at the bulge in his jeans. It’s insane. It’s… kind of intimidating, honestly. But you’re so curious, and he looks like he might actually die from the idea of you wanting to see him like this.
“Can I see it?” you whisper.
His breath catches. His whole body freezes.
“You— my… dick?”
You nod shyly, face burning. “Just once. I just— I wanna know what it looks like.”
He stares at you like you’re a mythical creature. “You really want to see it?”
“…Yeah.”
His fingers are shaking as he fumbles with his zipper.
You don’t look away— not even when he shoves his boxers down and his cock bounces free, flushed and heavy and dripping. You make a noise, something halfway between shock and awe, because holy shit he’s big. Not just big— long, curved a little toward his stomach, thick enough that your mouth goes dry. The tip is glossy and wet, a pretty pink color— a clear bead clinging to the slit like he’s leaking from just grinding on you.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, stunned.
Satoru makes a noise that’s not human. “D-don’t look at it like that.”
“I can’t help it,” you breathe. “It’s pretty.”
His brain shuts down.
“Pretty?” he croaks.
You nod dumbly, staring. “It’s like… glossy. And pink. And it’s twitching.”
He groans. “Don’t say twitching—”
“But it is! It’s like it’s waving at me or something. It looks so needy.”
He grabs the wall behind your head like he might collapse.
“You’re so cute,” you whisper. “You’re really hard just from kissing me.”
“You’re soaking,” he counters, voice hoarse. “You’ve been wet for an hour.”
You whimper a little. “I didn’t even know I could get this wet.”
Satoru groans again and cups himself like it’ll stop him from cumming just from talking to you.
You reach out— slowly— and wrap your fingers around the base.
He jolts, hips stuttering forward into your hand like it’s instinct. His eyes flutter shut and his whole body shudders, like he’s never felt anything like this.
“…You’re so warm,” you whisper. “And thick.”
“I’m gonna cum,” he blurts.
You pause. “Wait, already?”
“I told you,” he gasps, pressing his face into your neck. “It’s your voice— fuck, the way you’re touching me—”
You slide your hand up and watch his cock twitch, leaking over your fingers.
He sobs a little. “Angel, please—”
That makes you freeze.
“…Angel?”
He peeks up at you, embarrassed. “It slipped out.”
You bite your lip, then smile, stroking him again. “I like it.”
“You’re so soft,” he moans. “And your hand’s so small, it doesn’t even fit—”
You squeeze a little tighter. He gasps.
“Tell me when,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I don’t wanna waste it. You’ve been hard for so long.”
“‘When’?” he pants.
“Yeah,” you say, breath catching. “I want to see what your cum looks like too.”
He shatters.
Just like that— hot, thick ropes spill out across your fingers, your hoodie, his shirt. You watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his whole body curls toward yours, hips stuttering, voice cracked and pleading into your shoulder. His cock throbs in your hand like it’s losing its mind. He sounds so helpless, so high and soft when he whimpers your name.
You stare at the mess.
“…Whoa.”
He’s panting against your cheek, totally limp. “That was so embarrassing.”
“It was awesome,” you breathe. “I made you cum.”
“I exploded in ten seconds.”
You stroke his hair. “I think you’re perfect.”
He melts a little into your chest.
“…You wanna see me next?” you whisper.
His head jerks up like a prairie dog.
Satoru’s still shaking.
You can feel it— his breath hot and unsteady on your neck, his heartbeat punching against your ribs where your bodies press together. Satoru Gojo just came all over your hand like some desperate teenager, having a wet dream, and you’re still standing in a movie theater bathroom, soaked to the skin and so turned on it’s getting hard to breathe.
His cum is sticky on your fingers. Warm, it smells faintly like salt and sugar, and he’s still leaning against you like he’s not sure how to stand on his own.
And then—
Your voice, soft and daring, nearly a whisper:
“…You wanna see me next?”
Satoru blinks. Eyes blown wide. Mouth parted, in disbelief.
“…Are you serious?”
You nod.
He looks stunned. “Like… your pussy?”
Your whole face burns.
“Y-yeah,” you stammer, suddenly nervous. “If you want. I mean— I know it’s— kind of a lot, and maybe messy, but I just… I’ve never… shown anyone." You're looking down at the floor before you finish the rest of that sentence... then your eyes are darting back up to his face, blue eyes stargazed in disbelief. “And I want you to see.”
He’s speechless, Satoru is utterly speechless.
You fidget, heart thudding, tugging your hoodie down like it can hide the way your thighs are trembling, how wet you still are under your panties.
“I just thought… since I saw yours…”
His hand flies up, quick. Cupping your face, both of you look into each other's eyes.
“I want to,” he blurts. “I want to so bad I think I’m gonna die.”
You smile, shy and giddy. “Okay. Then… can you take my panties off?”
He gasps.
Like, actually gasps. Clutches his chest. Staggers backward like you hit him with a spell.
“Say that again,” he whispers.
You reach under your hoodie, slowly rolling your leggings down to your thighs, revealing just a sliver of your pale pink cotton panties, soaked straight through. There’s a wet patch over your pussy— obvious, shiny, and dark.
“Take them off,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Please?”
He looks like he might cry.
“Oh my god,” he chokes. “You’re so wet you soaked through. That’s from me? From just— grinding on me?”
You nod, cheeks flushed. “You made me so wet I couldn’t focus on the movie.”
His hands are on your thighs now, huge and hot, trembling a little as he sinks to his knees in front of you like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. His glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them up, eyes fixed on your panties like they’re the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers, “but I wanna learn so bad.”
You’re breathing so fast your legs are shaking.
His fingers slide under the sides of your panties. He hesitates.
“Ready?” he asks, voice so soft.
You nod, in eager anticipation, like when you know you're about to rip a band-aid off. But... in this case, it's your soaked sticky ruined panties.
And he pulls them down.
Slow, slow, slow
The cotton clings to your cunt, like they're almost glued to you, but he gets them off with a firmer tug.
Your cunt glosses in the light.
Dripping. Swollen. Slick as fuck and twitching under his gaze. You clench a little just from the air, the tension, the way he’s looking at you like he just saw an angel squirt holy water.
He moans. Moans.
“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “Holy shit, you’re soaked. I didn’t know it could do that.”
You giggle nervously. “It doesn’t usually. I think it’s a you thing.”
He gulps, audibly.
His eyes don’t leave your pussy, even as he leans forward, nose almost brushing your thigh.
“Can I… touch you?”
You feel your knees threaten to buckle.
“Yes.” You say with too much enthusiasm than you meant.
His fingers twitch. “I don’t know how.”
You grab his wrist and guide it...
His middle finger barely grazes your folds and you gasp, clenching, hips jumping forward.
“Oh fuck,” he moans. “That was barely anything. You’re shaking.”
“You touched my clit,” you pant. “It’s sensitive.”
His eyes sparkle.
“Oh my god. I love that you know what it’s called.”
You’re breathless, laughing a little. “I’ve read fanfiction. Have you not?”
“I have, but in those they just say ‘your little pearl’ and shit.”
You groan. “That’s not even close.”
He’s looking again, hand hovering like he’s terrified to mess it up.
“Okay, so… this is your clit,” he murmurs, grazing it again, watching how your whole body twitches. “It’s so tiny. But you sound like I electrocuted you when I touched it.”
You whimper, cause he's teasing... He's curious as well and doesn't fucking know how much him petting your clit actually affects you.
“You like that?” he whispers, a bit entranced. Crystalline blue eyes focusing on the sticky strands of your slick connected to his fingertips as they stretch when he rubs and pulls them off your glued pussylips.
“Y-yeah.”
He touches again, a little firmer... slower, really working your clit, the soft squelches audible, he really wants to taste it, the creamy thing webbing his fingers, the thought pounding in his head.. Would you be grossed out if he just shoved his fingers in his mouth right now and got a taste of that sappy cream?
You whimper louder, snapping his attention back from his lewd thoughts.
His voice is shaking. “Can you c-cum like this? Just from me touching you?”
You nod furiously. “If you keep going, Fuck. Please keep going.”
His thumb brushes you now, a bit more confidently.
“You’re dripping,” he mumbles. “It’s getting on my wrist, angel”
Your thighs snap shut, embarrassed.
But you’re so close and he’s still rubbing in slow, shaky circles and whispering your name and watching you like he’s studying for a test he’s gonna fail with honors. Your clit feels like it’s throbbing. You can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop whining.
And then—
“Cum for me,” he whispers, awed. “Please, please pretty girl, I wanna see.”
That makes your cunt clench, his voice the thing that makes you break instantly.
You clam up around nothing, crying out as your pussy gushes over his hand, wet and twitchy, making a fucking mess on his hoodie sleeve. Your knees give out. He catches you instantly, still on his knees, arms full of shaking, panting girl.
You’re sobbing in relief, thighs sticky, pussy still fluttering, and his hands are holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
“You’re so amazing,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I made you cum.”
You whimper. “You’re so good. I didn’t think it would feel like that.”
He kisses your thigh.
Then your stomach, and makes his way up and then your lips, just to feel you.
Soft and careful, with utmost devotion and care.
And you melt against him, fucked out and flushed, pressed to his chest.
“…We should do this again,” he mumbles.
“Next time,” you pant, smiling, “I wanna see if you can make me squirt.”
He chokes, on what little air he's breathing.
But you’re still trembling.
Your panties are hanging off one ankle, his cum is drying on your sleeve, and your pussy is throbbing— still fluttering every now and then like your body can’t believe you actually came. You’re slumped against Satoru’s chest, half-limp, while he rubs soft little circles on your lower back like he’s trying to soothe an overstimulated kitten.
Time is passing and neither of you has said anything in the last full minute.
Except him whispering “holy fuck” under his breath every ten seconds like a mantra.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” he finally says, voice all hushed reverence. “You came.”
You nod, agreeing lazily. Dazed, and still reeling in the high. “Like… a lot.”
“You squirted.”
“I did not.”
“There was liquid. Splash zone level.”
You slap his chest, giggling, but your thighs twitch. You’re so sensitive you could cry, your clit aches in that perfect, pulsing way that means it wants no more and yet… you’re still soaking wet.
And you feel it. That ache deeper inside you now. Heavy and throbbing. Unused.
Unsatisfied.
You shift against him, face buried in the soft cotton of his shirt, and whisper:
“…Satoru?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to put your fingers in me.”
You feel him freeze. Every muscle goes stiff. His hands still on your back. You feel his dick— hard again— press against your thigh like it heard you first.
“Wha— what.”
You look up at him, breath shaky. “You made me cum from the outside. But I’ve never been touched inside.”
His ears go red.
“I— I don’t wanna hurt you—”
“You won’t.” You take his wrist, place his hand gently against your mound. “I trust you.”
He swallows hard. You begin to guide his fingers between your thighs again, letting him feel how wet you still are. You gasp a little just from the contact— still sensitive, still twitchy.
His voice comes out hoarse. “You’re soaked.”
“Just go slow,” you whisper. “I wanna know what it feels like.”
He moves down again and actually takes his jacket off and spreads it over the tiles beneath you. He's kneeling like it’s instinct now, reverent and worshipful. Like he belongs on the floor for you. He kisses your inner thigh once, sweet and shaky, then stares between your legs like he’s seeing magic.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.
You nod, open for him by parting your thighs, trembling ever so slightly.
His fingers sliding along your sappy folds, middle finger inching closer to your hole's opening, more slick gathers and pools as it tries to worm its way in.
You gasp at the feeling.. a bit in fear and uncertainty, but he's so gentle, holding you tighter against him.
His finger begins to push in, your tiny hole fighting him, the intrusion. It's nothing like you've ever felt.
Satoru’s breathing stops entirely.
“You’re tight,” he whispers, stunned. “You’re— fuck, you’re so warm, I can feel your pulse.”
You whimper. “Go slow. Just the tip.”
He pushes a little, and you clench involuntarily, sucking him in just a bit.
He moans. Actually moans. Like you’re the one touching him.
“Angel, you’re gripping me.”
You bury your face in your sleeve, whining. “It’s not fair. Your fingers are big.”
He curls his finger just slightly— experimenting— and your entire body jolts.
“Oh— oh fuck!” you cry out.
His eyes go wide. “Was that— was that good?”
“D-do it again,” you pant.
He does. Gentler, carefully pressing just right, and your walls flutter around him so tightly it’s like your body doesn’t know how to handle it.
“You’re so wet,” he mumbles. “You’re sucking me in.”
You grab his wrist. “Try two.”
He stares. “Are you sure?”
“Please, Satoru.”
You’re breathless, begging.
He shivers like it physically affects him.
He slides another finger in— and your pussy stretches around him, tighter than he expected. Your mouth drops open. Your thighs twitch.
“Oh my god,” you gasp.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me— I can’t move,” he moans.
You rock your hips, helping him, whining through your teeth.
It’s deep. It’s thick. He curls again— and you sob, eyes fluttering back.
“There— oh my god there, right there—”
His fingers are hooked now, rubbing that spongey spot deep inside that makes your eyes cross. His thumb finds your clit on instinct, and suddenly you’re wailing, your whole body shaking, your pussy clenching so hard around his fingers he can barely move.
You cum again, messier and needy. Your velvet walls constricting his fingers in waves.
And he watches, awed, wrecked. His other hand supporting you as your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
He doesn’t even pull out.
He just whispers, “You’re so beautiful when you cum.”
And you start crying.
Happy tears. Dumb overwhelmed tears. Because no one’s ever touched you like this, seen you like this, loved your body with nothing but his hands and awe.
He kisses your forehead.
You sniffle. “I want you inside me someday.”
He nods. “Me too.”
“…But I might have to train for it.”
He laughs, breathless. “Me too. My heart can’t take this.”
You null away on his chest for a minute. Exhausted by everything your body's endured tonight, your panties still on the floor, his arms still secured tight around you and he press soft kisses to the top of your head.
Eventually when he slowly eases his fingers out of you, you're relaxed, no longer holding them hostage, it slides out with a flurry of slick gushing out, all what's been welling up and stuffed inside your cunt for the entire time.
He rubs it up and down your pussylips then into your clit one last time before he's bringing his fingers to his lips, and moaning as your flavour hits his tongue. Finally, getting a taste of you and he couldn't be more pleased at the tangy-sweetness of it.
Satoru licks his fingers clean, savouring it and after he's the one reaching for your panties, tugging them back up along with your leggings as he tells you softly to, "Raise your hips for me please, angel. Good girl, just like that." You do, and he secures them back in place, cunt still pulsing. Fresh slick soaking your panties again.
Satoru stands first, all long limbs and easy grace and he reaches down for you next. His hands are warm as he pulls you up from the bathroom floor. His jacket lies there still, a dark wet patch blooming where your cunt had soaked through.
Heat floods your cheeks, you're quick to mumble an apology, eyes glassy with leftover pleasure and sudden shyness.
He just chuckles softly. Bends to snatch the jacket up like it’s nothing. He balls it in one hand and tucks it under his arm.
“Shh, angel. It’s fine.”
He cups your face, thumbs brushing your flushed skin. Then he kisses you slow and deep, tasting like sin and sweetness. “One wash and it’ll be brand new. Don’t worry about it.”
He doesn’t tell you he plans to keep it exactly like this. A filthy little souvenir, from tonight.
His fingers lace with yours as he leads you out of the stall. The movie is long forgotten. He keeps you tucked close against his side the whole way through the emptying theater. The night air hits cool when you step outside.
In the car he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. Possessive and gentle.
Later that night you lie in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. Your phone glows in the dark. Heart hammering, you type the silly questions anyway.
you 🩷
so… are we...
dating?
omg omg
am i your girlfriend now?!
His reply comes instantly.
toru 🩵
i knew we were soulmates when you asked to see my dick
aaaand called it "pretty"
ilysm angel omg
You giggle into your pillow, face burning. Your chest feels too full. Tonight was crazy. Wild and messy and perfect.
But now one, no two orgasms later and Satoru Gojo is yours. Officially. The nerd from the Doraemon expo.
You fall asleep smiling stupidly into your pillow, already wondering when you’ll feel his hands on you again.
Satoru Gojo is fucking gorgeous, which is so deeply unfair that you’re still kind of processing it as he pays for your movie ticket with trembling fingers. His white hair is slightly tousled, soft against his ears, and his glasses are tilted just a bit on the bridge of his nose. He keeps pushing them up like he’s stalling, trying not to meet your eyes too long because every time he does, he gets flustered. His face goes pink and he laughs too loud. You bite your lip every time he does that.
You’re no better. Your hands are clammy inside the sleeves of your hoodie, because you thought this was going to be a safe little date. Nerdy. Harmless. You met at a fucking Doraemon expo for god’s sake, where he gave you a Doraemon-shaped candy and then looked like he wanted to die from shyness.
And now you’re sitting in a too-dark movie theatre with his knee brushing yours.
You think you’re gonna die too. Because there’s heat pooling between your legs, and you're pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties, and this was supposed to be your first normal date. Not a panty-ruining, thigh-clenching disaster where you keep imagining his stupid hot fingers pulling your hoodie up and touching you like you're not both trembling virgins about to combust from one misplaced touch.
Satoru’s voice cracks in the dark.
“You, uh— are you okay?”
You look at him, wide-eyed. “What? Yeah. I’m fine.”
He fidgets. “You’re breathing kinda fast.”
You are. Shit.
“I’m just…” you squirm, thighs pressed tight together. “The seats are uncomfortable.”
He makes a strangled little laugh, eyes darting to the screen and then back to your mouth. You don’t know who moves first, but a second later, your hands are brushing in the popcorn bag and boom— your bodies are pressed together like magnets.
The movie is completely forgotten. You’re both leaning toward each other, breathing the same hot air, and it’s dizzying how close he is. His scent is soft and clean, like soap and sugar and some light cologne that makes your thighs ache. Your lips almost brush before he pulls back, cheeks pink.
“I-I gotta pee,” he blurts. Then winces. “Fuck. Not like— fuck, I didn’t mean it like—”
You stare at him, lips parted.
“…Me too,” you whisper. “Bathroom. I mean.”
So of course, of course, ten minutes later, you’re both in the tiny single-stall bathroom behind the snack bar, the door locked, and you’re pressed against the wall with Satoru’s hands hovering an inch from your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you.
You’re panting.
So is he.
And there’s the faintest bulge pressing against his pants.
“You’re hard,” you whisper, stunned.
Satoru turns bright red. “I didn’t mean to be! I swear I wasn’t thinking anything— well I was thinking but not like— well yes like that but I didn’t expect you to—”
“I’m wet.”
That shuts him up.
He blinks. “Wha— You, wait really?”
You nod furiously. “Soaked. I thought I was dying. You’re, l-like— you’re so hot and tall and your hands are big and I thought—”
He sways toward you like he’s being pulled by gravity.
“You think I’m hot?” he breathes, shocked.
Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re like—the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”
“…But I’m a virgin.”
You blink. “You’re a virgin?”
He freezes. “You didn’t know?”
You shake your head. “You’re too confident. And tall. And your voice, like— you talk like you’ve seen shit.”
“I haven’t! I’ve literally never seen anything. I still sleep with a body pillow.”
“Oh my god.”
You both start laughing, but it’s too breathy, too nervous. You’re looking at his lips again.
“I thought you weren’t a virgin,” he admits, voice low now, almost in awe. “You look like— like—”
He waves helplessly at your body. “You’re so pretty. So hot. You look like you’d ruin me.”
“I’ve never even kissed anyone,” you whisper.
“Me either,” he says.
There’s a beat of silent realization.
Then— tentatively— his hands touch your waist. He’s shaking.
“Can I…”
You nod. “Yeah. Please.”
The kiss is terrible. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, your mouths slipping messily before you both pull away with startled laughter. But his face is flushed, and his eyes are glassy, and your thighs are pressed tight together because the way he’s looking at you is not innocent anymore.
“We’re so bad at this,” you whisper.
“I’m gonna die,” he mumbles, forehead pressed to yours.
“I’m so wet I think my panties are ruined,” you say, like a confession.
He groans. “That’s so hot, please don’t say things like that unless you want me to cum in my pants.”
You both snort, but neither of you moves away.
“Can I… touch you?” he whispers, barely audible.
Your eyes widen, breath catching.
“…Yes. But I don’t— I don’t really know how.”
“Me either,” he whispers. “Let’s be awkward together.”
You reach for his belt, and he lifts your hoodie just enough to see the swell of your tits in your bra. And then you both freeze, panting, staring— because holy fuck this is actually happening.
Two very horny, very confused virgins. In a bathroom. At the movies.
Grinding desperately like you’re learning each other’s bodies in braille.
His hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your fingers tremble at his zipper. And you swear— you swear— when your pussy brushes against his bulge through your panties and tights, he nearly whimpers.
You're both gonna combust.
You’re still half-laughing, half-gasping into his neck, your panties damp and sticking to you like sin, and Satoru’s hard dick is pressed against your inner thigh through his jeans like it hurts. He keeps doing these little shaky inhales, fingers digging into your hoodie at the waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll float off the planet.
His glasses are fogged. His cheeks are pink. And when you drag your nose along his jaw just to feel him shiver, he makes the softest noise you’ve ever heard. A tiny, broken sigh— like the kind of sound you might make when someone pets your hair just right.
You feel like you’re on fire.
“You’re really… hard,” you whisper, a little dreamy, dragging your hand down the front of his jeans like you’re curious more than anything else. Because you are. You can feel the length of him, thick and hot under the denim, twitching at just the barest touch of your fingers. “Like… all the way.”
“I know,” he whines, quietly. “It’s been like that since the popcorn scene.”
You giggle. “We didn’t have a popcorn scene.”
“You were licking butter off your fingers.”
“…Oh. Yeah okay, fair.”
You’re still staring at the bulge in his jeans. It’s insane. It’s… kind of intimidating, honestly. But you’re so curious, and he looks like he might actually die from the idea of you wanting to see him like this.
“Can I see it?” you whisper.
His breath catches. His whole body freezes.
“You— my… dick?”
You nod shyly, face burning. “Just once. I just— I wanna know what it looks like.”
He stares at you like you’re a mythical creature. “You really want to see it?”
“…Yeah.”
His fingers are shaking as he fumbles with his zipper.
You don’t look away— not even when he shoves his boxers down and his cock bounces free, flushed and heavy and dripping. You make a noise, something halfway between shock and awe, because holy shit he’s big. Not just big— long, curved a little toward his stomach, thick enough that your mouth goes dry. The tip is glossy and wet, a pretty pink color— a clear bead clinging to the slit like he’s leaking from just grinding on you.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, stunned.
Satoru makes a noise that’s not human. “D-don’t look at it like that.”
“I can’t help it,” you breathe. “It’s pretty.”
His brain shuts down.
“Pretty?” he croaks.
You nod dumbly, staring. “It’s like… glossy. And pink. And it’s twitching.”
He groans. “Don’t say twitching—”
“But it is! It’s like it’s waving at me or something. It looks so needy.”
He grabs the wall behind your head like he might collapse.
“You’re so cute,” you whisper. “You’re really hard just from kissing me.”
“You’re soaking,” he counters, voice hoarse. “You’ve been wet for an hour.”
You whimper a little. “I didn’t even know I could get this wet.”
Satoru groans again and cups himself like it’ll stop him from cumming just from talking to you.
You reach out— slowly— and wrap your fingers around the base.
He jolts, hips stuttering forward into your hand like it’s instinct. His eyes flutter shut and his whole body shudders, like he’s never felt anything like this.
“…You’re so warm,” you whisper. “And thick.”
“I’m gonna cum,” he blurts.
You pause. “Wait, already?”
“I told you,” he gasps, pressing his face into your neck. “It’s your voice— fuck, the way you’re touching me—”
You slide your hand up and watch his cock twitch, leaking over your fingers.
He sobs a little. “Angel, please—”
That makes you freeze.
“…Angel?”
He peeks up at you, embarrassed. “It slipped out.”
You bite your lip, then smile, stroking him again. “I like it.”
“You’re so soft,” he moans. “And your hand’s so small, it doesn’t even fit—”
You squeeze a little tighter. He gasps.
“Tell me when,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I don’t wanna waste it. You’ve been hard for so long.”
“‘When’?” he pants.
“Yeah,” you say, breath catching. “I want to see what your cum looks like too.”
He shatters.
Just like that— hot, thick ropes spill out across your fingers, your hoodie, his shirt. You watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his whole body curls toward yours, hips stuttering, voice cracked and pleading into your shoulder. His cock throbs in your hand like it’s losing its mind. He sounds so helpless, so high and soft when he whimpers your name.
You stare at the mess.
“…Whoa.”
He’s panting against your cheek, totally limp. “That was so embarrassing.”
“It was awesome,” you breathe. “I made you cum.”
“I exploded in ten seconds.”
You stroke his hair. “I think you’re perfect.”
He melts a little into your chest.
“…You wanna see me next?” you whisper.
His head jerks up like a prairie dog.
Satoru’s still shaking.
You can feel it— his breath hot and unsteady on your neck, his heartbeat punching against your ribs where your bodies press together. Satoru Gojo just came all over your hand like some desperate teenager, having a wet dream, and you’re still standing in a movie theater bathroom, soaked to the skin and so turned on it’s getting hard to breathe.
His cum is sticky on your fingers. Warm, it smells faintly like salt and sugar, and he’s still leaning against you like he’s not sure how to stand on his own.
And then—
Your voice, soft and daring, nearly a whisper:
“…You wanna see me next?”
Satoru blinks. Eyes blown wide. Mouth parted, in disbelief.
“…Are you serious?”
You nod.
He looks stunned. “Like… your pussy?”
Your whole face burns.
“Y-yeah,” you stammer, suddenly nervous. “If you want. I mean— I know it’s— kind of a lot, and maybe messy, but I just… I’ve never… shown anyone." You're looking down at the floor before you finish the rest of that sentence... then your eyes are darting back up to his face, blue eyes stargazed in disbelief. “And I want you to see.”
He’s speechless, Satoru is utterly speechless.
You fidget, heart thudding, tugging your hoodie down like it can hide the way your thighs are trembling, how wet you still are under your panties.
“I just thought… since I saw yours…”
His hand flies up, quick. Cupping your face, both of you look into each other's eyes.
“I want to,” he blurts. “I want to so bad I think I’m gonna die.”
You smile, shy and giddy. “Okay. Then… can you take my panties off?”
He gasps.
Like, actually gasps. Clutches his chest. Staggers backward like you hit him with a spell.
“Say that again,” he whispers.
You reach under your hoodie, slowly rolling your leggings down to your thighs, revealing just a sliver of your pale pink cotton panties, soaked straight through. There’s a wet patch over your pussy— obvious, shiny, and dark.
“Take them off,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Please?”
He looks like he might cry.
“Oh my god,” he chokes. “You’re so wet you soaked through. That’s from me? From just— grinding on me?”
You nod, cheeks flushed. “You made me so wet I couldn’t focus on the movie.”
His hands are on your thighs now, huge and hot, trembling a little as he sinks to his knees in front of you like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. His glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them up, eyes fixed on your panties like they’re the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers, “but I wanna learn so bad.”
You’re breathing so fast your legs are shaking.
His fingers slide under the sides of your panties. He hesitates.
“Ready?” he asks, voice so soft.
You nod, in eager anticipation, like when you know you're about to rip a band-aid off. But... in this case, it's your soaked sticky ruined panties.
And he pulls them down.
Slow, slow, slow
The cotton clings to your cunt, like they're almost glued to you, but he gets them off with a firmer tug.
Your cunt glosses in the light.
Dripping. Swollen. Slick as fuck and twitching under his gaze. You clench a little just from the air, the tension, the way he’s looking at you like he just saw an angel squirt holy water.
He moans. Moans.
“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “Holy shit, you’re soaked. I didn’t know it could do that.”
You giggle nervously. “It doesn’t usually. I think it’s a you thing.”
He gulps, audibly.
His eyes don’t leave your pussy, even as he leans forward, nose almost brushing your thigh.
“Can I… touch you?”
You feel your knees threaten to buckle.
“Yes.” You say with too much enthusiasm than you meant.
His fingers twitch. “I don’t know how.”
You grab his wrist and guide it...
His middle finger barely grazes your folds and you gasp, clenching, hips jumping forward.
“Oh fuck,” he moans. “That was barely anything. You’re shaking.”
“You touched my clit,” you pant. “It’s sensitive.”
His eyes sparkle.
“Oh my god. I love that you know what it’s called.”
You’re breathless, laughing a little. “I’ve read fanfiction. Have you not?”
“I have, but in those they just say ‘your little pearl’ and shit.”
You groan. “That’s not even close.”
He’s looking again, hand hovering like he’s terrified to mess it up.
“Okay, so… this is your clit,” he murmurs, grazing it again, watching how your whole body twitches. “It’s so tiny. But you sound like I electrocuted you when I touched it.”
You whimper, cause he's teasing... He's curious as well and doesn't fucking know how much him petting your clit actually affects you.
“You like that?” he whispers, a bit entranced. Crystalline blue eyes focusing on the sticky strands of your slick connected to his fingertips as they stretch when he rubs and pulls them off your glued pussylips.
“Y-yeah.”
He touches again, a little firmer... slower, really working your clit, the soft squelches audible, he really wants to taste it, the creamy thing webbing his fingers, the thought pounding in his head.. Would you be grossed out if he just shoved his fingers in his mouth right now and got a taste of that sappy cream?
You whimper louder, snapping his attention back from his lewd thoughts.
His voice is shaking. “Can you c-cum like this? Just from me touching you?”
You nod furiously. “If you keep going, Fuck. Please keep going.”
His thumb brushes you now, a bit more confidently.
“You’re dripping,” he mumbles. “It’s getting on my wrist, angel”
Your thighs snap shut, embarrassed.
But you’re so close and he’s still rubbing in slow, shaky circles and whispering your name and watching you like he’s studying for a test he’s gonna fail with honors. Your clit feels like it’s throbbing. You can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop whining.
And then—
“Cum for me,” he whispers, awed. “Please, please pretty girl, I wanna see.”
That makes your cunt clench, his voice the thing that makes you break instantly.
You clam up around nothing, crying out as your pussy gushes over his hand, wet and twitchy, making a fucking mess on his hoodie sleeve. Your knees give out. He catches you instantly, still on his knees, arms full of shaking, panting girl.
You’re sobbing in relief, thighs sticky, pussy still fluttering, and his hands are holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
“You’re so amazing,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I made you cum.”
You whimper. “You’re so good. I didn’t think it would feel like that.”
He kisses your thigh.
Then your stomach, and makes his way up and then your lips, just to feel you.
Soft and careful, with utmost devotion and care.
And you melt against him, fucked out and flushed, pressed to his chest.
“…We should do this again,” he mumbles.
“Next time,” you pant, smiling, “I wanna see if you can make me squirt.”
He chokes, on what little air he's breathing.
But you’re still trembling.
Your panties are hanging off one ankle, his cum is drying on your sleeve, and your pussy is throbbing— still fluttering every now and then like your body can’t believe you actually came. You’re slumped against Satoru’s chest, half-limp, while he rubs soft little circles on your lower back like he’s trying to soothe an overstimulated kitten.
Time is passing and neither of you has said anything in the last full minute.
Except him whispering “holy fuck” under his breath every ten seconds like a mantra.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” he finally says, voice all hushed reverence. “You came.”
You nod, agreeing lazily. Dazed, and still reeling in the high. “Like… a lot.”
“You squirted.”
“I did not.”
“There was liquid. Splash zone level.”
You slap his chest, giggling, but your thighs twitch. You’re so sensitive you could cry, your clit aches in that perfect, pulsing way that means it wants no more and yet… you’re still soaking wet.
And you feel it. That ache deeper inside you now. Heavy and throbbing. Unused.
Unsatisfied.
You shift against him, face buried in the soft cotton of his shirt, and whisper:
“…Satoru?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to put your fingers in me.”
You feel him freeze. Every muscle goes stiff. His hands still on your back. You feel his dick— hard again— press against your thigh like it heard you first.
“Wha— what.”
You look up at him, breath shaky. “You made me cum from the outside. But I’ve never been touched inside.”
His ears go red.
“I— I don’t wanna hurt you—”
“You won’t.” You take his wrist, place his hand gently against your mound. “I trust you.”
He swallows hard. You begin to guide his fingers between your thighs again, letting him feel how wet you still are. You gasp a little just from the contact— still sensitive, still twitchy.
His voice comes out hoarse. “You’re soaked.”
“Just go slow,” you whisper. “I wanna know what it feels like.”
He moves down again and actually takes his jacket off and spreads it over the tiles beneath you. He's kneeling like it’s instinct now, reverent and worshipful. Like he belongs on the floor for you. He kisses your inner thigh once, sweet and shaky, then stares between your legs like he’s seeing magic.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.
You nod, open for him by parting your thighs, trembling ever so slightly.
His fingers sliding along your sappy folds, middle finger inching closer to your hole's opening, more slick gathers and pools as it tries to worm its way in.
You gasp at the feeling.. a bit in fear and uncertainty, but he's so gentle, holding you tighter against him.
His finger begins to push in, your tiny hole fighting him, the intrusion. It's nothing like you've ever felt.
Satoru’s breathing stops entirely.
“You’re tight,” he whispers, stunned. “You’re— fuck, you’re so warm, I can feel your pulse.”
You whimper. “Go slow. Just the tip.”
He pushes a little, and you clench involuntarily, sucking him in just a bit.
He moans. Actually moans. Like you’re the one touching him.
“Angel, you’re gripping me.”
You bury your face in your sleeve, whining. “It’s not fair. Your fingers are big.”
He curls his finger just slightly— experimenting— and your entire body jolts.
“Oh— oh fuck!” you cry out.
His eyes go wide. “Was that— was that good?”
“D-do it again,” you pant.
He does. Gentler, carefully pressing just right, and your walls flutter around him so tightly it’s like your body doesn’t know how to handle it.
“You’re so wet,” he mumbles. “You’re sucking me in.”
You grab his wrist. “Try two.”
He stares. “Are you sure?”
“Please, Satoru.”
You’re breathless, begging.
He shivers like it physically affects him.
He slides another finger in— and your pussy stretches around him, tighter than he expected. Your mouth drops open. Your thighs twitch.
“Oh my god,” you gasp.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me— I can’t move,” he moans.
You rock your hips, helping him, whining through your teeth.
It’s deep. It’s thick. He curls again— and you sob, eyes fluttering back.
“There— oh my god there, right there—”
His fingers are hooked now, rubbing that spongey spot deep inside that makes your eyes cross. His thumb finds your clit on instinct, and suddenly you’re wailing, your whole body shaking, your pussy clenching so hard around his fingers he can barely move.
You cum again, messier and needy. Your velvet walls constricting his fingers in waves.
And he watches, awed, wrecked. His other hand supporting you as your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
He doesn’t even pull out.
He just whispers, “You’re so beautiful when you cum.”
And you start crying.
Happy tears. Dumb overwhelmed tears. Because no one’s ever touched you like this, seen you like this, loved your body with nothing but his hands and awe.
He kisses your forehead.
You sniffle. “I want you inside me someday.”
He nods. “Me too.”
“…But I might have to train for it.”
He laughs, breathless. “Me too. My heart can’t take this.”
You null away on his chest for a minute. Exhausted by everything your body's endured tonight, your panties still on the floor, his arms still secured tight around you and he press soft kisses to the top of your head.
Eventually when he slowly eases his fingers out of you, you're relaxed, no longer holding them hostage, it slides out with a flurry of slick gushing out, all what's been welling up and stuffed inside your cunt for the entire time.
He rubs it up and down your pussylips then into your clit one last time before he's bringing his fingers to his lips, and moaning as your flavour hits his tongue. Finally, getting a taste of you and he couldn't be more pleased at the tangy-sweetness of it.
Satoru licks his fingers clean, savouring it and after he's the one reaching for your panties, tugging them back up along with your leggings as he tells you softly to, "Raise your hips for me please, angel. Good girl, just like that." You do, and he secures them back in place, cunt still pulsing. Fresh slick soaking your panties again.
Satoru stands first, all long limbs and easy grace and he reaches down for you next. His hands are warm as he pulls you up from the bathroom floor. His jacket lies there still, a dark wet patch blooming where your cunt had soaked through.
Heat floods your cheeks, you're quick to mumble an apology, eyes glassy with leftover pleasure and sudden shyness.
He just chuckles softly. Bends to snatch the jacket up like it’s nothing. He balls it in one hand and tucks it under his arm.
“Shh, angel. It’s fine.”
He cups your face, thumbs brushing your flushed skin. Then he kisses you slow and deep, tasting like sin and sweetness. “One wash and it’ll be brand new. Don’t worry about it.”
He doesn’t tell you he plans to keep it exactly like this. A filthy little souvenir, from tonight.
His fingers lace with yours as he leads you out of the stall. The movie is long forgotten. He keeps you tucked close against his side the whole way through the emptying theater. The night air hits cool when you step outside.
In the car he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. Possessive and gentle.
Later that night you lie in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. Your phone glows in the dark. Heart hammering, you type the silly questions anyway.
you 🩷
so… are we...
dating?
omg omg
am i your girlfriend now?!
His reply comes instantly.
toru 🩵
i knew we were soulmates when you asked to see my dick
aaaand called it "pretty"
ilysm angel omg
You giggle into your pillow, face burning. Your chest feels too full. Tonight was crazy. Wild and messy and perfect.
But now one, no two orgasms later and Satoru Gojo is yours. Officially. The nerd from the Doraemon expo.
You fall asleep smiling stupidly into your pillow, already wondering when you’ll feel his hands on you again.
. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ 18+ | satoru eating you out on his birthday. not without cake frosting, of course.
you shiver when the sugary frosting smears across your clit and satoru eagerly laps it up, moaning so deeply like he has the finest of delicacies in front of him. which, in his honest opinion, he does.
“mmm god, so sweet… i think ‘m addicted,” he slurs against your sloppy walls, a mess of frosting and arousal. sticky and sweet. his two favourite things.
you bite back a moan, eyes drifting down to his face only to find that he’s already looking up at you with those piercing eyes so full of love and lust. a hunger so intense swirling around his irises; it makes your breath hitch just at the sight.
“so filthy, ‘toru,” you mumble, a pitched whine sneaking into your tone when he rolls his tongue over your swollen nub, twitching for attention which he eagerly gives. like he needs it as much as you do.
“‘s not my fault you’re so sweet… so fuckin’ heavenly,” he groans, eyes closing in bliss as his tongue runs down your slit, your juices gathering on his tongue and he gulps them down, not wasting a single drop.
he drags his tongue from the bottom of your slit up to your clit, messy but experienced. it’s a sloppy mess but he grazes against you just right, suctioning his lips around your clit until his cheeks hollow slightly and you tremble violently.
a choked gasp gets caught in your throat and you’re not really sure what ends up leaving your mouth. something that makes him chuckle. amused, smug. cocky that he could elicit such sounds from you.
he pushes your thighs wider apart, shoving his face deeper, wiggling his tongue past your tight entrance and flicking it against your quivering walls, almost immediately attacking your sweetest of spots. another gush of arousal coats the lower part of his face but he doesn’t care. he looks as blissful as you do.
“‘toru hnngh… please don’t stop, just-- fuck… just like that,” you whimper, every nerve buzzing with pleasure with every swipe and thrust of his tongue.
his nose presses insistently against your clit, your hips jerking against his face and he moans in approval.
“mhm… take what you need, sweetheart. use my face,” he babbles against your cunt, like you’d be granting his birthday wish. he loves being used by you in such a depraved manner. loves having your sugary arousal painted across his lower face like your favourite canvas.
his hips rut into the mattress, his body torn between wanting to keep devouring you and wanting to bury himself deep inside you. though, he’s completely content eating you out. his boxers are soaked with precum.
“fuck, i love you. i wish there were two of you,” he mumbles against your puffy folds, “so i can fuck you and eat you out at the same time.”
you want to roll your eyes at his ridiculous comment but instead they roll back with ecstasy, your body writhing against the mussed sheets as one hand grasps helplessly at them and the other tangles in snowy locks.
he groans again when you tug at his hair, pulling him to heaven with you.
“s-satoru… fuck i’m--” you’re cut off by your own moan, your head throwing back against the pillows as the pleasure becomes overwhelmingly intense. your legs attempt to close around his head but he cinches your thighs to the mattress.
“i know, baby… so close for me,” he murmurs, sounding just as ruined as you are, never letting down on his ministrations. never changing the pace nor pressure, knowing that you’ll unravel just like this. “cum for me, please. let me finish my dessert.”
and the tight coil that was winding in your lower belly suddenly snaps, releasing the tsunami of your sweet sap which he greedily slurps, his tongue working insistently, milking every drop of your orgasm. his eyes fall shut again, completely hooked on your taste and the saccharine cries forced out of your mouth.
at the same time, hot cum spurts out of his reddened tip and leaks through the black fabric of his boxers, seeping into the sheets as he grinds his hips in a circle, riding out his own release as you tremble against the same sheets.
when he finally pulls back, he’s grinning like an idiot, cheeks flushed and his mouth glistening. “best birthday ever.”
when you saw him again in a university building across the world, no words could really explain the shock. he was still the same — dumb glasses, dumb face, and somehow stupidly hot. what the hell happened to him?
back then, “i like you!” used to be something you’d hear at least three times a week, blurted out by none other than your childhood best friend, gojo satoru. you never really took it seriously, always thinking he’d grow out of it eventually. but even when you moved away and lost contact, the last thing he said to you stuck. it wasn’t just another “i like you” anymore. it was an “i love you!” with snot and tears dripping down his face.
and now, many years later, things weren’t all that different. the words leaving his lips sounded almost the same — only this time it was breathless, broken sounds, spilling out in between moans.
“haah—i love you—fuck, feels so good—gonna lose my mind.” he has you splayed beneath him on his bed, legs pushed to your chest as he’s frantically rutting into you, letting out loud groans every time you clench around him. he was ridiculously huge, fat cock mercilessly slamming into you, thick and raw. “mmh—so deep—you’re so deep, ‘toru—fuck—!” every cervix battering thrust had you screaming his name, nails digging into his back as tears streamed down your face.
“f—fuck—you’re squeezing me so tight—hahh—“ he leaned in close, panting against your lips as your tongues danced in a sloppy kiss. sometimes, he missed the target, kissing your cheek and jaw instead. the sight of him pounding into you — cheeks glowing pink with a needy expression — had you drooling, walls fluttering around his length. and your dazed, fucked out expression always did something to him, making his cock throb when you were wrapped around him. “hnnngh—wait—don’t look at me like that—i’ll cum..”
gojo was messy, obscenely so, keeping his glasses on despite it slipping down the bridge of his nose just to watch himself pump in and out of your sopping cunt. he observed every detail, watching your cream form a ring around the base of his cock that was glistening with your slick, bearing the annoyance of pushing his glasses up every few seconds.
“so pretty, baby—so fucking pretty.. want to be inside you forever—feels so unreal—shit—“ the longer he was inside you, the more erratic and desperate he got, losing control of himself as he threw his head back from the surreal pleasure, babbling nonsense. “nnnhh—right there, ‘toru! oh my god—gonna cum, gonna cum—!” you cried, your moans drowning out the loud plapping noises of wet skin on skin. your legs trembled as you completely soaked the sheets, arousal dripping down your thighs. he was still pounding into you, plunging so deep that it had you seeing stars, ears ringing from the orgasm.
“fuuuckk! aah, shit—love you—love you s’much, ‘toru—love you, love you—“ your eyes rolled back, words tumbling out uncontrollably as gojo fucked you through your release, thick ropes of cum spurting inside you the moment he heard the words “i love you” spill past your lips. “nngh, shit—fuck—you mean it? you love me?” he asked eagerly, breath hitching as he rode out his high. his grip on your hips got tighter, dragging you back down onto him so he could fuck his cum deeper inside you, keeping himself there.
he soon collapsed onto you, whimpering as he buried himself in the crook of your neck, cock still twitching inside your warm pussy. “you’re heavy, ‘toru..” you said breathlessly, tapping his back as you came down from your climax. “mmm, sorry.. just a little longer, please?” he mumbled into your shoulders.
and when he finally pulled back, he looked at you with glassy eyes and the dumbest grin you’ve ever seen. “so uh.. you said you love me. does this mean you’ll finally be my girlfriend? we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now, right?”
Your husband Satoru slams a hand to muffle your cries as he lifts you up and bends you right over the damn drying machine, running right along with the washer loud enough it quiets the filthy sound of your messy cunt on his fingers. He shoves aside your pajama shorts you've been cleaning in all day, moaning when he gets to rub his tip on it, pearly white cum sticking to your clit.
"Satoru, right n-now?" You hiss out the words, he chuckles in your ear and bends over you, clicking the lock shut for good measure, the two of you hiding from your two kids as he actively plans for another like the freaky little shit he is.
"Saw you bending over putting those pans away? Fuck, thought how good your hips would look in my hands," he moans and grips one, sinking his cock inside easily with how soaked you are, but it's a tight fit. "Oh fuck..."
"Can't keep quiet if y-you..." he slams his hand again on your mouth, shoving his nine inches all the way inside, tip drooling on your cervix. You whine out against his palm, eyes rolling back in your skull, the sounds of Bluey filtering in. "mmph!"
"They're busy, it's fine..." He fucks into you faster, whimpering quietly and pounding your pussy - he's not gonna last long with how needy and sensitive he is. "I wanna put another inside you, hah-"
You think to yourself he's insane, but when he starts whispering that filth in your ear you're about to shatter, every glide of his cock in your quivering walls ruining you.
"Mnh, you want it huh? Me pumping you full, mm?-" he bites down on your neck to muffle another whine, pressing you harder on the dryer as your legs just dangle - he's so damn tall it's the perfect height to bend you over. He's wrapping his arm around, hand gripping a tit and squishing. "I wanna see these full of milk - wanna suck it from them again... mm it's so sweet..."
A circle of his thumb and another pump inside has you falling apart, gushing down his length, he pulls his hand off your mouth to kiss you.
"Drooling on my cock and my mouth?" He taunts, the man who had just been giving your kids rides on his back now had damn near black eyes and a feral grin, shoving in deep and holding you there, watching your eyes damn near go cross, your tongue all little and pink hanging out. "Fuck you love my cum, don't you? Want me to breed you, baby?"
"Please," you know damn well you shouldn't have another yet, but - "Breed me, please."
Your whisper ends him - pumping you full and gasping out into your mouth, coating your walls white with his hot ropes, spurts catching your cute cervix that's already swollen from his mean tip. "Oh fuck... mmm, want four more kids... fuck..."
"I'll tie my tubes after three," he glares and you giggle, breathless. "One more!"
"Fuck that I'll untie them," you're gasping when he eases out, shoving his fingers deep to plug that cum up, before he hears your kids arguing and curses. "Four more."
"One more," He grins as he slips his fingers in your mouth, your cheeks hollowing, moaning at his taste. "Mmm, two then."
Satoru grins, fixing your clothes and then throwing your hair back into that ponytail. "Sure, sweetheart."
****
I'm ovulating STILL and god help everyone this week lmao
traps fairy!reader in a jar... now you're his greatest obsession.
𝓒𝐰. nerdjo · yandere themes · experimentation ( not on reader ) · creepy satoru · oddly fluffy · stockholm syndrome · worship · slight idolisation · satoru's so whipped it's kinda cute
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo loved picking apart magical beings. figuring out how they work. how he could use their supernatural capabilities in alchemy and artifice trades alike. he's got magical body parts stuffed in jars and rowed on his shelves. from unicorn horns to vampire teeth, dragon eyes and goblin hands. but above all, he's been awed by the mythical, elusive fairy. he's got an entire taxidermy wall of butterfly wings in dedication to them.
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo has been obsessed with fairies from a young age. from fairytales to frightening fascination, he's now driven himself mad trying to capture one. he'd honed all of his skills, yet still couldn't get his hands on one… until you came along.
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo knew that he needed to have you the second he saw you. prancing around the flowers in his garden, pretty and as peaceful as you could be. you even gave him a little smile from your hiding spot. he pretended not to see you, even as his chest fluttered. but in his eyes? you were perfect.
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo was surprised that the sweet treat on a mushroom top trick worked.
"well, aren't you the prettiest little thing?" he cooed on that fateful day he trapped your wing under his thumb. while you squirmed in the thick blades of grass.
his sharp grin loomed above you. watching you over the rim of his copper-framed glasses. and within his eyes, you saw something that terrified you.
hearts.
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo perfectly prepared your jar. he cushioned the bottom with soil and moss. a slab of bark laid on side, with a network of flourishing, pink mushrooms growing along its length. a polished pebble for you to perch on, right beside the singular, blooming daisy where you could sleep. he wasn't a monster, after all…
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo watched you with fascination as you tapped on the glass helplessly, your wings batting and your tears shimmery. so fairy dust was real.
"please."
your tiny hands smacked into the glass. peering up at the man as he sat at a table and chair. "please, why won't you let me go? I'll do anything."
he had scooped the jar into his hand, levelling you with those terrifying blues. "now, why would I let something so pretty go?" he crooked his head, snowy hair dangling to the side.
"i've waited for you for many years, sweetheart. don't be selfish."
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo would give you everything you ever needed. food wasn't an issue, every day, he fed you something new. a juicy strawberry. honey and puffballs. mango slices. crackers. one time he even tried to hold you in his palm and feed you a small piece of vanilla cake.
you bit him.
he smiled.
"I suppose even pretty things can be feisty." his grip tightened on you, ever so slightly. a thumb brushing over your wings that fluttered erratically.
"let me go! you monster!" you squeaked.
he tutted, stroking his thumb over your back in a tender path. "sshhh, sweet thing. you'll bruise your little lungs…"
he continued the motion until your wreckless squirming melted. your head limped on his knuckle, your limbs still, and your head droopy.
he chuckled, carefully scooping you back into your jar. "thankfully, I've studied your kind extensively. I know you intimately, sweetheart."
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo sometimes lets you out of the jar, but only when you have manners. he doesn't have to worry about you flying away, because he always so meticulously ties your wings with a silk ribbon.
"remain still for me, okay?" he hushed at you, kissing your head as you thrashed and shouted at him.
he even tied it into a pretty bow, before he set you atop one of his books.
"why do you do this?" you huffed, balling your little fists as you helplessly tried to flutter your wings. "how can you be so twisted to keep me here?"
satoru always spoke to you as if you were a flower. even lowering his head to be at eye level with you. lashes fluttering, almost droopy in the presence of your beauty.
"am I so twisted for being in love with you?"
the way your eyes gaped at him made him smile. he brought his pinkie to gently poke at your head. "what? am I?"
"you're insane…" your murmur sounded frightened. fear looked pretty on you, too.
"maybe," his voice lowered to a whisper. "or maybe I'm just very dedicated to my work."
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo made little tools out of silver to help fix your hair. he'd do the usual routine of scooping you out of the jar, tying your wings and sitting you on his palm, before he set to work on carefully helping you.
"I made these for you." he'd say affectionately.
and when you didn't respond, he blew a bit of air onto your wings until you squirmed and giggled.
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo makes sure to let you have a little soak in one of his favourite teacups with some warm water. no, he doesn't peep at you. he's not a creep. a pretty little lady like yourself needs her privacy, after all.
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo sometimes takes you out to dance you around the windowsill when the moon shines just right. he lets you hold onto his pinkies. twirls and dips you all night long. treating you as delicate as a flower as he watches you with awestruck eyes.
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo brings you bundles of flowers to drink nectar from. he'll nudge your chin up so gently with his index nail and feed you himself. makes sure you don't choke.
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo wraps you up in his glasses cloth when it gets too cold, or sometimes even scoops you into his pocket where you can nap to the sound of his heartbeat.
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo despite being so gentle, would remind you what kind of man he was. not all of the times he plucked you from the jar were for your benefit.
at times, he'd tie your wings a little tighter. laying you out on a leather-bound notebook and analysing you piece by piece.
"fascinating," he mumbled, prodding at your arm with a flat, wooden stick. applying pressure. testing. "your limbs are stronger than they look. is it your magic, I wonder?"
he spoke about wanting to take you apart. bit by bit, to understand you better. when you gave him a horrified look, he chuckled, cocking his head as he tickled your wings.
"what, sweetheart? wouldn't it be intimate?"
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo wouldn't ever hurt you. he didn't think he had it in him. you were too soft, too elegant, too pretty. it broke his heart whenever he'd see you weeping in your jar.
"don't cry… please don't cry," he'd whisper as he laid his head beside the jar. watching you with sullen blue eyes.
you'd cry for him to let you go, and it ached a deep part of him.
"I can't. I'm sorry, sweet thing." his lips brushed the glass, a sincere apology from a man so sadistic. "I need you." came his shaky breath.
"I need you here. with me. I'm just so lonely. please don't hate me."
𔘓 · yandere researcher!nerdjo saw you staring at the wall of wings while he worked, once. silent and wide eyed.
he sorely misinterpreted you, tilting his head with a crooked smile. "do you like any of them?"
scooping you out of the jar, he cradled you in his palm. "I could make you a dress… would you like that?"
your look of horror bewildered him, and when tears streamed down your face, he rushed to soothe you. brushing away your tears with a petal plucked from a flower on his desk.
when you told him why you wept— because you thought the wings were your fallen brethren, his face twisted. almost disgusted that you could compare your pristine, perfect wings to those baneful butterflies. still, his shoulder shook with a little laugh. he found it morbidly amusing.
"oh, my sweetheart. of course not," he cooed at you. "those are butterflies. you are the only fairy I've had in my grasp."
pale lips brushed your little head, ever delicate. as he whispered. soft, lovingly.
"that's why you're so special to me."
you didn't look too convinced. your small sniffles broke his heart, so he sighed as he gently nudged you over. till you were slumped over his thumb and forefinger.
"sweetheart, please don't insult yourself so," he lightly scolded. "butterfly wings are so brittle. so dull. but yours…"
his other index slowly, tenderly brushed down your spine. tracing your wings in that same gentle, sick fascination he always had.
"yours are pristine. delicate… perfect."
his shaky breath tickled your wings, and they twitched. his throat ran dry. heart hammering a bit faster at this little, intimate moment.
with a gentle squeeze to you, he leaned down. pressing a slow, velvet kiss to your wings. smiling into them as they fluttered and you pitched a whine.
"see?" satoru breathed, lips brushing over their little twitches. his smile was soft, sick.
"these are all mine. my special little sweetheart."
Your husband Satoru slams a hand to muffle your cries as he lifts you up and bends you right over the damn drying machine, running right along with the washer loud enough it quiets the filthy sound of your messy cunt on his fingers. He shoves aside your pajama shorts you've been cleaning in all day, moaning when he gets to rub his tip on it, pearly white cum sticking to your clit.
"Satoru, right n-now?" You hiss out the words, he chuckles in your ear and bends over you, clicking the lock shut for good measure, the two of you hiding from your two kids as he actively plans for another like the freaky little shit he is.
"Saw you bending over putting those pans away? Fuck, thought how good your hips would look in my hands," he moans and grips one, sinking his cock inside easily with how soaked you are, but it's a tight fit. "Oh fuck..."
"Can't keep quiet if y-you..." he slams his hand again on your mouth, shoving his nine inches all the way inside, tip drooling on your cervix. You whine out against his palm, eyes rolling back in your skull, the sounds of Bluey filtering in. "mmph!"
"They're busy, it's fine..." He fucks into you faster, whimpering quietly and pounding your pussy - he's not gonna last long with how needy and sensitive he is. "I wanna put another inside you, hah-"
You think to yourself he's insane, but when he starts whispering that filth in your ear you're about to shatter, every glide of his cock in your quivering walls ruining you.
"Mnh, you want it huh? Me pumping you full, mm?-" he bites down on your neck to muffle another whine, pressing you harder on the dryer as your legs just dangle - he's so damn tall it's the perfect height to bend you over. He's wrapping his arm around, hand gripping a tit and squishing. "I wanna see these full of milk - wanna suck it from them again... mm it's so sweet..."
A circle of his thumb and another pump inside has you falling apart, gushing down his length, he pulls his hand off your mouth to kiss you.
"Drooling on my cock and my mouth?" He taunts, the man who had just been giving your kids rides on his back now had damn near black eyes and a feral grin, shoving in deep and holding you there, watching your eyes damn near go cross, your tongue all little and pink hanging out. "Fuck you love my cum, don't you? Want me to breed you, baby?"
"Please," you know damn well you shouldn't have another yet, but - "Breed me, please."
Your whisper ends him - pumping you full and gasping out into your mouth, coating your walls white with his hot ropes, spurts catching your cute cervix that's already swollen from his mean tip. "Oh fuck... mmm, want four more kids... fuck..."
"I'll tie my tubes after three," he glares and you giggle, breathless. "One more!"
"Fuck that I'll untie them," you're gasping when he eases out, shoving his fingers deep to plug that cum up, before he hears your kids arguing and curses. "Four more."
"One more," He grins as he slips his fingers in your mouth, your cheeks hollowing, moaning at his taste. "Mmm, two then."
Satoru grins, fixing your clothes and then throwing your hair back into that ponytail. "Sure, sweetheart."
****
I'm ovulating STILL and god help everyone this week lmao
︵ ೀ mdni. satoru finds your secret sketchbook full of him and in a haste to explain yourself, he offers to be the nude model for your assignment ( artist!reader x sports!satoru / college au / wc 5.7 k )
satoru finds your sketchbook on the library table, left behind in the rush to make it to class on time. he almost doesn't open it—almost. but his name catches his eye, written in pencil at the corner of a page peeking out, and curiosity wins.
the first few pages are normal. simple shapes, little notes about elbows and shoulders, the kind of boring practice sketches he has seen you do countless times. he almost closes it, kind of bored. but he keeps flipping, and then he stops.
it's him. there's no mistaking it.
his jaw, drawn in a few quick lines. the way his head tilts when he's only half listening to someone talk. his eyes are on the next page, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair the way it sometimes is. you got the little crease at the corner of his eye right, the one that shows up right before he laughs.
he turns the page again. his hands this time. three different versions, like you couldn't decide which one you liked best. then his shoulders. the curve of his neck. a quick sketch of him stretching after practice, his shirt riding up a little at his side.
he keeps flipping. faster now. and then there's a full body drawing. him, shirtless, soft shading along his stomach and chest. his hipbones. the dip of his waist. it's not messy or rushed. it's careful. like you spent real time thinking about where the light would hit him and where the shadows would fall.
satoru sits down on the edge of the table, the sketchbook open in his lap, and stares at it for a second too long. he's not sure what he's feeling. he's used to people looking at him. he's not used to being looked at like this—slow, careful, like every detail actually mattered to the person drawing it.
he's so caught up in it that he doesn't even hear you walking up until you're right next to him, out of breath and a little panicked.
"satoru, have you seen my—"
you stop talking. your eyes drop to his hands, to the sketchbook open on his knees, to the exact page he's on—the shirtless one—and your face goes white for a second before turning bright red.
"oh my god."
he looks up at you, a grin already pulling at his mouth. "you draw me?"
"give it back." you reach for it, but he just lifts it out of your reach, way too entertained by this.
"wait, wait, wait." he flips back a page, holding it up. "are these abs? i don't think i actually have abs like this."
"satoru—"
"i mean, kind of," he says, grinning even wider, "but you really went all in here. there's shading. you gave me a six pack i don't fully have."
you try to grab it again. he holds it just out of reach again, smiling down at you.
"you drew my hands three times. why does a hand need three tries."
"because hands are hard, okay? that's not weird, hands are literally one of the hardest things to draw, ask anyone—"
"never said it was weird." he finally lowers the sketchbook, though he doesn't hand it back yet. he just looks at you for a second—your face completely red, your arms crossed tight like you're trying to disappear. "it's flattering."
you groan and cover your face with both hands. "it's for class. i'm not being weird about it."
"didn't say that either." his smile softens a little, more curious now than teasing. "but seriously. why me?"
you peek at him through your fingers, like maybe if you don't fully participate in this conversation it'll just end on its own. "we started a new unit," you mumble. "figure drawing. like, anatomy, proportions, the whole body. they bring in models for class and it's just—it's so awkward, satoru. you're sitting there for three hours trying to draw a person you've never even talked to."
"so you draw me instead."
"my professor said it's easier when you draw someone you actually know," you say quickly, like talking fast will make this less embarrassing. "like, it helps to already be familiar with the person. and you're a sports major, you're literally built like the examples in our textbook, so i thought... i don't know. it made sense."
"so you thought, 'oh wait. i've got a pretty handsome friend. i'll draw him.'"
"i did not think about it like that."
"you basically did."
but he's not really laughing at you. there's something kind of warm in the way he's looking at you now, the sketchbook still resting on his knee like he's in no rush to give it back. "you know," he says, his voice a little quieter now, "you could've just asked me."
"i didn't want to make it weird."
he raises an eyebrow. "weirder than it already is?"
you groan and bury your face in your hands again. "stop it."
he chuckles, finally closing the sketchbook but still not handing it back, just holding it loosely against his chest like he's claimed it now. "so what's the assignment actually for? like what's due."
you hesitate. this is the part you really didn't want to get into. "it's, um. it's a full figure study. like, a finished piece, not just sketches."
"okay. so like what you already drew?"
"kind of. except—" you stop, feeling your face heat up all over again.
"except what?"
you sigh, giving up on hiding it. "it has to be a nude study. that's the whole point of the unit. like, the body without clothes, the way the muscles and proportions actually work without fabric getting in the way."
his eyebrows go up, surprised, but he doesn't say anything teasing this time, just listens.
"and everyone else in class already has their reference done," you continue, the words spilling out faster now that you've started. "they've all been going to the model sessions for weeks. i missed like three of them and now i'm behind. i don't have anything to actually work from, and it's due monday, and i don't know what i'm gonna do."
he's quiet for a second, turning the sketchbook over in his hands like he's thinking. then he shrugs, easy, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "so draw me."
you blink at him. "what?"
"draw me," he says again, like he's repeating himself for someone a little slow. "for the assignment."
"satoru, i don't think you understand what i just said—"
"i understood it fine." he leans back against the table, arms crossed now, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "you need a body to draw. i have a body. solves your problem."
"that's not— you don't have to do that."
"you didn't ask. i offered."
"satoru."
"what? you already drew me shirtless without even asking," he points out, smirking. "feels like i should at least get a say in it this time."
your mouth opens and then closes again, no actual argument coming to mind.
"so," he says, holding the sketchbook out to you now, finally, "when do you want me."
you stare at him for a long moment, waiting for the joke to land, for him to laugh and say he's kidding. it doesn't come. he just watches you, sketchbook held out between you, patient in a way that's almost worse than if he were still teasing.
"you're serious," you finally say.
"dead serious." he wiggles the sketchbook a little, like he's reminding you it's still there, still yours to take. "i mean, unless you don't want it to be me. i get it if that's weird."
"it's not that i don't want it to be you," you say quickly, before you can think better of it, and then immediately wish you could take the sentence back the second you hear how it sounds out loud.
his grin widens. "oh?"
"shut up. you know what i mean." you finally take the sketchbook from him, hugging it to your chest like it might protect you from the rest of this conversation. "i just don't want you to feel like you have to. it's a big ask."
"could just say thank you, you know." he checks his phone, then looks back up at you. "okay, so. when's good. you said it's due monday?"
your stomach does something complicated at the thought of this actually happening, of him actually meaning it. "i mean—if you're really down, friday night could work. gives me the whole weekend after to finish the piece."
"friday night works. come by my dorm, like, eight?" he says it so casually, like he's inviting you over for a movie and not offering to sit there while you draw every inch of him. "more privacy than the studio anyway. don't gotta worry about randos walking in."
"right." your voice comes out a little higher than you mean it to. "yeah. that makes sense."
"bring your stuff. pencils, whatever you need." he's already turning to go, slinging his bag over one shoulder, looking far too unbothered for someone who just volunteered for this. then he glances back at you, smirk creeping in again ""and hey—make sure you get the good angles. i have a reputation to maintain."
"i make no promises."
he laughs at that, walking backward a few steps before finally turning around fully and heading off down the hall, leaving you standing there with your sketchbook clutched to your chest and friday suddenly feeling very, very far away and not far away at all.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
you knock on his door right at eight, sketchbook tucked under your arm. when the door swings open, you almost forget how to speak entirely.
he's standing there in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, hair still damp and pushed back messily from the shower, a few stray drops sliding down the side of his neck. he looks completely unbothered by it, leaning one arm against the doorframe like he just answered the door for a pizza delivery and not for you.
"hey," he says, grinning at the way your eyes immediately snap up to his face. "you're early. or i'm late. one of those."
"you said eight," you manage, voice coming out a little strangled.
"yeah, and it's eight." he steps back to let you in, completely at ease, while you do your absolute best not to stare at the water still tracking down his collarbone. "wanted to shower first. figured you'd want clean reference material, not sweaty me."
"right. that's—considerate." your face is heating up fast, and you hate how obvious it probably is.
he notices, of course he notices, smirk pulling wider as he shuts the door behind you. "you're already red and i haven't even dropped the towel yet."
"i'm not red."
"you're very red." he says it gently, almost fond, like he's enjoying this a little too much. "relax. you're gonna see me naked in like, five minutes anyway. no point getting shy now."
"that's—that doesn't make it less weird, satoru, that makes it more—" you cut yourself off, setting your bag down on his desk a little too forcefully, mostly to give your hands something to do that isn't fidgeting.
he just laughs, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering. "you're the one who's been secretly sketching me for who knows how long without even telling me. i'm just catching up to the project at this point."
you need something to say, anything, because the silence stretching between you feels too loud, too charged, like it's just waiting for you to do something stupid like keep staring at him. "so, um." you clear your throat, eyes darting anywhere that isn't directly at the towel. "how was practice?"
he glances at you over his shoulder, clearly clocking the fact that you're filling dead air for the sake of filling it, but he humors you anyway, padding over to the little kitchenette tucked in the corner of his dorm. "long. coach had us running rounds for like two hours straight. my legs are gonna hate me tomorrow."
"sounds rough."
"it was fine." he pulls a shaker bottle down from a shelf, dumping in a scoop of protein powder with one hand while the other holds the towel in place at his hip. "you get used to it after a while. body adjusts."
"right. makes sense." you nod way too many times for someone agreeing with such a simple statement, perching yourself on the edge of his desk chair, flipping your sketchbook open.
he adds water, screws the lid on, and shakes it, the muscles in his forearm shifting in a way you absolutely do not need to notice right now and notice anyway. then he tips his head back and drinks, and you watch—you can't help it, your eyes just go there on their own—the long line of his throat moving as he swallows, a bead of water from his still-damp hair sliding down the side of his neck and disappearing somewhere past his collarbone.
you realize you're staring a full two seconds too late.
"you're staring," he says, lowering the bottle, that slow grin spreading across his face like he's been waiting for an excuse to call it out.
"what?" your voice comes out a little too fast.
"you heard me." he sets the shaker down on the counter, leaning back against it. "staring. at me. just now."
"i wasn't staring," you say, way too quickly, your face heating up all over again as you fumble to look anywhere else—the ceiling, the floor, the stack of textbooks on his desk, anywhere that isn't him.
"you were so staring." he pushes off the counter, walking closer with that unhurried way he moves, like he has all the time in the world and fully intends to use it to torture you. "it's fine. i get it. i'm a lot to take in."
"oh my god."
"i'm just messing with you." he laughs. "relax. you look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm fine."
"uh huh." he doesn't push it further. he turns and heads toward the open space near his window, where the evening light is still soft and golden enough. he glances back at you over his shoulder. "okay. so how do you want me. like, pose-wise."
"oh—right." you fumble for your sketchbook, flipping it open to a blank page, grateful for something to focus on besides the fact that he's still only in a towel. "um. standing's probably easiest to start. maybe just—natural. however you'd normally stand."
"natural how. like this?" he straightens up, shoulders back, doing this exaggerated, stiff superhero pose that's clearly meant to make you laugh.
it works. a small laugh escapes you despite everything. "no, not like that. just—relaxed. like you're not thinking about it."
"hard to not think about it when you're staring at me with a pencil." but he loosens up anyway, settling his weight onto one leg, one hand coming up to rest at the back of his neck. "this work?"
your pencil is already moving before you fully register deciding to start. "yeah. that's—that's good. don't move."
"wasn't planning to." his voice has dropped a little, quieter now, watching you work. "you gonna tell me when the towel needs to come off, or am i supposed to guess."
your pencil stutters against the page. "right. um. whenever you're ready, i guess. it's—it's for the assignment, so."
"so professional," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's fighting back a grin. "okay. you ready?"
"yeah." you swallow, gripping your pencil a little too tight. "ready."
he reaches up and tugs the knot of the towel loose, and it drops to the floor without any of the fanfare your racing heart seems to think the moment deserves. he doesn't flinch, doesn't make a big show of it—just steps back into the same easy stance from before, one hand resting at the back of his neck, weight settled onto one leg, completely at home in his own skin in a way that makes your nerves feel almost silly by comparison.
you keep your eyes on the page for a long moment before you let yourself actually look, telling yourself it's just reference, just anatomy, just the same thing you'd be doing with any model in class.
but it doesn't feel like just anatomy. it feels like every line of him is something you've already know from the sketches you didn't think anyone would see, except now the soft pencil shading has nothing on the real thing—the actual shape of his shoulders, the dip of muscle along his stomach, the lean lines of him standing there like an italian renaissance sculpture.
and god, he's better than you imagined. better than he looked in your head late at night when you couldn't sleep, which—not that you dream about him, obviously, that would be ridiculous, that's not a thing that happens—but if you did, hypothetically, this would still somehow be better than that.
it's almost unfair, really. the way his body looks like it was carved out of stone, like michelangelo himself spent way too long getting the proportions exactly right—shoulders broad and strong, the muscle down his arms, the curve where his waist narrows into his hips.
it's the kind of body you'd expect to see behind glass in a museum somewhere, with a little plaque underneath, except this version breathes and makes dumb jokes.
you let your eyes trace lower, the way you would with any reference, you tell yourself, purely for the sake of the assignment. his cock rests heavy between his thighs, thick and full, and bigger than you thought it would be (not that you'd ever thought about his dick, obviously, that's not a thing you do.)
the head shows a soft flush where it brushes against his leg, and the fair hair trails down from his navel and gathers in pale curls at the base. the sharp v of his hips frames it all in clean lines that make your fingers itch to draw every shadow and curve.
"you still with me?" he says, a little amused, like he's clocked exactly how long you've been staring without actually drawing anything.
"yeah—sorry, yeah." you blink, snapping your eyes back up to his face, pencil finally moving again.
"should i have, like, shaved or something?"
your face goes instantly red all over again. "what? no—it's fine. you're fine. it's not—that's not a thing you need to worry about."
"figured i'd ask." he shrugs. "usually i shave when i've got a girl coming over, but i was running late today, so."
"oh my god." you cover your face with one hand, pencil still somehow managing to keep moving against the page with the other. "i did not need to know that."
"only wanted to clear the air."
you peek at him through your fingers, deciding two can play this game. "so what you're telling me is you haven't had anyone over in a while, huh?"
a short surprised laugh, like he wasn't expecting you to fight back. "wow. okay. didn't think you had it in you. but—i mean, i have someone over now."
"to draw you. that's different."
"you're still seeing my dick or whatever."
"that's not the same thing and you know it."
"feels pretty similar from where i'm standing."
"so, the other girls sit across the room admiring you for twenty minutes with a sketchbook before anything happens? is that what you're telling me?"
"oh, so you're admiring me."
"that's not what i—i meant artistically."
"sure you did."
"i hate you."
"just so you know—they're not usually sitting across the room admiring me for twenty minutes. they're usually under me about thirty seconds after they walk through the door."
"oh my god, satoru."
after another ten minutes or so, your pencil finally slows, then stops altogether, hovering over the last few finishing strokes before you sit back to actually look at what you've got. it's good. better than good—the proportions feel right in a way they never quite did with the strangers from class, like having an actual person in front of you instead of just a body made all the difference.
"okay," you say, clearing your throat. "i think i've got what i need. you can relax."
"oh thank god." he drops the pose immediately, shoulders slumping, rolling his neck out with an exaggerated groan like he's been holding some kind of intense athletic stance this whole time and not just standing there looking effortlessly good. "puhhh. finally. you have no idea how hard it is to stand still that long."
"you literally do athletic training for two hours a day."
"that's different, that's moving. this was just—" he shakes out his arms, grabbing the towel off the floor and wrapping it back around his waist, "—standing there being stared at. way more exhausting than it sounds."
"you're so dramatic."
"i'm a very dedicated model, is what i am." he flops down onto the edge of his bed, finally looking properly relaxed for the first time all evening, then immediately perks back up, craning his neck toward your sketchbook. "okay, lemme see it."
you instinctively pull the book a little closer to your chest. "it's not done done. it's just the reference sketch."
"i don't care, i wanna see." he's already getting up, padding over. "c'mon. i posed for, like, twenty minutes straight. i've earned a peek."
"fine. but you can't make fun of it." you hold the sketchbook out, a little reluctant, watching his face carefully as he leans over to look.
he goes quiet for a second, which is rare enough on its own that you almost want to comment on it. his eyes move slowly over the page, taking in the lines of his own shoulders, the careful shading along his stomach, his easy stance you'd worked so hard to get right.
"huh," he says finally.
"what? is it bad?"
"no, it's—" he tilts his head. "it's really good, actually. like, you made me look good good. not just accurate good."
"that's literally just what you look like."
"i don't know, i feel like you're being generous with the shoulders." but he's smiling now, something a little softer underneath the teasing, still looking at the drawing instead of you. "you're actually talented. like, properly. i wasn't expecting it to be this good."
"you say that like you thought i was bad."
"i didn't know what to expect! you draw secret abs sketches of your friends, forgive me for having questions about your technical skill." but he says it gently, nudging your shoulder with his again, and when he finally looks up at you there's something warm in his expression that wasn't quite there before, something that makes your stomach flip a little. "seriously, though. this is really good. you should be proud of it."
"thanks," you say, feeling a little warm under the actual sincerity of it, fumbling slightly for something to do with your hands besides just standing there basking in gojo satoru's approval like it means something. "i mean, it's still rough. i've gotta clean it up before monday."
"still." he's still looking at it, then glances up at you with a grin starting to spread. "can i take a picture of it?"
"what? why?"
"i don't know, for personal use." he's already reaching for his phone on the nightstand. "this might genuinely be the most insane nude i could ever send to a girl. like, nobody's topping that."
"satoru, oh my god, no." you yank the sketchbook back against your chest, half laughing despite yourself. "you are not sending this to anyone."
"think about it though. any other guy sends a regular picture, basic, boring, zero creativity behind it. i send this and i'm instantly the most romantic man alive." he's grinning, clearly enjoying how flustered you've gotten all over again. "it's basically a love letter. you put thought into this."
"it's an anatomy assignment."
"a very thoughtful anatomy assignment." he reaches for the sketchbook again, more playful than serious about actually taking it. "c'mon, one picture. i won't even send it to anyone. probably."
you let him, mostly because you know arguing further is a losing battle, and he snaps a quick picture before setting his phone back down, looking entirely too pleased with himself about the whole thing.
"okay," he says, dropping back down onto the edge of the bed. "anything else you need from me? more poses, weird angles, you want me to flex my biceps?"
"no, it's fine." you start gathering your things. "i think i stressed you out enough for one night."
"you didn't stress me out." he watches you for a second, head tilted, clearly not buying the way you said that. "spill it."
"what?"
"you've got a face. the 'i want to say something but i'm not gonna' face." he leans back on his hands. "what is it."
you hesitate, fingers tightening slightly around your pencil case. "i mean—maybe we could do one more pose? like, a different angle or something. just so i actually have options when i sit down to finish it properly. i don't wanna hand in the first thing i drew if there's something better i could've gotten."
he blinks, then grins, already pushing himself back up off the bed. "yeah. sure. why not." he rolls his shoulders out, stepping back toward the open space by the window. "you're the artist. tell me where you want me this time."
he settles into the chair this time, leaning back with his head tipped against the top of it, one leg stretched out, the whole thing far more relaxed than the standing pose from before. one hand comes to rest loosely in his lap, fingers resting near his cock without much thought behind it.
"oh, this is way better. way less work than standing there like a statue." he glances down at where his hand landed, a flicker of realization crossing his face, and he laughs a little, shifting like he's about to move it. "oh—sorry, that's just habit. didn't even think about where i put my hand."
"no, it's—" you hesitate, voice catching, face going hot all over again. "it's, um—it's fine. really. genuinely fine. do whatever's, uh—whatever's comfortable for you. i'm not—this isn't a big deal."
he looks at you for a second, like he's checking you actually mean it, then shrugs, settling back into exactly the same position, hand staying right where it was. "okay. if you're sure. i'll stay like this, then."
your pencil is already moving, eyes flicking between him and the page. it takes you a few minutes to notice that he's stopped looking out at nothing and started watching you instead, head tilted slightly against the back of the chair.
"what?"
"nothing." but he doesn't stop watching you. there's something almost soft about the way he's looking at you now, the corner of his mouth pulled into a small smile, like he's caught himself thinking something he wasn't planning on. "you get this face when you're drawing. all scrunched up and serious."
"i do not."
"you so do. little furrow right here." he reaches up, tapping a finger lightly between his own eyebrows to demonstrate, careful not to actually shift out of the pose. "it's kind of cute."
your pencil stutters against the page. "don't move," you mutter, mostly to give yourself something to say that isn't reacting to that.
"i'm not moving."
he settles back again, and keeps watching you. his cock twitches once under his hand where it rests in his lap. he feels the slow thickening start before he can stop it. oh fuck. the words stay stuck in his throat but they echo in his head as he presses his fingers down a little harder. he tries to hold the growing length discreetly against his thigh but it is no use. another twitch makes the head nudge up against his palm.
your pencil pauses on the page. you see it. the subtle flex of his fingers. the unmistakable twitch that makes his cock strain despite the way he tries to keep it down. heat spreads low in your stomach and between your legs so fast it leaves you dizzy.
"sorry about that," he mutters. the flush on his neck deepens and his hand stays pressed over the twitching length like he can will it back down. but it twitches again anyway. slow and heavy and impossible to ignore. "long day, i guess. lot on my mind."
you swallow. "it's fine."
"i don't know, i normally kind of—wind down at night. on my own. you know. guess my body didn't get the memo that tonight's schedule looked a little different."
"oh! uh—i can go," you blurt out, already half reaching for your bag, face burning. "like, seriously, if you need a few minutes or—whatever, i don't want to make this weirder than it already is—"
"no, no, you don't have to go." he sits up a little. "it'll pass. it's fine. i'm fine."
"are you sure? because i really don't mind waiting outside, or coming back tomorrow, or—"
"i'm sure." he gives you a small, almost sheepish smile, the most genuinely embarrassed you think you've ever seen him. "just finish your drawing. i swear i'm not gonna combust."
"okay." you sink back down slowly, still not entirely convinced, sketchbook settling back into your lap. "if you're sure."
"i'm sure." he resettles into the chair, head tipping back again, doing his best to look casual about it even though his ears are still a little red. "c'mon. let's just—finish this. pretend it's a normal tuesday."
"it's friday."
"pretend it's a normal friday, then. work with me here."
you pick your pencil back up, trying to focus on the page instead of the very obvious tension radiating off him from across the room. for a minute or two it almost works, both of you pretending pretty hard that everything's fine.
the quiet stretches between you. you try to keep drawing but your focus slips every time he shifts in the chair. his hand presses down harder in his lap. he is trying to push his cock fully flat against his thigh now. his breathing turns heavy and uneven like he cannot quite catch it. you hear every inhale, every slow exhale. he is getting so worked up just from sitting there while you look at him. his cock under his palm thickens and twitches against his fingers no matter how he tries to hold it still.
then his fingers move slower. deliberate. he touches himself a little. just the barest drag of his thumb along the side like he is checking how hard he is getting. it twitches again under the touch. bigger this time. he presses down quick to try and calm it but it does not help. his breath catches on a low sound he does not quite manage to swallow.
your pencil stops moving. heat floods through you so fast your face burns.
"okay," he says, dragging a hand down his face. "okay, i think i actually need a few minutes this time."
"oh god, yes, okay." you're already on your feet, sketchbook nearly sliding off your lap in your rush. "i'll just—i'll wait outside, or—"
"you can stay." he says it quickly, almost too quickly, like it surprises even him. "i mean—if you want. it won't take long."
"satoru."
"what? i'm just saying, you don't have to leave the building over this."
"i'm not waiting in here while you—"
he does not look away from you as his hand slides back down between his legs. he is already painfully hard. his cock stands thick and flushed in his palm, the head dark and wet at the tip. he wraps his fingers around the length and strokes once slow and tight like he has been holding back for too long.
"i think i like it when you watch," he almost moans.
"i'm gonna—" you don't even finish the sentence, just grab your bag and bolt for the door, nearly tripping over your own backpack strap on the way. "air. i need air. i'll be right back."
"wait! you don't have to run—"
but the door already slams shut behind you, and you stand in the hallway for a solid ten seconds just catching your breath, face burning, heart absolutely pounding, before you let yourself slide down against the wall and bury your face in your hands.
you stay quiet. your breathing slows but your heart does not. then you hear it, muffled through the door. the low rough sound of his voice. a groan, and the wet sound of skin moving on skin. another sound comes through, sharper this time, and a low fuck.
you press your thighs together where you sit on the floor. the noises do not stop. they get a little louder like he has stopped holding back now that you are gone. you can picture it perfectly, his hand moving fast on his thick cock. another groan filters through the door and your body reacts hard, heat flooding between your legs.
you sit there against the wall, staring blankly at the hallway carpet while your brain refuses to move away from his door and not listen to his moans and groans anymore.
how. how are you supposed to look him in the eye after this. how are you supposed to sit across from him in the dining hall next week, or wave at him across campus, or exist in the same general vicinity as gojo satoru ever again without your whole face just instantly catching fire.
you bury your face deeper into your hands, groaning quietly to yourself. it was one thing when it was just sketches. it was even survivable when he found the sketchbook, mortifying as that had been. but this. this is a whole new tier of humiliation you didn't know existed until tonight.
you're going to have to transfer schools. change your name. move to another country, probably. there's no version of monday where you walk into the dining hall and he's there and you don't immediately die on the spot.
somewhere behind the door, things have gone quiet.
you really, really don't want to think about what that means.
︵ ೀ mdni. satoru railing you on the table in the early morning
“you’re still horny? didn’t i fuck you hard enough last night?”
satoru grins against your mouth as you kiss him over breakfast, all needy and desperate like you didn’t get railed for hours last night. you’re straddling his lap at the kitchen table, grinding your soaked pussy against the hard bulge in his sweatpants.
“fuck, baby,” he laughs but his hands grab your ass and pull you down harder. “look at you. one kiss and you’re already this wet.” his lips trail down your neck, sucking marks into your skin while you rock your hips faster, rubbing your clit against his thick cock through the fabric.
you whimper and tug at his shirt. he doesn’t bother with foreplay. one hand shoves your panties to the side, and with the other he pushes his sweat shorts down just enough to free his thick cock. “always so greedy in the morning,” he mutters, then sinks in.
you moan loud as he fills you up, stretching your tight walls around his fat length. he grips your hips and bounces you on his cock right there on the chair, deep and rough. wet sounds fill the kitchen every time you slam down.
“shit, still so fucking tight,” satoru groans, biting your neck. “fucked you so good last night and you’re still clenching like you need more.” he suddenly stands up with you still on his cock, legs wrapped around his waist. he lays you flat on the kitchen table, knocking a plate aside, and starts fucking you with hard, deep thrusts.
the table shakes under you and you have to grab the edge of the table to steady yourself. and then satoru reaches over, grabs the coffee mug beside your head and takes a long sip while he keeps railing you.
“really!??” you manage to choke out between moans.
satoru smirks down at you, thrusts never slowing. “what? i got an early meeting. need my caffeine, baby.” he takes another sip, then sets the mug down and grips your thighs, spreading you wider so he can fuck you even harder.
his cock slams in deep and fast, balls slapping against you. “fuck, this pussy feels too good. can’t help it if you’re still this horny after i filled you up last night.” he leans over you, one hand braced on the table, the other on your leg to fold you in half.
“gotta multitask today. now cum for me before i have to leave.”
୨୧ — Gojo's hands shake like he's eighteen again, gripping your hips with white knuckled desperation, "Fuck, fuck, fuck-" his vocabulary reduced to caveman like grunts when you're under him like this, years of experience apparently meaning jack shit when your legs wrap around his waist.
He's all stuttering rhythm and graceless hunger, like he forgot how bodies work. One second he's jackhammering into you with supernatural speed, the next he's frozen completely, forehead pressed to your collarbone, panting like he just ran a marathon because your warmth threatens to undo him entirely... "Jesus, you’re…" He breaks off with a choked laugh, hips jerking erratically. "Fuck, been too long since I- shit, do that thing again. With your tongue again, please. Right there."
His demand is adorably needy, punctuated by a sharp, sloppy thrust as you scrape your teeth against the tendon of his neck, just how he likes it~.
Everything about his technique is pure chaos. No finesse, just raw need and that stupid boyish grin even when he's buried deep enough to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick.
When you arch beneath him, a low moan tearing from your throat, your cunt clamps down hard around his cock. It’s a vice grip, a sudden, violent spasms that rippled through your entire body… Satoru’s eyes go wide, pupils blown. And for a moment, he forgets his name, yours, and any word that isn’t an expletive as you completely come undone.
It’s not just a flutter, not just a wetness, but a gush. Hot, sudden. A flood of your release soaking his entire cock, his balls, the thick thatch of white hair at his base. It rushes out of you in thick, uncontrollable waves, splattering onto his sheets beneath your ass with an audible wet splssh. The sound is obscene. Juices slicking his length, dripping down him, making his thrusts messy- obscenely wet.
"Did you just-? His voice is thick with pure awe, breathless. The stupid grin returns as he drives into that soaked cunt of yours, feeling the slick mess coating him. "Whoa! Youre like a little Squirtle." The ridiculous Pokémon joke tumbles out mid thrust… He’s so fucking pleased with himself, he almost fumbles his rhythm entirely,"Get it? 'Cause you just squir—"
"Satoru, I swear to God-" you gasp, but the protest is cut off as he angles his hips sharply, burying himself impossibly deeper.
"Yeah, yeah, less talking, more-"
The new angle hits that spongy spot inside you dead on, hard. A choked cry rips from you, followed instantly by another gush, soaking him further, the sheets beneath you now a dark, soaked circle.
But there’s something beautiful about how he fucks when he's like this- like he's afraid you'll disappear- like if he doesn't fill you up immediately you'll change your mind. Like he wants to leave a piece of himself with you, so you won't forget him.
"can i try it?" he asked, perched right on the edge of the bed.
"try what?"
his eyes trailed down to your chest, lingering on the heavy shape of them under your shirt, then flicked back to your face. "sucking your tits."
"baby, i'm not sure. i'm still leaking and they're crazy sensitive."
"i'll be careful, i promise... just wanna taste it."
before you could even get a word out, he was already moving in, settling right between your legs. his head was level with your chest, tucked between your thighs, taking up all the space. "come on, babe, show me my pretty girls."
you rolled your eyes but pulled up your white top anyway, making him let out a low, gravelly groan. there they were — heavy and swollen, way bigger since the pregnancy, with hard, dark nipples and a little wet spot where the milk was already soaking through.
"damn, baby..." he rasped. "wanted this for so long."
at first, he just swiped his tongue over the wet patch, licking up the drops with slow, teasing circles around the nipple. then his lips suddenly clamped down. he took the whole thing into his mouth, sucking you in almost to the areola.
"tooru!" you yelped, arching your back. "easy!"
but he didn't hear you. he was sucking so hard, pulling the milk out like he'd freaking die if he didn't get every last drop right that second. you felt the rhythmic, heavy tugging and heard him gulping it down, totally obsessed.
he groaned right against your skin, his whole body shaking, and then popped his lips off your nipple with a loud, wet smack.
"so fucking sweet," he breathed out. his lips were all shiny, and his breath scorched your nipple, making it pop even harder. he kept switching between quick licks and sharp, tight tugs, creating this crazy, pulling pressure deep inside.
right then, he noticed milk starting to drip from your other breast, messing up your skin.
"it's goin' to waste," he groaned and moved to the second one even hungrier. he was acting like a total addict — his tongue was darting all over the areola, catching every single drop, and then he clamped down on the nipple, sucking so hard the room filled with wet, messy sounds. he literally buried his face in you, getting white streaks all over his cheeks.
he squeezed both your breasts with his hands, jamming them together so the nipples were side by side. he covered both at once with his mouth, biting and sucking them at the same time.
"mmm-gh!" he felt his mouth fill up instantly with warm milk. he swallowed greedily, almost choking on the taste, and sometimes he'd pull back on purpose, tugging your nipples with his teeth, stretching them out before sucking back in.
you clawed at his white hair, gasping for air. "too... nngh... it's too much! ah-mmm! tooru!"
he pulled away for a sec, and in the dim light, you saw a thin, sticky string of spit and milk stretching between his lips and your bright red nipple.
"shhh, baby." he nipped the hard tip with his teeth right away, making you yelp.
his hips moved on their own. sitting between your legs, he started rubbing his hard cock against the mattress, back and forth, groaning low. he went back to your chest, tossing his head side to side without letting go of the nipple. "mmm-ffh... want more milk... give me more baby," he mumbled. his chin was literally soaked, drops dripping down his neck and ruining his clothes. then he looked up at you with those huge, clouded-over doe eyes.
roommate! satoru who has thousands of nudes of yours saved up on his phone. he keeps them in a hidden folder called “fav meal” like that shit is fooling anybody. every time you send him one he saves it instantly, even the blurry ones from bad angles. he has videos too like the ones where you’re riding him and moaning his name, the ones where he’s filming your face while he cums on your tongue.
you found out about the collection one random night. he was in the shower and left his phone on the bed unlocked. you were bored so you started scrolling through his gallery, feeling nosy. you clicked on that folder expecting food and it was just you. hundreds of pics of you— your tits, your ass, your pussy spread open with his fingers in it, close ups of his cum dripping out of you, even one where you’re knocked out after sex with his hand between your legs.
when he walked out with a towel around his waist and saw you on his phone. his face went from cocky to mortified in 0.2 seconds. you held the phone up and said, “meal? fav meal?? really, toru?” he even tried to play it off, “babe it’s not like that..you know how i feel about souvenirs…”
you caught him jerking off to your pics once too. in the middle of the night, you went to the living room and there he was on the couch, phone in one hand, cock in the other, scrolling through your nudes with his thumb while stroking himself. he had airpods in so he didn’t hear you at first. you watched him for a minute, “fuck- mhmm.. look at her...”
you cleared your throat and he jumped, his dick still out with his hand frozen around it. “how long have you been there???” he asked, voice all guilty. you walked over and took the phone from him, and saw he was on your favorite video. you smirked, “keep going…. don’t stop just ‘cause i’m watching.”
as the whore gojo is, he did keep going. his pretty blue eyes locked on you the whole time while he pumped his cock faster, moaning your name like a slut. you sat on the coffee table right in front and filmed him while he finished. he came so hard it landed on his own chest and chin, “add that to the collection too?”
roommate! satoru who sends you dick pics at 3am, following it with: “thinking about your pussy rn” even when you’re literally in the same apartment. he’ll walk into the kitchen where you’re making a snack, hard as a rock, whispering, “quick one before bed?” and luckily for him, you always say yes :3
roommate! satoru who has a separate playlist on his phone just for when he’s fucking you.
roommate! satoru who saves voice memos of you cumming. he has one labeled “her orgasm #47” and plays it when he’s driving home just to get hard again.
roommate! satoru who will randomly pull up his folder during movie night to show you a pic, “remember when i had you like this?”
he’s so fucking greedy with your body. always taking pictures, always filming, always saving every single moan and sound. you pretend to be annoyed when you catch him but secretly you love how obsessed he is.
──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! gojo loves using the “i’m married” card whenever he gets approached, because in his mind you guys are married.
the thing about being satoru gojo is that people look at him.
he’s used to it by now— the double takes, the whispered gossip, the way strangers feel entitled to his attention just because he happens to be tall and white-haired and annoyingly beautiful(so he’s been told). it’s exhausting, honestly, but he’s learned to deal with it over the years.
the second her manicured fingers land on satoru’s forearm, he knows exactly what’s coming.
he’s seen this script a hundred times. the coy smile, the slight tilt of the head, the way her lashes flutter like she’s got something in her eye. he’s been fielding these approaches for years, long before you came along, and he’s got it down to a fine art now.
“sorry,” he says, before she can even get a word out. “i’m married.”
the lie rolls off his tongue as easily as breathing. it’s not even really a lie, not in his head. you’re his girlfriend, yes, but you’re also the one. the endgame. the person he’s going to annoy for the rest of his natural life and probably well beyond that if he figures out how. in his mind, you’ve already got the ring, the shared last name, the matching toothbrushes in the bathroom. the paperwork is just a formality.
the woman’s face falls slightly, but she’s persistent. he’ll give her that. “oh, i don’t see a ring—”
“left it at home,” he says smoothly, already starting to edge away. “wife’d kill me if i lost it.”
he does have a ring. it’s just that it’s still sitting in the expensive jewellery shop that you always stare at when you guys pass by. he’s been meaning to go in and custom-make one that’s been appearing in his mind lately, one that would be unique and fitting only for you, but there’s no rush and the right moment just hasn’t shown up yet, because every time he looks at you, his brain short-circuits and he forgets how words work.
but that’s a problem for future satoru.
right now, present satoru is trying to escape this conversation without being rude, because you’re waiting for him in the car, most likely dozing off against the window with that cute pout on your lips.
he’s reaching for the strawberry milk with the cute cow on it, when he hears the click of heels behind him.
“excuse me?”
satoru doesn’t even turn around. his hand closes around the bottle anyway. “married,” he says, tossing it into his basket.
“oh! i—i wasn’t—”
“very married. disgustingly married. my wife is the most beautiful woman in the world and i think about her constantly.” he finally glances over his shoulder, offering a bland smile. “sorry.”
the woman blinks at him, then laughs nervously and retreats toward the chips aisle.
satoru turns back to the fridge, satisfied. it’s not even a lie anymore, not really. you’ve been his girlfriend for two years, and somewhere along the way— maybe when he watched you fall asleep on his couch with your glasses askew, or when you sent him a photo of a cat you saw on the street with the caption him, or when you laughed so hard at your own joke that you choked on water— he stopped thinking of you as just a girlfriend.
you’re his wife. you just don’t know it yet. there’s paperwork to do, and a ring to buy, and a question to ask, but in his head? you signed the papers months ago.
he grabs another bottle of milk because you like the chocolate one too, and heads to the checkout, basket swinging from his wrist. the cashier gives him an interested look but he only looks at you through the transparent doors that open and close, smiling when he sees you rubbing your eyes through the window and looking around sleepily.
.
.
.
the first thing satoru notices is that the afternoon sun is hitting just right against your hair, making it look like something out of a painting. the second thing he notices is the woman approaching.
he clocks her immediately— the way her eyes flick to him, the subtle once-over, the way she angles her body toward his. he’s seen this movie a hundred times. hell, he’s starred in it a hundred times.
“excuse me,” she says, all polite smile and batted lashes. “i’m so sorry to bother you, but i just had to say—you have the most stunning eyes i’ve ever seen.”
satoru feels you stiffen slightly beside him. your hand, which had been loosely linked with his, tightens just a fraction. he wants to squeeze back, to reassure you, but he’s also kind of… curious. because usually, when this happens, he’s alone. he gets to play his little game where he flashes an imaginary wedding ring and says sorry, i’m married with a soft, stupidly fond smile that he practices exclusively for the version of you that lives in his head.
but you’re right there and he’s never had to play that card with you within earshot before.
“oh,” he says, tilting his head. his glasses slip down his nose just enough for him to peer over them. “thanks.”
the woman takes the lack of immediate rejection as encouragement. “i don’t usually do this, but i was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab a coffee sometime? there’s a great place just around the corner—”
“no can do,” satoru interrupts, his voice softening at the edges. he feels your hand twitch again. “i’m married.”
the word hangs in the air. married. he’s said it a thousand times to strangers, to cashiers, to that one persistent guy at the bookstore who wouldn’t take a hint. but never like this, never with you standing right there by his side.
you go very still.
the woman blinks, glances at your interlocked hands, then back at his face. “oh. i’m sorry, i didn’t see a ring—”
“don’t need one,” he says simply, he’s not even looking at her anymore. he’s looking at you, at the way your lips have parted slightly, at the confusion and tenderness flickering across your face. “some things you just know.”
there’s a beat of silence. the woman mutters an apology and retreats. satoru doesn’t watch her go. he’s too busy watching you stare up at him like he’s grown a second head.
“married?” you repeat, your voice going breathy like it does when you’re trying not to laugh but also trying not to cry.
“well, yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he brings your joined hands up and presses a kiss to your knuckles, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. “i mean, not legally. yet. but in my head? you’ve had the ring for like eight months now. it’s very sparkly. you look great in it.”
you blink at him once, twice, and then you make a sound that’s half-giggle, half-gasp, shoving at his chest with your free hand. “satoru! you can’t just tell strangers we’re married!”
“why not?” he grins, bright and boyish and entirely unrepentant. “it’s gonna happen eventually. i’m just saving time.”
“you’re insane.”
“insanely in love, maybe.”
you groan, burying your face in his shoulder, and he feels you smile against his shirt. your ears are pink. he wants to bite them.
“you’ve been doing this the whole time?” you mumble into his collarbone. “every time someone flirts with you?”
“every. single. time.” he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you closer, resting his chin on top of your head. “you’re my wife in every way that matters. the government just doesn’t know it yet.”
you pull back just enough to look at him, and there’s something in your eyes that makes his chest ache— all shimmery and wondering, like you’re seeing him for the first time. you smile, small and private, and tug his sleeve. “c’mon, husband. my show starts in ten.”
he word husband hits him right in the stupid chest like a truck made of flowers.
he follows you out, already planning the ring. already knowing exactly what it’ll look like. already halfway down on one knee in his head.
you don’t know any of that, not yet. but you said it and now he’s never letting you go.
cw: porn with slight plot, non consensual photo taking
bully!gojo who pretends he hates you in front of everyone else, but really your pussy is the only thing that can get him off.
“f-fuck, your tight today.” he grunts, slowly pushing his weeping cock into you. he has you in the janitors closet, chair propped up against the doorknob to stop anyone from interrupting.
gojo’s hands are firmly holding up your hips, supporting you through the stretch of his cock. you whine, unsure if you want him to stop or if you want so much more.
“g-gojo, please-“
“how many times do i have to tell ya? it’s satoru now, silly. sa-to-ru.” he says frustratedly, whisper yelling to your face. you whimper and apologise, however unfocused. your eyes shut as gojo satoru pushes further in, filling you up.
he sighs deeply when he bottoms out, admiring the way his cock disappears into your pussy. you let out a sound of protest when you hear a camera shot.
“hey, relax, no one’s gonna see that but me. really think i’m gonna share you around?” he says, slowly pulling out again. he settles his hands on your hips again before he begins a ruthless pace.
you moan and whine a little too loudly, and so satoru covers your mouth with his hand.
“shhh, pretty girl. don’t wanna get expelled, do we?”
you let out tears of pleasure as he fucks you, pussy tightening around his dick as you get close. he meets you there, letting out strained curses as he tries to stay quiet.
“oh god, come on. give it to me.”
you cum, clenching hard around his cock. he groans and finishes too, cum filling up the condom he so generously wears. he slowly slips himself out of you, panting softly.
you focus on putting your skirt back on when he lifts your head with his hands, gently. the look in your eyes is almost adoring your dilated pupils and slightly sweaty face.
“see you later, ‘kay?”
you nod. he smiles, and kisses you before slipping out the door, likely to make some cruel comment about you to his friend.
nsfw content mutual!satoru gojo who sends you a molded, replica dildo of his dick.
needless to say, you and satoru have been mutuals on the nsfw side of twitter for a while now. the two of you practically started your accounts around the same time — just two young amateurs trying to make it big.
and eventually it happened. you were able to build a fanbase, though your subscribers were hyper-obsessed with the relationship between you and satoru. the two of you are always flirting back and forth on the for you page, even going as far to comment under each other’s videos for shits and giggles.
‘big dick is back in town.’ satoru would title above the video of him sitting in front of his camera, slouched in the gaming chair with his thighs splayed out exposing his beautifully sculpted dick pressed against his abs. he’s just gotten back from his hiatus as the post skyrockets in views from his rightful return.
you’re lying in bed, finger pads tapping away on your phone as you comment under his video. ‘you mean my town, right?’ you send, and within seconds satoru’s replying to your comment.
@theblueeyedgoat: yeah, but also another town if you know what i mean …
@freakenuinelyy/n: ??? what other town if not mine
@theblueeyedgoat: POUNDTOWNN 😼😼💪🏻
such a joke that could only be achieved by gojo satoru himself, but little did he know that people would begin to ship him with you. resulting in his fans migrating to your page to raid your comments with, ‘collab’, ‘are you and goat dating?’, ‘is there a joint account?’, and millions more. you could honestly say that his audience was yours, and your audience was his.
you’d be lying if you said that you’ve never thought of satoru in such an inappropriate manner, to be honest who wouldn’t? he’s got the ideal body you’ve daydreamed about, the charismatic personality and a gorgeous fucking face to match it. it’s almost annoying really.
but what’s really annoying is the fact that he lives overseas in japan — meaning that if you two ever did want to collaborate you’d be traveling miles away from home just to have sex.
“i could always fly out to you.” satoru suggests over face-time, his camera constantly moving because he can’t stand still as he walks around with his phone. “i mean, logically yeah but it’s not that deep.” you respond with your eyes fixated on the screen before satoru’s rapidly pulling his phone towards his face. “what do you mean it’s not that deep?!” he softly pouts, as if this situation was something serious.
you let out an unbelievable laugh. “i’m saying that it’s not worth you flying over here just for sex.” you specify as his pout deepens even more. “i don’t have to travel there just for sex, what if i just wanted to hang out with you.” he says, blue eyes peering at you through the screen.
there’s a brief pause as you think on it. “then yeah, i guess that’s fine as long as you bring me a souvenir since i’ve never been to japan.” you raise up a hand, holding your pointer finger up with a bright smile.
“a souvenir you say?” satoru repeats slowly, as his childish pout disappears once he hears the words he wants to hear. “a souvenir from japan??!” he grins mischievously, as he watches you nod. “i’ve got a perfect souvenir for you!”
little did you know that two weeks from now you’d be getting a package with a japanese address on it, and there’s only one person it could be sent from — gojo satoru. you open the box carefully, pulling the folds apart before seeing another box, though much smaller with a letter on top of it.
“message me when you’ve received it. it’s a souvenir homemade authentically from japan — love toru ( ^ω^ ).”
you’re reaching for the smaller box, tearing it apart as styrofoam wraps around the edges. you’re pulling the safety cover off to be met with a translucent, pink siliconed dildo. roughly thick in girth, there’s a prominent vein running down the bottom of the shaft and a gorgeous mushroom-shaped tip which looks awfully similar to his.
there’s absolutely no way satoru sent you a replicated mold of his dick. you’re speed-dialing his phone as you hold the shape of his dick in your hand as he answers the phone almost instantly.
“moshi moshiiii.” you could hear his stupid grin through the phone. “satoru what kinda souvenir is this?” you ask stunned and in disbelief as he cracks a laugh. “it’s the souvenir you ask for— personally made by yours truly.” he replies proud of himself.
you’re truly at a loss for words. “i don’t know what possessed you to send this, but you should’ve saved your money.” you said, fully taking in the size of the dildo.
“no, it’s for you.” he replies, “to y’know, prepare yourself for whenever we hang out and… do it.” his voice quiets towards the end of his sentence. “plus! i wanna see you use it, if you don’t mind.” he says softly, hoping that you’d say yes, before he’s frowning at your answer.
