“oh my… oh fuckkkk,” he groans into the crook of your neck, sinking into the warmth between your legs like your essence was heaven sent, fringed ivory lashes fluttering.
the two of you were supposed to be studying for uni finals together right now. both of your mom’s were childhood best friends, expecting the two of you to hit it off eventually around middle school if they kept nudging the two of you closer.
to make a long story short—the two of you didn’t get along at the start. gojo was irritated that he had to pick up your slack in school, and you were inconvenienced in tolerating the presence of a pubescent boy with his voice at least six octaves too high. sometime after graduation, when gojo started to grow into his lanky limbs and find his social standing, you felt something in you drawing towards him.
that shit-eating grin, the sleeper build, the charming and casual confidence.
one tipsy frat party later at the university you both fought tooth and nail to get into where he couldn’t stop staring down at your cleavage with those frightening frosted irises of his, you’d dragged him to a bedroom and rode him like you’d been fantasizing for months. with him milked and drained, you had left with an afterglow.
and it was fucking intoxicating. his slender cock that could reach the sweet spots no other guys could, his taunts that made you dizzy, his soft hands tracing the length of your skin…
neither of you could get enough.
now? the only way to describe your… involvement, would be friends who fucked. friends with benefits. sneaky links. whatever you could call that grey area.
your palm comes up to cover his mouth and muffle his moans. peeking up and over his shoulder to your closed bedroom door, you grit your teeth and huff, digging your ankles into the small of his back. “quiet,” you hiss. “my mom is quite literally downstairs,” you rustle beneath your breath.
sheepishly, he teasingly grins, all pussy-drunk and cute, making your heart cinch. pale cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. “sorry, baby. i get carried away when you’re squeezing me l-like thattt,” he contests all-whiny, leaning down to connect your lips to his.
they slot over perfectly, like they were made for each other. he tastes like the slice of pumpkin pie your mom had given him that he’d finished in no less than three bites.
your legs tighten around his tapered waist, the base of his cock swelling inside of you when he buries himself to the hilt. he groans into your mouth, which rattles around the cavity of his chest, his bulbous tip sweeping pre-cum against your puckered cervix and dragging against your g-spot. god, you’re so plush and warm he might cum inside you. again.
you’d slapped him when he did it last time.
“m-might have to put a muzzle on you,” you giggle softly, stroking his tongue with your own.
“can do…” he pulls away and huffs against your cheek, a shallow thrust leaving him breathless. “can do whateverrrrr you want to me, pretty.”
pretty. you could argue that he’s the pretty one here.
his hands find the velvety underside of your thighs, before he’s pinning them to your bare chest. starstruck blue eyes appraise you in this new position—puffy folds slick with your mixed arousal glistening in the gentle bedroom light, your core fluttering around his length just an inch deep, desperate to be fucked. a lewd display for your childhood bedroom littered in soft pastels and plushies, but neither of you seem to mind.
suddenly, the air is knocked from your lungs when he slams a practically rough stroke into you, punching a groan from your gut.
“t-toru! i said soft, or else i-i,” you stutter, eyes nearly rolling into your skull. “can’t keep it in…” you trail off under your breath, nearly succumbing to overwhelming pleasure.
flushed cheeks, he chuckles all low and indulgent. “jus’ can’t help it when you’re all adorable and fuckable like this,” he admits, swiping a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. “makes me wanna rearrange your guts.”
you whimper, watching as a glob of spit falls from his lips and hits your clit. warm, wet—you’re dizzy and twitching beneath him.
but then, he’s pistoning his cock inside of you, stretching you wide and full of him. you jostle and moan unabashedly. he tosses a pillow on top of your head, pressing it down over your face. “sorry, baby. you’ll j-just have to keep quiet for me,” he sighs dreamily, watching his cock disappear between your silky folds, dick spasming when you tighten up. you just swallow up every inch he gives you. so needy. so pretty.
゛★ nsfwtwt ! satoru gojo has a secret porn account.
oneshot .ᐟ ⋆ #nsfwtwt nerdjo ⋆ blackmailing him ⋆ satoru is secretly a freak ⋆ possibility of a p2 ⋆ goes to uni with reader ⋆ no smut ⋆ nsfw/heavily suggestive
Calculus.
The word itself was a curse. It wasn't just a subject; it was designed by some ancient, sadistic mathematician to make pretty girls like you suffer. What was his name? Archimedes… something like that. Yeah, screw that guy.
You were a popular girl. It wasn't a title you'd given yourself, that would be lame, it was simply a fact. You knew the right people, said the right things, and always looked effortlessly put-together. Someone like you didn’t have the time for complexities of differential equations. But that was okay, because that’s where your live-in (ish), human calculator came in.
You glanced across the table at him.
Satoru Gojo. The campus's quintessential nerd. Tall, lanky, perpetually hunched over a textbook, hiding behind a pair of black glasses that made his bright blue eyes look a lot bigger than they actually were. He wore oversized sweaters and button-ups that were always a size too big, the sleeves hanging over his hands. He was the guy you'd copy answers from in lectures, the one you'd text at 2 in the morning with one, demanding message: "hw answers.”
He was a tool. Useful, quiet, and unassuming. He wasn’t even saved by his name—just “nerd from calc” because what other use would he be of to you?
"So, did you get the derivative for problem seven? The one with the... ugh, whatever it was," you groaned, leaning forward and tapping your manicured nail on his open notebook.
He didn't even look startled. "It's an implicit differentiation problem. I put the work for it on the second page," he said, his voice low and monotone. He didn't look at you.
He never did. It was part of his schtick, you guessed. Too shy to make eye contact with you or some nerdy shit like that.
You grabbed his notebook, snapping a quick picture of the page. “Thanks, nerd. You’re a lifesaver.” You said it with the kind of smile that would make any heterosexual man trip over their own feet. He just nodded, eyes flushed to his laptop screen. What a loser.
You rolled your eyes and were about to turn away, phone in hand, when your gaze snagged on something. His hair. It was white. Not blonde, not gray, but a stark, almost shockingly pure white. It was messy, sticking up in all directions like he'd just rolled out of bed. You blinked. A sudden, strange feeling washed over you.
Where had you seen that hair before?
The memory hit you like a freight train.
Last night. 1 AM. You'd been bored, scrolling through Twitter, looking for something... interesting. You weren't ashamed of it. You were a teenage college student with needs. You'd been searching through the depths of the more porn-y side of Twitter, looking for some good stuff, when you stumbled upon a page.
The username was "@glassesoff."
The pictures were... god. Well, they were mouth-watering. Not the usual, low-effort thirst traps. These were high-quality. S-tier jerk off material. Tasteful, even, if you could call a close-up of a massive, perfect and pretty cock "tasteful." The shots were low-angle, emphasizing the sheer fucking size of the guy. Pictures of a shredded, lean torso, biceps that looked like they could choke you out in seconds, and a set of abs that had a six-pack so defined it was practically a twelve-pack. And the dick. You involuntarily licked your lips just thinking about it. A solid seven inches, maybe more, thick and beautifully shaped you got hot just thinking about it. There was no face. Just a body, and a hint of a messy head of hair.
White hair.
Who the fuck had white hair?
You’d followed the page almost immediately after binge watching his stuff with your fingers stuffed inside your pussy. You had a great time. Fantastic, even. Fell asleep right after, exhausted and thoroughly satisfied.
Now, looking at the quiet, nerdy boy in front of you, you felt a shiver run down your spine.
No way. No. Fucking. Way.
The username was "glasses off." Satoru wore glasses. He had white hair. And underneath those baggy clothes...
You stared at him. Hard. Freakishly hard it would be impossible for him not to notice. You were trying to see through the fabric, trying to imagine the body you'd seen on your phone screen hidden under all that shapeless cotton and wool.
He must have felt your gaze—there’s no way he wouldn’t. He finally looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours. "You're staring," he said, a faint frown on his face.
You snapped out of it, a flush creeping up your neck. "What? No, I wasn't. I was just... thinking. Don’t flatter yourself, four-eyes,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as your arms folded over your chest and your foot tapped a continuous pattern on the floor.
He raised an eyebrow, a skeptical look on his face. "Uh-huh. Sure. Look, if you're done, I have to get to my next class." He started gathering his things, shoving his laptop into his bag.
You watched him go, your mind a hurricane of possibilities. It was impossible. Wasn't it? There was no way the skinny, shy nerd who you had relegated to "tool" status was packing that kind of heat. No way he had a body that could make a porn star jealous.
And yet, the thought gnawed at you all day.
You couldn't focus in your lectures. You couldn't even concentrate on your Instagram feed which was not normal. All you could see was that low-angle shot of a perfect, beautiful cock that you wanted so badly. And then you'd imagine Satoru's shy, blushing face behind it. You shook your head—literally. Trying to shove the shameless thoughts away. AP lit class isn’t the time for horny thoughts. Especially not ones possibly related to your calc classmate.
That night, you were back in your dorm room. It was quiet, your roommate already asleep— totally and blissfully unaware of what you were doing. You opened Twitter, your finger hovering over the button on the search bar of "@glassesoff"’s page. You clicked on the profile, scrolling through the pictures again. It was admittedly your favorite page. You'd already jerked off to it twice. You’d probably do it again. But… the fact that it could be your nerdy classmate made it a bit weird.
You paused on a particular video. The camera angle was from the guy's perspective, looking down at his own body. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants, pushed down just enough to reveal the base of his… fuck, it’s so pretty. He gave a slow, deliberate stroke, and you heard a soft, breathy gasp.
Then a whisper.
"Yeah, you like that? Fuck, feels so good touching myself to you."
Your blood ran cold. You replayed the video. Then again. And again. The whisper was barely audible, but you recognized it. Satoru’s voice was a very distinct one. You could’ve chalked it up to similarity but it was just too obvious to ignore. It was muffled, almost lost in the background noise of his hand on his dick, but it was clear as day to you.
"I can't do this again,” you muttered to yourself. “Fuck no. Fuck. No.”
It was him. It was definitely Satoru.
You sat there, your jaw on the floor. Your nerdy little homework dispenser was a secret fucking sex god. Your "nerd" was a certified freak. And you orgasmed your brains out to his videos. Multiple times.
You wanted to block him, forget about this forever and never talk or think about it ever again. But a better thought crept up on you like a devil on your shoulder. You bit your lip and smiled like you had the greatest plan of all time. This was too good. This was better than any A you could get on a calculus test.
The next day, you didn't text him. You didn't ask for homework answers. You cornered him.
You found him in the student lounge, a quiet corner away from everyone else. He was alone, hunched over a textbook, a cup of coffee untouched beside him. You walked up, your heels clicking confidently on the linoleum floor, and sat down directly across from him.
He looked up, startled. "Oh. Hey. What's up?" He began to reach for his bag, assuming you were just there for the next assignment.
"No," you said, your voice low and sharp. "You're not going anywhere."
He froze, his hand hovering in mid-air.
"Okay...?" He looked confused, and a little wary.
"I know," you said simply, leaning back and crossing your arms.
He blinked. "Know what?"
"Don't play dumb with me," you said, a triumphant smirk playing on your lips. "I know about your little side hustle. at glassesoff?”
You watched the color drain from his face, his Adam’s Apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed.
It was instantaneous. His eyes widened behind his glasses, going from startled to panicked in a fraction of a second.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, his voice cracking.
"Oh, really?" You pulled out your phone, holding it up so he could see the screen. It was his profile page. His shirtless body.
"So this isn't you? The guy with the white hair and the... well, you know."
He stared at the screen for a moment, then looked around and shoved your phone down quickly. Looks like he didn’t want anyone seeing his little secret. Perfect.
"Where did you get that?" he whispered frantically, hand on your phone as he made sure it stayed shoved face down on the table.
"The internet, genius. It’s a public account,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Honestly, for a guy who’s so smart, you’re not very good at covering your tracks.”
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing again. "Look... please. You can't tell anyone. Please."
"Tell anyone?" you scoffed. "Now why would I ever do that? That would be boring." You leaned forward, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "No, I have a much, much better idea."
He looked at you, his blue eyes full of fear and confusion. He knew whatever you had planned could not be good for him. "What idea?"
You smiled. "From now on, you do all my homework. All my assignments. All my projects. For the rest of the year. You do them, and you do them well. You get me an A in every class. And in exchange, I don't tell anyone that the nerdy math whiz is actually a secret internet porn star."
He stared at you, his mouth slightly agape.
"You're blackmailing me?"
"Bingo! Give this geek a prize," you said, clapping your hands together. "So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?"
He didn't have a choice. You both knew it.
He just slumped in his chair, defeated. "Fine," he sighed, “I’ll do it.”
"Perfect. Knew you’d make the smart choice," You smiled, shoving your phone into your purse. "I’m going to pass with flying colors this year thanks to your little secret."
You booped his nose before standing up, ready to leave, but you paused. You looked at him one last time.
His head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. He looked defeated. Good.
But as you walked away, you couldn't get the image of his videos out of your head.
The thick, veiny cock, the ripped abs, the way he touched himself. You came to that. You were likely going to continue to coming to that.
The new arrangement was in effect. You got back to your dorm, feeling so pleased with yourself as you slipped into your pjs and hopped into bed. Your roommate was gone for the day—thankfully, so. You had his personal number, but the rules of the blackmail were more fun if you used the account to text him. You pulled out your phone, your thumb hovering over the Twitter app. You navigated to the page you’d bookmarked: @glassesoff.
You shot him a DM. No preamble.
You: yo nerd.
For a moment, nothing. Then, the three-dot bubble appeared, then vanished, then appeared again.
@glassesoff: hey
It was simple, just like him.
You: ok so the calc assignment. the one with the integral that looks like a demonic pentagram. i need answers. whole thing and not just the final answer. the steps too so it looks like i learned something. due thursday. thx.
You watched the screen, waiting for his typically flustered, long-winded reply you’d get on his regular texting app. Something like, "Oh, sure! No problem! I'll write it out as clearly as possible. Did you try using integration by parts? It's really a beautiful problem once you see the pattern!" or some other annoying thing.
It didn’t come.
@glassesoff: cool. u got it. the trick is just a simple u-substitution at the start, the rest is just mechanical. i’ll have it for u after my 4pm lecture.
You blinked at the screen. "Cool. u got it." No emojis. No frantic reassurance. Just… cool. It felt wrong, like hearing a cat bark. It was too confident, too streamlined.
You: …not gonna ask if i want u to colour code it so its "easier to follow?" lol
@glassesoff: that what you think? i’ll just send you the latex so it’s clean. less messy.
You snorted. Less messy. The guy who once gave you a handwritten guide to the periodic table with color-coded elements by atomic weight. You decided to test the waters, to poke at the persona.
You: latex lmao. sounds kinky. u into that kind of shit, nerd?
You expected him to immediately backpedal, to sputter out a denial. To revert to the Satoru who couldn't hold eye contact for more than two seconds.
@glassesoff: you’re the one who’s been scrolling through my page for a while. you tell me.
Your jaw actually dropped. You read it twice. Now where the hell did this come from? This was not the same person. You felt a familiar flush of heat, the same one from last night, creep up your neck. This was the guy from his videos, the one who knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how it made people feel. It was like a switch had been flipped. The meek, socially anxious guy from the lecture hall was completely, utterly gone.
You: wow. bold from the guy who almost cried when i said i knew his secret
@glassesoff: bold from the girl who's used me for homework for 3 years and only now knows my name. let’s just say its easier to be myself behind a screen.
This was… surprising. You were a predator, toying with your prey, but the prey suddenly had teeth. And horns. And maybe a tail you kind of wanted to pull.
You: oh yeah? and who would “yourself” be? the one who posts his abs to thousands of strangers?
@glassesoff: among other things. you know. you saw them.
You bit your lip, hard. He was right. You’d seen them. You’d watched a video of him specifically, one where he was kneeling, a professional, almost cruel angle making his body look like a carved Greek statue. The video was titled "need an assistant for this lab," a low groan accompanying the mess he made.
You: yeah i did. i gotta say, your nerd routine is good. i almost believed it. 7 inches of "i can do your homework" was a hell of a plot twist.
@glassesoff: 7.4, actually. and i can do more than just homework, clearly.
You caught yourself in a giggle. You couldn't help it. The sheer audacity of the guy who hid in the back of the classroom, the one who seemed afraid of his own shadow, was throwing your innuendos back in your face like he was born for it.
You: calm down with the ego, nerd. u still owe me an assignment.
@glassesoff: and i’ll deliver. but since we’re being so honest now, how was your night?
Your heart did a little skip. He knew. He had to know. You’d followed his page, you’d watched his videos. The sly fucker was asking you to admit it.
You: it was fine. slept like a baby.
@glassesoff: liar. you followed my page at 11:47 pm. you didn’t sleep for at least another hour. i can see the likes on my post, princess. you liked and bookmarked the "lab assistant" one.
A sound escaped your throat. It was a mix of a laugh and a gasp. Princess? He’s calling you princess? This was a complete role reversal. You were supposed to be the one in control, the one holding all the cards. But he was dissecting your online activity with the same precision he probably used to solve his quantum physics equations.
You: stalker vibes. not cute.
@glassesoff: don’t have to be cute to make you cum.
The bluntness of it slammed into you. You had to put your phone down for a second, your face flushed now. This was a side of him that was completely not what you expected. Not… necessarily bad, but the kind that made your stomach flip and your thighs press together. This was stupid. This was the guy from the videos, the one who didn't stammer, the one who knew his worth. This was Satoru, not just the nerd, but the guy who could probably ruin you in the best way possible. You hated that it turned you on. You had blackmailed him, but it felt suspiciously like you’d just fucked yourself over.
You: i’m gonna pretend i didn’t read that. just get me my assignment, gojo.
@glassesoff: i’ll have it for you. but don't pretend. it’s boring. you're not boring.
You: and how would you know, nerd?
@glassesoff: because you're the only person who’s ever tried to blackmail me into a study date. a whole year of study dates. you're creative, i’ll give you that. be seeing you.
You stared at the last message. Study dates. He called them study dates. The absolute gall of this man. This was not how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to have him wrapped around your finger, not the other way around. But this version of Satoru, the one who typed with a lazy confidence and knew exactly how his videos affected you, was a completely different person.
You checked the time. You should probably go to bed. Early classes tomorrow… the same routine.
Your phone buzzed again. You almost didn’t want to look.
@glassesoff: also, for the record. you're right. i am a bit of a freak.
@glassesoff: good for you, though. you get to see it all for free now. my content isn't cheap.
A scoff escaped you, but it was laced something else. Anticipation, maybe. Arousal? That’s stupid. Really stupid.
You: is this your way of trying to get me to subscribe to your OF, gojo? pathetic.
@glassesoff: no. it’s my way of saying you don’t have to keep being a bad bitch for me to find you interesting.
@glassesoff: you're already interesting.
He was right. You didn't know it. You didn't know anything anymore. The sweet little nerd you'd been using for years was a literal online sex god. And now, thanks to your brilliant blackmail scheme, he was contractually obligated to spend an entire year helping you. Which meant you had a front-row seat to his secret life. The irony was almost too much.
You typed a final response, feeling the shift in the air between you. You weren't quite sure who was blackmailing who anymore.
You: fine, freak. i’ll see you at the library tomorrow. don't forget my homework.
@glassesoff: i won't. and don't forget to bring your headphones.
You: …why?
@glassesoff: so you can watch the new video i post tonight. it’s a special one. just for you.
You stared, wide-eyed. A video. Just for you. You were supposed to be the one calling the shots. But as your thumb hovered over the keyboard, you realized you didn't want to be the one in control.
You wanted to see what he had for you, despite your better judgement.
You: i’m that special?
@glassesoff: guess you are. see you soon.
And just like that, he was gone. The three-dot bubble disappeared and didn't come back.
You were left in the quiet of your room with no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into and whether or not it would come back to bite you in the ass.
bestfriend!gojo gets hard while sparring with you. mdni ⟢
THUD.
satoru’s back slams against the mat.
your knee digs into the floor beside his ribs, one hand pressing his wrist flat above his head while the other traps his shoulder to the floor. your weight settles over his chest, keeping him completely immobilized.
for someone dubbed the strongest sorcerer alive, he’s been surprisingly easy to pin down this entire sparring session.
“come on satoru—focus!” you snap, breath slightly uneven from the exertion. this is the third time in the last thirty minutes you’ve taken him down.
gojo lifts his free hand in mock surrender, chest heaving up and down as he breathes out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I’m just… not really in it today, I guess.”
“yeah, no shit.”
but the truth is, satoru is focused. painfully focused.
just… not on the sparring.
because his problem—his entire goddamn problem—is what you decided to wear today.
a compression shirt clings to your frame, damp with sweat from the match. and even worse, your mini athletic skirt shows way too much of your thigh for his dick to possibly stay down. and he has to pretend not to notice how it tends to ride higher up your thighs every time you shift your balance.
to top it off, right now you have him pinned down under you as you’re straddling his chest. your hair has fallen loose from its rubber band, messy strands sticking to your temples as you glare down at him, completely unaware of the X-rated thoughts currently unfolding inside his brain.
satoru swears he can distinctly feel every single nerve ending where your weight presses into him. your knee. your thigh. your palm pinning his wrists down.
god help him.
he tries to briefly adjust his pants, praying to any deity that’ll possibly listen to him right now that you wouldn’t notice how bricked he is. you’d never let him hear the end of it if you’d found out—but even worse, you’d potentially find out how he really thinks about you.
normally, he isn’t the type to shamelessly get turned on by a girl just because of what she’s wearing. but the fact that it’s you changes everything.
you—the girl he’s been quietly and hopelessly in love with since he was a hormonal teenager.
you—the one person who’s stood beside him through everything. high school missions. late-night training. the mess of the jujutsu world.
his best friend.
which means, logically speaking, this situation is absolute torture. because you don’t see or feel anything that he is. you’re too focused on the match, on winning, on proving you can take down the strongest sorcerer alive.
meanwhile, satoru’s calculating how much longer he’s allowed to let you straddle him before you get suspicious and figure out how big of a perv he really is.
“are you even trying?” you finally quiz, snapping him out of his lustful reverie
“what?—of course I am!”
“bullshit.” your grip tightens slightly on his wrist. he bites back a grin. “you’re going easy on me.”
“I’m not—”
“where’s that energy you usually have when you’re fighting curses?” you interrupt. “or are you just too weak to keep up with me now?”
his lips curl upward, slow and dangerous. god, he loves when you get competitive. the fire kindling in your eyes that only a good competition could bring out. right now, you’re trying to bait him. and it’s working.
“all right,” he exhales, rolling his neck against the mat to work out the kinks. “fine. let’s run it back.”
you release his wrist and push off his chest, stepping back to give him space. you scrutinize his clearly exhausted form. how the hell did the idiot manage to tire himself out so easily with this lacklustre performance?
satoru sits up slowly, brushing stray dust from his uniform like he hasn’t just had his ass handed to him for the past half hour.
“I’m not pulling any punches this time,” he announces cockily, flexing his fingers. “so don’t count on another easy KO.”
“oh don’t threaten me with a good time.”
your stance lowers. the training yard is quiet except for the wind moving through the trees and the occasional hum of a bird. you move first. a fast step forward, aiming a strike toward his shoulder.
satoru blocks it easily this time, catching your wrist mid-swing. his other hand hooks around your waist to redirect your momentum.
you twist sharply, trying to flip the hold, but suddenly the ground disappears beneath you. the world tilts as you lose your balance, and before you can react
THUD.
this time, your back meets the mat. hard. your breath leaves your lungs in a startled rush. and this time, satoru is the one above you.
his knee slides between yours to keep you pinned, one hand pressing your wrist beside your head, the other braced on the mat near your shoulder.
neither of you dare to move for a long second, a bead of sweat slides down the side of his neck, falling directly onto your forehead. your chests are practically a hair away, rising and falling in synch.
satoru stares down at you, face tinged pink, and murmurs:
“you’re surprisingly easy to beat for someone who was talking so much shit a minute ago.”
“you’re such an asshole,” you mutter.
“mm,” he hums, leaning just a little closer. “and yet you keep training with me.”
your legs shift slightly under his hold, testing the strength of the pin. he tightens his grip instantly, making you let out a little squeak.
and now he’s smiling.
“say, you wouldn’t mind it if i just…”
he acts instead of vocalizes his idea, his palm lays flat on your sternum, then slowly inches downwards, turning over when he reaches your navel.
an involuntary shiver overtakes your body. but along with the sensation of his warm fingers slowly dragging down your body, you feel something else.
something poking at your pelvis. something warm.
oh?
“are you—?”
“yes.”
he doesn’t even bother to shift, unabashedly rocking his hard-on against your hips, which elicits a sharp whine out of you.
he grins like he’s struck gold, continuing his ministrations while his fingers move lower until they reach your skirt, hooking onto the fabric and yanking them downwards.
now your bare, plush thighs are on full display for him—though clearly the lights were too bright. and something tells you his sudden moment of boldness has completely left his body the second he freezes. blood draining out of his face almost as fast as his prior-confidence.
“fuck. i’m so sorry.. i should’ve like—asked or somethi—”
you roll your eyes and grab his palm, placing it back onto your thigh, “already tapping out?” you tease “don’t tell me you’re too weak to even finish what you started.”
he sighs in relief, “don’t get cocky. you know that turns me on.”
a firm pressing of his fingers to your panties cuts off any response you would’ve had, a gasp leaving you instead. your body betrays you, subconsciously arching up into his fingers.
the familiar cheeky grin finds its way back onto his face as he redoubles his efforts, circling your clit through your panties. your head tips back in pure ecstasy, soft sounds leaving your mouth in continuous waves. the noises spur on his motivation. he wants to make you feel good, more than anything. even though he’s so fucking hard it hurts, your pleasure comes first, always.
“y’gonna cum through your panties? hmm?” he goads
you’re too overwhelmed to even speak, instead resorting to moaning intelligibly, something almost sounding like please. i need more.
“that’s alright, baby. i’ll take good care of you, don’t you worry.”
—
a/n: coming back after one of the WORST weeks of my entire life with some satoru slop👅
feat quarterback!toji x camgirl chem partner!reader
summary: Toji Fushiguro considers himself a very generous man, especially after using part of his D1 quarterback paycheck towards his favorite camgirl. If anything, he's a patron of the arts: dedicated, curious, and always ready for the next big thing. So when he finds out his quiet little chem partner has the same bedroom as his idol? Well... color him intrigued.
content: MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, camgirl!reader, chem partner!reader, quarterback!toji, fratboy!toji fanboy!toji, jjk college au, no use of “y/n”, porn with a ridiculous amount of plot, vibrators, oral sex (m!receiving, f!receiving), piv sex, squirting, dumbification, toji has a biiiiig dick, daddy kink, size kink, breeding, etc.
word count: 10.1k (i don't play abt this man)
author's note: all credits of the above pictures go to their creators. The left-most picture is from thatsallitchief on X or tiktok. If anyone knows the artist of the right-most picture let me know so I can tag them!
toji's pre-game playlist: gemstone - don toliver, homecoming - lil uzi vert, don't kill the party - ty dolla $ign, love me - lil wayne, you - don toliver, nightcrawler - travis scott
These were intense times.
The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed.
There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft.
As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses.
It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk.
Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones.
As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf.
Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field.
His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table.
He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer.
Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls.
She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself.
And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts.
His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded.
“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”.
Part one?!
He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one.
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The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20.
And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name.
“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”
He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty.
But in the lecture hall? Well…
His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II.
He was truly a lost cause.
He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never).
So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago.
At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast.
Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you.
And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter.
It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.
In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.
“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”
It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.
You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.
He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.
He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him.
His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter.
Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”
You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen.
For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.
What the fuck?
He took your phone.
“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”
He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones.
“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”
He hated how his dick twitched at your words.
But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.
He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake!
His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”
You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!
And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.
After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.
He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.
You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday.
The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission.
And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill.
He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.
Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days.
And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days.
“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both.
You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe.
He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…
“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare.
“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power.
You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!
You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache.
The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?”
He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly.
You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips.
“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you.
He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag.
“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”
And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest.
A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand.
“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.”
His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away.
“It’s a small place,” you warned.
He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”
He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them.
You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”
For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world.
All he could do was swallow and nod.
He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door.
The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road.
Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row.
The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen.
Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.
And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.
He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–
He coughed lightly.
What was he thinking?
As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine.
Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.
It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.
“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table.
You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down.
He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room.
And, holy shit.
No.
There was genuinely no way in hell.
He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it.
His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body?
Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.
His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it.
Everything looked familiar.
Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–
“Can I help you?”
You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours.
You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.
And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words.
All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.
“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??”
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He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.
The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.
And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself.
What. The. Fuck.
It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it?
No. He couldn’t. He’d never.
Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell?
He couldn’t tell.
What does this mean? How should he act? What does he fucking do with this information now?
He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer.
“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”
He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin.
“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled.
He tapped into the link despite himself.
“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”
He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video.
For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera.
But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded.
The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind.
He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look.
He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.
You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.
“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”
The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1.
His jaw ticked, hard.
“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before.
His dick bobbed in his pants.
This could not be happening to him right now.
You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”
He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie.
And he couldn’t help it, really.
Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers.
He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back.
Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit.
He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip.
He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him.
He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot.
He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.
And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.
It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner.
And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing.
He just finished to the thought of you.
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Toji Fushiguro had a problem.
No, scratch that.
He had a fucking crisis.
It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times.
And that was only how one of his practices went this week.
It had been five whole days since he last saw you.
Five days of being dogshit at his sport.
Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.
It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say.
How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?
How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay?
How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!
And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.
He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body.
A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him.
He stared down at your last texts to him.
⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
Ba-dump!
⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree
Ba-dump! Ba-dump!
⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?
Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive
It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare.
Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet.
He needed time.
He needed space.
He needed to get this shit under control.
Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals.
It would be the perfect distraction.
About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light.
He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–
“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”
His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised.
Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him.
He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature.
You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame.
He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.).
“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily.
The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire.
He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt.
You looked good, really fuckin’ good.
Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding
Did he say that outloud?!
You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.
Back to the last name basis.
You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes.
A dull pang rippled through his chest.
He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started.
And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter.
And, you knew he was huge before.
But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms.
He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly.
You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled.
He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear.
You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing.
Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other.
You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.
But for him? That just would not do.
He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate.
“Because you scare me,” he mumbled.
“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched.
“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.
“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper.
“I can go-”
“Don’t.”
And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt.
“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.”
You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”
“Stay.”
It was as simple as that, really.
And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you.
Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.
He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits.
He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face.
Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start.
And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh.
You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous.
“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened.
“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell.
His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.”
Please.
His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission.
ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
You breathed.
The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–
“It’s not just you, Toji.”
Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest.
And that was all he needed.
He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.
He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom.
He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.
The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own.
He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own.
It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.
You put your hands against his chest.
“Toji-”
“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”
You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed.
His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place.
You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.
A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing.
“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?”
And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.
He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process.
“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?”
You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs.
You shook your head.
“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”
He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench.
Fuckin’ tease.
“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out.
A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.
“Good girl.”
And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties .
“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”
And - Holy shit.
The videos of you didn’t even do this justice.
Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.
And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric.
It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong.
But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots.
“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet.
His heart was thunderous against his chest.
And his dick?
Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.
He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.
After all, how could he say no to you?
He pushed your panties to the side.
And oh.
His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy.
Holy. Shit.
Everything was soaked and glistening.
He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process.
He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool.
It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room.
The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
“Toji, I might-”
He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle.
You saw fuckin’ stars.
The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs.
He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again.
He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him.
Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three.
You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer.
Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears.
Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.
The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs.
You were orgasming before you even realized it.
And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks.
Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place.
“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt.
You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples.
Your heart squeezed in your chest.
It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond.
“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.”
And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went.
You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso.
You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.
“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”
You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.
Who would move first?
His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist.
“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.”
Oh.
And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue.
And then he’s pulling you into his lap.
You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again.
A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.
“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting.
“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.
And oh fuck.
Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud!
The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.
Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat.
You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff.
You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear.
“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth.
“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you.
Pretty girl.
He squeezed tighter.
His pretty girl.
A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”
And who was he to deny you?
Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs
Your mouth gaped open.
And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.
You didn’t even think anyone could be this large.
Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head.
He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.
Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.
He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him.
You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.
He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.
He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.
You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead.
And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him.
None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock.
You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.
But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together.
“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”
A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass.
“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices.
Your heart fluttered.
His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off.
You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you.
You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips.
He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.
Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt.
You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly.
Please, please, please, ple–
And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole.
“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance.
Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip.
And this was just the tip.
He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant.
You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him.
“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.
“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him.
Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”
And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests.
He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.
You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.
You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need.
It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here.
“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features.
“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.
“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.
And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.
His dick bobbed from inside of you.
“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down.
“But-?”
He thought you would hate him if you knew.
He agonized for days for this reaction?!!
“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”
And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy.
“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?
“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.
And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again.
T-O-J-I !
He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air.
You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise.
In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.
He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck.
Oh. His cum.
His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming.
You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you.
“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?”
And oh, how his broken mind snapped.
The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear.
And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb.
It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.
Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white.
And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer.
Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed.
And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.
And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.
“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”
And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.
After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.
There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side.
Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).
He still kept his same protein shake recipe.
He still kept his same choice of attire.
But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb.
And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38.
And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend.
[𝜗℘] :: helping buff bf!toji with his workout :: tags. fluff, suggestive. reader gets called ‘doll, girl’
“you sure?”
“jus’ get on my back, doll.”
toji and you have been going back and forth about this for five minutes now. he was working out in the living room while you were watching your favorite show. well, sometimes your eyes lingered far too long on your lover’s physique than on the television.
you can’t help it when he’s only wearing those grey sweatpants. his exposed, sweaty muscular chest and biceps combined with those grunts he lets out every now and then are an intoxicating combination.
toji noticed your gaze on him and suggested you’d help him with his workout. though not before smirking haughtily at your blatant staring, his ego boosted once more.
“ugh, fine. don’t blame me if i break your back,” you mutter under your breath before slowly lowering yourself on his muscular back. you sit down and fold your legs, holding onto his sides for stability.
toji hums in satisfaction when you finally give in. he doesn’t understand your initial hesitation—he can handle even the most impossible of weights and you should know that by now.
“you breaking my back?” toji lets out a breathy chuckle before starting his set of pushups, “keheh. wasn’t it the opposite just this morning?”
that gains him a smack to the back of his head. you huff and roll your eyes at your dirty minded partner. your focus turns to his pushups once more, noticing how he doesn’t seem to be struggling at all, even with extra weight on his back.
down, up, down, up—toji’s body moves in a steady rhythm and his chiseled chest barely touches the floor before he surges back up again. his arms don’t tremble at all, his form steady.
“is this really helping? doesn’t seem like much of a challenge for you,” you murmur after a while and decide to switch positions.
you lay your chest against his back, blanketing his prone form with your own body. your arms wrap around his neck and your legs around his waist.
toji grunts in both surprise and satisfaction. your breath tickles his ear and he tries his best to focus on his workout, though it’s hard. extremely so. even more when your hands start to explore the sides of his body, making him shiver.
“well, are you tryin’ to make it a challenge for me by doing… that?” he scoffs.
you grin to yourself, knowing toji couldn’t see your smug face. your hands rub up and down his abs now. your smirk widens when you hear him hiss as a warning.
“doing ‘what’, babe?” you act innocent, even as your fingers trail up towards his hard pecs.
the dark-haired man loses control of his arms for a good second, the focus and strength lost after feeling your playful yet intimate touch on his chest. he mumbles something under his breath before reaching one arm back to pinch your sides.
“ah! no!” you squeal a little, immediately moving around on his back to avoid his ‘revenge’.
toji’s other arm is balancing both your bodies, but you soon come crashing down with a soft thud after your squirming causes him to lose said balance.
toji rolls onto his back and hauls your body against his chest instead to trap you there. you wilfully rest your head in the crook of his neck and tap his pecs.
“hey, you need to finish your workout, silly,” you tease, “can’t be slackin’ off like this.”
toji snorts and gently pinches your nose, earning another small giggle from you. he can’t help but grin as he tilts his head to whisper in your ear;
“i can think of a couple other ways y’ can help me work out. so y’know, there’s this set of hip thrusts—“
he has had many experiences since he turned 18 and he’s now in his late twenties. safe to say he knew every kink, tried all types of weird shit and was a masterful makeout partner. (if he said so himself!)
but here you are perched up nicely, straddling his lap, your hands pulling desperately at the little hairs that gained length from his overgrown undercut.
his large hands palming your ass as you grinded down on him slowly, your mouth moving in sync with his, your faces twisting constantly and your tongue fighting for dominance so hard you smeared a bit of drool on the side of his mouth.
well not like he cared.
he was used to this, used to your rough bites, soft whimpers and tough grip as his mouth worked on you.
so when you trailed off from his lips, your light kisses going down his jaw, turning to bites in between on his neck. he didn’t think much of it, baring the long column to you with a huff like feeding a vampire its next meal.
his hands never stopping their flexing on your thighs, your ass anywhere he could reach as you huffed and sucked on him possessively.
his cock strained hard against his shorts, waiting to get ruined as he nudged you over and over again, getting lost on the sauce even didn’t notice that your kisses started trailing back up again.
until he felt it.
the soft tug of your teeth at the bottom of his earlobe before you pressed a chaste kiss on the spot. mouthing up the column of his now reddening ear, pulling his helix before you pulled back just enough to trace the outside of his ear with your tongue.
you followed the shape, your teeth coming out and grazing on his shell just as you licked the slight dip at the inside feeling him clutch at your body and fucking shiver.
he knew he was done for when he felt your hands repeatedly push his face away as it drifted towards your own and he couldn’t slow down his heaving chest or the soft pants that escaped.
now here he was ear wet, hot and pulsing, it didn’t make it much better he could hear your soft pleasurable sighs before your hands came up and you whimpered almost pathetically in between your mouthing as you left one last lick on his ear before you moved back to his jaw, “mm…satoru.”
he couldn’t even tell you what happened next, your mouth finding his own as he let out the most desperate moan he’s ever heard from himself before you pulled away from him with a pop.
“you just came untouched?”
after that fucking kiss of course he did.
yorikae
** check if their ears are clean b4 doing this btw
𝔂ou decide to volunteer at your local library during winter break, unaware of the owners cute grandson. you're convinced he absolutely hates you, only to find out he's been thinking on which position to fuck you in first.
warnings / tags smut, brief angst, fluff, small town romance, he's a bit of an ass, rough sex, fingering, public sex, unprotected. reupload !art by uruyuuu on twt !
northern california is rainy around these months.
wanting to be different from the rest of the country, it doesn't offer the warmth of the sun, perfect enough to tan. it instead gives you foggy mornings that blur into rainy afternoons and demands you to be wrapped up in multiple blankets by the end of the day.
that's why you neatly placed your pink burberry scarf around your neck, patting it softly down over your chest with one hand while the other held the application form to volunteer at a library right down the street from your new home.
one you have been visiting for a while now, mostly when you needed to renew your business and law textbooks for school, ones you refused to pay over 500$ for. with one final look in the mirror, you grabbed your umbrella from it's place before heading out the door.
barely anyone helped out at the library because it was family owned. but it had people coming in and out at every hour of the day. so you weren't surprised when a group of people came out the door as soon as you approached it. matcha in hand and earbuds plugged into ears.
performative males.
their earbuds weren't even plugged in and that alone made your eye twitch.
after closing your umbrella, you stepped inside, making your way over to the counter where mrs. gojo usually was. and there the old lady stood, looking through her glasses, scanning books like always.
a smile made it's way on your face. she was the sweetest woman ever, always giving you little stories here and there every time you came in.
"y'know, my hair used to look exactly like yours at your age." she once told you. now, she had a short frizzy pixie, stripped away from her color and has now turned white.
"oh, hello sweetheart!" she happily greeted. mrs. gojo often forgot your name, so she settled with sweet names any granny would call you.
"hi miss." you greeted back, waiting for her to walk around the corner of her desk to give you a hug. "I'm guessing you're out of school, hm?"
"yup, just finished. I'm free, for now at least." she laughed at that. her age may have changed, but her laugh has remained the same.
"what brings you here? you should be out with your friends."
"yeah, well, don't have many of those." you chuckled, handing her your form. "saw on your website that you were needing volunteers, so here I am."
she looked down at the paper confused. "volunteers?.. ah right, right. my grandson," she sighed, shaking her head. "he insists I need more help with running this place but I am telling
him I'm okay. but he posted on our uh google thing that a.. he put up a volunteer sign up."
"he's even helping out as well this summer. I tell him me and him are enough to keep this place going."
you bit the inside of your cheek, a bit bummed out. "so, um, I'm guessing thats a no then?"
"oh! oh no no young missy. I would love for you to work here with us. but I ask you, why here and not hanging out with your friends?"
"I don't really hang out much." you reminded her. "plus, I like being here."
the sweet lady patted your arm, turning to look behind her. "very well then, I'll give this to my boy." you smiled down at her, appreciating the soft feeling of her gentle hand.
"satoru.. where are you honey" she grabbed her walking cane, about to start moving before another white head appeared from behind the shelves.
your eyes widened.
no way was this her grandson.
he's supposed to be eleven, or ten. her stories made it very clear he was anything but your age.
he was wearing a navy blue polo with brown slacks and on his nose bridge laid his black framed glasses that created a barrier for his pretty blue eyes. the same shade as his grandmothers.
your throat dried up. he was handsome, very handsome.
and nowhere near the age you had imagined him to be. her voice snapped you out of your trance. "hi sweet boy, this pretty young lady used the volunteer form. she'd like to work here.." she explained. he gave you a once over, looking you up and down before looking at your application. his eyes skimmed through, adam's apple bobbing as he spoke.
"alright, I'll look at it." his voice was even more attractive. it was low but calm and gentle all at the same time.
mrs. gojo gently smacked him. "she's working with us, application or not, it does not matter."
"sorry granma'am, I need to make sure that she's eligible to-."
"nonsense, I know her. very sweet girl!" she interrupted.
"I'll file it.." he muttered, slipping the application into the folder behind the desk. then he looked up at you, eyes meeting yours.
"welcome, I guess. I'm satoru."
you greeted him with a small smile, giving him your name as well. he let out a small grunt as he stood up straight, walking out to be at the front next to you, noticing how you backed away a bit.
"alright. I'll make you a name badge tomorrow. if you want to start today, you can go back to where the returns are." he nodded towards a bin with a couple of books that were waiting to be checked in and returned back to their place on the shelves.
you nodded, hands clasped together in front of you.
mrs. gojo grinned brightly at the two of you. satoru gave you a brief nod, lips turning into a thin line, before walking past you brushing his shoulder against yours. and you were able to catch the faint scent of cedar and rain making you feel light headed.
"he's shy. must be because you're pretty." she said softly, making your face warm up.
"I've got eyes, you know. he barely talks to anyone other than me or himself. not even to customers."
your eyes flickered over to where the white haired boy had disappeared into. "he'll warm up to you quickly." she gave you a little arm rub and began to hum as she made her way over to a family asking for a membership.
you sure hoped so.
but you hoped wrong.
oh, so wrong.
mrs. gojo's words echoed in your head every day you showed up, praying that satoru would do more than glance your way and shame you for putting the books in the wrong section.
"no, this doesn't go here. I've told you many, many times before the Eschatological literature is all the way in the back. Not with dystopian." he grabbed, or more like snatched, the book from your hands.
"Isn't that kind of the same thing?"
He looked down at you like you had suddenly grown three heads. "Are you stupid?"
Yeah.
He was an asshole.
And when he wasn't whisper yelling at you for a mistake, he was making you do the things he was supposed to.
Like being in charge of the front desk while he took an hour break to study for his Econ class.
"Uh, Satoru? I thought you were doing the check out today." You carefully approached him, not wanting to annoy him in any way.
Satoru's head turned to look to where you stood, adverting his eyes from his computers screen. His eyes traveled up and down your frame, taking in the cute but simple outfit you wore.
God, he just wanted to tear it all up.
He adjusted his glasses, standing up not before closing his device.
"Can't you do that?" He asked.
"Oh, well I'm in charge of putting the books back in place, so.."
"No. Absolutely not."
You frowned. sure you've messed up a couple of times in the past two weeks, but you thought you have gotten the hang of it.
"Just do the check outs and I'll take care of the rest."
His lanky body moved out of the room, giving you the opportunity to let out a frustrated sigh.
You heard his annoying voice once again. "Get to work."
You thought this was supposed to be a nice relaxing way to spend your vacations. A little get away from being pushed around by your parents and peers at school, only to end up in the same situation. But this time by a really good looking boy you just wanted to hit in the face.
"Have a great day.." You forced a happy tone out, handing the customer the book. You were so burnt out you didn't even process properly when said customer hit on you.
"Sorry?" you blinked a few times.
The man stood tall, green eyes on yours and a smile stretched on his face.
"I was saying that you're really beautiful.. and if you'd like to grab coffee some time?"
Never in your many years living in this shit town have you been complimented by such a handsome guy. His muscles were visible even through his brown leather jacket.
"Su-"
"We'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't flirt with our employees."
You've gotta be joking.
You turned to Satoru whose eyes were set on the man who was already backing away.
"My apologies." He politely said, smiling one last time at you before leaving the building.
Satoru watched him leave, internally patting himself on the back proud that he managed to scare him off. No way was he going to let you get any game while he was plotting on you.
Through his glasses, he finally looked at you, only to flinch a little when you looked like you were one second away from biting his head off.
"Seriously? Do you hate me that much? What the hell have I ever done to you other than confuse two fucking genres of books?!"
"Woah, watch your tone. There are kids here, if you haven't noticed."
"No, listen here Satoru. What is your damn deal?"
You were clearly fed up with whatever bullshit he has been pulling.
His eyebrows furrowed, not pleased with the vulgar tone of yours. "It's not appropriate to do that kind of stuff here."
"Since when? Not even a day ago were you getting hit on by a girl!" Yes he was the worst guy you have ever met, but he was very handsome. His face looked like it was built by God himself.
"Now it's a problem?" You scoffed, walking away from him.
There was no emotion visible on his face.
He quickly scanned the library, making sure no one was watching as he followed after you, gently slamming you onto the desk nearby.
Rows of shelves covered you from any eyes, but anyone could walk to where you both were any second.
"What are-" you were cut off when a large hand covered your mouth, the feeling of something hard pressing up against your ass made you freeze.
"You sure are something, huh?" Satoru sighed, giving you a little thrust. "Been wanting to do this since you first showed up. You know how many times my grandma spoke about you? Didn't know you were this pretty."
Your moan was muffled by him, already feeling yourself get wet, which he took notice on.
His free hand traveled down to squeeze your inner thighs, moaning lowly. He's never actually touched a woman like this before. Only learning the ways of sex because of the mature section that was on the second floor, hidden away.
He's read a few pages here and there discreetly when organizing them or when he had to kick teenagers out for treating it like the back of Spencers.
"Fuck.. is this okay?" His cock was about to explode but he really needed to know if you wanted this too. He's seen the way you stared at him when you thought he wasnt noticing. The way your eyes lingered on his arms, especially his hands.
You nodded, whining a 'yes' when he relaxed the hand that was gripping your lower face.
“Good.” He leaned in and kissed the crook of your neck, his lips moving against your warm skin as he whispered moaned in your ear, feeling you through your panties. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a hungry one, his tongue tracing the outline of your pulse point, biting down on it.
He watched your face closely, taking in all the little expressions you made after he moved your underwear to the side, teasing your bare cunt. His eyes darkened with lust, wanting to see you completely come undone by his touch.
You had no idea how no one had noticed yet.
The horrid sound of your wet pussy squelching at every movement his fingers did was loud enough to fill the area you were in.
A library was supposed to be quiet by nature, making it an appropriate place to let those who want to study, study in peace.
Not to have sex in the corner. Not at all.
“oh my fuck. your so messy.” His fingers curled hard inside you, thumb playing with your clit in circles to bring you to your orgasm quicker.
He was living for the small noises you made. How you tried your best to be quiet.
"Fuck—“
Satoru pulled back just enough to watch the way you trembled—fingers glistening with your arousal as his free hand yanked his pants down further. He began stroking his cock, continuing working on your cunt.
“Satoru..” you whimpered.
“Yes baby?”
The pet name made you clench harder around his digits.
“Fuck me..” your own words made you cringe. you sounded desperate. because you were.
Satoru lost it—his cock driving into you with brutal precision as he sucked his fingers clean fucking you in tandem until your thighs trembled around his dick.
"Say my name when you cum," he ordered against your neck before sucking hard, the vibrations of his groan making your hips jerk. His free hand pinned yours above your head: "Wanna hear who owns this tight little—fuck!"
He cut off mid-sentence when he felt you clamp down on him.
“where’s you learn how to talk dirty..” you managed to say with the way he was plummeting in and out of you. “and fuck.”
“i’ve got my ways of learning sweetheart.”
He chuckled darkly, biting down on his lip to keep himself quiet.
“gonna cum inside.” He warned.
You nodded, getting dizzy when he hit your g-spot repeatedly.
and that was enough to make you cum.
“Yes.. yes fuck oh my god.”
he released into you, watching as it immediately drip out of you.
“Thank you..”
you smiled weakly up at him. “for taking your virginity?”
“felt like i took yours.” he grinned, helping you put your panties back in place, patting your cunt one more time before tucking himself back in his pants.
“satoru sweetheart? where are you?” Mrs. Gojos voice could be heard.
“shit. forgot we were here.” his eyes widened, watching as his grandma walked in.
She paused in her steps.
“oh! looks like you’ve gotten along. see, told you he’d warm up to you.” she innocently smiled at you, unaware of the reason why you two were even this close to each other in the first place.
“cmon, you’ve gotta help me out with some books.” she turned around, pausing again.
🍾࿔*:･ you finally work up the courage to confess your love to fratjo, the party animal you've only seen twice in study hall that he always skips for some reason, he says yes. as it turns out, he's a lot more than you bargained for... | 4k words mdni
cw: smut, protected sex (wrap before you tap), oral (f&m receiving), character cameos, reader is birdbrained, reader's lowk a stalker, lowk toxic!fratjo (duh), idk anything about frats, readers canonically pretty fratjo's just blind, dumb!frat!gojo, shy!sassy!reader, drugs and smoking, cliches, kiiinda crybaby reader, slight banter, not proofread
@aransmind for the photo
gojo sato would never date you.
not now, not later. he's all muscle and looks, arrogance and passion. tight compression shirts, chains and gold jewelry always adorn him. he's been with more girls than you can count, which you only know because he's always bragging about it online (and every where else)
jo_sigmakappachi: on my 5th girl of the week and it's wendesday. if any of u ladies wanna be the 6th... come to to my party 2nite ;)
you're quiet beauty and book smarts, wondering how you'll pull this far fetched crush.
now you're walking out of study hall, eyes red and tired from another sleepless night of studying (and stalking your crush's accs)
as you lumber out, you catch a glimpse of him, sato, with his nerdy twin brother whose name you can't be bothered to remember.
god, he looks even better in person. you've only seen him up close a handful of times. you're not a party person, and no one inviting you probably doesn't raise your chances of being in sato's natural habitat.
for the past few months, watching him from afar has been enough. you're the first to comment, like, and repost all of his most scandalous party moments, on a burner account, of course. somehow he's never realized that you always have a seat next to him at basketball games.
he considers himself unlucky, wondering why the same, uninterested girl is sitting next to him instead of a new hot bimbo for the week. lately, this sit and watch game is getting boring. your feelings are too strong, too passionate for him.
maybe now's the time to confess, tell him how you really feel. it's not like anythings actually going to happen. at best, he rolls his eyes and shoos you away with a "are you serious?" at worst, he's telling his fratbros about it and causing your social death. that's why you're doing it in private, under a sakura tree by his frat house, but not without messaging him first. what could go wrong?
shyestangel: um, hey sato! im ur secret admirer! meet me under the southernmost sakura tree by ur frat house tonight @8:30 <3 jo_sigmakappachi: geto is this u??? not funny bro
shyestangel: this isnt a joke😭 pls just come to the tree
jo_sigmakappachi: ok but idk what southernmost means
your legs nearly give out as you walk to the tree. half from the cold, half from the somewhat skimpy skirt you put on. he only listens to 22 inch waists and long lashes, neither of which you believe you have, so this is your way of compensating.
being the responsible student you are, you showed up 10 minutes early. that quickly backfired when he was 20 minutes late, because of course he was. now you're freezing, wishing you at least put tights on. it isn't until you see two bright, flaming blue eyes in the distance that you're knocked out of overthinking.
sato stalks toward you, nonchalant and unbothered. he's wearing a shirt that says "blink if you want me" with a backwards crimson hat and jorts, ethikas peaking out. before he even reaches the gnarly roots of the tree, you can smell his cheap cologne. still, he's magnetic, confident exterior pushing you towards him.
"whadd'ya want?" he asks, smacking on gum in your face. it's clear he's not looking at you, yet he's barely a foot away. stumbling, you barely manage to choke out your rehearsed confession.
"oh, i just wanted to t-tell you… i'm in love with you! i have been for so long! i see your cool parties, your hot thirst traps- ugh i mean posts!" you take a deep breath, making eye contact with the ground. "um, what i'm trying to say is, can i be your girlfriend?"
you look up to see him, somewhat stunned, eyes even brighter than before. he's stopped chewing, mouth pressed in a firm line. his silent response is deafening. now would be the perfect time to run away in embarrassment, but he speaks before you can.
"wow. thought you were some shy girl, didn't know you were into me like that."
it's not a no, at least. your ears perk up.
"so does that mean-" "but i'm not ready for a relationship right now. you're not my type either," he adds, like he's trying to say 'leave me the fuck alone' without actually doing it. he says it like he's said it a 1000 times before, words familiar in his mouth. what did you expect? he probably has a line of girls asking him out every day, all with much prettier faces than yours, you bet.
"please!" you shout, clenching your hands together in prayer, as if god will suddenly will this frat boy to change his ways and love you. "pretty please! don't even date me, just please talk to me! i'll give you all the homework answers for a week, promise!"
this makes his indifference waver. he looks at you with newfound sexual interest, like maybe you're not so insufferable.
"on second thought, why don't you come to my next party? we can talk about "homework" there, in my bedroom, if you don't mind." he finishes the sentence off with a wink, innuendo shining through.
you're jumping for joy. yeah, he basically just fuckzoned you, but that's better than nothing. he promptly leaves with a wave, eyes pausing on the hem of your skirt.
you can barely sleep, excitement pumping through your every vein. just as you're putting on your bonnet, a dm from sato launches you out of bed.
jo_sigmakappachi: 11pm, come through the front door. dont tell anyone ur coming, and wear something shorter. luved ur skirt
your heart skips a beat. 'he liked my skirt!' your bird brain thinks. thankfully, you're too tired to take another scroll on sato's private story, so you go to sleep.
it's tomorrow evening, pitch black out when you pull up to the party. the nauseating vapor of berry-blast 3000 vapes hits you before you even walk inside. you're on the front lawn, watching in goody two shoed-awe at the shenanigans taking place. there's half naked girls, an arm wrestle that looks to turn into a fight, and swaying bushes that are sure signs of couples getting up to no good.
ignoring it all, you walk up the front steps to the massive manor, heels clicking on the pavement. the bouncer barely acknowledges you, eyes glued to everything but your own.
it's sweaty and filthy inside, even worse than on the lawn. smells of cheap whiskey suffocates you, courtesy of people's breath fanning down your neck. there's shirtless guys hanging out with near shirtless girls pawing at their sides. definitely not your ideal saturday night, but interesting nonetheless.
you walk through the crowd, searching for sato. he's nowhere to be seen. what you do see is some pink haired man surrounded by other guys.
"c'mon, kuna! do it!" one shouts. a 6 foot god knows what guy bends over a table, nose to the cold plastic. there's some white stuff on the table, powdered like sugar. wait, is that guy snorting- y'know what, nevermind.
led by intuition, you end up finding yourself at the back of the house near the staircase. by the looks of it, this is where the white haired demon normally takes ig photos. luckily, he's there in all his sleazy glory.
turned away, he's monolouging to geto, the goth dude that's running your fav garage band. he's shouting about his last hookup for all to hear. "i was literally digging in her bro." suddenly, the black haired giant swivels towards you, violet eyes peering down.
"hey, you need somethin'?" he asks, pointing to his friend. "this girls been watchin' you for a while." you freeze, not expecting anyone to realize you were there. but he does, turning to you in disbelief.
for the first time ever, sato's red, and not because of alcohol or sex. his eyes damn near cross. "fuck, look at you… have we met before?"
"sato! we met last night, don't you remember?" you can't tell if you're more shocked or offended that he doesn't remember the girl he met barely 24 hours ago.
"no way! that was you? shit, that dress is working wonders." he's biting his lip, blue eyes floating down your figure. your admiral blue dress is skimpy, barely covering your ass and chest, and the cutouts on the side aren't leaving much to the imagination. your matching purse has you looking like a 90s wet dream. geto scoffs.
"is this that girl you were talking about earlier? thought you said she was a lame nerd-" his white haired friend karate chops him in his chest before he can continue, face bright red. he pushes his hair back, a nervous tick. "um, anyways, about that "homework," he drawls, recollecting himself. geto rolls his eyes.
"oh yeah. that." your eyes glance towards the staircase. sato's ushering you up them soon as the opportunity shows. he grips tighter once you're upstairs, other drunk frat guys barking obscene cheers when they see him leading you to his bedroom. the odd interaction between the men distracts from any anxiety you previously had. some of them fist bump. gross.
the room is surprisingly secluded, being on its own landing. "it's soundproofed, y'know," he informs, winking. your cheeks warm, a quiet "i know" coming out.
his room is surprisingly nerdy for a frat boy, other than the numerous playboy cutouts on the wall. it's decked out in comic posters, but the bed is simple and black, like something out of a porno. there's also a suspiciously placed mirror above it.
he throws himself on top of it, spreading his legs wide with an expectant look. "are you gonna get on your knees or what?"
"geez, pushy much," you mumble. he's pulling his pants off before you've even fully bent down.
his dick springs free, tip leaking and red. girls said it was big, but this is outrageous. it's curved and long, just like the porn stars you like that share a scary resemblance with him.
a shit eating grin is plastered on his face, like he knows he's the biggest you've ever had. actually, the only guy you've ever had. nows a great time to tell him that.
"wait! i've- i've never done this before. i'm a virgin." his eyes grow dark and low, predatory. if he was horny before, the way his dick throbs is putting that to shame. "fuck," he groans. "not like i haven't done one of y'all before." one of y'all, like you're a specimen. you slap his thigh.
"ouch, sorry!" "you better be," you mumble. "i'll guide you. i guess," he says, irritated. his hands are still planted to the bed. maybe he's expecting you to do all the work.
slowly, your tongue reaches his tip, licking the pre straight off. it's surprisingly yummy, encouraging you to take more. he's wasting no time in bucking his hips up, trying to stuff your face.
before you know it, half his cock is in your mouth. your only experience is from porn, and you know it's fake, but sato's loud ass moans are telling you to be even more eager, paint him with more spit.
you grab his thighs for leverage, nails digging into his skin. mascara is running down your face, eyes watery from the monster cock in your throat.
huge hands wrap in your hair. "shit-slow down-!" "thogh you likd this," you slobber out. it’s unbelievably nasty how your spit clings to him, dripping down to his balls. your lips are doing the same, kissing the base while your pink tongue licks at his nuts, trying to get a taste.
he's honest to god whimpering, moaning like a bitch in heat. his hands are trying to tug you off his dick, but they're so weak all he can do is hold onto your hair, praying he doesn't cum too quick.
"fuck-ngh- gonna cum, stop!" salivas dripping down his balls onto his spiderman rug. "shit, you're gonna pay for that!" you don't care, too focused on coaxing more moans out of him.
you're hollowing your cheeks, slurping all over him. it's hard not to hit him with your teeth, but his guiding hands make it easier. while his whines are heavenly, you only stop because your throat is getting tired of being filled. with a wet pop, you stop suckling, letting him free of your heavenly mouth.
birds are circling around his head, completely dazed. you take the opportunity to get on his bed, spreading your legs wide for him. there's a confused expression on his flushed face.
"what? aren't you gonna return the favor?" "i normally skip this part," he chuckles. "most girls don't really ask for that." he's surely lying.
"eat my pussy or i'm leaving." he stiffens, like he didn't think you were serious. "fine," he grumbles. his meaty forearms cage you in, head dipping down to your barely clothed cunt.
"matching panties, hm. i like that." his crassness makes you cover your face in shame. before you can utter another threat, he's ripping the lacy fabric off, bare flesh exposed to his warm breath. the way you shiver excites him, evident by the way his tongue starts lapping. "fuck, tasty ass pussy." for a guy who tried to avoid it, he' surprisingly good at pussy eating.
he's giving you a long, slow lick, from your hole to your clit, stopping to suckle on it. he never breaks eye contact, obsessed with your reactions. "mmph, feels good," you whimper. your praise spurs him on, turns languid licks into passionate tongue fucking. "i know it's good, baby. that's why i'm doing it."
his face is pressed against your pussy, nose grinding on your clit just right. fat globs of wetness trail down his chin, mixtures of his spit and your essence. it's dripping down your ass, shiny and obscene. hot pleasure is building in your tummy, threatening to spill all over his face.
now you're fully arched off the bed, hands curled in the sheets. his pretty lips are grinning against yours, reveling in the pleasure he's giving you. "you like when i suck on this clit?"
bed sheets crinkle as you feverishly nod, not in any place to answer. one of his thick arms moves down to your pussy, rubbing a long finger around your hole. you whine, not used to the sudden intrusion. "what, baby? thought you wanted this?" with a mouth full of your cunt, he finds a way to be snarky.
"s-shut up, ahh!" you're cut off by two slender fingers filling you up, curling in your hole deliciously. for a frat boy, he makes quick work of finding your g-spot.
once he does, he's fingering you hard and relentlessly. choked moans fill the room, along with the sound of sato's messy eating.
his free hand's pinning your thigh down, stopping you from squirming. it pauses to snake up your torso, grabbing greedy handfuls of your tits. the sting of his pretty fingers pinching your nipples hurts so good, makes you arch your back further into him. he's taking the opportunity to press his lips on your clit, eating you like he's starved.
"fuck, i'm gonna cum!-" "no you won't." cool air fans on your pussy as he takes his mouth and fingers away. he's stifling a laugh, eyes crinkling. "you're only cumming on my dick," he explains. "not wasting it on my tongue."
the air is knocked out of you when he flips you over on your back, forcibly arching it towards his dick. he's already lining his tip up with your hole, heat radiating off it. "wait! put on a condom first, at least." there's a low huff behind you.
begrudgingly, he gets one out of the bedside drawer, wasting no time in putting it on. with a harsh thrust, he fills you, immediately going into a relentless pace.
his length is dragging in and out deliciously, tip hitting that spongy spot inside that makes your toes curl. the bed frame is starting to creak and rock forward, making an even bigger dent in the wall in front of it.
"shit, you're tight," he grunts. "god, wished i woulda met you sooner, coulda fucked this pretty pussy ages ago." he's groaning through clenched teeth, trying not to whimper again.
"s-slow down, sato! too much!" he tries, he really does, to slow down, but it's more of a run than full gallop like before. "aww, can't take this dick?" he coos. by the way his hips smack into yours, angled and quick, it's obvious he's getting off on mocking your inexperience.
"no, it's just-ah-my first time." no one can deny that he has good dick, but you want to enjoy this. you're not risking losing a night of studying for a guy to fuck you and be done in 10 minutes.
finally, he slows to a gentle rock. maybe he's taken pity on the newly stretched cunt he's abusing. in the mirror, you can see him blushing, biting his lip trying to contain himself. now it's your turn to tease.
"never fucked a girl slow, huh?" you get why he's such a tease. it's fun. "shut up," he hiccups.
with the new slow pace, you can feel all of his veins dragging against your insides, hitting just right. your tight pussy clenches around him, a gasp coming from behind you. "oh my fuck. it's s' good, so good." sato's hunched over you, panting, praying he doesn't cum now.
meanwhile, your pretty pink walls are fluttering around him, causing his hips to stutter. his once steady pace is jagged, hips sporadically fucking into your doughy ass. "oh, c'mon!" you whine, knowing what's about to happen. "shit-mm sorry. feels too fuckin' good, 'm gonna-"
the last word is stuck in his throat, being choked by a loud sob. thick ropes fill the condom, threatening to pop it. his pretty blue eyes are squeezed shut, mouth agape, moaning your name. he's saying every curse in the book, and making some up.
the way his pelvis grinds into your ass is almost uncomfortable. he crumples in a wet heap on top of you. if it weren't for your quick thinking, he would've squashed you. you turn your head to see his eyes crossed like an anime girl.
"fuck, i'm sorry. i've never came that quick in my whole life." "i know," you deadpan. impossibly, he gets redder, blushing profusely. the 24k gold watch on his wrist says it's been barely 5 minutes. making a man twice your size pussywhipped is fun, but it's not so fun when you don't get a chance to cum. "didn't get mine," you mumble.
"i can uhh fuck you again, if you want. just gimme a sec."
surprisingly quickly, he regains his strength. he's on top of you again, fucking you deep like before. the main difference is it's slow, passionate. instead of fucking you prone, he has you folded up in a mating press, staring into your glossy eyes.
lost in the moment, you find yourself pressing light kisses all over him, lipgloss staining his skin. "f-fuck, sato. feel so good like this." he doesn't push you away when you grab his nape, forcing him deeper into the kiss.
hungrily, he presses into it, moaning into your mouth. his thrusts are deeper and deeper, hips rolling forward to meet yours. his white pubes are gracing your mound, rubbing your clit ever so slightly. there's an intimacy in his movements that you didn't expect. he's not fucking you to get it over with, he's making love to you.
it doesn't take long for you to finish. your orgasm is somehow more explosive than his, pretty legs wrapping around him, pushing him deeper while your walls suck his dick in.
you both sit in silence for a while, bathing in the afterglow. the room reeks of sex and your perfume that's currently covering sato.
"shit, that might've been the best fuck of my life." he's saying it like he can barely believe it himself. "sorry for being such a dipshit earlier. at the tree. i didn't mean any of it." he's avoiding your gaze, instead focusing on the bed. 'it's okay. i know you're used to that, being a fuck boy and all."
he laughs. "i mean, yeah. it's part of my brand, after all. but i swear i'm not that mean, especially not to pretty girls." heat grows on your cheeks. a cheeky smile plasters your face, abashed and wide. "thanks."
there's a beat of silence. he pauses, a puzzled look on his face like he's thinking about something. "got something on your mind?" you ask. "y-yeah. yknow, there's something i wanted to tell y-"
"bro, what's taking you so long? pool game starts in five."
the voice of an obviously inebriated man booms outside the door, cutting off the white haired man on top of you. "shit, that's eren. c'mon, get dressed," he whisper yells.
in a hurry, you both manage to get dressed and look kinda decent in a matter of seconds. unfortunately, sato has no trash can in his room, so he had to throw the condom out the window. you pray for the poor soul it landed on, a loud "what the fuck?!"coming stories below.
with a wobble in your gait, he walks you out of the room. eren's eyeing his friend, like he knows what happened. he probably does, judging by his friend's messy hair and bruised neck. frat guy #1 and #2 are laughing, slapping him on the back for a job well done. "he totally had her screaming, bro."
in your daze, you've ended up back on the front lawn. it's just you now, except for sato. he's digging his feet in the dirt, ruining the fresh turf. your car is parked in the same spot you left it. "this is where you go home, i guess." it's hard to tell if he wants to make you leave as soon as possible, or if he's just too flustered to say it nicely.
you do want to leave, escape this sweaty party, but there's a nagging worry inside you. tears are threatening to spill. you know it's stupid to catch feelings for a frat boy, especially not the biggest one on campus. still, the way he was in the bedroom felt special, like he meant it.
"um, sato?" "yeah?" shaking, you ask "am i just another hookup? like, is this it?" he stares like you've grown an extra head. his unexpected roaring laugh makes you jump. curled over in laughter, his hair is whipping around, making the scene like something out of a cheesy rom-com.
when he finally catches his breath, he wipes a tear from his eye and speaks. "are you crying? no way! you're actually pretty cool." he trails off, adding "plus, i don't want my friends stealing such a pretty girl away from me."
the gojo sato thinking you were cool was not how you expected this night to end. leaving you soon as he got his rocks off, sure, but this must be too good to be true. reading your mind, he says "i can prove it, but maybe not when i look like this." he gestures to his disheveled appearance.
you take it as your sign to part ways, stepping into your ride. before you lock the door, he's running up to the car. "hey. i wanted to give you this." you're looking around, because there's absolutely nothing he could have. "what do you m-" smooch.
it seems the nonchalant, crass, fuckboy sato gojo has kissed you. on the lips. he pulls away, a string of spit connecting your lips. unable to get words out, your jaw is parted slightly in shock.
"cat got your tongue, eh? c'mon, leave so you can pretend you weren't at this party. i've gotta start pool" he slaps the hood of your car, turning to leave with a wink. you swear he's giggling when you finally remember how to close your mouth again.
he watches you drive off, waving before you turn the corner. a giddiness is bubbling up inside, almost too much to contain. you end up screaming in your car, overcome with excitement.
walking to your dorm, heels in hand, a buzz in your purse nearly stops you in your tracks. you ignore it until you're inside, mind powering back up a little. the notifications almost make you drop the tiny talking device.
jo_sigmakappachi has followed you
jo_sigmakappachi: sooo, you gonna give me those hw answers orr👀
classic fratjo. he never changes.
a/n: and what if i told you reader only knows his room is soundproofed because she has the whole layout saved on her phone?
eeek, hard launch into writing for jjk! i've had this idea in my head for the longest, so i finally let it out. that's why i've been slacking on posting (also I had a fever), sorry. hope i did okay on the characterization. if i didn't, just politely lmk so i can improve! i really hope yall enjoyed, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!!
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ when you finally decide to flirt back after years of brushing off sukuna’s teasing, he quickly discovers he can’t handle a taste of his own medicine.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, established friendship, uno reverse card flirting, sukuna is really pathetic, lovestruck behavior, yearning hidden under friendship (?), sukuna is blushing.
part two.
the afternoon light coming through sukuna's apartment windows was that tired golden color, the kind that made everything look a little too soft and a little too warm for a tuesday that felt like a thursday.
you were sprawled on the pink haired boy’s worn-out leather couch with your laptop balanced on your thighs, trying to finish a reading assignment that had no business being this dense, while sukuna sat on the floor across from you with his back against the coffee table, his phone in one hand and a half-empty energy drink in the other.
sukuna's tattoos stretched across his forearms every time he moved to scroll through whatever mindless content he seemed to be invested in, those familiar dark lines shifting over muscle and bone like they'd always been there, like they were just another part of him you'd stopped really noticing years ago. the four-eyes motif on his biceps caught the light when sukuna leaned forward to set his drink down, and you watched him crack his neck in that lazy way he always did when he was bored, the movement causing his jaw to flex once before he settled back against the table leg.
"you're staring," sukuna said without looking up from his phone, and there it was — that particular tilt to his mouth, the one that meant he was about to make things annoying on purpose. "didn't know my forearms were that interesting, sweetheart. could've just asked for a closer look."
you didn't even blink.
"your forearms are fine, kuna. i was actually staring at the window behind you because there's a really weird-looking bird right on the fire escape."
sukuna finally looked up, one dark eyebrow raised, and he turned his head toward the window just to check. when he saw nothing there, his gaze slid back to you with that familiar mixture of amusement and mild offense.
"you're lying."
"oh, am i?" you clicked back to your reading assignment, highlighting a sentence you'd already highlighted twice. "bird must've flown away. tragic timing, really."
sukuna laughed once, short and sharp, and went back to his phone, but you knew damn well he wasn't done; sukuna was never done when he was bored and you were the only person in the room. it was like a game for him, or maybe like a compulsion — throwing out these little flirtatious comments just to see if he could get a reaction, any reaction, even though he'd known you for long enough to understand that you'd stopped reacting to that particular brand of nonsense somewhere around year two of your friendship.
"you know," he said after a moment, dragging the words out like he was savoring them. "most people would at least pretend to be flattered. but you just sit there like a brick wall with a laptop. it's kind of insulting, honestly."
"i'll try to care about your feelings more," you said flatly, not looking up. "let me just find that emotion real quick."
sukuna kicked at your foot with his own, just a light tap of his sneaker against your socked heel.
"you're the worst."
"you're the one who keeps flirting with a brick wall. that sounds like a you problem."
sukuna grinned at that, wide and sharp and entirely unbothered, because this was simply how things worked between the two of you; he'd flirt, you'd deflect, he'd laugh, and then five minutes later he'd ask if you wanted to order food or complain about his stats professor or show you some ridiculous video he found at two in the morning.
it was comfortable, it was routine, and it meant exactly nothing, and you both knew it.
but today, something about the light and the quiet and the way sukuna was sitting there looking entirely too pleased with himself made you feel like switching things up.
just a little.
just to see what would happen.
you set your laptop aside slowly, making a show of closing the screen and placing it on the cushion next to you, and then you turned your body toward him.
sukuna was already watching you with that lazy curiosity he always got when you deviated from your usual patterns, his phone completely forgotten in his hand, and you let your gaze drag over him in a way you never actually did — leisurely and meticulous, like you were taking your time with something you'd been saving for later.
his eyebrows pulled together just slightly. "what?"
"nothing," you said, and you let your voice drop just enough to change the texture of it, to make it softer and slower than your usual flat delivery. "just looking."
you watched the confusion flicker across sukuna's face, quick and genuine, because this wasn't how the script went;
you weren't supposed to look at him like that. you weren't supposed to sound like that. and you sure as hell weren't supposed to slide off the couch to sit on the floor next to him, close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his, close enough that you could smell whatever cheap cologne he'd grabbed off his dresser this morning.
sukuna's hand tightened around his phone.
"okay. you're being weird."
"am i?" you echoed your earlier words back at him, tilting your head just slightly, and you let your fingers rest on the floor between you — not touching him, not yet, but close enough that the proximity felt intentional. "i thought this was what you wanted, kuna. you're always saying all that stuff. figured i'd finally give you a response."
sukuna's throat moved as he swallowed, and you could see the moment his brain started scrambling to catch up with what was happening. the confidence he normally wore like armor seemed to flicker, just for a second, and his gaze dropped to your hand on the floor before snapping back to your face.
"that's—" he started, and then stopped, and you'd never seen sukuna stumble over a word in your entire friendship. "i mean, yeah, but—you don't actually—"
"don't actually what?"
you leaned in just a little, and you watched the tips of sukuna's ears go pink. his ears, of all things. the same sukuna who could make a waiter uncomfortable by accident just by existing was sitting here with pink ears because you'd leaned about four inches closer to him.
"don't actually find you attractive? because i never said that."
sukuna's mouth opened, then closed, and then opened again, and absolutely nothing came out except this small, strangled sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh or the end of his dignity.
you could feel the heat coming off his arm where it was braced on the coffee table, you could see the way his chest had started rising and falling just a little faster than before. his tattoos seemed to move with every small shift of his muscles, the dark lines pulling and relaxing as he failed spectacularly to figure out what the hell to do with his hands.
"you're messing with me," sukuna said finally, and his voice literally cracked on the last word.
ryomen sukuna's voice cracked like he was fourteen years old and talking to his first crush, and you had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too obviously.
"am i?" you asked again, softer this time, and you let your finger trace a small, idle pattern on the floor between you; not toward him, not away from him — just there, like you were thinking about it. "i don't know. maybe i just got tired of you being the only one who gets to have fun."
sukuna's blush was spreading now, crawling down his neck in splotchy patches that disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, and he was gripping his phone like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
you could see his pulse beating in his throat, quick and uneven, and his eyes kept darting between your face and the small space between your bodies like he was trying to calculate something he didn't have the formula for.
"this isn't—" sukuna started, and then he had to stop to clear his throat, and the sound was embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment. "this isn't funny."
"i'm not laughing."
"you're definitely laughing on the inside. i can tell. your eye is doing that thing."
you blinked innocently. "what thing?"
"the thing where you're being an asshole and enjoying it."
but sukuna's voice was way too high to land the way he wanted it to, too breathy to sound like anything other than a man who was rapidly losing control of a situation he'd assumed he'd always be in charge of. his leg was bouncing now, that restless energy he got when he was nervous translating into small, jerky movements that he probably didn't even realize he was making.
you let the silence stretch, you let him sit in the discomfort of not knowing what came next, and you watched as he absolutely failed to fill it with one of his usual easy quips.
sukuna's brain was working overtime behind his eyes, you could easily tell — trying to figure out if you were serious, if this was a joke, if he was supposed to laugh it off or lean into it or run in the opposite direction.
finally, he did the last thing you expected.
he looked away.
sukuna actually looked away, his jaw tightening as he turned his face toward the window, and you could see the way his hand shook just slightly when he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. the movement made his sleeve ride up, exposing more of those dark lines, and you noticed the way his fingers trembled against his own skin.
"you're doing this on purpose," he muttered, and his voice was so quiet you almost didn't hear it. "you're trying to—i don't know what you're trying to do, but you're doing it on purpose."
"maybe," you said, and you let yourself smile then, just a small one, because he looked so genuinely thrown off that it was actually kind of endearing underneath all the hilarity. "maybe i just wanted to see what would happen."
sukuna turned back to look at you, and his eyes were wide in a way you'd never seen before — less of the sharp, amused glint he usually carried and more of something raw and uncertain, like a door you'd accidentally nudged open that he'd been keeping firmly closed. his blush had settled into something deeper now, staining his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and his lips were parted just slightly like he was still trying to figure out how to breathe normally.
"well," he said, and his voice cracked again, softer this time, almost fragile. "are you happy? because i'm—i'm not—this is—"
sukuna gave up on words entirely and just gestured vaguely at himself, at his flushed face and his bouncing leg and his white-knuckled grip on his phone, and the gesture said everything sukuna's his voice couldn't.
you laughed then, not meanly, just a warm exhale of a sound, and you bumped your shoulder against his gently.
"yeah," you said, your voice back to normal now, dropping the flirtatious edge entirely. "i'm pretty happy, actually."
sukuna stared at you for a long moment, his chest still rising and falling too quickly, and then he dropped his head back against the coffee table and made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine.
"i hate you," he said to the ceiling. "i genuinely hate you. you're the worst person i've ever met."
"you're blushing."
"shut up, i'm not blushing. my face is just warm. from the—it's warm in here."
"it's twenty-one degrees in here."
"shut up."
sukuna didn't move his head from the coffee table, but his large hand found your knee — just a brief, clumsy tap before retreating, like he'd meant to do something else and changed his mind at the last second. his fingers were warm through the fabric of your jeans, and you could still feel the slight tremor in them even after he pulled away.
you sat there together in the golden afternoon light, the silence softer now than it had been before, and you watched as sukuna slowly, painfully tried to collect himself.
his ears were still pink, his breathing was still uneven, and every few seconds, his gaze would slide toward you and then snap away again, like looking at you for too long might somehow make things worse.
it was, without a single question, the most pathetic you had ever seen him.
"sooo," you said after a while, keeping your voice light and easy. "you want to order that thai place, or are you too busy being embarrassed to eat?"
sukuna lifted his head just enough to glare at you, but the effect was ruined by the fact that he still looked like he'd just run a marathon in a sauna.
"i'm not embarrassed."
"okay."
"i'm not. i just wasn't expecting—" sukuna stopped, swallowed, tried again. "you don't just—you never—"
"never what?"
he held your gaze for a long, charged moment, and something in his expression flickered — some thought you couldn't quite read, some emotion the pink haired boy shoved back down before it could fully surface. then he looked away once again, reaching for his abandoned energy drink like it might offer him some kind of salvation.
"nothing," he said quietly. "forget it. thai sounds fine."
sukuna didn't flirt with you for the rest of the evening.
not once.
and if you caught him staring at you when he thought you weren't looking, his expression soft and confused and a little bit scared like he'd just discovered something he didn't know how to name — well, you didn't mention that either.
other people never get it right, in his opinion. there’s always a vowel that’s too drawn out, or a consonant that’s pronounced too sharply. he only ever smiles and nods when people say his name like that — it’s fine, sure. but it’s not right.
it’s become something very particular for him.
it’s not sah-toe-roo.
he’s also heard sahh-to-roo.
and some people will extend those vowels past their welcome.
but you? it glides off your tongue like honey.
sa-to-ru.
he likes the way it gets all sharp on your lips when you’re mad at him. satoru would never admit it to you, but sometimes he’ll piss you off on purpose whenever he’s in the mood to hear how you sharpen the consonants like knives when you're telling him off.
“what?” the sorcerer sits back in your office chair, the faintest traces of a completely intentional grin on his face.
he’d come in early for once in his life for this exact purpose; satoru knew you always came in devastatingly punctual, so he’d make sure to greet you the best way he knew how to make your morning: by sitting in your office and kicking his feet up on your paperwork.
you loved things clean. it’s cute. he wants you fucking messy, though!
and you’re seething so adorably, with your face all scrunched up and your shiny eyes narrowed. “does this look like your office, gojo?”
nope. not what he wants to hear.
satoru sits up abruptly, making a show out of glancing around the room, before letting out an exhale of a laugh. “you know, all the offices look suspiciously similar. might wanna bring it up with the higher-ups.”
“get out.”
“did you get enough sleep last night?” he tilts his head, feigning concern. “you’re being awfully rude about this.”
the way you narrow your eyes makes satoru wish he could see them glitter with crystallized tears, with his weight on top of you as he slides his tongue between your thighs—
you suck in a breath past pretty lips. “i’m not in the mood. yaga has me on the clock. please just give me this, gojo.”
please, you say, and it makes him smile smugly. satoru loves hearing it (although he’d love hearing it beneath the dark of a particularly low-lit bedroom), but he needs more. needs your voice to wrap around his name like you own it.
“plead nicer. unfortunately for you, i’m in the mood.”
“fuck, no.”
he leans further back into your chair. “didn’t hear you. sorry?”
“satoru.”
there it is. sa-to-ru; just the way he likes.
on other days, even when you’re rendered all sheepish and embarrassed at one of his jokes, satoru just can’t get enough of the way you say his name.
this time, your tone dulls around the edges, always muttered under your breath in front of important people when he’s threatened to embarrass you with something he’s said — it’s soft and small and stern all at the same time, dancing through the air like warm fucking breeze in the winter. he just wishes you wouldn’t be so quiet about it; if the sorcerer had a choice, he’d have your voice on repeat.
he already does, in a way.
it’s why satoru’s taken to teasing you specifically whenever you have faculty meetings in front of the higher-ups, or whenever you’re particularly engrossed in a lesson with your students, just to see you when you’re caught off your game and a tiny bit upset.
satoru loves you when you’re pouting, loves when your lips press flat into a thin line or when the inside of your cheek catches between your teeth, like you’ve got a retort on the tip of your sweet tongue but won’t let it slip for your own sake. so fucking considerate all the time.
you’re unbelievably gorgeous when you’re so composed.
and you let that sweet little breath of his name slip from your mouth when he’d push you a little too far during your class with your first years on reverse cursed technique. your eyes fixate on the ground, lips downturned, as satoru’d just gotten all of your students to laugh at a little jab towards your explaining methods.
“satoru.” you chastised in a small mumble, “let’s talk after my class, please.”
sa-to-ru.
god, that little whisper will be in his dreams tonight.
he’ll hear it over and over again and wish you’d mumbled it right against his earlobe, because no one else ever deserved to hear your voice like that.
“that’s awfully secretive, sensei. what’s so important that our beloved students can’t listen in on it, hm?” he knows what you’re getting at, of course.
but truthfully, he just wants to see your face contort with that fiery little expression, the same one he wanted to mouth at every inch of until nothing was left but pure bliss.
and satoru’s not shy about the way his heartbeat picks up when you nudge yourself a tiny bit closer, just to make sure he’s the only one who can hear what you say next. just so that your voice is only for him.
as it fucking should be.
the sorcerer’s hand just about brushes your hip, and save him if it isn’t taking everything in him to make sure he doesn’t grab you and pull you into his side like he has the right to do so.
“i don’t want my beloved students to hear me threaten to kill their sensei right here,” oh. satoru’s mind goes deliciously numb.
he grins, the edge of his mouth upturning slowly. “i’d love to see you try.”
you frown a tiny bit more.
“what exactly do you get out of pissing me off all the time?”
well.
⭑.ᐟ
satoru knows well enough that he adores your voice when it’s wrapped around his name.
but he’s decided that he loves it best when it’s completely breaking, paired with the gorgeously suffocating feeling of the skin of your thighs pressed into his fingertips and wrapped around his lips.
he loves when his name is exhaled, high-pitched and whiny like sugar, while his tongue paints a stripe across the wetness coating your lips, swirling circles around your pretty clit.
maybe he liked it the most because it’s how he’s always wanted to hear you say his name — it’s just that you’d always been too fucking stubborn, so insistent on hating him that you’d never stop to think how good you’d taste coating his mouth with your slick.
“sa-ah-toru,” you keen as satoru’s tongue dips past the edge of your soaked hole, curling inwards deliciously, moving slow like he’s savoring every fucking drop.
god, he’s hungry — but he’ll die if he goes too quick and can’t taste you ever again.
and if he grips the back of your thighs just a little bit harder when you sing his name like that? he simply can’t help it. he waited too long for this.
sa-to-ru.
you taste just as sweet as you sound.
you’d burst into his office this morning, bemoaning the fact that satoru hadn’t showed up to the previous briefing with principal yaga, of which ended with yaga blaming it on you. you’re bursting with rage, all up in his face, and it’s all a blur from there until your panties are hooked over your ankle, he’s getting on his knees in front of your office chair, wrapping your thighs over his shoulders, and lapping at your pretty cunt.
he hasn't gasped for air; he’s been too enveloped in your scent to care about breathing. he’ll devour you until no one else can. until all that pretty voice of yours knows how to sound out is sa-to-ru.
satoru narrows his tongue, bullying the muscle deep and slow, down to where you couldn’t have thought possible to reach. his eyes are hazy, half-lidded as you tug at his winter locks, shoving him further into your weeping pussy.
“mmph— fuck,” you pant out, eyes screwed shut as he thrusts his tongue in and out of you at a torturous pace. “fuck— gojo, ‘re going too slow—”
“hmm?” he hums into your clit, sending shockwaves straight up from your core. the sorcerer’s gaze meets yours from under the glimpse of your tits beneath your unbuttoned polo.
he loves you composed, he really does — but you look perfect when you’re all messy, just for him.
his lips glisten with your wetness as he grins. “i'll go faster if you say my name properly, beautiful.”
“h—huh?” your words trail off into a candied whine as he pads his finger just against your entrance, smearing the wetness that covers your folds and popping it into his mouth.
you’re so sweet. fuck, why are you so sweet?
“say my name.” he repeats, his voice cheerful yet rough, the tiniest bit of grit around the edge. “remind me how much you love me, gorgeous.”
your eyes still manage to narrow, even as they glitter with needy frustration. “fuck you— mmh!”
satoru simply frowns against the inside of your thigh as he abruptly bullies the first inch of his finger past your entrance, hissing at how tightly your walls were clamping down on him. his mind goes blurry, swirling with thoughts of how delectable you’d look with your thighs around his hips, bullied open and clamping like a vice down on his cock—
he pulls his finger out with a shudder, cooing at the little pout that forms on your lips. “poor baby. if you can’t handle it, you know, we can stop here. if you want.”
“w— what?” you breathe out, eyes wide and glossy like the thought was insulting. “no, please — please, need you, satoru…”
sa-to-ru.
and you’ve drawn out that last syllable like you want him dead.
“again, sorry?”
“satoru!” you squeal impatiently, and he obliged, simply because he’d never say no to you when you sound like that.
the white-haired man groans, biting down on the inside of your thigh and relishing in the way it makes you whine, all high-pitched and finally sweet on him.
his fingers thrust roughly into your aching pussy, stretching you out and moulding you to shape around his skin. you’re dripping down his palm, and satoru’s mesmerized by the sheen of slick that coats his hand as he pounds his fingers in and out of you steadily.
“shit— so pretty here for me, huh?” satoru whispers reverently, as if speaking directly to your pussy and not to you. “just as sweet as that mouth of yours. just as tight too.”
your hands are making a home for themselves in his hair, hips chasing his thick fingers, grinding yourself further into them like he wasn’t deep enough already. your perfect fucking voice isn’t helping the sorcerer’s case either — he swears he loses every semblance of control he has, bit by bit, at each breath of his name leaving your lips, garbled and slurred and destroyed.
“s’toru, satoru,” your mouth drops open, eyes screwing shut as he curls his fingers right into that spongy spot, office chair creaking as your body slumps back into it. “it’s so— fuck, ‘ts so—”
he laughs breathlessly. “yes, gorgeous?”
“it’s so— oh!”
satoru cherishes everything you have to say, he swears he does.
but he also cherishes the way your lips look, all glossed with drool pooling at the corners, when he leans forward and circles his tongue over your clit in mean little motions, lapping at the sensitive skin in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers. you’re a whining, squirming mess — struggling to stay upright, thoroughly desecrated on the office chair you’d chewed him out just weeks ago for stealing.
satoru hisses as your fingertips tug at his locks, so fucking drunk on the taste of your soaked cunt amidst the lewd sound of his fingers slapping against your sex.
“listen to that,” he rasps out, pausing to let the squelch of your pussy speak for itself before laughing dazedly against your clit. “she’s screaming my name too, isn’t she? so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”
your bleary gaze peeks down at him, eyes questioning amidst the pleasure. “s—satoru, you asshole, stop talking to my— mmh!”
before you can protest, his mouth is diving back in. soft lips latch around your clit, and satoru’s painfully hard at the sound of your voice cracking around the syllables of his name, your throat thick with pleasure at the overstimulation. he doesn’t let up; the white-haired man sucks harder at the sensitive bud, all while scissoring his fingers deep inside of you as if mapping you out.
for when his dick goes inside you, of course.
“it’s t—too much,” you complain in a mewl, eyes blurry with forming tears, “satoru, please, please, ‘m so—”
“fuck, take it, gorgeous,” satoru gasps out against your pussy, lips drenched in your taste. “keep talking to me — shit, you’re tight — let it all out for me, okay?”
satoru’s mind had blanked out a long time ago. between the way your lips form his name in one strung out moan, and the way you taste sweeter than any candy he could’ve ever asked for, he’s starting to wonder if he’d died and gone to heaven.
your voice tangles with the filthy squelches that resound through the cramped space of your office, and he swears nothing could ever be better than this.
except for the way you sound saying his name while you cum.
“i’m— i’m—” you gasp, and satoru takes that as a sign to clamp his lips around your clit and suck, curling his fingers up against your g-spot until — “satoru!”
he’s never heard anything so perfect before. his gaze flicks upwards as you orgasm, watching the way your face scrunches up as your cunt tightens unbearably around every inch of his fingers. satoru’s transfixed by your stupid voice, something out of a porno curated by an angel, and if he’s hoping he’s ruined you with his fingers alone, you’ve ruined him with just the sound of your voice breaking.
your breaths are heavy as you come down from the high; soft and warm, sound waves radiating off of you like sunlight. satoru presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, and you finally peer down at him.
“still mad at me?” the sorcerer grins.
your eyes narrow as soon as you’re back to life. “yes. yaga chewed me out for something that wasn’t even my fault, satoru.”
sa-to-ru. the white-haired man pauses against your inner thigh, raising an eyebrow up at you with something hungry in his eyes. because as soon as you say his name, he decides he’s not fucking done with you yet.
“i’m sorry, gorgeous,” satoru mumbles, giving you a faux-apologetic glance before mischievously pressing a kiss to your clit, watching how your eyes widen. “i guess I’ll just keep going until you forgive me.”
“w—wait!”
satoru gojo really likes the way you say his name.
and he’ll keep making you say it until you know it too.
Satoru Gojo has been obsessed with Suguru's older sister - you - since he was old enough to even remember, and it's only gotten worse since he's grown up. Yet you still see him as 'little toru' when nothing on Satoru Gojo is 'little'. Now you're coming off a terrible breakup with your long term boyfriend Hiromi, and visiting Suguru's family for spring break. What better time to try to make you feel better by having you squirt all over his fingers!? But can you really ever fuck your brother's best friend?
pairings - Fratboy! gojo x Sugu's big sis! reader
warnings -reader is 28, he's 22, your ex is Hiromi hehe, masturbation ( m and f) yandere Gojo, fingering, squirting, oral sex (m receiving) tons of tension, a teeny bit cracked out, Toru is shameless - no one in Sugu's fam is safe from this man
wc-6.4k - NGL it's prob gonna have a pt 2 and maybe 3 lol
art creds here!
Satoru Gojo has been obsessed with you for as long as he can remember – his best friend Suguru’s older sister, watching you right now as you’re by the side of the pool. Suguru hops in and splashes you, making you jump up, your pretty tits bouncing as if to fucking torture him even further.
You’re sweet – achingly sweet, but you don’t look at him that way. You smile all cute like he’s a kid when he’s six-foot-four and you have to look up at him, since you’re six years older than Suguru and him, that’s just how you see him. Satoru thought when he graduated college surely you’d notice he’s a man now, but you treat him the same as ever.
“Little Toru!”
What the fuck on Gojo was little!?
His cock throbs underneath his swim trunks as those drops of water slip down your pretty tits, the sun glimmering off your skin. You came back to visit for the summer with your family, even though you’re twenty-eight you still come to spend time with the family, and Satoru makes sure he’s there too.
You had a nasty break up with your boyfriend, this damn lawyer you used to bring around at Christmas and Thanksgiving, Satoru cheered right in the middle of fisting his cock when he got your text. You all were close after all, he loved to make you feel better in any way he can, put a smile on your pretty face, though he’d love much more to make you fucking drool.
“You got all my sunblock off!” You huff and Suguru sticks his tongue out, your parents are in there with him along with all your annoying little cousins that visit, you’re so cute with them he can’t help but wonder how good of a mom you’d be.
Well, he’d make you one some day.
“I got you sweets,” Satoru walks over and you smile at him, trying your best not to eye fuck your little brother’s best friend – but fuck were his shoulders broader, was he more cut, what the fuck was he eating? He’s impossibly tall these fucking days like he got another inch.
Ovulating around twenty two year old Satoru after a breakup with Hiromi was fucking horrible. You clear your throat and hand him the bottle, you can ignore how his blue eyes flicker across your tits in your bikini, can’t you? Satoru had some cute crush on you, you weren’t immune to it, but he’s too fucking young for you.
“Thanks little Toru,” he laughs softly, sitting behind you and squeezing the sunblock into his palm, gliding it down your back slowly, watching the white lotion meld into your skin, wishing it was something else entirely.
“Little Toru huh,” his voice is soft behind you as his huge hands work across your skin, fingers drifting across your skin and making your lashes flutter shut for a moment, you lean right into the touch as his lips brush near your ear. “What on me is little?”
“I um…” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your parents and Suguru and children are in the damn pool and you’re over here pressing your thighs together, feeling your cunt throb and ache.
“You always called me that,” he chuckles a bit, huge body pressing up against you, casting a shadow as his fingers work the lotion into your shoulders thoroughly, his touch sinfully good. “Do you need more on you?”
“Y-yes please,” you damn near arch with him on your lounge chair, his thighs spread wide, gliding it down your arms.
“You didn’t answer me,” his huge hands take over your arms as they glide them all down your skin. “What’s little?”
You look back at Satoru, biting your lower lip. How fucking mad would Suguru be if you fucked his best friend!?
You can’t go fucking doing that.
Right?
No!?!?
Just because Hiromi hurt you doesn’t mean you can suddenly go and act on impulse, thinking with your pussy rather than any sort of brain cells. It’s simply that you’re comfortable with him, that he’s gorgeous, that for the past few years the way he looks at you makes you feel so pretty – how he talks to you all low and soft, teasing with his big smile.
It’s just that, and the fact that his body is hard, that his skin is hot – his perfect form is present right behind you. You’re fine, just remember it’s friendly, he’s just teasing you like he does. You can’t look at ‘little toru’ who just so happens to be six-foot-four and getting thicker in the chest every time you see him – how does he keep getting more fucking muscles?
Was football really doing all of this?
“I um… just call you that,” you murmur softly, breath caught in your chest, heart hammering so quickly you’re dizzy, especially with the heat radiating down against your skin, his hands brushing more lotion, pausing at your mid back.
“Move your hair to the side, it’s drippin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs lazily, you bite your lip so hard it leaves little teeth marks, pulling your hair to the side and smiling over your shoulder at him.
“There,” you murmur, eyes locked with his.
Fuck you’re pretty.
God he wants to drag you right on his goddamn lap, slide his cock to the hilt – he bets you’re so fucking tight, but he also bets you’re so wet you could just take him. When his hands slide up the curve of your spine, you can hardly stop your cunt from dripping down the damn lounge chair, his hands rubbing all that cream into your skin ever so thoroughly.
“Then why do you call me that, huh sweetheart?” He asks now, you sigh, glaring back at him just a bit. “I’m way fucking bigger than I was when you met me.”
“Well yeah, you were like a kid, Toru.”
“Now I’m way bigger than you, hmm?” His tone echoes in your ears – way bigger… you already know the sheer size of Satoru Gojo, but to think of just how big he is makes your cunt pulse.
“Ahem…” You clear your throat now, rushing up and laughing nervously, ignoring the evident bulge in his light blue swim trunks. “I’m gonna get in!”
“With your sunblock on?” He teases, you can’t answer him – can’t even look at him, no you hop right into the cold chill of the pool, trying to cool your ovulating ovaries the fuck down.
*****
It’s hard to be around you.
Literally hard.
Satoru finds himself heading into the house while you and the family are still splashing around in the pool – he certainly can’t just palm his cock when the whole family is around. He had to rush off into the damn bathroom, shutting the door behind himself, leaking so much pre he’s sticking to his trunks.
"Mnh," Satoru can’t help but tug at his drawstring, those trunks still dripping wet with the faint scent of chlorine clinging to them, he shoves the waistband down, cock springing free, slapping his flat belly button. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Was there a better word for what you do to him? Satoru’s barely biting back a moan, wrapping his hand around that thick base of his shaft, sucking in a breath, he usually has a little more fucking self control but he doesn’t right now. Not when he got to smooth that white cream against your skin and watch it melt into it, fuck imagining rubbing his cum all over your body instead has him pulsing.
Imagine every inch of you covered in him – he’s gone truly psychotic, wanting to fucking mark you like you’re his, he was tired of seeing you with that dumb fucking lawyer. What did you need him for when you could have Satoru? What, because he’s in his thirties, Satoru Gojo was fucking filthy rich, and he’d make sure you never had to lift a pretty little finger.
“I’ll take care of you – hah, b-baby,” he’s whining out, eyelashes fluttering shut, picturing you vividly.
The way those water droplets were glistening on your skin, how your pretty tits bounced when you hopped up and Suguru splashed you. How the little bikini showed beauty marks on your tummy, a couple lines on your hips where they’ve spread just a bit since you were his age – all to spread to have his baby, he’s so sure of it.
Breedable fucking hips that he’d love to hold in his big hands, arching your back for him all pretty like a good girl – he could practically hear the moans that you’d give, they’d be much louder than the soft little sounds you made when he touched your back earlier. He can’t help but want to hear it, hear how fucking loud you get, would your sounds get all muffled as he pressed your head into the mattress?
He’s been jerking it to you since he found out what his cock even did, back when it was honestly terrible to do so, but he has no sense of guilt when it comes to you. Watching you, stealing those panties, practicing just what he’ll say as he fucks his fist devotedly to any picture he’s snuck of you, fuck he took photos from your goddamn family album he was so pathetic.
“Stop teasin’ me sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his cock, slowly at first to just savor the feeling of his precum smearing his reddened tip – all drooly already. He spits right down on his cock, a long trail of gossamer saliva swirling down, using it as lube while picturing how wet you’d get.
He bets you were wet with his hands running across your skin, he could feel heat that couldn’t just be from the sun, surely it was not the rays shining and warming you, it was Satoru’s nearness. He ached to taste the sun right off your skin, your cunt tasted so good on your panties, surely it would taste even better right from the source.
He starts to stroke his cock faster, fucking desperately, imagining your much smaller hand instead of his. You probably couldn’t even wrap those fingers around his girth, you’d have trouble taking him, tummy would just bulge as he moves in and out of your hole. He whimpers at that vision, imagining you looking at him with need, with hearts in your eyes.
Anything but that fucking sweet ‘big sis’ affection.
"Little Toru," he mumbles under his breath, a little laugh escaping him as he strokes his nine inches that would ruin your cunt for anyone else. “Fuck, sweetheart, you really have no idea, do you?"
Satoru’s strokes became more erratic as he imagined lifting your pretty ass up, bending you over the poolside, pulling that bikini aside and finally showing you exactly how ‘little’ he was. Fuck would you scream out Toru when he busted his load inside? When he filled you with all those creampies you deserved and he fingered it inside so it took?
It starts to feel too good, he’s so sensitive he’s leaning against the bathroom counter, groaning out, right about to cum when he hears it.
Someone jiggling the handle.
“I’m… hah, in here,” he manages to bite out, freezing when he hears your voice on the other side of the door.
“Toru I really am freezing, can I just come in real fast to grab a towel? I won’t look or anything,” you’re shivering, water dripping on your parents floor. “All the other bathrooms are taken by the kids and Suguru even stole the one in my old bedroom.”
“Oh… ah…” Your voice is making him pulse, he’s stroking faster, laughing just a bit.
“Are you laughing!? I’m freezing you little brat!”
“Brat, hah – you’re the brat baby,” you blush on the other side of the door, jiggling the handle again. “So eager to see my dick?”
“Oh you’re ridiculous – like I haven’t seen all you have before.”
“That was years ago, I’ve changed,” he murmurs, biting back a whimper unsuccessfully. “Not little Toru anymore.”
“Will you hurry up then? I am so fucking cold, ugh,” you’re shivering in your soaked towel – all the splashing got it so bad it’s fucking useless. “Satoru Gojo!”
“Fuck, fuck just… one sec, you’re impatient,” he strokes his thick cock one more time, whimpering out when his white ropes start spilling on the sink, his eyelashes fluttering, cheeks all flushed in his reflection.
“What the fuck are you doing in there? Did you hurt yourself or something!?”
“Hah… no…” He’s moaning now, the relief felt from his balls not being so goddamn tight and full of cum, he quickly starts wiping down the marble counters littered with his milky strings. “Hold on, okay? Fuck…”
“Fine,” you cross your arms, trembling like crazy, Satoru hastily opens the door after he tugs his swim trunks on, opening it and forcing you to look up at him, so damn tall you’re right there with his chest.
Little Toru indeed.
He’s a giant now.
“Finally,” you mumble, he leans one of those long ass arms over and grabs a dry towel, wrapping it around you and taking the wet one, hanging it up. “Oh thank you.”
“Made ya wait that long, can at least dry you up,” he murmurs, wrapping you even tighter, hands massaging the terry cloth covered arms that are covered in goosebumps. Your breath catches, looking up at him, far too close, you can feel that heat just radiating off his skin. “There, any better?”
“Um yeah, I’m sorry I was so impatient,” you mumble nervously, looking down and seeing the way his abs tense as he breathes, further down to the slutty little happy trail he has.
That’s when you pause.
Is that… is that… cum!? On his fucking belly button!? Is that his tip peaking-
“Satoru!” He blinks curiously as you push at him, his hands still firm on your shoulders.
“What, are you on your period? Acting all moody one minute, sweet the next.”
“You can’t ask me that!? Were you…” You lean close, whispering. “Jerking off, really?”
He smirks.
“I had to freeze so you could finish? Couldn’t you wait till you’re back in the room to do that?”
“Aw, did you wanna watch, sweetheart?” He asks, tilting your chin up, his lids getting lazy over those curved up blue eyes of his. You swallow then, your throat dry from his fingers caressing your jaw. “I would have let you if I knew.”
“Of course I didn’t…” You can’t even speak, not when you’re looking at his abs again, he leans back and laughs a bit.
“Ah, didn’t tug them up enough,” he hides what looks like a pretty blush tip, smiling like he’s fucking embarassed, he is flushed but it’s for an entirely different reason. “Is that better, sweetheart?”
“It’s… on you, god,” it’s your turn to blush, he hums a bit, stepping back lazily to drag his fingers across his own cum, putting them to his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks his own release off them.
Oh fuck.
You swallow nervously, the sight of it is utterly filthy, his hum as if he tastes so sweet, fluffy lashes fluttering. “Mmm, I guess I missed a spot when I cleaned up. My bad.”
“Your bad!? You’re such a…” you trail off now, you’re aching and he looks too fucking good, psychotic ass blue eyes all lit up as they study you. You can't even finish the sentence, your face burning with a blush that has nothing to do with the sun you took in.
"I'm such a what?" he presses closer to you, until your back is against the door, it closes behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the little guest bathroom.
“Such a…” you clear your throat, feeling him against you, you should pinch his ear or smack him in the back of the head like you did when he was younger – but you can’t even move.
He's all warm against you, the sticky remnants of his own release splayed across that pale skin, a hand on the wall beside you. The way he’s looking at you and his sheer proximity are doing things to you that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
“Such a pervert,” you glare and he chuckles, cupping your face with a hand now – that’s not how a twenty two year old frat boy should look down at you, should act, with his arm fucking raised and the little thatch of hair still damp underneath them. His silky locks are falling in slick little strands across his brow. “A total pervert.”
“Me? No, sweetheart,” he smirks down at you like the little shit he is. "I’m just taking care of a problem you caused."
"I caused it!?" you squeak out the words almost embarassing, pushing at his chest half heartedly – he’s so built and muscular it’s like pushing against a brick wall, his heart thudding under your palm. You barely manage a glare. "How is any of this ridiculous behavior my fault?"
He catches your wrists in one of his big hands, thumb brushing over the delicate network of veins, right over your frantic pulse. “How is it your fault?”
“Yes, you psycho.”
“You exist," his words confuse the fuck out of you then, breaths faster until your tits are rising and falling in the top just a bit too small, his gaze drops to it when your towel hopelessly falls. He exhales and traces his hand over the curve of your tit, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches. “That’s how it’s your fault.”
‘B-because I exist?” You whisper, shaking your head now. “You’re just fucking with me, what does that even mean?”
"You wore that bikini,” he murmurs, a thigh coming between yours, instead of tugging away you shamelessly arch your hips, earning his soft little exhale. “You let me put sunscreen on you, didn’t you? Let me touch your skin, while you’re fucking looking like that." His eyes – those impossibly fucking bright blue eyes – drag down your body, like he’s touching you
“That makes no sense, you’ve always seen me in swimsuits, Satoru. You may have had some little crush when you were younger, but you’re an adult.”
“And so the fuck are you, a whole woman, hmm?” He whispers, you hate how good it makes you feel. “Fuck you must be ovulating, swear I can smell it.”
“You cannot freak!?” You shove again, but your hips move, heat emanating even from your soaked bikini bottoms, the scent of chlorine mixing with the sweetness of his breath, the musk of that slight sweat underneath his arms.
“Bet your body wants a baby in her,” he smirks, his hips dragging you down on his thigh, a trail of slick glittering on it. You whine out, biting your lip and shaking your head. "What did you expect to happen, you lookin’ like that, after that man was dumb enough to leave you?"
"I expected you to act like a normal person, even if y-you somehow think I’m hot or something, you can’t just… act like this, all psychotic. What do you mean babies inside me!?”
“Oh you don’t wanna be bred?” You almost whimper goddamn this little brat.
“You’re a little fratboy.”
“A little fratboy?” He repeats, you bite down on your lower lip and nod. “You want me to act normal, huh?”
“Y-yes go back too… whatever it was um… before. Go fuck your little frat girls at your parties, girls your age," your voice is weak, breathless and fucking pathetic – you hate whatever the hell was happening, the fact that you’re aching for him to do just that – pump cum right inside you.
"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, leaning in and letting his lips hover until they’re almost touching yours. "I haven't been normal about you since I was twelve years old."
“That’s insane,” you hiss, shaking your head again, his thigh pressing up and you feel your body respond, his hands tugging at your waist, thumbs right underneath the swells of your breasts.
"You really have no fucking clue, do you?"
Your heart is hammering in your chest as you drink him in, half naked and still glimmering with the pool water.
This is Satoru.
Annoying, bratty, little Toru – who used to follow you around like a lost puppy, then grew to just annoy the ever loving shit out of you. Suguru’s best friend who has spent more time with your parents than you have in the past ten years – he’s ‘Toru’ and that’s that.
Right?
He can’t be the man who sucks cum off his fingers.
You should push him away – walk out and lock yourself in your room for the entirety of the rest of your stay, you should do anything but let his lips brush the corner of your lips, do anything but whimper. Anything but moan softly when he tugs down your top, groaning at the sight of one of your pretty tits bare, with the faint lines the sun left on your skin.
“Oh my fuck,” he whispers, he didn’t know you’d be that fucking beautiful, he had snuck so many glimpses but to see that pretty nipple in person? “Look at you.”
“I… we… even if you’re not Suguru’s best friend, even if you weren’t six years younger – I literally just broke up with-”
“A dumb fuck?” You glare at him. “He’s stupid to ever leave you.
“You don’t know him, and… even if we um… did something-”
“What!?”
You sigh, shaking your head. “Satoru-”
“You wanna do something!? With me!?” You snort a bit at how suddenly cute he is, before he gathers himself, hand trailing down your tummy, it trembles underneath the surprising roughness of his fingertips. “Want me to make you cum, pretty?”
“Fuck,” where’d he learn to talk like this!? Hiromi could eat pussy – and that man could fuck, but something about Satoru’s utter desperation and devotion had you gushing and pulsing around nothing. “I… you can… can you…”
“Can I make you cum?” He chuckles, finding your elastic, slipping his fingers underneath so his finger grazes your clit, your hips buck at it, whining out weakly. “Yeah, sweetheart, I can make you cum until you’re squirting right on this fucking floor.”
“J-just… fuck, just…” You should push him off – but instead, you find yourself shoving his hand down further, eyes fluttering shut, your head back ever so slightly against the door. “There, my clit, please… please, fuck…”
It’s happening.
Satoru’s dreamt of this moment since he even knew somewhat was a pussy was, and yours was soaking goddamn wet, so messy it’s loud, echoing in the bathroom, he swirls it in little circles as you rock your hips, still straddling one of his thighs. He pulls it back and picks you up, making you gasp, sitting you right on the sink and tugging your bottoms to the side.
“Toru, I…”
“Fuck yes, god call me that,” if he hadn’t already jerked off – he’d be cummin’ again just eyeing your needy, puffy cunt. “Fuckin’ perfect lil cunt, god, just look at you, soaked.”
Your lashes flutter shut, expecting a finger and then shocked when you feel a glob of saliva right on your needy clit. “Ah!”
“Mmm,” he’s humming, spreading his own spit around, smirking at the sight of his bubbly, gossamer saliva coating your cunt. “Perfect just like that… Do you need them inside? Bet yours couldn’t hit.”
“Shut it, Toru,” you’re yanking on his wrist, making him moan with how you take over, he’s used to girls just a little too shy, not that it was a bad thing – but you knew what you wanted, grabbing his fingers and sucking them.
“Oh my… f-fuckk…” He almost does cum watching your cheeks hollow, seeing you suck him down to the knuckle, your pretty pussy just drippin’ right down the counter as you arch your hips more.
“Hurry b-before they notice,” you whisper desperately now, guiding his hand down to your needy hole, whining out softly. “Two, put two in, please.”
“Sure you can take it?” You just nod eagerly, he swirls them and then buries them to the fucking hilt inside, you have to smack a hand on your mouth, drool spilling across your palm as he starts easing them in and out. “Fuck, took em s’good just f’me, huh? Just like that, needy lil cunt wants me.”
“Sh-shh,” is all you manage to mumble, lifting your hand and yanking him down, hand entangled in his silky hair. “Once, just once and… we can’t…”
Hah, as if Satoru would just touch you once, when he’s rocking his fingers up and down, making a squelching fucking mess, your eyes roll back in your skull as he works them faster, until the clicking is just echoing obscenely. “Once, huh?”
“You finger me, I’ll s-suck you.”
“Slutty girl,” you can’t stand how he says that, how his long digits press on your puffy lil cervix, barely able to formulate a fucking thought as he works you so much you’re desperately trying to get a breath. “That’s it, gonna cum that easy? Just f’me, hmm? All me?”
You can’t answer, so you drag him down for a kiss – and that’s when you lose it, kissing Satoru wasn’t normal – not the way he moans like a little slut, desperately taking over your mouth. His hands dragging every bit of slick from your cunt as impossibly more comes down his thick fucking fingers.
“God,” he whispers, hardly able to catch his breath. “You’re so tight, fuck…”
“Mnh,” you can hardly manage to speak, think of anything but how good it feels, his fingers going even faster now. “So much… too much I…”
“You can take them baby,” he whispers – in a way ‘little toru’ sure the fuck shouldn’t, his eyes black with their blown out pupils, kissing down the side of your jaw and curving his fingers right up against that soft spot on your front wall. “Look, you’re doin’ s’good already.”
“Ngh,” you’re so goddamn close, your head falling back for him to work you quicker. “Gonna cum… gonna…”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Fuck,” you hiss the words, but Satoru doesn’t pull his fingers back, he moves them slower, to edge you, to torture you.
Isn’t it what you’ve done all these years?
“Act normal,” he murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, sharp teeth nicking it as he eases his fingers out, rubbing your clit back and forth so quickly you’re about to scream out loud. “If you wanna cum, you’ll just act like I’m not here.”
“H-hey, yes?” You barely manage to squeak out, Satoru smiles against your neck, pinching your clit and making you bite down hard on his bare shoulder, leaving glittery teeth marks.
“Sis, we’re about to grill out – I can’t find Satoru,” you found him all right – he’s tugging your hair at the roots so you look at him as he’s about to make you squirt all over. “Have you seen him?”
“Hah I d-did,” fuck, he’s rocking them faster, smirking cruelly at your plight. “I saw him um… upstairs dancing to some t swift.”
“You brat,” he hisses in your ear, Suguru chuckles.
“Yeah, sounds like him.”
It’s not even!?
Satoru shoves his fingers in against that cervix and makes you whine out, grinning all evil as you glare at him. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing, Sugu! Um… I’m getting freshened up, then I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?” You bite back a moan when Satoru’s kissing your neck, tongue lapping up a little vein underneath your skin he traces, free hand plucking your nipple and twisting it. The dual stimulation is too fucking much.
“No worries, sis, I’ll throw some chicken breast on there for you,” now you feel guilty – great!
“Thanks Sugu, you’re the best,” you murmur, he’s walking away now, leaving this psycho who’s fingering you faster. “I’m gonna… cum, fuck, fuck…”
“Aww you’re easy f’me,” he whispers, eyeing you as you’re about to fall apart, fingers shoved right back inside your needy hole. “I’ll make you forget him, forget anyone but me.”
“Psycho, what!? Just… ah!” He slams a big hand over your mouth, chuckling dark and fucking sadistic as he makes you squirt all over, it’s spraying against his hand and even hits his tummy, making him moan.
“God, look at that,” he’s pulling those fingers out of your pulsing walls in wonder, peering at the mess you made. “You’ve got me covered, sweetheart, you’ve got such a slutty lil pussy.”
“Fuck…” You’re so weak, when you hop off and shove him against the wall, kneeling and tugging at his waist band.
“Oh my god…” THIS IS HAPPENING.
The girl of his dreams is on her knees, her squirt all on his fingers, he’s sucking it off them as he grips your hair, letting out a desperate whine when you kitten lick his drooly tip.
“You’re already hard again for me?” Your whisper is diabolical, he barely manages a fucking word – all his braincells gone when you stroke his cock, sucking his tip and swirling the flat of your tongue.
Oh you’re a pro at sucking cock – and he’s mad about it.
“Wish you never had one but mine in your m-mouth,” he’s huffing, pressing on the back of your neck so you take impossibly more of him in your mouth, fucking into your throat needy and desperate. “Do you have n-no gag reflex!?”
“Hmm,” you’d smile if your throat wasn’t blissfully full of his pretty cock – you’d feel bad about that later, not right now, when your fingers are pumping inside your quivering hole, still sensitive from him. When his fingers tighten in your hair, bucking his hips and whimpering out
“Can you take all of it, huh? Doubt you can – oh my f-fuckkk.” You suck him deeper before he can think, your nose brushing against the soft white hairs nestled at his base as you look right up at him. “Oh my… fuck your throat it’s so goddamn slutty… mnh…”
Satoru’s supposed to make you whimper, not the other way around, but how can he do anything other than stutter, bucking them so that he slips his tip right past your uvula, you have tears in your eyes, sniffling a bit, but aside from that you’re bobbing your damn head. He can’t even imagine that lawyer got this, got you sucking him so deep and choking on his cock and left that shit.
Your eyes are so pretty he’s stunned, he dreamt of them looking up at him like this but really nothing could prepare him for what it’s like to have the girl he’s jerked off to forever taking him in between her lips.
"Fuck, your mouth... god, your mouth is better than I ever..." he trails off into a strangled little slutty moan, those pink lips parted as you pull back.
You have strings of saliva and drool just dissolving, he can hear your messy little pussy as you shamelessly overstimulate it, sucking him till he’s dizzy. “Mmm, you like it, huh? You’re so wet for me, Toru.”
“Oh fuck you,” you giggle and he almost laughs – but it turns into a choked little moan, you’re swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge of his tip, tonguing that slit where all his pearly cum is slipping. “God, your fucking mouth.”
“Mhm,” you murmur, before plunging down again, slurping him the fuck down as you look up at him through your lashes.
The sight almost makes him lose it right there, busting from less than two minutes of your pretty lips stretched around him, the sight of your pretty tears at the corner of your eyes the only tell that it took effort stuffing his cock in your throat. Tight, needy throat that reflexively swallows around him as he cups your face to hold it in place, fucking your face harder.
“Gotta finger your cunt again? Needy, messy lil slut – all f’me, isn’t it?” You can’t help but whine out around him – yes, it’s all for him, and he knows it. Even as he’s whining out he’s dominating you, fucking your throat raw – you won’t even be able to talk tomorrow. “I can’t wait to drink that pretty pussy, f-fuck… god, when i pump you full of cum I’ll lick it right out.”
Satoru Gojo is absolutely fucking insane.
And you’re about to cum again just sucking him and fucking your own pussy with your much smaller fingers.
His hips are already jerking off rhythm now, meaner with it as he’s fucking himself back into your willing mouth. "Such a fucking tease for years... ah, shit, don't stop, b-baby please – m’gonna-”
One moment fucking your throat so hard you’re choking, the next murmuring your praises – pretty girl, needy slut, fuckin’ tease, my sweetheart – he’s a babbling mess, and you can’t help but feel so sexy doing it. Hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard as you pull back, feeling his hands tremble as they tug at your hair.
“Gonna swallow all of me? Hah – god just wait, I’ll fill all your fucking holes,” well that just fucking sends you, when he’s not gentle and he’s slamming his cock mean in your throat, heavy balls smacking your chin as you drool down them.
He murmurs your name when you feel him pulse and thicken, before he does just that – fills your throat with all that sweet, salty mix of his cum, hitting the back of your throat. You swallow it all, every last drop fucking greedy as you cum again, spasming and gushing down your own fingers.
You don’t stop licking him – not even after you’ve sucked his milky seed in your throat, you’re sucking his sensitive cock after, until he's whimpering your name.
"Jesus Christ," he whispers, finally letting go of your hair to gently stroke your cheek, you pull back with a messy pop and he struggles to even find a word for what just happened. “You’re so…”
“Good at it?” you tease, standing with his help and giggling, but it’s all shut off when he tilts your chin, kissing your swollen lips and lapping his own cum off with the tip of his tongue.
“Mmm, was gonna say beautiful,” your eyes locked.
Oh fuck.
It’s not just ovulation – you know it then and there.
Before you can have an entire mental breakdown, oh and a quarter life fucking crisis, you both hear everyone laughing outside. “Shit we…”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, fucked out and spent by you.
Satoru wasn’t innocent – but with you he felt like it – there’s never been anything like what you just did, fucking up his goddamn mind.
You rush out to the cookout after getting dressed like nothing happened – acting all unaffected and infuriating him to no end.
But it was just that, an act.
One he calls your ass out when Suguru is flipping burgers on the grill, and he’s handing you a beer with a little curve of his lips. “Oh, thanks ‘little toru’.”
“Hah,” he chuckles a bit, tilting his head. “Your sore throat tells me there’s nothing little about me anymore, hmm?”
“Shh!?” you look around wildly, as if someone could hear. “It was… just… I was…”
“Aching for my cock in your throat?” He leans low now, where no one in your family can hear him. “I’m a gentleman, sweetheart, I prefer to eat my meals first.”
“Eat your…” you blush now. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” he sighs, aching to brush your hair back, but knowing at that moment how many people were around. “Gonna let me return your favor?”
Before you can answer, your mother's voice – all fucking bright and peppy – cuts through the relaxed atmosphere of the pool party, making everyone look over at her curiously. Oh, except Satoru – he’s stuck looking at you underneath his fluffy damn lashes.
"Look who's here! Hiromi, darling, over here!"
Fuck.
Hiromi!?
You turn and there he is. Your ex who broke your damn heart – Hiromi Higuruma, looking all handsome in a dark linen shirt and shorts, his hair just a little bit of a disaster as it always was. He has this polite, almost apologetic smile on his handsome face, the one you used to ride until he drowned in you.
You almost could forget how bad he hurt you until he was right here.
He's holding a bottle of wine and awkwardly greeting your father, who is clapping him on the back all friendly, steering him directly toward you.
"Hiromi, so glad you could make it!" You wanna die. Satoru’s tense as fuck right next to you.
He wants to kill this man.
He would kill anyone that’s ever even touched you, truly, if he could really get away with it.
Your mother is right behind Hiromi, smiling at you and making you scowl. "I just told Hiromi we were so surprised you two happened to be in town at the same time! It's a sign, don't you think, to reconnect? Even as… friends to the family, right?"
Oh, god.
Your fucking parents.
Higuruma's dark brown eyes find yours, and you feel all that pain all over again, mixing with the drink in your system, the pleasure from Suguru’s best friend – and the heat of the sun. Dizzy, you barely feel Satoru’s warmth against you.
It was not just sucking dick – and that terrifies you – but now, Hiromi is here and confusing the ever loving shit out of you. You thought you’d never see him again.
"Hey," he says softly to you, peering over at Satoru for a moment, before his gaze is back on yours. "Your parents invited me here, I didn’t want to be rude but also… didn’t want…”
He sighs then.
“I just really wanted to see you again.”
Satoru’s pretty blue eyes narrow – there’s no fucking way he’s letting anyone touch the girl that just deep throated his cock, the girl who he’s about to put babies inside. No, he’s not sharing – and Hiromi needs to fucking go – he has a girl he needs to make his.
hehe do we wanna pt 2 bc I can't help myselfff - </333 I was actually inspired when i read @revolvingsaturn's fic about Sugu's mom, ngghhh go check it
୧ ‧₊˚ 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 and his poor... exhausted manager ⋅ ✰
the worst part about being satoru gojo’s PR manager isn’t the scandals. it’s the fact he knows how to use his tongue
MDNI ✰ oral (fem receiving) ✰ a lot of pussy eating in here... ✰
art creds to @/narutoss.ramen. all dividers by @/uzmacchiato and @/pixopix
2.1k words
You sighed deeply as you scrolled through the latest disaster on your phone, the glow of the screen illuminating your tired face in the back of the sleek black SUV. Another night, another scandal. As his personal PR manager for the past two years, you’d become an expert at spinning chaos into manageable headlines. But tonight’s mess was particularly sticky.
The tabloids were exploding with photos of Gojo at an exclusive club in Tokyo, shirt half-unbuttoned, surrounded by three models and what looked suspiciously like cocaine on a glass table. The headlines screamed: Gojo Satoru’s Wild Night: Actor or Party Demon?
Your fingers flew across the keyboard, drafting the official statement you’d already sent to the press an hour ago: “Mr. Gojo was attending a private charity event and the images have been taken out of context. He remains committed to his fans and upcoming film projects.”
You rubbed your temples. Gojo had more scandals than some celebrities had followers. Drunken karaoke brawls, leaked videos of him making out with co-stars, rumors of underground fight clubs where he used his “sorcerer” persona from his most recent series for show, and the endless parade of women. Yet the public loved him. The blue-eyed menace was box office gold, and his supernatural charm made him untouchable.
The car door opened. Gojo slid in beside you, all long limbs and effortless arrogance. His white hair was messy, those striking blue eyes hidden behind his usual black sunglasses. He flashed that infuriating grin.
“Missed me, princess?” he drawled, leaning back against the leather seat.
“You’re late,” you said flatly, not looking up from your tablet. “And you smell like vodka and that strong ass cologne.”
He laughed, low and warm. “That’s my signature scent. Want a closer whiff?”
You ignored the flutter in your stomach. This was the game you two played. He caused fires. You put them out. And somehow, over time, the tension between you had grown thicker than the NDA you made every woman he slept with sign.
“Three models, Satoru? Really? The video is trending. I had to call in every favor with the tabloids to kill the worst angles.”
He shrugged, stretching his long legs until his thigh pressed against yours. “They were just fans. Harmless fun.”
“Harmless doesn’t get you trending for all the wrong reasons.” You finally met his gaze—or what you could see of it. “This is the fourth scandal this month. I’m running out of ways to make you look like a misunderstood genius instead of a chaotic himbo.”
Gojo’s grin widened. He reached over and plucked the tablet from your hands, setting it aside. “You’re so good at your job, though. That’s why I keep you around.”
His voice dropped, playful but edged with something darker. Heat. “And because I like rewarding my best girl.”
Your breath caught. This wasn’t new. After particularly brutal clean-ups, Gojo had a habit of “thanking” you in ways that blurred every professional line. You told yourself it was just stress relief. A transaction. But the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his chaotic world that actually mattered—made it dangerous.
The driver raised the partition without being asked.
Gojo’s hand slid onto your knee, long fingers tracing slow circles. “C’mere. Let me show my appreciation.”
“Backseat of a car, Satoru?” you muttered, but your body was already betraying you, thighs pressing together. "Really?"
“Private enough.” He tugged you onto his lap with that effortless strength, your pencil skirt riding up as you straddled him. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking the fabric. “You’ve been working so hard for me. Cleaning up my messes. Dealing with my shit. Don’t you deserve a treat?”
You shivered as he pushed his sunglasses up, revealing those glowing blue eyes.
His mouth found your neck first, hot and teasing, sucking lightly just below your ear while he loosened your blouse. “Let me eat that pretty pussy, baby. Been thinking about it since the club. Nothing tastes better after a long night of damage control.”
You gasped as he lifted you, maneuvering you until your back was against the opposite seat and he was on his knees between your legs. The man who commanded screens and sold out arenas was kneeling for you. Gojo pushed your skirt higher, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs with deliberate slowness.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, voice husky. “Already wet for me. My perfect little manager.”
He spread your thighs wider, exposing you completely in the dim light of the car. His breath ghosted over your core, making you twitch. Then his tongue—hot, wet, and devastating—dragged a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit.
You moaned, hand flying to his white hair. Gojo hummed in satisfaction, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. He licked you like he had all the time in the world, like cleaning up his scandals was worth every second of this reward. His tongue circled your clit with precision, then dipped lower, pushing inside you teasingly before returning to suck gently on that sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Satoru—” you whimpered, hips rolling against his face.
He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as he devoured you. The obscene sounds filled the car: wet slurps, your desperate gasps, his low groans of approval.”
“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled against your folds, lips shiny with your arousal. “Better than any model. Sweeter than revenge. This is what I want after every fuck-up. Your legs around my head while I make you cum.”
Two long fingers slid inside you without warning, curling perfectly against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking harder while his fingers pumped in a steady rhythm. The coil in your belly tightened fast.
You came with a cry, thighs trembling around his ears as pleasure crashed through you. Gojo didn’t stop, licking you through it, drawing out every aftershock until you were panting and oversensitive.
When he finally pulled back, his grin was soaked and smug. “That’s one. Think you can handle more before we get to the hotel?”
The pattern repeated over the next few weeks, each scandal bigger than the last.
First came the leaked audio of Gojo trash-talking a rival actor during a press junket. You spent three days negotiating with studios and issuing apologies. That night, in his penthouse overlooking Tokyo, he laid you out on his massive bed and spent nearly an hour between your thighs. He edged you mercilessly—long, slow licks followed by fast flicks of his tongue—until you were begging. When you finally came, he kept going, making you squirt for the first time while laughing softly against your pussy.
“You’re so good at making me look innocent,” he praised, chin glistening. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”
Then there was the nightclub fight video. Gojo had “accidentally” flipped a table on some guy who’d gotten handsy with one of his female co-stars. The internet called it assault. You called it a PR nightmare. After three all-nighters and a carefully crafted statement about “self-defense,” Gojo rewarded you in his private jet on the way to a premiere.
He had you bent over the leather couch, skirt flipped up, face buried between your cheeks from behind. His tongue fucked into you while his thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles. The altitude and the thrill of being so high up made everything more intense. You came twice before landing, legs shaking so badly he had to carry you off the plane.
Each time, the rewards grew more intense. Gojo was insatiable when it came to you. He loved how composed you were in public—cool, professional, the one who tamed his chaos—and how completely you fell apart for him in private.
One particularly bad week culminated in a leaked sex tape rumor (thankfully fake, but the damage was done). You worked miracles to kill the story. That evening, Gojo didn’t even wait for the car to leave the underground garage of his building.
He dropped to his knees right there, pushed you against the hood of his expensive car, and ate you out like a man starved. Cars drove past on the street level above, but down here it was just the two of you. His tongue was merciless, fingers deep inside you, curling and scissoring while he sucked your clit until you saw white. You came so hard you nearly slid off the hood. He caught you, laughing that rich, cocky laugh.
“My perfect girl,” he whispered, kissing your inner thighs. “I make the messes. You clean them. And I make you scream.”
Months passed. The dynamic deepened.
You stopped pretending it was just rewards. Gojo started showing up at your apartment unannounced, glasses off, eyes soft in a way the public never saw. He’d pull you into his lap on the couch, not always for sex. Sometimes just to talk—about the pressure of being watched all of the time, the loneliness of fame, how your steady presence was the only thing keeping him grounded.
But the sex... the sex was still his favorite way to say thank you.
One night after he’d been caught leaving a love hotel with a famous idol (another fabricated story you’d dismantled), he took you to his bedroom and spent the entire night worshipping you. No rushing. He stripped you slowly, kissing every inch of skin until he reached your core. Then he settled in for a long session.
Gojo’s tongue traced every fold, savoring you. He alternated between gentle licks and harsh sucks, fingers pumping deep while he whispered filthy praise.
“Love how you get so wet for me. Love knowing all those scandals are worth it because I get to bury my face in this sweet pussy afterward. You own me, you know that? The world thinks I’m theirs, but this—” he licked a broad stripe up your center, “—this is mine.”
You came three times that night. Once on his tongue, once on his fingers while he sucked your clit, and once riding his face as he lay back and let you use him. By the end, you were a trembling, blissed-out mess, and Gojo looked happier than he did after any movie premiere.
The latest scandal was the worst yet.
A video surfaced of Gojo in a very compromising position at an afterparty—him, two women, and enough evidence to suggest an orgy. The internet was in meltdown. Sponsors were threatening to pull out. Your phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
You worked for 48 hours straight, barely sleeping. When you finally dragged yourself to his penthouse to deliver the good news (crisis mostly averted), Gojo was waiting.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled you inside, locked the door, and dropped to his knees in the foyer.
“No more work tonight,” he said, voice rough. He pushed your legs apart right there against the wall, yanked your panties aside, and dove in.
His mouth was urgent, almost desperate. Tongue fucking into you, nose grinding against your clit, hands gripping your ass to pull you harder against his face. He moaned like he was the one receiving pleasure, the vibrations making your knees buckle.
You clutched his hair, moaning his name as he devoured you. This wasn’t just a reward anymore. This was need. Hunger. Possession.
He made you cum twice standing up, then carried you to the bedroom and did it again with you on his face. By the time he finally let you rest, your voice was hoarse and your thighs were sticky with his saliva and your releases.
Gojo pulled you against his chest afterward, fingers gently stroking your back.
“I know I’m a handful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I’d burn every scandal into existence if it meant you’d keep letting me do this.”
You laughed weakly, exhausted but content. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah. But I’m yours, baby.”
In the quiet afterglow, with the city lights twinkling outside, you realized something. You didn’t just clean up his messes anymore.
You were part of them. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
𑣲 conductor!satoru catches you without a train ticket… 18+
“you’re kidding, right? they raised the fare again?” you groan, staring at the display of the ticket machine. the numbers glare back, unapologetic.
your fingers hover over the touchscreen as you’re doing mental math, the last twenty in your account won’t cover both the train and dinner— not unless you wanted to survive on vending machine crackers until payday.
the station chatter sounds louder than usual as you step back from the machine, letting an elderly man take your place. you see your train's lights come into view down the track.
decision time.
you’d ridden this line a hundred times— when was the last time you'd even seen a conductor check tickets?
the train doors hiss open with that familiar pneumatic sigh, exhaling the scent of stale coffee and industrial cleaner. you hesitate just half a second— long enough for the crowd to jostle you forward, before carrying yourself through the doors.
you slide into the nearest empty seat, trying to not look like someone dodging to pay the fare.
three stops pass in a blur, and you almost convinced yourself this would work when the compartment door slides open with a sharp clack. a shadow falls across your knees before you even look up— tall, uniform on, fingers drumming against the ticket punch hanging from his belt.
“good afternoon, miss,” greets the white-haired conductor, and something about the way his voice curls around the words makes your stomach flip. “your ticket, please.”
his nametag reads ‘satoru gojo’ in bold white letters.
“my ticket? i— um..” you start to panic slightly, fumbling with your bag, the one day you don’t have one they decide to check, just your luck.
satoru’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and the way his lips press together tells you everything. his fingers stop tapping, instead curling around the ticket punch. "you wouldn't happen to be riding without paying, would you?"
“me? oh, no, i just—” the excuse dies halfway up your throat when he tilts his head, revealing one raised eyebrow beneath the cap's shadow. his other hand is already reaching for the pad clipped to his belt, flipping it open with practiced ease.
now, you’ve got exactly two options.
1. take the fine and let this be a lesson
2. try seducing him into letting you off the hook
fuck it— you decide. this was either about to go very well, or end up as a humiliation ritual.
“come on, satoru,” you murmur, letting his name drag out like honey. his fingers hesitate mid-writing. “it’s my first time.. you can let it slide, right?”
and that‘s how you find yourself on your knees inside the small toilet stall, mouth working around his cock.
his grip in your hair tightens, but it doesn’t stop you from pulling off him with a wet pop, just to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses to the tip of his cock, collecting the small drops of precum at the tip.
“mmpf— fuck, don’t tease,” he moans, nudging your head down. “gotta convince me not to give you that fine, yeah?”
you flick your tongue on his slit, but still going no further than just below the tip, which earns you a breathy whine and a involuntary thrust of his hips.
“‘m working for it, conductor,” you tease, looking up at him through your lashes with doe eyes, then going back to bobbing your head on his cock.
you’re only going down halfway though, which satoru seems to want none of that, as he gives your head a harsh nudge forward, forcing you take him entirely.
tears start to blur your vision, and you give your best not to let your gag-reflex show, so the worst-case-scenario of someone trying to check in on you doesn’t happen. instead, you fight through it, a mixture of your tears and drool sliding down your chin.
you feel his cock twitch, but you barely register him cumming, as sticky thick cum spurts inside your mouth.
a couple of praises leave his mouth and he places his hand at the back of your head to keep you on him as he empties his whole load into your mouth, your mouth full of his cock until you’ve sucked him dry.
you eventually manage to pull back, a string of saliva connecting you still.
“open up,” he commands, hooking his thumb into your mouth to pry it open once more. you comply, sticking your tongue out to show him that you’ve swallowed it all.
“good girl,” he coos, wiping away some stray tears of yours. his hand moves to softly stroke your cheek, before sliding down to trace your bottom lip.
“but you don’t think we’re finished, do you?”
conductor we have a problem!! the official art has me drooling #needthat / !! art by nyannyako_1115 on x !!
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