gojo x reader, noncurse!au
wc: 1.2k
warnings: MDNI!!!!! handjob, bondage (collar and cuffs), blindfolding, edging, light nipple play, he's so violently pathetic, he loves u so much he'll do anything you say!!!
a/n: ib a vid i saw on twt...
satoru sat sunken into the couch, legs spread far enough for you to hook yours over one of them. the weight of your legs kept him from turning away from you, which he’d done enough of as you worked on him.
“’s… so good baby. thank you. thank you—“ he babbles.
your hand drags up and down his cock, the squelch of your fist around him filling his ears.
the only things that adorn his body were a blindfold and a red collar around his neck, thick and tight enough to please you both. attached to it were two chains, each of which led to smaller matching cuffs that bound his wrists. the unforgiving length of the chain left little slack for him to move his arms around, meaning his only option was to buck his hips further into your fist if he needed more friction.
visualizing his bareness in comparison to your casual appearance felt odd to him. being so out in the open while you had on a simple t-shirt and shorts made him feel inferior. embarrassed, even. he loves it.
each time he reached out in an attempt to place his hands over yours or touch himself, he was humbled by the chains that attached his hands to his neck. this only left him to twitch and jolt as you stroked him.
“you want me to keep going?” you asked sweetly. he could only choke out a groan and a desperate nod. the sweat on his body, the cold air of the room, and the increasing speed of your hand was enough to make him shiver.
he felt the warmth pooling in his lower belly as his labored breaths filled the living room. he could hear you saying something, probably sweet-talking him to get him closer, but he was already there.
right as he threw his head back in preparation for his release, you pulled your hand back, leaving his throbbing cock to bob in the air.
a loud, strained whimper escaped from his throat before you smiled satisfyingly. you sigh and he can almost hear your smile.
“okay! i’m tired.”
no, you’re cruel.
“what?” a confused chuckle leaves his dry throat. he tries to scoot his blindfold up with whatever part of his hand that could reach his face, but he’s met with little luck. it only slides up enough to give him a sliver of what’s happening in the room, but he still needs to tilt his head up further so he can see than just his wet lap.
what he sees is a now empty seat on the couch, where you were just sitting. he can hear your footsteps padding towards the kitchen. a clink of the bottles in the door of the fridge as you open it and he’s screwing his eyes shut in frustration. he was so close, all he needed was your touch.
“no, no baby you… have to help me.” he shook his head in defeat with a smile of disbelief, chest heaving from the way you had just handled him.
coming back down to feel his still-leaking tip against his belly, this time without your touch, he scrambles to his feet, making his way towards you in hopes you’ll help him out.
the sight before you was one you couldn’t ever forget. he slid down the couch and onto his knees so he could stand up easier, and frantically made his way to where you were bent over at the fridge. navigating around the coffee table and the articles of clothing he’d stripped earlier in the evening, he stumbled over a throw pillow you’d tossed earlier to make room for yourselves on the couch. choked whines and desperate pleas left his mouth as he pathetically made his way over. you pretended that he wasn’t knocking things over to get to you and continued to stare pointlessly at the contents of the fridge you held open.
when he reaches you, more cries fall from his lips. a cold wetness hits your outer thigh. he humped the air, using the side of your leg to rub himself on for some sort of stimulation. it didn’t matter where, as long as he was touching you it was enough to get him off. a smile creeps onto your face. you stand upward and turn to face the desperate man that stood before you.
“when did i say you could touch me?” you question, stepping back with your arms crossed so there was no contact between you and him.
“i… i’m sorry i—“ he took a deep shaky breath between his words, frowning at the lack of your skin on his.
you reach out and touch the tip of your finger to the underside of his tip, tracing his slit gently. his hips buck forward, searching for more of whatever you’re willing to give him.
using your freehand, you messily lift his blindfold all the way so it sits lopsided on his forehead. a fucked out smile paints his face as he looks at your pretty self. a blindfold isn’t something he’d turn down, but nothing tops seeing you.
before he knows it, he watches you shut the fridge and feels the counter against his back. he goes to grip the edge for support, but is instead reminded of the cuffs and collar you decided to put him in today. not that he’s complaining, he’ll do anything for you.
your hand reconnects with him and you pick up the speed. another hand traces his hip and slowly makes its way up. you cup his chest, thumb brushing over his nipple, and smile up at him, sending a shiver down his spine. you haven't even done anything yet and he’s ready to fall apart in your hands.
the way you squeeze him along with how you play with his chest sends him on his way. his breath hitches and he writhes under your touch. the familiar warmth was rebuilding itself in his lower abdomen, just waiting for you to say the word.
the smirk on your lips doesn’t falter as you savor the scene in front of you. his mouth hung open and let out shaky gasps while his hips pushed forward into your hand. before he could beg you to let him cum, you gave him the green light.
“let go, honey.”
strangled moans echoed off the walls of the kitchen. hips stuttering into your hand to overstimulate himself as he hunched over onto you. his cum coats your shirt and hand as he tried to make himself small within the crook of your neck. the hand that was once on his chest moved to cradle the back of his head while you helped him through his orgasm.
the amount of cum that covered your arm and clothing was shocking, really. “i’m sorry,” he said weakly into your neck. “i’ll help you clean it. promise.”
even while he wasn’t thinking straight, he thought of you. the least you could do was guide him back to the couch and undo the restraints he’s dealt with for the last hour.
the gentle rubs you give his neck and wrists make him melt into your touch, melting the tension in his muscles. he nuzzles into you, slotting his naked self into your side as if you could somehow hold him closer than you already are. while rubbing up and down his arms, you suggest something.
“maybe we’ll put some on your ankles too next time.”
you sniffle, tears staining your cheeks. you rub your face roughly, no longer worried about the state of your makeup now that you’re in the privacy of your own home. toji had already wiped your face the second he saw your red eyes and puffy cheeks, thumbs pulling at the skin beneath your eyes.
when you dramatically plop down on the couch, your dear boyfriend kneels before you, knees placed on either side of your foot. callused hands run down the length of your calf and halt when they reach your ankle. he gently threads the strap of your heel through the buckle, undoing the tight hold it had on your foot. you sigh at the relief, stretching your muscles when he slides the shoe off.
“better?”
you nod, his eyes meeting your tired ones. the scar across his mouth moves with his lips when he frowns at the sight of the eyes you rubbed raw.
he does the same with your other foot, freeing you from the uncomfortable heels you stupidly chose this morning. though, toji doesn’t let you scold yourself, massaging your muscles slow and soft to distract you.
his fingers soon press into the ball of your foot, rubbing the pain away. he slides up, digging just enough into your calf. his broad shoulders are accentuated by the dim light. getting to see him from above only makes him look bigger.
before you know it, his lips are pressed to your knee, placing a quick kiss to it. “need to stop wearing those,” he tells you in dangerously low tone, “as much as i love being on my knees for you, i don’t want it to be because you’re in pain.”
still caught up in his touch and the horrific day you had, you nod silently once again. you can’t muster up the words to agree with him. you wish your tears weren’t blurring your vision so badly so you could see the way his arms flex when he massages you.
another peck, this time on your thigh. he places your feet on his thighs, holding your ankles together.
“too pretty to be crying like this, mama.”
embarrassed, you free one of your ankles to lightly push on his abdomen. “you’re so corny,” you manage to choke out. he’s surprised your voice isn’t more raspy from the sobbing.
“that’s the first thing you say to me?”
he chuckles, placing your legs back on the floor next to him. leaning back on his feet, he stands to his full stature. your teary eyes never leave him, instead tilting your head back to keep the contact as he towers over you.
“let’s sleep, you need it. i’ll carry you.” it’s not a offer. instead, an order. he scoops you up, thick arms sliding under your legs and beneath your shoulders. with ease, he straightens his back and walks you to the bedroom. your arms tighten around his neck, holding yourself close to his chest. he doesn’t really care what makeup you get on his shirt, he just happy he doesn’t have to look at the unbearably sad expression you’ve worn since you got home. he can’t stand to see you like that. if staining his clothes will dry the tears that make his chest tighten, so be it.
“i love you, toji. thank you.” you mumble into his chest. he somehow holds you tighter than before.
you sniffle, tears staining your cheeks. you rub your face roughly, no longer worried about the state of your makeup now that you’re in the privacy of your own home. toji had already wiped your face the second he saw your red eyes and puffy cheeks, thumbs pulling at the skin beneath your eyes.
when you dramatically plop down on the couch, your dear boyfriend kneels before you, knees placed on either side of your foot. callused hands run down the length of your calf and halt when they reach your ankle. he gently threads the strap of your heel through the buckle, undoing the tight hold it had on your foot. you sigh at the relief, stretching your muscles when he slides the shoe off.
“better?”
you nod, his eyes meeting your tired ones. the scar across his mouth moves with his lips when he frowns at the sight of the eyes you rubbed raw.
he does the same with your other foot, freeing you from the uncomfortable heels you stupidly chose this morning. though, toji doesn’t let you scold yourself, massaging your muscles slow and soft to distract you.
his fingers soon press into the ball of your foot, rubbing the pain away. he slides up, digging just enough into your calf. his broad shoulders are accentuated by the dim light. getting to see him from above only makes him look bigger.
before you know it, his lips are pressed to your knee, placing a quick kiss to it. “need to stop wearing those,” he tells you in dangerously low tone, “as much as i love being on my knees for you, i don’t want it to be because you’re in pain.”
still caught up in his touch and the horrific day you had, you nod silently once again. you can’t muster up the words to agree with him. you wish your tears weren’t blurring your vision so badly so you could see the way his arms flex when he massages you.
another peck, this time on your thigh. he places your feet on his thighs, holding your ankles together.
“too pretty to be crying like this, mama.”
embarrassed, you free one of your ankles to lightly push on his abdomen. “you’re so corny,” you manage to choke out. he’s surprised your voice isn’t more raspy from the sobbing.
“that’s the first thing you say to me?”
he chuckles, placing your legs back on the floor next to him. leaning back on his feet, he stands to his full stature. your teary eyes never leave him, instead tilting your head back to keep the contact as he towers over you.
“let’s sleep, you need it. i’ll carry you.” it’s not a offer. instead, an order. he scoops you up, thick arms sliding under your legs and beneath your shoulders. with ease, he straightens his back and walks you to the bedroom. your arms tighten around his neck, holding yourself close to his chest. he doesn’t really care what makeup you get on his shirt, he just happy he doesn’t have to look at the unbearably sad expression you’ve worn since you got home. he can’t stand to see you like that. if staining his clothes will dry the tears that make his chest tighten, so be it.
“i love you, toji. thank you.” you mumble into his chest. he somehow holds you tighter than before.
you sniffle, tears staining your cheeks. you rub your face roughly, no longer worried about the state of your makeup now that you’re in the privacy of your own home. toji had already wiped your face the second he saw your red eyes and puffy cheeks, thumbs pulling at the skin beneath your eyes.
when you dramatically plop down on the couch, your dear boyfriend kneels before you, knees placed on either side of your foot. callused hands run down the length of your calf and halt when they reach your ankle. he gently threads the strap of your heel through the buckle, undoing the tight hold it had on your foot. you sigh at the relief, stretching your muscles when he slides the shoe off.
“better?”
you nod, his eyes meeting your tired ones. the scar across his mouth moves with his lips when he frowns at the sight of the eyes you rubbed raw.
he does the same with your other foot, freeing you from the uncomfortable heels you stupidly chose this morning. though, toji doesn’t let you scold yourself, massaging your muscles slow and soft to distract you.
his fingers soon press into the ball of your foot, rubbing the pain away. he slides up, digging just enough into your calf. his broad shoulders are accentuated by the dim light. getting to see him from above only makes him look bigger.
before you know it, his lips are pressed to your knee, placing a quick kiss to it. “need to stop wearing those,” he tells you in dangerously low tone, “as much as i love being on my knees for you, i don’t want it to be because you’re in pain.”
still caught up in his touch and the horrific day you had, you nod silently once again. you can’t muster up the words to agree with him. you wish your tears weren’t blurring your vision so badly so you could see the way his arms flex when he massages you.
another peck, this time on your thigh. he places your feet on his thighs, holding your ankles together.
“too pretty to be crying like this, baby.”
embarrassed, you free one of your ankles to lightly push on his abdomen. “you’re so corny,” you manage to choke out. he’s surprised your voice isn’t more raspy from the sobbing.
“that’s the first thing you say to me?”
he chuckles, placing your legs back on the floor next to him. leaning back on his feet, he stands to his full stature. your teary eyes never leave him, instead tilting your head back to keep the contact as he towers over you.
“let’s sleep, you need it. i’ll carry you.” it’s not a offer. instead, an order. he scoops you up, thick arms sliding under your legs and beneath your shoulders. with ease, he straightens his back and walks you to the bedroom. your arms tighten around his neck, holding yourself close to his chest. he doesn’t really care what makeup you get on his shirt, he just happy he doesn’t have to look at the unbearably sad expression you’ve worn since you got home. he can’t stand to see you like that. if staining his clothes will dry the tears that make his chest tighten, so be it.
“i love you, toji. thank you.” you mumble into his chest. he somehow holds you tighter than before.
spider-man!choso x reader
wc: 1.8k
warnings: mentions of cheating, fluff at the end, also suggestive and the end but no smut, he's such good boyfriend!!!!! too sweet for his own good
choso couldn’t keep this up much longer.
he doesn’t mean to run off mid-make out, it’s just that a giant mutant wreaking havoc through the city isn’t something he can necessarily ignore. your lips are pulled from his against your will and you practically feel your heart deflate. he doesn’t miss this, decorating your waist with his calloused one to comfort you before he drops those dreaded words on you.
“i have a… thing, honey. i’m sorry.”
you use his chest to keep steady as you lift yourself off his lap. his gaze stays on you longingly, lingering on the frown he regrets causing. his eyes search yours for any hint of disappointment, and unfortunately, he finds what he’s looking for. you shrug, not being able to put up a fight this time. seemingly embarrassed, your arms crossed to cover your bare torso.
“it’s okay, go.”
worry swirls in choso’s head. you’re letting him leave without questioning him? no thoughts about where he’s off to? what he’s doing? has your need to know been stretched too thin? the frantic beeping from his police scanner keeps him from dwelling on your words, and he fights every muscle in his body that begs him to stay with you.
he stumbles out of your bed and swipes his backpack from the corner of your room. with one foot out the door, he pauses, turning on his heels and straight back to you. perplexed, you open your mouth to ask him what he forgot, but he shuts you up with his answer.
a careful hand sneaks behind your ear to tug you into him. slow and careful, he presses his lips to yours. you wanted to pull back, to be frustrated that he would walk out on you once again, but your heart knows better. it deepens, the kiss you craved consuming you both whole.
a crack shoots down the center of choso’s heart when he weakens his hold on you. he feels the frown on your lips, you accept that he has to leave. he separates from you, forcing himself out the door and to the roof to strip to his suit.
you’re mad at him, of course you are, but the way he made his spot in your heart a home keeps you running back to him. you’ll always love him, so you keep the questions you’ve deemed too pushy in the back of your throat or hold him as he falls asleep, exhausted from whatever day he blames his tiredness on.
you whip up dinner, sitting at the table alone as always. a part of you believes he’ll come back, maybe even in time to eat across from you. in hope of his return, you plate his portion and sit in front of the empty seat. the forbidden thought gnaws at you. are you not enough for him anymore?
disgusted by the idea, you try not to let it take too much space in your head. your fork pokes at the sides of your plate, waiting impatiently for the sound of the door to break the silence.
instead, it’s a loud bang on your fire escape and you begin to regret leaving your window open. a shadow is what stands on the other side. they’re facing the building opposite yours, so you can’t make out their identity. what puzzles you is the sleek silhouette they possess. there’s no part of their shadow that looks like clothing. you think to grab a weapon because what else does one do when a possibly naked person drops on your fire escape?
you stand behind your counter, the sharp knife kept tight in your grasp. you’d like to be able to call the police, but the location of your phone is lost on you. all you can do is watch from around the corner and pray choso gets home in the sixty seconds.
they toss their backpack to the metal flooring to pull out a pair of pants, a few flower petals falling out with it. as they slip more clothes on to thankfully cover themself, the high beams of a parking car illuminate their body.
your breath hitches. this person was thankfully not naked. in fact, they were covered head-to-toe by a skin-tight suit. the red and blue that covered their body sent the alarms in your head blaring. you freeze, recognizing the exact colors and suit design from the news clips that top your feed daily.
should you be looking? spider-man’s identity has yet to be revealed and you doubt he wants a random person to find out, especially in a vulnerable moment like this. you softly place the knife on the kitchen tile as to avoid it clinking against the tile, choosing to focus on how to slip into your room unnoticed.
you wait until he gets to dressing his torso, timing yourself to when his vision is obstructed by a hoodie. silently and carefully, you sneak by as fast as possible to your hallway, letting your back hit the wall to keep you standing upright. a heavy breath lets itself out, relieved you’re no longer in his line of sight.
though, you wonder. would it hurt to take a peek? he’s using your fire escape after all.
against your better judgment, you crane your neck around the corner to hopefully catch a clear look at his face. with luck on your side, he has the top of his mask in his fist, ready to tear it off.
there was nothing that could have prepared you for the dark, silky strands that fanned out over his neck. the same hair you had your hands tangled in just hours before. and even though you didn’t need the confirmation, he turned his head slightly to the side, showing off the pout of his lips, one you knew all too well. you quickly flattened yourself against the wall again and tried to process what you’d just witnessed.
a sense of relief blooms in your chest. this answers all the questions that tainted your perception of choso. however, that sweet relief rots into guilt and you realize how horrible it was of you to think so lowly of him. he’s been balancing the weight of the entire city on his back and you had the nerve to be upset every time he left.
still, you stand in disbelief. do you go up to him? do you let him find you? maybe you should pretend you didn’t see any of this, it might stress—
“fuck!”
choso jumps about ten feet in the air when he turns the corner. you stand before him, eyes wide and lips parted.
“baby? what are you doing up?” his blood runs cold, reading your expression. “is something wrong? are you hurt?” he drops his bag to search your arms for any sign of blood or bruising.
when you don’t reply, he panics. he shuffles closer and you can practically feel his heart pounding out of his chest. he cups your face, albeit a little too tight as your cheeks get squished, waiting for your reply.
“i thaw—“ you pause and come up to soften his hold on your face, “i saw you,” you breathe out.
“saw me... you saw me?” it only takes a split second for the words to register. “like out there?” he points to the window he didn’t close, the cold air lightly blowing through the curtains.
“yes… and i’m sorry, really! i didn’t mean to look but… you know when someone is standing outside your window and making all tons of noise—which you should not be doing as spider-man—it’s hard to look away! and then i saw you take off your mask and i genuinely felt my heart jump out of my chest and—“
he cuts you off with a tight embrace, his sore arms shoving you into his chest. your chin sits in the valley of his pecs, and you feel his heartbeat slow. he doesn’t say anything, at least not with his words.
it’s quiet, but not in a way that makes nervousness buzz in your chest, nor in a way that sends you searching for words to fill the silence. no, quiet in a way that makes your heart swell and your breath slow.
“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you,” he mumbles into the top of your head, “i didn’t want to worry you.”
“i think you worried me way more by not telling me.” his eyes close, not wanting to think about the stress he’s caused you. “i thought you were cheating for a little bit.”
“oh, never that, honey. never ever.”
“i know. i just… i had to fill in the gaps so i didn’t feel crazy.”
he loosens his arms around you, letting you look up at his sullen expression. “don’t feel bad, okay? i should’ve never given you time to even come to that conclusion. i should’ve been with you.”
you don’t exactly disagree. he’s missed out on half your relationship, leaving you to pick up pieces of something you didn’t break.
“oh! hold on.” he whips around to pick up the too-old backpack he’d walked in with. he tugs at the janky zipper and sticks his hand in to grab something.
when he turns back to you, his face is drastically different from the giddy one he had just seconds ago. when you look down at what he pulled out of his bag, you can’t help but laugh.
“they got… crushed… on the swing here.”
in his hands are wilting flowers. he holds them out to you defeatedly, some of the petals falling to the floor between you.
“you’re out there fighting god knows what and you still got me flowers?”
“i think that’s the least I could do.” he frowns at you like a kicked puppy.
you accept them and place his hand in yours. “i’ll go find a vase. oh and if it makes you feel better, i made dinner for us,” you pipe up, remembering the table you set before he made his grand entrance, “i even plated yours. it might be cold though.”
“even after i left you in the middle of…”
“you can say it, stupid. we were kissing. making out. we’ve been together too long for you to be shy about this, you know.” your finger pokes into his forehead, tilting it back a little.
“i just… you make me nervous sometimes. all the time, actually.”
“we should get comfortable then.”
“what?”
you nod towards the end of the hall you stand in, the door of your bedroom still open from when he ditched you. his blood rushes south and he thanks himself for keeping the suit as an extra layer of compression under his clothes.
“oh. ohhhhh. okay. yes.”
dinner and flowers are long forgotten, and choso makes up for lost time.
spider-man!choso x reader
wc: 1.8k
warnings: mentions of cheating, fluff at the end, also suggestive and the end but no smut, he's such good boyfriend!!!!! too sweet for his own good
choso couldn’t keep this up much longer.
he doesn’t mean to run off mid-make out, it’s just that a giant mutant wreaking havoc through the city isn’t something he can necessarily ignore. your lips are pulled from his against your will and you practically feel your heart deflate. he doesn’t miss this, decorating your waist with his calloused one to comfort you before he drops those dreaded words on you.
“i have a… thing, honey. i’m sorry.”
you use his chest to keep steady as you lift yourself off his lap. his gaze stays on you longingly, lingering on the frown he regrets causing. his eyes search yours for any hint of disappointment, and unfortunately, he finds what he’s looking for. you shrug, not being able to put up a fight this time. seemingly embarrassed, your arms crossed to cover your bare torso.
“it’s okay, go.”
worry swirls in choso’s head. you’re letting him leave without questioning him? no thoughts about where he’s off to? what he’s doing? has your need to know been stretched too thin? the frantic beeping from his police scanner keeps him from dwelling on your words, and he fights every muscle in his body that begs him to stay with you.
he stumbles out of your bed and swipes his backpack from the corner of your room. with one foot out the door, he pauses, turning on his heels and straight back to you. perplexed, you open your mouth to ask him what he forgot, but he shuts you up with his answer.
a careful hand sneaks behind your ear to tug you into him. slow and careful, he presses his lips to yours. you wanted to pull back, to be frustrated that he would walk out on you once again, but your heart knows better. it deepens, the kiss you craved consuming you both whole.
a crack shoots down the center of choso’s heart when he weakens his hold on you. he feels the frown on your lips, you accept that he has to leave. he separates from you, forcing himself out the door and to the roof to strip to his suit.
you’re mad at him, of course you are, but the way he made his spot in your heart a home keeps you running back to him. you’ll always love him, so you keep the questions you’ve deemed too pushy in the back of your throat or hold him as he falls asleep, exhausted from whatever day he blames his tiredness on.
you whip up dinner, sitting at the table alone as always. a part of you believes he’ll come back, maybe even in time to eat across from you. in hope of his return, you plate his portion and sit in front of the empty seat. the forbidden thought gnaws at you. are you not enough for him anymore?
disgusted by the idea, you try not to let it take too much space in your head. your fork pokes at the sides of your plate, waiting impatiently for the sound of the door to break the silence.
instead, it’s a loud bang on your fire escape and you begin to regret leaving your window open. a shadow is what stands on the other side. they’re facing the building opposite yours, so you can’t make out their identity. what puzzles you is the sleek silhouette they possess. there’s no part of their shadow that looks like clothing. you think to grab a weapon because what else does one do when a possibly naked person drops on your fire escape?
you stand behind your counter, the sharp knife kept tight in your grasp. you’d like to be able to call the police, but the location of your phone is lost on you. all you can do is watch from around the corner and pray choso gets home in the sixty seconds.
they toss their backpack to the metal flooring to pull out a pair of pants, a few flower petals falling out with it. as they slip more clothes on to thankfully cover themself, the high beams of a parking car illuminate their body.
your breath hitches. this person was thankfully not naked. in fact, they were covered head-to-toe by a skin-tight suit. the red and blue that covered their body sent the alarms in your head blaring. you freeze, recognizing the exact colors and suit design from the news clips that top your feed daily.
should you be looking? spider-man’s identity has yet to be revealed and you doubt he wants a random person to find out, especially in a vulnerable moment like this. you softly place the knife on the kitchen tile as to avoid it clinking against the tile, choosing to focus on how to slip into your room unnoticed.
you wait until he gets to dressing his torso, timing yourself to when his vision is obstructed by a hoodie. silently and carefully, you sneak by as fast as possible to your hallway, letting your back hit the wall to keep you standing upright. a heavy breath lets itself out, relieved you’re no longer in his line of sight.
though, you wonder. would it hurt to take a peek? he’s using your fire escape after all.
against your better judgment, you crane your neck around the corner to hopefully catch a clear look at his face. with luck on your side, he has the top of his mask in his fist, ready to tear it off.
there was nothing that could have prepared you for the dark, silky strands that fanned out over his neck. the same hair you had your hands tangled in just hours before. and even though you didn’t need the confirmation, he turned his head slightly to the side, showing off the pout of his lips, one you knew all too well. you quickly flattened yourself against the wall again and tried to process what you’d just witnessed.
a sense of relief blooms in your chest. this answers all the questions that tainted your perception of choso. however, that sweet relief rots into guilt and you realize how horrible it was of you to think so lowly of him. he’s been balancing the weight of the entire city on his back and you had the nerve to be upset every time he left.
still, you stand in disbelief. do you go up to him? do you let him find you? maybe you should pretend you didn’t see any of this, it might stress—
“fuck!”
choso jumps about ten feet in the air when he turns the corner. you stand before him, eyes wide and lips parted.
“baby? what are you doing up?” his blood runs cold, reading your expression. “is something wrong? are you hurt?” he drops his bag to search your arms for any sign of blood or bruising.
when you don’t reply, he panics. he shuffles closer and you can practically feel his heart pounding out of his chest. he cups your face, albeit a little too tight as your cheeks get squished, waiting for your reply.
“i thaw—“ you pause and come up to soften his hold on your face, “i saw you,” you breathe out.
“saw me... you saw me?” it only takes a split second for the words to register. “like out there?” he points to the window he didn’t close, the cold air lightly blowing through the curtains.
“yes… and i’m sorry, really! i didn’t mean to look but… you know when someone is standing outside your window and making all tons of noise—which you should not be doing as spider-man—it’s hard to look away! and then i saw you take off your mask and i genuinely felt my heart jump out of my chest and—“
he cuts you off with a tight embrace, his sore arms shoving you into his chest. your chin sits in the valley of his pecs, and you feel his heartbeat slow. he doesn’t say anything, at least not with his words.
it’s quiet, but not in a way that makes nervousness buzz in your chest, nor in a way that sends you searching for words to fill the silence. no, quiet in a way that makes your heart swell and your breath slow.
“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you,” he mumbles into the top of your head, “i didn’t want to worry you.”
“i think you worried me way more by not telling me.” his eyes close, not wanting to think about the stress he’s caused you. “i thought you were cheating for a little bit.”
“oh, never that, honey. never ever.”
“i know. i just… i had to fill in the gaps so i didn’t feel crazy.”
he loosens his arms around you, letting you look up at his sullen expression. “don’t feel bad, okay? i should’ve never given you time to even come to that conclusion. i should’ve been with you.”
you don’t exactly disagree. he’s missed out on half your relationship, leaving you to pick up pieces of something you didn’t break.
“oh! hold on.” he whips around to pick up the too-old backpack he’d walked in with. he tugs at the janky zipper and sticks his hand in to grab something.
when he turns back to you, his face is drastically different from the giddy one he had just seconds ago. when you look down at what he pulled out of his bag, you can’t help but laugh.
“they got… crushed… on the swing here.”
in his hands are wilting flowers. he holds them out to you defeatedly, some of the petals falling to the floor between you.
“you’re out there fighting god knows what and you still got me flowers?”
“i think that’s the least I could do.” he frowns at you like a kicked puppy.
you accept them and place his hand in yours. “i’ll go find a vase. oh and if it makes you feel better, i made dinner for us,” you pipe up, remembering the table you set before he made his grand entrance, “i even plated yours. it might be cold though.”
“even after i left you in the middle of…”
“you can say it, stupid. we were kissing. making out. we’ve been together too long for you to be shy about this, you know.” your finger pokes into his forehead, tilting it back a little.
“i just… you make me nervous sometimes. all the time, actually.”
“we should get comfortable then.”
“what?”
you nod towards the end of the hall you stand in, the door of your bedroom still open from when he ditched you. his blood rushes south and he thanks himself for keeping the suit as an extra layer of compression under his clothes.
“oh. ohhhhh. okay. yes.”
dinner and flowers are long forgotten, and choso makes up for lost time.
spider-man!choso x reader
wc: 1.8k
warnings: mentions of cheating, fluff at the end, also suggestive and the end but no smut, he's such good boyfriend!!!!! too sweet for his own good
choso couldn’t keep this up much longer.
he doesn’t mean to run off mid-make out, it’s just that a giant mutant wreaking havoc through the city isn’t something he can necessarily ignore. your lips are pulled from his against your will and you practically feel your heart deflate. he doesn’t miss this, decorating your waist with his calloused one to comfort you before he drops those dreaded words on you.
“i have a… thing, honey. i’m sorry.”
you use his chest to keep steady as you lift yourself off his lap. his gaze stays on you longingly, lingering on the frown he regrets causing. his eyes search yours for any hint of disappointment, and unfortunately, he finds what he’s looking for. you shrug, not being able to put up a fight this time. seemingly embarrassed, your arms crossed to cover your bare torso.
“it’s okay, go.”
worry swirls in choso’s head. you’re letting him leave without questioning him? no thoughts about where he’s off to? what he’s doing? has your need to know been stretched too thin? the frantic beeping from his police scanner keeps him from dwelling on your words, and he fights every muscle in his body that begs him to stay with you.
he stumbles out of your bed and swipes his backpack from the corner of your room. with one foot out the door, he pauses, turning on his heels and straight back to you. perplexed, you open your mouth to ask him what he forgot, but he shuts you up with his answer.
a careful hand sneaks behind your ear to tug you into him. slow and careful, he presses his lips to yours. you wanted to pull back, to be frustrated that he would walk out on you once again, but your heart knows better. it deepens, the kiss you craved consuming you both whole.
a crack shoots down the center of choso’s heart when he weakens his hold on you. he feels the frown on your lips, you accept that he has to leave. he separates from you, forcing himself out the door and to the roof to strip to his suit.
you’re mad at him, of course you are, but the way he made his spot in your heart a home keeps you running back to him. you’ll always love him, so you keep the questions you’ve deemed too pushy in the back of your throat or hold him as he falls asleep, exhausted from whatever day he blames his tiredness on.
you whip up dinner, sitting at the table alone as always. a part of you believes he’ll come back, maybe even in time to eat across from you. in hope of his return, you plate his portion and sit in front of the empty seat. the forbidden thought gnaws at you. are you not enough for him anymore?
disgusted by the idea, you try not to let it take too much space in your head. your fork pokes at the sides of your plate, waiting impatiently for the sound of the door to break the silence.
instead, it’s a loud bang on your fire escape and you begin to regret leaving your window open. a shadow is what stands on the other side. they’re facing the building opposite yours, so you can’t make out their identity. what puzzles you is the sleek silhouette they possess. there’s no part of their shadow that looks like clothing. you think to grab a weapon because what else does one do when a possibly naked person drops on your fire escape?
you stand behind your counter, the sharp knife kept tight in your grasp. you’d like to be able to call the police, but the location of your phone is lost on you. all you can do is watch from around the corner and pray choso gets home in the sixty seconds.
they toss their backpack to the metal flooring to pull out a pair of pants, a few flower petals falling out with it. as they slip more clothes on to thankfully cover themself, the high beams of a parking car illuminate their body.
your breath hitches. this person was thankfully not naked. in fact, they were covered head-to-toe by a skin-tight suit. the red and blue that covered their body sent the alarms in your head blaring. you freeze, recognizing the exact colors and suit design from the news clips that top your feed daily.
should you be looking? spider-man’s identity has yet to be revealed and you doubt he wants a random person to find out, especially in a vulnerable moment like this. you softly place the knife on the kitchen tile as to avoid it clinking against the tile, choosing to focus on how to slip into your room unnoticed.
you wait until he gets to dressing his torso, timing yourself to when his vision is obstructed by a hoodie. silently and carefully, you sneak by as fast as possible to your hallway, letting your back hit the wall to keep you standing upright. a heavy breath lets itself out, relieved you’re no longer in his line of sight.
though, you wonder. would it hurt to take a peek? he’s using your fire escape after all.
against your better judgment, you crane your neck around the corner to hopefully catch a clear look at his face. with luck on your side, he has the top of his mask in his fist, ready to tear it off.
there was nothing that could have prepared you for the dark, silky strands that fanned out over his neck. the same hair you had your hands tangled in just hours before. and even though you didn’t need the confirmation, he turned his head slightly to the side, showing off the pout of his lips, one you knew all too well. you quickly flattened yourself against the wall again and tried to process what you’d just witnessed.
a sense of relief blooms in your chest. this answers all the questions that tainted your perception of choso. however, that sweet relief rots into guilt and you realize how horrible it was of you to think so lowly of him. he’s been balancing the weight of the entire city on his back and you had the nerve to be upset every time he left.
still, you stand in disbelief. do you go up to him? do you let him find you? maybe you should pretend you didn’t see any of this, it might stress—
“fuck!”
choso jumps about ten feet in the air when he turns the corner. you stand before him, eyes wide and lips parted.
“baby? what are you doing up?” his blood runs cold, reading your expression. “is something wrong? are you hurt?” he drops his bag to search your arms for any sign of blood or bruising.
when you don’t reply, he panics. he shuffles closer and you can practically feel his heart pounding out of his chest. he cups your face, albeit a little too tight as your cheeks get squished, waiting for your reply.
“i thaw—“ you pause and come up to soften his hold on your face, “i saw you,” you breathe out.
“saw me... you saw me?” it only takes a split second for the words to register. “like out there?” he points to the window he didn’t close, the cold air lightly blowing through the curtains.
“yes… and i’m sorry, really! i didn’t mean to look but… you know when someone is standing outside your window and making all tons of noise—which you should not be doing as spider-man—it’s hard to look away! and then i saw you take off your mask and i genuinely felt my heart jump out of my chest and—“
he cuts you off with a tight embrace, his sore arms shoving you into his chest. your chin sits in the valley of his pecs, and you feel his heartbeat slow. he doesn’t say anything, at least not with his words.
it’s quiet, but not in a way that makes nervousness buzz in your chest, nor in a way that sends you searching for words to fill the silence. no, quiet in a way that makes your heart swell and your breath slow.
“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you,” he mumbles into the top of your head, “i didn’t want to worry you.”
“i think you worried me way more by not telling me.” his eyes close, not wanting to think about the stress he’s caused you. “i thought you were cheating for a little bit.”
“oh, never that, honey. never ever.”
“i know. i just… i had to fill in the gaps so i didn’t feel crazy.”
he loosens his arms around you, letting you look up at his sullen expression. “don’t feel bad, okay? i should’ve never given you time to even come to that conclusion. i should’ve been with you.”
you don’t exactly disagree. he’s missed out on half your relationship, leaving you to pick up pieces of something you didn’t break.
“oh! hold on.” he whips around to pick up the too-old backpack he’d walked in with. he tugs at the janky zipper and sticks his hand in to grab something.
when he turns back to you, his face is drastically different from the giddy one he had just seconds ago. when you look down at what he pulled out of his bag, you can’t help but laugh.
“they got… crushed… on the swing here.”
in his hands are wilting flowers. he holds them out to you defeatedly, some of the petals falling to the floor between you.
“you’re out there fighting god knows what and you still got me flowers?”
“i think that’s the least I could do.” he frowns at you like a kicked puppy.
you accept them and place his hand in yours. “i’ll go find a vase. oh and if it makes you feel better, i made dinner for us,” you pipe up, remembering the table you set before he made his grand entrance, “i even plated yours. it might be cold though.”
“even after i left you in the middle of…”
“you can say it, stupid. we were kissing. making out. we’ve been together too long for you to be shy about this, you know.” your finger pokes into his forehead, tilting it back a little.
“i just… you make me nervous sometimes. all the time, actually.”
“we should get comfortable then.”
“what?”
you nod towards the end of the hall you stand in, the door of your bedroom still open from when he ditched you. his blood rushes south and he thanks himself for keeping the suit as an extra layer of compression under his clothes.
“oh. ohhhhh. okay. yes.”
dinner and flowers are long forgotten, and choso makes up for lost time.
spider-man!choso x reader
wc: 1.8k
warnings: mentions of cheating, fluff at the end, also suggestive at the end but no smut, he's such good boyfriend!!!!! too sweet for his own good
choso couldn’t keep this up much longer.
he doesn’t mean to run off mid-make out, it’s just that a giant mutant wreaking havoc through the city isn’t something he can necessarily ignore. your lips are pulled from his against your will and you practically feel your heart deflate. he doesn’t miss this, decorating your waist with his calloused one to comfort you before he drops those dreaded words on you.
“i have a… thing, honey. i’m sorry.”
you use his chest to keep steady as you lift yourself off his lap. his gaze stays on you longingly, lingering on the frown he regrets causing. his eyes search yours for any hint of disappointment, and unfortunately, he finds what he’s looking for. you shrug, not being able to put up a fight this time. seemingly embarrassed, your arms crossed to cover your bare torso.
“it’s okay, go.”
worry swirls in choso’s head. you’re letting him leave without questioning him? no thoughts about where he’s off to? what he’s doing? has your need to know been stretched too thin? the frantic beeping from his police scanner keeps him from dwelling on your words, and he fights every muscle in his body that begs him to stay with you.
he stumbles out of your bed and swipes his backpack from the corner of your room. with one foot out the door, he pauses, turning on his heels and straight back to you. perplexed, you open your mouth to ask him what he forgot, but he shuts you up with his answer.
a careful hand sneaks behind your ear to tug you into him. slow and careful, he presses his lips to yours. you wanted to pull back, to be frustrated that he would walk out on you once again, but your heart knows better. it deepens, the kiss you craved consuming you both whole.
a crack shoots down the center of choso’s heart when he weakens his hold on you. he feels the frown on your lips, you accept that he has to leave. he separates from you, forcing himself out the door and to the roof to strip to his suit.
you’re mad at him, of course you are, but the way he made his spot in your heart a home keeps you running back to him. you’ll always love him, so you keep the questions you’ve deemed too pushy in the back of your throat or hold him as he falls asleep, exhausted from whatever day he blames his tiredness on.
you whip up dinner, sitting at the table alone as always. a part of you believes he’ll come back, maybe even in time to eat across from you. in hope of his return, you plate his portion and sit in front of the empty seat. the forbidden thought gnaws at you. are you not enough for him anymore?
disgusted by the idea, you try not to let it take too much space in your head. your fork pokes at the sides of your plate, waiting impatiently for the sound of the door to break the silence.
instead, it’s a loud bang on your fire escape and you begin to regret leaving your window open. a shadow is what stands on the other side. they’re facing the building opposite yours, so you can’t make out their identity. what puzzles you is the sleek silhouette they possess. there’s no part of their shadow that looks like clothing. you think to grab a weapon because what else does one do when a possibly naked person drops on your fire escape?
you stand behind your counter, the sharp knife kept tight in your grasp. you’d like to be able to call the police, but the location of your phone is lost on you. all you can do is watch from around the corner and pray choso gets home in the sixty seconds.
they toss their backpack to the metal flooring to pull out a pair of pants, a few flower petals falling out with it. as they slip more clothes on to thankfully cover themself, the high beams of a parking car illuminate their body.
your breath hitches. this person was thankfully not naked. in fact, they were covered head-to-toe by a skin-tight suit. the red and blue that covered their body sent the alarms in your head blaring. you freeze, recognizing the exact colors and suit design from the news clips that top your feed daily.
should you be looking? spider-man’s identity has yet to be revealed and you doubt he wants a random person to find out, especially in a vulnerable moment like this. you softly place the knife on the kitchen tile as to avoid it clinking against the tile, choosing to focus on how to slip into your room unnoticed.
you wait until he gets to dressing his torso, timing yourself to when his vision is obstructed by a hoodie. silently and carefully, you sneak by as fast as possible to your hallway, letting your back hit the wall to keep you standing upright. a heavy breath lets itself out, relieved you’re no longer in his line of sight.
though, you wonder. would it hurt to take a peek? he’s using your fire escape after all.
against your better judgment, you crane your neck around the corner to hopefully catch a clear look at his face. with luck on your side, he has the top of his mask in his fist, ready to tear it off.
there was nothing that could have prepared you for the dark, silky strands that fanned out over his neck. the same hair you had your hands tangled in just hours before. and even though you didn’t need the confirmation, he turned his head slightly to the side, showing off the pout of his lips, one you knew all too well. you quickly flattened yourself against the wall again and tried to process what you’d just witnessed.
a sense of relief blooms in your chest. this answers all the questions that tainted your perception of choso. however, that sweet relief rots into guilt and you realize how horrible it was of you to think so lowly of him. he’s been balancing the weight of the entire city on his back and you had the nerve to be upset every time he left.
still, you stand in disbelief. do you go up to him? do you let him find you? maybe you should pretend you didn’t see any of this, it might stress—
“fuck!”
choso jumps about ten feet in the air when he turns the corner. you stand before him, eyes wide and lips parted.
“baby? what are you doing up?” his blood runs cold, reading your expression. “is something wrong? are you hurt?” he drops his bag to search your arms for any sign of blood or bruising.
when you don’t reply, he panics. he shuffles closer and you can practically feel his heart pounding out of his chest. he cups your face, albeit a little too tight as your cheeks get squished, waiting for your reply.
“i thaw—“ you pause and come up to soften his hold on your face, “i saw you,” you breathe out.
“saw me... you saw me?” it only takes a split second for the words to register. “like out there?” he points to the window he didn’t close, the cold air lightly blowing through the curtains.
“yes… and i’m sorry, really! i didn’t mean to look but… you know when someone is standing outside your window and making all tons of noise—which you should not be doing as spider-man—it’s hard to look away! and then i saw you take off your mask and i genuinely felt my heart jump out of my chest and—“
he cuts you off with a tight embrace, his sore arms shoving you into his chest. your chin sits in the valley of his pecs, and you feel his heartbeat slow. he doesn’t say anything, at least not with his words.
it’s quiet, but not in a way that makes nervousness buzz in your chest, nor in a way that sends you searching for words to fill the silence. no, quiet in a way that makes your heart swell and your breath slow.
“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you,” he mumbles into the top of your head, “i didn’t want to worry you.”
“i think you worried me way more by not telling me.” his eyes close, not wanting to think about the stress he’s caused you. “i thought you were cheating for a little bit.”
“oh, never that, honey. never ever.”
“i know. i just… i had to fill in the gaps so i didn’t feel crazy.”
he loosens his arms around you, letting you look up at his sullen expression. “don’t feel bad, okay? i should’ve never given you time to even come to that conclusion. i should’ve been with you.”
you don’t exactly disagree. he’s missed out on half your relationship, leaving you to pick up pieces of something you didn’t break.
“oh! hold on.” he whips around to pick up the too-old backpack he’d walked in with. he tugs at the janky zipper and sticks his hand in to grab something.
when he turns back to you, his face is drastically different from the giddy one he had just seconds ago. when you look down at what he pulled out of his bag, you can’t help but laugh.
“they got… crushed… on the swing here.”
in his hands are wilting flowers. he holds them out to you defeatedly, some of the petals falling to the floor between you.
“you’re out there fighting god knows what and you still got me flowers?”
“i think that’s the least I could do.” he frowns at you like a kicked puppy.
you accept them and place his hand in yours. “i’ll go find a vase. oh and if it makes you feel better, i made dinner for us,” you pipe up, remembering the table you set before he made his grand entrance, “i even plated yours. it might be cold though.”
“even after i left you in the middle of…”
“you can say it, stupid. we were kissing. making out. we’ve been together too long for you to be shy about this, you know.” your finger pokes into his forehead, tilting it back a little.
“i just… you make me nervous sometimes. all the time, actually.”
“we should get comfortable then.”
“what?”
you nod towards the end of the hall you stand in, the door of your bedroom still open from when he ditched you. his blood rushes south and he thanks himself for keeping the suit as an extra layer of compression under his clothes.
“oh. ohhhhh. okay. yes.”
dinner and flowers are long forgotten, and choso makes up for lost time.
spider-man!ino x reader
wc: 613
warnings: fluff, infamous spider-man kiss, he gets dizzy, he is also so unserious
a/n: more spider!jjk after this!!!
the sleek fabric of his suit clings to his body and you admire his strength. something about how good he is at his job gets you hot and bothered if you think about it too hard.
without breaking eye contact, ino aims his wrist at the ceiling with precision. he single-handedly lifts himself off the ground to hang from his thread of web. studying the way he so effortlessly prepared himself for your long-awaited kiss sent butterflies to your stomach. you could almost see the smile he fought behind his mask. his gloved hand reaches out to cradle the back of your head to pull you closer to him. the distance between you lessens, the tips of your noses grazing each other.
“may i?”
love struck, he nods slowly. he can't help but appreciate how you treat him, how you’re willing to patch him up even after he promises not to get hurt, and how you love him.
your fingers hook under the hem of his mask, taking your time as it drags over each of his features. you twist your head to leave kisses over his jaw, then trailing to his chin. you skip over his inviting lips, saving them for last. you choose to peck his nose instead. an eager grin spreads on his lips and you simply can’t hold back.
you let go of the mask to let your fingers comb in the hair that peeks out from under it. soft, messy strands run through your fingers, enticing you to pull his face closer to yours. you feel your heart swell as your boyfriend does the same.
his lips part and slowly welcome yours. differently to how carefully he cupped your head in his hand, the fervor he conveyed through this kiss was unlike any other. he tilts his head to deepen it and he almost lets out a groan. he feels quite touch starved because his brain can’t begin to comprehend the idea of pulling away. as he savored your taste, he snaked the hand that pet the nape of your neck to your arm, running along the length of it to meet where your hand rested on his cheek.
he must’ve decided he needed a break to look at your face once more because the force behind his kiss had begun to weaken. although, now that you realize it, the grip he had on your hand was loosening as well. before you could open your eyes to figure out what was happening, his body detaches from the web on the ceiling, in turn detaching himself from you.
“kuma!” you cover your mouth with both hands and drop to your knees to tend to your boyfriend, who is now groaning in pain on your bedroom floor.
“just light… lightheaded,” he breathes out, waving you off him.
“isn’t it your job to swing around and be upside down? shouldn’t your body be used to that?” you freak out, pulling his head into your lap to fully take off his mask. his hazy eyes try to focus on you. “fuck, i would’ve never asked you to do this if i knew you were going to collapse!
“no it… it’s not that,” he chuckles in disbelief, still leaving you confused. “i think i forgot to breathe. you were just… i missed you a lot.”
you scoff. “stupid, dumb, idiot,” you hit his arm for each name you call him. “you can’t pull shit like that.”
“well if i go out, i hope it’s like that,” you whine, landing one more slap on his shoulder.
satoru loves to keep his hands on you. if you part from him, even for a second, he yanks you back into his embrace. to him, an inch between you both feels like a mile. he’ll place a hand on your lower back to guide you through a crowd, but it rests on your ass by the time you’ve made it out. maybe the tips of his fingers will dig lightly into the flesh of your stomach, occasionally rubbing up and down. sometimes they creep above your ribcage so your tit spills through the divot between his thumb and index finger. if he chooses to go lower, his pinky sneaks underneath the waist of your bottoms.
he’ll do sweeter things as well, things that make you think he’s too good for you. he’ll play with your fingers while you’re on the phone, swing your legs over his if you’re sitting next to each other, if he really wants to make you swoon (so... always), he'll tug you to his chest by your belt loops and cup your face just to feel it warm.
alien!choso x fem!reader
wc: 2k
warnings: guided masturbation, handjob (?), he's a mess (in every way), you grab His tits and he puts his face in yours, you kind of put him in a headlock, clingy!cho, MDNI!
a/n: this is a continuation of miscommunication!! sorry no tentacles maybe next time...
sweat prickles choso’s flushed skin. something about this entire encounter makes him feel like he did something wrong, like he wasn’t supposed to have his sweats hooked under his dick while he came all over himself in your bed. despite this guilt, he craves your touch. thoughts in his brain tumble over each other, fighting over who gets to speak first. when the tussle never ends, he speaks with his eyes.
he looks at you, his needy gaze boring into your skull until his eyes widen to emphasize that he needs you. when he quickly glances at the hard, leaking problem in his fist, and then back at you, an understanding nod shoots his way and you walk towards him.
“do you need help?”
a hand still cradles himself, occasionally squeezing or pumping to keep himself under control. he fervently nods his head and pumps himself twice to show you what he means. he forgets that doing so gives him that weird feeling, and halfway through the second stroke, he pauses to shudder.
“i know what you mean, cho,” you giggle, “you don’t have to show me.”
“then show me…” he trails off, lost on what he’s actually asking you to do. he goes to demonstrate once more but you catch his wrist. the sensation of your skin on his sets his cheeks on fire, somehow feeling hotter than they were when you walked in here.
“masturbating, cho. touching yourself, jerking off. there are too many names for it but… that’s what you’re doing. feels good right?”
“it does, it’s really good.”
“can i touch you…” you remove your grip on his wrist and point a finger at what he’s still holding, “here?”
he quickly lets go of himself to make room for your hand. this is exactly what he pictured just minutes earlier. this is exactly what got him off. when he mustered up the visual of you with him on this bed, he came soon after. if a pretend scenario made him feel that good, he can’t imagine what the real thing would do to him.
“yes, touch me there!” it came out a little too excitedly, like he was waiting his whole life for you to ask that. you take a seat next to him on your now ruined sheets, and he makes room for you by slinging an arm up to rest on the pillows by his head. you lay by him and it presses against you, almost holding you closer, so you lean into him. while lying on your side, you prop your head up on your hand so you can look down at him.
he feels the roughness of your jeans against his hip while you adjust your position. it’s an uncomfortable feeling to him and he deems them unnecessary. his free hand goes to pull back the denim on your thigh and let go so it falls back into place.
“none of this,” he blurts.
“you have to say please.”
“please?”
“when you want something, you say please.”
“take it off, please?”
you strip yourself of your jeans, leaving you in only a shirt and underwear. choso’s mouth waters as more and more of your skin is exposed to him. you’re so close, touching your knee to his when you put yourself back into his side. “you’re so controlling, cho.” you jest, rubbing circles into his hip. he purses his lips and gulps down the noise that threatened to break out. he can’t even apologize. his body is anything but relaxed the more you touch him. the stray strands of brown hair that fall over his face are pushed back by your hand, the tingles that your nails scraping against his scalp cause turning to a shiver that you snicker at.
“you need to relax, cho. it’s just me.”
that was the exact reason why he couldn’t. he doesn’t even want to think about someone else being so intimate with him, caring for him the way you do, going out of your way to teach him about the things you do in your daily life. his cock almost deflates at the idea.
“give me your hand, i’ll show you, yeah?” you were so sweet, he could practically taste it on his tongue. it would explain the energy he has built up, but thankfully you were there to tire him out. he lets go of himself and thinks about how long he’s held that position. some of the cum that leaked through his fingers is starting to dry, making his nose wrinkle in disgust. he feels embarrassed that you have to hold said hand, but his emotions do a 180 when you spit in his palm.
“sometimes you need lubrication so you don’t just rub yourself dry. there’s actual lube that you can buy but i don’t think we’ll need that. this’ll work just fine.”
his hand is guided by yours, resting overtop his partially wet fingers. you don’t seem to mind the mess.
“i like to start at the tip if i’m using my hand, but you can learn what you like on your own time. or we can learn together if you’d prefer that. if i’m using my mouth i’d lick it, around here,” you stretch out his finger to run along the underside of his head. he mewls at the contact, barely containing himself.
the guidance you bring with your palm is careful, seemingly cautious not to overwhelm him. the smeared saliva you left in his hand starts to dip down, slowly drawing a string that connects it to his base. you pick it up with your pinky and wipe it onto his shaft so it doesn’t go to waste. the sound he lets out makes him wish you were closer to him so he could bite onto your neck to shut himself up.
“you were doing it correctly when i walked in. do it again, show me how you did it.” his hand now lays alone so he can demonstrate. he recalls how he wrapped his fingers around it gently, just like the movie showed him. he starts to regret laying his arm behind you because now he can’t hide his face from you. though your head didn’t lean on his bicep, your closeness wasn’t something he was willing to give up. the quick glances you shoot between him and his cock are enough to get him bucking his hips into nothing. it’s torturous knowing you’re right next to him, so close, yet he still has to use his imagination to get off. the shy thrusts he gives his fist are short-lived, not wanting to go on without your help.
“no, you need to help me. your hand is what helped me, please,” the desperation in his voice was nearly alarming. if he wasn’t just jerking off you’d think his life was at risk. the dreamy sensation of you touching him over his hand was already too much, but he can’t miss out on the chance you’ve given him. you fold and lend yourself. you carry out faster, wetter strokes, causing every muscle in his body to tense with pleasure. he fights the urge to slowly slip his hand away so it’s only you doing the work, but he knows if he were to do so, you’d pull away just the second he does. this is a lesson after all.
the bend your wrist was in from acting as a headrest was getting to be too much. you lift your head to allow yourself to stretch out, instead scooting yourself up so you could slip it underneath the arch of his neck, your head leaning against his. the feeling of your fingers sliding across the nape of his neck to wrap itself around him booted him much closer to his climax. you almost had him in a chokehold, your touch so soft against his shoulders, then his chest, squeezing aimlessly at the muscle.
“you don’t have to go so fast, it’s okay to relax. cumming doesn’t have to happen right away and it’s not always the end goal. as long as it feels good, okay?”
“no, i want to cum for you. i want to be good and say please. like you told me!”
his words slur, becoming more impatient as he went on. he so desperately wants you to want him, to want this with him all the time. the gentle eyes that watch over him make him tremble, ready to let go.
“we don’t— you don’t have to do anything for me, cho. i’m doing this for you, i want to help and make you happy, yeah?”
choso was for sure not listening, and he felt bad for not paying attention. he musters up a way to not blatantly ignore you by nodding his head in agreement about as eagerly as he can. he fears the pressure in his lower half can’t be pushed down anymore, the sensation growing unbearable. the sounds your combined touches make no longer borderline on lewd, instead becoming something more. something so nasty yet so sweet to his ears.
hips lifting off the bed, choso shoves his face into you. he does it in hopes of keeping you from seeing his face as he’s about to come, but he fails to realize that what he thought was your neck is actually your chest. when he feels the squish of your tits against his chin, he doesn’t pull back. you take advantage of his wants, cradling his head further into you. with heavy pants, he whimpers through the cotton of your shirt.
“let me cum, tell me to do it, please, let me…” you can barely make out what he’s saying, but by the way he’s practically crying into you, hips stuttering into the air to chase your joint fists, you can make a good guess. it doesn’t take long until he’s somehow more of a whiny mess than before and confining himself in your tight hold. you’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to ask, that he doesn’t need your permission. then, it clicks. this is how he wants to do it, this is his way. with you.
like music to his ears, you whisper the words he so desperately wanted to hear. he hopes they stay swirling in his head for eternity. with the arm that’s wrapped around him, you rest your hand on his collarbone, thumbing it as the one on his cock is dragged up and down in unison with his. white ropes cover your knuckles, some of it sticking your hand to his. he even splatters onto his own chest and your arm, the wet, warm substance dripping over the mounds as he twists his torso closer to you.
thank you’s are huffed into your tits, his breath hot through the fabric. rubbing up his chest, you make it to his chin to grab it. you lift him up to look at you.
“you did good, cho… so good for me…” you press chaste kisses to his hairline, fingers tickling his face. “you can do it on your own now, i think you learned—” choso’s eyes widen faster than you can process. reluctantly pulling himself from your hold, he shakes his head. his sticky hands grab tight under your knee to pull it over him, hopefully getting your attention.
“i didn’t! what about you? we have more to learn. you have more to teach,” he exclaims. he wants more. no, needs more. he tries to imagine masturbating without you, not having your body next to his. it’s boring. pointless, even.
“i never said you have to, just that you can if you ever want to. don’t worry, i’ll help you whenever.” his breathing is still erratic, frustrated at the idea of pleasuring himself alone. “breathe, choso. i’ll always help you,” you emphasized.
he repositioned himself back in your arms, this time the hand that grasped your leg moved up and under the back of your shirt, pushing you into him. the wetness squished between your bodies, making you wince.
“i need to get a towel, we’re covered in—”
“i’m comfortable.”
“it’s going to dry, you’ll feel gross.”
“i don’t want you to leave,” he admits. he looks like a puppy in your arms, you can’t deny him.
alien!choso x fem!reader
wc: 2k
warnings: guided masturbation, handjob (?), he's a mess (in every way), you grab His tits and he puts his face in yours, you kind of put him in a headlock, clingy!cho
a/n: this is a continuation of miscommunication!! sorry no tentacles maybe next time...
sweat prickles choso’s flushed skin. something about this entire encounter makes him feel like he did something wrong, like he wasn’t supposed to have his sweats hooked under his dick while he came all over himself in your bed. despite this guilt, he craves your touch. thoughts in his brain tumble over each other, fighting over who gets to speak first. when the tussle never ends, he speaks with his eyes.
he looks at you, his needy gaze boring into your skull until his eyes widen to emphasize that he needs you. when he quickly glances at the hard, leaking problem in his fist, and then back at you, an understanding nod shoots his way and you walk towards him.
“do you need help?”
a hand still cradles himself, occasionally squeezing or pumping to keep himself under control. he fervently nods his head and pumps himself twice to show you what he means. he forgets that doing so gives him that weird feeling, and halfway through the second stroke, he pauses to shudder.
“i know what you mean, cho,” you giggle, “you don’t have to show me.”
“then show me…” he trails off, lost on what he’s actually asking you to do. he goes to demonstrate once more but you catch his wrist. the sensation of your skin on his sets his cheeks on fire, somehow feeling hotter than they were when you walked in here.
“masturbating, cho. touching yourself, jerking off. there are too many names for it but… that’s what you’re doing. feels good right?”
“it does, it’s really good.”
“can i touch you…” you remove your grip on his wrist and point a finger at what he’s still holding, “here?”
he quickly lets go of himself to make room for your hand. this is exactly what he pictured just minutes earlier. this is exactly what got him off. when he mustered up the visual of you with him on this bed, he came soon after. if a pretend scenario made him feel that good, he can’t imagine what the real thing would do to him.
“yes, touch me there!” it came out a little too excitedly, like he was waiting his whole life for you to ask that. you take a seat next to him on your now ruined sheets, and he makes room for you by slinging an arm up to rest on the pillows by his head. you lay by him and it presses against you, almost holding you closer, so you lean into him. while lying on your side, you prop your head up on your hand so you can look down at him.
he feels the roughness of your jeans against his hip while you adjust your position. it’s an uncomfortable feeling to him and he deems them unnecessary. his free hand goes to pull back the denim on your thigh and let go so it falls back into place.
“none of this,” he blurts.
“you have to say please.”
“please?”
“when you want something, you say please.”
“take it off, please?”
you strip yourself of your jeans, leaving you in only a shirt and underwear. choso’s mouth waters as more and more of your skin is exposed to him. you’re so close, touching your knee to his when you put yourself back into his side. “you’re so controlling, cho.” you jest, rubbing circles into his hip. he purses his lips and gulps down the noise that threatened to break out. he can’t even apologize. his body is anything but relaxed the more you touch him. the stray strands of brown hair that fall over his face are pushed back by your hand, the tingles that your nails scraping against his scalp cause turning to a shiver that you snicker at.
“you need to relax, cho. it’s just me.”
that was the exact reason why he couldn’t. he doesn’t even want to think about someone else being so intimate with him, caring for him the way you do, going out of your way to teach him about the things you do in your daily life. his cock almost deflates at the idea.
“give me your hand, i’ll show you, yeah?” you were so sweet, he could practically taste it on his tongue. it would explain the energy he has built up, but thankfully you were there to tire him out. he lets go of himself and thinks about how long he’s held that position. some of the cum that leaked through his fingers is starting to dry, making his nose wrinkle in disgust. he feels embarrassed that you have to hold said hand, but his emotions do a 180 when you spit in his palm.
“sometimes you need lubrication so you don’t just rub yourself dry. there’s actual lube that you can buy but i don’t think we’ll need that. this’ll work just fine.”
his hand is guided by yours, resting overtop his partially wet fingers. you don’t seem to mind the mess.
“i like to start at the tip if i’m using my hand, but you can learn what you like on your own time. or we can learn together if you’d prefer that. if i’m using my mouth i’d lick it, around here,” you stretch out his finger to run along the underside of his head. he mewls at the contact, barely containing himself.
the guidance you bring with your palm is careful, seemingly cautious not to overwhelm him. the smeared saliva you left in his hand starts to dip down, slowly drawing a string that connects it to his base. you pick it up with your pinky and wipe it onto his shaft so it doesn’t go to waste. the sound he lets out makes him wish you were closer to him so he could bite onto your neck to shut himself up.
“you were doing it correctly when i walked in. do it again, show me how you did it.” his hand now lays alone so he can demonstrate. he recalls how he wrapped his fingers around it gently, just like the movie showed him. he starts to regret laying his arm behind you because now he can’t hide his face from you. though your head didn’t lean on his bicep, your closeness wasn’t something he was willing to give up. the quick glances you shoot between him and his cock are enough to get him bucking his hips into nothing. it’s torturous knowing you’re right next to him, so close, yet he still has to use his imagination to get off. the shy thrusts he gives his fist are short-lived, not wanting to go on without your help.
“no, you need to help me. your hand is what helped me, please,” the desperation in his voice was nearly alarming. if he wasn’t just jerking off you’d think his life was at risk. the dreamy sensation of you touching him over his hand was already too much, but he can’t miss out on the chance you’ve given him. you fold and lend yourself. you carry out faster, wetter strokes, causing every muscle in his body to tense with pleasure. he fights the urge to slowly slip his hand away so it’s only you doing the work, but he knows if he were to do so, you’d pull away just the second he does. this is a lesson after all.
the bend your wrist was in from acting as a headrest was getting to be too much. you lift your head to allow yourself to stretch out, instead scooting yourself up so you could slip it underneath the arch of his neck, your head leaning against his. the feeling of your fingers sliding across the nape of his neck to wrap itself around him booted him much closer to his climax. you almost had him in a chokehold, your touch so soft against his shoulders, then his chest, squeezing aimlessly at the muscle.
“you don’t have to go so fast, it’s okay to relax. cumming doesn’t have to happen right away and it’s not always the end goal. as long as it feels good, okay?”
“no, i want to cum for you. i want to be good and say please. like you told me!”
his words slur, becoming more impatient as he went on. he so desperately wants you to want him, to want this with him all the time. the gentle eyes that watch over him make him tremble, ready to let go.
“we don’t— you don’t have to do anything for me, cho. i’m doing this for you, i want to help and make you happy, yeah?”
choso was for sure not listening, and he felt bad for not paying attention. he musters up a way to not blatantly ignore you by nodding his head in agreement about as eagerly as he can. he fears the pressure in his lower half can’t be pushed down anymore, the sensation growing unbearable. the sounds your combined touches make no longer borderline on lewd, instead becoming something more. something so nasty yet so sweet to his ears.
hips lifting off the bed, choso shoves his face into you. he does it in hopes of keeping you from seeing his face as he’s about to come, but he fails to realize that what he thought was your neck is actually your chest. when he feels the squish of your tits against his chin, he doesn’t pull back. you take advantage of his wants, cradling his head further into you. with heavy pants, he whimpers through the cotton of your shirt.
“let me cum, tell me to do it, please, let me…” you can barely make out what he’s saying, but by the way he’s practically crying into you, hips stuttering into the air to chase your joint fists, you can make a good guess. it doesn’t take long until he’s somehow more of a whiny mess than before and confining himself in your tight hold. you’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to ask, that he doesn’t need your permission. then, it clicks. this is how he wants to do it, this is his way. with you.
like music to his ears, you whisper the words he so desperately wanted to hear. he hopes they stay swirling in his head for eternity. with the arm that’s wrapped around him, you rest your hand on his collarbone, thumbing it as the one on his cock is dragged up and down in unison with his. white ropes cover your knuckles, some of it sticking your hand to his. he even splatters onto his own chest and your arm, the wet, warm substance dripping over the mounds as he twists his torso closer to you.
thank you’s are huffed into your tits, his breath hot through the fabric. rubbing up his chest, you make it to his chin to grab it. you lift him up to look at you.
“you did good, cho… so good for me…” you press chaste kisses to his hairline, fingers tickling his face. “you can do it on your own now, i think you learned—” choso’s eyes widen faster than you can process. reluctantly pulling himself from your hold, he shakes his head. his sticky hands grab tight under your knee to pull it over him, hopefully getting your attention.
“i didn’t! what about you? we have more to learn. you have more to teach,” he exclaims. he wants more. no, needs more. he tries to imagine masturbating without you, not having your body next to his. it’s boring. pointless, even.
“i never said you have to, just that you can if you ever want to. don’t worry, i’ll help you whenever.” his breathing is still erratic, frustrated at the idea of pleasuring himself alone. “breathe, choso. i’ll always help you,” you emphasized.
he repositioned himself back in your arms, this time the hand that grasped your leg moved up and under the back of your shirt, pushing you into him. the wetness squished between your bodies, making you wince.
“i need to get a towel, we’re covered in—”
“i’m comfortable.”
“it’s going to dry, you’ll feel gross.”
“i don’t want you to leave,” he admits. he looks like a puppy in your arms, you can’t deny him.
alien!choso x fem!reader
wc: 2k
warnings: guided masturbation, handjob (?), he's a mess (in every way), you grab His tits and he puts his face in yours, you kind of put him in a headlock, clingy!cho, MDNI!
a/n: this is a continuation of miscommunication!! sorry no tentacles maybe next time...
sweat prickles choso’s flushed skin. something about this entire encounter makes him feel like he did something wrong, like he wasn’t supposed to have his sweats hooked under his dick while he came all over himself in your bed. despite this guilt, he craves your touch. thoughts in his brain tumble over each other, fighting over who gets to speak first. when the tussle never ends, he speaks with his eyes.
he looks at you, his needy gaze boring into your skull until his eyes widen to emphasize that he needs you. when he quickly glances at the hard, leaking problem in his fist, and then back at you, an understanding nod shoots his way and you walk towards him.
“do you need help?”
a hand still cradles himself, occasionally squeezing or pumping to keep himself under control. he fervently nods his head and pumps himself twice to show you what he means. he forgets that doing so gives him that weird feeling, and halfway through the second stroke, he pauses to shudder.
“i know what you mean, cho,” you giggle, “you don’t have to show me.”
“then show me…” he trails off, lost on what he’s actually asking you to do. he goes to demonstrate once more but you catch his wrist. the sensation of your skin on his sets his cheeks on fire, somehow feeling hotter than they were when you walked in here.
“masturbating, cho. touching yourself, jerking off. there are too many names for it but… that’s what you’re doing. feels good right?”
“it does, it’s really good.”
“can i touch you…” you remove your grip on his wrist and point a finger at what he’s still holding, “here?”
he quickly lets go of himself to make room for your hand. this is exactly what he pictured just minutes earlier. this is exactly what got him off. when he mustered up the visual of you with him on this bed, he came soon after. if a pretend scenario made him feel that good, he can’t imagine what the real thing would do to him.
“yes, touch me there!” it came out a little too excitedly, like he was waiting his whole life for you to ask that. you take a seat next to him on your now ruined sheets, and he makes room for you by slinging an arm up to rest on the pillows by his head. you lay by him and it presses against you, almost holding you closer, so you lean into him. while lying on your side, you prop your head up on your hand so you can look down at him.
he feels the roughness of your jeans against his hip while you adjust your position. it’s an uncomfortable feeling to him and he deems them unnecessary. his free hand goes to pull back the denim on your thigh and let go so it falls back into place.
“none of this,” he blurts.
“you have to say please.”
“please?”
“when you want something, you say please.”
“take it off, please?”
you strip yourself of your jeans, leaving you in only a shirt and underwear. choso’s mouth waters as more and more of your skin is exposed to him. you’re so close, touching your knee to his when you put yourself back into his side. “you’re so controlling, cho.” you jest, rubbing circles into his hip. he purses his lips and gulps down the noise that threatened to break out. he can’t even apologize. his body is anything but relaxed the more you touch him. the stray strands of brown hair that fall over his face are pushed back by your hand, the tingles that your nails scraping against his scalp cause turning to a shiver that you snicker at.
“you need to relax, cho. it’s just me.”
that was the exact reason why he couldn’t. he doesn’t even want to think about someone else being so intimate with him, caring for him the way you do, going out of your way to teach him about the things you do in your daily life. his cock almost deflates at the idea.
“give me your hand, i’ll show you, yeah?” you were so sweet, he could practically taste it on his tongue. it would explain the energy he has built up, but thankfully you were there to tire him out. he lets go of himself and thinks about how long he’s held that position. some of the cum that leaked through his fingers is starting to dry, making his nose wrinkle in disgust. he feels embarrassed that you have to hold said hand, but his emotions do a 180 when you spit in his palm.
“sometimes you need lubrication so you don’t just rub yourself dry. there’s actual lube that you can buy but i don’t think we’ll need that. this’ll work just fine.”
his hand is guided by yours, resting overtop his partially wet fingers. you don’t seem to mind the mess.
“i like to start at the tip if i’m using my hand, but you can learn what you like on your own time. or we can learn together if you’d prefer that. if i’m using my mouth i’d lick it, around here,” you stretch out his finger to run along the underside of his head. he mewls at the contact, barely containing himself.
the guidance you bring with your palm is careful, seemingly cautious not to overwhelm him. the smeared saliva you left in his hand starts to dip down, slowly drawing a string that connects it to his base. you pick it up with your pinky and wipe it onto his shaft so it doesn’t go to waste. the sound he lets out makes him wish you were closer to him so he could bite onto your neck to shut himself up.
“you were doing it correctly when i walked in. do it again, show me how you did it.” his hand now lays alone so he can demonstrate. he recalls how he wrapped his fingers around it gently, just like the movie showed him. he starts to regret laying his arm behind you because now he can’t hide his face from you. though your head didn’t lean on his bicep, your closeness wasn’t something he was willing to give up. the quick glances you shoot between him and his cock are enough to get him bucking his hips into nothing. it’s torturous knowing you’re right next to him, so close, yet he still has to use his imagination to get off. the shy thrusts he gives his fist are short-lived, not wanting to go on without your help.
“no, you need to help me. your hand is what helped me, please,” the desperation in his voice was nearly alarming. if he wasn’t just jerking off you’d think his life was at risk. the dreamy sensation of you touching him over his hand was already too much, but he can’t miss out on the chance you’ve given him. you fold and lend yourself. you carry out faster, wetter strokes, causing every muscle in his body to tense with pleasure. he fights the urge to slowly slip his hand away so it’s only you doing the work, but he knows if he were to do so, you’d pull away just the second he does. this is a lesson after all.
the bend your wrist was in from acting as a headrest was getting to be too much. you lift your head to allow yourself to stretch out, instead scooting yourself up so you could slip it underneath the arch of his neck, your head leaning against his. the feeling of your fingers sliding across the nape of his neck to wrap itself around him booted him much closer to his climax. you almost had him in a chokehold, your touch so soft against his shoulders, then his chest, squeezing aimlessly at the muscle.
“you don’t have to go so fast, it’s okay to relax. cumming doesn’t have to happen right away and it’s not always the end goal. as long as it feels good, okay?”
“no, i want to cum for you. i want to be good and say please. like you told me!”
his words slur, becoming more impatient as he went on. he so desperately wants you to want him, to want this with him all the time. the gentle eyes that watch over him make him tremble, ready to let go.
“we don’t— you don’t have to do anything for me, cho. i’m doing this for you, i want to help and make you happy, yeah?”
choso was for sure not listening, and he felt bad for not paying attention. he musters up a way to not blatantly ignore you by nodding his head in agreement about as eagerly as he can. he fears the pressure in his lower half can’t be pushed down anymore, the sensation growing unbearable. the sounds your combined touches make no longer borderline on lewd, instead becoming something more. something so nasty yet so sweet to his ears.
hips lifting off the bed, choso shoves his face into you. he does it in hopes of keeping you from seeing his face as he’s about to come, but he fails to realize that what he thought was your neck is actually your chest. when he feels the squish of your tits against his chin, he doesn’t pull back. you take advantage of his wants, cradling his head further into you. with heavy pants, he whimpers through the cotton of your shirt.
“let me cum, tell me to do it, please, let me…” you can barely make out what he’s saying, but by the way he’s practically crying into you, hips stuttering into the air to chase your joint fists, you can make a good guess. it doesn’t take long until he’s somehow more of a whiny mess than before and confining himself in your tight hold. you’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to ask, that he doesn’t need your permission. then, it clicks. this is how he wants to do it, this is his way. with you.
like music to his ears, you whisper the words he so desperately wanted to hear. he hopes they stay swirling in his head for eternity. with the arm that’s wrapped around him, you rest your hand on his collarbone, thumbing it as the one on his cock is dragged up and down in unison with his. white ropes cover your knuckles, some of it sticking your hand to his. he even splatters onto his own chest and your arm, the wet, warm substance dripping over the mounds as he twists his torso closer to you.
thank you’s are huffed into your tits, his breath hot through the fabric. rubbing up his chest, you make it to his chin to grab it. you lift him up to look at you.
“you did good, cho… so good for me…” you press chaste kisses to his hairline, fingers tickling his face. “you can do it on your own now, i think you learned—” choso’s eyes widen faster than you can process. reluctantly pulling himself from your hold, he shakes his head. his sticky hands grab tight under your knee to pull it over him, hopefully getting your attention.
“i didn’t! what about you? we have more to learn. you have more to teach,” he exclaims. he wants more. no, needs more. he tries to imagine masturbating without you, not having your body next to his. it’s boring. pointless, even.
“i never said you have to, just that you can if you ever want to. don’t worry, i’ll help you whenever.” his breathing is still erratic, frustrated at the idea of pleasuring himself alone. “breathe, choso. i’ll always help you,” you emphasized.
he repositioned himself back in your arms, this time the hand that grasped your leg moved up and under the back of your shirt, pushing you into him. the wetness squished between your bodies, making you wince.
“i need to get a towel, we’re covered in—”
“i’m comfortable.”
“it’s going to dry, you’ll feel gross.”
“i don’t want you to leave,” he admits. he looks like a puppy in your arms, you can’t deny him.
alien!choso x reader
wc: 644
warnings: cho watches porn without realizing/knowing it's porn, masturbation, voyeurism?
alien!choso who is so eager to please, sneaking into your room to watch the movies you have opened on your (technologically behind) laptop to learn how to communicate with you. what better way to learn than directly from your favorites!
alien!choso who discovers that humans have a really weird way of speaking. he watches the people on the screen, who are wearing a lot less clothing than you usually do, huff and whisper to each other as they lay oddly close on a bed. he thought you said that people on your planet wear garments to cover their body, so why is this movie saying otherwise? they’re making a sound he’s never heard before. it sounds strained and airy, but seems to be out of pleasure.
alien!choso who notices that his face is starting to feel a bit warm. was it this hot in the room when he came in? he pauses the movie and slips off the sweatshirt you gave him. he almost feels better. he would feel better if his pants didn’t feel so tight. he dips his hands below the waistbands of his sweats (also lent by you) to readjust. he shivers when his fingers wrap around himself, and his hand lingers in his pants a little longer than needed.
alien!choso who sucks in a quick breath, similar to the one of the man in the video. he reaches over to resume the video with his free hand and begins to mirror the movements of the womans hand over the mans body. slipping his waistband lower, his leaking tip slaps against his belly and it sends shivers down his spine. he glances over at the screen and attempts to mirror her actions.
alien!choso who traces the thick veins of his cock in the same way the woman traces her partners. he hisses and tightens his grip as he rubs his length, eyes screwed shut before he’s met with an image of you. his chest rises up and down as your name begins to quietly slip off his tongue. the image in his mind morphs into your hand below his waist instead of his, and a warm feeling builds in his lower belly.
alien!choso who is so caught up in his language lesson that he doesn’t hear your keys jingling at the door as you push it open and step inside your home. you slip your shoes off and look around to see that the alien you’d somehow found yourself responsible for was not on the couch or kitchen, where he’d been spending most of his time. “choso! did you see the dinner i made for you on the counter?” you called out, but received no reply.
alien!choso who was still not aware of your return, continued to whimper and whine your name into the emptiness of your bedroom as he brought himself closer. to what, he wasn’t sure, but he needed to keep going. he chased the feeling, leaning into your imaginary touch. the quiet whispering of your name became full moans, though they didn’t fall on deaf ears.
alien!choso whose hips chased his own fist, stomach clenching as his cum spurted onto his stomach and thighs, slowly dripping down onto the covers he laid on. he was still catching his breath before he realized his eyes were still closed. instead of being met with the empty room he was just in, he spotted your figure in the doorway. you stood with your mouth agape, and fingers bent like you were holding your bag, but it fell forgotten by your feet. when his eyes met yours, he mumbled your name desperately.
alien!choso who needed you to help him. to explain to him what he just did, and why he was hardening in his hand again.
office worker!nanami x fem!reader
wc: 1.2k
warnings: bff!gojo, nanami humps his hand to a pic of u, he cums in his pants
gojo is not someone nanami enjoyed the company of.
everyone knew this, especially gojo. aside from meetings and short, work-related texts, nanami avoided conversation with him at all times and mastered the art of tuning him out. gojo didn’t care, he would talk to a wall if he wanted to.
nanami leaned against the counter in the breakroom while gojo went off about any and everything. the weather, his lucky socks going missing, burning his toast this morning, the usual. that was until, he brought up you.
this was the first time nanami regretted not listening to his frustrating coworker, and it will probably be the last. all he caught from the jumble of words gojo was spewing was “best friend” before getting a full-brightness phone screen shoved in his face. it was a picture of you, gojo’s so-called best friend, on the beach with him. you posed in a large sweatshirt, the only bottoms being stringy bikini ones. the sun beats down on your skin while gojo shielded your eyes so you could smile properly. his other hand rested high on your torso, nearing your breast, but you didn’t seem to mind.
nanami’s face falters when his eyes finally uncross. he swallows his saliva but it goes down the wrong pipe, and gojo notices.
“what was that?” gojo pulls his phone away from his face and tilts his head in confusion.
he clears his throat, “what was what?”
“you made a face. was it about her?” gojo raises his phone again and points at you on the screen.
“you’re being annoying. no." he attempts to lean back so he was further from him, but he was already caged in.
“holy shit, it is. you think she’s pretty.” gojo laughs in his face while reaching behind him for a napkin. he pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles something down.
before nanami can swat his hand away, he shoves it in his suit jacket and pats it.
“she knows about you already. she’s single.”
-
when nanami finally steps through the front door of his home, the first thing he does is slip his shoes and suit jacket off and plop himself on the couch. one person can only take so much of gojo's incessant rambling. when he shimmies off his jacket, he feels something crumple in the lining.
fishing through the pockets of his coat, nanami finds the napkin.
on it is your phone number, and unexpectedly, a username. it’s simple, it sounds like it’s just your first and last name. it’s pretty.
the coat in his hand is tossed beside him on the couch, long forgotten once he starts mentally drafting a text to you. his fingers hover over the keyboard, hitting the backspace button more than actual letters. the message he’d typed and retyped one-too-many times stared back at him as imaginary scenarios swirled in his head.
what if you don’t respond? he’ll just look desperate. he doesn’t do things like this. he doesn't know how to.
but what if you do? what if you reply, and plan a date? what if it goes well and you go on another, and another, and another? one of those dates could be to the beach, and he’ll be the one placing his hands too high (or low) on your body.
he sends a simple hello, and a clarification of who's texting you.
heat flushes his face over nothing and he takes a deep breath. he thinks back to the other thing gojo scribbled on the napkin, a username. almost on autopilot, nanami pulls up your profile and is clicking through your photos, being careful not to double tap at 2:23 a.m.
in one, you pose at dinner with a sheepish smile. your eyes aren’t focused on the camera, instead taking interest in the person holding it. he taps once to see if anyone is tagged, and thankfully, it’s only the irritating person that gave him your number. he scrolls lower and lands on a photo of you in bed.
it’s a screenshot from your laptop. you lay on your side in a loose lounge top, your head propped up by your hand. your shirt is a little lopsided, maybe from shifting around. the longer he drinks in your figure, the more he notices. he wonders if it was cold in the room, because through the thin-looking fabric your nipples poke out ever so slightly. there’s a thin sliver of your hip on the far right of the photo. did your shorts ride up? are you even wearing shorts? nanami doesn’t have time to dwell on that, he has something else to worry about.
calloused fingers run through his tousled blond hair. his face felt hot, and it was spreading down his neck. his palm falls to the back of his neck to rub it, maybe to rub away the filth he felt too. he trails lower, right below his collarbone to tug at the folded collar of his dress shirt. the hand that still held his phone scrolls a few photos down until he hits a familiar one. he hasn’t seen it before, but he recognizes something. the pattern on skimpy bikini you show off in this photo are identical to the one that peeked out from under your sweatshirt in the photo gojo showed him. it must've been taken on the same day. does he really get to see you like this all the time?
one final time, the two fingers that tugged on the sleek collar of his shirt skip over his torso and fall straight to the crotch of his slacks. the erection you’ve caused is beyond embarrassing, the outline too easy to make out. his palm rubs over his clothed bulge and he lets out a hiss. the tips of his fingers don’t near his button and zipper because in his mind it’s less pathetic if he keeps all his clothes on. in his mind, he didn’t actually touch himself to a picture of you for way too long, he didn’t wipe a dribble of drool from the corner of his mouth, and his cum definitely didn’t leak through in his pants over the thought of you.
he doesn’t even get a chance to catch his breath because a loud ding brings him out of his daze. the phone that he never let go of was still open on your photo, although this time the heart under your post was red. another ding rings out and he sees a message from an unsaved number hang over your picture.
he’s fucked.
nanami wipes his sticky palm on the fabric that stretches over his muscular thigh and sits up straight. he taps the notification and feels his heart drop to his ass.
hi nanami! i’m so happy he gave u my number
i see he gave u my @ too haha
he pinches the bridge of his nose and falls right back into his previous position, resting his head on the back of the sofa. you know. you know that he was stalking you in the middle of the night and now you’re laughing at him.
I’m sorry. It was an accident. I’ll be more careful next time.
he presses the blue arrow and wallows in his embarrassment. he wasn’t thinking straight. he should’ve replied in the morning. instead, he should be changing his pants. or maybe dreaming of you. of course, the universe doesn’t even allow him to regret his actions. his phone buzzes.
alien!choso x reader
wc: 644
warnings: cho watches porn without realizing/knowing it's porn, masturbation, voyeurism?
alien!choso who is so eager to please, sneaking into your room to watch the movies you have opened on your (technologically behind) laptop to learn how to communicate with you. what better way to learn than directly from your favorites!
alien!choso who discovers that humans have a really weird way of speaking. he watches the people on the screen, who are wearing a lot less clothing than you usually do, huff and whisper to each other as they lay oddly close on a bed. he thought you said that people on your planet wear garments to cover their body, so why is this movie saying otherwise? they’re making a sound he’s never heard before. it sounds strained and airy, but seems to be out of pleasure.
alien!choso who notices that his face is starting to feel a bit warm. was it this hot in the room when he came in? he pauses the movie and slips off the sweatshirt you gave him. he almost feels better. he would feel better if his pants didn’t feel so tight. he dips his hands below the waistbands of his sweats (also lent by you) to readjust. he shivers when his fingers wrap around himself, and his hand lingers in his pants a little longer than needed.
alien!choso who sucks in a quick breath, similar to the one of the man in the video. he reaches over to resume the video with his free hand and begins to mirror the movements of the womans hand over the mans body. slipping his waistband lower, his leaking tip slaps against his belly and it sends shivers down his spine. he glances over at the screen and attempts to mirror her actions.
alien!choso who traces the thick veins of his cock in the same way the woman traces her partners. he hisses and tightens his grip as he rubs his length, eyes screwed shut before he’s met with an image of you. his chest rises up and down as your name begins to quietly slip off his tongue. the image in his mind morphs into your hand below his waist instead of his, and a warm feeling builds in his lower belly.
alien!choso who is so caught up in his language lesson that he doesn’t hear your keys jingling at the door as you push it open and step inside your home. you slip your shoes off and look around to see that the alien you’d somehow found yourself responsible for was not on the couch or kitchen, where he’d been spending most of his time. “choso! did you see the dinner i made for you on the counter?” you called out, but received no reply.
alien!choso who was still not aware of your return, continued to whimper and whine your name into the emptiness of your bedroom as he brought himself closer. to what, he wasn’t sure, but he needed to keep going. he chased the feeling, leaning into your imaginary touch. the quiet whispering of your name became full moans, though they didn’t fall on deaf ears.
alien!choso whose hips chased his own fist, stomach clenching as his cum spurted onto his stomach and thighs, slowly dripping down onto the covers he laid on. he was still catching his breath before he realized his eyes were still closed. instead of being met with the empty room he was just in, he spotted your figure in the doorway. you stood with your mouth agape, and fingers bent like you were holding your bag, but it fell forgotten by your feet. when his eyes met yours, he mumbled your name desperately.
alien!choso who needed you to help him. to explain to him what he just did, and why he was hardening in his hand again.
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